Page 46 of Witness To Murder
As long as the weather was good, Leah almost always walked from her apartment to the library. It was a good half-hour stroll, but she enjoyed it. Other times, she took the Blue Line. Walking was her favorite, though. Approaching the iconic brick building with its big old owls always gave her goose bumps. Inside was equally amazing, with ten floors of incredible visuals as well as what you came to a library for—books and research material.
When Leah was offered the position, she’d felt deeply honored. She worked every hour possible between school sessions, and just as many weekends and other odd hours when in session. The past week hadn’t worked out so well, but at least she still had a job. She’d worried about the negative publicity related to the investigation.
She’d spent the first half of this evening’s shift on the fifth floor, working in the Assistive Resources Center, one of her very favorite things to do when not browsing and working with the books on the seventh floor.
Now she had moved to the Maker Lab on the third floor to do some cleanup after an Open Shop preview class introducing those interested to the array of equipment available, from 3D printers to laser cutters and sewing machines. Such a great opportunity for the community. There was so much offered at this library. Leah never tired of seeing what was happening on any of the floors.
Owen had followed her from floor to floor. He stayed in the background, found something to appear busy, but his attention was always on her. Each time their gazes collided, she shivered.
She tidied the stack of sign-up sheets. Most participants were quite good at cleaning up after themselves, putting away supplies and tossing in the trash what should go there. The Open Shop classes had been fuller than usual tonight. No registration was required for most of them, which allowed bringing a friend at the last minute or opportunities for just showing up when you hadn’t been sure you could attend. It was all very relaxed and user-friendly.
Staying busy had helped Leah to put the encounter with Alyssa out of her head for a while. All the things she had said made sense on some level, and yet the idea of trusting her after what she had admittedly done was difficult, at best. The notion of never seeing her again or sharing aspects of their lives was harder than Leah had expected. There she went with the up-and-down thing again.
As promised, Owen hadn’t called Detective Lambert about the meeting. They had talked, but he didn’t once mention Alyssa. Instead, he asked the detective about Raymond’s ex-wife and a potential disgruntled investor. Lambert had, of course, interviewed the ex-wife numerous times. She had an alibi for Saturday night and all day Sunday and Monday. She’d gone to her mother’s on Sunday and, after hearing that Raymond was missing, had decided to stay. The children, a fifteen-year-old boy and thirteen-year-old girl, had been with her. The whole thing was horrifying for the children. Leah couldn’t imagine anyone hurting a child. Why in the world would Raymond be so uncaring about his own? To have them believe their father had been murdered just to get away from their mother?
It was awful, just awful.
The ex-wife claimed to have no idea about the life insurance policy or any investor problems. Both belonged to Raymond and he didn’t share information with her. She did recall that he had taken out the policy a decade ago. She had nothing to do with it. The fact that she was a beneficiary had come as no surprise, but the detail of another woman being on the list of beneficiaries had floored her, according to Lambert. He hadn’t given Leah’s name, but the news had mentioned her on Tuesday, so the ex knew who Leah was. Leah was immensely grateful she hadn’t shown up at the apartment, or here at the library, looking for her.
Mrs. Ward, the personnel director, had assured Leah that she had answered no questions from reporters or anyone else about her. Leah was relieved. The idea that she had been here since two with no lookie-loos or snoopy reporters seemed to back up the director’s claim. Security would have escorted them out, but Leah was very thankful it hadn’t come to that.
She glanced across the room to where Owen had taken another call. He’d been making and fielding calls all evening. He’d been trying to catch the agent who’d set up the life insurance policy. He was also still digging into the black sedan they, luckily, had not seen today. It was as if the driver had seen all he needed to, and now he was just gone.
Leah picked up a stack of manuals and headed for the storeroom. Each lab shared a very generous-size storeroom with its neighbor. The space was like a Jack-and-Jill, with doors on each end, one to the room where she was just tidying up and another on the opposite end to the neighboring lab. She tucked the manuals onto the proper shelf. Since a few supplies were out of place, she returned them to their correct space. She scanned the room once more, then turned to go. The lights went out.
Leah froze.
There wasn’t a timer on the lights… Someone had to have flipped the switch. The silence had her trying to slow her heart’spounding, for fear whoever had turned off the lights would hear it.
Then she ran for the door.
A hard body slammed into her, trapping her against the wall next to the door. She tried to scream, but a gloved hand covered her mouth. He—had to be a man, tall, strong—dragged her backward…across the room and then through the other door into the neighboring lab. She blinked against the light.
He shoved her to the floor. Slammed her head against the hard tile. She tried to scream again, but the next bash of her head made the room spin and her vision darken.
Something wet hit her—her face, her arms—the smell vaguely familiar. Some distant, still-working brain cell had her wishing she could move, but she was fading into nothingness. The sound of Owen’s voice calling her name followed her into that black place.
Chicago Hospital
Lawrence Avenue, 11:30 p.m.
SHE HAD A CONCUSSION.
Owen stood at her bedside, his forearms braced on the bed rail. His eyes closed against the images that haunted him each time he thought of what he’d found in the room right next door to where he’d been standing…on the damn phone.
Lambert had called him with the information Owen had asked for. He should have followed Leah into that storeroom while listening to the detective. But he’d been frustrated that Lambert had nothing new on the car, and he’d pushed Owen about where he and Leah had spent their morning. He wasn’t buying the excuse that they were just driving around to help Leah relax. She was supposed to be, according toLambert, searching for her former roommate in places they had frequented—like the club last night.
It wasn’t until he’d heard a thumping sound that Owen realized Leah was still in the storeroom. He raced into the storeroom, found it dark but saw the light under the door in the next room. He rushed toward it, burst through the door just in time to see a man wearing a ski mask and holding a lighter. Three things hit him simultaneously: Leah was on the floor. There was a smell…something he had smelled before. And the lighter the masked man held was not the disposable kind but the old-fashioned type that kept its flame once you lit it until you closed the lid to extinguish it.
He charged the guy. The bastard ran, but not before throwing the lighter on the floor.
The instant that lighter flew through the air, Owen’s brain identified the odor he’d smelled when he came into the room.
Gasoline…charcoal lighter fluid…something on that order.
Owen dove for Leah. He rolled her as far away from where the lighter hit the floor as possible. Flames lit, searing across the tile floor, then, out of fuel, dying as quickly as they’d started. The fire alarm blared to life.
Leah had moaned and Owen’s heart had surged into his throat. He’d used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the lighter fluid from her face. “Hey, Leah, can you hear me?” he’d asked.
