CHAPTER 7
"Looks like whoever searched her condo also came down here to the locker," Max said. "He didn't take time to relock the padlock."
He opened the wooden door and did a quick inventory. The small space was filled with the kind of stuff that always seemed to end up in storage lockers. There was an outdoor table and a couple of folding chairs that had probably graced the small condo deck during the summer. One large cardboard box had been ripped open, revealing an assortment of holiday decorations. A bicycle hung on the wall. There was a neatly rolled-up sleeping bag, a tent, a camp stove and some ski gear.
There was also an assortment of suitcases.
"There's no way to tell if he found what he was looking for, is there?" Charlotte asked.
The quiet sadness in her voice made Max take a closer look at her. He hoped she wasn't going to cry. He was not good with crying women.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes." She took a tissue out of the pocket of her jacket and dabbed at her eyes. "Well, as okay as I can be under the circumstances. The thing is, Louise was Jocelyn's best friend. It's just so depressing to think that she won't be around to use the things she stored here. Jocelyn is going to be devastated when she finds out what happened."
Damn. She was crying. He decided the best thing to do was to pretend he hadn't noticed.
"Your sister and Flint were that close?" he asked.
Charlotte sniffed a little, but when she spoke her voice was steadier.
"Yes," she said.
She had herself back under control, he thought. He breathed a small sigh of relief.
"Looks like he opened the cardboard boxes and probably the suitcases, too," he said. "But I don't think he found what he was looking for."
"How can you tell?"
"Just something about the recklessness of the search process," he said.
He had never been able to explain how he worked. He looked for indications in patterns, and something about the hasty manner in which this person had gone through the locker hinted at rage and frustration.
He pulled out the suitcases and paused to examine the surroundings. The storage lockers occupied an entire floor of the building. They were arranged in such a manner that they effectively created row upon row of narrow floor-to-ceiling canyons with a lot of dead ends. At the moment he and Charlotte were the only people in the vicinity, but that situation was subject to change. A resident or some other individual could walk in at any time.
He told himself that he wanted to avoid unnecessary explanations to strangers, but that wasn't the whole truth. The reality was that he was deeply uncomfortable in confined spaces-especially spaces with limited exits. He could feel the old memories-and the old nightmares-stirring.
He needed to concentrate on the job at hand. He could not do that properly as long as some part of him was waiting for the monster to jump out from one of the storage locker doors.
He examined each of the suitcases in turn. All but one were empty. The small carry-on, however, contained a road map and three legal-sized envelopes.
"No drugs and no cash," he said. "But there are a few items inside." He closed the bag and picked it up. "We'll take a closer look upstairs in her condo."
For a beat or two he thought Charlotte was going to question the decision. She looked at him, her lips partly open, eyes widening. He knew she was intensely curious about the contents of the suitcase. But whatever she saw in his expression must have convinced her that there was no point arguing about such a small thing.
"Okay," she said.
She wasn't asking any questions, he thought. That was a good thing.
He let her lead the way back through the maze of lockers. She opened the door of the storage room. He followed her into the elevator and pressed the button for the tenth floor.
Neither of them spoke during the short ride, but he was very aware of her presence. She stood, tense and silent, and watched the floor numbers go past as though they conveyed a secret code. He wondered if she had any idea of what was inside the suitcase. All he could be sure of was that she was worried about what they might find. That was interesting.
No, he decided, Charlotte was interesting.
For a few seconds he tried to convince himself that his curiosity about her was of a professional nature. After all, he was investigating a possible murder and Charlotte was one of the first people to show up at the scene.
In his previous career he'd learned that there was some truth to the old saying that killers often revisited the scene of the crime. Sometimes they came back to savor their own handiwork. Sometimes they returned because they wanted to be sure they hadn't left any loose ends. And sometimes they were compelled to return because they were driven by an obsession too powerful to resist.
So, yes, he had professional reasons to be very curious about Charlotte Sawyer.
But he knew deep down that the curiosity was not just professional-it was personal.
Acknowledging that fact gave him a serious jolt. He tightened his grip on the handle of the carry-on.
He wasn't sure what he had been expecting earlier when he had taken the elevator down to meet her in the lobby. He always tried to keep an open mind at the start of a case because he had long since learned that first impressions were critical. He did not want to risk getting them wrong due to preconceptions.
But when the elevator doors opened, the only thing that had been shatteringly clear was that Charlotte Sawyer didn't fit any of the usual categories.
It was going to be hard to pin a label on her.
She wasn't the flashy, flirty, perky type. She wasn't the sultry type. She wasn't the cool, aloof, sophisticated type. She wasn't glamorous or bold or shy or nervous.
She had made no attempt to charm him. She hadn't tried to manipulate him, either, but he was pretty sure she would go toe-to-toe with anyone if she thought the battle was worth fighting.
And if she smiled at you, it would be a real smile, he thought. If her hazel green eyes warmed with humor or passion or any other emotion, that emotion would be the real deal.
She had unfastened the front of her anorak, revealing a dark green pullover and black trousers. The curves of the body beneath the clothes were not showy; rather, they appeared sleek and firm and feminine.
He could not point to any one feature that stood out, with the exception of her clear, watchful green eyes. But the various parts of her came together in a compelling way.
He followed her out of the elevator and walked beside her down the hall to Louise's suite. When he opened the door and stood back to allow her to enter first, she automatically started forward and then halted abruptly on the threshold. He thought he heard her catch her breath and he immediately understood.
"It's always like this when you know what happened in a room," he said quietly.
She glanced at him. "It's . . . weird."
"Yeah."
"Do you ever get used to the feeling?"
"I never have."
"Do you do this a lot?"
"Not anymore. I used to be a profiler, but now that I'm on my own, most of my work is corporate. Background checks. Insurance fraud. That kind of thing. That means I don't usually have to walk into places like this."
She nodded, took a breath and walked into the room with a firm, determined stride. He followed her and closed the door very gently.
It dawned on him that they'd just had a meaningful conversation without either of them needing to clarify the topic. They had both understood each other. He wasn't accustomed to conversations like that. He wasn't sure what to make of it.
He set the small suitcase on the rug, crouched beside it and opened it.
Charlotte went down on her knees beside the carry-on.
Together they looked at the road map of Washington State and the three envelopes.
"Okay, not quite what I expected," Charlotte said.
He looked at her. "What were you expecting?"
"I don't know," she admitted.
"That's the best way to go into a situation like this," he said.
"Is that a profiling thing?"
"It was my profiling thing. Everyone does it differently."
He removed the map of Washington and unfolded it slowly. "Not a lot of people use paper maps like this these days. They rely on GPS and the online mapping systems."
"I don't recall Jocelyn mentioning that Louise was planning a road trip. But, then, there wouldn't have been any reason to tell me about it."
He looked at her. "Your stepsister didn't bring you into her circle of friends?"
"Not really. Her closest friends are the other members of her investment club. She's introduced me to them and I've seen them from time to time, but they are her friends. The truth is, I don't have a lot in common with them."
"Huh." He pondered that briefly. "So you weren't invited to invest with the group?"
"No." Charlotte wrinkled her nose. "Jocelyn said I didn't make enough money to take the risk. She said that her club's investments were basically a form of gambling. She and the others got together over drinks, did their research and then took flyers on a few stocks and start-ups they thought had the chance to go big."
"Did any of them go big?"
"Jocelyn said they made a little money on some, but for the most part the profits were offset by losses. However, she did tell me recently that they had high hopes for a local start-up that they invested in a few months ago. She said they think it's a good buyout candidate."