The Kept Woman (Will Trent 8) Read online

  Her time hadn’t just been wasted in strip clubs and liquor stores. She had spent a good hour walking up and down the Mesa Arms knocking on doors that were never answered, peering through windows that showed well-appointed, otherwise empty homes. The sign outside the property manager’s office said that they would be back at two, which had already come and gone. The heat-resistant tennis players had shown up ten minutes ago. Faith was headed toward the courts when a wave of dizziness had sent her back to the car. She had tested her blood sugar under the roar of the Mini’s air conditioning because Sara’s lecture about badly managed diabetes had hit home.

  Poor Sara.

  ‘Okay,’ Faith mumbled, psyching herself up for a return to the heat. She cut the engine. Before she could open the door, her phone chirped. She turned the engine back on so she could sit in the air conditioning. ‘Mitchell.’

  Amanda said, ‘Will found a Jane Doe in the office building across the street. Junkie. Homeless. OD’d on a giant bag full of blow. Looks like it was on purpose. Her nose and throat collapsed. She’s at Grady. Surgery should be two hours. Do what you can at Harding’s, then go sit on her. I’d bet my eyeteeth she saw something.’

  Faith silently repeated everything back in her head so that she could make sense of all the information. ‘Do we know why she wanted to kill herself?’

  ‘She’s a junkie,’ Amanda said, as if that was as good an explanation as any. ‘I got your text with Harding’s address. The search warrant is being faxed to the property manager.’

  ‘No one’s there. I called the emergency number, I knocked on doors. Not a lot of people seem to be home, which is weird, because it’s some kind of retirement community. It’s actually really nice. Nicer than Harding could afford, I would guess.’

  ‘It’s owned by a shell company. We’re trying to trace it back, but we know Kilpatrick owns a lot of expensive real estate that he lets out well below market value.’

  ‘Smart.’ Faith had to hand it to Marcus Rippy’s fixer. The guy knew how to squirm his way out of a legally binding financial entanglement. She told Amanda, ‘Not a bad way to hide some money. Harding lives in old people Shangri-La for a nominal sum, Kilpatrick keeps him off the official payroll.’

  ‘Incidentally, Harding bought the car brand new six months ago. Paid cash.’

  ‘Harding did a lot of new things with money six months ago.’

  ‘Tell me you have a lead.’

  ‘Not yet.’ Faith hedged her words so they didn’t give false hope. ‘I mean, I don’t know what I have other than a feeling that something isn’t adding up.’

  Amanda sighed, but to her credit she never faulted them for listening to their instincts. ‘Collier heard back from the hospitals. All the stabbing victims are accounted for. Two domestics. One bar fight. Another was self-inflicted, said the knife slipped into her side while she was cooking.’

  Faith couldn’t muster any surprise over the number of unrelated stabbings. She had worked this job too long. ‘I should have Harding’s bank accounts and phone records within the hour. I’ll start going through everything as soon as it hits my email. Meanwhile, I guess I can interrupt the tennis players. So far, they’re the only people I’ve seen.’

  ‘Angie’s blood is all over the crime scene.’

  Faith bit her lip. This just kept getting worse. ‘How did Will take the news?’

  ‘He didn’t hear it. And he won’t. Hold on.’ The phone clicked as Amanda took another call.

  Faith picked at the stitching on the steering wheel. She thought about Will, the devastated look on his face when Charlie said the gun was registered to Angie. The only thing worse than his expression was Sara’s. Amanda had sent them all away to give Will and Sara some privacy, but there had been a long line to sign out of the crime scene at the front door and Faith had managed to catch the gist of their discussion.

  Sara was a better woman than Faith. If Faith had found out that her lover’s ex was rifling through her things—not just rifling, but stealing—Faith would’ve burned down his fucking house.

  ‘Faith?’ Amanda had clicked back onto the line. ‘Have you heard from Will?’

  ‘Yeah, we had a long conversation about his feelings while he braided my hair.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for your humor.’ Amanda had let an uncharacteristic edge of concern enter her tone. Will’s weird, Flowers-in-the-Attic-y relationship with Angie paled in comparison to the dysfunctional freak show he had with Amanda. She was the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother, if you were constantly afraid that your mother would smother you in your sleep.

  Amanda said, ‘Will left after he found the Jane Doe. Just disappeared. I have no idea where he is. He’s not at home. He’s not answering his phones.’

  Faith knew he didn’t have a car at the scene. ‘Did he get a ride from Sara?’

  ‘She was already gone when the Jane Doe was found.’

  ‘I suppose that’s one small blessing.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m sure he’s working on a new way to screw that up.’

  Unfortunately, Faith was equally certain. ‘Do you think Angie’s dead?’

  ‘We can only hope.’ Amanda sounded like she meant it. ‘I sent Collier to help you search Harding’s place.’

  ‘I don’t need his help.’

  ‘I don’t care. Hold on again.’ Amanda’s voice was muffled as she barked an order to an unseen underling. She told Faith, ‘I’ve managed to force a meeting with Kip Kilpatrick’s team at four o’clock. Get Collier started at Harding’s, then head over to the hospital. I don’t want you spending too much time with him.’

  Faith felt her hackles rise. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means he’s your type.’

  Faith was too stunned to laugh. ‘Does he drive a sixty-thousand-dollar truck and live in his mother’s trailer?’

  Amanda chuckled. The phone clicked again. She had hung up.

  Faith stared at the phone. There was not much to recommend having your godmother as your boss. Actually, there was a lot that advised against it.

  She set the alarm on her phone to go off in an hour. In her experience, the surgeons at Grady were always faster than they predicted, and Faith wanted to be standing by Jane Doe’s bed when she finally came round. You only got one chance to surprise a witness, and considering how close this case cut to home, Faith wasn’t going to blow it.

  She put her hand on the car key but didn’t turn off the engine. The air conditioning was too precious to cut a second too short. She looked at the tennis court, which, un-mesa-like, was over a hill and up several steps. She looked at Harding’s front door, which was considerably closer. There was a fake-looking rock in the low-maintenance yard that likely contained a spare key. The search warrant was probably sitting in the fax machine inside the manager’s office. She could go ahead and get started.

  Faith was getting out of her car when Collier pulled up in a black Dodge Charger. Aerosmith leaked out of the closed windows. There was a figurine of a grass-skirted, half-naked Hawaiian girl stuck to the dashboard. His wheels skidded across the asphalt as he braked, threw the gear into reverse, and backed into the space beside Faith’s Mini.

  He gave her the once-over as he got out of the Charger, the same as he had this morning. He seemed appreciative, even though she was wearing her GBI regs—dark blue shirt, khakis and a thigh holster because the uniform was unflattering enough without adding two inches of Glock on her hip.

  ‘What’s that?’ She pointed to the two round Band-Aids wrapped around the top of his right ear. Blood had dried into the crevices.

  ‘Cut myself shaving.’

  ‘With a machete?’

  ‘My Epilady broke.’ He glanced into the back of Faith’s car, taking in the baby seat and scattered Cheerios.

  She laid it all out in the open. ‘I have a one-year-old and a twenty-year-old.’

  ‘Uh, yeah. You were APD for fifteen years before you jumped ship. Never married. Graduated from Tech. Your mom w
as on the job. Your dad was an insurance agent, rest in peace. You live two streets over from your mom in a house your grandmother left you, which is how you can live in a nice neighborhood on a state salary.’ He pushed up his sunglasses. ‘Come on, Mitchell. You know cops gossip like bitchy little girls. I already know everything about you.’

  Faith started up the sidewalk.

  ‘I’m the second oldest of nine myself.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Faith muttered, thinking of his poor mother.

  ‘Dad’s a retired cop. Two brothers are with APD, another two are with Fulton County, another is in McDonough. I’ve got a sister who’s a fireman but we don’t talk about her.’

  Faith picked up the fake rock, only to find that it was a real rock.

  ‘Come on, Mitchell.’ Collier was like a puppy nipping at her heels. ‘I know you checked me out. What’d your mom say?’

  Faith made an educated guess. ‘That you’re cocky and prone to mistakes.’

  He grinned. ‘I knew she’d remember me.’

  Faith thought of something. ‘Where did you take Will?’

  He stopped grinning. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Will disappeared after he found the Jane Doe in the office building. Where did you take him?’

  ‘That’s some class-A detective work there, partner. But he didn’t find her. Well, he did, but I was there too. So you could say we both found her.’

  ‘I’m not your partner.’ Faith knelt down and studied the rocks. All of them looked fake. ‘Are you going to answer me?’

  ‘I took him to his house.’ Collier shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Don’t ask me why, ’cause I can’t tell you. My sister says I should’a been the fireman ’cause I’m the dumbass who runs into the burning building instead of running away from it.’

  ‘Do you know why the Jane Doe tried to kill herself?’

  He shrugged. ‘She’s a junkie.’

  Faith picked up a suspiciously dull rock. This one was a real fake. She slid back the plastic cover, expecting to find the house key.

  Empty.

  Collier asked, ‘Did your mom tell you I had a wrestling accident in high school?’ He was leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed. ‘Testicular torsion.’

  Faith tossed the empty rock back into the yard.

  ‘Tragedy, really.’ He ran his fingers through his hair as he squinted into the distance. ‘I’ll never be able to have kids.’ He winked at her, because that was obviously in the script. ‘Hasn’t stopped me from trying.’

  ‘Hello?’ A hippy-looking woman in flip-flops and a belted yellow shirt dress was walking up the sidewalk. Her long gray hair was loose around her shoulders. She held a stack of papers in one hand and wore a loaded springy keychain on her wrist. ‘Are you the police lady who called?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Faith pulled her ID out of her pocket. ‘I’m Special Agent Faith Mitchell. This is—’

  ‘Oh, I don’t need to see that, hon. You’ve both got POLICE written on the back of your shirts.’

  Faith put away her ID, skipping the lecture about how you could put POLICE on the back of anything these days.

  The woman said, ‘Can’t say I’m surprised something bad happened to ol’ Dale. He wasn’t one for making friends.’ Her shoes flip-flopped across the front walk. She banged her fist on Harding’s door. The keys on the springy ring clattered around her wrist. ‘Hello?’ She banged again. ‘Hello?’

  Faith asked, ‘Was he living with someone?’

  ‘No. Sorry, force of habit. I do a lot of wellness checks, and I never enter a house without knocking.’ She extended her hand. ‘I’m Violet Nelson, by the way. The property manager. Sorry I was out so long. I got hung up at the library.’

  ‘Were you involved in leasing this place to Harding?’

  ‘That would be the responsibility of the owners, and the documents list them as a corporation based in Delaware, I’m assuming for the tax breaks.’ She searched her keyring, checking the neat color-coded labels. ‘Ugh, I need my glasses. Do either of you . . . ?’

  Faith looked at Collier, because he was a hell of a lot closer to needing reading glasses than she was.

  He gave one of his squinty smiles. ‘I’m younger than I look.’

  ‘It’ll hit you soon enough. Both of you.’ Violet laughed, but it wasn’t funny. She kept going through the keys. There were at least fifty of them. Faith didn’t offer to help, because Violet struck her as prone to idle chatter. ‘I’ll unlock this door and y’all can take as long as you want. Just slip the keys back through the slot in my office door when you leave.’

  Faith exchanged another look with Collier, because this wasn’t the usual attitude of a property manager. Then again, most of the property managers they dealt with worked behind cages or bulletproof glass.

  Faith said, ‘I knocked on some of the neighbors’ doors. Doesn’t seem like anybody is home today.’

  ‘It’s busier on the weekends.’ Violet tried to push a key into the lock. ‘No one really retires anymore. They’ve all got part-time jobs. Some of the luckier ones volunteer. Come four o’clock, you’ll find most of us down at the club house for cocktail hour.’

  Faith would pass out if she had a drink at four in the afternoon. She asked the woman, ‘Did you know Dale Harding?’

  ‘I knew him well enough.’ Violet didn’t seem happy about it. ‘He was a pain in my posterior, let me tell you.’

  Faith rolled her hand, letting the woman know she should do just that.

  ‘Let’s just say that he wasn’t the cleanest-living person.’

  Collier guessed, ‘Women? Booze?’

  ‘Trash,’ she said, then caught herself. ‘Not like white trash. Like real trash—things that should be thrown away but aren’t. I wouldn’t call him a hoarder. It’s more like he was just too lazy to walk to the trashcan. There were complaints about odors from Barbara. That’s the gal next door. Spoiled food, she said, the stink of it just wafting through the walls to her side of the house. I smelled it myself. Disgusting. I’ve written about ten letters to the company in Delaware, with no luck. We’ve been talking to the HOA lawyers for months about what to do.’

  ‘That’s horrible,’ Faith said, thinking that it never occurred to normal people that the smell of spoiled food was remarkably similar to the odor from a decaying body. ‘What else?’

  ‘They were constantly bickering.’ Violet tried another key. ‘Barb and Dale. Well, Dale and everybody, but especially Barb. They just rubbed each other the wrong way.’ She jammed in another key, with no success. ‘I had to step in a few times to help turn down the heat. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Dale was . . .’ She struggled for the word.

  ‘An asshole?’ Faith suggested, because that seemed to be the word of consensus.

  ‘Yes, an asshole,’ Violet agreed. ‘So if this was like Midsomer Murders and you were asking if Dale had any enemies, the answer is that he went out of his way to make enemies.’ She pointed to the windows. ‘Those hideous curtains are a perfect example. The bylaws clearly state everyone should have white window coverings. When I sent him a letter about the pink curtains, he sent back a note on fake stationery from a fake law firm saying that I was discriminating against him because he’s a homosexual.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘As if a gay man of that age would buy polyester curtains.’

  Faith watched her try another key. She was going through the entire ring. ‘What about Barb, the next-door neighbor? You said it got heated?’

  ‘He taunted her. For no reason. Just picked and picked and picked.’

  ‘For instance?’

  Violet waved toward the front yard. ‘These were her gnomes, and her grandson gave her that rabbit. We all knew that. She dressed them all in matching seasonal jackets. Red on Valentine’s Day. Plaid for Armistice Day.’ She shrugged. ‘To each her own. But one day Barb comes to me and says the strangest thing has happened. All the gnomes and the rabbit are gone from her yard. We chalked it up to kids. Some of the grandchildren around
here are a bunch of juvenile delinquents. Blood will out, as they say. But then two days later, Dale puts out the gnomes and the rabbit in his front yard and they’re wearing pink jackets. And not even jackets that fit.’ She tried another key. ‘Actually, there were four gnomes, but he’d painted one of them in blackface, which is expressly forbidden in the homeowners’ bylaws.’ She lowered her voice, explaining, ‘If we didn’t have the rule, this whole place would be lit up with lawn jockeys.’

  So much for Shangri-La. ‘Did Harding have any regular visitors?’

  ‘Nary a one that I ever saw.’

  Collier asked, ‘Did he keep a schedule?’

  ‘He was home more often than not, which was extremely annoying, let me tell you. Gave him time to mess with people. As lazy as he was, he’d walk two streets over to yell at a grandkid having too much fun in the pool.’

  ‘When did he move in?’

  Violet tried another key. ‘Six months ago, maybe? I’ve got the paperwork somewhere. Give me your email and I’ll scan it to you. He’s past due on his HOA fees.’ She finally found the correct key. ‘That’s homeowners’—’

  Collier stopped her hand on the doorknob.

  Faith had her Glock in her hands before she completely processed what was happening.

  There was a noise inside the house.

  Rustling, like someone was trying to be quiet.

  Faith looked at the fake rock. There was no key. Why have a fake rock when you didn’t have a key?

  Unless someone had already used the key to get inside.

  Collier put his finger to his lips before Violet could ask for an explanation. He indicated for her to move back, then back some more, until she was standing on the other side of his car.

  The noise came again. Louder this time.

  Collier took out his phone and whispered a call-in for backup, then he motioned for Faith to take the lead.

  Which meant that fifty years of feminism would probably end up getting Faith gut-shot.

  She tapped her finger on the side of her Glock, just above the trigger, which is where they were trained to keep their finger until they had made the decision to shoot. She thought about her bulletproof vest in the car. The baby seat for her precious daughter. The bottle of water her thoughtful mother had given her this morning. The photo of her beautiful son on her phone.