Thicker Than Water by P. J. Parrish

Author:P. J. Parrish [Parrish, P. J.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Fiction, Suspense, Thriller, Crime
ISBN: 9780786014200
Publisher: Pinnacle
Published: 2003-01-30T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

The beeper was buzzing against his side. He waited until he stopped at a light to look at the number. He was hoping it was Vince. It took him a moment to recognize the number as the Sereno Key Police Department, the chief’s private line.

He pulled into a 7-Eleven, got a coffee to go, and called Dan Wainwright.

“I have an address for you on that Lieberman woman,” he said. “Got a pen?”

“Yeah, hold on, Dan.” Louis set the coffee down on the phone ledge. Wainwright read off an address. Louis wrote it on the styrofoam cup.

Louis knew Wainwright was not supposed to run numbers for a civilian. “I owe you one, Dan,” he said.

“No problem. How’s things going for you, Kincaid?”

“It’s going,” Louis said.

Wainwright was silent for a moment. “Call me. I’ll buy you a beer some night, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do that.” He clicked off.

Louis stood there for a moment, watching the traffic crawl by on Cleveland Avenue. He hadn’t seen Dan Wainwright in months, not since they had worked together on the Paint It Black case. The case had created a bond between them—the kind of bond that sparked between cops in the adrenaline-drench of a dangerous case. But Louis had not stayed in touch afterward. Maybe it was because the Sereno Key chief was one of the few people who knew how much Louis hated PI work, knew how badly he wanted to wear a uniform again. He didn’t like it when people knew too much about him, especially when it came with a dose of pity.

Louis glanced at his watch. He was tempted to go over to the medical examiner’s office; it was only a couple blocks away. But he knew if Vince had found out anything about the semen sample, he would have called. He was also tempted to drive out to Immokalee to find Joyce Novick.

He picked up the styrofoam cup and looked at the address. But a promise was a promise. He would go find this Lieberman woman.

The address turned out to be one of the new developments out by the airport. This one was called The Villas of Lancaster Lakes, the lakes being a green-water pit scooped out of the limestone and the villas just more of the soulless gulags that were springing up all over the old pasture lands. Louis found building E and apartment 322, but there was no answer when he knocked. There was also nothing covering the windows.

He peered in. The apartment was vacant. Recently vacant, if the little bits of debris on the carpet and nails on the walls were any indication. He found the rental office and the landlord who told him that Hayley Lieberman had moved out three days ago.

“She broke her lease,” the man said. “Didn’t give me any notice.”

“She didn’t say where she was going?” Louis asked.

“They never do. They just pull a Robert Irsay on me. Just backed up the van in the middle of night and split. Women are the worst.

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