Deathwatch (8 page)

Bing watched him with sympathy.
“What can I do to help?”

“
I’m good.
I’m home.
I have to get some paperwork straight with the VA, get my physical therapy.
I’m hoping I can have one last surgery.
Then it’s just a matter of building strength back in the arm.
I want to be back as soon as possible.”
 

“
We’ll be here, waiting.”
 

A moment of silence passed.

Murph shifted in his seat.
“What happened to Stacy?”
He wanted to help.
He hated that he hadn’t been here when Bing might have needed him.
“Where does the investigation stand?”
Then when the Captain’s face darkened, he almost wished he hadn’t asked.

“
Random crime.
She was gardening, went in to wash up.
Probably interrupted a burglary in progress.
One bullet through the chest.
She was dead instantly, the ME says.”
Bing's voice broke.
He cleared his throat.
“Then the bastard ran.
Didn’t even take anything.”
 

“
If there’s something I can do.”
Canvassing the neighborhood would have been done by now, but looking at the file with a pair of fresh eyes might pick up something.
 

Bing cleared his throat again.
“
I appreciate it.
We’ve been over it all with a fine-toothed comb.
I’ll let you know if something new comes up.
Your only job right now is to heal.
You want to take your guns home?”
 

The man wanted the subject changed, and respecting that was the least Murph could do.
He swallowed the rest of his questions about the murder.

“
Thanks for letting me leave them here.”
Before he shipped out, he’d brought his personal weapons to store them in his locker at the station.
He hadn’t wanted to leave guns in an empty house where any teenager might be tempted to break in to host a party.
Or where Doug might sell a couple if he was tight on money.
 

They talked a little longer, then Murph left the Captain to his work, walked to his locker for his two handguns and two rifles, not exactly an arsenal.
He brought the bag up front to his desk then took a couple of minutes to run a background check on his unexpected tenant.
He had her name and the license plate number that he'd memorized before she left for work.

Her clunker was registered to a William Moser who was two years dead.
Interesting.
Her name didn’t come up in any of the law enforcement databases.
She had no prior record.

He opened the state DMV database.
The Pennsylvania Department of Motor Vehicles had close to a dozen Katherine Concords.
However, the woman living in his house didn't match any of the pictures that popped up on the screen.
He checked the photos twice, carefully.

Maybe she was from out of state.

Or maybe she was using a fake identity.

Before he could follow that train of thought, a man about his age strode into the station, drawing Murph’s attention from the screen.
The visitor moved like a cop, but he wasn’t in uniform.
He measured up the place like a cop, giving Murph a brief nod when their eyes caught.
He walked up to Leila at the counter and talked to her for a minute.
Then Bing came from his office and the two shook hands, the stranger talking.

Russett hair, jeans and a blue polo shirt that matched his eyes, he didn’t look familiar from town.
Murph raised an eyebrow at Harper.
Harper shrugged then went back to his computer.

The guy’s body language seemed guarded.
He had a friendly look on his face, but at the same time his expression stayed closed.
He talked to Bing for a good fifteen minutes and handed him some papers before they shook hands again.

“
Who was that?”
Harper called out as the door closed behind the guy, and the Captain headed back to his office.
 

“
Jack Sullivan.
Moving up here from Maryland.
He wanted to know if we had any openings on the police force.”
 

Murph waited.
The station and the people of Broslin were Bing’s responsibility and he would do what was best for the town, friendship notwithstanding.

But Bing shook his head.
“I told him we don’t have anything permanent.
I might be able to use him for the next month or two if everything checks out.
I could use an extra pair of hands until you come back,” he told Murph.
“FBI calls twice a day to send  us off on some wild goose chase with the bank robbery business.
I’m falling behind with the regular work.”
He walked into his office.

Murph’s shoulders relaxed.
It was nice knowing that his desk would be here, waiting for him.

Once again, he paged through what little information he’d found on his tenant, but the data was as unhelpful on second read as it’d been on the first try.
He shot the breeze with Harper and Chase for a few minutes.
They wanted to know about Afghanistan and he gave them the synopsis.
Then he asked a couple of questions about Stacy that he didn’t want to ask Bing.

But as he headed out, his thoughts mostly circled around Kate.
They were going to have a real talk when her shift at the diner ended.

* * *

Mordocai stared up at the ceiling as he sat in a tub of scented water and relaxed.
His small rental apartment was nothing to brag about, the carpets gross, the curtains fraying, but the old-fashioned cast iron tub made up for some of that.
He was an assassin on holiday.
He deserved a little pampering.

He did his best thinking in the bath, always had.
There was something primordial about being submerged.
He would swear he was smarter in water.
Even professional assassins were entitled to a few quirks.

He liked this leisure to savor life and his work.
He liked that this time, he wouldn’t have to rush.
Even if his plans had been messed with.

Murphy Dolan, the landlord, had returned unexpectedly and was staying with Kate.
Did she know him from her life before?
None of the research saved on the laptop sitting on a chair next to the tub pointed that way.
This was her first time in Pennsylvania, and Dolan had never lived anyplace else.

Dolan was a cop and a soldier.
He had skills, but they shouldn’t be a threat.
There were skilled men, and then there were assassins.
They were hardly in the same category.

Still, another person in the house could mean complications.

He splashed in the water as he shifted to stretch his legs.
He closed his eyes, letting the steam envelop him in a haze of well-being.
He had time.

Kate was a job he’d chosen, personal, without deadlines, without restrictions, without a client who would change his mind half a dozen
times and try to micromanage him.
He could afford to take his time with Kate Bridges.
Katherine Concord now.
 

Becoming her friend hadn’t been difficult.
Yes, she was vigilant, but she was also lonely.
He’d chosen the perfect disguise, the perfect persona to sneak past her defenses.

He’d see her today.
He’d ask her about Dolan then.
And she would talk to him because she trusted him.

He liked this new game, to have the leisure for something like this.
He enjoyed being an assassin on holiday.

* * *

“Have a great day!”
Kate called after a departing customer, then winced as pain shot up her elbow, her arm overloaded with the heavy tray.

Work was a blur.
All those people who wrote cheerfully quaint books and movies about the slow pace of small town life never worked in a small town diner.

The Main Street Diner was a well-known fixture of Broslin, serving home-style meals and coffee since before the township had been incorporated.
Since the town was famous for growing mushrooms, they put mushrooms in nearly everything, including dessert.
Eileen, the owner, was known for her mushroom ice cream, which tasted a little like cream of mushroom soup, but sweeter.

Work was a mad rush, but the diner was home, more so than the house she rented, and the people here had become friends even in just a few weeks.

People called each other by their first names; the waitresses knew the regulars and their standing orders.
Kate finally memorized enough so she wasn’t making too many mistakes.

“
We need more Portobello quiche on the counter,” she said as she sailed back to the kitchen with her new order after dropping off lunch for seven.
 

Jimmy, the new cook’s assistant, tall and skinny as a pole bean, flashed her a hopeful look as he peeled potatoes in a bucket by the backdoor.
“You got time later?
I have a couple of tests coming up next week.”

Jimmy was attending GED classes, and she helped him with his studies.
He was a twenty-year-old drifter with a killer mohawk, trying to make something of himself at last.
He reminded Kate of her sister, probably because he was the same age as Emma.
He talked about the same bands Emma always raved about, the same kinds of movies.

Kate thought about the talk she was supposed to have with Murphy Dolan.
They hadn’t set an exact time.
“
I can stay an extra hour.
If Eileen is still busy in the office, we can just walk over to the library.”
 

She picked up three plates of burgers and fries with the special sautéed mushroom sauce that was the diner’s specialty.

“
You da best,” Jimmy called after her as she walked through the swinging doors with the tray.
 

She nearly collided with Delia, the other new waitress, a buxom brunette in her early thirties.
She had a Betty Boop kind of vibe going, and she played off that with her hairstyle and clothes, which brought in pretty good tips from the male customers.

Kate flashed her an apologetic smile.
“Sorry.”

“
You’re fine.
I saved the last slice of chocolate mousse pie under the counter.”
Delia winked at her as she stepped aside.
 

The two of them stuck together, Delia especially eager to make friends.
She'd moved to Broslin from Jersey to be closer to her boyfriend.
She planned on staying, while for Kate this stop, like the others, was temporary.

She smiled her thanks.
“You’re an angel.”
They could share the pie with a cup of coffee later.
Traffic ebbed and flowed, giving them time now and then to rest their feet.

Eddie Gannon, the town handyman slash snow plow operator was sitting at the counter with his giant mug that Eileen was refilling for him.
He rented the small apartment above the diner, and because he plowed the diner’s parking lot first when it snowed, he got free refills.
He waved at Kate.

“
Hey, Eddie.”
 

Antonio had come in, she noticed, sitting in his usual spot in the corner.
He drew the eye for sure, wearing a flawless Italian suit and designer leather shoes.

He let his gaze travel over her lazily, a slow smile stretching his sexy lips.
Antonio didn’t do anything in a hurry.
He ate his pie and drank his coffee as if eating was an art form.
The waitresses speculated plenty about the kind of things the man could do with those slow, lazy hands of his.

“
Ciao, Bella,” he greeted her in a faint Italian accent, repeating it in English, in a huskier tone.
“Hello, Beautiful.”
 

Kate smiled back.
She couldn’t not.
He was a traveling businessman, stopping by the diner every couple of days.
He always sat at one of her tables.
He was so hot he could have sold things on TV that weren’t butter.