CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The San Diego sky was bright and cloudless as Veronica turned down a quiet residential street, well behind the white Nissan that carried Bellamy and his sixteen-year-old daughter to his ex’s house.
Her decision to start tailing him had essentially been an impulse, born of frustration and restlessness. The e-mails she’d sent to the call girls had been met with silence, and the alerts Mac had put on his credit cards and bank accounts had turned up nothing.
And so had her surveillance. The three previous times she’d tailed him that week he went straight from his apartment to the PSU campus and back again, stopping only for take-out or fast food. Once home, he didn’t go out again. It wasn’t entirely surprising. Bellamy was all about measured control—until, of course, he snapped. After being questioned by the San Diego police, it followed that he’d play the part of model citizen.
That afternoon, though, he’d broken his routine and taken his daughter to a used car dealership, where they walked through a lot filled with ten-year-old Toyotas. Bellamy had obviously thought he was going to make her day with the promise of her own wheels. From a few rows away, Veronica had heard snatches of his eager words: “…know it’s not flashy, but it’ll be all yours!”
The girl had hung back the whole time, looking sullen and dispirited. Veronica couldn’t tell if it was her dad’s company that had her in this state, his taste in cars, or something else entirely. His ex had sole custody of both kids, and Bellamy had to request visitation on a case-by-case basis. While there was no evidence of abuse or neglect in the official documents, the arrangement struck Veronica as unusual.
Maybe she threatened to go public with something if he didn’t give her the kids. She could have known about the prostitutes—or maybe she’d been his first victim.
Now he pulled up at the foot of a sloping yard, dryscaped to survive the SoCal droughts. In addition to the kids, his ex had won the house in the divorce, a stucco two-story with flower boxes in the windows, a grand step up from his two-bedroom rental in a drab apartment complex called Sunset Cove, which offered neither a sunset view nor proximity to a cove. Hard to feel too sorry for the guy, she thought. Somehow he still manages to scrounge up enough cash to hire $500-per-hour call girls.
Veronica passed him without slowing, then pulled up to the side of the road several blocks ahead, taking out her phone and pretending to make a call. In her side mirror, she watched as the morose-looking girl got out of the car and started up the driveway without pausing to hug her father good-bye. Bellamy stood awkwardly next to the car until his daughter disappeared through the door. Then he got in his car and started the engine.
Veronica checked the time on her phone. It was almost five thirty; she and Logan had plans to go to her father’s for dinner that night. If she was going to be on time, she had to leave right now. She sighed, and put the car into drive. Just then, Bellamy sped up the street toward her. In her rearview mirror, she saw his light blue eyes narrow.
For a split second, she was sure he recognized her. But a moment later he blew past her, turned on his blinker, and cut left, no doubt going back to his apartment, stopping for something tragically unhealthy in a foil wrapper on the way.
—
By the time Veronica pulled up in front of Keith’s house, she could smell the burgers cooking.
She and Keith had instituted the Daddy-Daughter Dinners when she first moved out of his house a few months earlier—a weekly night set aside for them to hang out and catch up. Even working in the same building, there were weeks when they barely saw each other. Since Logan’s return he’d been a sincerely welcomed, if mildly awkward, addition.
When she opened the gate to the backyard, Pony scampered up to her, barking shrilly. She knelt down and ruffled the puppy’s fur. Keith stood at the grill, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and shorts; Logan clutched a sweating glass of water at the patio table. He cast her a relieved look as she approached.
“Perfect timing. You missed all the cattle-slaughtering, butchering, and grilling—just in time to eat,” said her father.
“I know better than to come between men and their blood rituals. I figured the whole meat-on-fire thing was a chance for you two to bond.” She took Logan’s water out of his hand and took a sip.
They settled around the table, the light starting to dim over the yard. Keith piled his plate with salad, then passed the bowl around to Logan. “Dig in, guys.”
“Three months on shore, and I have to tell you, real food hasn’t gotten old yet,” said Logan. He picked up his burger and eyed it appreciatively before taking an enormous bite. Then he closed his eyes and sighed with deep satisfaction.
“Those monosyllabic reviews are the ones you like to hear,” Keith said, grinding pepper over his salad.
Veronica’s mind began to wander as Keith and Logan made small talk. She was trying to decide whether she should drive back out to San Diego the next day. It was Saturday, so there wouldn’t be basketball practice. Maybe Bellamy would break routine in a real way. Then again, maybe he’ll just sit around his apartment watching ESPN all day, and I’ll be stuck in a parking lot watching his car bake in the sun.
Logan’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen and frowned.
“Hey, this is a buddy of mine on the Truman. You guys mind if I grab this?”
“Go ahead,” Keith said, smiling. Logan stood up from the table and went in through the sliding glass doors, already pressing the phone to his ear. Pony followed at his heels.
Keith looked at Veronica. “You’re somewhere else tonight. What’s up?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, Dad. This case is making me crazy.”
She briefly summarized what she’d done since Bellamy’s test results had come back. He listened, raising his eyebrows when she described The Erotic Critique, nodding with approval when she told him how she and Mac had combed through the reviewers and pinpointed Mr. Kiss and Tell.
“But it’s been three days and none of the women have responded to my e-mail,” she finished. “I’ve got no word from potential vics, no witnesses, and no other leads.” She stabbed at her salad with her fork. “I’ve been following him, but he’s not doing anything wrong that I can see. I don’t know what else to do.”
Keith leaned back in his chair and looked up thoughtfully. “Well, have you tried talking to Lamb?”
For a moment the only sound was a car backfiring somewhere in the neighborhood. She stared at her father in disbelief.
“Lamb? What’s he going to do?”
“Well, the crime happened in his jurisdiction.” Keith gave her a humorless smile. “He can request a search warrant.”
Veronica snorted. “Sure. I’ll just call my BFF Dan Lamb and ask him to do me a solid.”
“Lamb knows this election depends on how good his stats look. He’ll want this collar.”
She set down her fork, suddenly not hungry. But her dad was right; she didn’t have a lot of options. And Lamb might just be desperate enough in the midst of this election to listen to her.
She looked up at the sound of the glass doors sliding opening. “There you are. That was a long…”
She came up short at the sight of Logan’s bone-white face. The jagged line of a single tear ran down one cheek and he bit at his lip, clearly trying to control his emotions. Instinctively, Veronica stood up from her seat, her skin going suddenly clammy.
For a moment he stood there, his phone still clutched in his hand. Then his eyes met hers.
“There was an accident,” he said. “On the Truman.”