She sent Ashley a text and told her she couldn’t come into work tomorrow. There had been a threat and the police were concerned about her safety. The threat part was speculative, but Nolan and Crawford had suggested she lay low, stay someplace else for the night, and she was damn well going to abide by their recommendation.
She had to sit on her overstuffed bag to zip it, then she went to the bedroom window and dumped out the remaining peanuts Jim had left after his binge so he had some fodder while she was gone. It was knee-jerk to check the lock after she’d closed it, as pointless as it was.
On the dresser next to the window were the red roses, even more spectacular today as their tight blooms unfurled. How sad that she would never enjoy the beauty of roses again. They would always represent fear to her now.
Melody rolled her suitcase into the hallway, got her guitar case from the closet there, and packed up her Gibson—Netta’s Gibson—sans the rose. It was all she had left of her. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Sam she’d found it in a pawn shop. It took her six months to find it after she’d gotten clean, and it was no small miracle that it had come back to her. They’d been through a lot together and she wasn’t going to leave it for some maniac.
She wondered why the maniac hadn’t taken the guitar in the first place, but maybe that was the next phase of his plan. And maybe killing Sam was a part of the next phase, too, Yuki had just been a warning shot.
Why was someone after her now?
It was a good question, but since she’d been anonymous during her rocker days, maybe it had taken her tormenter all these years to track down Roxy Codone after she’d dropped off the face of the planet, lived on the streets, and finally reemerged as Melody Traeger, bartender and college student.
The cops had thought it was a good theory, but they’d also been fairly upfront about the hopelessness of pursuing it. In its heyday, Poke had enjoyed some devoted fans, but that was a long time ago. But the black Jeep had given them something to chew on, and maybe it would get them closer to an answer. Maybe it would be the answer.
The police assigned to the case were gone now, no doubt looking at vehicle registrations and hoping to find a violent former felon obsessed with Poke who drove a black Jeep Rubicon. Teddy had left on his heroic quest to acquire a security system. Only Nolan and Crawford remained. She paused when she heard them arguing about something outside and walked softly to the front door, hoping to eavesdrop. It was no problem. The walls were thin and she could hear everything they said.
“They found the weapon that killed Yukiko Easton in a dumpster half a mile away from her house, Mags, and it’s registered to Sam Easton. His fingerprints are all over it, and all over her house.”
“He told me his fingerprints would be all over the house. And he probably gave her the gun for self-protection when she moved out. Anybody could have used it, including Dawson Lightner. It’s not enough to arrest him.”
“It is if you consider the other factors, like the holes in his alibi for this morning, the cheating wife, his presence at her house, the fact that he’s under psychiatric care, it’s plenty. That’s a solid case to argue for an arrest, but I’m not saying we should. Not yet.”
“What’s your plan, then?”
“Bring him in for questioning. If he’s as unstable as Dawson Lightner said he was, we can crack him easy if he’s good for his wife. And I’m liking him better and better for Gallagher’s murder, too.”
Melody shrank back from the door. Sam a killer? There was no way, they had something wrong. Didn’t they?
“We never thought he was good for Gallagher. Don’t make a case for convenience,” Nolan countered.
“You never did, but I always thought his connection with Traeger made him a possible. Listen, I understand you’ve got a soft spot for Easton, you have some things in common, but don’t make this about Max.”
Max? Melody moved closer to the door again and pressed her ear against it.
“Fuck you, Al. This isn’t personal. Sam Easton might be damaged, but he’s not an insane, psychotic killer.”
“Okay, I’ll give you another option: Traeger. She kills her abusive boyfriend, then steals one of her lover’s guns and gets rid of the wife.”
“Put it back on the rails. Traeger’s not our killer, but she might be the next person on a slab if we don’t get our shit together.”
“We need to make a move.”
As Melody waited for Nolan’s reply, she realized she was shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering. After a long silence, she finally heard the detective’s voice.
“Okay, let’s bring him in.”
Melody slowly, carefully backed into the kitchen, trying not to make a sound. She jammed herself into the furthest space away from the front door and called Sam, praying he would answer. He did.
She spoke in a rushed whisper. “Nolan and Crawford are coming to take you in.”
“For what?”
“They have evidence that links you to Yuki’s murder.”
“That’s impossible. How do you know?”
“I overheard them talking. Crawford wants to arrest you, Nolan doesn’t.”
“Are they still there?”
“I think so. We need to talk.”
“Can you come over now?”
“That was my plan, but they might get a head start.”
“I’m leaving my house now. Pick me up in the alley behind that bakery by my house, will you do that?”
Melody kept her silence for a moment, revisiting her conversation with Nolan about her relationship with Sam: friends and colleagues for six months, never lovers. In truth, she really didn’t know him that well, even though she felt like she did. And she definitely didn’t know how deep his problems ran, maybe much deeper than the things he’d shared with her. There was compelling evidence against him, and he’d pointed out she was a poor judge of character.
Her uncertainties about him felt like a betrayal, but she had a strong survival instinct, too, which told her to push away from trouble. She’d had enough of that in her life. “You seriously want to run from the cops?” she finally said.
“Temporarily. Listen, Melody, don’t do this if you’re not comfortable with it. But I’m not a killer. I hope you believe that.”
She did believe it. With all her heart. And if she was wrong … well, she just wouldn’t worry about that right now. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Chapter Fifty-four
IF YOU WANTED TO DISAPPEAR FOR a while, a city with millions of people was a good place to do it—unless you had a badly disfigured face. Los Angeles didn’t have a lot of places that offered privacy, but Sam decided Will Rogers State Park in the Santa Monica Mountains was a decent choice. It had plenty of isolated spots along the hiking trails, and there had been times he’d gone running there and not seen another soul.
On the drive there, he and Melody exchanged information and when he heard about Poke and the white rose, something crystallized in his mind. Whatever was happening, things were coming to some kind of a head and they were both in danger. It wasn’t paranoia, it was just common sense.
He’d been completely upfront with her about his blackouts and hallucinations—he owed her that. No more secrets at this stage of the game. Their lives might depend on mutual honesty. His story hadn’t sounded any better the second time around. No wonder Dr. Frolich wanted him in the hospital, and maybe Melody did, too. It was a lot to take in all at once.