Silence stretched on the other end, and I wondered if I'd pushed too hard. Or not hard enough. I had no idea what I was doing and was completely out of my element. I glanced over at Bill who nodded encouragingly.
“How about noon?” Wayne finally said.
“That's perfect,” I replied with a grin. “I'll be by then. What's the address?”
As I grabbed a pen and jotted it down on the cover of a magazine, I noted my shaky hand. “Thank you, Wayne, and have a great night.”
“Peace.”
I hung up and sighed. “Tomorrow at noon.”
“Excellent,” Bill said, standing. “I'm going to case the place tomorrow for about an hour before you arrive just to make sure it's safe. I'll meet you there.”
“Do you want me to write down the address for you?”
He picked up the magazine and stared at it for a moment. “Nope. I've got it. I'll see you then. Goodnight, Patty. Lock the door behind me.”
I did just that and hobbled into the bedroom to get ready for bed. As I washed my face, I wondered if by offering to help find the killer, I’d put a target on my own back.
And was Bill really interested in me, or was he just taking me up on my offer to introduce him to all the suspects? How did I tell the difference?
The next day, while I dressed and applied a little bit of makeup, I tested walking around without my crutches. My ankle felt pretty good. To be safe, I slipped on my run-abouts—no heels for me—with a pair of pink capris and a white blouse with a matching sweater. The rain had begun to fall once again and the drafty apartment definitely held a bit of a chill.
I had slept well, but the question still played in the back of my mind: was Bill interested in me, or was I only a means to an end—catching a killer?
And no matter what the answer, did it matter? Yes, I found him attractive, charming, and very exciting, but he also lived in another state. Besides, I wasn't interested in a relationship. My goal was to see the world. I needed to do my time in the back of the plane and move up the ladder.
I took a cab to the address Wayne had provided. When the driver pulled up in front of an old warehouse, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd either written it down incorrectly, or he gave me the wrong one. People moved in and out of the building, so at least it wasn't abandoned. Perhaps it had been renovated into apartments.
As I exited the vehicle, I glanced around for Bill. I found him on the other side of the street standing under the awning of a Chinese Food restaurant. His stare narrowed as I limped toward him.
“How's the foot?” he asked, his gaze sliding over to the building.
“It's getting better. I can't wait to get rid of these crutches, but I didn't think now was the time.”
He checked his watch. “Let's head inside. It's noon.”
My assumption that the building had been renovated into apartments had been correct. We found Wayne's on the first floor, last door on the left.
Bill nodded and stood to the side with his back against the wall so that when Wayne opened the door, he wouldn't see the agent. Raising my hand, I tapped on the wooden panel that reminded me of a barn door.
My heart thundered as I waited for Wayne to answer.
Footsteps sounded inside, and the panel slid to the side. I smiled when Wayne came into view, his hair still a greasy curtain.
“Hey,” he said. “Come on in.”
As he stepped to the left, I entered. I heard the door beginning to close behind me, but then Wayne yelled.
I turned to see Bill holding up his badge in one hand while shoving Wayne with the other. “Let's take a seat, partner,” the agent growled as he pushed him toward the sofa.
I remained cemented to my spot, thoroughly stunned and unable to move. Bill handled the man so roughly, it surprised me. I supposed I should have expected to see that side of him sooner or later.
Wayne sat down on the old, tattered brown couch and raised his hands to his shoulders. “What's the deal, man? I don't have any drugs on me.”
“I'm not interested in your drugs,” Bill said, standing in front of him. “I'm interested in the death of Charles Bernard and I want you to tell me exactly where you were the day he died.”
I'd always been a big believer that a person could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, and Bill seemed to be going pretty hard at Wayne.
“Get out of my apartment, pig.”
“Not until you answer my question,” Bill said, his tone low and deadly.
The two stared at each other for a long moment. Wayne became more agitated by the second, his hands shaking and his lips moving as though he had a conversation no one else could hear. He then shot up from the couch and pushed Bill, who lost his balance and fell backward on the coffee table.
Wayne ran for the door as I screamed.
I didn't know what to do. Let him go? Step out of the way? Try to stop him? If I truly had been Bill's partner, what would be expected of me?
I did the only thing I could think of: I stretched out my arm and tripped him with my crutch.
Chapter 11
Wayne landed face-first on the wooden floor. Bill struggled to standing, then ran over and stood over him.
“Nice work,” Bill murmured as he leaned over and grabbed the other man's arm, hauling him to his feet.
Wayne glared at me and I smiled apologetically. “We need to get to the bottom of the murder,” I said. “Please help us.”
Once Wayne was back in position, Bill asked, “Why are you running?”
“Because you're a cop!” the guy
