The Missing Hour Read online

  She was almost wishing she’d given in and told Cole that yes, he could have the whole darned investigation to himself. That was what he’d been an-gling for, with his talk about how it could be a risky game she was playing. But, dammit, she wasn’t playing any game, so she just couldn’t worry that things might get dicey.

  While they sat stuck behind a streetcar, she thought again about his suggestion that she postpone dinner with her father until after they met with Abbot. Then they’d know a lot more than they did now.

  But she was still convinced she’d made the right decision. The sooner she talked to her father, the better, because…It was hard to put into words, even in her mind. But after envisioning him as the killer, she simply couldn’t sit back and wait.

  She wanted to tell him what was happening just as soon as possible—wanted to see his face when she told him. Or, more accurately, she wanted to see the innocence in his expression.

  ‘‘We’re getting to last-chance time,” Cole said, glancing at her. “You’re sure you want to get into this with him tonight?”

  “Absolutely,” she said—then immediately began wondering why she felt she had to be part of all this. Why couldn’t she just let Cole do his detective thing and report back?

  Probably, she decided, she needed to be involved as a way of making atonement. After all, if she’d been able to describe the murderer way back then, the police might have caught him.

  Before she could come up with any other possible explanation, Cole pulled into the lot opposite the restaurant and parked. As they headed across the street, she couldn’t help thinking that Rappelez-moi was not going to be the best place for this dinner.

  One of the more popular restaurants on the King Street strip, it was usually crowded and noisy—exactly why she’d originally suggested meeting here. It had the sort of atmosphere that made the lapses in her conversations with her father less awkward. But their topic of conversation tonight called for quiet.

  That was definitely not what they were going to get, she saw, spotting him. He was already seated on the tiny sidewalk patio where the tables were even closer together than the ones inside.

  “That’s him. The man in the dark suit,’’ she said, trying to see him through Cole’s eyes.

  There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about him. Like Mark, he had regular features, was average height and hadn’t put on many extra pounds over the years.

  His brown hair had gone gray around the temples, making him very distinguished looking. Even so, he wasn’t quite as elegant as her uncle—didn’t worry about whether his suits were perfectly tailored or his hair was precisely the right length. Still, nobody would have trouble believing he was a successful financial planner.

  He rose to greet her as she neared the table, glancing curiously at Cole. He wasn’t too crazy about Brian, so he was probably hoping Brian was out and Cole was in. But when he heard what the real story was…

  A waiter appeared with an extra chair while she introduced her father to Cole—without explaining who he was. She wasn’t quite ready to get into that yet. Actually, given the way her stomach was doing flip-flops, she might not be ready by the time dessert arrived.

  She eyed the beer in front of her father, wondering if she should order a double of something. Or even a triple. But since she wasn’t much of a drinker, she simply went with a glass of chardonnay.

  By the time that arrived, along with the beer Cole had ordered, they’d worked their way through the topic of the weather and how pleasant it was on the patio.

  “So, what’s new in your life?” her father asked when the waiter turned away. He didn’t even glance in Cole’s direction as he delivered the line, but she knew he meant, So who is this and why is he having dinner with us?

  “Well,” she said nervously, “there is something new. So new, in fact, that you’re the first person I’m telling about it—aside from Cole here and Mark. Dad…I’ve begun to recall things about Larisa’s murder.”

  “Really?” he said slowly.

  She nodded without breaking eye contact “I started having nightmares about it. And they were bothering me so much I was ready to try anything to make them stop. So I asked Mark to help me out. And it took a while, but just last night I remembered seeing what happened.”

  “Oh, Beth,” he murmured. “That must have been terribly upsetting.”

  His concern was so obviously for her, not about what she’d remembered seeing, that a sense of relief spread through her. But it was relief mixed with guilt.

  She’d known he wasn’t the killer. So regardless of that image, how could she have had even the slightest doubt?

  “And you’ve got something to do with this?” he asked Cole.

  ‘‘Only after the fact.” He looked at Beth. “Do you want to explain the rest, or shall I?”

  “Why don’t you,” she said, hating the thought that flashed through her mind.

  It would be easier to concentrate on her father’s reactions with Cole doing the explaining. But if she was totally convinced of his innocence, why should she care about watching them?

  Cole took a card from his wallet and handed it to Glen Gregory. “I’m a private investigator,” he said, watching the man’s face as he spoke. “Now that Beth’ s remembered a little, Mark Niebuhr has hired me to see if I can turn up any clues to the murderer’s identity.”

  Gregory eyed the card for a moment, then looked at Beth. “You know, all I was thinking was how dreadful it must have been to remember seeing the murder. I didn’t even think about the fact that you’d have remembered seeing the murderer, too.”

  She merely nodded, but Cole could sense her anxiety. Her father looked and sounded like innocence personified. If he were the killer, though, innocence was exactly what he’d be trying to project.

  “Did you recall what you saw very clearly?” he asked. “After so long a time?”

  Beth slowly shook her head. “No, nothing was very clear, especially not what the killer looked like. But I’m going to tag along with Cole while he’s talking to people about the case. Mark thinks there’s a chance that something I hear might bring back more details.”

  Still keeping a surreptitious eye on Gregory, Cole sat back and took a sip of his beer. Even though they’d gone over what she should say, he’d been worried that she’d tell her father she was already beginning to remember specific details—if for no other reason than to demonstrate her trust in him. And if he proved the wrong man to trust…

  “You don’t think tagging along might be awfully hard on you?” he said to Beth. “I know it’s been a long time, but you adored Larisa. So digging around about her murder, talking to people about it—Beth, if you remember more details, if your memory becomes more clear, it could be very tough to deal with.”

  ‘‘I realize that, but I feel it’s something I have to do.”

  “I see. Well, this all certainly comes as a shock.” Gregory turned to Cole. “But does Mark really think that an investigation is going to do any good? I don’t mean that as an insult, but even if Beth remembers more, can you realistically expect to turn up anything new after twenty-two years?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Yes, I guess anything’s possible.” Gregory focused on his daughter again. “You said I’m the first person you’ve told. That includes your mother?”

  Beth nodded. “Although I imagine she knows by now. Mark was going to drop by and fill her in. He said it would probably be better all around if he did it. I guess I was being a chicken, but I took him up on the offer.

  “My mother’s going to be upset,” she added to Cole. “She’s always thought it was a blessing I’d blocked out that hour.”

  “I remember she used to say she wished she could have blocked it out,” Gregory said. “Or, at least, the part of it she was there for. As best we can figure, she got there shortly after the killer left. But she went into shock when she found the body, and it was a while before she pulled herself together enough
to phone the police.”

  Beth nodded. “She still hasn’t gotten over it, you know. Even after all these years, she can’t bear to talk about it.”

  The waiter had arrived to take their dinner orders, and as Beth gave him hers, Cole considered that last statement.

  Since Angela Gregory had been the one who’d discovered the body, it was hardly surprising that she’d have been traumatized. But after twenty-two years she still couldn’t talk about it? That seemed extreme. Unless she’d done more than just find the body.

  He mentally shook his head. Ninety-nine percent of the time, he was a logical thinker. It was essential in his line of work. Yet, every now and then, a completely crazy idea popped into his head—and this one really took the cake.

  He told himself to stop imagining the absurd. But Niebuhr had referred to Angela Gregory as “erratic,” which might have been his way of saying she was a little unbalanced.

  And one of those newspaper articles had called the victim “diminutive”—which meant Larisa hadn’t been someone only a strong man could have stabbed to death.

  Of course, it was a man Beth recalled.

  On the other hand, she kept insisting her memory was confused. And Niebuhr had said…

  Cole tried to remember the psychiatrist’s exact words. They’d been something like, “We’re talking about a memory she repressed because of its incredibly strong emotional content.”

  And hell, how much stronger emotional content could there be than seeing your mother kill her own sister?

  IT WAS TWILIGHT by the time Cole and Beth left Rap-pelez-moi and said goodbye to Glen Gregory.

  His silver BMW was parked on the street, practically in front of the restaurant, and several passersby watched him getting into it. Gregory seemed oblivious to the stares, or maybe he was simply used to them. The sleek lines of an M3 coupe probably attracted a lot of attention.

  Cole watched it pull away, wondering if Gregory had glanced back at them. With the side and back windows darkly tinted, it was almost impossible to see the driver, let alone tell what he was doing.

  “Well?” Beth said as the car disappeared into the flow of traffic. “Now that you’ve met him, you see why I was insisting he couldn’t have done it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She smiled, looking relieved, so Cole didn’t say anything more while they walked to his car. But his seeing why she’d insist her father wasn’t a murderer didn’t make it a fact. Killers came in all shapes and sizes.

  When that thought started him wondering about Angela Gregory again, he told himself to stop. It was Beth’s father who was the likely suspect. And the fact he seemed like a nice-enough guy hardly guar-anteed he wasn’t harboring deep, dark secrets.

  Pulling out of the parking lot, Cole headed west on King, toward the old factory district where Beth had said her apartment was.

  She seemed content to simply gaze out the window, so he let himself think about Glen Gregory some more. When she’d told him about her recovered memory, his only overt reaction had been fatherly concern.

  Still, the fact remained it was his face she’d remembered. Which had been enough to convince Mark Niebuhr that Gregory was the killer. And a psychiatrist knew a hell of a lot more about recovered memories than a private investigator—than this one, at least.

  But how much faith could you really put in a memory that had surfaced after twenty-two years? One that Beth, herself, insisted was confused?

  ‘‘You want to turn left at the next corner,” she said.

  He flicked on his signal and turned.

  “Then it’s a right and a quick left onto my street—Wilson Place.”

  Wilson Place, which he’d never even heard of before, proved to consist of a single block tucked in between Wellington and Front. It was a mix of small factories—some that appeared to be still operational, others that looked as if they’d shut down long ago, and a few buildings that had been converted into residential units.

  “It’s the sandblasted one up on the right,” Beth said.

  He pulled over to the curb and surveyed it. A typical old brick warehouse, four stories high with a flat roof, it had probably gone residential during the early eighties, when renovators were spending big bucks on features like this building’s expanse of dark marble framing the front entrance, the ornate carriage lights and the brass handrails running up the sides of the steps.

  “Originally, there were plans to turn the entire street residential. But that was before the real estate market went bust,” Beth told him. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning. You’re sure you want to pick me up, though? I could easily meet you at Frank Abbot’s.”

  “No, it makes more sense to go together.”

  “Okay, then I’ll be ready at nine.”

  When she opened her door, he opened his as well. “I’ll walk you to the entrance. It’s pretty deserted around here.” Definitely not the safest place for a woman to live on her own, he silently added

  “It isn’t the ideal location,” she said, as if she’d read his thought. “But the apartments are great And I work out of mine, so being on the fringe of down-town is handy for clients. Besides, if I’m coming home alone at night I’m usually in my car.”

  “And you park it…?”

  He glanced along the block. The streetlight in front of her building was burned out, and the moon was casting strange shadows. Without even trying, he could pinpoint a dozen places where someone might be hiding.

  “There’s an underground garage.”

  “In an old building like this?”

  She shrugged. “The renovators were magicians. The entrance is just down that drive on the far side of the building. It’s a safe garage,” she added, at his quizzical glance. “Well lit.”

  “That helps,” he said as they crossed the side-walk. But if she believed that made it safe, she shouldn’t be let out at night without a keeper.

  They walked up the front steps and stopped at the door.

  “I’m fine from here, assuming I can find my keys,” she said, digging through her purse. “Unless you’d like coffee?”

  He almost said yes. Surprisingly, given the circumstances, he’d enjoyed being with her tonight.

  But she was a client, not a date, so he shook his head. “Thanks, but coffee and I don’t get along this late.”

  “I have decaf.”

  On the other hand, if he went in, they could discuss exactly how they were going to approach Frank Abbot in the morning. He’d been planning to do that on the way to the man’s house, but maybe tonight would be better.

  Just as her smile was making him decide it would, a gunshot exploded.

  Chapter Five

  Beth started at the noise.

  Then Cole was diving at her, propelling her so roughly down the stairs and into the sheltered space beside them that her ankle twisted.

  It wasn’t until the second blast, until she heard a brick splinter in the wall above her, that it dawned on her the earsplitting sounds were gunfire. With the realization, her heart began hammering even faster. But after the first two shots, there was only silence.

  They stayed right where they were, Cole’s body pressing her so hard into the building that she could scarcely breathe. But where was the shooter?

  She couldn’t keep from imagining him stalking down the street toward them, couldn’t stop thinking that any second he’d be firing again—from point-blank range.

  “Don’t you have any curious neighbors?” Cole whispered at last. “Why hasn’t anyone come out?”

  They must have figured it was just a car back-firing,” she whispered back. “That’s what I thought at first.”

  “Well, you’ve got shards of brick in your hair to prove it wasn’t. Don’t move,” he added, easing away.

  Cautiously, he half stood and peered along the street. “Okay, it looks clear. But stay where you are, just in case. My phone’s in the car, and I’ve got to call the cops right now. Otherwise there won’t be even a chance o
f them spotting him.”

  He was halfway across the sidewalk before it occurred to her that her phone was in her purse, that he could have used it. Then she discovered she didn’t have her purse. She must have dropped it somewhere between the front door and the shelter of the stairs.

  Still crouched down, and trying to ignore the way her ankle was aching, she edged forward so she could see more.

  Cole was sitting in the car, his phone to his ear. The street was as quiet and lifeless as it normally was at this time of night. But the sounds of the shots were still ringing in her ears, and terrifying thoughts were scurrying around in her brain.

  Had the shooter merely been some loony on the loose? Or had he known exactly who he was shooting at? Had he been waiting here, on her street, for her to arrive home?

  Trying to ignore the chill slithering up her spine, she told herself not to jump to conclusions. She’d wait and see what Cole thought. He was the ex-cop here.

  Finally, he climbed out of the car and headed back across the sidewalk, pausing only to retrieve her purse from the steps.

  “You don’t think our friend will come back, do you?” she asked.

  ‘‘I almost wish he would. I don’t normally carry my gun, but I was at the shooting range this morning and it was still in the glove compartment. I’ve got it on me now.”

  That must mean Cole figured there was a chance the shooter would be back, she thought nervously. And why would he figure that unless he thought it hadn’t been just a random shooting?

  “Let’s get inside.” He offered his hand to help her up.

  “What about the police? Will they be coming?”

  “Uh-uh. I got around that by talking to an officer I know. We don’t want to be sitting here at midnight with a couple of cops. Not when I just told my buddy all there is to tell.”

  Letting go of Cole’s hand, she tentatively put a little weight on her ankle. It didn’t feel too bad, but her first step made her breathe in sharply with pain.