Pre-Meditated Murder Page 23

  “How will you get home?”

  “I’ll call a cab or hitch a ride back with your sister.”

  Michael considered my offer for a couple of seconds, then squared his shoulders. “No. I’m innocent. I’m not going to act guilty.” He gave me a forced smile, handed back the keys, and pointed at the schedule. “Come on. Let’s go watch the Toddler Trot.”

  The Toddler Trot—a hundred-foot dash for kids three and under—was one of Shannon’s new events. Eight deadly cute almost-babies lined up on one end of the beach, held back by their captors (aka parents). A hundred feet south, other family members prepared to coax the toddlers to run in their direction. The first child to go from one end to the other would win a fifty-dollar gift certificate to a local toy store.

  The athletes consisted of five adorable girls and three precocious boys, Jimmy among them. His mother held him on her hip at the starting line. The woman I assumed was his grandmother stood at the finish.

  I put Bella in a sit next to me. “This should be interesting.”

  And it was.

  The chaos began with the bang of the starter gun. Three baby-girl athletes plastered their palms to their ears and burst into tears. The rest of the runners ran full speed—in every direction except toward the finish line. Two careened toward the ice cream area; one headed for the beach. Jimmy beelined it straight toward Bella.

  “Puppy!” he screamed. He tore off to the left, run-wobbling his way toward my toddler-loving canine.

  His mother’s eyes widened. “Jimmy, come back!”

  His grandmother yelled, “Come this way, baby!”

  “Bella, down!” I yelled.

  We all might as well have been swearing in Sanskrit. Jimmy and Bella were Romeo and Juliet, separated by parental buzz killers. Jimmy reached out his hands; Bella reached out her tongue. The two collided in a puddle of fur, giggles, and German shepherd saliva. Jimmy wrapped his tiny arms around Bella’s neck and pulled. She flopped to the sand and nibbled his chin. Neither boy nor beast had ever looked happier.

  Jimmy’s mother slid next to him and tried—unsuccessfully—to pull his arms off his canine best friend. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s obsessed with your dog.”

  I should have been horrified, and part of me was. But mainly I was enchanted. “The feeling’s obviously mutual. I think Bella is happier than he is.”

  Meanwhile, back at the finish line, a curly haired toddler staggered into the happy embrace of a man I assumed was her father. The crowd cheered; two children cried. Every child got a medal, whether they finished the race or not. Michael and I laughed so hard that tears streamed down our faces. For that brief moment, Gabriella and Officer Boyle—and even Dale and his PI friend in Portland—were long forgotten.

  It felt wonderful.

  Next up was the 5K run, which had about three hundred participants of all ages. They jogged. They walked. They dragged along erstwhile canine companions. Some carried water bottles, others dog waste bags. Most wore huge smiles and not nearly enough sunscreen. No doubt about it: Shannon’s event was a rousing success.

  Shortly after the first group of runners crossed the finish line, Michael and I made our way to the roped-off space designated for the yoga class. Participants—about sixty, by my estimation—started filing into the area a few minutes later. Andreas pulled a reluctant-looking Von to the front. Jimmy’s mother, Zoey, took a space in the middle. Jimmy must have been with his grandmother. Either that, or Zoey had buried him up to his chin in the sand.

  I ducked under the rope and handed Bella’s leash to Michael. “Looks like I’m on deck. Bella seems pretty calm, but keep her away from other dogs, just in case.”

  “No problem.” Michael pointed to a spot about ten feet behind me. “We’ll hang out here.”

  “Watching people practice yoga is as exciting as watching paint dry. Wouldn’t you rather go for a walk?”

  “Are you kidding?” The right side of Michael’s mouth lifted into a rakish grin. “Watching your backside could never be boring.”

  My throat—and a few places significantly lower—tingled. Michael and I were getting back to normal. Normal was good. Normal was easy. Normal was heaven.

  Normal was short-lived.

  I raised my voice to be heard over the crowd. “Welcome to yoga class. My name is Kate. How many of you have done yoga before?” To my surprise, about eighty percent of the participants raised their hands. “Wonderful. How many of you have done Viniyoga?”

  No one. Except Michael, and he wasn’t practicing.

  “The beauty of Viniyoga is that there’s no ‘right’ way to do a pose. All that matters is that you feel better at the end of practice than at the beginning. If anything doesn’t feel safe, don’t do it.” My students smiled back at me. An easy crowd. So far so good.

  After making sure there were no injuries, I asked everyone to stand and touch their palms together at their hearts in the Anjali Mudra, often called Prayer Position.

  “Close your eyes and deepen your breath.”

  I closed my eyes, too, so I could visualize our upcoming practice.

  I’d teach most of it standing, since the participants didn’t have yoga mats. We’d begin with poses that stretched the muscles involved in running. A variation of Warrior One would stretch the calves. Dancer’s Pose would open the front of the thighs. A Staggered Legged Forward Bend would release hamstrings. We’d finish with some symmetrical forward bends to ease the low back and include plenty of arm sweeps to erase shoulder tension and relax participants’ necks.

  Plan in place, I opened my eyes.

  And came face-to-face with Officer Boyle.

  He stood straight across from me on the edge of the yoga space, arms crossed, face scowling.

  I glanced back at Michael. He nodded to let me know he’d seen him, gave me a double thumbs-up sign, and mouthed the words knock ’em dead. Probably not the most appropriate statement, given how Gabriella had died, but at least he didn’t tell me to break a leg.

  I tried to focus on teaching, but Boyle’s scowl evaporated my attention. Instead of conjuring up visions of peace, I pictured Gabriella’s body. Where was her wedding ring? The tan line on her fourth finger indicated that she wore the ring regularly. If she’d taken it off at home, why hadn’t Shannon and I found it in her apartment? If the killer stole it, why?

  “Take a deep inhale and raise your arms up to the sky. As you exhale, fold forward and bring your face toward your front knee.”

  Gabriella’s face. I shuddered. Her beautiful face had been destroyed by her killer. Bludgeoned over and over and over again. Her killing wasn’t a random act of violence. She was beaten to death by someone she knew. Someone she might have hurt back. I glanced at Von, who was wrapping his hands around the backs of his ankles. The bandage on his forearm haunted me. What was it hiding?.

  Officer Boyle stopped glaring and strode toward Michael. I kept teaching. “Let’s do some modified Sun Salutations. I’ll do the first repetition with you, then allow you to move at your own pace.”

  I moved slowly, timing my instruction so students could easily follow along. My body relaxed into the flow of breath-centered movement, but my mind refused to obey, jumping from thought to disconnected thought. Starfish ankle bracelets. Bulging white envelopes. Happy wedding photos. Tragically unborn children.

  I performed the first repetition with the class, then asked them to move on their own. My eyes found Boyle a few feet away, still staring at Michael, who was now chatting with Crystal. For the moment at least, Michael seemed safe.

  “A few more repetitions, and then we’ll move on.”

  The students were finishing the last Downward Facing Dog when Jimmy’s grandmother ducked under the rope. She whispered something to her daughter, who stopped moving.

  “You what?” Zoey shrieked. “You lost
him?” The rest of the class stopped moving and started mumbling. Zoey shielded her eyes and peered up and down the beach. “Jimmy!” she cried. “Where are you?” Her eyes grew wild. “Jimmy!”

  A tiny voice wailed in the distance. “Mommy!”

  Everything next happened in an impossible fast-forward slow-motion. Zoey pointed toward the toddler’s voice and screamed. “Stop him! He’s kidnapping my son!”

  I followed her finger—straight to the man with the camouflage hat. He held the struggling toddler in a vice grip under his elbow. He glanced at Zoey and started running. Fast.

  Bella ran faster.

  She whipped toward the child’s cry and lunged, ripping the leash out of Michael’s hand. Before he could stop her, she tore after Jimmy’s abductor. The rest of us humans—including Michael, Zoey, Officer Boyle, and me—sprinted excruciatingly slowly behind her.

  Bella reached the camo-hatted man a good ten seconds before the first human. She flew through the air, planted her front feet on the would-be kidnapper’s back, and knocked him flat to the ground. He dropped Jimmy, scrambled to his feet, and kept running. A male bystander tackled him near the sidewalk. Bella stayed with Jimmy, circling around him, snarling and snapping. Anyone who didn’t know her would have thought she was rabid.

  My heart dropped to my toes. Bella was guarding Jimmy. Protecting him. I knew it. Michael knew it. I had a feeling Jimmy’s mother knew it, too. But we might be the only three.

  “Somebody stop that dog before it kills him!” a stranger’s voice yelled.

  “Bella, it’s okay!” I yelled louder. “Leave it!”

  Officer Boyle pulled his gun.

  “No!” I screamed. “Don’t shoot her!”

  Boyle didn’t pause. Then again, I couldn’t blame him. Police officers are trained to act on split-second impulses, and Boyle believed a child was in imminent danger. To a cop—any cop—human life trumped animal. Every time.

  He raised the gun and pointed it at Bella.

  A feral “Nooooooo!” echoed behind me.

  Michael flew through the air, tackling Officer Boyle from behind and knocking his gun to the ground.

  I dove next to Bella and grabbed her collar, praying that in her near-crazed state of arousal, she wouldn’t accidentally attack me.

  Michael and Boyle scuffled in the sand, yelling at each other. Neither one paused long enough to listen to the other.

  “Don’t move! Get on the ground! Now!”

  “She wasn’t going to hurt that kid, you idiot. She was protecting him!”

  Jimmy’s mother skidded next to me and wrapped her arms around her sobbing toddler. “Thank you. Oh my God, thank you.” She pushed Jimmy to arm’s length and scolded, “I told you not to run away from Grandma,” then immediately wrapped him back in a deep embrace. Bella whined and licked every square inch of his face with her long, black-spotted tongue.

  When I stopped shaking long enough to look up again, Officer Boyle was securing Michael in handcuffs. Blood dripped off Michael’s chin and splattered in crimson droplets across the front of his shirt. An unfortunate side effect, I assumed, of an untimely collision with Officer Boyle’s fist. The camo-capped man—whose fallen hat revealed a sweaty, balding head—was being led away by one of the officers I’d seen earlier.

  Shannon, who’d come from lord only knew where, screamed at Officer Boyle. “He wasn’t resisting arrest, you moron. You didn’t have to coldcock him!” Crystal stood beside her, crying and reaching toward Michael.

  Von grudgingly grabbed Bella’s leash. “I’ll hold her. You should go talk to the cop.”

  By the time I arrived next to Michael, I was shaking so hard again that my teeth chattered. His nose was still bleeding; his right eye was blackened and swollen. I ignored the cuffs on his wrists and the injuries to his face and wrapped my arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re okay. You could have been shot!”

  Then reality hit.

  I shoved him away. Relieved anger spewed from my mouth. “What were you thinking! You could have been shot!”

  “I didn’t think, Kate. I just reacted. Bella was a hero. I couldn’t let her get hurt.”

  Officer Boyle grabbed Michael by the elbow and jerked him roughly away. “You just made a huge mistake, buddy. You’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer. You’re mine now. You and I are gonna have ourselves a little talk.”

  Boyle recited the Miranda warning as he led Michael away.

  nineteen

  The next twenty minutes passed in a dark, ominous fog that provided paradoxical clarity. A tear-filled thank you from Jimmy’s mother later, I’d learned more than I’d ever wanted to know about bitter divorces and contentious custody battles. Evidently, moving across the country didn’t protect you from a crazy man hell-bent on destroying you.

  My theories about the camo-hatted man had been simultaneously correct and dreadfully mistaken. As I’d surmised, he’d been up to no good, but his actions had nothing to do with Gabriella. He’d been scoping out his ex-wife Zoey’s home town, waiting for an opportunity to abduct their son.

  I’d eliminated a suspect, but that gave me absolutely no comfort. Michael was in Officer Boyle’s custody now. At best, Boyle was a rogue police officer who had no problem using his fists on a prisoner who wasn’t resisting. At worst, he was a killer. What if a few punches to the face were only the beginning of his plans for Michael? What if Michael was in imminent danger?”

  In that moment, any suspects other than Boyle seemed ridiculously unimportant. All that I cared about was keeping Michael safe. I jogged over to Shannon, who had officially closed up the remaining fun run activities early. She huddled near the yoga area with Crystal and Von, looking distraught. Andreas was nowhere in the vicinity.

  I grabbed Bella’s leash from Von and pointed in the direction of Boyle’s disappearing patrol car. “Shannon, he might be the killer.”

  Shannon’s face wrinkled in horrified disbelief. “Michael? Jeez, Kate. What’s wrong with you? My baby brother risked his life to save your dog! Now you accuse him of murder?”

  “Not Michael, the cop,” I replied.

  Disbelief turned to dismay. “Michael drove off alone with a killer?”

  Von rolled his eyes. “That’s ludicrous. Why would a police officer kill Gabriella?”

  “Guys, that’s not imp—”

  Shannon interrupted me. “Well, Michael certainly didn’t kill her. He’d never hurt anyone. And that cop is obviously violent. He beat the crap out of Michael.”

  “Listen. I need you to—”

  “Oh, get over it, Shannon,” Von snapped. “Michael deserved a good clock cleaning. He tackled an armed police officer. Someone could have been killed. He’s lucky he got off with the jab to the nose.”

  Shannon pressed her purple-red face up to Von’s. “You can’t say that about my baby bro—”

  I interrupted them both with a loud finger whistle. “Both of you! Shut up!”

  The look they passed my direction could have fried ice cream.

  “Sorry, but I need you to listen to me. Michael could be in danger.” I blurted out the whole story—including everything Dale had ordered me to keep secret—not omitting a single detail. Gabriella’s pregnancy, the money Shannon and I had found taped behind the posters, the argument Mona had witnessed between Gabriella and Boyle, and my new fear that Boyle might be planning to harm Michael. I ended with, “We have to do something.”

  One thing was certain: Shannon wasn’t angry with Von anymore. She was livid at me. “Michael lied to me. And you let him! ‘Dale has a plan,’ indeed.” She yanked out her cell phone. “You and that damned lawyer keep too many secrets. You should have told me all of this. What’s his phone number?”

  “I’ll call him.” I pulled out my phone and pressed Dale’s number on speed dial.

  I started talking the instant h
e said hello. “Dale, I’m so glad you answered. We have a problem.” I told him about Jimmy’s attempted kidnapping. When I got to the point where Michael tackled Boyle, Dale interrupted with a string of swear words so foul I didn’t even know what all of them meant. “I think Michael might be in danger, Dale,” I finished. “Boyle arrested him for assaulting a police officer.”

  “You two couldn’t stay out of trouble for one single afternoon?”

  “It wasn’t our fault. We—”

  “Can it, Kate,” Dale snapped. “I don’t have time for your excuses right now.”

  I jerked the phone away from my face. What the hell? First Shannon, now Dale?

  In the year I’d known Dale, he’d never lost his temper with me. Not once. Not even when I’d deserved it. I lifted the phone to my ear, fully intending to snark back, but a terrifying realization froze the retort before it emerged from my throat. Dale wasn’t angry with me. Not really. His frustration was an escape valve. A release that covered up a more primal emotion.

  Fear.

  For Michael.

  “Dale, please,” I choked. “Don’t be mad. I’m scared.”

  Silence. I imagined Dale counting to three. “I know, Kate-girl, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It doesn’t matter, anyway. What’s done is done. Where did Boyle take him?”

  “I don’t know. The police station, I assume.”

  Shannon interrupted. Her face had faded from purple-red to a flushed pink. “If he’s asking where Michael is, he’s probably on his way to Astoria. That’s the closest police station with a jail.”

  “Did you hear that?” I asked.

  “Yes. Hang on for a minute.” Another few seconds of silence. “Damn. It will take me two hours to get there. I’ll call my lawyer friend to see if he can get to Astoria sooner, then I’ll head to my car. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” More whispered swear words whisked through the phone line.

  “Dale?”

  “Yes?”