The Bitter Season (Kovac and Liska, #5)(59)

“Did any of these people know the Chamberlains?”

“The professors were acquaintances, not friends.”

“Lucien Chamberlain didn’t have any friends,” Kovac said.

“The wives were friendly,” Elwood said. “They served on a museum charity together. Mrs. Johnson is pretty broken up about what happened.”

“Had any of these people had handyman work done recently?” Mascherino asked.

“All of them,” Tippen said. “Two different companies. The CPA used Handy Dandy, and the Johnsons used Lundquist Contracting.”

“What’s the proximity of the two houses from one another?” Taylor asked.

“Same street, about a block apart,” Elwood said. “So, anyone working either job might have cased other houses in the neighborhood. And these houses are about two blocks away from the Chamberlains’.”

“So what’s the update on your missing handyman?” the lieutenant asked, turning back to Kovac and Taylor.

“We don’t have one yet,” Taylor said. “There’s no Gordon Krauss in the system.”

“The name is probably an aka,” Kovac said. “He came out of a church shelter. They didn’t care what name he used. The rehab took him as a charity case. They didn’t bother with paperwork. Nobody’s checking up on this mutt. He could be anyone.”

“If we can get our warrant for his room at Rising Wings, we can lift his prints,” Tippen said. “Prints don’t lie.”

“You’ll have it by the time we finish lunch,” Mascherino said. “Have there been any sightings of him today?”

“Not that have panned out,” Elwood said.

“And Michael, how’s your head?” she asked, looking at Taylor.

“I’m fine, ma’am. A little headache and a stiff neck is all.”

“Good,” she said. “When is the last time a suspect used martial arts to get away from you—any of you?”

“Never,” Taylor said. “But if this guy is a veteran, then he’s had some combatives training. And he’s pretty good if he can land a kick like that.”

“I’ll be interested to see if he has a pair of nunchucks in his room,” Kovac said.

The lieutenant sighed and pushed the last of her sandwich aside on its little square of brown paper. She may not have been in the office all night, or out in the rain looking for their phantom suspect, but she had stayed late and come in early, and here she was now with her suit jacket off and the sleeves of her crisp white blouse neatly rolled up. That was more than Kovac could have said for a lot of lieutenants.

“I’ve spoken with the Chamberlains’ family attorney,” she said. “He’s been out of the country. He got back late Tuesday evening. He says Professor Chamberlain called his office Monday morning and made an appointment for late Wednesday afternoon.”

“Did he say what the appointment was for?” Kovac asked.

“He didn’t know. He said Chamberlain would never have told his secretary. He was a very private man.”

“He and the daughter were supposed to meet with Ms. Ngoukani at the Office for Conflict Resolution late Wednesday,” Taylor said.

Kovac arched a brow. “Sounds like maybe he decided he didn’t care to resolve that conflict after all.”

“But he had to,” Taylor countered, “or he wasn’t getting the promotion.”

“We’re missing a puzzle piece,” Mascherino said as she rose to leave. “Go find it.”

Kovac breathed a long sigh and glanced at his watch as the lieutenant made her exit. They had an hour before they had to leave for the Chamberlain house.

“I’m gonna lock myself in a room for an hour,” he said to Taylor. “Come find me when it’s time to go. Or if you solve the case in the meantime, that’d be good, too.”

An hour of shut-eye would recharge his batteries enough for him to get through the afternoon.

He stepped out of the war room and ducked right.

“Sam Kovac! You’re a sore sight for my eyes.”

“Oooooh man!” Kovac groaned. “The most beautiful woman in my life, and you have to catch me on the backside of an all-nighter? You’re heartless, Red.”

“You’re working the latest crime of the century,” Kate Quinn said. “Murder is not a pretty business.”

He’d been in love with her for years, the girl of his dreams: a tall, gorgeous redhead with a quick mind and a smart mouth. But she had always been out of his league (or so he thought), and she had ended up with an FBI profiler who looked like George Clooney.

“What can I do for you, Gorgeous?”

“Can I have a few minutes?”

“You can have as many minutes as you need,” he said, motioning toward the interview room he had earmarked for his nap. “What’s up? How’s it going at Chrysalis? I saw the piece in the paper. Nice write-up.”

He had first known Kate as a victim/witness advocate for the county, a job she left when she and the profiler started their family. She came back to the same field, but in the private sector, working part time for the Chrysalis Center as a liaison with law enforcement and the county attorney’s office.

“Seeing how there’s no end to human depravity, poverty, and cruelty, we’re doing a booming business,” she said, taking a seat. “We’re up to our ears in victims of the sex trade, homeless teenagers who’ve aged out of the foster care system, young women trying to transition out of rehab to make a life.