Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,60

too.”

“And so here we are, working together just fine,” he said.

“Right—on our way to prove that our prime suspect might be innocent!” she said.

“Yep,” he agreed, glancing her way. She looked intent, lost in thought.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well, I was thinking about the dead girls...and then Billie Bingham.”

“And?”

She shook her head, frowning. “It’s there. Right there. I felt that I’d seen Billie before. Several times. But a long time ago. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Let it go, and the answers will come. Right now, it’s time to hope to hell that we can get some video surveillance from the convenience store. And the thing is...” Keenan trailed off, focused on the traffic.

But Stacey knew what he was getting at. “Even if Smith is innocent, he may have the key to point us to the guilty party—whether he knows it or not.”

* * *

Despite the insanity of their hours—and the strange dreams that had plagued her the previous night—Stacey felt a sense of ease as they met up with Fred and Jean Channing.

She really liked both detectives very much. Fred was thorough, an investigator who didn’t mind any help, who didn’t seem to care about making an arrest himself but was just going to do what it took to get a job done. Jean didn’t have a chip on her shoulder, she just saw herself as an equal and an investigator; as a top detective, she was comfortable with her position, and her attitude was much the same as Fred’s—all hands on deck, and it didn’t matter who did what if they could catch the bad guy.

They met at the run-down little convenience store. The sign read Kevin and Kal’s Kwikie Mart. Stacey eyed the old camera above the doors skeptically—it was dented and out of shape.

But just as they had seen in Congressman Smith’s elegant neighborhood, the dilapidated shop in the poor section of town warned would-be thieves with a plaque in front that they were under video surveillance.

“I’ll go first,” Fred told them. “Actually, we may be in luck. I think we saved this guy from a robbery once. He might like cops.”

Fred went in. They waited. Keenan, Jean and Stacey looked around the street. Stacey had noted that Keenan had something of a photographic memory. When he’d been somewhere, he seemed to remember everything about it.

They weren’t on the sidewalk long. Fred was soon back out, a smile on his face.

“‘Kal’ is really Mohammed Abdul and a super guy—I remembered him, he remembered me. They were being robbed at gunpoint one night when I was close-by—we snuck in, got the perp, no shots fired. Come on in. He’s got his computer up in the back, and we’re welcome to go through the file. We’re in luck—he’s all digital and has footage going way back. Jean is great with a computer. She can probably find it fastest!”

“I wouldn’t say I’m great, but I am fairly competent,” Jean said dryly.

“That will work,” Stacey and Keenan said at almost exactly the same time.

“Lord, you’d think these two had been working together for years,” Jean said. “Let’s go.”

They all trailed into the store.

The exterior was deceptive. Inside, Mohammed Abdul kept a spotless and logically arranged store. Little shelf cards advertised rows of pharmaceuticals, household cleaners and different foods. The refrigerated section was even labeled—dairy, beer, soft drinks. There was a special row for diapers and baby needs.

Mohammed was a man of medium height, dark-haired, of an indeterminate age—he was polite and friendly but aware that they were on business. He introduced his wife, who was working at the cash register, and led them through a door to an office in back. There, he had his desk, computer, a fax machine and a printer, separated just a foot from row upon row of paper towels, dishes and toilet paper.

Jean sat at the computer; Stacey, Keenan and Fred hovered behind her.

“I knew her,” Mohammed said, watching them. “I knew Jess, and she was a sweet, kind woman. She opened doors when she saw someone struggling. She reached for things off the shelves for the elderly. Anything I can give you, anything that will help catch her killer... I will do.”

“Did she come in the night before her body was discovered in the alley?” Stacey asked him.

He nodded gravely.

“What time?” Keenan asked.

“Before midnight, I believe,” Mohammed said.

“Precisely!” Jean exclaimed. She turned to look at them all. “Sir, your video shows not just Jess Marlborough coming into the store, it shows Congressman Smith’s car—and even his