Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(112)

I stiffen. “If you are suggesting that we overspend, let me remind you that people are trapped here. Yes, we could cut back on coffee or baked goods or books, but those things are important to residents.”

“I agree, which is why I’m trimming in other areas, so that you will have more money for those luxuries.”

“Oh.” I glance over my shoulder as residents pass, looking over in curiosity. “Can I come in, Phil. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

He waves me inside. I ask him to show me where he kept his luggage. I confirm that both the gun and the watch were inside it. I also confirm that he hadn’t seen the watch between the shooting and the time we returned it.

I should have checked on this earlier, ascertained exactly where he’d kept the watch and when he’d last seen it. After Roy’s episode, it seemed obvious that whoever drugged him also planted the watch, especially if they were trying to frame him, which Petra was.

Yet Petra didn’t plant the watch, and I believe her, because it was a clumsy move, and she is not clumsy. She would take one look at Roy and know he wouldn’t covet Phil’s expensive but delicate watch. Roy was an asshole, but he wasn’t an idiot. Hiding it for two years wouldn’t be worth the few hundred bucks he could fence it for when he left, especially when Petra would know his background, know he was hardly the sort who’d know where to find a fence or a guy who needed a few hundred bucks.

No, it was clumsily done, meaning that Petra wasn’t the only one framing Roy.

“Detective?” Phil says, as I stand there, brain whirring, making connections. “You have something?”

I don’t answer the questions. I ask more about access to his house. He keeps it locked, unlike most residents, meaning whoever got the gun either broke in or had entry. Those who’ve had entry, though, have barely gotten past the door, meaning whoever did this likely broke in. That person knew what they were looking for, though. Knew Phil had a gun. And the person I have in mind is on the short list of those who definitely knew, having witnessed the aftermath of the first time Phil pulled that damned gun on us.

“You have a suspect?” Phil asks as I’m preparing to leave.

“I have a theory.”

He frowns, clearly vexed with my answer, and despite my wandering thoughts, I almost have to smile at his vexation. Phil has that kind of male-model face where every expression looks like something in a stock photo collection. Type in “vexed man” or “annoyed man” or “man concentrating” and you get someone like Phil, his perfect jawline and perfect mouth set in whatever perfect expression you require.

I notice this, and I’m reminded of my thoughts about Sebastian, and how he could hide because of his face, nothing extraordinary about it, not eye-catching handsome or the opposite. Phil might have a very pretty face, but it’s equally cookie-cutter in its way, as that stock-photo perfect visage. And as I think this, I’m not really thinking of Phil or Sebastian at all. I’m remembering Roy with his beard half shaved, and then Petra, talking in the forest.

Then I’m thinking of another face, as blandly average as Sebastian’s. I’m thinking of a photograph.

I’m thinking of a mistake I’ve made.

The mistake of looking at a photograph and saying, “Sure that looks like so-and-so,” because it did look like him. But it wasn’t.





FORTY-FIVE

As I’m walking to the station, Diana crosses the road ahead, moving fast, and finger waves. I remember something I overheard at the clinic—something potentially useful. I consider for a moment. Then I jog to catch up.

“You’re in a hurry,” I say. “Eager to play nurse for Roy and Paul? I heard that’s your job today.”

She rolls her eyes. “Believe me, I’m only rushing because I’m late and I don’t need your sister giving me crap. She’s as delightful as always. I’ve offered to look after Kenny, while she checks on Paul and Roy, but no . . . She gets the nice guy.”

“Roy’s an asshole,” I say. “Take backup when you visit him.”

“Oh, I do.” She pulls a knife from her pocket, and I have to laugh at that.

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “You do know that, statistically speaking, you’re more likely to get stabbed with that than stab your attacker.”

Another roll of her eyes, as if I’m kidding. I’m not, but with Roy, if he did try anything, one flash of that blade should stop him.

“Paul’s fine, though, isn’t he?” I say. “I know he’s expressed interest. Has he been bothering you?”

“No more than usual. It’s not harassment, just pestering. He’s interested, and I’m not.”

“Well, I know one problem here can be guys making up stories, since there’s no way to do a background check. If you ever have trouble, I can’t tell you why someone’s here, but I can . . . suggest when they’re full of shit. Has Paul said anything about that?”

It’s a shot in the dark. But she says, “Nothing specific. Just hints that he’s one of the white-collar criminals. A man with money.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. He made it clear that I might want to get in on that, an investment toward my future. As if I couldn’t possibly be here for the same reason because I’m a woman.”