The Last Exit: A St. James Mystery (St. James Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  Tommy had her hand on the door. All she wanted was to leave, to get in her car and scream where nobody could hear.

  “Listen, I can give them suggestions on who to let go, but ultimately the executive editor and publisher could over-rule my ideas.”

  Tommy thought about it for a minute. “So, it’s probably going to be me and John?”

  John was the veteran photographer on the staff. He had survived two rounds of layoffs in the past—probably because the editors were worried about outrage if he were let go. He had given his life to the paper. He had been there some forty years. But he was tired. He probably only took one photo a week and spent most of the time socializing in the newsroom. He could have retired a long time ago, but didn’t want to quit because he was worried he’d have nothing else to do. Newspaper was his life.

  Sandoval just shook his head. “He’ll get a nice pension and a buyout. He’ll figure it out.”

  “Damn it.” Tommy said. “So, it really might be me, too?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t guarantee you’ll stay. Just prepare yourself.”

  Prepare herself? For what? A job shooting weddings? She’d just as soon join the military. That would be equally as soul sucking.

  Down in the dumps, Tommy packed her things and headed home.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHEN TOMMY UNLOCKED the door to her condo on the fourteenth floor, she could immediately smell Mexican food. Her mouth began to water. The lights in the apartment were dimmed and the dark sliding glass windows gave an unobstructed view of the lit-up bridge over the Mississippi River and the downtown Minneapolis skyline across from it.

  Two tall candlesticks illuminated her small dining room table.

  She’d planned to go for a long run to relieve her stress and anxiety, but this was even better.

  Across the breakfast bar, in the kitchen, Detective Patrick Kelly sang along to some Afro-Cuban music piping through the speakers as he manned three different burners and peeked in the oven. Tommy caught a glimpse: tamales, rice and beans. and enchiladas.

  Her spirits immediately soared. At least this part of her life was going well. For once.

  Kelly paused to sip a sweating Corona with a lime sticking out of it and noticed Tommy watching him with a smile. On the bar counter between the kitchen and dining room table sat another frosty beer and a lime slice on a small plate. She threw her bag on the couch and then leaned over, popping the top off the beer and squeezing the lime wedge into it before taking a long and satisfying gulp.

  She sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed Kelly from behind. He had a chef’s apron belted around his waist, so she tugged on the strings and pressed herself against his back, kissing his neck.

  “Hey sexy lady,” he said, leaning back into her. “You hungry?”

  “Ravished.”

  “This would have been ready when you walked in but your favorite cop and mine, Sgt. Laughlin, suddenly needed to commandeer my computer tonight before I left.”

  “What? Why?” Tommy took another sip while peeling off her jacket with one hand, tossing it on the couch.

  “Dunno. His went on the fritz and I guess because I sit next to him and am one of his underlings, he thought he’d use mine to get the info he needed before his stake out.”

  “God, he’s such a jerk.”

  “No biggie. I waited around for a while, but finally told him just to log off when he was done because I couldn’t wait to get home to you.”

  This made Tommy smile. “You said that to him?”

  “Well, no. I didn’t want to rub it in. He’s spending tonight doing a little stakeout while I’ll be spending my evening doing a little make out.” Kelly grinned.

  “Very funny. But true.”

  Kelly gestured to the dining room table with his beer. “Have a seat, I’ll be right in.”

  Tommy sank into the dining room chair and gave a contented sigh. Nothing like coming home to a hunky man cooking her dinner to take the edge off. Along with the feeling of pleasure, a tiny jolt of anxiety coursed through her remembering the conversation with Sandoval earlier.

  Tommy was used to going it alone. She ran away from home at sixteen. Her father, who frequently left her mother cringing on the floor with black eyes, had decided Tommy was old enough to take a beating. But Tommy left before he could lay a hand on her. Although she felt guilty leaving her mother, she had no choice. By the time she was legally an adult, her mother was dead by her father’s hands. Her father died in prison last month. She didn’t attend his funeral.

  It was only recently that she finally let go of the guilt she had for running away and leaving her mother. For years, she had blamed herself for her mother’s death. Now, she knew she couldn’t have saved her mother even if she’d stayed home.

  Her raw emotions over this had meant for years she hadn’t ever easily let anyone into her life or her world. She sometimes let them into her bed, but not her heart. It was safer that way. If she were alone, she wouldn’t get hurt or disappointed.

  But somehow, Kelly had broken down those walls and inserted himself firmly into her life. He even had his own key now, which still astonished Tommy. She’d come so far. But one day, she finally realized it made sense.

  Her musings were interrupted when Kelly walked in, carrying steaming platters of Mexican food.

  “I had a hankering for some enchiladas and figured you wouldn’t object to me making myself at home.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m still pinching myself,” Tommy said.

  Kelly set the platters down and leaned over to give her a long, kiss. For a minute, Tommy forgot all about the food. His kiss turned her mind to mush. All she could think about was his mouth. When he pulled back, she started to scoot her chair back and nodded her chin toward the bedroom smiling.

  Kelly laughed. “They’ll be time for that. Just giving you a taste of what’s to come. Let’s fortify ourselves first.”

  It only took a few bites for Kelly to notice her downcast mood.

  “Rough day?”

  “Another round of layoffs coming. I’m on the chopping block. Between me and some wet-behind-the-years photog who basically told them she’ll give them her soul wrapped up in a silk ribbon and work for peanuts.”

  Kelly looked at Tommy for a long moment.

  “But you’re good. You’re talented. They can’t let you go.”

  “Oh, but they can.” She took another swig of her beer.

  “Well, that sucks. Royally sucks. But try not to let it rent space in your head until you know something for sure, okay?” He reached out and grabbed her hand. “You’re a survivor, St. James. Whatever happens, you’ll be okay. Right?”

  She nodded and gave a tentative smile, but inside she wanted to weep. She couldn’t imagine not being a photojournalist.

  Later in bed, with Kelly snoring heartily beside her, Tommy propped herself up on one elbow to look down on his face. A single beam of moonlight fell in a strip over his face. I could get used to this, Tommy thought.

  The thought sent a chill through her, enough so that she pulled the sheet up tight. It was dangerous to care about someone this much. She knew it deep in her core. It would only end badly. That’s why sleeping with Parker had been so perfect. She was never in danger of falling for him. He was a playboy and knowing that allowed her to keep her emotions in check.

  But this one? He was different. Earlier, during their lovemaking he’d stopped, froze really, and looked down into her face so tenderly, his eyes so soft. He seemed to look right into her soul. His look was so sweet and accepting that she’d fought back tears. She quickly shifted to break the intense moment, but now it haunted her. She would have sworn what she saw in his eyes was not lust or even adoration — it was undisguised love.

  Those words had never been uttered in the six months they had been seeing each other, and God knows she wouldn’t be the first one to do so, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable. He loved her. The thought terrified her and thrilled her at the same tim
e.

  Now what? Did she love him? Absurd. There was so much she didn’t know about him. She’d never even met his family, for crying out loud. Shaking her head, she tried to fall back asleep.

  It was four in the morning and she had to be up in two hours. Instead, Tommy tossed and turned until finally at 5:30 she gave up the ghost and got up for the day.

  Sleepy and bleary-eyed, she sat out on her balcony overlooking the Mississippi River and watched the sun rise to the east. Today was a new day. Her fears from the night before had vanished. She and Kelly had a weekend trip to Duluth planned later this month. Maybe that would be the time to tell him what she had finally just realized: she loved him back.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TWO WEEKS LATER ...

  The newsroom was in an uproar. Apparently, people were protesting outside the police station this morning. An angry mob held signs demanding the police chief’s resignation because it had been two weeks and there was no sign of an arrest in the Jackie Chandler killing. And worse, the autopsy results were back. Jackie Chandler had been raped before she was strangled. Tommy felt sick to her stomach when she thought about Don Chandler and his daughter, Lynn, learning that detail.

  Tommy and Parker rushed over to the second precinct. When they arrived, they had to park a block away at the end of a long line of cars. About three-dozen people were gathered on the steps to the precinct.

  All the television stations were there, reporters and cameramen jostling to interview the outspoken protesters, who held signs saying “No Arrest = No More Chief.” And “Will it take another murder for our cops to care?”

  One woman held court on the steps as the crowd gathered below her.

  “The police are incompetent,” she said through a megaphone. “They are no closer to finding the killer. I live a block from where the murder was. I don’t let my kids in the yard anymore. And I certainly don’t walk my dog alone anymore. I’m going to get a gun next.”

  Another woman on the steps took the megaphone: “If we have to take the law into our own hands we will.”

  After Parker interviewed several of the protesters, he went inside. He came back out right away and told Tommy that the chief was not going to make a statement, but that the public information officer would be right out.

  Sgt. Kathy Mattson came out. Her brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her freckled face was heavily lined giving her an odd appearance of both age and youthfulness.

  It soon became clear that she did not have any new information and had only been sent outside in an attempt to placate the angry protestors. She spent a few minutes recapping the details of the crime and outlining the number of investigators working the case.

  Police were working hard to follow all leads and gave a number for anyone who had information she said.

  The protesters heckled her. “So, in other words you are relying on the public to solve murders for you? Well, then go ahead and deputize me, baby,” one man yelled and everyone laughed.

  Mattson went back inside and slowly the crowd dispersed.

  Minnesota nice prevailed.

  Tommy took a few snapshots and headed back to the paper.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LOOKING AROUND LATER in the newsroom, Tommy saw that nobody was within earshot as she dialed the familiar number. It was a pager and she could only leave her number and wait for a return phone call. It was the code they’d rearranged. She knew he would call back right away. She only called him for really important things.

  Years earlier, when she was in grad school, Tommy had gone on a ride along with Officer David Daniels. For some reason, they’d hit it off. She suspected it was because Daniels had lost a daughter her age the year before. His daughter had been beaten to death by an abusive boyfriend hooked on crank.

  Sometime during the ride along, Daniels had extracted Tommy’s sad story from her. She was surprised. She only usually told people she had grown to trust. But something about the officer’s willingness to share his grief about his daughter had prompted her to honestly answer his questions about her life and family.

  They’d remained in touch over the years and when Tommy became a photojournalist at the Twin Cities News, Daniels had sent her a card congratulating her. He was the only person in her life who had done so.

  Not long ago, Tommy accompanied Cameron Parker on assignment to the police station while he was investigating a gang murder. It was the first time she’d seen Daniels since grad school. To her surprise, he ignored her completely and pretended he was just meeting her.

  Later that day, he called her on her cell phone and told her he had some information on the murder. The gang member who was shot was, in fact, the son of a prominent politician. Daniels told her it was best if they always pretended they didn’t know each other in public so nobody would suspect he was her source. She fed the information to Parker, who wrote an award-winning story about it. Despite Parker’s continual begging, Tommy had refused to give up her source.

  She quickly found out that Daniels was willing to help her on more than just the one story. If he felt something was unjust and that the public needed to know a large fact that would blow the case out of the water, or even a small important detail, he gave Tommy a call.

  Today, he told Tommy that the protesters were right: police didn’t have squat. Investigators were at a loss. Jackie Chandler appeared to have no enemies. It was looking more and more like she was the victim of a random assault; an attack by a stranger.

  Not only would it be a harder crime to solve, but the idea that a stranger attacked a woman for no apparent reason sent fear coursing through the community in waves.

  For the past two weeks, along with sporadic protests at the police station, TV crews had sometimes camped along the Sunset Hill walking path waiting to pounce on random walkers and joggers. Women gave on air interviews saying there was no way on God’s green earth they would ever walk alone again. Nearby businesses instructed their employees to undertake the “buddy system” if they were going to continue walks and jogs on the two-mile cemetery loop.

  Meanwhile, Jackie Chandler’s coworkers had T-shirts made with her face and the words “Justice for Jackie” printed on them as they walked the cemetery loop each lunchtime looking for clues.

  Tommy took pictures of it all, arriving early in the newsroom and staying late, hoping to keep her beloved job.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DETECTIVE KELLY WAS glad, for once, that he still hadn’t been promoted to homicide. Although he filled in and helped on big cases occasionally, his main responsibility was arresting all the idiots dealing drugs in the Twin Cities.

  He especially liked the undercover aspect of being in narcotics, which led him to meet some interesting characters, such as his biker friend, Bear. Every once in a while, the drug beat took its toll on him. Mainly, when he saw kids involved. All too often they were the silent victims of drug crimes. Forced to fend for themselves while mom and dad sat in the corner nodding off. Or even worse, the target of drug-fueled rages and violence. And the most horrific cases: when addicted parents used their kids for sexual favors.

  It was ugly. That’s why it always felt so good to bust one of the drug lords. They usually thought they were safe: sitting in fancy houses wearing diamonds and sipping brandy while underlings scrabbled on the streets, dealing drugs and getting as many repeat customers as they could.

  Nothing felt better than slapping cuffs on a scumbag like that.

  But every once in a while, Kelly longed for the big time: homicide.

  He knew he had to prove himself and put in a few more years until he was promoted to the homicide team. But right now, he was glad he wasn’t working homicide. The Chandler case was a homicide dick’s worst nightmare. Most of the detectives on the case were overworked and overwhelmed. A lot of leads that led nowhere. The department was looking bad. Nobody was even gossiping about the case, which was rare.

  Kelly was glad. He didn’t want to know jack. That way he didn’t h
ave to lie to Tommy if she asked him for information. But, she never did. That’s probably why he liked her so much. She was a fierce journalist, but she wouldn’t cross the line to get a story.

  Thinking of Tommy made Kelly smile.

  She was the real deal.

  So real, in fact, that he’d dug up his great grandmother’s old wedding ring the other day, and stared at it for twenty minutes straight.

  Until he was interrupted by a phone call. His ex-wife calling from Hawaii to tell him the kids wouldn’t be able to make it out to see him over the holidays, but that he was, as always, welcome to come see them.

  Staring at the ring, Kelly told her he might just do that, thank you very much.

  He wondered what Tommy would think of Hawaii over the holidays? He knew she’d love the idea, just like he knew his kids would love her.

  Tucking the ring in the top drawer of his dresser, he got online searching for flights to Hawaii.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT HAD BEEN THREE WEEKS since Jackie Chandler’s murder.

  As the days went on without any information, the number of protesters in front of the police station dwindled. Soon, there was only a small regular group of between three and five people standing out front during business hours.

  The press conferences stopped. Statements released by the police contained nothing new. What little information the department revealed was routine: Investigators had combed the nearby residential neighborhoods, going door-to-door looking for witnesses or suspects. Investigators questioned employees and managers at all the businesses within a two-mile radius. Investigators interviewed nearby office workers who either took a walk during that stormy day or else took a lunch break away from the office.