Kill Her Again (A Thriller) Read online

Pope wasn’t sure what the guy did, exactly, or why they called him that, but he could make a pretty good guess, and his presence here did not bring on thoughts of happiness and light.

  It was times like this that Pope wondered how the hell he had ever allowed himself to fall in with this sorry lot.

  But who was he kidding? He knew all too well how it had happened. The debt he owed Troy had not been accumulated over a single night, and was not the result of a single bad hand, but rather a string of horrendous hands that stretched the entire two-year span of time that Pope had been haunting the Oasis. He was hopelessly addicted to poker in all of its forms, and was notoriously bad at playing the game.

  It would be years before he worked off his debt. Most of his take from Metamorphosis—a show that had been all Troy’s idea in lieu of an actual cash payback—went straight to the man himself, including interest. The rest went to room and board. And whether he liked it or not, Pope was locked into a payment plan that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon.

  Or would it?

  The way everyone was staring at him, he couldn’t be sure. He glanced down at the carpet just to make sure he wasn’t standing on plastic, and made a mental note to keep Arturo within his line of sight.

  “So,” he said to Troy, who was once again sprawled on the sofa. “Still having problems with Nigel Fromme?”

  “I think we’ve gotten beyond poor Nigel, don’t you?”

  Pope had no idea what that meant and told him so.

  “Come on, Daniel. Don’t play dumb.”

  “I’m not playing,” Pope said. “I am dumb. Dumb as rocks. I think I’ve proven that more than a few times. So why don’t you pretend I just got off the short bus and tell me what the hell you want.”

  He hadn’t meant to sound so hostile, but fear does that to you. It’s not easy to stay calm when you’ve got a half-dozen pairs of eyes staring you down, especially when you have no idea why.

  Troy, however, didn’t seem to notice his tone—which wasn’t unusual for a guy who was so self-absorbed.

  “I like to think that I’ve been a good friend to you, Daniel. I’ve given you a place to live, an opportunity to display your talents, and a relatively painless way to relieve yourself of your financial burden.”

  Pope said nothing.

  “When you came here, you were a broken man. But by inviting you into this little family of mine, I think I’ve been instrumental in changing that fact. Helped you glue some of the pieces back together, so to speak.” He paused. “Am I wrong about that?”

  Again Pope said nothing. He knew Troy wasn’t really expecting an answer. Certainly not the one Pope was likely to provide.

  “I don’t think I am,” Troy said. “What I am is surprised. Surprised that you would accept my generosity, then turn around and stab me in the back.”

  Say what?

  Pope responded this time. Didn’t hide his confusion. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “You’ve been smoking a little too much weed, my friend. I might have to cut you off.” He paused. “You had a visitor this morning. Why don’t you tell me about her?”

  “What’s to tell?”

  Troy frowned. “For starters, do the initials FBI mean anything to you?”

  Ohhhhhh, crap, Pope thought.

  He truly was as dumb as rocks. He should have known that this was what Troy was on about.

  The presence of Agent McBride at the Oasis was quite a threat to a man like Anderson Troy. It didn’t matter that she knew nothing of Troy’s illegal activities and probably couldn’t care less. Troy didn’t know this. And Troy’s concern was understandable.

  Pope put on his best, reassuring smile. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said.

  “Of course I do.”

  “No, seriously. It’s not what you—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, the twin defenders flanked him, each grabbing an arm and holding him in place. Pope instinctively stiffened, starting to resist, but their grips tightened just enough to hurt.

  He glanced at Sharkey, but Sharkey’s face was cold and impassive.

  Troy rose from the sofa. “How much do they know about me?”

  “They?”

  Troy sighed. “The FBI, my friend. Pay attention.”

  Pope shook his head. “Not a thing. She wasn’t here about—”

  The blow was so sudden and so painful that Pope seemed to momentarily leave his body. Unfortunately, not quite fast enough to avoid the burst of fire that had engulfed his left kidney. Somehow Arturo had managed to get behind him to deliver the punch.

  So much for keeping the little bastard within his line of sight.

  Pope’s knees buckled, but the twin defenders stood him back up, Arturo circling.

  Troy seemed unfazed by the tears of pain gathering in Pope’s eyes.

  “How much do they know?” he repeated.

  “Will you let me finish a sentence, for Christ’s sake?”

  The second blow was to the solar plexus, again coming so swiftly that Pope had no time to prepare—as if that would have made a difference.

  With a gasp, he doubled over, then tried to distract himself from the pain by biting down hard on his lower lip—which didn’t work, of course. Now his gut and his lip hurt.

  There were many times over the last two years that Pope believed he had bottomed out. Had gotten as low as a man could get. But at this moment, standing in this room as these men beat on him, knowing he had allowed himself, through his own stupidity, his own careless actions, to be here, he had to congratulate himself. He had reached a brand-new low.

  And this time he might not come up for air.

  “Listen to me,” he gasped. “I’m trying to tell you, you’ve got nothing to worry about. She doesn’t know a thing about you. Doesn’t even know you exist.”

  “Are you telling me she’s just another one of your recreational fucks?”

  “No, it isn’t like that. She came to me for help on a case. Like the old days. My cousin Jake sent her.”

  “That’s the cop, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Troy turned to his crew. “You see, that just goes to show what a generous guy I am. Despite Daniel’s direct relationship to an officer of the law, I let him into our little circle here with open arms.”

  “I didn’t ask to be included,” Pope said.

  The next blow came to his rib cage, and if something didn’t crack, it surely bent, as pain blossomed along his right side.

  “The point is,” Troy told him, “I trusted you. Offered you a helping hand when you needed it most. And even if you’re telling the truth, and this FBI agent knows nothing about my extracurricular activities, what assurances do I have that that won’t change in the near future?”

  “Only my word,” Pope croaked. “She got what she wanted and left. I don’t expect to see her again.”

  “And what about the kid? She won’t come back for him?”

  Pope stiffened. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Troy knew about Evan, but he was. And for some reason that frightened him more than anything else.

  “No,” he said. “They’re sending someone out to pick him up.”

  “Another cop?”

  “Social worker.”

  “And why did she bring him here in the first place?”

  “It’s a long story. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

  “You should know by now that everything that goes on in this hotel has to do with me. Just give me the highlights.”

  So Pope did, explaining about the murders, and the hope that they might be able to get information out of Evan under hypnosis.

  When he was done, Troy stared at him for a long moment, then finally smiled. “Thank you for clearing that up. I’m sorry we had to be so rough on you. But I don’t like surprises. You should have warned me she was coming.”

  Pope knew he was right, but said nothing.

  “You see,” Troy continued, “considering the nature of my business, when it come
s to matters of security and stability my comfort level is relatively low. And I’m sure you can understand that having a federal agent get curious about me is something I’d like to avoid.”

  “Sure,” Pope said. Although at this point, he was in too much pain to really give a damn. “But like I told you, she doesn’t even know you exist.”

  “How can you really be sure of that?” Troy asked. “As far as any of us knows, she could be using that so-called case she’s working on as a ruse to get to you. And by extension, to me.”

  Pope looked at him. This was getting ridiculous. “So what are you saying? The boy’s part of it? Some kind of junior agent?” He tried and failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and barely suppressed a laugh. “For Christ’s sake, Troy, quit letting your ego cloud your judgment.”

  He knew the moment the words were out of his mouth that he’d made yet another reckless mistake and couldn’t fathom why he’d said them in the first place. But they were out there now and he couldn’t pull them back. And any hope he had that Troy would ignore them died the moment he looked into the man’s eyes.

  Troy’s next utterance didn’t help much, either. “You . . . insolent . . . little . . . fuck.”

  Pope knew he had just crossed a line he shouldn’t even have approached. Considering Troy’s history, he was likely to react like a toddler who’s just been smacked in the face by a cold, unloving parent.

  And true to form, Troy gestured to his crew and said with barely controlled fury, “I’ve had it with this moron. He’s more trouble than he’s worth. Take him out to the desert and do that thing you do so well.”

  “Wait a minute,” Pope said, feeling panic rise. “What the hell are you doing? I saved your life for chrissa—”

  Another quick blow, straight to the gut. Pope doubled over.

  Goddamn that hurt.

  “I knew you’d bring that up,” Troy said. “And I believe I’ve repaid that debt several times over. But you’ve failed me twice in one morning, Daniel. And that’s more chances than most people get.”

  He gestured with two fingers and the twin defenders started dragging Pope toward the doors.

  “Hold on, boss. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  Sharkey speaking now.

  Coming to the rescue.

  “He’s a liability,” Troy said. “Knows more than I ever should have allowed him to know. And if he’s careless enough to invite a federal agent into this hotel, he deserves whatever he gets.”

  “But if he’s got the FBI sniffing around him, won’t it be a little suspicious, he suddenly goes missing?”

  Troy took a moment to consider this.

  “Maybe. But the man has a history of self-destructive behavior.” He paused, the wheels still turning. “Make it look like suicide.”

  14

  “WHAT DO YOU people want from me?” Rick shouted. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing!”

  “Then why the hell did you run?”

  The interior of the tent was an oven. There was enough sweat in the room to drown a small rodent. Even Royer had done the unthinkable and taken his jacket off. But he seemed to be enjoying himself.

  Anna thought if he were interrogating a prisoner at Guantánamo, he’d be the first to suggest they try something with a little more oomph. Something to ratchet up the stakes.

  She could hear the echo of angry voices outside, the sound of barking dogs, more deputies and volunteers arriving, gearing up to go through the encampment from tent to trailer, looking for the missing girl.

  Mr. Rock and Roll was kneeling at the center of the tent, hands still cuffed behind his back.

  “I’m tellin’ you,” he said, “I didn’t touch the bitch. It’s her word against mine.”

  Royer stood over him in gladiator pose, fists clenched. “I don’t give a damn about some high school pop tart.”

  “Then what’s this about?”

  “The girl,” Royer said. “Where’s the girl? Where’s Kimberly?”

  Rick frowned at him, looking confused. “Kimmie? What do you want with her?”

  “We found the boy, numb nuts. He puts all four of you in the car together.”

  Rick swiveled his head toward Anna and Worthington. “Will one of you assholes please tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  “Eyes front,” Royer said, snapping his fingers.

  “Fuck you.”

  Without even a moment of reflection, Royer swung a fist into Rick’s face, knocking him to the ground. The attack was abrupt and brutal, Royer grunting like a Neanderthal.

  It was a classic case of overkill. Royer trying to prove he had as much testosterone as Worthington and his deputies. This show was more about ego than finding a missing girl.

  Anna hated macho posturing almost as much as she’d come to despise Royer, and she didn’t believe in this hands-on approach to interrogation.

  Fortunately, Worthington didn’t seem to like it much, either, and as Royer reached again for the suspect, the deputy threw his hands up.

  “All right, that’s enough.”

  Royer turned. “Do you want the girl or don’t you?”

  “Putting him in a coma won’t help us find her. Now back off.”

  Royer eyed him defiantly, then finally stepped away. “Fine,” he said. “He’s all yours.”

  Worthington crouched down and helped Rick sit upright. His mouth was bleeding, a nasty purple bruise forming on his left cheekbone—a nice compliment to Royer’s earlier tune job.

  “One chance,” Worthington said. “That’s all you get. You understand?”

  Rick stared at him. “You people are certifiable.”

  “Just tell us what you did with Kimmie.”

  “I didn’t do shit with her. Why do you keep asking me that? What happened? Is she okay?”

  “Cut the crap,” Worthington said. “Agent Royer wasn’t lying. We know those kids were in your Mustang. So if you don’t want me to sic him on you again, you’d better goddamn well explain.”

  “Explain what? I took them for a ride, got some burgers. What’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

  “I think you know.”

  “That’s the thing, man, I don’t. What are you gettin’ on me for? Is this about the restraining order? ’Cuz if it is, you got one helluva way of enforcing it.”

  Worthington frowned. “What restraining order?”

  “The bitch went to court on me. I’m not supposed to get within a hundred yards of her house.”

  “Which bitch are we talking about now?”

  “Who the fuck you think? Rita. She thinks she’s too goddamn good for me.”

  “Is that why you killed her?”

  The words stopped Rick cold. He looked as if he’d just been struck by another one of Royer’s blows. And in that instant, his whole demeanor changed.

  “Wait a minute; wait a minute,” he said, then paused a moment, as if he were having trouble translating something spoken in a foreign tongue. “What exactly are you telling me here? Rita’s dead?”

  “That’s the long and the short of it,” Worthington said.

  Rick just stared at him, dumbstruck, his eyes getting moist. He blinked a couple times, forcing the tears back, and with sudden clarity, Anna knew they had the wrong man. She’d seen a lot of suspects lie in her time, but nobody was this good of an actor.

  He didn’t know about the murders.

  He didn’t know anything.

  “Oh, for chrissakes,” Royer said, his face twisting in disgust. “Let me at this guy.”

  Worthington held a hand up, looking intently at Rick. “Let’s start this from the beginning. How do you know Rita Fairweather?”

  Rick took a moment, then said, “We used to hook up when I came to town. Until about three, four years ago.”

  “What happened then?”

  “She went psycho on me. Tells me she wants me to quit the show and move in with her. Maybe get married, give them all a stable home. I told her she was nuts, so she cut me off.”


  “Why the restraining order?”

  “I kept trying to get with her. Called her up a lot, even went out to that dump she calls a house. She got so pissed she went straight to court on me.” He paused. “That was a couple years ago.”

  “So she was afraid of you.”

  Rick shook his head. “She wasn’t afraid of shit. She’s a Bitch with a capital B. She’d already stuck the knife in; she just wanted to twist it a little.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” Worthington said. “But none of this explains why you took Evan and Kimberly on a field trip last night.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She wouldn’t let me near them. Kept me in the dark so goddamn long that when she finally dropped the bomb, I just wanted to meet them. Evan, at least. He’s the only one she was sure of.” He shrugged. “So I sweet-talked the babysitter into bringing him to me.”

  “This is such bullshit,” Royer said. “Why would you give a damn about Rita Fairweather’s son? Unless you wanted to diddle the little bastard.”

  Both Rick and Worthington looked at him as if they thought this was one of the dumbest questions they’d ever heard, and Anna had to agree.

  The answer was obvious.

  “What do you think, Einstein. I’m his fuckin’ father.”

  IT HAD ALL been a waste of time. Dragging Evan out to the Oasis, the raid, interrogating Mr. Rock and Roll. Maybe if Evan hadn’t had a seizure they would have learned something useful, but it was too late now. They couldn’t risk putting him under again.

  Stepping outside of the tent and taking in the drama around the encampment—carnies shouting angrily as deputies threw open door after door, probing trailers and tents with their flashlights—Anna thought back to that moment just before Evan’s seizure, remembering his words:

  He’s been wanting to see me and Kimmie for a really long time.

  He says he’s . . . He says . . .

  He’s my dad, Anna thought.

  And that’s all last night had been for Rick. A guy trying to make contact with his son.

  True, the neighbors had told Worthington’s team that the father was dead, but Anna thought that Evan and Kimmie might well have had many fathers over the last several years. A parade of men that Rita Fairweather had taken up with.