“Then how could anyone get shot? Carpet would not only prevent the shooter from seeing, but leave a bullet hole.”
“Not if the stuff lies loose and isn’t tacked or glued down. The rest of the room was, but not the closet, which is probably why no one thought of it. The shooter cut a hole—very well I might add, only cut through the ceiling and not the floor covering. He tosses it back, waits for victim to open the closet, bang, pulls the carpet in place and glues in the ceiling hole.”
“Pretty smart.”
“And he might have gotten away with it too—”
“If not for those pesky kids,” Bobby finished.
“Scooby-Doo,” Sullivan said. “Love that show. Bought the tie.”
“Of course you did. Did you catch the guy?”
“Yep. Typical perp. Smart about some things, not so much about most of them. He registered for the room under his own name.”
Bobby was constantly amazed, and by now he really shouldn’t be, at how dumb some people were.
“You wanna tell me why you had a hunch about a case that is so cold I got shivers just thinking about it?”
Bobby had a shiver right now. He’d had a lot of them since coming to New Bergin. He blamed the autumn chill, which had settled over the crime scene like an icy fog as the sun fell toward the trees.
“We solved the case. Does it matter why?”
“Suppose not.”
“Out of curiosity, why did he do it?”
“A woman.”
“Figures.” When a murder wasn’t about the opposite sex, it was about money. And a lot of times it was about both.
Which made him wonder about his current murder. Sex or money? Both or neither? Bobby no longer thought these murders were random, but if not, then what were they about?
His head ached again. Probably time for more aspirin. Or a new job.
“I’ll be in touch.”
“I can’t wait,” his partner replied.
“Asshole,” Bobby said, which rounded the conversation nicely.
The local police were still working the scene, because the scene was all over the place.
“You need help?” he asked Johnson.
“Not from you.” The chief rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. You look horrible. Go home.”
“Happy to.” Bobby headed for his car.
“Not home, home,” Johnson shouted. “Don’t leave town.”
“Hadn’t planned to.” Bobby drove toward his current home away from home, which led him on the same path he’d taken the first night he’d come. And like that night, he stopped in front of Raye’s apartment. Not because she ran in front of his car, but because he happened to notice that the crime scene tape was gone. Raye hadn’t mentioned that her apartment had been cleared and neither had Johnson.
Then he saw a flicker of yellow over the edge of the landing. As if someone had yanked off the tape and gone inside.
The window was open. Flickers of light played on the ceiling. Not gold, like a lamp. Not blue, like a television. If Raye were there, wouldn’t she have turned on both?
He got out of the car and climbed the stairs, hoping none of them creaked. To avoid an overworked area, he crept along the guardrail, careful not to jiggle it too. He made it to the landing without a sound—you’d think he’d done this before. Once there, he listened, thought he heard a voice inside, but he couldn’t be sure.
Was Raye on the phone? Talking to herself? She seemed to make a habit of that, but really, who didn’t? He listened again, but he couldn’t tell if the voice was hers.
He was tempted to call her name, but what if it wasn’t her? What if it was another maniac? Right now surprise was on his side.
He drew his gun with one hand and turned the doorknob with the other.
Chapter 14
As I’d obsessively checked the lock on the door, it didn’t open. Still, I was stuck in here, with someone out there trying to get in. I could call a cop, but by the time any arrived I’d be dead. In that moment, I really wished I had my father’s gun.
The door rattled. My breath caught, and the butcher knife from the block on the counter flew toward me. I snatched it out of the air. Startling, a little frightening, but also very handy. I might be bringing a knife to a gunfight, but better than bringing nothing at all.
My heart pounded so loudly I was afraid whoever was out there would hear it. If not that, then definitely my rasping attempts not to hyperventilate. I considered calling out, Who’s there? Or perhaps, I’m armed! But maybe, just maybe, if they thought I was gone they’d go away too. So I bit my lip and remained silent.