Open Season by Linda Howard
The summer heat was already broiling, and the humidity was so high the air felt thick and heavy. Daisy lifted her face to the sunshine anyway, as if she needed the light. They didn’t say anything, just waited until Detective Morrison came outside with a quizzical expression on his dark face. “Deputy Sasnett said you brought your dog—” He broke off when he saw the puppy, his expression changing to a grin. “That isn’t a dog. That’s a ball of fluff.”
Jack offered his hand. “I’m Jack Russo, Hillsboro’s chief. This is Daisy Minor, the witness I told you about. Where she goes, the ball of fluff goes.”
He shook Jack’s hand, scratched his head, and said, “I’ll be right back.” Five minutes later, having cleared the way, he led Jack, Daisy, and Midas to his office.
Midas was an angel, sitting on Daisy’s lap while she calmly told the detective what she’d seen Saturday night. Yes, she was certain the man in the middle was the man who had introduced himself to her the week before as Mitchell, and, yes, she was certain that was his photograph in the paper. She described what he’d been wearing, to the best of her memory: jeans, boots, and a light-colored western-style shirt. Detective Morrison quietly passed Jack the crime scene photos. The clothes were dirty, since the body had been buried, but they were as Daisy had described them. That meant Mitchell hadn’t changed clothes from the time Daisy saw him in the Buffalo Club parking lot, which definitely upped the chances that he had been killed that night.
“Do you want to see them?” Jack asked Daisy.
She shook her head, and he passed the photos back to Detective Morrison.
Jack’s cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, looked at the number showing in the window, and said, “It’s the office. I’ll take it outside.”
He stepped out into the hall before hitting the talk button. “Russo.”
“Chief, this is Marvin.” Tony Marvin was the first-shift desk sergeant. He sounded uneasy, as if he wasn’t certain he should be calling. “Kendra Owens just called from the library. Jennifer Nolan, the mayor’s wife, called wanting to speak to Miss Minor, and when Kendra told her she wasn’t there, Mrs. Nolan became very agitated. She said Miss Minor’s life was in danger, that she’d overheard the mayor on the phone with a man named Sykes. Mrs. Owens said Mrs. Nolan seemed convinced they intended to kill Miss Minor. Since you had us put that protective detail on Miss Minor’s mother and aunt this morning, I thought you should know about this.”
The little hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stood up. “You’re exactly right, Tony. It’s looking like the mayor’s in trouble up to his ass. Have Mrs. Nolan picked up; take her statement.” He paused, thinking. “Keep her there. Put her in one of the interview rooms and hold her.”
“Mrs. Nolan, Chief?”
“Her life could be in danger, too.”
“You mean this isn’t just a case of Mrs. Nolan hitting the bottle way too early?”
“I wish it was. Get a deputy out to the Nolan house as fast as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant. “Uh, what do you want me to do when the mayor hears about this?” Tony said “when,” not “if,” because in a small town there was no “if.”
“Stall him. Blow him off. Make it sound as if she’s drunk and you don’t believe a word she’s said. I don’t want to spook him until we have her statement.”
“Okay, Chief.”
“And don’t put anything on the radio about it; telephone contact only. That’ll buy us some time.”
Jack disconnected and called Todd, and brought him up to speed. “Jennifer Nolan’s statement will give us reasonable grounds for getting a court order on those phone records, so if you don’t already have them, now we can get them legally. She gave us a name, too: Sykes.”
“It’s always nice to do it legally,” Todd said dryly.
“Before, I was just curious and uneasy. It’s different now.” Now that he knew there was a crime involved, everything had to be by the book. He didn’t mind bending the rules—or outright breaking them—when it was personal, but it was more than personal now. He didn’t want this case thrown out of court because of a technicality.
“I’ll see what I can find on Sykes. If he’s had so much as a speeding ticket, I’ll find him.”
Jack stepped back into the detective’s office and told them what was going on. Detective Morrison made quick notes, his left hand bent in that peculiar position so many lefties used. “If your mayor was involved with Chad Mitchell, he isn’t particular about his friends. Mitchell was a bottom-feeder; we’ve had him on resisting, possession, attempted rape, theft, B and E. We got him last year on date rape, but the prosecutor couldn’t make it stick. He never did any major time, six months here, a year there.”
“Possession,” said Jack. “Of what, exactly?”
Morrison consulted his file. “Marijuana, mostly. A small amount of cocaine. Rohypnol, clonazepam, GHB.”
“He was big on the date-rape drugs.”
“How does Mayor Nolan fit in with this?” Daisy asked. “He wasn’t one of the three men I saw with Mitchell, but he has to be involved somehow.”
“My guess is Sykes was one of the three, though, and Sykes is tied to the mayor in some shady deal they’re working.”
“That’s the most logical scenario,” said Morrison, getting to his feet. “Miss Minor, you said you saw them briefly, but clearly. I know it’ll take a lot of time, but I’d like you to look at our mug shots, see if you recognize anybody. Don’t guess; be sure, because if you aren’t, the defense lawyer will tear the case apart.”
Midas had been an angel the whole time, sitting in Daisy’s lap, but when she stood up to follow Detective Morrison, he decided it was time to do some exploring and began wriggling madly in his effort to get down. Daisy set him on his feet, and he immediately made a dive for the detective’s shoes. “Quick, where’s his duck?” she said as she rescued shoelaces, which was more difficult than it should have been because Detective Morrison started laughing and shuffling his feet, sending Midas into a spasm of joy at the new game.
“Here.” Jack separated the duck from the rest of puppy things he’d brought in with him, and tossed the duck across the floor. Seeing a new target, and one that was evidently running from him, Midas abandoned Morrison’s shoes and bounced after the duck. When he captured the escapee, he gave it a hard shake, then tossed it over his head and pounced again.
“I’m sorry,” Daisy apologized. “I just got him yesterday, and he’s only six weeks old, so I couldn’t leave him alone, especially not knowing if whoever was looking for me might hurt Midas if he couldn’t find me.”
“Yes, ma’am, some folks are mean,” the detective agreed. “It’s best to be safe. Tell you what; since you have the puppy, I’ll bring the mug shots in here for you to look at. That way he won’t get too excited, seeing a lot of people at once.”
“That’s a real good idea,” Jack said, grabbing the duck before Midas could get to it, and tossing it again. His black eyes bright with glee, Midas bounced and pounced, then dragged the duck back to Jack and dropped it at his feet.
“Well, look at that,” said Morrison, marveling. “Didn’t take him long to catch on, did it?”
Jack was still throwing the duck when the detective came back, his arms laden with pages of mugshots. Entranced with the game, Midas ignored Morrison’s return.
Daisy settled at the desk with the photographs in front her, for the first time realizing the enormity of the task. This wasn’t a matter of looking at fifty pictures, or even a few hundred. There had to be thousands of them, and the photographer seemed to be particularly unskilled, because the photographs could scarcely have been more unflattering to the subjects.
She closed her eyes and pictured the three men she’d seen, then picked out the most distinctive face: long, narrow, with prominent brow ridges. He’d had long, dirty blond hair and long sideburns, a distinctly unappealing style. Hair could be changed, though—she was an expert on that—so she disreg
After fifteen minutes, Midas lay down on her feet to take a nap. Daisy stopped to glance down at him, and Jack used the opportunity to ask, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee? A soft drink?”
“I don’t recommend the coffee,” said Morrison.
Daisy shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Morrison said, “Then I’ll leave you to it. I have some calls to make, so I’ll borrow an office and check back when I’m finished.”
Minutes ticked by, marked only by the soft swish of the pages as she turned them. Midas eventually roused, and Jack took him outside. When he came back, with the puppy prancing on the end of the leash as if he’d done something wonderful, Jack said, “It’s time for lunch. You need to take a break.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said absently.
“I am.”
She looked up in amusement. “You ate four times what I did at breakfast.”
“Which is why you need to eat. If I’m hungry, you have to be.”
“In a little while.” She turned her attention back to the pages, blinked, put her finger on a photo, and said in a positive tone, “That’s one of the men.”
The man’s hair was shorter in the photo, but his sleazy sideburns were still long, the color was still dirty blond, and the Neanderthal brow ridges hadn’t changed.
Jack briefly studied the photograph, said, “I’ll get Morrison,” and disappeared out the door.
Daisy sighed and gently rubbed her eyes. One down and two to go. The other two wouldn’t be as easy as this one, either, since he was the most distinctive of the three.
Morrison came back on the double and looked at the photograph Daisy pointed out. “George ‘Buddy’ Lemmons. I know this joker. We’ve had him on B and E, assault, robbery, vandalism. He’s another bottom-feeder. He usually pairs with . . . ah, hell, what’s his name?” He went out of the office and they heard him call down the hall, “Hey, Banjo, you remember Buddy Lemmons? We got him for wrecking that old lady’s house over on Bob Wallace last year. What was the name of the other perp?”
“Calvin . . . something Calvin.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Morrison came back into the office muttering, “Calvin, Calvin.” He sat down at his computer and typed in the name. “Here he is. Dwight Calvin. Is he one of the other men?”
Daisy went around and looked at the photograph on the computer screen. “Yes,” she said positively, studying the slight, dark-haired, big-nosed man.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I haven’t seen anyone who looks like the third man, though.”
“It would help if we had Sykes’s first name, but we’ll pick up these two birds and my guess is they’ll start singing. Buddy and Dwight aren’t big on taking the fall for anyone else. In the meantime, Miss Minor, where will you be?”
“At home,” she began, but Jack shook his head.
“Until this is settled, I’m checking her into a hotel, and I’m not telling anyone where she is—not even you, Morrison. If you want to get in touch with her, call my cell phone, because that will be the only contact.”
TWENTY-TWO
Just where are you planning on stashing me?” Daisy asked when they were in the car. “I have the puppy with me, remember?”
“Like I could forget,” Jack muttered. “I don’t like the idea of stashing you anywhere, but it’s the only logical thing to do. Some motels take pets; I’ll call the local Triple A and find one.”
“I don’t have any clothes with me,” she pointed out. “Or books.”
“I’ll send someone by your house to pack some things for you.”
She thought about that. “Send Todd. He’ll know what to get.”
“I told you, Todd isn’t gay.”
“That doesn’t matter. He knows what separates go together, and what makeup to bring.”
“Eva Fay—”
“Todd.”
“All right,” he said under his breath. “I’ll send Todd.”
In the end, he didn’t have to call Triple A to locate a motel that accepted pets; they drove by a new place that had just been built off 1-565, pulled in, and checked, and it did have two rooms allocated for people with small pets. Both rooms were empty at the time, so Jack chose the one that faced the rear. He checked her in under a false name—she was now Julia Patrick, he informed her when he got back into the car and drove around the building to her assigned room.
He unlocked the door and carried in Midas’s things while Daisy let the puppy investigate a patch of grass and chase a butterfly. He was too young to do much chasing; after a few minutes, he flopped on his belly to rest. The heat was almost searing, too hot to let him play outside without any shade to shelter him. She carried him inside the blessedly cool room and gave him some water, and with a tired sigh he settled down on his blanket.
“I’ll be back tonight with your things,” Jack said. “I don’t know what time, but I’ll call first. Don’t open the door to anyone except me.”
She sat down on the king-size bed. “All right.” She wouldn’t beg him to stay, though she wanted to. She had been leaning on those strong shoulders all day long, she realized, letting him handle everything. Of course, murder was his field of expertise, so to speak; he knew exactly what to do.
She wanted to ask him how long she’d have to stay here, but that was a silly question: he had no real idea. Morrison might locate Lemmons and Calvin right away, or the two might have left town. They might locate Sykes, or they might not. Jennifer Nolan’s testimony might be reliable, but everyone in town knew she was an alcoholic; if she’d been drinking this morning, that had to call her statement into question. Everything was up in the air.
Jack had been a rock, Daisy knew she would have managed without him, but it had been nice to have him planning the course of action, taking care of her family, even keeping Midas occupied while she looked through the mountain of mug shots.
He sat down beside her and put his arm around her, hugging her close to his side. “Are you all right?”
“I’m still feeling a little stunned,” she admitted. “This is so . . . unreal. I watched a man die, and I didn’t even realize.”
“You don’t expect to see a murder. Unless there’s a shot or a big fight, most people wouldn’t notice. It’s too far outside their experience.” He tilted her chin up and kissed her. “I’m glad it was outside your experience,” he murmured.
Until he kissed her, she hadn’t realized how much she had been craving him, his taste and touch, the hot male scent. She put her arms around his neck and whispered, “Don’t go just yet.”
“I need to,” he said, but he didn’t get up from the bed. Instead his arm tightened about her and his other hand slid down to her breasts, stroking over them before beginning to unbutton her blouse. Daisy closed her eyes as bliss began unfurling inside her, made all the stronger by the stress of the day. For a little while, so long as he touched her, she could forget and relax.
She tugged his T-shirt free and slid her hands under it, flattening her palms against the heavy muscles of his back.
“All right, you convinced me,” he said, shucking the shirt off over his head and standing to unfasten his belt. Jeans, underwear, socks, and shoes came off in one rough motion, and he left them on the floor, tumbling to the big bed and taking her with him. Her sandals dropped to the carpet. He wrestled her out of her blouse and bra, tossing both garments toward the dresser on the other side of the room.
He pressed kisses to her stomach as he unzipped her denim skirt and peeled it down, then trailed up to her breasts and sucked her nipples until they were hard and flushed with color, sticking out like raspberries. She felt dizzy, but was ravenous for more. She couldn’t get enough of him, couldn??
“It’s my turn,” she said, pushing on his shoulders.
He obediently rolled over onto his back and covered his eyes with a forearm. “This is going to kill me,” he muttered.
“Maybe not.”
Thoroughly delighted with this opportunity, she cupped his testicles in both hands, feeling the weight and softness of his scrotum, the hardness within. She buried her face against him, inhaling the musty scent, darting her tongue out to taste. His penis jerked against her cheek, enticing her, so she turned her head and took him in.
He groaned and his hands fisted in the bedspread.
She had no mercy, not that he asked for any. She tasted and licked and stroked until his powerful body was drawn like a bow, arching on the bed. Then she stopped, sat back, and said, “I think that’s enough.”
An almost inhuman sound rumbled in his chest and he jackknifed, grabbing her and twisting and coming down on top of her. She laughed as he fiercely stripped her panties down and pushed her legs apart, settling between them and positioning himself for the strong, single thrust that took him to the hilt and changed her laughter to a groan. She drew her legs up, clasping them around his hips, trying to contain both the depth of his strokes and the wildness of her response. She wanted to savor every moment, not rush headlong into climax, but already she could feel the tension building.
He stopped, his muscles flexing with tension. “Fuck,” he said between gritted teeth. “I don’t have a condom.”
Their eyes met, his narrowed with the savagery of the control he was trying to retain over his body, hers wide with sudden awareness.
His hips rocked as if he couldn’t hold still another moment. “Do you want me to stop?” His face was grim with the effort it took him to make the offer. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and shoulders, despite the air conditioner blowing directly on the bed.
Common sense said yes. A lifetime of responsible behavior said yes. They shouldn’t take the risk, or any more risk than they already had just in his unprotected penetration. Some deep, primitive instinct, however, craved the feel of him inside her, and her lips moved, forming the word No.