Split Second (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 1)

“Well, we’ll ask him that. But if he was there, he must have hightailed it out before the area was sealed off. That’s the only way he could have gotten to Regina and Kate with the news that fast.”

“Think he’ll admit being at the hotel?”

“I guess we’ll find out, because I intend on asking him. And I’d also like to ask about Regina Ramsey.”

“You’d think he would have mentioned they were talking marriage when we first spoke to him.”

“Not if he didn’t want us to know. Which makes me even more suspicious.” King looked at Michelle. “Are you armed?”

“Guns and creds, the whole power pack, why?”

“Just checking. I wonder if people lock their doors around here?”

“You’re not thinking of going in? That’s breaking and entering in the nighttime.”

“Not if you don’t break when you enter,” he said.

“Oh, really? Where’d you get your law degree? The University of Stupid?”

“All I’m saying is, it would be nice to have a peek with Jorst not around.”

“But he might be. He might be in there sleeping. Or he might come back while we’re inside.”

“Not we, just me. You’re a sworn law enforcement officer.”

“You’re a member of the bar. Technically that makes you an officer of the court.”

“Yeah, but us lawyers can always get around technicalities. It’s our specialty, or don’t you watch TV?” He went back to his car and got a flashlight. When he rejoined Michelle, she grabbed his arm. “Sean, this is crazy. What if a neighbor sees you and calls the cops?”

“Then we tell them we thought we heard someone calling out for help.”

“That is so unbelievably lame.”

King had already eased over to the back door and tried the knob. “Damn.”

Michelle breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s locked? Thank God!”

King swung the door open with a mischievous look. “Just kidding. I’ll only be a minute. Keep a sharp lookout.”

“Sean, don’t—”

He slipped inside before she could finish. Michelle started wandering around, hands in her pockets, trying to look like she hadn’t a care in the world while the acid ate away the lining of her stomach. She even attempted to whistle, but found she couldn’t because her lips were too dry from her sudden anxiety attack.

/>

“Damn you, Sean King,” she muttered.

Inside, King found himself in the kitchen. As he swung his light around, the room was revealed as small and looked unused. Jorst seemed more of an eat-out kind of guy. He moved through to a living room that was very plainly furnished and neat. Bookcases lined the room and were, not surprisingly, full of tomes by Goethe, Francis Bacon, John Locke and the perennially popular Machiavelli.

Jorst’s home office was off the living room, and this space was more reflective of the man. The desk was piled high with books and papers, the floor cluttered, the small leather sofa similarly stacked with objects. The place smelled strongly of both cigarette and cigar smoke, and King noted an ashtray on the floor that was filled with butts. The walls were covered with cheap bookshelves, and they sagged under the weight of the books resting there. King poked around the desk, opened drawers and looked for secret hiding places yet found nothing of the sort. He doubted that if he pulled out one of the books a hidden passageway would be revealed, but he dutifully slipped out a couple of volumes just in case. Nothing happened.

Jorst was working on a book, he’d said, and the condition of his study seemed to confirm this, since notes, drafts and outlines were piled everywhere. Organization was evidently not the man’s strong suit, and King looked around in disgust at the mess. He couldn’t live ten minutes like this, although in his youth his apartment had looked even worse. At least he’d grown out of his pigsty; Jorst apparently never had. King fleetingly contemplated inviting Michelle in so she could get a quick hit of clutter. It would probably make her feel better.

Digging under the piles on the desk, he found an appointment book, but it was singularly uninformative. He next moved upstairs. There were two bedrooms there, and only one was ostensibly in use. Here Jorst was neater. His clothes were arranged nicely in his small closet, his shoes stacked on a cedar rack. King looked under the bed and was greeted only by dust balls. The adjoining bathroom revealed only a damp towel on the floor and some toiletries stacked on the sink. He went across to the other bedroom, obviously a guest room. There was a small adjoining bath here too, but there were no towels or toiletries. There was a shelf against one wall that held no books, but did have some photos on it. He shined the light on them one by one. They were of Jorst with various people, none of whom King recognized until he looked at the last face.

The voice calling from below startled him. “Sean, get your butt down here. Jorst is back.”

He looked out the window in time to see Jorst pulling his massive old car into the driveway. He turned off the light, put the photo in his pocket and carefully but quickly made his way down the steps and back toward the kitchen where Michelle was waiting. They exited via the back door, came around the side of the house, waited for Jorst to go inside and then knocked on the front door.