One Night

Chapter 14, One Night

Ryder Connelly lived in an upscale condo in downtown Portland: two bedrooms, a view to die for, tastefully decorated in blues and greens. Everything was modern, new, and expensive, including the chef's open kitchen, which, in Walker's opinion, was far too neat for a single man. It was, in fact, the only room in the house left untouched by whoever had trashed the place.

Two uniformed officers were there, taking Ryder's statement, when Walker arrived with Kruso. By his last glance at his watch, it was 4:10 a.m.

"Whoever was here didn't like him very much," Kruso said, snapping on a pair of gloves.

Walker pulled a pair of latex gloves from his coat pocket and snapped them on, as well, though he preferred to be by himself when taking in a scene. At times, he could almost picture what was going through the perp's head, what had driven them to do what they'd done.

Cheater was painted across what looked like a really ugly expensive painting. Hate you, fraud, dirty dog, suffer, and then it was as if someone had taken a butcher knife over the leather grain sofa, the stuffing pulled out. Such a waste. In the master bedroom, the king-size bed had been slashed, as well, the bedding ripped and shredded. Feathers from the torn pillows filled the room.

"Wow, someone did not like him." Kruso was behind him and walking through the room. "Look at the clothes in the closet. It looks like someone cut all his pants to make them shorter."

Walker watched as Kruso picked up a pile of material scattered all over the floor. "Not just making a mess, this is personal. Someone really hates him," he said.

"Why cut up every one of his pants to make them too short?"

"To piss him off, is my guess. Slick out there seems pretty stylish. Would think this would get to him. This is someone who's really angry with him," he added, walking into the bathroom and taking in the mess. He didn't know why, but he picked up the shampoo bottle and took a whiff as he unscrewed it. "Shit! Acid," he said. He put the bottle back and started back out. He spotted a crime scene tech coming in, wearing a dark jacket and gloves. "Hey, go through this bathroom," he told her. "Bet you some of these containers have been swapped out. There's acid in the shampoo. Whoever did this wanted to really hurt this guy. This is personal."

There was something about this vandalism that just didn't feel right, and it wasn't anything he could put his finger on right now. He walked out into the dining area, where floor-to-ceiling windows made up the one wall that gave this condo a million-dollar view. Ryder was pacing like a mad man, furious as he spoke to the cops.

"I want her arrested!" He started toward Walker, his fists clenched as if ready to punch something, angry as all hell.

"We don't know yet that it was her," Walker said. "We'll dust for prints. I'd like to know how she got in. There are no signs of a break and enter, and that lock is clean. Cindy ever been here?"

Ryder crossed his arms and stared at him. "No, I was still living with my wife when we hooked up." The man didn't say anything else but appeared shamed. This was the kind of thing that ate away at people.

"Tell me again where you met her," Walker said, because he'd read the report. The guy had put up a profile on a dating site, looking for casual sex, and had been answered by this Cindy. He'd never said he was married, just not looking for a commitment. Met her at a bar, had some drinks, and then had sex.

"I told you already: online. She wanted to meet me, no strings, just sex. It was great until after, and then it felt like crap."

"So where did you meet up? Her place, hotel, where?"

Ryder wiped around his mouth. Man, did he look uncomfortable. "My wife was away at her sister's with the baby and our older daughter. I took Cindy to my place."

Walker wondered whether Slick had ever figured out how stupid that was. "So you brought a strange woman home to your house while your wife and children were away and did her in the bed you share with your wife."

Ryder Connelly had the good grace, at least, to blush. Walker was no saint, but he knew you never brought another woman into your wife's bed. It seemed so skanky.

"If I could go back and undo a lot of things, I would," Ryder said. "But I can't. All I can say in my defense is that it was a huge lapse in judgement on my part."

Stupid idiot was what crossed Walker's mind. "Hmm," he said and looked around again. "So who else has a key to this place?"

Ryder was shaking his head. "Management, cleaning lady, my sister—my wife," he said.

"You're married and still went out on a date?" Walker said. He was really pissed that this jerk had done that to Kate. Not that this guy was ever going to get within ten feet of Kate again, but it still pissed him off that she had been tricked by him.

"Sorry, old habit. My ex-wife. We're divorced," he said, but Walker could tell he wished that wasn't the way it was.

"I've just got to ask. Why Kate?" he asked.

The man looked at him for a moment, confused. "Who?"

"Seriously, dude?" Walker laughed, but he wasn't amused. Kate would have been just another notch on this man's bedpost.

"Walker!" Kruso called out. He turned to see her hurrying from the bedroom, holding a red notebook in her hand. "Found it under the mattress. Read this."

"Hey, that's not mine," Ryder said, sounding defensive.

Walker took the small lined book and read a handwritten entry: "Kill Kate." He glanced up at Ryder, who read the words, and his face paled. He raised his hands in defense, walking backward.

"No, no, that's not mine. That's not even my writing." He was freaking out, and an officer put a hand on his shoulder. He swung back his arm to brush him off. Bad move. In the next second, Ryder was on the ground, face digging into the carpet, and cuffed.

Walker was already on his way to the front door. "Kruso!" he yelled, then caught the keys in midair.

"Go!" was all she said.

Walker was out the door.