Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,97
carousel and veered out of the way. The boy cast one last glance at the gun, then ran for the doors.
The gym teacher fumbled with the bookmark carousel, as if trying to right it, but only making it worse, blocking the guard so he couldn’t follow the boy. The guard finally extricated himself.
The old man waved toward the doors. “He went—”
“The gun,” Hope said, pointing. “It’s still there.”
The guard looked from the gun to the doors. A manager crept over, slinking around the shelves as if trying to assess the situation without getting involved.
“You can’t leave the gun there,” Hope said. “There are kids in the store.”
The manager stepped out then. “She’s right. I’ll call the police. He didn’t steal anything, did he?”
“I don’t think so, but—”
“Good. Let the police handle it then. Just get that thing out of here.”
Hope backed away, waving for Robyn to head toward the doors before anyone stopped them for a statement. As they escaped, Hope looked for the gym teacher. He was gone.
FINN
* * *
FINN HAD PASSED THE PHOTO of Jasmine Wills all around the station before finding a detective visiting from another precinct who thought the man in the background resembled a guy he’d interviewed as a witness a few years back.
“But my guy died before the case came to trial,” the detective said. “Arrogant son of a bitch. Wouldn’t give me the time of day, so I was looking forward to putting him on the stand, just to screw up his week. Guy was some head honcho for the Nast Corporation. You heard of it? I hadn’t. One of those companies that doesn’t seem to produce anything except other companies. My guy’s name was Chris, I think. Your guy looks like he could be his brother. I’d pay a visit to the company tomorrow, flash the photo around. From what I heard, the whole damned family works there.”
Finn looked up the case. It was almost seven years old. A carjacking. The witness had seen the whole thing, but didn’t bother to call the police. Unfortunately for him, a civic-minded passerby had been busy writing down the license numbers of all the not-so-conscientious people who drove off. Kristof Nast. Now deceased, as Finn verified.
Now Finn was trolling the Nast Corporation Web site, searching in vain for photos of the executives while Damon continued roaming the department, eavesdropping. Madoz arrived, looking for an update. Finn gave it to him, then showed him the photo.
“That’s Irving Nast,” he said without hesitation.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. Works for the Nast Corporation. Vice president of something or other. He’s the CEO’s nephew. I had a case a couple of years ago, one of their employees was killed in a hit-and-run. The widow had this nutty conspiracy theory. Claimed the company did it.”
“Orchestrated a hit-and-run?”
Madoz laughed. “Yeah. Apparently the guy quit his job the week before. Definitely a hanging offense.” He shook his head. “Total bullshit, but I had to follow through. I think the widow was hoping they’d pay her to shut up. Anyway, my liaison with the firm was Irving Nast.
Nice enough guy. Confused as hell about the whole thing, but cooperated fully. Wish they were all that easy.”
“Did you have a home number for him?”
“I think so. Let me grab the file.”
FINN CALLED Irving Nast’s home number and got his wife. That made things tricky. Nast had cooperated with Madoz, but he might be less inclined to do so when the matter involved a potential indiscretion with a very young woman. Without admitting why he was calling, Finn was able to get Nast’s wife to tell him where he was—at the office for a few hours—but couldn’t persuade her to part with a cell phone number. So a drop-by visit was in order.
As Finn drove to the Nast head office, Damon’s fingers drummed against his leg. He had been like that since the shooting, disappearing into his thoughts, sometimes so much that he faded, once vanishing completely for a few minutes before surging back with a fresh spurt of energy.
The woman’s death had bothered him, Finn knew, but more than that, watching her husband’s shock and grief had reminded him of Robyn. Last night, Damon said he expected he’d be kept away if Finn found Robyn. But Finn knew he’d hoped that being allowed into the fair meant the barrier had been lifted. He’d expected to see her. Now that disappointment kept pulling him under.
Damon balled his fist and shook it. When he rested his hand on