Dead Man's Image Page 4

  Lacey moved the sweet-smelling clothes from the chair as instructed and watched a moment. Once, a couple of years ago, she'd thought a cute baby like this one would be in her immediate future. Then her life had fallen apart. Would she ever have a little one like that? If so, could she be that blase and natural about it?

  She sighed and said, “About Paul...,”

  “Oh, yeah. I'm sure he came home after five on Monday morning.”

  Mary's face took on a dreamy look, and Lacey wondered if she had a crush on Paul. He was, after all, handsome in a virile, rugged way. For some reason that thought irritated Lacey. “How can you be so sure?”

  She tossed Lacey an amused glance. “He wakes up my Sally every time he drives in with that noisy semi. 'Course he's not here a lot. One or two nights a week usually, then sometimes he's gone for a couple of weeks before he comes back.”

  “So he woke Sally early Monday morning?”

  “Yeah. Took me an hour to get her back to sleep, ’cause she's starting to teethe. His apartment is right over mine, so I heard him come in and go to bed.”

  “Go to bed? How on earth could you know that?”

  Mary blushed. “His bed squeaks. And the apartment walls are thin here. Mr. Anderson was a real tightwad and his wife's just as bad. They built this building as cheap as possible and never fix anything that's broken. You can hear everybody else's television and showers and everything.”

  “I see. And you didn't hear Paul leave again?”

  “Leave?”

  “Yeah. Like go out somewhere in his car.”

  “No. Not as long as I stayed awake. I'd have seen him leave, too.” She nodded at the back window that opened onto the parking lot and frowned. “He parks his little blue car right beside his big truck. The cops took his car away this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I know.” She was sure they'd searched his apartment, too. Lacey hoped there was no one there now, so she could as well.

  Mary was frowning. “I really feel bad about Paul's death. I wonder who could have done it. He was a nice fellow. He always apologized for waking my baby when I saw him in the hall or laundry room, and even talked to Sally and made her smile. And he never complained about Sally's crying like some of the others do. I'm sure Sally kept him awake, too.”

  “Did you notice if he was gone on Monday? Yesterday?”

  “Yeah, his car was gone for a while late yesterday afternoon. I think he took it somewhere to wash it, 'cause it was all shiny and clean when he came back. He carried in a bag of groceries when he came back. He takes really good care of his vehicles.”

  Or did he wash the car to get rid of any evidence? “Thanks, Mary. You've been a great help.”

  The baby whimpered in protest as Mary popped her nipple out of her mouth and started to rise.

  “Don't get up. I know my way out.”

  If only she knew her way out of this case. Had the police talked to Mary? If so, had they noticed the discrepancy in her story? She'd said that she'd seen Paul take his car out and come back on Monday, hours after he was supposed to be dead. Lacey hadn't dared point that out to her, but sooner or later, that was bound to occur to Mary herself. Then, she'd call Ben and he'd know something was up.

  But Mary's story fit exactly with Paul's, so he was probably telling her the truth, at least about his comings and goings from his apartment.

  She was running out of time.

  No one was in the hallway, so Lacey took a chance and walked up to the second floor. There was no sign of anyone at Paul's door, so she slipped on a pair of gloves, then unlocked the door with his key and went inside. If the police hadn't yet searched his apartment, or searched it again if they already had, she didn't want them finding her fingerprints there.

  She tried to tread softly, remembering that Mary had said the walls were thin and she could hear even his bed squeak from her apartment below. His apartment was neat, but fingerprint powder on various surfaces told her the police had been there already. It was simply furnished in tones of brown and cream. Fits with his curly brown hair, she thought irrationally.

  There was a couch, a couple of easy chairs, a television, a VCR, and several bookshelves full of paperbacks. Nothing unusual there. Her heart pounded as she crossed the living area to his bedroom. A mystery novel with a scrap of paper marking his place lay on the nightstand. The bed was unmade and the room smelled faintly of a spicy shaving lotion. There were no pajamas. Did he sleep in the raw? She tried not to think about Paul's naked body climbing out of that bed and padding to the bathroom.

  Stop thinking like that. He's a client, remember? He's off limits.

  Pushing aside her erotic thoughts, she looked in the bathroom. A clear plastic glass with a hotel logo on it sat on the side of the sink. He'd obviously picked it up somewhere while traveling, and used it when brushing his teeth. He'd never miss it. With gloved fingers, she picked up the glass and added it to her own in the plastic bag in her purse.

  On impulse, she went back to his bedroom. She crossed to the big, old-fashioned roll-top desk that sat in one corner and slid up the top. A pile of invoices similar to the ones she'd seen on the clipboard in his truck lay off to one side, and various bills lay beside them, for utilities, a couple of magazines and books from a mystery book club.

  She opened the phone bill, but saw nothing of interest. Opening a file drawer, she found one file labeled 'paid bills.”

  His bank statements showed varying amounts of income from different companies and various hefty payments to a bank and to credit cards. Presumably those to an oil company were for gas and truck upkeep and repairs on the road. He hadn't been overdrawn and the balance at the end of the past month was respectable. None of the bills had overdue notices, confirming her information that he paid his bills on time. She pulled out her notebook and copied down the various account numbers, just in case she needed that info later.

  She felt guilty for searching her own client's apartment, but very relieved that she'd found nothing incriminating. Her instincts were proving correct so far. Sighing at the meager amount of information she was uncovering, she closed the desk.

  She found a paper grocery bag in the kitchen and tucked a couple of Paul's shirts into it. Now, if she could only get out again without being seen. She listened at the door, but heard nothing in the hall.

  Then she turned the night lock on the door and moved out into the empty hallway, closing the door behind her. Quickly slipping off her gloves, she dropped them into her purse and hurried down the stairs. She heaved a long sigh of relief when she got out to her car without anyone questioning her actions.

  Next Lacey drove to the other side of the St. Croix Valley to see if she could learn anything at the bar where Paul had said he'd stopped Sunday night. Traffic was heavy, typical for a sunny day just a week before Memorial Day as the tourists were starting to pour out from the Twin Cities.

  Lacey negotiated the turn off the four-lane and parked in front of the little country bar. The building was far from new. She thought it could use a fresh coat of paint, something other than the dark brown that was flaking off. A yellow and blue neon sign in the window advertised beer on tap.

  She walked inside the building and the sour smell of spilled beer and stale cigarette smoke made her cringe. She could feel her nose stuffing up from her smoke allergies already, and hoped she wouldn't start coughing.

  Only a couple of older men were in the place at the moment. Sitting at the far end of the bar watching a ball game on the sports channel, they eyed her a moment, then turned their attention back to the television set. A young blonde woman seemed to be the only person working. Lacey climbed on an empty wooden stool.

  The thin blonde sauntered over and asked, “What'll it be?”

  The name tag on her uniform read 'Jean.' Lacey smiled at her and said, “I hear you've got great burgers here. Guess I'll have a hamburger and fries.”

  “Want any onions on it?”

  “Sure. Fried onions. Got any coffee?”
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br />   “Comin' right up.” Jean spun around and walked back to the kitchen area.

  Lacey watched her put a bright red patty on the grill and slice up a white onion beside it. She slapped the two halves of a bun upside down along the back of the grill to heat. When she dropped frozen potatoes into the hot oil, they sizzled noisily.

  Lacey licked her lips, her stomach growling in response to the delicious odors. She remembered she hadn't eaten for hours. When Jean put the hot plate of food in front of her and she bit into the thick, juicy burger, she knew she'd even put up with the other stale odors to get this. “Mmm. Paul was right. Delicious!”

  She started a friendly chat with Jean as she complimented her and took her time savoring the food. Jean had been on duty Sunday night. Lucky break.

  “Friend of mine recommended this place,” Lacey told her. “Paul Menns. You know him?”

  “Sure. He's one of the truckers who gases up next door. Comes in every now and then. Out on the road a lot, though.”

  “Was he in here Sunday night?”

  “Yeah. Most of the evening that night. He stopped in last night, too. Usually he just eats and leaves, like last night. I remember, 'cause I commented that it was real unusual to see him two nights in a row. But Sunday, he had his usual, double cheeseburger, onion rings and beer. Then some other guys came in and he stayed.”

  “Do you remember what time he left Sunday night?”

  Jean frowned. “It was late. Must have been near midnight. Yeah, now I remember.” She grinned. “It was after that woman came in and pissed him off by insisting she knew him.”

  Lacey stopped eating and stared at her. “Why would that make him mad?”

  “Well, 'cause she insisted his name was John somebody or other, for one thing. For another, she claimed he stood her up on a date and he owed her for two tickets to a Twins game.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “Paul claimed he'd never met her before, let alone made any date with her.” Jean shrugged. “Maybe she just wanted to shake him down for some cash. She seemed to be broke. Her buddy did all the buying.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Tall, with almost straight, long black hair. She kept flipping it back with her hands, you know, nervous like?”

  “How old? Fat, skinny?”

  “Thirty-ish, maybe. Big boobs, I noticed, so not skinny. But a narrow waist and hips, so maybe the boobs were hyped.”

  “Hyped?”

  “Yes. With silicone, you know?”

  “Oh, sure. I guess I hadn't heard that term for it before. So, that's when Paul left here? About midnight?”

  “Yeah. I get off work at midnight, and it was right before that.”

  His story checked out there, too. Jean didn't seem aware that Paul was in trouble. Lacey decided not to tell her.

  She finished her meal and drove back across the bridge to get a look at the crime scene. Driving through Main Street of the little town, she continued along the winding blacktop road running along the river to the upper Lion's Club park where the body had been found.

  The sun was dropping behind the hills of the valley, so it would soon be dusk. Lacey was familiar with the area because she'd been there on fishing trips a few times a couple of years ago.

  The first, or main Lion's Park, had people in it, and she drove on past to the second, upper park. This one wasn't as well kept as the first, and apparently not used as often. The sign at the entrance was missing, and the branches of trees that badly needed trimming almost met across the entrance road.

  The gravel road dipped in a curve down into the grassy park in a horseshoe. At the bottom of the horseshoe, she pulled up to the posts connected with a chain, which marked the parking area off from the park, itself.

  In keeping with the Wild River setting, this park was a primitive, grassy area with a shelter, tables and grills along the river. A privy stood off to one side at the edge of the woods, and a couple of barrels marked 'garbage' sat beside the open doors of the metal building which served as the shelter. A few yards beyond, Lacey could see the shimmer of sunlight off the river.

  The place looked forlorn and deserted. In the woods down near the river she could see yellow crime-scene tape wrapped around some of the trees, in a thick group of low-hanging evergreens.

  She reached under the front seat of her car and pulled out her own binoculars. She always carried a pair, because they often came in handy on surveillance jobs. Then she walked down to see the area up close. A breeze whipped her hair into her eyes and she brushed it back. Weeds and grass covered the ground under a mixture of maple, box-elder and balsam fir trees. A mixture of all their pungent scents filled the warm spring air.

  Stopping next to a taped tree, she stared across the river. She was a mile or so above the power dam here, so the river was several hundred yards wide. Off to her right, next to the river, she saw one of the wooden picnic tables that had been hauled down from the shelter behind her. It had apparently been used as a diving board for swimmers. Swimming here wasn't encouraged, because there were no lifeguards, but she knew people regularly swam in the river anyway. There was no one to stop them.

  Lifting her binoculars, she focused on the park on the other side of the river. Some kids were playing in the swings and one boy in a bright red jacket hovered at the top of the slide. She could make out his features, though they were a little fuzzy. Darn. If that was where the woman had been, she could have seen a man on this side reasonably well.

  Lacey went back to her car and drove around to the opposite shore and repeated the experiment. No better luck. Her client was either the man this woman had seen or probably looked very much like him. Either way, she had her work cut out for her.

  Chapter 4

  The sun hung low on the horizon and shadows lengthened in the valley. On top of the hill, people would be able to see the sun for a while yet. She loved her valley, but especially missed sunrises and sunsets. Every so often, she'd drive out of the valley just in time to watch them. But she couldn't take time today. She had too much to do.

  Lacey stopped at her bank on the way back and dropped Paul's payment to Margaret and her own retainer money in the night depository, then headed back across the bridge. At least now she could pay a few bills. Though she didn't feel she'd done much to earn it, yet. At least nothing that would help him anyway.

  Guilt rushed through her as she realized almost every bit of evidence she'd uncovered could be used against him, not for him. Why was she letting him get to her? She knew better than to start getting emotionally involved with a client. It would only lead to trouble—for herself and her own peace of mind. The scared, haunted look in Paul's brown eyes stayed in her mind, no matter how she tried to push it away.

  She drove on to Landers and pulled onto the main street. Ben's car sat at the Flame Restaurant. City police cars from both towns and a state patrol car were parked nearby. She could see Ben inside sitting in a booth with others from the various forces in the area, probably having their evening meal. They did this on a regular basis so they could exchange information in person that they couldn't over their radios, because so many people listened in on scanners nowadays.

  She was tempted to join them to see what she could learn, but decided against it. Ben would often tell her things when they were alone that he wouldn't if there were others around. Then he was too conscious of protocol.

  She drove over to Canton to the sheriff’s office and as expected, found Tom, one of Ben's deputies, on duty. Tom was fifty-ish, bald and developing a paunch.

  She took the wooden chair opposite Tom's desk. “What's new on the murder, Tom?”

  He shrugged. “Not much. Get lost, Lacey.”

  “That's not a nice way to treat a gal, Tom.”

  He snorted. “Last time you conned me outa some info, I caught hell from Ben.”

  “Well, I might have some information you want this time.”

  “Yeah?” Tom lifted a shoulder again and chewed on h
is pencil. Then he said, “Well, we did get the time of death from the coroner. Probably around three or so Sunday morning.”

  “So, he was most likely killed somewhere else and brought out here?”

  “Seems likely. No blood where the body was found.”

  Lacey nodded. “Besides, if he'd been killed right there, why would the perp stick around for three hours afterward?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That woman, what was her name?”

  “Mrs. Hendricks.”

  “Yeah, I saw her on the news. She saw this guy about six, didn't she say?”

  Tom nodded.

  The door opened and Ben walked in and greeted them. “Pumping my deputy, eh, Lacey?”

  She grinned. “Yes, sir. Pays to co-operate, you know, Ben. Saves work.”

  “Humph.” But Ben's lips curved a bit and his deputy hid a grin as she followed Ben to his office.

  “Find the gun, yet?” Lacey asked, taking a chair.

  Ben settled in his chair and eyed her cautiously. “No. But we got some fingerprints off the sleeve of the guy's jacket. It was that vinyl stuff, made to look like leather.”

  “Did you identify them? Or get a match for the dead guy's prints, yet?”

  “Not yet. Give us time.”

  “How about dental records?”

  Ben frowned. “No. We came up empty on every dentist we've called, so far.”

  Lacey grinned. “Want to trade information?”

  “Trade what for what?”

  Lacey opened her purse and pulled out the plastic bag with the two glasses and laid it on his desk. “I need you to identify and compare the prints on these two glasses.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “These prints have some connection to this case?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. I'm not sure, yet.”

  “Okay. What do I get in exchange?”

  “Try Dr. Jill Harrison, in White Bear Lake, for Paul Menns' dental records.”

  Ben stared at her, then pulled his notepad toward him and wrote down the name. “Got a phone number?”