Once they were in Falco’s car, he said, “We gonna bring Ramsey in?”

“If something’s found in her apartment, we’ll have him picked up.” Kerri fastened her seat belt. “He’s too savvy to be pressured into talking to us without some sort of evidence against him. If nothing is found, we’ll wait a bit. Either way, we’re going to demand some answers from Bellemont since he claims to be Ben Abbott’s closest friend. Ramsey is supposed to be working for Bellemont, which would make him digging around in Abbott Options for another client a conflict of interest.”

Falco sent her a sidelong glance. “Looks like he’s playing both sides of the field. So who’s the other client?”

A very good question.

33

4:00 p.m.

Law Office of Keith Bellemont

Third Avenue North

“If anyone calls or drops by,” Keith said, “I am not here.”

Martha looked at him skeptically. “You mean if those two detectives show up or call?”

He blinked. Wanted to say no, maybe even to chastise her for thinking such a thing, but his assistant was correct. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry,” she promised. “I’ll keep them at bay.” Her gaze narrowed. “But I can only do that for so long.”

“I’m aware.”

Keith hurried beyond the lobby and into the side corridor. He ensured the alley exit was locked. He damned sure didn’t want any surprises coming in from that direction. Devlin and Falco were determined. He didn’t trust them not to climb in through the fire escape and drop down from above if the need arose. There was nothing on the second floor of this building but his files. Still, there were windows and that damned fire escape.

At this point he didn’t trust anyone.

He closed his office door, locked it, too, and collapsed into the chair behind his desk. He withdrew his cell and called Ramsey. It was Monday. Keith needed something to warrant holding out any longer on telling the detectives what he knew.

He and Ramsey had to find a way to get things back under control. Abbott wouldn’t stand for being left in the dark much longer. This thing was going to blow wide open any minute now.

The moment Ramsey answered, Keith demanded, “Have you heard from her today? I have to know something now.”

“No,” Ramsey said, “but I did speak to her last night.”

Relief rushed through Keith. Thank God.

“What did she have to say?” His gut was in knots.

“She says she has no idea about anything. She swears she hasn’t heard from Sela.”

Oh God. “Were you firm with her? She may have lied, thinking she was protecting Sela.”

“As firm as I could be. That detective’s kid was watching out the window. I think she told her to watch.”

The girl was too damned smart for her own good. “Was she visited by anyone else last night or this morning?”

He had given Ramsey explicit instructions to keep his eyes on that girl around the clock. At this point she was their only link to Sela.

“I wouldn’t know. A police cruiser rolled through about half an hour later, stopped, and the officer asked what I was doing.”

“She called the cops on you?” For the love of God.

“Evidently. I suppose it could have been coincidence.”

No. Keith reached for calm. The girl had called the police. This was worse than he’d anticipated.

“Any luck on tracking down that car Sela purchased?” Keith did not understand what was going on. She had gone way off script. Everything had fallen apart, and Ben was dead.

Keith closed his eyes and pushed away the idea that, any way he looked at it, his friend’s death was likely, at least in part, his fault.

“By the way,” Ramsey said, “your two detective friends paid me a visit at lunch. I don’t know how they tagged me, but they know I work for you.”

“Jesus Christ.” When he could breathe again, Keith warned, “Abbott is onto us. We have to get this under control before it’s too late.”

“Maybe it already is.”

That was the part that scared Keith the most.

34

4:45 p.m.

“You want to swing by Bellemont’s office again before five?”

Keith Bellemont’s office officially closed at five, but Kerri wanted to finish this list first. “We have one more pawnshop.”

Falco slowed and made the next left. “Heading that way.”

Bellemont had not returned their calls, so it was doubtful they would catch him anyway. Each time Kerri called, his assistant said the same thing: I already told you he’s not in the rest of the day, Detective Devlin. When Falco had called and pretended to be a prospective client, she had taken a message.

Kerri wanted to scream. What was wrong with these people? They had two homicide victims and a missing pregnant wife who might or might not be a victim. Either way, they needed to find her.

Damn it.

She shifted in her seat and stared out at the passing shops on Sixth Avenue. This case shouldn’t have been so complicated. They’d had no hits on the prints lifted at the scene. Not a speck of trace evidence. There were the bodies and the blood. Nothing else. No witnesses, no one with truly useful information coming forward. They’d had to dig up every little trickle like searching for water in the desert. A damned needle in a haystack. It was sheer luck they’d learned about Keaton and his car deal with Sela. Or this Ramsey guy and his connection to Bellemont and Abbott Options.

“Last,” Falco announced as he pulled to the curb in the middle of the block, “but hopefully not least.”

He’d parked directly in front of the pawnshop. Kerri blinked, drew her mind back from the thoughts that had crowded out all else.

She climbed out, straightened her jacket, and started for the entrance. Falco came up behind her. She pushed through the glass door with its iron bars; the bell overhead jingled.

“Closing in five minutes,” the man behind the counter announced without looking up from the device in his hand.

Kerri walked to his end of the counter and showed her badge. “Are you the owner?”

The man glanced at her. “I am.”

The man was sixty-five or older. Reasonably tall, stooped shoulders, thin as a rail. Yet his voice was firm, unafraid. His eyes, on the other hand, were weary, cautious.

“You have a name?” Falco asked.

“Seth Byler.”

“Mr. Byler,” Kerri said, “we don’t need much of your time. Just enough to ask a few questions.”

Byler set aside the cell phone he’d been scrolling. “I don’t buy stolen goods. I don’t make illegal transactions, and I never remember the faces of customers. Otherwise, what can I do you for, Detectives?”

Kerri pulled up the photo of Sela Abbott on her cell and showed it to the man. “Has this woman—”

“I just told you I don’t remember faces.”

Falco leaned over the counter, put his face in the other man’s. “Look at the photo,” he ordered. “Tell me if she’s been in your store.”

“This is probably police brutality,” Byler grumbled.

“No,” Falco said with a fake smile. “This is me trying to get my point across to you. I can illustrate the difference if you’re interested.”

Byler shook his head. “Not necessary.”

“Good.” Falco hitched his thumb toward Kerri. “Look again.”

“Have you seen her?” Kerri held up her phone once more.

Byler looked from the screen to Kerri. “She was in here week before last.”

“And?” Falco prompted.

“She wanted to buy a gun.”

Kerri stilled. “What did she leave your store with, Mr. Byler?”

“Ruger .22. Like new. Box of ammo.”

“Did you run the necessary paperwork?” Falco inquired.

They knew he had not because they had checked the system. Sela Abbott had not legally purchased a handgun in the state of Alabama.

“Of course I did. I told you,” he protested, “I don’t make illegal transactions.”

Falco leaned against the counter and shook his head. “Now that can’t be true, Mr. Byler. You see, I checked. This woman did not legally purchase a handgun the week before last or any other time in the state of Alabama.”

Byler swallowed; his Adam’s apple bobbed. “She begged me to sell her the weapon without the paperwork. She said she was afraid. That someone was stalking her.”

“We need to know the exact date, and”—Kerri glanced up at the camera—“we’d like to see the security video.”

“The camera doesn’t work. It’s just for show.”

Of course it didn’t work. Frustrated, Kerri asked, “What day did she come in?”

Byler flipped through his ledger, his hands shaking. He knew he was in trouble; he just didn’t know how bad.

“Friday, June first.”

Falco turned the ledger around. He looked over the page, then glared at the man. “You charged her a thousand bucks?”

He shrugged. “She offered it to me.”

“Find some paper, and write a statement for me,” Falco ordered.

“But I—”

“You illegally sold a firearm,” Kerri warned, “without checking to see if the person buying it had a record. That’s a serious offense, Mr. Byler. A felony. You could lose your license and do time, particularly since that weapon may have been used to murder two people.”