Читать книгу: «A Beautiful Corpse», страница 3

Harper thought it over. ‘Are you saying that you think she was scared of Wilson?’

He glowered at her.

‘I’m saying I don’t know what happened but she was scared.’ He reached for his glass again. ‘Ah, hell. Why’m I yelling at you? It’s my own damn fault. If I’d thought to ask what was going on – why she was so scared that night – what was going on in her life … If I’d paid more attention …

‘She might still be alive.’

Chapter Five

After talking with Fitz, Harper went back to the newsroom to update her article and work the phones. The story moved quickly. At noon, the police formally identified Wilson Shepherd as a suspect on the run.

At a hastily convened press conference that afternoon, the police chief described him as ‘armed and dangerous’. In a message delivered directly to the news cameras, the chief asked Wilson to turn himself in.

‘Do it for your family,’ the chief said seriously. ‘Nobody else needs to get hurt.’

With the TV stations all in overdrive, several false reports came in of sightings around the city, but by eight o’clock that night, when things finally quieted down, his location remained unknown.

It was still four hours until the paper’s final deadline, but Harper had done all she could for now. She’d worked eleven hours straight on precious little sleep, and the exhaustion was taking its toll.

She stretched the tight knots in her shoulders and looked around blearily. The newsroom had emptied without her even noticing. Through the tall windows, the last rays of the sun were fading to rose and gold as she glanced at her watch, her brow creasing.

She’d been so busy there’d been no time even to check in on Bonnie.

She grabbed her phone.

Bonnie answered on the first ring.

‘Harper! You sneaked out while I was asleep, like a bad date.’

‘Hey.’ Harper fought a yawn. ‘You needed your sleep.’

‘If I’d been conscious I would have thanked you for looking out for me,’ Bonnie said. ‘I’m sorry I lost it when you were working.’

‘Don’t apologize. It was a shock seeing her there.’

‘I still can’t believe it.’ Bonnie sounded somber.

Harper hated to give her more bad news – but she had to know.

‘Have you been following the case? Do you know what’s happening?’

‘I heard about Wilson, if that’s what you mean.’ Bonnie let out a long breath. ‘It doesn’t make sense, Harper. He’s such a nice guy.’

Harper made a dismissive gesture. ‘Nice guys kill, too.’

That came out more sharply than she’d intended.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, instantly contrite. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘I’ll bet it has,’ Bonnie said. ‘Listen, Fitz has closed the bar for a couple of days. So, I’m around if you need me.’

‘I spoke to him today,’ Harper told her. ‘He was incredibly drunk.’

‘Yeah …’ Bonnie sighed. ‘He sounded sloshed when he called. I don’t blame him. Wouldn’t mind being drunk myself right now. I just wish I understood what the hell Naomi was doing down on River Street. When she left the bar, she said she was going home. I’ve been thinking about it all day. The way she left in a big hurry. Like she was late for something. What could she be late for in the middle of the night?’

This sounded strikingly similar to the story Fitz had told her about another night when Naomi left early, in a rush.

Harper straightened. ‘Did she say anything to you when she left? Was she meeting Wilson Shepherd?’

‘All she said was she needed to go right away; something had come up. She was really urgent about it.’ She paused. ‘The only thing was, thinking back, it seems to me that … I don’t know. Something didn’t feel right.’

‘What do you mean?’ Harper picked up a pen.

‘Maybe I’m adding this to my memories because I know what happened later,’ Bonnie cautioned, ‘but she seemed jittery. Like, she was trying to be normal but she was nervous. Almost like she was scared of something.’

Her words mirrored Fitz’s, precisely.

‘You know, Fitz told me a similar story earlier today. The same thing – Naomi leaving on a busy night, without warning. Being scared. He said it happened a few weeks ago. Do you remember that?’

‘No.’ Bonnie sounded surprised. ‘I must not have worked that night. He didn’t mention it to me.’

‘He said he more or less forgot about it after that night. But something was going on in Naomi’s life. Someone scared her. And they scared her enough that she kept it to herself.’

Harper paused, the pen hovering above a blank sheet of paper.

‘Did she ever tell you she was afraid of Wilson? Did they fight?’

‘She never said anything like that,’ Bonnie said. ‘I always thought they were happy. But, like I said last night to that detective, Wilson hasn’t been around much lately. I thought they were taking a break because school and work were so busy.’

Harper considered this. ‘Maybe Wilson didn’t want to take a break.’

‘You think he was mad enough about a break to kill the girl he loved?’ Bonnie was skeptical.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time it happened.’

‘I just don’t see it,’ Bonnie said. ‘He’s not the type.’

‘They’re all the type.’

‘God, Harper. You’re so cynical,’ Bonnie chided. ‘This is why you don’t have a boyfriend.’

‘This is why I’m still alive,’ Harper replied without missing a beat.

As she spoke, she wrote one word in her notebook and underlined it: Motive.

‘The thing is, if it wasn’t Wilson, who was it?’ she asked. ‘There’s no way she was caught up in drugs or gangs, is there?’

Bonnie gave a husky laugh. ‘Oh, hell no, Harper. Naomi was a Girl Scout. I could hardly get a beer down her.’

Dropping the pen, Harper rubbed her forehead.

It just didn’t make sense. Girl Scouts did not go to River Street at two in the morning to get themselves shot.

It was becoming clearer that Naomi had secrets. She’d kept them well. And somehow it had gotten her killed.

‘Look,’ Harper said, ‘if you think of anything else, let me know.’

‘I will,’ Bonnie promised, adding as an afterthought, ‘Oh, God, I almost forgot to mention. I went to see Naomi’s dad. He wants to talk to you.’

Harper nearly dropped the phone.

‘You met her father? I’ve been trying to reach him all day.’

‘Yeah, I went to his house to give him my condolences. I couldn’t reach him on the phone,’ Bonnie said. ‘His address was in our records at the bar – Naomi still had her pay slips sent there. He told me he turned his phone off because it won’t stop ringing.’

Harper didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’d called Jerrod Scott at least five times today without success. And Bonnie had just walked right in.

‘What’d he say?’ She couldn’t keep the eagerness out of her voice.

‘Yeah. He’s real upset about Wilson,’ Bonnie said. ‘Says there’s no way it was him, but the cops won’t listen. I told him he should talk to you. I gave him your number. I hope that was okay.’

Harper could have kissed her.

She’d dropped the hottest interview in town right in her lap.

When she hung up the phone, Harper climbed to her feet.

It had been twelve hours since the last time she ate anything more substantial than a candy bar. Her stomach felt hollow.

Shoving her scanner and phone into her bag, she headed across the empty newsroom.

Baxter was at her desk, typing furiously, her face creased with concentration. Dells had finally gone home a couple of hours ago.

‘I’m going to grab some food,’ Harper announced. ‘It’s gone quiet.’

‘Could you keep your phone on, for a change?’ Baxter’s tone was peevish. ‘I will personally fire you if I can’t reach you.’

‘You sweet talker,’ Harper said, heading out the door.

There was no point in arguing. They both knew Harper would keep everything turned on tonight.

The guard glanced at her without interest as she pushed the button that unlocked the double glass doors and stepped into the dark street.

Outside, the muggy evening air hit her like a warm, soft fist. Even this late, it wasn’t cool. Night merely took the edge off the heat.

The streets were quiet at last. The air carried the faint syncopation of music from one of the River Street bars, which were filled at this hour with people whose nights involved something other than murder.

Harper had parked her ageing red Camaro in front of the newspaper building, and the engine started with a pleasing rumble. The car had nearly a hundred and thirty thousand miles on the meter but Harper kept it in mint condition.

She loved only a few things in this world and her car was one of them.

As she drove, she kept the window down, hoping the fresh air would revive her. The scanner propped in a holder on the dash buzzed and crackled with a constant stream of information. Her mind sorted through the noise for anything about Wilson Shepherd.

After years of listening to it non-stop, the codes used by the police were second nature to her.

‘Unit 498.’ A voice said.

The dispatcher replied after a second. ‘Unit 498, go ahead.’

‘Unit 498, I’m at the Code 5 on Veterans.’

Code 5 – car accident, Harper translated to herself.

‘Everybody’s pretty shook up,’ the cop said, in a deep southern drawl. ‘Better send a Code 10 to check them out.’

Code 10 was an ambulance, and Harper honed in on his voice for a minute. But he never came back to ask for backup.

She was hungry and tired, and she wasn’t about to go out to a wreck where everyone was shaken up. She needed more than that.

‘Death and destruction,’ she murmured to herself, as she pulled the car into the parking lot at Eddie’s 24-Hour Diner. ‘I don’t get out of bed for less.’

When she walked in the door, a bell jangled merrily but nobody could hear it above the Everly Brothers blasting from the stereo.

Eddie’s was a retro diner, with vinyl and chrome booths, and waitresses with perky ponytails wearing high-collared blouses and tight jeans.

Harper signaled to one, who bounded up to her, dark hair swishing.

‘Can I get you a table?’

Her bright eyes skimmed Harper’s face, and took on a sympathetic glint. It occurred to Harper that she must look like hell. Her hair hadn’t been brushed since she left the house this morning.

The waitress was young – her scarlet lipstick annoyingly perfect.

She had no idea yet how hard a day could be.

‘I need food to go,’ Harper told her. ‘A turkey sandwich, no mayo, and fries. And the biggest coffee you’ve got, as black as you can make it.’

‘You got it.’ Pulling a pen from behind her ear, the girl scribbled the order down.

‘Take a seat,’ she chirped. ‘I’ll get it out to you in a jiffy.’

When she’d disappeared into the kitchen, Harper sat on a padded bench by the door.

The restaurant was mostly empty. The music played loudly for no one.

The bench wasn’t that comfortable but, at this stage, she could have slept in the middle of the highway in rush hour. She leaned back against the wall, her eyelids drooping. Even her hands seemed to have weight.

Feeling herself drifting, she jerked upright.

Busy. She needed to stay busy.

Pulling her scanner out of her bag, she plugged her earbuds in, turning it loud enough to hear it over the music.

The usual chatter filled her head and she forced herself to listen. She was half-asleep when a female voice said, ‘Unit 364.’

‘Unit 364 go ahead,’ came the crisp voice of the dispatcher.

‘Signal 25 in the 34000 block of Abercorn Street. I’ve got a white Ford pickup, stand by for the license.’

Signal 25, Harper thought, distantly, her eyes drifting shut. Traffic stop.

Other voices came and went. Then, without warning, the female officer’s voice returned, breathless and high-pitched, words pouring out.

‘I need backup on Abercorn Street. Send them fast. I’ve got the River Street shooting suspect in a white Toyota pickup truck. He’s got a gun.’

Chapter Six

Harper jumped to her feet.

‘Copy, Unit 364,’ the dispatcher replied, in the same flat tone she’d used earlier to acknowledge another officer’s refueling break.

The waitress was walking back now, a bag in her hand, that perfect, symmetrical smile already in place.

The dispatcher put out the call. ‘All available units to the 34000 block of Abercorn to assist Unit 364 with a fugitive arrest. Be aware: Suspect is wanted for homicide. Suspect is armed and dangerous. All units Code 30.’

Code 30: blue lights and sirens.

The dispatcher was so calm, only someone who listened to this radio every day of her life could hear the tension in her voice.

Pulling her keys from her pocket, Harper turned for the door.

The waitress stepped smoothly in her path, blocking her.

‘I’m sorry, I have to go,’ Harper said, trying to push past.

‘It’s already made.’ The waitress – her smile disappearing – pressed her back against the door handle so Harper couldn’t reach it. ‘You have to pay or I’ve got to call the cops. Eddie’s got rules.’

Harper had underestimated her. There was more to the perky girl than a smile.

She didn’t have time to argue. Frantically, she dug in her pocket, pulling out a disordered pile of bills. She shoved them in the woman’s neatly manicured hands without counting them.

‘If it isn’t enough, call the Daily News, ask for Harper,’ she told her. ‘But not for another hour. I’ve got to go.’

‘What do you want me to do with the food?’ The waitress still clutched the bag.

‘Keep it,’ Harper said.

As an afterthought, though, she grabbed the cup.

‘I’ll take the coffee.’

The waitress stepped aside. Harper ran through the door and jumped into the car, pulling out her phone.

Miles answered on the first ring.

‘I’m on my way to Abercorn,’ he said. She could hear his police scanners in the background. ‘You?’

‘Leaving now.’ She started the car. ‘I’ll call Baxter. See you there.’

As the phone speed-dialed Baxter’s direct line, she backed out into the road.

‘Emma Baxter,’ the editor answered.

Harper hated to admit it but there was something comforting about the way Baxter could always be reached when the shit hit the fan.

‘Traffic cops just pulled over Wilson Shepherd on Abercorn.’ Harper raised her voice to be heard above the scanner and the engine. ‘Sounds like he’s putting up a fight. Miles and I are en route.’

‘I’ll tell the copy desk,’ Baxter told her. ‘We’ll hold the front page. Don’t do anything stupid, McClain.’

‘Never,’ Harper said, hanging up.

Dropping the phone, she pulled out onto the parkway so fast her tires squealed.

She wasn’t tired anymore. Adrenaline raced into her system faster than caffeine possibly could.

A story like this was as good as eight hours’ sleep. Better even. No drug ever invented could match it.

Every cop in the city was going to the same place she was. There was no one to pull her over. The speed limit was forty-five but she hit a hundred and stayed there until she saw flashing blue lights ahead. Then she tagged along behind them.

Abercorn carved a curving path across the edge of the city before pouring into the flat, coastal countryside. At the speed she was going it only took minutes before the crowded city streets outside the Camaro’s windows dissolved into lush green suburbs, scarred by strip malls and big box stores.

The police standoff was easy to locate. A dozen patrol cars blocked the road, lights flashing.

Harper slammed the car into park and jumped out, running through the haphazardly parked vehicles.

Miles had positioned himself behind an empty squad car.

‘Have they got him?’ Harper asked, breathless.

‘They do.’ Miles squinted through the viewfinder. ‘He just doesn’t know it yet.’

With his Canon balanced on the roof, he was focused on a crowd gathered around a pickup truck in the distance. The patrol car that had pulled it over earlier was parked behind it, blue lights still swirling.

The doors of both vehicles gaped open.

In the flickering blue lights, Wilson Shepherd stood facing a line of police officers. He was sweating and panicked.

A silver, semi-automatic handgun glittered as he aimed it at the cops, all of whom were pointing their guns at him.

Everyone was yelling.

‘Drop your weapon! Put down the gun! Drop it! Drop it now!’

Wilson ignored their commands.

‘I didn’t do it!’ he screamed back. ‘I didn’t kill Naomi – do you hear me? Does anyone hear me?’

‘Drop your goddamn weapon! No one will hear you until you drop that weapon!’

Miles tilted the camera to look at the images on the display, a frown creasing his forehead.

‘I need to get closer.’

He looked around, his face tense. They both knew time was everything right now.

‘There.’ Harper pointed to an empty space to the left of the pickup – protected by two trees, but with what looked like a clear view.

Miles nodded, tucking his camera under his arm. ‘Let’s go.’

Ducking low, the two of them threaded between the parked patrol cars. None of the police noticed them. Everyone was too focused on the scene unfolding.

Leaning against the tree to steady himself, Miles raised the Canon.

‘That’s better,’ he breathed.

They were so close, Harper could see the panic in Shepherd’s wide, frightened eyes as he swung the gun wildly.

It was impossible to square this Wilson Shepherd with the one she’d seen sitting at The Library, waiting for Naomi and nursing a beer.

He looked ten years older. His clothes were stained and disheveled. He appeared deranged, waving that gun at the police, tears and sweat streaming down his round cheeks; snot running from his nose.

‘No, no, no,’ he kept screaming hoarsely. ‘It wasn’t me. Why won’t you listen?’

The cops weren’t in any mood to do what he wanted. They were concentrating on that gun. Shouting constant commands in a kind of hyperactive, almost hypnotic wall of sound.

Harper wondered how long their patience would last.

Not long, as it turned out.

A shadow moved, low and slow, in the darkness to the left of the pickup’s front tire.

She touched Miles lightly on the arm, pointing.

Turning the camera, he zoomed in.

Glancing up at her, he whispered, ‘SWAT team.’

They both crouched low.

It happened quickly.

Two shadowy figures leaped onto Shepherd’s back with machine-perfect timing, knocking the gun loose, and sending him sprawling.

Harper was close enough to hear the sickening slap of his face hitting the pavement.

A uniformed officer kicked the gun away. Then the others descended on him.

With four adrenaline-fueled cops on top of him twisting his hands behind his back, Shepherd was done.

Through it all, though, he repeated the same words over and over like a mantra. Sobbing them into the ground.

‘I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.’

Miles jumped to his feet. ‘Let’s get closer.’

But the two of them had taken only a few steps from the sheltering trees when a cop, large and sweaty, wired from the excitement of the arrest, moved in on them.

‘Get back,’ he ordered.

Harper didn’t like the look of him. Cops get itchy whenever they’ve had to pull their weapons.

This one’s hand was dangerously close to his holster.

She and Miles took an automatic step back into the glow of the headlights.

To her surprise, the cop’s demeanor changed abruptly.

‘Oh, hey, Miles,’ he said. ‘I didn’t recognize you in the dark. How’s it going?’

‘I’m great, Bob,’ Miles said, keeping his hands clearly in view nonetheless. ‘Trying to get the front-page picture for tomorrow’s paper.’

‘You go ahead.’ Bob waved him on. ‘Try to stay out of their way.’

‘I’ll keep my distance,’ Miles promised.

‘Be sure and get my good side,’ Bob joked, turning sideways.

Laughing politely, Miles moved past him toward the crowd of cops who were now lifting Shepherd to his feet.

When Harper started to follow, though, Bob’s pleasant demeanor evaporated.

‘I didn’t say you could get closer.’ The warmth left his voice. ‘Traitors stay at the edge. In fact …’ He pointed behind the row of parked patrol cars. ‘Why don’t you go over there?’

‘Come on,’ Harper pleaded. ‘I won’t get in the way. Can’t you give me a break?’

Bob’s face hardened.

‘I don’t have to do a thing for you,’ he said. ‘And right now, you’re trespassing on a crime scene and failing to obey an officer. Actually, you got some ID? I’m writing you up for disorderly conduct.’

‘What?’ Harper couldn’t believe it. The cops always harassed her these days, but they didn’t go this far.

She squared up to him. ‘You can’t do that. I’m a member of the press. I have a right to be here. This is a public highway.’

His face reddened. He reached behind him to where his handcuffs hung from his utility belt.

‘That’s it. Turn around.’

Before she realized what he was planning, he grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around and shoving her roughly against the nearest car.

Harper struggled, but he was twice her size. She never had a chance. Her face was pressed hard against the glass.

‘Goddamn it,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘Let me go, you dickhead.’

Suddenly, another voice spoke over her.

‘What’s going on, Bob? Caught yourself another suspect?’

This voice was cool and steady. It was saying all the right things, but with an underlay of threat that indicated the speaker didn’t like Bob very much.

With her face still pressed against the car, Harper couldn’t see anything.

But she knew that voice.

‘Well, Detective.’ Bob sounded defensive. ‘This reporter’s trespassing on the crime scene and refusing to obey orders. I’m arresting her for disorderly conduct.’

‘You are fully within your rights to do that, Bob,’ the other voice said. ‘She’s a handful, all right. But I gotta say the chief won’t like it. Her publisher will give him a hard time. They could sue the force for illegal arrest.’

‘She ignored an order.’ Bob sounded less confident now.

‘I hear you, but if you ask me, it’s not worth the hassle,’ the voice said. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t you let her go. I’ll keep an eye on her. If she causes any trouble, I’ll take her in myself. Save you the paperwork. We got a deal?’

Harper twisted her neck, trying to see what was happening, but Bob’s meaty hand still held her head against the patrol car.

‘I guess so.’ Bob gave in reluctantly. ‘You want me to cuff her?’

‘No,’ the detective said, a hint of ice in his voice now. ‘I think I can handle her.’

‘If you say so.’

Slowly, Bob relinquished his hold on Harper’s head and hands.

Freed, she spun around, and looked straight into the calm blue eyes of Detective Luke Walker.