Deadly Target (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 6) Page 22
“And since that day?”
“She was having a bad day at work on Monday.” Her brow furrowed. “I chalked it up to something with one of her clients. When I asked her what was going on, she snapped at me, then apologized. Then she explained it away as there was a situation she had to deal with, but she couldn’t tell me right then.”
“How was she acting?” Ernie asked.
“She just seemed jittery. She wouldn’t tell me about what, though.”
“What did she do the rest of the day?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t see her that much. I had a lot of meetings. At five, I saw her head out the door, and I waved to her. I didn’t talk to her again after that.” Sadness filled her eyes. “And then, of course, we heard about Nick.”
“After Rachel had a bad day.”
“Yes.”
“She never said anything bad about Nick? That she was irritated with him?”
The eyes suddenly widened. “Do you think she had something to do with that?”
Ernie was noncommittal. “We’re asking questions, gathering what information we can.”
She shook her head at him. “Rachel wouldn’t have hurt her husband, I know that.”
“You’re sure there was no trouble between her and Nick?”
“Well, I can’t be sure, but not that I know of.”
Ernie waved a hand around. “Any trouble here at work?”
“No. Rachel’s a great co-worker, and I haven’t heard of her being in any trouble.” She pulled out a cell phone and checked the time. “I’m sorry, but I have a conference call. Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s it.”
Ernie thanked her for her time, and she left. He spent the next hour talking to several of Rachel’s co-workers, and the answers were the same, no problems with Rachel’s marriage, no problems at her work. Oakley finished his interviews, they thanked Veronica, and then they headed to the elevator.
“Anything?” Ernie asked him as they rode to the lobby.
Oakley shrugged. “Haley Plunkett said Rachel is a great worker, she’s happy to have Rachel on the team, that kind of thing. I asked about anything weird going on, and she said she didn’t think so, but that Rachel seemed stressed the last week or so.”
“And Haley was shocked by Nick’s death.”
“Yeah,” Oakley said as they walked outside. He held up a piece of paper. “Haley gave me a list of Rachel’s clients. She didn’t want me to get a warrant, but she also asked me to be discreet with this.”
“Of course,” Ernie said. “Let’s get Tara to do some research on these companies.”
“I’ve already emailed her a copy.” Oakley drew in a breath. “What do you think?”
Ernie filled him in on his interviews. “Rachel isn’t on the level,” he concluded. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s there. I want to talk to her again.” He stopped at Oakley’s car. “Why don’t you help Spats go back over interviews to see if we missed anything. Dig into her more, her background, her finances.”
“And you?”
Ernie checked his email as he talked. “Still nothing from Enterprise Car Rental, no surveillance video. I was hoping to see if the cameras picked up Smith returning the car.” He shrugged, then said, “I’m going to see if Rachel’s home. If so, I’m going to stir the pot, see if I can get her to crack in any way.” He hesitated. “You know, I figured Rachel’s nervousness was from seeing her husband murdered right in front of her. Now I’m wondering what she might be hiding.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
When Ernie pulled up in front of Rachel Armistead’s house, it looked quiet, no cars on the street in front of the house except his, no cars in her driveway. He hadn’t called ahead of time; he’d wanted to surprise her, but now he hoped he hadn’t wasted a trip here. He got out, hefted up his pants, and walked up the sidewalk to the front door. He rang the bell and waited. After a moment, he rang again. The sun was out, but it was cool. With a sigh, he knocked on the door. Still nothing. He turned around and stared at the street. He pulled out his cell phone, found Rachel’s number, and dialed it. It went immediately to voicemail.
Ernie left a message to call him back as soon as she could. He ended the call, turned around, and rang the bell again. Still no luck. He stepped off the porch, went to a window, and peered inside. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the coffee table in the living room was tipped over. His stomach knotted with worry as he considered what to do. Then he walked down the sidewalk to Julie Novack’s house. He rang the bell there, and this time he was rewarded when she answered the door.
“Oh, Detective.” Hesitant, not happy to see him. “What can I do for you?”
“Have you seen Rachel today?”
She shook her head. “No, I haven’t, and I haven’t talked to her, either.” She must’ve seen the worry on his face. “Is something wrong?”
“Has Rachel ever mentioned that there was something troubling at her work, or that she was worried about something herself?”
She pursed her lips. “No, I don’t think so. What’s going on?”
Ernie didn’t answer that, but shifted and looked back to Rachel’s house. “You wouldn’t happen to have a key to the Armistead house?”
“Actually, we do. And they have one to ours.”
“Would you mind getting it?”
“Not at all.” She turned and disappeared in the house. Ernie heard soft rock music. Then she returned a moment later and held up a key. “Here it is.”
He nodded for her to follow him, and they walked back to the Armistead house. He rang the bell again for good measure, but didn’t get an answer. He gestured at the lock.
“Would you unlock the door?”
She nodded and gave him a hesitant look as she complied. Then she pushed the door open and looked at him expectantly. Ernie thanked her and pushed the door open further. Silence greeted him. He glanced at Julie as he stepped into the foyer.
“Rachel?”
When he didn’t get a reply, he moved farther inside and looked into the living room. Then he swore. The coffee table was turned on its side, and a few news magazines were strewn about the floor. A wingback chair was angled, facing the wall more than the room. Ernie saw depressions in the carpet where the chair legs should’ve been. A standing lamp was knocked over as well. Behind him, Julie sucked in a breath.
“Oh my God, what happened?”
Ernie hadn’t heard Julie come in. He pointed at the door. “Please step back outside.”
She went white, but she nodded and backed out the door. Ernie quickly went through the house. The Armisteads had good taste, nice furniture in all the rooms, artwork on the walls. But Rachel wasn’t there. Ernie called her again. No answer. He went through the kitchen into the garage. Their BMW had been impounded, but a silver Lexus was parked in one spot. He went back into the house, quickly searched it, then pulled out his cell phone and called for backup. After that, he called Spats.
“I think someone took Rachel,” he said when Spats answered.
Spats swore under his breath. “What’s going on?”
Ernie told him about the scene, then said, “I’m going to get a forensic unit here, but I don’t think we’ll find anything. If we’re dealing with professionals, they would’ve been too careful.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” Spats swore. “I’m working on that warrant for her phone records, and I’ll head over there.”
Ernie almost reached for a cigar in his coat, but then stopped himself. “This isn’t good at all. I don’t like this.”
Spats muttered something unintelligible. Ernie went back through the house and found Julie on the front porch.
“Where’s Rachel? Is she okay?” she asked, her face drawn.
“She’s gone, I’m not sure where.” He grilled Julie to make sure she didn’t know where Rachel was, then handed her a business card. “It’s important that I talk to her, so if she gets in touch with you, let me know right away.”
Ernie thanked her for her help and took her by the elbow. “Please, go home now.”
She didn’t protest much, but nodded slowly and walked down the sidewalk. Ernie called another number.
A couple of hours later, the CSI team had finished at the Armistead house. They had dusted for prints and scoured the place for any clues to Rachel’s disappearance. They’d come up with nothing. Oakley was talking to Rachel’s family and friends again to see if she’d been in touch with them. Spats had gotten the warrant, and he’d had the phone companies send the records to Tara. Then he’d joined Ernie at Rachel’s house. Ernie still hadn’t heard from Rachel, even after multiple phone calls to her cell phone. He’d called her work, and no one had been in contact with her. He left instructions for Veronica to call him right away if anyone heard from Rachel.
“Think she’ll show up?” Spats asked as he and Ernie stood on her front porch.
Ernie frowned. “I don’t know.” He gestured toward two officers who were at a house on the corner. “They’re canvassing the neighborhood to see if anyone saw Rachel today, or anything else out of the ordinary.”
“I’ll call Rachel’s gym, see if she showed up there.”
“Check with her friends to see where else she might’ve gone.”
Spats nodded. “I’ll call with any news.”
Ernie watched Spats go to his car and drive away, then he walked to his sedan and returned to the station. Oakley was about to leave.
“I’ve talked to Nick’s parents. They haven’t seen or heard from Rachel. I’m going to talk to her parents. They’re really upset, and I should be over there.”
Ernie swore softly. “This investigation has gone crazy.”
Oakley sneezed, then excused himself. “No argument from me.” He walked out of the room.
Ernie grabbed a Coke, and he logged onto his laptop and began scouring interviews with Rachel’s family and friends. He was making notes when Rizzo walked into the room.
“What’s the update?” he asked.
Ernie gave him a look. “You’re not going to like this. Rachel Armistead is gone.”
“Gone?” As was his habit, Rizzo leaned against Ernie’s desk.
“Possibly abducted.” He filled Rizzo in, including Smith’s driver’s license. “This all looks like we’re dealing with a professional.”
Rizzo swore. “What has Rachel gotten herself into?”
“She’s not answering her phone. She’s not contacting friends or her work. I put out an APB, and the CSI team will let me know if they get any fingerprint matches from her house. I doubt they’ll find anything.”
Rizzo let out a discouraged grunt. “This is not good.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You have no idea where Rachel might’ve gone?”
“None.”
Through his open office door, Rizzo heard his desk phone ring. He stood straight. “Keep me posted,” he called over his shoulder.
“Will do,” Ernie said. Then his own desk phone rang.
“It’s Tara. I got that list of Rachel’s clients from her boss, and I also have some scans from her computer. And we just got her phone records.”
“That’s great, fast work.”
“And I … got some hits comparing Joe Smith’s photo to the facial recognition software. I think you’ll want to see this.”
Ernie didn’t like the worry in her tone. “I’ll be right down.”
He gulped some Coke, logged off his laptop, and headed down to Tara’s office. When he got there, she was studying her monitor. He stood in the doorway and cleared his throat. She glanced up and waved him over.
“Take a look at this.”
Ernie looked over Tara’s shoulder. She had Joe Smith’s photo on the left side of her screen, and next to it, a picture of a man with similar features who stared at the camera. He held a placard with a number. A typical jail photo. Ernie studied both images. The known Joe Smith had lighter hair and he had a mustache, which the other picture didn’t, and Smith’s eyes were lighter, but the facial points of the two images were similar.
“That’s a pretty good match,” he concluded.
“I thought so.”
Ernie squinted at the photo on the right. “Anthony Kinnear. What do you know about him?”
Tara rubbed her hands together. “He’s purported to be an assassin for the Molchan crime syndicate in New York.”
“Never heard of them.”
“I hadn’t either. They’re a Ukrainian group with ties to Russia.”
“Lovely.” Ernie shook his head in disgust.
“They’re led by a woman named Sofia Soroka, which, by the way, means ‘magpie.’ I don’t have any name for her except that. There’s not a lot on her, as she seems to fly under the radar.”
Ernie glanced at her. “Pun intended?”
“Of course, Ernie. Because you know how I love puns,” she said, rolling her eyes but grinning at him. She pulled up another screen. “Here’s a picture of her.”
“Red hair, dark eyes,” Ernie said. “She doesn’t look like a crook.”
“From what I’ve read, she’s ruthless. She’s suspected of ordering the killings of several people over the years. She’s known to get what she wants.”
“Just great,” he said.
“It gets better.” She tabbed to another window. “See here?”
He stared at the screen. “What am I looking at?”
“This is a company that’s one of Rachel Armistead’s clients.”
“Ace Collision Repair?” Ernie knew he sounded skeptical. “They make enough to employ a financial person?”
She nodded emphatically. “From what I could gather, they make millions. It seems there’s big money in auto repair, especially if you’re dealing with stolen vehicles.”
“True.”
She tapped the monitor. “Here’s the thing. Ace Collision is tied to Real-Time Corporation.”
Ernie had to think back. “Joe Smith used a credit card issued to Real-Time Corporation.”
“Yes. And I told you all that Real-Time is associated with yet another company, Diamond Dust.”
“Yeah?”
“It took some digging, but Diamond Dust is associated with another company that has links to one that Sofia Soroka is associated with.”
Ernie turned to look at her. “You have proof of that?”
She shook her head. “Soroka’s too smart for that. But I’ve found some online articles that speculate about it. And, Rachel received a couple of phone calls from New York last Friday and Monday.”
“Would that be unusual?”
“Not necessarily. She does receive calls from the East Coast, here and there, but just two calls from New York in the last few days?”
He swore and stood straight. “This is really good work. What time does Ace Collision close?”
“Five.”
“What’s the address?” She wrote it down for him. He glanced at his watch. “I might be able to make it.”
“You’re going by there?”
He nodded. “What if Joe Smith – Anthony Kinnear – is there? What if he took Rachel there?”
“You think he’d do that?”
Ernie shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ernie called Spats and Oakley as he dashed to his car. Neither one answered, and he left brief messages about what Tara had discovered. Then he drove east on Interstate 70 to Ace Collision Repair in Aurora. He weaved in and out of traffic, driving faster than he should. A few irate drivers honked at him as he exited the highway. He gripped the wheel hard as he sped down North Airport Road. It was almost six when he neared Ace Collision Repair, the sun already sinking in the western sky. Ernie parked across the street and down the block. A chain-link fence surrounded a huge lot that included a large building, which housed an office in the front end, toward the entrance gate, and some garage bays in the back
. Near a gate was the front office. Dozens of cars in various states of repair were parked throughout the rest of the lot. It appeared to be an upscale operation, more expensive cars, the whole facility newer. Ernie called Spats again, got no reply, then texted him to let him know where he was. Something caught his eye, and he looked up to see a dark SUV turn off the street and pull up to the entrance gate. Someone in the car punched a keypad and the gate slid open. The SUV drove to the back of the building, and then Ernie lost sight of it behind some cars. He got out of the sedan, crossed the street, and walked up the sidewalk toward the still-open gate. As he drew closer, he saw a tall man with long dark hair standing near the closed garage bays. Ernie sped up and waved a hand.
“Hey there,” he called out.
The man turned to look at him.
“Yeah?”
Even with that one word, Ernie thought he detected an accent. He didn’t want to signal he was a cop, so he winged it. “I’m wondering if I could talk to you about my car. It’s –”
That’s as far as Ernie got before the man glared at him and approached the gate. The man crossed his arms, his muscles bulging. “We’re closed. Come back tomorrow.” His eyes were cold, and the man’s stubble of beard couldn’t hide a thin scar along his left cheek bone.
Ernie wanted desperately to get inside the building, to see whether he could find Rachel or Joe Smith. “But you don’t understand,” he said, and again he got no further.
“Tomorrow.”
The man punched a keypad near the gate and it rolled shut. He watched as Ernie shrugged helplessly and turned around. Ernie walked back down the street, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the man was going back into the office. Ernie got to the corner, dashed across the street, and sneaked back to his car. He got in, but didn’t start the engine. Instead, he sat and watched the office. A light came on over the entrance to the office. Ernie pulled binoculars from under the seat and trained them on the office. A minute later, someone stepped outside. Ernie swore to himself. Even in the bad light, it looked a lot like the man they’d seen on the surveillance video and in the driver’s license photo. Joe Smith, aka Anthony Kinnear, the assassin. He wore the same baseball cap, but now he had no mustache.