The Zero Night

40

Serena walked into the bar on Grand Avenue.

Aerosmith rocked the jukebox, loud enough that she couldn’t hear anything else. A few customers played pull tabs; someone shouted as they got a lucky card. The closed-up air smelled of beer and cheap perfume. Serena could imagine Nikki Candis here, night after night. Nikki playing darts, clapping for the country band, watching the Super Bowl. Nikki drinking until closing time, trying to drown her pain. Nikki hitching a ride with a man who would take her home and take her to bed.

The dead woman’s presence lingered in the bar like an echo. Delaney had told Serena at the beginning: If my mother was going to haunt anywhere, it would be there. That was her place.

Yes, it was.

Nikki’s credit card records showed dozens of visits to the bar. They all knew her here. They knew what she was like. A blackout drunk. If you were looking for someone to take the fall for an accident that was really a murder, Nikki Candis was the perfect patsy. She wouldn’t remember a thing.

It was a busy night inside. Twenty- and thirtysomethings crowded shoulder to shoulder, talking, laughing, and dancing. Standing by the bar door, Serena felt hunger washing over her like a wave. The desire never went away. Pour me a drink, and keep pouring. Absolut Citron. Two ice cubes. God, it would taste good. Smell good. The glass would be chilled in her hand, and the vodka would be silky on her lips. She could imagine the bliss of that first swallow.

No.

No.

Never again.

Serena made her way to the bar. There was one empty stool, and she took it. When she glanced at the person next to her, she noticed a woman about her own age who had messy, highlighted brown hair. If this were another life, if the woman were wearing skinny red jeans, it could have been Nikki. But then the woman, sensing Serena’s stare, glanced her way. She was a stranger. Nikki was long gone.

“Well, hello again,” said a smooth voice from the other side of the bar.

There he was. Jagger.

Hot, literally hot, with a glow of sweat on his forehead. He made being sexy look so effortless. His eyes were laser beams that drilled inside her, as if she were the only other person in the bar. Serena noticed the woman on the adjacent stool taking jealous note of Jagger’s interest in her. Some men just had instant erotic appeal, particularly for women of a certain age.

Even married women.

Women like Chelsey Webster.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Jagger said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Serena didn’t smile. “That’s what I said, but I came back for you.”

“Lucky me. Do you want a drink?”

“Club soda.”

His eyebrows arched in surprise. “Good choice. Good for you.”

Serena saw him examining her face with wary concern. She could tell that he saw something that he didn’t like. It was probably the new hardness on Serena’s mouth and in her eyes. The flirtiness, the desire, the vulnerability of the woman who’d crashed off the wagon, was gone.

She was sure he’d already guessed why she was there.

You’re scared, Jagger.

You’re scared because I’m here to take you down.

But the bartender pretended that nothing had changed. Tonight was just like the other two nights. He flipped a pilsner glass in his hand, then went to the fountain and filled the glass with ice and unleashed a spray of club soda. He reached under the bar for a lime wedge and draped it over the edge of the glass with a flourish. Then he slid the club soda across the bar.

Another smile. So suave. So cool.

He was very attractive. She still felt it, but now she was disgusted with how she’d behaved. She’d almost let herself be seduced by a monster.

“We need to talk,” Serena told him over the tumult of the crowd. The heat of the bar made her thirsty, and she drank the club soda in a couple of swallows.

“So talk.”

“Outside.”

“I’m working,” Jagger said.

“Not anymore. You’re done for the night.”

His easy smile couldn’t hide a ripple of fear. She reached into her jacket and pulled out her phone. She saw that she’d missed two calls from Stride, but she didn’t call him back, not yet. She went to her photo stream and opened up the picture she’d taken from her laptop.

She put her phone on the bar for Jagger to see.

It was the photograph she’d found in Nikki’s files. The photograph Delaney had taken in the dark fairyland of the reception, a picture of a man and a woman locked in a passionate embrace.

It was a photograph of Jagger and Chelsey, kissing like lovers at the wedding of Susan and Jonah Fallon.

Serena leaned close enough to whisper to him. “I know what you did. I know everything.”

He stared at the picture. The smile bled from his face. So did the charm. Steel and ice took over his features, and just like that, he was a dangerous man. He was capable of violence. He was the kind of man who could climb into Nikki’s Toyota Highlander and go hunting for a jogger on the back roads.

Serena used her finger to slide the screen to the next picture, where she’d scanned the staff list Nikki had assembled for the Fallon wedding. These were the people she’d hired to serve at the reception.

She used her long nail to point at the name she’d found on the list. Mick “Jagger” Galloway.

He’d bartended the reception.

Somewhere during the night, he’d also seduced Chelsey Webster, or Chelsey had seduced him. Either way, it was the beginning of an affair that would lead them both to murder.

“Outside,” Serena said again.

Jagger waved at the other bartender and mouthed, “Break.”

He grabbed his leather jacket, and the two of them left the bar together. The cool air outside was a relief, but the echo of the jukebox left an odd ringing in Serena’s ears that refused to go away. In the darkness, she stood next to her Mustang, which was parked at the curb. Casually, Jagger took a few steps down the sidewalk, but he didn’t look ready to run. He still looked unconcerned with everything that was happening. As she watched him, he reached into his back pocket, and Serena tensed, ready to draw her weapon. Instead, his hand emerged with a pack of cigarettes, and he lit one and allowed the smoke to form a cloud around his head.

“So what is it I can do for you?” Jagger asked.

“The best thing you can do is confess,” she told him. “Tell us everything. As soon as we talk to Chelsey, she’ll turn on you in a split second. When we get a little older, we women aren’t so sentimental, even when the sex is great. She’ll throw you under the bus, Jagger. She’ll say it was all your idea. You forced her, or you blackmailed her, to go along with your scheme. The whole sick murder conspiracy, starting with Jonah Fallon. Trust me, she’ll cut a deal and let you take the fall.”

Jagger stood on the corner, smoking, watching her carefully like a predator eyeing prey. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s too late for games. You’re Razrsharp. It’s your account, right? You sent Gavin the emails. You lured him to Fredenberg Lake on your little treasure hunt, and then — what? Did you slash his tire while he was in the woods? That way, you knew he’d have to call a tow truck. Someone would see him up there.”

Jagger blew a smoke ring and listened to her with a smirk frozen on his face. Serena shook her head, as if shooing away a mosquito. The odd buzzing in her ears got louder.

“Once we knew Gavin had been up in those woods, you knew we’d start searching the area,” she went on. “Is that when you took Chelsey up there? I bet she’d only been in that hole for a few hours when we found her. Did you stay close by? Just to make sure she was safe?”

“If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.”

“I think I do scare you. And I should. I have enough for a warrant. Once we get a look at your apartment, your computer, and your phone, we’re going to find everything we need to put both of you away.”

“A warrant? Good luck with that. I tended bar at a wedding. I kissed a drunk wife. Big deal.”

“You also lied about knowing Nikki Candis,” Serena said. Despite the cold night air, she was feeling hot. Sweat gathered like dew on the back of her neck, and a flush rose on her cheeks.

“I worked for Nikki a couple of times. That’s all.”

“Really? I think you met her right here. You told me you only got the bartending job a few months ago, but you’ve lived a couple of blocks away from the bar for five years. This was your place, right? Just like it was Nikki’s place. You were both regulars. How many times did you take her home? How many times did you wake up next to her, and she didn’t even remember the previous night? That’s what gave you the idea, isn’t it? That’s how you figured out you could get rid of Jonah Fallon without anyone suspecting he’d been murdered.”

“That’s quite the story. Do you think you can prove it?”

“Let’s see.”

Beside her, the passenger door of the Mustang swung open, and Delaney Candis got out of the car. She stood next to Serena on the sidewalk and stared at Jagger, her young face ice-cold with rage.

“Do you recognize him, Delaney?” Serena said.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Yes, I know him. I’ll never forget him. I found him in my mother’s bed half a dozen times. He would get her drunk and take her home. He knew all about her blackouts.”

A stiffness came over Jagger’s body. He dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his shoe on the sidewalk. He stared at the teenager for a long moment, and then he exhaled with a quick, cynical laugh. “Chelsey said I should kill the girl. I said no. But she was right.”

“You tried to run her down last night. Didn’t you?”

Jagger shrugged. “You were in the bar talking about Nikki. That freaked me out. I knew we had trouble.”

“Delaney, get back in the car,” Serena told her. And then to Jagger: “Get on your knees. Put your hands on top of your head.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“On your knees. Do it.”

He made no effort to move. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have an exit strategy? A backup plan? I figured I might have to run. That’s okay. I told you, I’m a rolling stone.”

Serena reached around to the small of her back and removed her gun. Delaney was still standing next to her on the sidewalk. “Back in the car,” she repeated to the girl. “Right now.”

Wait.

Did she even say that?

She heard the words, but they floated away into the air, and she didn’t know if they’d made it to her lips. She hesitated, feeling strange. Delaney was looking at her with a confused, horrified expression on her face. Meanwhile, Jagger was grinning. That damn sexy grin.

“You don’t look so good, Serena,” he said.

He was right. Her eyes blinked in and out of focus. She took a step toward him, and the ground undulated under her feet, as if carried by an ocean wave. Dizziness swept through her mind.

“Serena!” Delaney cried, but the girl’s voice sounded far away.

She felt a surge of nausea, and she knew. The truth blinded her in one helpless instant. Jagger had seen her come into the bar; he’d seen her face; he’d known why she was there. He’d been ready for her.

What had he put in her drink? GHB? Rohypnol? Ketamine? Whatever it was, it was hitting her hard and fast.

Her fingers felt numb. She struggled to keep her gun steady, but her arms felt disconnected from the rest of her body, like a marionette with broken strings. She couldn’t walk; she couldn’t stand anymore. As her knees buckled, she was vaguely conscious of Delaney kneeling beside her and trying to hold her up, and then of Jagger closing the distance between them and peeling the gun away from her fingers.

He grabbed Delaney as the teenager tried to run. He choked off her scream.

That was all.

Then Serena’s mind spiraled down like a crashing plane, and the world went black.

“Serena’s still not answering her phone,” Stride said. “It goes straight to voice mail. Cat hasn’t heard from her, either. And the locater app doesn’t show it at all. It’s turned off.”

Maggie frowned at him. “Could she be...?”

“Drinking? No. I know her. She’s in control of that again. She was with Delaney Candis, but Delaney’s not answering her phone either. I don’t like this. She shouldn’t be off the grid tonight.”

He stared over the trees at the lake, listening to his instincts, which told him that something was wrong. Then he grabbed his phone and dialed. A few seconds later, Curt Dickes answered.

“Stride! Hey, long time, man! What’s shakin’?”

“Curt, I don’t have time to talk. You sent Serena to a massage therapist who works with Chelsey Webster. She told Serena she thought Chelsey was having an affair. Did you ever hear who it was with?”

“No, I hear a lot of gossip, but nothing about that. Why, what’s up?”

Stride ignored the question. “I need Broadway’s phone number. Quickly.”

The easy tone of Curt’s voice changed immediately. “Are you kidding, Stride? He finds out I’m doxing him, and that’s not good for my business. Or my health.”

“Give it to me, and I owe you one. A get-out-of-jail-free card.”

Curt unleashed a loud sigh. “Shit, okay, fine, fine, I’ll text you the number.”

“Thank you, Curt.”

Stride hung up. A few seconds later, his text tone sounded, and he checked his messages. Curt had sent him a contact file with a phone number and no name attached to it. He opened it up and quickly dialed the number.

The youthful voice of Broadway answered on the first ring. He didn’t sound surprised to get the call. “Well, Lieutenant Stride, hello. How resourceful of you to find me. Let me guess, Curt?”

“No comment.”

“Oh, I really have no issue with Curt giving you my number. I would have given it to you myself if you’d asked. I assumed it wasn’t Gavin, because I hear that he won’t be joining me for Friday games anymore. That’s a shame.”

Stride shook his head, wondering how Broadway had heard the news of Gavin’s death so quickly. But he didn’t bother asking about the man’s sources.

“I need information,” he said.

“Go on.”

“Did Gavin ever mention — or did you hear anything — about Chelsey Webster having an affair? Do you know who she was seeing?”

Even in the silence, Stride could hear the man smiling. Whatever else Broadway was, he was shrewd. “Ah, Chelsey. The fact that you’re asking about her makes me think your investigation has taken some interesting turns. I did tell you that I thought there were some deep waters with that woman.”

“Is there anything you can tell me?”

“Alas, no. Gavin never mentioned any suspicions about an affair, and those kinds of rumors never reached my ears. Having met Chelsey, I also suspect she knows how to be discreet.”

Stride was frustrated. “All right.”

“However, I can pass along one bit of information,” Broadway said. “I don’t know whether it will be helpful.”

“What is it?”

“I told you I was doing an audit of my personnel, looking for connections that might prove useful to you. I was particularly interested in whether Hink Miller had a friend who may have assisted him in the kidnapping plot.”

“Did you find someone?” Stride asked.

“Well, yes and no. I found someone with a connection to Hink, but it’s unlikely they’d be partners. If anything, this man would have loved to put a bullet in Hink’s skull just for the hell of it. Apparently, the two of them both worked at the same bar a few years ago. Hink was a bouncer. He caught this man slipping something into a woman’s drink, and he dragged him outside and delivered a beating that broke three of the man’s ribs. Had I known this, of course, I wouldn’t have hired either one of them. Apparently, Hink told someone about the incident when he saw the man at one of my parties. Not long after that, Hink developed legal problems of his own, and I fired him, so the story never made its way to me.”

“Who was this other man?” Stride asked.

“A bartender,” Broadway replied. “Quite a popular one with the ladies. His name is Mick Galloway, but he goes by the nickname Jagger.”

Stride swore and hung up.

“Get an alert out on Serena’s Mustang,” he told Maggie. “We need to find her right now.”

Delaney’s eyes burned across the front seat of the car.

The man called Jagger had one hand on the wheel, and the other hand was pointing a gun at her chest. He sped down the southbound lanes of I-35, and already, Duluth was several miles behind them. In the back seat, she heard Serena groaning, starting to awaken.

“You murdered my mother,” Delaney said, spitting the words at him.

Next to her, Jagger shot an eye at the rearview mirror. His gaze kept going back and forth between the teenager and the highway. Delaney wanted a moment of distraction — something, anything — when he wasn’t looking her way, and then she could knock the gun from his hand.

“You made it look like she killed herself, but it was you,” she went on.

“I really didn’t want to kill Nikki,” he replied, as if the decision were something casual, something that meant nothing to him either way. “That wasn’t part of the plan. I figured the police would arrest her for the hit-and-run. Once the cops had the Toyota, they’d put her in prison.”

Jagger’s face was black with shadow. When he turned his head, all she saw were his eyes. “Nikki made it easy. I figured she would. When I went over there that Saturday night, I made sure she partied hard. It wasn’t just the booze. I spiked her drinks, too, so when she crashed, she was out. At that point, all I had to do was take the Highlander and go looking for Jonah. When it was done, I came back and parked the truck in the garage. Nikki was still out cold. I didn’t think there was a chance in hell she’d remember me being there.”

Delaney glanced out the window. The nighttime forest whipped by beyond the guardrails. She knew what was going to happen next. When they were far enough away, when Jagger felt safe, he’d shoot them both and leave their bodies somewhere in the woods.

“But she did,” Delaney murmured. “She finally remembered, didn’t she? My mom remembered what you did. It was you, not her.”

“Yeah, she was starting to put it together,” Jagger went on. “She came into the bar, and it was the first time since the accident. She said you were staying with your grandparents, and she was alone, and did I want to buy her a drink? But I wasn’t crazy about being seen with her. I said we should go back to her place. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe that’s what started triggering things. We got to the house, and the longer we were there, the more she kept looking at me. Like something wasn’t adding up. She started going on about Saturday night, saying she couldn’t remember what had happened, but she felt like we’d been together. That was when I knew. She had to go.”

Delaney squeezed her eyes shut. She swallowed down her grief and fury. It had all been for nothing. It had all been a hideous mistake. Her mother hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t been behind the wheel of the Highlander. And what Delaney herself had been forced to do — to make it all go away—

This man.

This man was the devil. He’d killed Jonah Fallon on the road. Killed her mother. And now he was going to kill her, too.

Jagger gave her a sideways look, sensing her rage on the other side of the car and guessing how much she wanted to put her hands around his throat. “Don’t even think about it.”

She breathed hard and turned her head away. She watched the woods come and go. There was nothing she could do. She’d failed her mother. She’d ruined both of their lives. For nothing.

Then Delaney heard Jagger mutter under his breath. “Shit.”

She looked across the car in time to see a highway patrol car passing in the opposite lanes, heading north. Jagger tensed as his eyes locked on the side mirror, watching the squad car disappear, waiting to see what it did. Delaney looked back, too, praying, hoping. The squad car drove, and drove, and drove, getting farther away from them like a pinpoint of light. She wanted to cry with disappointment.

Then Jagger swore again.

Much louder this time.

Flashing lights erupted on the car behind them. So did its siren. The squad car wheeled into the median to reverse direction. The police were coming after them. Immediately, Jagger’s foot shoved down on the accelerator, and the engine of the Mustang growled. The car took off.

He wasn’t watching her anymore. He was focused on the mirror and the road.

This was her chance. Through the darkness, Delaney saw an overpass looming over the freeway. She counted off the seconds as they bore down on it, and then she leaped across the seat at Jagger.

With one hand, she forced away the gun.

With the other, she grabbed the steering wheel and spun it hard, sending the Mustang careening toward the concrete pillar of the overpass.