Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [147]
Henderson shook his head. “I don’t like it.”
“Maybe it’ll help.”
He couldn’t disagree, and at this point he was frustrated. No lead to the whereabouts of the missing celebrity, no body, no ransom note, nothing but a suicide letter that might or might not be fake. Another woman was dead, and the sister and ex-husband were running around trying to do Henderson’s job for him. The press was on his neck and the D.A. was demanding answers. Reed Henderson thought the clues leading to Marquise were drying up faster than the Colorado River on its way to L.A. He’d kill for a cigarette.
“There’s more.”
“Pile it on.” He motioned with his fingers, encouraging her to tell him everything.
“It looks like Marquise’s Jeep wasn’t involved in a single car accident after all. We just got some reports back and the boys who checked out the accident scene think another vehicle was involved. Hit-and-run. Black paint on the back fender of the Jeep seems to indicate that it was forced off the road.”
Henderson’s back stiffened and his pulse elevated a bit, the same way it used to when he hunted and caught a glimpse of a buck in the undergrowth.
“Walker’s got a black pickup,” he thought aloud, mentally clicking off the possibilities. His mind was already spinning ahead. This was unexpected news, that Marquise’s rig might’ve been forced off the road. A whole new twist. A clue that might break the damned case wide open.
“Walker’s truck doesn’t have any damage. We already checked. It was at the site today.”
“Damn.”
“You really hate the guy, don’t you?”
“I just don’t trust him,” Henderson admitted. “He’s got his own agenda. Lying. Nothin’ I hate worse than a liar.”
“And nothin’ you like better than nailing one to the cross.”
“Amen.” He managed a thin smile. “What else do you have?”
“Not a lot more. We’ll know the make and model once the paint tests are finished and some of the glass is analyzed to see if there was damage to the other car’s headlights.”
“We can only hope.”
“You’re sick, Detective.”
“Just practical. We could use a break. Solve the case and get the DA and the press off our asses.” Henderson reached into his drawer for a pack of gum, but came up dry. Back teeth grinding together, he spun in his chair and thought. Hard. “So was it a case of someone losing control, hitting the Jeep and then, scared, taking off? Or—”
“Was it intentional?” Hannah asked. “I guess that’s what we have to find out.” She walked into the room and leaned her hips against his desk. “This case gets more interesting all the time, doesn’t it?”
“If you say so.” Henderson clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “So, if that’s the bad news, what’s the good?”
Hannah’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “You wanted to talk to Jane Stanton, the next-door neighbor who overheard the fight between Marquise and Thane Walker.”
“I called over there and she was still out of town.”
“Well, the good news is that the daughter’s recovering from her skiing injury and Jane’s back.” Wilkins had the audacity to wink at him.
Henderson was out of his chair like a rocket and reaching for his jacket. “What’re we waiting for? Let’s go.”
Tucked under the eaves of a remodeled turn-of-the-century manor that had been converted to individual business suites, Marquise’s psychiatrist’s office was lit by soft lamps that glowed in the coming night. Dr. Michelle Kelly welcomed Thane and Maggie into the cozy room, smiled, offered herbal tea, and asked them to sit on a long leather couch reserved for her patients. Decorated to put people at ease and make them comfortable, so that even the most reticent patient would speak freely, the corner room smelled faintly of incense and herbs. Surrounded by ferns and jade plants growing profusely in glazed ceramic pots, an unlit fireplace graced one corner. Shelves of books lined the walls. Definitely designed to inspire confidence, Thane thought sarcastically.
Not much older than thirty, slight and thoughtful, the doctor studied Thane with inquisitive golden brown eyes magnified by thick