The Killing Game(93)

“I know.” His face was white as chalk. “I had to talk to that detective.” He strode inside and sank onto the couch. “What a nightmare.” He shoved stiff fingers through his hair before another thought struck him. “Whose truck is that? The one parked outside.”

“It’s a friend’s. Luke Denton.”

“Where is he?” Peering around, he eyed the sleeping bag rolled up on the couch beside him.

“Right here,” Luke said, entering the room. He was dressed, but his feet were bare. Jarrett barely seemed to notice.

“What did you say to the detective?” Andi asked. “Jarrett, were you with Trini on Friday night?”

“God, Andi, I’m just sick.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Yeah, I was there. I met her at a bar down the street. I met her purposely, and I walked home with her. She was making dinner....” He broke off and swallowed hard. “Oh Jesus. I would never hurt her.” When he lifted his eyes they were swimming with tears, his fists balled. “Never! You gotta believe me. I didn’t realize I’d left my wallet till yesterday afternoon. I tried texting her, calling her, but . . . she didn’t answer.” His voice cracked and he threw his head backward, staring at the ceiling.

“Andi said Trini was meeting her boyfriend Friday,” Luke said.

Jarrett said, “He stood her up. But maybe he came back later. I don’t know.” His face twisted at the thought. “That’s what I told the detective.”

“What did he ask you?” Luke questioned.

Jarret finally seemed to focus on Luke. Andi could tell he was wondering what the deal was, so she explained, “Luke’s an investigator. I hired him to help me with the Carreras.”

Jarrett’s eyes slid toward the bedroom, but what he said was, “He asked me if I’d bought her an energy bar. I said, ‘No, I bought her a drink.’ Energy bar? What did he mean?”

Andi started to say something, but Luke caught her eye and shook his head. She felt a flash of anger, aware that Luke wasn’t completely trusting Jarrett’s story. But she clamped her mouth shut.

Luke asked, “Is Thompkins looking at it as a homicide?”

“He wouldn’t give me my wallet back. Does that answer your question?”

Luke shrugged and shook his head.

Jarrett looked at Andi, and his white face finally flushed with color. “Who was this boyfriend anyway? She said he drove her to drink.”

“She called him Bobby,” Andi said. “She met him in one of her classes.”

“Well, my money’s on him,” Jarrett said, his jaw tightening. “And if I find out he had anything to do with this,” he added with a cold calm, “I’ll kill the bastard myself.”

*

Jarrett stayed for another hour, but he was inconsolable and had trouble tracking any conversation. Andi ached for him, and Trini, but somehow knowing Jarrett cared as much as he did made the situation more bearable. When he left, he was still awash in misery. After she closed the door behind him, she turned to Luke and said, “He didn’t have anything to do with Trini’s death.”

“I just didn’t want to give anything away.”

“He’s still in love with her.”

He nodded but didn’t seem totally convinced.

“Trust me, I know my brother,” Andi insisted. “He’s closed off and careful, but he’s no actor. He loved her.”

“Okay.” Luke half smiled.

“You believe me?”

“I believe somebody wiped his wallet clean of fingerprints, which seems to indicate another player. And from what you’ve said about her, I don’t think Trini just missed the information about cricket flour in the energy bar. I think it’s a homicide.” His expression grew dark. “And I think we’d better start looking for Bobby.”

*

I’ve let circumstances affect the game and I’ve had to take care of loose ends. But it’s time to ramp up. I have momentum and I won’t let others get in my way any longer. There is one final piece to my puzzle and it’s taking place tonight. While I wait for my next little bird, I’ll compose my note to Andi about her lover in my head.

I look down the rails of the tracks at my feet, imagining how the night will develop. I get hard just thinking about it.

Time to fade back and wait for the train.

So many little birds . . .

*

The Portland MAX station was damn near empty at this late hour. Christine Brandewaite waited impatiently for the eastbound train that would take her to Gresham. She really wanted a cigarette but she’d run out at work and wasn’t supposed to smoke on the job anyway, though she did sometimes, locking herself in her office at Nachatz Trucking, which was sometimes sniggered at as No Chance Trucking, and well, their reputation for delivery kinda proved that right. It was Sunday night, but she worked weekends mostly, and no one paid too much attention to her.

Christine shivered, but it wasn’t a shiver of cold. It was anticipation. She probably shouldn’t smoke now anyway, before she saw Robert. OMG the man did things to her that were scarcely legal!

She laughed silently to herself. She’d spent way too many hours searching dating web sites with no success. Losers. Fucking losers, every one. But then Robert had asked to be her friend on Facebook, and she’d thought who the hell is this guy? but she’d seen his picture . . . okay, it wasn’t strictly his, but that was part of the joke, wasn’t it? And anyway, he’d turned out even better, so no harm, no foul. And well, she was closing in on forty, and that f*cking bastard Gerald had told her she looked like a gristly, dried-up sixty-year-old . . . Heaven Sent Matchmaking, my ass . . . so it had been so nice to have someone like Robert appear.