“You’re with her now? What the hell’s going on?” Mort grabbed his parka.
“Call came in less than an hour ago. Her baker works nights. Guy comes in to start his shift, finds the kitchen trashed, calls 911.”
“Is Williams all right?” Mort asked. “She was a wreck when I left her.”
“She’s not here. We tried calling her home. No answer. Her baker tried her cell. I got a bad feeling when it rang right here. Behind the refrigerator.”
Mort realized the Chief of Forensics wouldn’t be called to a routine break-in.
“What aren’t you not telling me, Jimmy?”
He heard De Villa take a deep breath. “There’s blood, Mort. Lots of it. You better get down here.”
Bruiser was sitting at attention just inside the bakery’s front door. Mort ruffled the dog’s neck and called out to Jimmy. His friend waved him in. He was careful not to step in any blood before Jimmy’s team had a chance to photograph the smears and take samples. Mort sidestepped technicians and overturned kitchen mixers, blenders, and stools. Baking pans and cooking utensils littered the polished concrete floor of the industrial kitchen. Mort watched a member of Jimmy’s team process a bloody palm print on the stainless steel counter.
“Somebody put up a fight,” Mort said as his eyes scanned the room. “Anybody reach Williams yet?”
“We reached two of the gals she works with.” Jimmy pulled a notepad from his blazer pocket. “According to them Cameron closed up shop for the day not long after you left. They said they had one lunch to cater on campus. Cameron told them to take care of it and leave her alone. She was still crying in her office when they got back to unload and clean-up. They left up around 3:30. They assumed she was alone.” Jimmy nodded to the uniformed officer across the room. “I sent Ironson over to Cameron’s house. All she found was her dog, eager as hell to get out and do his business. Cameron’s baker says she’s crazy about that pooch. Wouldn’t dream of letting him miss a walk.”
“Any idea how old this blood is?” Mort swallowed the bitter metallic that gathered at the back of his throat.
“Only the shallowest smears are dried.” Jimmy dipped a gloved index finger into a small dollop of blood on the floor. “This is recent. Couldn’t have happened more than a couple of hours ago.”
“So Williams is alive and alone at 3:30. By 8:30 the joint’s trashed and she’s missing.” Mort scanned the ceiling. “Any security cameras?”
“That would be too easy.” Jimmy nodded down the hall. “You think this is bad? Walk this way.”
Mort followed his friend, dodging technicians and drops of blood splattered down the length of the narrow corridor. They turned into a room and gave their eyes time to adjust to the glare of the photographer’s floodlights.
“The baker says this is Cameron’s office.” Jimmy inched past his busy staffer to stand beside a desk cluttered with blood-blotched papers. “My guess is this is where the intruder got her.”
Mort grabbed the vinyl gloves Jimmy offered, snapped them on and lifted pages off the floor. “What are you thinking, Jim? Was she hit with something? Maybe stabbed?”
“Look here.” Jimmy stepped over a broken picture frame and crossed behind the desk. He tapped his pen next to a hole in the plaster. “We pulled a slug from the wall.”
Mort breathed deep and caught a faint scent of gunpowder. “She was shot? Then what? Stumbles into the kitchen for a fight?”
“Maybe,” Jimmy said. “Maybe she startles the bad guy in the kitchen, he shoots but just grazes her. They fight, she breaks away and runs into the office, he follows and finishes her off.”
Mort looked around. “Then where is she?”
“We got alerts out to all the hospitals,” Jim said. “Nothing. Want to hear something interesting?”
Mort opened Carmen’s top desk drawer and started sifting through. “I’ll take anything.”
“Guess who Cameron was all set to marry before she ups and falls in love with Bastian The Ape Butcher?” Jimmy pointed a thumb over his left shoulder. “Leisha out there tells me it was all the scandal in certain circles. None other than Bradley Wells. Leisha’s husband works at Wells’ headquarters. Said Mr. Got Money was out of his head about it. Took it out on his staff for months, she says.”
Mort looked around the ravaged room. “The same guy who grew up working corners with guys who do stuff like this if they’re bored on Friday night.” He nodded slow and easy. “Now he takes power lunches with university presidents.” He shook his head at the bloody mess. “So, the guy who steals his sweetheart gets a contract put out on him and now the sweetheart herself goes dead.” Mort smiled at his good friend. “What do you say we have a little chat with Wells tomorrow?”
Jimmy grinned. “Micki’s gonna love this story. Come on. My team can finish up here. Let’s head to Smitty’s and strategize.”
Mort turned to close Cameron’s desk drawer. A business card peeked out of the stack of paperclips and straight pins. He teased it out with his latexed finger and jerked his head back.
Lydia Corriger
Licensed Clinical Psychologist
He tucked the card into his pocket before turning. “You and Bruiser head on out, Jim. I think I’ll go home and strategize on my own.
Chapter Forty
Lydia wiped her hand over her face. Had she dreamt the noise? She glanced at the clock. Eight seventeen. Only four hours of sleep last night. Loud pounding cleared any drowsiness. Her feet hit the floor as she grabbed her pistol off the nightstand. She held the Lugar in a two-handed grip and dashed down the hall.
“Lydia!” A muffled voice called through the wooden front door. “It’s Mort Grant. Open up.”
She aimed the gun at the door and glanced into the living room. The dawn gave just enough light to prove the room empty. A dozen thoughts raced through her mind as to the purpose of Mort’s presence. None of them promising.
“Hang on, Mort.” Lydia feigned grogginess. “You woke me up. Let me get a robe.” She hurried through her bedroom and peeked out the bathroom window. No squad cars in her driveway. Mort was alone. She willed her breathing to slow and pulled a white terry cloth wrap from a hook behind the bathroom door. She dropped the Lugar into a deep pocket, cinched the belt tight, and headed for the entry hall.
“It’s Saturday.” Lydia held her front door open a few inches. “And it’s early.”
Mort widened the gap with a no-nonsense push. “I didn’t want to give you time to come up with excuses.” He stepped in and looked across the living room. The rising sun glistened off the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Dana Passage was streaked with gold.
He turned and scanned her from head to toe. “Where’s your kitchen? I’ll make us some coffee.”
Lydia kept her hand in her pocket, holding the Lugar tight against her leg. She stared at Mort and saw something in his eyes she couldn’t identify. He held her gaze. She pulled her hand free and ran it through her bed- tossed hair.
“Right through there.” She pointed down the hall. “Coffee’s in the copper canister next to the pot. There’s milk in the fridge.”
Mort nodded. “Go brush your teeth.”
Ten minutes later they were at her dining room table. She’d changed into her workout clothes and left her pistol in the bedroom. There were others.
Mort sat to take full advantage of the view. Lydia was across from him. She wanted an unobstructed sightline to the front door.
Mort tapped the coaster under his ceramic mug and stared at her. Though she was exhausted to the point of uselessness, every cell in Lydia’s body was on high alert. She forced her hands calm and lifted her own mug to her lips.
“Why are you here, Mort?” She was pleased with the steadiness of her voice.
