“Talked to, yes, but didn’t confide in. Sure, she’d tell me about men she knew who wanted her, but not usually their names. She’d say things like, ‘this guy came on to me’ or ‘this cop’s been after me to go out with him.’”
“This cop?” Intrigued now, Romana caught his lapel and eased him out of the doorway. “Did she actually say, ‘this cop’?”
“Yes, a few times.”
“Did you get a sense of who ‘this cop’ was?”
“I assumed she meant Knight.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because she knew him, and she let everyone know she knew him.”
Romana wanted to get this absolutely straight. “So sometimes she’d say Jacob Knight, and other times she’d say ‘this cop.’ Is that right?”
“I guess so. I never thought about it possibly being two different people.” He gave his head a perplexed shake. “Are you saying that some other cop might have killed her? Because I heard her say Jacob Knight-and she used his name-wanted her dead.”
Romana’s mind raced. “He wouldn’t get her a restraining order.”
“He wouldn’t-what?” Perplexity became outright confusion. “Okay, I’m lost. Belinda asked Knight for a restraining order? Against who?”
“Answer died with her, Patrick.”
“Really lost now. How does Belinda asking Knight for a restraining order change what I heard her say on the phone? Or does it?”
“Jacob wouldn’t give her what she wanted, so in her mind, maybe he wanted her to die.”
“Ah-h-h.” Comprehension dawned. “Because whoever she wanted to keep at bay had threatened her life. Knight knew that, but still wouldn’t cooperate.”
“It’s a wild theory,” Romana acknowledged, but she let it build. “So now we have ‘this cop’ who might not be Jacob and a statement you overheard that could be construed in more than one way.”
Patrick hunched his shoulders against the wind that gusted under the overhang. “I’m glad I’m a doctor and not a cop. My head hurts just thinking about where you’re going with this.” Relief blossomed as he looked past her. “Thank God, O’Keefe’s here. You can bounce your wild theories off him. Let me know if you hear from Fitz.”
O’Keefe raised a hand to Patrick in parting. “Sorry I took so long, Romana. Plumbing problem in my basement. Where’s Jacob? And what kind of a wild theory was Patrick talking about? Does it involve Critch?”
“Doesn’t everything?” She scraped her fingernail over his tie. “You have a red stain, Detective.”
Grinning, he buttoned his coat. “I stopped for a chili dog. Three minutes at the drive-through. Come on, into my car.
We’ll discuss wild theories and how to get red sauce out of polyester.”
Romana set a forestalling hand on his arm. “Jacob went to meet someone, Mick. He left you a message about it. It’s someone he’s known for years with an expensive habit to support. He had that determined-cop gleam he gets in his eyes when he knows he’s in for a challenge.”
“Poison darts weren’t enough, huh?”
“No, they just pissed him off. And scared the hell out of me. Dr. McGee says a direct hit could have killed him.”
“Or you.”
“That’s not the point, is it? The brakes failing felt like a warning, like he was playing with us. Hurting Jacob’s neighbor, taking Fitz, that’s torment. Tonight was an attack.”
O’Keefe unlocked the door of his serviceable Escort. “You’re not exactly easing my mind here, Romana.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m piecing it together, trying to get inside Critch’s head, trying to see if he even has a plan.”
“Oh, I’d say he has one. Could be it’s been modified a time or two, but ultimately he’ll know how he wants it to play out.”
“Not exactly easing my mind here, O’Keefe.”
He chuckled at the sarcasm. “Let’s do it this way. You tell me about your wild theory, and I’ll tell you about Jacob’s post-Academy days, with his veteran partner and an overeager rookie who now has an expensive habit to support. One homicide turned vice cop named Gary Canter.”
MIDNIGHT CAME AND WENT. Belinda’s murderer came and went. Fitz shivered in the dark and the cold, but the fact that she was alive to shiver spelled hope to her.
Twice now she’d cooked meals for her captor, but always with one hand shackled to the leg of a heavy table. Like a dog in the backyard, she had a long lead, but chained, could go no farther than the kitchen. And so far the key to the cuff on her wrist had eluded her.
But tomorrow was another day, and it would bring another chance. Her lucky third chance, she prayed.
“Help me, Ro,” she whispered out the tiny window in front of her. “I swear I’ll never steal again. Just help me make my Christmas miracle happen.”
And with her cousin’s voice urging her on, she began to plot.
ROMANA WAS DOODLING A PICTURE of Warren Critch’s face when the door to Denny Leech’s apartment opened and a bandaged head with long white hair and a pink ball cap poked out.
“Thought I heard something.” She surveyed the lobby before drawing a baseball bat from behind her back. “I’m glad it’s you, dear.”
Romana stayed where she was, on the upper step outside the elevator. “I’m waiting for Jacob. His captain told me he checked in at 1:00 a.m. and said he was going home for a while. How’s your head?”
“Too tough to crack, but I wish I’d thought about ripping off that ski mask.”
Romana doodled a mustache onto Critch’s face. “What did he say when he knocked on your door?”
She snorted. “Claimed he was a courier with a package from my daughter in Columbus. I checked my security monitor, but it was all wiggly lines and fuzz, so, stupid me, I opened the door and, whoops, he grabbed me.”
Romana heard a sound at the entrance and glanced up. Jacob came in, pocketing his keys. He seemed more surprised to see the two women talking than he was by Romana’s actual presence.
“Suspicious of everyone and everything, this one.” Denny beamed at him. “But he’s a cutie, and I’d give my painting arm to be thirty again.”
With a wink, she picked up her bat and disappeared back into her apartment.
“You live in a building of night owls, Jacob.” Romana doodled a dart with mistletoe leaves plunged into the center of Critch’s forehead. “Your upstairs neighbor invited me to join him for coffee and a hands-on demonstration of his spa tub. And the one on the mezzanine level has been in and out of his place twice with a suitcase. He’s either re-creating a scene from
“He makes jewelry. His suitcase is his sample case.”
She smiled, closed her notepad. “Jewelry samples at
1:40 a.m.? Like I said,
“You weren’t home, so I dropped them off at Fitz’s place.”
Her eyes danced. “I’d say I was sorry I missed you, but here we are, so I guess it’s all the same in the end. How was your meeting?” He kept coming, hadn’t broken eye contact yet. “What meeting?” Her long coat swirled around her ankles as she descended the stairs. “I talked to O’Keefe.” “Probably made his night.”
“He told me about you and your first partner. He also mentioned another rookie and a vehicle pursuit that got out of hand.”
“O’Keefe does like his stories.”
“Yes, he does. At the wheel in this one was Sergeant Harry Plant. Next to him was his rookie partner, Officer Gary Canter. Police vehicle overturned. Plant was DOA. Canter almost lost his right leg. He was in rehab for months. A second patrol apprehended the runners. Veteran officer Roy Cleary, rookie officer Jacob Knight. Officers Cleary and Knight received commendations for their backup effort, which resulted in the arrest and conviction of a dealer with warrants in five states.
