Material Witness Page 7

  What if someone else was in there? What if while she was kneeling by Max they attacked again?

  Clutching her bag so she could clobber an intruder with it, she stepped slowly toward the front of the shop.

  The door had been pushed open at least four inches — maybe not noticeable to someone driving by, but if you were standing on the sidewalk, you couldn’t miss it.

  Drawn toward that door, knowing she should walk away, should walk back to Max to call Shane, she instead pushed the door wide open. The first thing she did was reach for the switch and flood her shop with light. A plain white envelope lay on the floor in front of her. Nothing was written on the outside. With shaking hands, Callie picked it up and tore it open.

  The words were typed on a single sheet of white paper.

  As she slid to the floor, she felt herself tumbling down a dark hole.

  Don’t call anyone about Max or you could be next.

  You’ll receive further instructions within the hour.

  She hesitated for less than a moment, and then placed the note on the counter next to the register, not bothering to see if anyone was there. Something told her they weren’t.

  They were cowards.

  Only cowards shot a dog with a tranq gun then fled.

  Only cowards preyed on old women in parking lots.

  And Callie thought surely this was the same person. Hadn’t the man standing under the light been approximately the same height and weight as the man Aaron had described?

  Her anger built and her terror subsided as she snatched her keys from her purse and made her way through the darkness outside, picking her way carefully along the brick path to the garden shed. She fumbled with the lock and opened the door, which creaked as it always did. Why hadn’t she oiled it? Pulling out the tarp she used for moving dirt and rocks around the backyard, she walked quickly back around the building, pausing only once to glance down the road. But the lights revealed nothing except a car passing at the end of the street.

  Callie hurried on to the alley.

  Max hadn’t moved at all, but she hadn’t expected him to. It had been two years since she’d been a pharmaceutical rep, but she still received the trade magazines. They made for good late-night reading when she couldn’t sleep. Her mind cycled through the most common drugs used in tranq darts: Domosedan and … what was the other? Something that started with an F. There was a third as well, but now her mind had gone blank. These people did not strike her as professionals. They could have used the wrong drug and the wrong dosage. As she pulled Max onto the tarp, then dragged the tarp to the back door of the shop, she kept her tears at bay. He wasn’t dead. If they’d used the wrong dosage or the wrong drug, he’d already be dead.

  Unlocking the back door to her shop, she pulled him up the small loading ramp the deliverymen used before closing and locking the door behind her. Hurrying through the shop, which was silent except for the sounds coming from the low hum of her appliances, she closed and locked the front door as well.

  Then she stood completely still and listened.

  It didn’t sound as if anyone were inside with her.

  It didn’t feel as if anyone were inside with her.

  She picked up an umbrella by the front door — it was the old-fashioned kind, left here from when Aunt Daisy was still alive. She hadn’t had the heart to throw it away. Weighing over a pound and nearly thirty inches long, the end was metal and so sharp Callie once considered using it to spear trash as she walked around the yard.

  Tonight she might need it for something else.

  Chapter 7

  FIRST CALLIE CHECKED ON MAX, who still lay in the hall by the back door. No more than fifteen minutes had passed since he’d been hit with the tranquilizer dart. His breathing had evened out, but he continued to sleep soundly — unnaturally. She had no idea if he’d be out for twenty minutes or for twelve hours. She didn’t know enough about these types of drugs and how they worked on dogs.

  What she needed to do was boot up her laptop.

  What she needed to do was call her vet.

  Or Shane.

  Instead, she covered Max with the lap blanket from one of the chairs in the sitting area, picked up her monster umbrella, slung it over her shoulder like a bat, and began walking through the shop, from aisle to aisle, checking for intruders.

  No one was there, but the register drawer was open, its contents spilled on the floor.

  A peek in her office revealed the computer was on. The screen saver cycled back and forth from a photo of the girls’ quilts on display at the Chicago Museum of Arts to one of her and Max sitting in the garden. She’d taken that one with the self-portrait feature of her new camera and had uploaded it to the computer less than a week ago. Was it the last photo she’d have of her and Max?

  Pushing the thought away, she reached forward and moved the mouse. The monitor displayed all of her folders, files, and accounts. Who had been on her computer? Who knew the password to log on? She had the computer set to sleep after thirty minutes of inactivity, so had someone been in her office and on her computer less than thirty minutes ago?

  Tightening her grip on the umbrella, Callie stepped out of the office and into the hall. She tried the door to her apartment, found it unlocked, and started cautiously up the stairs.

  The eighth stair creaked when she stepped on it, and she froze, holding her breath while she listened for any movement. It was hard to hear anything above her pulse thundering in her ears.

  After waiting two minutes, she wiped her hands on her dress — they were so slick with sweat, she was sure she would drop the umbrella — before continuing her climb to the top of the steps. When she rounded the corner and took the first look at her apartment, her legs nearly failed her.

  She clapped her hand over her mouth, but there was no preventing the cry that escaped her lips.

  Every drawer was open, every object within them spilled out onto the floor. Cushions had been pulled from the couch, and her bedding had been ripped off the mattress, which itself had been tipped off the bed frame.

  Callie slumped back against the doorjamb and stared at the mess in front of her.

  Who had done this?

  The man in the alley?

  When? Wouldn’t it have taken a while to cause this much chaos? Shane had said the crime team finished up less than an hour ago. Whoever did this had been watching and waiting and had moved very quickly or …

  Callie suddenly knew she was going to be sick.

  She stood, stumbled through the disorder that had been her home and made it to the kitchen sink. She leaned over it for one minute, then two, but nothing came up. She hadn’t eaten. There was nothing in her stomach.

  Running the cold tap, she splashed water on her face, then on her neck.

  Was it even possible?

  Could they have been up here in her apartment while she was downstairs helping customers? How? She hadn’t recognized the person in Shane’s sketch, so it couldn’t have been a customer in her store. But what if they’d sneaked in and made their way upstairs while she was busy with someone else? She might not have heard them over the noise of the crowd.

  She kept the door to her apartment locked when the shop was open, but obviously her perp knew how to pick a lock.

  Though Max would have heard them — heard them and alerted Callie.

  Which meant they had to have come between the time the children left for their walk downtown and the time the police had arrived. They could have slipped in when she was out for register tape, sneaked by Deborah and Lydia. So who killed Mrs. Knepp?

  Callie grabbed a rag, wet it with cold water, and pressed it to her forehead.

  She needed to talk to someone, and she needed to see to Max.

  But what about the note?

  The thought had no sooner crossed her mind, than the phone in the shop began to ring. She ran down the stairs to answer it.

  The display on the caller ID lit up, but the word scrolling across read Unknown.


  She picked up the receiver, but didn’t say anything.

  “It’ll take a while for the sedatives to clear his system. But you’d know that, having sold drugs and all.” The voice was male and middle-aged. It was the voice of a creeper.

  Callie would have liked to kick his teeth in.

  “Why did you do this to him?”

  “Chill, Harper.” The man’s voice lost some of its amusement. “Max is fine — this time. Dogs bother me though, so don’t expect me to be kind twice. He’ll be awake in an hour, if you tell us what we want to know. Now turn the lights off, so we can talk.”

  He was watching her?

  From where?

  She walked to the main light switch and flipped the downstairs lights off. Shafts of light from the street lamps shone through the front windows. Would Gavin or Shane notice that her shop was in darkness? She tried to resist, but she stepped away from the counter, so she could see the street better, see if help was coming.

  “The good officer, Gavin, passed by right before I shot your dog, so you can stop gazing out the window.”

  Callie ducked back behind the counter. Had he seen her? How was that possible? Infrared glasses? No way this creep was that well equipped.

  “Everything appeared to be locked up nice and tight from the street. I made sure he couldn’t see the door was open as he drove by. You had to be standing on the sidewalk to see that — trick of light. I’m good with tricks. I wanted you to find my note, not Officer Gavin. I wouldn’t expect help from that direction. He only checks once every ninety minutes, and by then, you better pray I have the information I want.”

  A deep fright filled Callie’s belly, like ice water swallowed on an empty stomach. But at the same time her anger began to boil. The temper her mother had often warned her about threatened to erupt. This person had no right to violate her private space, shoot her dog, and then think he could hold her ransom.

  For information? What information? What could she possibly know that he would want so badly?

  Then another thought leapt in front of the others. The same thought she’d had earlier, but this time it came back stronger, more certain.

  “You killed Mrs. Knepp.” She practically spat the words.

  Instead of denying it, the man on the other end of the phone laughed. She heard the strike of a match, a deep inhalation, and then the scrape of a chair against concrete.

  “Yeah, I did, and I won’t stop there. So listen real close. You can save yourself and the mutt too. Tell me where the money is.”

  “The money —”

  “We know it’s not in your register, your safe, or your apartment.”

  They’d been searching for money?

  She didn’t have any. The shop was making a profit, but barely.

  “We even know it’s not in your bank account.” He took another drag from his cigarette. She could practically smell the smoke. “Found your little notebook with all your passwords. Might want to keep that somewhere else in the future. Next to your keyboard isn’t the smartest place — you know, in case you’re burglarized.”

  A woman giggled in the background. That sound was so out of place, clashed so completely with all that had happened in the last six hours, that Callie nearly fell apart then and there. Surely this was all a terrible nightmare.

  She would wake and find Max lying beside her, conscious and safe.

  She would wake and find her life put back together.

  “Why …” Her voice cracked on the word. She swallowed and tried again. “Why did you kill her?”

  Creeper blew out one last long, exasperated breath. It was followed by the sound of his boot grinding against the ground, probably crushing out his cigarette. Then the sound of a chair scraping across floor, as though he had stood up. “One hour — have the money in the alley or when we come back Max dies.”

  “But —”

  “If you try to contact anyone, you will both die.”

  Panic surged through her veins. She imagined him about to disconnect the line. Knew she had to find some way to keep him talking. “I … I hid it.”

  He grunted. “Hid it,” he repeated.

  Callie squeezed her eyes shut, tried to think of the biggest lie that would buy her the most time. “I didn’t want to report it to the IRS. So I hid it instead.”

  “All right. Tell us where, and we’ll retrieve it and be out of your way.”

  “It’s not here. Do you think I’d keep that much money close by?”

  Creeper’s voice faded as he spoke to someone else, no doubt the giggling woman he’d chosen for an accomplice. “I told you she was smart. Didn’t I tell you she was smart?”

  Pressing her forehead against the wall, Callie tried to think up more details to this preposterous scenario before he could ask her questions.

  “Give me directions, and we’ll go and get it.”

  “Can’t.” Callie thrashed around in her mind for an excuse. “Even I couldn’t find it in the dark. And every cop in the county is hunting for you.”

  The woman in the background began arguing. Now Callie could make out her words. She definitely had a Chicago accent. “I told you not to use the Taser. You shouldn’t have killed —”

  Creeper screamed an obscenity and the woman shut up. Silence filled both rooms, and Callie suddenly became aware of her computer humming, the clock over the register ticking, and her own pulse thumping.

  “Are you playing with us?”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?”

  Mrs. Knepp’s murderer was quiet for five, then ten seconds. “Nah. You’re not stupid.”

  He struck another match, and she wondered why he didn’t use a lighter. Would the police be able to track the smell of nicotine, discarded matches, and a room with a concrete floor?

  “How long do you need?”

  “I’m not sure.” Callie felt sweat trickle down her back. What should she say? She needed to get him off the phone and find a way to contact Shane. How much time would it take to search for money she didn’t even have?

  Creeper lowered his voice to a whisper. “I like feisty, but not too feisty.”

  “You want me to do this without attracting police attention?” Callie fought through the fear, forced herself to make up a believable scenario. “I’ll have to keep the shop open, or they’ll know something’s wrong. Which means I can’t go out until after I close the shop, and then it will take time to dig it up.”

  “We’ll help you.”

  “No.”

  “You’re not in a position to give orders, remember?” Again the deep inhalation as he sucked up nicotine.

  “I remember, and I’ll get you your money. But I …” She allowed some of the tears she’d been holding back to escape, allowed her voice to tremble with the fear threatening to consume her. But she held the rage and anger that were building in check, forced herself to keep it inside a little longer. “I want my dog to be okay, and I want my house back to normal. I don’t want to ever hear from you again.”

  He laughed softly. “We can arrange that. Long as you turn over the money. By the time the cops catch on to us … we’ll be gone, like smoke.”

  The woman cackled with him, the sound echoing in the night.

  “Don’t take too long, Harper. I’ll be watching you.” His boots clomped against the concrete. She thought he’d disconnected, thought it was finally over, when he whispered his parting shot into the phone.

  “We can see more than you think — I can see you hiding behind the counter right now — and we can hear more too.” He paused and sighed in what seemed to Callie like frustration. “You find the money. Find what’s mine. In the meantime, we’ll check with a few other people who might have a portion of what needs to be returned, what I mean to have back.”

  Then the line went dead.

  Callie hit the End button on her cordless receiver and had just pulled in her first full breath when the phone began ringing again. She stared at the phone in her hand and finally pushed t
he Talk button on the sixth ring — though she didn’t say a word.

  “One last thought, Harper. That little kid in the wheelchair might be able to identify me, which is a worry. You want to have that money to me quick-like so it won’t be a problem. And as far as your boyfriend, the invest-tee-gator? Tell him something — anything — to keep him off my back.”

  Then Creeper hung up again, and this time he didn’t ring back.

  She listened closely, straining to hear the sound of a car door or even the tinkle of the bell over the door of her shop. But there was nothing.

  Eventually she became aware, once more, of the hum of the computer. She reached under the counter, behind the curtain that covered her supplies, and checked for the black box, the surveillance system her aunt had purchased several years ago. It was gone. She’d known it would be, but still another part of her heart cracked.

  She stood, her legs numb from kneeling on the floor, and moved to where she’d left Max. He still lay in the same position.

  Watching her dog, she noted the slight rise and fall of his chest. Sobs began building in her throat, wanting to escape, but she refused to give in to them.

  A dozen questions and answers collided in her mind as she watched Max.

  Why did he shoot her dog if they’d already been through her place? Because he wanted to show her he could.

  Why didn’t he kill her like he’d killed Mrs. Knepp? Because he wanted his money.

  What would he do to Aaron if she didn’t deliver it? He’d kill him.

  She knew the answers, knew them every time her mind conjured up the sketch Shane had shown her, every time she remembered the sound of his voice in her ear.

  But the one question she couldn’t find an answer to, the one question that spun round and round as Max finally began to stir, was the question she knew she’d have to answer and answer soon.

  What money was he talking about?

  Shane stared down at the text message once more before exiting his vehicle. The message was odd enough on its own, but the fact Callie had sent it at two a.m. was completely unexplainable.