Christina looked away. ‘I know. But I can’t help you this time.’
This time? Thorne wanted to ask what she meant by that, but Gwyn took another step forward because Christina had turned to go a second time.
‘I’m sorry,’ Gwyn said, ‘but I can’t just walk away without at least asking a few questions and properly warning you. We went to see Darian Hinman yesterday. He was one of your brother’s friends, and they were all friends of Richard Linden nineteen years ago. Darian was dead when we got there. He’d been dead for days and Thorne has an unshakable alibi for the time of the murder. He was with a group that includes a Baltimore homicide detective and the senior assistant state’s attorney.’
‘That has nothing to do with my brother,’ Christina said, but her eyes flickered nervously.
‘You could be right,’ Gwyn said, ‘but we don’t think you are. Richard Linden’s sister was killed shortly after Darian Hinman, just hours apart. There are indications that the same man did it. Someone is killing people now who were connected to Richard Linden then. Your brother was connected to him then.’
Christina swayed as all the color drained from her face. She put a hand against the frame of the open doorway to steady herself. ‘Oh. Well.’ She huffed out a breath that sounded far more afraid than dismissive. ‘I still don’t know what any of this has to do with Colton. He left the state after his graduation. He hasn’t come back. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now.’
Gwyn started to say more, but Thorne lightly gripped her elbow and tugged her back against him. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll go.’ He pulled a business card from his wallet and left it on her counter. ‘My cell number is on there. If you think of anything, or if anyone bothers you, please call me.’ He took a step toward the door, Gwyn in tow. ‘And you should lock your door. I know you’re a place of business, but the people behind this aren’t playing around. They’re snipping off loose ends, and eight people are already dead, two of them just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Please be careful.’
The three of them left, closing the door. Thorne heard a distinct click as Christina locked it behind them.
‘At least she listened to you,’ JD said as he walked Thorne and Gwyn to their borrowed SUV. He looked over his shoulder. ‘She’s watching us. What’ll you bet she’s on the phone with her little brother right now?’
‘I hope so,’ Thorne murmured. ‘And I hope she’s careful.’
JD clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You warned her. That’s all you can do. Where to?’
Thorne made a face. ‘Chandler Nystrom, former cop turned personal security officer.’
‘Mall cop?’ JD asked.
Gwyn shook her head. ‘No. Anne, our receptionist, was able to find his work information. He was most recently employed by Hinman Enterprises, after being relieved of duty by Howard County PD, where he went after being relieved of duty by Montgomery County PD.’
‘He works for Darian Hinman’s father,’ Thorne clarified. ‘He’s a security guard in their building downtown.’
‘They’re open for business?’ JD asked, surprised. ‘Darian’s body was found not even twenty-four hours ago.’
Thorne shrugged. ‘Jamie called the front desk to ask if they were receiving deliveries. They said they had business hours as usual.’
‘Then I guess I’ll follow you there,’ JD said.
Chevy Chase, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 11.00 A.M.
‘I don’t think this is going to end well,’ JD muttered from behind Gwyn as Thorne pushed through the door into the building bearing Hinman Enterprises’ name.
‘I’m thinking you’re right.’ Positioned between them, she felt slightly claustrophobic, but she had a view of Thorne’s back muscles flexing as he opened the door, and that was a silver lining.
The doors were draped with black, the mood of the lobby somber. The place was nearly all marble – the floors, the columns, even the walls. The building alone had to have cost a fucking fortune. But it was nearly silent, only whispers bouncing off the walls. It was like an opulent library.
Thorne tucked her against his side as soon as they were through the door. ‘Old money,’ he leaned down to whisper in her ear. ‘Lots of it.’
‘I figured that out,’ she whispered back. ‘Which one is Chandler Nystrom?’
Thorne paused to look around, and almost immediately saw the former cop. ‘That’s him, heading our way.’
Dressed in an ill-fitting uniform, Nystrom looked out of place in the lavish lobby. His face was as dark as a storm cloud.
Squaring his shoulders, Thorne pulled Gwyn closer. JD just sighed.
Chandler Nystrom had the build of an athlete who’d allowed his body to go to seed. His face was florid, broken capillaries criss-crossing his nose.
He’s a heavy drinker, was Gwyn’s first thought. She wondered why that was. He stopped in front of them and she was gratified to see that Thorne was easily eight inches taller. Maybe ten.
She was more gratified to see the flicker of apprehension in Nystrom’s eyes as he had to look up to see Thorne’s face. He was nervous. Good. He should be.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Nystrom hissed.
Thorne didn’t blink, didn’t back down. But the hand he had on her back tensed. ‘I’ve come to talk to you.’
Nystrom’s face grew redder with fury. ‘Well, you can just get out. Now. You have one hell of a lot of nerve. First you kill Richard, then Patricia, and then you just “happen” to find Darian’s body. You should be locked up.’
To look at Thorne’s face, one would never know he was affected by the words, but his hand on Gwyn’s back twitched, tightening on the fabric of her blouse. Still, he met the man’s angry gaze steadily.
‘I haven’t killed anyone. You know that now. And you knew it then too.’
Bleary eyes narrowed. ‘You are full of shit, White. You always were.’
Again Thorne let the insult fly by. ‘You’re so upset by Patricia’s death,’ he said calmly. ‘I wonder why you weren’t more upset that she’d been raped by her brother when she was still in high school.’
The color drained from Nystrom’s face and his mouth fell open. It took him ten full seconds to regain his composure enough to stammer, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Thorne’s hand relaxed on Gwyn’s back. ‘I don’t know how you lasted as long on the police force as you did. Suspects must have had your number in a heartbeat. Your poker face is non-existent.’
Nystrom’s nostrils flared, his rage returning. ‘Fuck you, White.’
‘Why did Richard’s killer put his key ring in his body?’ Thorne asked quietly, and once again Nystrom was struck silent for long seconds.
‘There was no key ring,’ he finally said stiffly. ‘But you should know, since you killed him.’ Thorne simply looked at him, and Nystrom grew fidgety. ‘I said, get out. I will call the cops on you.’ He stomped past them to open the door, glaring daggers at them. ‘Out. This is private property and you are trespassing.’
‘All right,’ Thorne answered, never losing his cool. Gwyn felt a swell of pride at his self-control, because she knew this had not been an easy confrontation. The last time he’d seen this man was in court as Nystrom testified against him on a murder charge. The time before that, he’d seen Nystrom’s boot as he’d kicked his head.
The three of them turned to leave, JD and Gwyn having said not a single word to the man. Thorne paused at the door and gave Nystrom his card. ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘Somebody is snipping off loose ends. Don’t think they don’t know who you are, even if they haven’t revealed themselves to you.’
Sneering, Nystrom ripped the card into tiny pieces, tossing them out the door with great drama. They caught on the light breeze and scattered, falling to the grass outside. ‘Fuck off, White.’