A Dread So Deep

by Anita Rodgers

  Martha reared back and blinked. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  Davis leaned on the window frame. “Okay, let me put it another way. Did Mr. Logan’s wife frequently unexplained injuries?”

  Martha stammered. “Christine and I aren’t close. We rarely saw each other.”

  “You worked for her husband for fifteen years, you must’ve had reason to see her from time to time. Been to their house for dinner or Christmas?” Martha peered through the windshield as though seeking an escape. Davis softened her voice and leaned in, although there was no one around to hear her. “He’s dead, it’s not going to sully his reputation at this point.”

  Martha sighed and clutched the steering wheel. “There may have been a few times.” She flicked a look at Davis. “I think she broke an ankle once. A sprain or something after an awards dinner.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m not comfortable answering these questions, Detective Davis. It’s not my place.”

  “Okay, but—”

  Martha shifted the car into gear. “I’m sorry, but I really have to be off. You should talk to Christine.”

  Davis lobbed a sarcastic grin. “How about Logan’s ex-wife, Julie? Could she tell me anything about that?”

  Martha braked and her face went still as stone. “Goodbye, Detective Davis.” She buzzed up the window and pulled away from the curb—glaring at Davis in the rearview mirror.

  Daniels sauntered up to her. “I got zip. You?”

  Davis tracked Martha as she rolled toward the exit. “I got motive.” She grinned at Daniels. “Logan liked the ladies. Including his sister-in-law.”

  They started up the hill, to the car. Daniels nodded. “That would explain her keen interest.” He clicked his tongue. “I thought I picked up on something.”

  Davis slugged him playfully. “You did not.”

  “I have eyes, I can see.”

  They reached the car and Davis shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun. She swiveled her head left then right. “Yeah? Did your eagle eyes get a fix on Chauncey?”

  Daniels twisted his lips. “He’s a nimble little squirt. Got past me.”

  She opened the passenger door and dropped into the seat. “We'll catch up to him. And then he can tell us the name of Christine Logan’s lover.” She smiled smugly—suspecting Martha Fren had already given her his name.

  Daniels rolled back the driver seat. “Don’t count your chickens yet. Logan’s dead, if Chauncey was doing a job for him, that contract is now null and void. No reason for the little weirdo be here because of Logan, right?”

  Davis let her head fall back against the headrest. “You’d think. But anything’s possible with Chauncey.”

  Daniels wheeled slowly toward the exit. “You know, we're not gonna get overtime on this.” He grinned and raised a finger. “Here’s an idea—let’s just close the case and get a burger instead.”

  “Cap says I can have a few days to suss things out.”

  Daniels snickered. “Suss, huh? Suss, really? What kind of word is suss?”

  Davis pointed to the exit. “Oh shut up and let’s get a burger. I have a feeling, I’ll need my strength.”

  Chapter 24

  SHE KEYED IN THE COMBINATION and the safe opened with a soft click. Everything she expected to find was there—insurance policies, passbooks, passwords, a copy of his will, and the key to his desk. Their attorney would have to verify the documents were current but there was no reason to think otherwise. Phillip believed he was immortal and probably expected to outlive her. So, he never made any special provisions for anything. As far as she knew, it all went to her. In truth, she didn’t care. All she wanted was enough to get a place near Violet and to take care of the baby. She’d sell the business and their properties. She had no interest in them. They’d been Phillip’s toys, not hers.

  She carried everything to his desk and sorted through it. No surprises among the papers. She unlocked the desk checked the drawers. Only the file drawer held anything of interest—a file with her name. It contained several surveillance reports from an investigator called Boden Chauncey. Confirmation that Phillip had hired someone to follow her. It started shortly after she started seeing Michael and continued up to her visit to with Dr. Ruckman for the abortion. All that time, months, yet she only felt under surveillance recently. Had that been intentional on Chauncey’s part? Did he want her to know she was being followed? She gasped at the hundreds of photographs and negatives of her and Michael—and an envelope containing $20,000 in cash. What was Phillip planning to do with that much cash?

  She sat back in her chair and sighed. “You were such a busy little spider, spinning your webs, darling. Did any of it make you happy?”

  “Not smart to keep that kind of money lying around.”

  The intrusion gave Christine a start but she saw no threat in the odd little man standing before her. His dark eyes were peculiar but soft, his nose was too big for his face and the thin lips gave him a permanent smirk, but he wasn’t intimidating. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

  Tossing an envelope on the desk, he said, “I knew your husband.”

  The envelope contained dozens of photos of Phillip with women. Graphic. Dirty. Pornographic. Jealousy stabbed at her insides. Though it didn’t surprise her, it still hurt. She only recognized two of the women—Melanie, and a giggly redhead who once worked for Phillip. Katy or Kathy? She shuffled through the photos silently, then returned them to the envelope. “Do you have a name?”

  “I took lots of pictures, Mrs. Logan. Some of you, too.”

  Christine tapped the folder she had taken from Phillip’s desk. “Yes, I've seen your work. Boden Chauncey, is that you?”

  Chauncey slung himself into the easy chair and grinned, exposing small white teeth. “At your service.” His eyes slid back to the envelope of dirty pictures. “Probably things you wouldn't want other people to see. Am I right?”

  Christine wasn’t interested in cat and mouse games. She slid the stack of cash across the desk to him. His eyes widened. “How much do you want?” She raised her hands. “Never mind, take it all. I don’t want any of it.”

  Chauncey wagged his head. “No, I ain't trying to shake you down, Miss. I got paid.” He crossed his heart. “I am not a double dipper.”

  She tapped her finger on the envelope with Phillip’s photos. “And these? Already paid for?”

  Chauncey wriggled out of his chair. “Those are on the house.” He twittered. “Turnabout is fair play. Know what I mean?”

  She pushed the envelope aside, unable to look at it. “I’m not sure I do.” She swallowed the saliva that flooded her mouth, worried she might vomit. “I’m not sure I want to.”

  He tipped an imaginary hat then pivoted for the door.

  She came around the desk to stop him. “Wait. I don't understand. Are you saying you don’t want anything from me? You’re not here to blackmail me?” Her voice cracked. “Are you helping me?”

  Chauncey paused at the door and glanced at her over his shoulder. “Sure, why not? Don’t you deserve a break, Mrs. Logan? Doesn’t seem like you’ve had too many of those in your life.”

  A slight shrug of the shoulders was her only response and he went out the door, whistling. She cocked an ear at the sound of the back door closing. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  She went back to the desk and fell into the chair, exhausted. The house, the furniture, the cars, and everything else had been Phillip’s kingdom. But to Christine, it was a crushing weight that suffocated her. She didn’t want any of it. She wanted a simple life. She wanted to paint, to spend time with Violet, and to raise her daughter in a place filled with sunlight. Nothing more. Maybe she’d sell everything and give the money to that woman’s shelter run by Dr. Ruckman’s friend. That made her smile for a moment. It would be the right thing to do.

  She went through the photos again, trying to gauge her reaction to them. But in the end, she was numb to all of Phillip’s betrayals. She’d loved him onc
e and then she’d feared him. Now, she felt sorry for him. He was miserably unhappy and none of his possessions, including her, had released him from his misery.

  She considered burning the pictures and the reports in a sort of Phoenix ritual to exorcise the pain of her past. The infidelities, the betrayals, the wounds. Thinking it would clarify things. But what was there to clarify? She dragged the shredder to the desk and one by one, shredded the pictures. Their hundreds of razor teeth buzzing through and chewing up the smut until it was nothing more than confetti. And when it was done, she was calm and felt everything would be okay.

  Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest when the secret phone rang. She ran to her bag and dug it out. Breathless, she answered, “Michael?”

  “I’m sorry, Chris.”

  She sunk into a chair, giddy with relief—so happy to hear his voice she could cry. “I’ve missed you.”

  He sounded funny—distant. “I needed to think things over. Did you find my note?”

  Dread pooled in her stomach. “Yes, I found it. Where are you?”

  His voice cracked. “I didn’t do it.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, before I could—he was already—” For a few seconds all she heard was his breathing—ragged and rough. “When I saw him like that it scared the shit out of me.” He expelled a hard breath. “All I could think was that I needed to get away. I just got in my truck and drove until I could catch my breath.”

  Tears rose in her eyes—he wasn’t coming back. He called to say goodbye. “What'd you do all this time? Where’d you go? Where are you?”

  “I don't know. Nothing.” Again, a long silence. “The thing is, Chris, I don’t think I’m coming back.”

  She cradled her stomach as though the baby could give her strength. “Why?”

  He sniffed and the pain in his voice made her wince. “Because it can’t work. Between us. It just can’t. You know I’m right.”

  Her insides seized. “You don’t love me anymore?”

  He cried softly. “I’ll always love you.”

  “Then come home. Please. Come home to us. We need you.”

  “I can’t. I just can’t.” He was crying now, outwardly, like a wounded child. “Because every time we look at each other, we’ll see him.” She shuddered with grief. She wanted to tell him he was wrong. Wanted to insist that they could have a happily ever after. But he was right. They’d never have peace. “I love you, Chris.”

  The line went dead. “Michael? Michael, don’t hang up. Michael, are you there?” She threw the phone across the room and screamed. And then she curled into a ball and sobbed.

  Chapter 25

  THEY LINGERED OVER their meal at Manny the Cuban’s—Daniels’ favorite diner. Davis had stopped trying to get her partner to eat at places that offered a salad or even veggies. But Manny’s served a good burger with steak fries and chili-mayo dipping sauce, so who was she to complain? She belched into her napkin. “Nothing like fine cuisine.”

  Daniels mopped up the rest of the sauce on his plate with a hunk of bread. “Ain’t that the truth?” He swiped a napkin across his mouth then tossed it on his empty plate. “Time for dessert.” He rubbernecked the dining room. “Scotti?”

  “Over here.” The pert little blonde waved from the back of the diner where she scrubbed tables. “Seconds already? You know you’re supposed to chew your food before you swallow, right?”

  “Very funny. Time for dessert.” Daniels glanced at Davis. “Want some pie?”

  Davis stuck her finger in her mouth. “Want me to barf?”

  Daniels’s eyes bugged out. “Barf? They have the best pie in town.”

  Scotti zipped to the table, blond curls bouncing as she moved. Davis wondered if a curling iron could make her hair do that. “What do you need?”

  Daniels grinned and swept a hand toward the pie case. “Pie, we need pie. Right away.”

  Scotti swiped the check off the table. “You got it.”

  They had a sort of telepathy—Scotti and Daniels—she hadn’t asked what kind of pie. She just slabbed a piece of apple on a plate, topped it with a big scoop of vanilla, and finished it off with whipped cream. Davis poked Daniels with her foot. “Did you get the glucose tolerance test yet?”

  Daniels remained homed in on Scotti and his pie. “Gee Mom, I forgot.”

  Davis slouched in her seat to relieve the pressure on her full belly. “No joke, partner. That shit can kill you.”

  Daniels licked his lips. “Yup. And what a way to go.”

  Scotti brought Daniels’ dessert and a coffee pot to the table. She set the plate down with a flourish, refilled their coffee cups, then left them to it.

  Davis tracked the little blonde with her eyes. “Where does that woman get her energy?”

  Daniels forked a big bite into what Davis liked to call his gaping maw. “Pie. She makes the pie. She eats the pie. Pie is the source of all energy.”

  “Excuse me, are you Detectives Davis and Daniels? The redhead who’d been lurking at Logan’s funeral had suddenly appeared at their table. Her eyes sparkled with tears. Davis didn’t trust women who could pretty-cry. Only actresses could look good while weeping. Davis jacked an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s us.”

  The woman blotted her tears with a silky hankie. “Sorry to interrupt but may I speak to you?”

  Daniels waved his fork at Davis as if to say, ‘What the hell?’ But Davis figured it saved them time trying to track her down. She pointed her chin at a chair. “Sure, have a seat. How can we help you, Miss...?”

  She cradled her chin in her hand and lowered her voice. “Conlan. Kathy Conlan. I have information about Phillip Logan.”

  Daniels put down his fork and cocked an ear. “What kind of information?”

  Kathy’s eyes brimmed with tears. Davis decided at the very least, the woman was an aspiring actress. Crying on demand was a valuable skill in Hollywood— she probably got plenty of work. “Somebody tried to kill him. Actually, both of us.”

  Davis kept her expression neutral but thought the gal’s opening statement was a real attention getter. Maybe she was an aspiring crime novelist. “I hate to state the obvious, but you do know that Mr. Logan is deceased, don’t you?”

  Kathy dabbed her eyes. “Course, I do. Why do you think I’m here?” She fluttered her hankie. “I mean, before. A couple days before he—passed—somebody tried to run us down.”

  Davis whipped out her notepad. “Did you get a look at the assailant?”

  Kathy brightened up, now that she had an attentive audience. “You bet I did. It was Melanie Campbell.”

  Davis shot a look at Daniels—he mirrored her skepticism.

  Seeing, she was losing their attention, she pulled her chair closer to the table and crossed her heart. “I swear by all that’s holy, I thought we were gonna die.” She trained her turquoise eyes on Daniels. “That woman is a maniac. She came after us like a creature from Hell. Nearly ran us over the cliff.” She patted her milky chest. “If Phillip wasn’t such an excellent driver, we’d have gone over the edge into the canyon. That’s a fact.”

  Davis tapped her pen against the notepad. “You know Melanie Campbell? You two have some kind of spat going? Something territorial, maybe?”

  The copper-haired beauty drew back as though Davis had insulted her. “I wouldn’t give a person like that the time of day. I certainly wouldn’t foster a relationship with her.” She furrowed an auburn eyebrow. “I don’t know what you mean about territories, but it was her. I saw her.”

  “If you don’t know her, how can you be so sure it was her?” Davis asked.

  “You don't believe me?”

  Daniels patted her hand. “We’re just trying to understand why you’re so certain it was Melanie Campbell. Since you’ve never met her and all.”

  She flapped her hands for emphasis. “Because Phillip told me it was her. He wouldn’t just make that up would he?” She shifted her gaze from one to the other, gauging their reactions. “Pretty br
unette with a red sports car? Kind of an evil look in her eye?”

  The description fit well enough. “Okay, good enough. Where’d you file the police report?”

  Kathy pursed her lips and dropped her hands in her lap. “Ah, well, we didn’t.”

  Davis rolled her eyes at Daniels and closed her notepad. “Why’s that?” Kathy went mute. Davis smirked. “Let me guess—Mr. Logan didn't think it was a good idea?”

  Kathy smoothed her skirt. “Okay, well, I’m not proud of this but yes, I was having an affair with Phillip. If we’d gone to the police, his wife would’ve found out about us.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s just that Phillip didn’t want to hurt her. He needed time to work things out. Explain that he’d fallen in love with me.” She batted her eyes at Daniels. “We were just trying to spare her feelings.”

  Daniels nodded. “Right. So, you two just wanted to spare her a little grief?”

  Kathy narrowed her jewel-colored eyes at him. “Are you mocking me, sir?” She jabbed a finger in the air. “Melanie Campbell wanted him dead. And tried to kill both of us.”

  “Okay, okay, take it easy. What about damage to the truck? Was there any?”

  Kathy tilted her head and thought about it. “Yes, on the side, I think. I was so frazzled I didn’t look. But Phillip mentioned something about it.”

  Davis fanned her arms. “So? Did he get it fixed? Where’d he take it?”

  Kathy shrugged. I don’t know, must’ve been his regular guy. He went home the next day.”

  Daniels made a face. “What day did you say this happened?”

  “The Thursday after Memorial Day.”

  Davis felt a little sorry for the woman. Logan had strung her along as he had with all the women in his life. He didn’t return home until four days after the supposed assault. He probably blew her off for another woman. She’d have somebody check the truck but she suspected they wouldn’t find anything. Without a report or some kind of evidence, she had to take it with a grain of salt. Seemed more likely that Kathy Conlan was just a jilted lover making up stories. “Okay, well thanks for letting us know.”