Tough Customer

CHAPTER 8

MS. BUCKLAND?"

"Yes?"

The voice was so faint Ski could barely hear her on his cell phone. He plugged his other ear with his index finger. "Sally Buckland?"

"Yes. This is ... I'm Sally Buckland."

"My name's Ski Nyland. I'm a deputy sheriff in Merritt County." When she said nothing to that, he plowed on. "We had an incident here last night, Ms. Buckland, and some people you know were involved."

"Oren and Berry. I heard about it on the news."

Ski wasn't surprised that the Houston media had picked up the story of the shooting. Probably dozens of similar incidents had occurred last night, but Caroline King had been a large player in the Houston area real estate market before moving to Merritt. Her name was newsworthy. He was glad of it. Because of the news coverage, millions of people would be on the lookout for Oren Starks.

He confirmed with Ms. Buckland that Starks and Berry Malone had been her co-workers at Delray Marketing and that she was also acquainted with the shooting victim, Ben Lofland.

"They said Ben is in serious condition."

"That's been upgraded," Ski told her. "He's going to be fine."

Two deputies came into the squad room carrying Whataburger sacks. Others fell on the fast food like a pack of coyotes. Ski placed his hand over his phone and yelled at them to pipe down. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't had a proper meal today.

Back into the phone, he said, "I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me, Ms. Buckland."

"No."

Her abruptness took him aback. "I promise not to take up much of your time."

"Why did you call me?"

"Because I'm conducting an investigation, and you know the three principals involved. Oren Starks issued some serious threats, and he's still at large. Anything you can tell me would be greatly appreciated." She was silent for so long that Ski had to prod her. "Ms. Buckland?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know anything."

Another deputy approached Ski, proffering a burger oozing melting cheese, but despite how mouthwatering it looked, Ski waved him off. "Ms. Malone has alleged that Oren Starks shot Mr. Lofland." Sally Buckland said nothing in response. "When you worked at Delray Marketing, were you aware of any hostility existing between Mr. Starks and Mr. Lofland?"

"No."

"No ill will of any kind, at any time?"

"No."

"Okay. What about--"

"This really is none of my business."

She sounded unreasonably upset. In Ski's experience, people--particularly people with nothing to hide--were flattered to have been contacted by the authorities. Typically they puffed up with self-importance and welcomed the chance to unload information even when it didn't pertain to the case.

"Please, Ms. Buckland, just a few more questions."

"But I don't know anything about this. I left Delray months ago and haven't seen these people since."

"Did you leave Delray on account of Oren Starks?"

"Who told you that?"

"Did you?"

"That's ridiculous."

"Starks didn't factor into your decision to leave the company?"

"Of course not."

Ski wanted to eliminate any confusion over this point. "Did Oren Starks persistently pursue a romantic relationship with you?"

"Heavens no."

"Did you quit your job in order to avoid his unwelcome advances?" She didn't respond, but he could hear her breathing. "Ms. Buckland?"

"None of that is true. If Berry led you to believe that Oren is a stalker, she's lying. Now I really must go."

She hung up before Ski could stop her.

"Very well done, Sally. Considering the disquieting circumstances and how nervous you are, you spoke exceptionally well and said exactly what I wanted the deputy to hear. Thank you."

Oren Starks covered her hand where it still gripped the landline telephone. "Let go, Sally," he said, laughing unctuously. "It's as though you're holding on to that phone for dear life."

She released the telephone and, without moving her head, cut her eyes far to the left so she could see him out of the corner of her eye--which had the barrel of a pistol pressed against it. "I did what you told me to, Oren."

"And I've said thank you."

"So you'll leave now?"

He smiled with feigned regret. "No, I'm afraid not."

"But you said--"

"What I said was that I would leave when you'd done what I asked you to."

"Which I did."

"But you're not finished yet, Sally." He stroked the pistol's barrel along her jawline, returning it to her temple. Her fearful whimper gave him enormous pleasure. "By throwing off that deputy sheriff, you made up for some of your meanness toward me. But not for all of it. You and I are still a long way from even."

"How did ... how did you know he would call me?"

"You don't have to be a whiz kid to figure that out, Sally. It's Criminal Investigation 101. The first thing an investigator--in this case the deputy sheriff--would want to know is why I shot Ben Lofland last night. Berry would have told him that I am a spurned suitor. He would have asked if anyone could corroborate that, and she ... would ... have ... named ...

you."

He tapped the pistol against her head to emphasize each word. On the last, he pressed the barrel of it hard against her cheekbone. "Naturally the deputy would follow protocol and check out her story. What was his name again?"

"N-Nyland," Sally stammered. "I think that's what he said."

He shrugged with indifference. "Doesn't matter, really. What does matter is that you disputed Berry's allegations, leaving her with a lot to answer for."

"Despite what I said, this deputy might think she's telling the truth. Maybe I didn't throw him off track at all."

"Oh, I believe you did. You sounded very convincing to me, Sally."

"But law enforcement officers never take things at face value. He might have heard the nervousness in my voice. Even now, he could be--"

"Sally, Sally, you're getting your hopes up."

"My hopes up?"

"That you'll be rescued." He gave another sad smile. "Believe me, the Merritt County S.O. has more to do today than follow up with little, insignificant you."

Her lower lip began to tremble. He stroked it with the pad of his index finger. At his touch, she recoiled.

"Stop that!" He flicked his finger hard against her lip. Even though he had the upper hand, her rejection angered him. How dare she flinch when he touched her?

He was the one with the power now. Which she'd realized the instant she entered her house with a shopping bag of groceries. When she saw him standing in her kitchen, she'd given a startled cry, dropped the bag to the floor, and stumbled over it in her haste to escape.

He'd caught her and held on. To keep her quiet, he'd assured her that he meant her no harm. But of course she'd heard about what had happened in Merritt, so the implication of his ambush had been immediately clear. She'd struggled hysterically until he'd pressed the pistol to her head. That had made her considerably more cooperative, although she'd continued to blubber, asking what he wanted of her.

He'd told her that they would wait for some peace officer or another either to telephone or to appear at her door with questions about him. While waiting for that inevitability, he'd coached her on how to answer when those questions were put to her.

He'd promised that, if she complied with his request, she would live. If not, he'd shoot her in the head. Apparently she had believed him, because she'd answered the deputy's questions as though reading from a script written by Oren himself.

But now that the expected call had taken place, she seemed even more terrified of him than before. Probably because the deputy's questions had reminded her of how horribly she'd treated Oren. She'd rejected his affections and, adding insult to injury, had contributed to his dismissal from the job he'd loved and had been so well suited for.

No wonder then, was it, that she was trembling with fright.

He tapped the muzzle of the pistol against her temple, reminding her again that her fate lay entirely with him.

"Wh-what else do you want me to do, Oren?"

"I don't recall you stuttering like that before, Sally. You surely didn't stutter when you turned down my repeated invitations to dinner. Or when you returned my Valentine roses. You were articulate enough when you told our co-workers how you couldn't stand to be around me."

"I never--"

He struck her hard on the side of her head with the barrel of the pistol. Her cry of shock and pain was better than whispered sweet nothings. "Don't compound your cruel rejection by lying about it, Sally. Don't insult my intelligence."

She was crying in earnest now. Her face, which he'd always thought to be pretty, looked ugly, the features crumpled with pain and fear, snot dripping from her nose, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, Oren."

"Please what, Sally?" he asked silkily.

"Please don't hurt me."

"But you hurt me. You damaged me personally and professionally."

"I never meant to hurt you." Her voice cracked on the last two words. She was shivering as though she had a palsy.

"Now, Sally," he said in a soothing voice. "No need to fall apart on me. Didn't I tell you that you would come to no harm if you did everything I asked you to?"

"Yes."

"Didn't I promise not to hurt you if you discredited Berry?"

"Yes."

"Well then. So far, I've kept my promises, haven't I?"

She nodded.

Holding the pistol hard against her temple, he wrapped his hand around her biceps and steered her about. "Unfortunately, one chat with a deputy sheriff doesn't reparation make. So, into the bedroom we go."

Her footsteps faltered. "What for?"

"Use your imagination."

She sobbed. "Please, Oren. I'm sorry. For everything, I'm sorry. Don't hurt me. I'll do anything."

He laughed. "Oh, I'm counting on that."

While Ski was redialing Sally Buckland, he heard his call waiting chirp. The incoming call took precedence. He clicked over. "Nyland."

"It's Andy."

"What's up?"

"The night attendant at the bait shop?"

"At the three-way stop on Lake Road?" Earlier that day, Ski had questioned the man, who claimed not to have seen or heard anything out of the ordinary last night. Impatiently he asked, "What about him?"

"He watches a lot of TV during his long shift. Seen every episode of Law & Order. Reruns on cable, too. You know how they play several episodes back to back every night?"

"Okay."

"He doesn't miss. He pays attention to how the cops crack the case. So he's been doing some amateur sleuthing today."

Oh, Christ. Ski ran his fingers through his hair and wished he hadn't turned down the cheeseburger. It felt like his stomach was gnawing on his spine. Andy was still talking.

"He got out last night's sales receipts--"

"I went through those. None of the credit cards belonged to Starks, and he didn't fit the description of anyone paying with cash."

"Yeah, but this guy went back through his receipts, to see if something might've been overlooked. It's a slow day, he said. Anyhow, he ran down a guy who charged some gas for his bass boat late last night near the time of the shooting. And that guy, the bass boat guy, remembers seeing another guy while he was filling his gas can. Said he went into the men's room and it looked to him like the guy had a busted leg."