The Bitter Season (Kovac and Liska, #5)(105)

“They both studied martial arts as kids,” Kovac said. “Imagine her reaction if Daddy told them he was giving away their inheritance.”

“Charlie denied knowing about that,” Taylor said, “but I wasn’t convinced. He said their father was always making threats like that, but that he would never follow through.”

“He was following through this time,” Kovac said.

“So Big Sis picked up the phone and called her ninja lover at Rising Wings,” Tippen suggested. “Oh, won’t you please slaughter my father for me, Gordon? He’s so mean.”

“She saw Gordon Krauss at the house the day he was there to do the repairs,” Kovac said. “Tweedle Dumber told me she was slinking around Krauss like a cat in heat.”

“She probably watched him do the deed,” Elwood said.

“Watched?” Kovac asked. “Hell, she could have beaten her father to death herself. Whoever did it had a whole lot of rage. Then either Krauss or Sato took care of the mother.”

“Or Charlie,” Taylor said. “After yesterday, we know he can lose control. And he certainly knows more than he’s saying.”

“Were there any calls from Diana’s phone that might have been to Krauss?” Kovac asked. “To Rising Wings? To a pay phone? Anything?”

“No, but she’s smart enough; she could have used a burner,” Taylor said. “Disposable phones are everywhere.

“I’m still bothered by the anomaly in the calls from the mother’s phone,” he went on. “I hope to hear back from the phone company today what towers those calls were pinging off. I asked Charlie if I could listen to the message his mother left Tuesday night. He said he erased it.”

“But we know the call was made,” Elwood said.

“But we only have his word about the message. What if Diana pocketed that phone Sunday night? What if the call was only for show?”

“Why steal her mother’s phone?” Tippen asked.

“To disarm the security system from the app.”

“I like that,” Kovac said. “Gold star for Junior.”

“You didn’t drive to Dinkytown and ask the girl if she put a beat-down on her brother and hacked her mother up with a sword, Mr. Overachiever?” Tippen asked.

“The lights were off, and she didn’t answer the door,” Taylor returned. “I didn’t see her car on the street. And she never answers her phone.”

“She was probably off eating a bloody steak with her bare hands,” Kovac said, pushing to his feet. He looked at Elwood and Tippen. “You two stay on Gordon Krauss.”

He grabbed his coat and hat and nodded to Taylor. “We’re going to find Ms. Chamberlain and have a chat about her taste in men.”





35


Evi Burke had called in sick to work. Nikki mused on that on the drive south. Was she sick, as in the stomach flu? Was she sick, as in the work flu? Was she sick, as in afraid of a stalker? Was she sick, as in detectives came to her house and asked her questions that upset her?

“I’m freaking Typhoid Mary,” she muttered to herself, thinking of Jennifer Duffy lying in a hospital bed, recovering from a stomach pumping and suicidal intentions.

It made Nikki sick to think about it. Over and over she went through her meeting with Ted Duffy’s daughter. Had she pushed too hard? She didn’t think so. She knew what it was to go after a suspect like a tigress when it was the method that would yield the best result, but she prided herself on being able to read people and find the path of least resistance to get the information she needed.

They had talked about being the daughters of cops, how it was hard, how their fathers had been distant from them, how kids took things to heart. Jennifer Duffy had not spoken of her father in a sentimental way, and yet she had clearly absorbed some of the guilt the afternoon he died below her bedroom window. She had smiled a little remembering her secret bedtime reading sessions with Angie Jeager. Then a cloud had passed over her memories, and the smile had faded away.

She knew something. Something she had kept secret all these years. Something that had sent her to therapy. Something that had driven her to take an overdose of pills.

And the family had rallied around her.

What the hell was that about? Nikki wondered as she pulled up in front of the Burkes’ charming little English-cottage-style house.

Evi Burke’s husband answered the door. He was a virtual Viking god in the flesh. In jeans and a faded navy-blue thermal shirt that hugged sculpted muscles, he looked like he could have been a few years younger than his wife. Jackpot, Evi Burke, Nikki thought as he invited her in.

“What’s this about?” he asked, not letting her get any farther than the entryway. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a stance with his feet shoulder-width apart. The protector. “We’re looking for a person of interest in a homicide,” Nikki said. “And we’re trying to learn as much as we can about him.

“We think he might be connected to one of your wife’s clients at the Chrysalis Center,” she lied. “Mrs. Burke may have had an encounter with him during a home visit.”

“Do you think he’s in our neighborhood? There’ve been a lot of radio cars on the street.”

“A clerk at the SuperAmerica on Thirty-fourth thinks he might have seen him this morning. We’ve saturated the surrounding area with patrol cars.”