Angel Fire - Lisa Unger [36]
Jeffrey was watching her from the second-floor balcony that looked down onto the living room, smiling to himself. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. She sat on the living room sofa, her back against the armrest, legs tucked up beneath her. She stared absently out the window, biting on her thumbnail. Dressed in black leggings and a pink T-shirt, with her hair wet and no makeup, she looked like a teenager.
“What are you scheming, Lydia?” he asked.
She was too cool to be startled; turned her eyes up to him slyly, catlike. “I’m thinking about what you are going to make me for breakfast.”
“You know,” he said dryly, “you’ve never once made a meal for me in all the time I’ve known you.”
“That is patently untrue,” she answered with mock indignation. “I cooked dinner for you every night after you got shot.”
“You ordered in,” he said, smiling as he walked down the spiral staircase.
“Whatever.”
“Do you have anything in this house besides coffee and cigarettes?”
“Eggs and wheat bread. Maybe some milk.”
“Great,” he muttered, walking into the kitchen.
Lydia pulled on her sneakers to walk to the mailbox for the paper. Outside, the morning was crisp, the sky blue and close. That was one of the things she loved most about New Mexico.
Almost thirteen thousand feet above sea level, you dwelled in the sky. It was all around you, not just above. She took the clean air into her lungs, thinking she needed to run later. She would avoid the church.
She was halfway back up the driveway with the paper in her hand before she glanced at the headline.
BLOODBATH IN THE BARRIO:
Woman Missing; Presumed Dead
Lydia ran the rest of the way up the drive and burst in through the front door. Jeffrey was standing at the stove, scrambling eggs.
“Look at this,” she said, throwing down the paper.
He turned off the stovetop, took his glasses from his shirt pocket, and scanned the article. The fact that this event had taken place in the late-night hours and was in the first edition of the morning newspaper, coupled with the fact that the police had “no comment,” indicated this story had been leaked to the press. Someone at the crime scene had a contact at the paper and had called the story in—always a bad thing when hunting a serial killer, not that he was convinced that they were in fact looking for a serial killer. In spite of the glaring headline, the article contained few details. A late-night anonymous call to the police had led them to the apartment building. The door had stood open, so they could easily see the blood and signs of struggle, and had probable cause to enter. The missing woman was a waitress at a local restaurant near Angel Fire. She had a short rap sheet for solicitation. Her name and picture had not been released because relatives had not yet been located.
“Do you think this ties in with the others?” he asked, trying not to sound skeptical.
“It could,” she answered.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because now there are four missing persons. In a town this size, that’s an anomaly. There was obviously a mortal struggle. And the body was removed from the scene.”
“But there was no sign of a struggle or foul play with any of the other missing people.”
“That only means that this situation got out of control. If this woman had been killed and her body found in the apartment, then I would not be inclined to think that it was connected. But someone took her body. For what? If someone was trying to hide the crime, he would have cleaned up the scene … or at least closed the door. The most important thing to him was to take her with him. It’s a signature behavior. He has another agenda. He probably just did a cleaner job of it with the others.”
Lydia and Jeffrey sat at the kitchen table with the newspaper between them. She had leaned across the table, looking at him intently. He had to admit, she did have some good points.
“All right, I think I’m going to talk to Morrow. Maybe he has some missing pieces that will help us determine if there is something here.”
“Alone?”
“I just think it might be best.”
“Bullshit, Jeffrey.