Justifiable Means, Page 2

  “Will it have a guard?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid not. But I’m sure you’ll be safe here. They’ll have this guy picked up in no time, and you won’t have to worry.”

  She sighed and looked out the window again. A car had just driven up, and a tall, slender man was getting out. Was that him? No, she thought with relief. Not yet.

  She stood up, wincing at the pain from the stitched gash on her thigh, and the doctor made her sit back down. “An orderly is bringing a wheelchair. You need to stay off that leg for a while. You don’t want to break the stitches. Oh, and I’ve prescribed something for pain, if you need it.”

  Her eyes strayed out the window again. “No, I don’t want it. I need to stay sharp, just in case.” The orderly wheeled the chair in, but she didn’t take her eyes from the window. “Does that room have a window over the parking lot?”

  The doctor glanced at the orderly. “I don’t know. Does it?”

  The orderly thought for a moment. “Yeah, I think it does. I can change her to a room that doesn’t, if she wants—”

  “No,” she cut in, getting up on her good leg and transferring her weight to the chair. “I want to be able to see the parking lot. I need to see who’s coming.”

  The doctor shot another look at the orderly. She realized that they thought she was suffering from paranoid delusions, but she didn’t care.

  The orderly wheeled her out, and the doctor stayed beside her. “Oh, Detective Millsaps called and said that he might not be able to come back by tonight. He said it might be morning before he could make it.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Tell him to come tonight. Please. I don’t care what time it is. I don’t think I’ll do much sleeping tonight.”

  “We could give you something to help you.”

  “No,” she said again. “I told you, I need to stay alert. Tell him to come no matter how late it is. Have they found Soames yet?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes again, and she scanned the hallway as if he might jump out of one of the rooms at any moment. “He’s still out there. He’s too smart to get caught.”

  “If he’s in St. Clair, they’ll find him.”

  “And what if he’s not? What if he’s already left town?”

  “Then you’re safe. You don’t have to worry.”

  But his logic was lost on Melissa, and as they pushed her onto the elevator, she tried not to panic. This was just the beginning, after all; it was too soon to jump to conclusions. Larry what’s-his-name had seemed competent. Maybe he would catch him. Maybe Soames would finally be taken off the streets. Maybe women everywhere would be safe from his violence.

  It had taken two hours to get the warrant they needed for Soames’s arrest, as well as a search warrant to check out his apartment, car, and place of business. Though the paperwork had taken longer than he wanted, Larry had been confident that the uniformed officers would find and apprehend Soames even before the warrant was in Larry’s hand. But Soames had managed to evade them so far.

  As they walked rapidly between the police squad cars in the parking lot toward their own unmarked car, Tony said, “You have that look on your face, Larry.”

  “What look?”

  “The look that says you know exactly where we’re going to find Soames.”

  “Wish I did, pal. I was thinking we should probably go by his office first and get that picture Melissa told us about. Then we could start with the bars in town. See what turns up.”

  Tony climbed into the passenger seat and checked his notes as Larry started the car and pulled out into traffic. “Let’s see. We have the name of the business owner. We could ask him to meet us there to let us in.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. Meanwhile, if Soames is stupid enough to go home, we have people there waiting for him.”

  “Sure would help if we had a tag number.”

  “Yeah. Kind of weird, don’t you think? A man that age not having a tag registered to him?”

  “Maybe he uses somebody else’s car.”

  “Or maybe he drives a stolen car.”

  Tony grinned and nodded toward a pay phone coming up on their right. “Pull over. I’ll call her boss.”

  Larry watched, chin propped on his palm, as Tony made the phone call. He tried to calm the rising tide of urgency he felt. But that woman sitting with wet hair stringing around her shoulders, trembling as she hugged her bloody knees to her chest, had gotten under his skin, and he wanted, badly, to give her some peace—right now.

  Tony got back into the car. “He said he’d meet us there. Sounded helpful. He said he had the guy’s tag number in a file at the office, too.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Henry Proffer, a short man with Hulk Hogan arms and a ruddy complexion from years under the harsh Florida sun, was waiting when Larry and Tony reached the small office of Proffer Builders. “Is Soames all right?” he asked. “He didn’t have an accident or anything, did he?”

  “There was a rape tonight,” Larry said as he followed the man in and waited for him to flick on the light. “Another one of your employees—Melissa Nelson. Edward Soames is a suspect.”

  The man’s face drained of color. “Melissa—raped? When? Was it here?”

  “No,” Tony said. “In her apartment. She said there was a picture of Soames on his desk. We need to use it and look around a little.”

  Looking disturbed, Henry led them down the hall to a small office. He turned on the light, then stepped back as they walked into the immaculate room. “She said Soames raped her? You sure that’s what she said?”

  “Absolutely. When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “Well . . . today. Around 4:30 or so. It was just an ordinary day. He’s my best architect. He’s not a rapist!” Distraught, he watched as they took the picture, studied it, and deposited it in a paper sack.

  “Can you tell us anything about Soames? What kind of man he is? Where he likes to go after work? Any abnormal behavior you’ve noticed with women?”

  Henry lowered himself into a chair and raked a hand through his hair. “Well, he seems like a decent guy. He does good work. I’ve never gotten to know him that well, but I’ve had no complaints about him.” He frowned as he looked up at them again. “Uh . . . what were the other questions? Oh, yeah. Women. Well, he was kind of a flirt. But then, so am I. No crime in that. I wouldn’t think he’d have to force himself on anyone. I mean, he never had trouble getting a date. Women like him.”

  “What about Melissa? Did he ever show any interest in her?”

  “Well, sure. I mean, so did I. She’s a cute girl. A little too serious, sometimes. She’s kind of hard to get to know. Doesn’t talk much. Kind of high-strung. You know—jumpy. She’s only worked here about a month, so none of us knows her very well.”

  “She get along with Soames?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I guess so. I kind of thought she might have a crush on him, tell you the truth. She acted funny around him. You know, tense. Clumsy. That kind of thing.”

  Larry gave Tony a troubled glance. “You said you had his tag number?” Tony asked.

  “Sure,” Henry said. Popping out of the chair, he rushed down the hall. Larry followed him.

  “This is too much,” Henry said when he reached his own office. “I mean, what am I gonna do tomorrow? Is Melissa gonna be back? Is Soames? We’re working on a big bid for a new office complex on Highland Drive. I can’t do without either of them.” He pulled out the file he’d been looking for and flipped through it. “Here it is.” He got a pen and jotted the number down. “He drives a dark blue Cherokee. Couple of years old. Oh—and you asked where he liked to hang out. He has a favorite bar over on Triumph Street—you know, over by the Kash ‘n’ Karry. Steppin’ Out, I think it’s called.”

  “Thanks.” Taking the paper from him, Larry hurried back up the hall to where Tony was still looking through Soames’s things. “Come on, Tony,�
�� he said. “I think we’ve got him.”

  It took only a few minutes to run the tag number through the police computer.

  “Edward J. Pendergrast?” Tony jotted the number down. “What do you think, Larry? Is it someone else’s car, or did this guy change his name?”

  Larry grabbed the radio mike. “Do me a favor, Jane,” he told the desk cop who’d done the search for him. “See what you’ve got on that name.”

  The radio crackled. “Will do.”

  A few minutes later, Jane radioed back. “Hey, Larry. Are you ready for this?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “Edward J. Pendergrast has a rap sheet. Two rape charges, as well as breaking and entering, and assault with a deadly weapon. In the first case, the grand jury acquitted him of all charges due to lack of evidence. The second one never even got to the grand jury because the judge released him on a technicality. Something about an illegal search and seizure.”

  Larry glanced at Tony. “You believe this?”

  “He obviously changed his name. Got to be him.”

  “Let’s get him,” Larry said.

  Steppin’ Out was a popular bar where young professionals came to mingle and drink and dance after work each night. The parking lot was full of BMWs and Mercedes, Jaguars and Infinities. When they found the dark blue Cherokee, they checked the number. “That’s it. That’s the number,” Larry said, trying to control his rush of adrenaline. “He’s inside.”

  “Did you get a good enough look at that picture to recognize him?”

  “I think so. Let’s go.”

  They double-parked behind the Cherokee so that their suspect couldn’t make a run for it, then went in and tried to blend into the crowd. The mingling aromas of two-hundred-dollar-an-ounce perfume, cheap aftershave, booze, and cigarette smoke wafted on the air, and the music from the band sent a deafening roar over the voices and laughter around them.

  “And they really come here to relax after work?” Larry asked his partner facetiously as they wove through the crowd.

  “It’s really not such a bad place. You should try it sometime when you’re not on duty.”

  “No, thanks, pal,” Larry said. “I prefer to breathe clean air and have a little peace and quiet when I relax.”

  Tony grinned. It was no secret that Larry never darkened the door of any of the bars in town unless he was on duty and looking for someone. Tony, however, didn’t mind stopping in now and then. “Great place to meet women.”

  “I meet plenty of women,” Larry said.

  “Right,” Tony muttered with a smirk. “At church. That’s a surefire setup for disaster. Get involved with Judy Churchgoer, and you’ve automatically got to start giving up stuff, making commitments, acting like the Pope. No, I’d rather meet someone in a place like this, where nobody really expects anything.”

  Larry had heard it all before. He concentrated on scanning the faces of the people at the bar.

  “See anything?” Tony asked.

  “Not yet. You?”

  Tony shook his head, then checked the faces at the tables—men with their most seductive smiles, women with their faces tipped up in anticipation. A soft haze of smoke gently floated over their heads, as if it held some magic that would cast a spell on each of them.

  “There.” Larry grabbed Tony’s arm and nodded toward the back corner of the room.

  It was the face they had seen in the picture, though it wasn’t as happy as it had been when photographed catching a twenty-pound bass. He seemed to be sulking as he sipped on his drink and watched a group of women at the bar. His striped pullover shirt was clean and freshly pressed, as were his khaki trousers. He’d obviously gone home to shower after leaving Melissa’s—he must have been quick, since he hadn’t been home when they’d tried to pick him up.

  “Here goes.” They wound their way between tables. Soames saw them coming toward him and straightened.

  “Edward Soames?” Larry asked, extending his right hand as if to shake.

  Soames looked from one man to the other, then accepted the handshake. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  Larry snapped his handcuffs on Soames’s wrist. “I’m Larry Millsaps, with the St. Clair Police Department. I have a warrant for your arrest. Would you come with us, please?”

  Soames sprang out of his chair and tried to wrest his hand away. “For what?”

  “You’re being charged with the rape of Melissa Nelson. You have the right to remain silent . . .” As he rambled off the words that had become second nature, he jerked Soames’s other arm in front of him and snapped the second cuff.

  Even in the darkness, Soames’s face was visibly reddening. “Wait a minute! I didn’t touch her! What did she say?”

  “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed . . .”

  “This is crazy!” Soames shouted. “I never laid a hand on her! She invited me over, then changed her mind and said she was sick or something. I left! That’s all there was to it!”

  “That’s not what she says, pal.”

  “Then she’s a liar! I didn’t do anything!”

  The band stopped playing midsong, letting the chorus die a slow death. The crowd in the bar had already grown suddenly quiet. As Tony frisked him, Soames cursed and searched the faces around him. “Hey, McRae!” he shouted. “I need a lawyer, man! Help me!”

  Larry groaned as Steve McRae, a lawyer he had had run-ins with before, hurried through the crowd. “I’m his lawyer. What’s going on here?”

  “They’re arresting me for rape!” Soames whispered harshly. “Do something!”

  “Do you have a warrant?” the lawyer asked the detectives.

  “We sure do, McRae,” Tony said, pulling it out of his pocket. “We also have one to search his car and his apartment.”

  “They’re trying to pin a rape on me,” Soames whispered so that the crowd wouldn’t hear. “A rape that never happened.”

  McRae raised one finger to quiet him. “Don’t say a word,” he ordered. “Not one word. Calm down and just go with them, and we’ll get this all straightened out.”

  Soames cursed again. His face reddened as they pulled him through the crowd, with McRae following.

  “Put him in the car,” Larry told Tony. “Radio it in, and I’ll start searching his car.” He turned back to Soames. “Give me your car keys.”

  “I’m not giving you anything!” Soames spat out.

  “Fine. Then I’ll bust a window and unlock it myself.”

  Soames kicked at some invisible object. “They’re in my pocket,” he said. “I’m cuffed, remember?”

  But before Larry could reach into the man’s pocket, Soames slid his own hand in, fished the key chain out, and flung it at him. “You’re not gonna find anything in there,” he said as Tony pushed his head down and guided him into the unmarked car’s backseat. “I’m telling you, she’s crazy. You’ll find that out yourself. I didn’t touch her, man. She started freaking out on me, even pulled a knife on me, and I got out of there.”

  McRae, the lawyer, leaned into the car. “If you want me representing you, Soames, you’re gonna have to shut up, now! You and I will talk when you get to the station. You’re not gonna tell them anything until I give you permission.”

  “But I didn’t do anything, man. I have nothing to hide!”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard to prove.”

  Soames wilted back on the seat.

  A squad car pulled up, and patrons of the bar spilled out onto the parking lot as Larry got his flashlight and began his search of the car. He checked the glove compartment, handed the registration papers to Tony, then released the trunk latch so that Tony could check inside. Then he bent down and shone his light under the seat.

  “Bingo,” he said. He stood up and pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of his pockets, slid his hands into them, then bent down again. “We’ve got something here, Tony.”

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, just a bloody shirt,” he said. “With a cart
oon on it. And look. A knife.”

  Tony leaned through the back door, astounded. “You mean he just stuffed them under his seat?”

  Larry opened the knife. “Blade’s got blood on it. What do you bet it’s hers?”

  “Why would he be that stupid?”

  “Maybe she was right. He banked on her being too ashamed to tell anyone.” Larry dropped the shirt into a bag, then the knife into another one. “Is there anything back there?”

  “No,” Tony said. “The trunk’s coming up empty.”

  Larry slid out of the car and went back to his own. Soames sat in the backseat, his teeth gritted, waiting. “Tell me something, Soames. Why would your car be registered under the name Pendergrast?”

  Soames shook his head. “I’m not telling you a thing until I’ve cleared it with my attorney.”

  “Fine,” Larry said. “Then I guess it’s going to be a long night for all of us.”

  When Soames was booked and locked up, they headed for his apartment. Several tenants came outside at the sight of the fleet of police cars in the parking lot, and Larry assigned one of the officers to question them about Soames. They used his key to get in, then began searching for any sign that a rapist lived there.

  The apartment was immaculate, with plush, unblemished furniture and cherrywood tables. Nothing was out of place. The bed was made, all the shoes were put away, and the bathroom was spotless. If there was anything telling here, it would be hidden, Larry decided.

  He went through the drawers in the kitchen, looking for anything out of the ordinary. When he found a stack of snapshots, he flipped through them. They were low-quality pictures of women who looked as if they hadn’t known they were being photographed, coming in and out of doorways, getting into cars—all photographed from a distance. Carefully, he studied them. A vague reflection on some of them made him wonder if they’d been taken from inside a car.

  “Larry!” Tony called from the other room. “Come take a look!”

  Larry found Tony in the bedroom closet, where the police photographer was taking pictures of something they’d found on the shelf. “What is it?” Larry asked.