The Crush Part 18

"Then what happened?"

"I've told you. About a dozen times." Wick rubbed his eyes. They were scratchy from lack of sleep.

"Tell me again."

"After we left the barn, she went into her house. I was not invited inside."

"Do you think somebody else was in there?"

"I never saw anyone else. There were no other cars around. I have no reason to believe anyone was inside, but I couldn't swear to it. Okay?"

"Why didn't she invite you in?"

"Common sense would be my guess. She had only met me once. Briefly. And I show up at her place in the country with some half-baked explanation about how I tracked her down? If I were a woman I wouldn't have invited me in."

"Good point. Go on."

"I have a question," Thigpen said. "Did you see any weapons around?"

Wick snapped his fingers. "Now that you mention it, she was packing an Uzi in the pocket of her jeans."

Thigpen muttered a disparagement. Oren gave Wick a retiring look and motioned for him to continue. "I forgot where I left off."

"She went in. You stayed out."

"Right. Then this old man shows up. Toby Robbins.

Big, robust dude." He recounted his and Rennie's conversation with the rancher. "He seemed very protective of her and suspicious of me. Kept looking at me funny."

"You're kinda funny-looking."

Thigpen was making himself hard to ignore, but Wick was determined to ignore him. He had hoped that by the time he arrived Thigpen would have left for the day and that he would have to tell his story only to Oren. No such luck.

He also noticed that the photographs of Rennie he had removed from the wall had been smoothed out and replaced. He didn't acknowledge their return. He refused to give the slob the satisfaction.

"Is the FWPD going to pay for the damage to my truck?" Wick asked, changing the subject. "The cost of having it fixed will be just below my deductible. You watch."

Oren dismissed the dent with a negligent wave.

"When I sent you there I asked you to scout out the place.

I didn't know it would wind up being a date."

Wick rolled his eyes. "We have differing opinions on what const.i.tutes a date. I didn't know I was going to see her. The race just sorta happened and things progressed from there. I went with the flow. I wasn't into it for fun."

Liar, liar. Pants on fire, Wick thought to himself. He had very much enjoyed watching Rennie attend to her horses. Whatever else she might be, or whatever else she might have done, or whoever else she was involved with, when it came to those animals, it was a mutual love affair.

That was the only time Wick had seen her looking completely happy and relaxed.

He hadn't minded the earthy smell of the stable. The merest scent of horse flesh stirred the latent cowboy

spirit in every Texan. The hay had been fresh and sweet-smelling.

And the sight of Rennie riding bareback hadn't exactly been hards.h.i.+p duty. But he didn't dare expound on that.

He said, "I don't consider grooming a bunch of horses a date."

"You went for ice cream."

"At a place where they play Donny and Marie and wear red-and-white-striped s.h.i.+rts. Hardly candlelight and wine. And still not my idea of a date."

"It's not a date unless he gets laid."

"Thigpen!" Oren rounded on him. "Shut up, okay?"

Wick was on his feet, fists tightly clenched. "At least I can get laid, Pigpen.

How your wife can find your d.i.c.k underneath all that flab is a mystery to me. If she even wants to look for it, which I seriously doubt."

"For the love of G.o.d, will the two of you cut it out!"

Oren barked. "We've got work to do here."

"Not me. I'm outta here."

"Wick, wait!"

"I've been up for hours, Oren. I'm tired."

"I know you're tired. We're all tired. No need to get nasty."

"I pa.s.sed nasty a long time ago. I haven't slept in ...

h.e.l.l, I can't even remember when I last slept. I'm going to my home away from home and sleep till this time tomorrow.

See ya."

"He was her father's business partner."

The simple statement halted Wick. It also deflated him. He dropped back into the metal folding chair, flung his head back, closed his eyes. Even though he had a strong intuition about what the answer would be, he asked, "Who was her father's business partner?"

"The guy our lady doctor whacked."

Again disregarding Thigpen, Wick opened his eyes and looked at Oren, who nodded somberly. "I spent a few hours this afternoon in our downtown library. I had to go back several years to find the story, but it made even our newspaper."

"The really juicy ones usually do," Thigpen remarked.

"And this one's really juicy."

Oren shot him another warning glance before turning back to Wick. "His name was Raymond Collier. He was shot and killed in T. Dan Newton's home study. Present at the scene was sixteen-year-old Rennie."

Sixteen? Jesus. "And?"

"And what?"

"What were the details?"

"Scarce and sketchy," Oren said. "At least in the Star-Telegram. I can't really start researching it until tomorrow.

I didn't want to call Dalton PD until I could talk to somebody in a carpeted office. I don't want this to filter out through the rank and file. If word got around that she was under investigation, it could backfire on us." He studied Wick for a moment. "I don't suppose she opened up and talked about any of this with you."

Wick waited for several seconds to see if Oren was serious, and when he determined that he was, he laughed.

"Yeah. I think it came up when she was trying to decide between strawberry or hot fudge." Oren frowned his displeasure.

Wick said tiredly, "No, she didn't open up and talk about anything that happened when she was sixteen."

"Did she mention Lozada?"

"No, Thigpen, she did not mention Lozada."

"The trial? Her jury duty?"

"No and no."

"You spent hours with her. What'd you talk about all that time?"

"Primates and how some are still evolving. In fact, your name came up."

"Wick," Oren said in a chastening tone.

Wick exploded. "He's a moron. Why would she mention Lozada?"

"Why don't you just tell us what you talked about?"

"Her horses. Her place. How much she likes it out there. My boring job in computer software. Nothing.

Chitchat. Stuff. Stuff people talk about when they're getting to know one another."

"But it wasn't a date." Thigpen snorted like the hog he was.

Wick sprang up from his seat again. "I don't need this s.h.i.+t."

Oren shouted over him. "I'm only trying to get your impressions of this suspect."

"All right, you want my impressions? Here's the first.

She's not a suspect. I think her a.s.sociation with Lozada stopped the minute the judge banged the gavel to end the trial. And speaking of Lozada, has anybody been watching him?"

"His Mercedes was in his building's parking garage all day," Thigpen reported.

"Whatever," Wick said. "Keeping this surveillance on Rennie Newton is a waste of time. It's stupid and pointless.

She doesn't look like a murderer. She doesn't act like a person who's just knocked off her colleague. What has she done that's the least bit suspicious? Nothing. Not a d.a.m.n thing. It's been business as usual since we started watching her.

"Meanwhile, while we've been sitting here playing pocket pool to keep ourselves alert enough to monitor everything she does, whoever did knock off Dr. Howell is laughing up his sleeve at us because he got away with it.

You asked for my impressions. Those are them."

"You want Lozada as much--no, more--than I do."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n right I do," Wick shouted. "But she's got nothing to do with Lozada."

"I'm not ready to concede that."

"That's your problem." He scooped up his hat.

"You're leaving?"

"Good guess."

"For home?"

"Right again."

"To Galveston?"

"Tell Grace and the girls good-bye for me."

"Wick--"