When All The Girls Have Gone(29)

"What made you think that?" Max asked.

"Because from the way Pruett described the attack, it seemed likely that he knew the layout of the campus very well. Knew exactly where to wait for her. Briggs assigned me to start talking to some of the male students who might have followed her from the library that night. I was taking statements when Briggs told me to stop. He said the rape kit had been contaminated and that there was nothing left of the case. The whole damn evidence box disappeared shortly after that."

"Do you think someone paid Briggs to dump the case?" Max asked.

Atkins shook his head. "I don't know about that. I can tell you that Briggs retired less than a year later. Said he'd come into a little money from an inheritance. That's when he and his wife moved up into the mountains and got weird. At the same time it was no secret that the college authorities were leaning hard on the chief. They didn't want the bad publicity. That's all I can tell you. I'll let you come up with your own conspiracy theory."

"I'm good at that," Max said.





CHAPTER 32




Max opened the passenger-side door of the rental car. Charlotte got in and buckled her seat belt. He rounded the front of the vehicle and got behind the wheel.

For a moment they both sat quietly, looking at the modern headquarters of the Loring Police Department.

"I wonder if Louise Flint did drive up that mountain to talk to Briggs," Max said after a while.

"We know she didn't die there. She died in her condo in Seattle."

"Doesn't mean there isn't a connection." Max fired up the rental and eased it out of the parking stall. "I'm sure now that whatever happened when Louise made the trip to Loring, it's what got her killed."

"Damn."

"Yeah. One thing we need to talk about before we get back to Seattle."

"What's that?"

"Given what has happened, I don't want you to be alone," Max said. "Not until we figure out what's going on here."

"You think I need a bodyguard."

"Yeah."

"But I've got a job. I can't just go into hiding."

"I think you'll be okay at Rainy Creek Gardens. From what I saw, they've got good security. Strangers aren't allowed to wander in and out. The front desk staff pays attention. There are a lot of cameras."

"Security is one of the amenities that Rainy Creek Gardens offers," she said. "Also, everyone knows everyone else, which is an added bonus. But I've got decent security at my apartment building, too. Jocelyn insisted on it when I first moved to Seattle. There is someone at the front desk during the day. You can't get in or out without a key. There are cameras in the garage and elevators. What more do I need?"   





 

"I don't know. That's why we're going to stick together until this is finished. My house or your apartment. Either one works for me."

She gave him a quick, searching look. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"The more you get to know me, the more you'll realize that I'm serious about most things. It's one of my more boring qualities."

"I see." She smiled faintly. "Well, in situations like this, it's good to have a serious person around. All right, let's go with my apartment, at least for now. The sofa pulls out into a bed and I've got a powder room you can use."

"A powder room?"

"No shower in it. You'll have to use mine."

He thought about the security features her building offered. Then he thought about the warm, sunny colors of her little apartment and how he would have to make do with her shower.

"Your place works for me," he said.





CHAPTER 33




Trey Greenslade parked the old, battered pickup behind the row of closed-up cabins. He got out, careful to keep the bulk of the truck between himself and the lodge buildings. He kept the driver's-side door open and positioned himself behind it.

He had bought the pickup at a used car lot shortly after he had discovered the truth about the past. He had known then that the time would probably come when he would need a vehicle that would not draw attention on the mountain roads.

He had a talent for planning ahead; for strategy. It was why he would be the one to take control of Loring-Greenslade.

When he had come across the mysterious cash withdrawals in his father's financial records-withdrawals that had occurred like clockwork every few months for over a decade-he had assumed that the old man had kept a mistress on the side. It had amused him to think that the domineering, self-righteous bastard had been such a hypocrite.

True, an illicit love affair that had lasted well over a decade didn't amount to much of a character flaw. But to the people of Loring, who had long since put Gordon Greenslade on a pedestal, it would have come as a shock to know that he had cheated on his wife and lived a secret life for years.

Trey had pondered whether or not to tell his grandmother what he had discovered. It would have been amusing to see the expression on the old bitch's face when she learned that her firstborn son had kept a secret lover. But he had concluded it would be more interesting to figure out the identity of the girlfriend first.

It was only when he had taken a closer look at the timing of the withdrawals that he had realized just what he had uncovered. The shock had hit him with the force of a backcountry avalanche.

The payments had started less than a month after the Pruett case had been dropped by the detective in charge. That could not be a coincidence. His father had been paying blackmail for years to keep him from being identified as a suspect.

But the real fright had set in when it dawned on him that he had no idea of the identity of the extortionist. It could have been almost anyone in town-another student or a member of his old fraternity, maybe-someone who had seen something that night. It could have been a janitor or a professor who was able to place him at the scene. Maybe there were photos.

He had been very careful that night, but Pruett had been his first. He hadn't yet gotten the strategy down perfectly. There had been problems. The stupid woman had fought him. She'd scratched his arms. He'd had to wear long sleeves for days afterward. He'd worn a condom, but in his rush to escape the scene afterward, he'd lost it. What if there was a surveillance camera that he hadn't noticed somewhere on the path or in the parking lot where he had left the car? He'd heard that Pruett had insisted on an examination at the hospital. A rape kit had been prepared.

So many things hadn't gone right that first time. The memory of his close call still gave him chills. But when no one had so much as even questioned him, he'd assumed he'd dodged all the bullets. It was only when he'd settled his father's financial affairs after the funeral and understood what the cash withdrawals meant that he'd realized he hadn't been so lucky after all.

Once he was no longer in the grip of the initial panic, he had calmed down and started to think more clearly. That was when it had occurred to him that all he had to do was wait. The blackmailer had grown accustomed to the regular cash payments. He or she would want to keep the money coming in.

And sure enough, the first demand had arrived less than a month after his father's funeral. There had been nothing high-tech about it. No mysterious text. No anonymous e-mail. No phone call. He had found a note on the front seat of his car.   





 

The instructions had been simple and straightforward. He had followed them precisely and left the briefcase filled with cash in the designated place on a hiking trail. And then he'd used a pair of binoculars to keep watch from a distance.

He'd had no luck the first time. It was late summer and there had been a steady stream of tourists, hikers and vacationers trekking up and down the trail. He hadn't spotted the person who had retrieved the briefcase.

A month later, however, he'd gotten another demand. It was early fall in the mountains. The day-trippers were gone. He had been instructed to leave the money under a bridge.

Once again he had watched from a distance and that time he had gotten lucky. An SUV-the license plates obscured with mud-had pulled into the lay-by at one end of the bridge. Egan Briggs had climbed out of the front seat to retrieve the cash.

For a time he had been content to let Briggs continue to think that he was safe. There was no reason to believe that a confirmed blackmailer would want to cut off the flow of money. Besides, taking out Briggs wouldn't be easy. The man was not only an ex-cop, he was, by all accounts, a skilled hunter. He was also said to be dangerously paranoid, maybe flat-out crazy.

Trey had told himself that he needed a foolproof strategy and he'd been working on it when Louise Flint had seen fit to further complicate his already very complicated life.

Now, in the midst of dealing with the members of the investment club and trying to find Jocelyn Pruett, he had received a new demand from Briggs. It had come in well ahead of schedule; and, with it, a promise to make a final trade.

He studied the big SUV parked near cabin number 6. The tinted glass made it difficult to see into the interior, but as far as he could tell there was no one in the driver's seat. Something about the shadows in the rear cargo area suggested a pile of boxes and suitcases.

It would take a lot to make Egan Briggs run, he thought.

A curtain twitched in the window of cabin number 6.

"I'm here, Briggs. I've got the money. Where is the evidence box?"

The rear door of the cabin opened. Egan Briggs emerged. He had a gun in his hand.