The Next Widow: A gripping crime thriller with unputdownable suspense (Jericho and Wright Thrillers Book 1)

by CJ Lyons

  “Did you really think you could tell me to call 911 and I wouldn’t come? I’m only sorry it took me so long. The snow’s starting to come down hard.” The older woman bustled in past Leah, brushing snow from her lambskin coat, then turning to gather Leah into her arms. “How are you? And Emily? Was anyone hurt?”

  And there, in the comfort of Nellie’s kitchen, wrapped in memories that smelled like lavender and chocolate, Leah fell apart. She told Jessica everything—several things more than once, she was certain, as she wasn’t bothering to keep track or order anything in a logical fashion.

  By the time she finished, they were sitting side by side at the kitchen table sipping cinnamon tea Jessica had brewed. How many problems had Leah and Nellie conquered sitting exactly here, drinking tea? But this, this was no ordinary problem—losing Ian. Leah closed her eyes against the pain, ducking her face into the mug to hide her feelings. “I just want it all to go away, to be able to forget it—to make sure Emily can forget it. Every time I imagine what she may have seen…”

  “I could make that happen, you know,” Jessica said in a half-joking way. She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Just don’t ever tell the defense department. They’d lock me up, throw away the key.”

  “Your research has gone that far?”

  Jessica nodded. “I’m this close.” She held her thumb and forefinger up. “Imagine a world without PTSD, depression, phobias.”

  No wonder the DOD was interested. Maybe that was why Radcliffe had seemed more interested in snooping around Jessica’s office than anything Leah had to say.

  “It’s early days,” Jessica continued, taking another sip of tea, “but my initial trials at Western Psych were very promising.”

  “Western Psych in Pittsburgh? I thought you were from Chicago?”

  Jessica waved her hand dismissively. “No, I never said that. You must have misheard.” She sighed, a sound of sorrow mixed with satisfaction. “I’m so close to bringing Gordie’s dream to life. Imagine a world where we could end so much suffering? A world in harmony.” She laid her hand over Leah’s. “Where good people like you and Ian would never need to be afraid. Where your daughter could grow up in peace, safe from harm.”

  Leah wanted to believe in Jessica’s fairytale but was too mired in her own painful reality. “I should go check on Emily,” she said, taking both empty mugs to the sink to rinse out. “I need to figure out where to take her, but I’m afraid.” She turned back to Jessica. “What if the killer comes after us again? Worse, what if he’s after me and I’m putting Emily in danger by keeping her close?”

  Together they walked down the hallway to the front foyer. The broken bits of banister were gone and fingerprint powder littered what was left of the railing. The state police had left, and Jericho now had two other men huddled with him in the living room, standing by the fire even though it wasn’t lit. He spotted Leah and Jessica and held a hand up to the men.

  “I’m going up to check on Emily,” Leah told him.

  “That’s fine, forensics is finished.” Jericho turned back to the two men.

  One of them, older, dressed in an expensive suit, stared at Leah with a frown. He stepped forward, joining them in the foyer. “This is her? You’re Mrs. Wright?” he thundered, his words echoing through the high space.

  Leah cringed—he’d wake Emily. Before she could tell him to quiet down, Jericho intervened.

  “Commander Ahearn, Dr. Leah Wright.” He made introductions.

  “Why isn’t she down at the station?” Ahearn asked as if Leah wasn’t standing right there. “We need a formal statement. Now. Tonight.”

  “We’re trying to determine a safe place for Mrs. Wright to take her daughter.”

  Leah bristled—no one had consulted her. Besides, the police were the only ones who knew she and Emily were here. Yet, still the killer had found them. Why should she trust the police at all? “I can take care of my daughter without your help.”

  “I really think—” Jericho started, but Ahearn interrupted.

  “A police officer has been injured. That takes priority. Detective Sergeant Jericho will escort you to the station for a formal interview. We can call social services to deal with the child.”

  Leah opened her mouth to protest but Jericho’s pleading look stopped her. He ushered the commander back into the living room. “Sir, I think we can make better use of our manpower. Have you considered—”

  As Jericho distracted Ahearn, Leah and Jessica climbed the steps single file, sticking to the middle of the treads, away from the empty gap left behind by the broken banister and the silver fingerprint powder dusting the wall on the other side. Leah opened the door to Ruby’s room. Emily was sprawled across the center of the bed, still asleep, while Ruby sat at the window seat puffing on an e-cig.

  “What’s she doing here?” Ruby rose up at the sight of Jessica.

  “She came to make sure we were all okay,” Leah explained. She sank onto the bed, stroking Emily’s hair. Emily was right—Leah’s braids had fallen hopelessly short of the task of keeping her hair in check. “You didn’t dose her again, did you?”

  “No. She’s just exhausted is all. Best she sleep through all this anyway, right?”

  “Could you please get some clothes together for her? And I’m borrowing your truck.” Worst case scenario, she’d bring Emily with her to the police station, give them her statement, and take off from there. Although she hated to do that—last thing she wanted was her daughter exposed to more strangers.

  “Why? You’re not leaving. Not with that maniac on the loose out there.”

  “Safer out there than here with you,” Leah snapped.

  “Now it’s my fault he came here? Why am I not surprised? Is there anything wrong that ever happened in your entire life that isn’t my fault?”

  They stared at each other in silence.

  Jessica made a polite noise. “Emily can stay with me. You both can. No one would think to look for you there. And with the snow, the clinic will be closed anyway.”

  Ruby glared at Jessica, then at Leah. “You’d trust a stranger before you’d trust your own mother?”

  Leah ignored her. “Thank you, Jessica. It’d only be for a day—two at most. Just until Ian’s parents can make it in from Seattle.”

  Ruby made a scoffing noise, clamped the e-cig between her lips, tossed Leah a set of car keys, then stomped around the room, throwing clothing into a hamper. “If Emily’s going, then I’m going, too.”

  A soft knock came on the door and Jericho appeared. “Mrs. Wright, Commander Ahearn is insisting on an interview. Tonight.” His tone was apologetic, his frown deepening as he glanced at Emily’s sleeping form. “Will you come with me down to the station?”

  “Is she under arrest?” Ruby demanded. “If so, she’s got rights.”

  “Call me when she wakes up.” Leah pressed her lips to Emily’s forehead, stood up from the bed, and walked past Jericho into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Emily was in good hands with Jessica—she only hoped that Jessica’s psychiatric training prepared her for dealing with Ruby without bloodshed.

  “Am I under arrest?” she asked Jericho, enjoying the way the question made him uncomfortable. They both knew she had nothing to do with Ian’s death—hadn’t tonight proven that?

  “No.” The syllable was clipped and his expression was devoid of his previous aura of concern.

  “Then I’ll follow you there. I’ll need a car when we’re done.” Leah had no intention of getting stuck at the police station. It was almost midnight now. If the storm was getting as bad as Jessica had said, she’d need a car in order to get out of town, hole up somewhere as far from Emily as possible. The thought made her gag. Maybe she could still join them? After all, no one would ever think to look for her at Jessica’s home.

  She hated this buzz of uncertainty that spun through her brain. But it seemed as if every decision Leah had made, every action she’d chosen in order to protect Emily, had onl
y ended up putting her daughter in danger.

  Maybe, she thought as she followed Jericho down the steps, she should stay visible. Maybe go to work in the ER or back to her home if the police let her? Lure the killer out so the cops could catch him before he could hurt anyone else.

  No. Too risky. The cops would never go for it. There had to be some way to keep her daughter safe. But how?

  Thirty-Five

  Once he reached the station house, Luka stopped by his office. Leah Wright was waiting in the interview room, but he was in no rush to confront her. Not until he had a better handle on exactly what he needed to learn from her. Now that Ahearn had forced his hand with an official interview, Luka had to tread lightly. If she lawyered up, he’d get nothing. But he was also frustrated as hell by the little she’d told him—and shown him, other than her ability to control her emotions.

  Maybe it was time to take a different approach. More confrontational. Ray could help with that—would enjoy it, no doubt.

  He had one item of personal business to deal with first. Pops had forwarded all the info on Tanya he’d gotten from Nate and Luka used it to file a missing person’s report with the Baltimore PD. The detective he spoke to sounded harried but sympathetic, right until the point where Luka told him about Tanya’s history of drug use.

  “We’ll give it our best shot,” was all he’d commit to before hanging up. Luka knew it translated to Don’t hold your breath.

  Then Luka called the one person he knew who would take it as seriously as he did: Maggie Chen. “I’m on it,” she assured Luka, the warmth in her voice a sharp contrast to the Baltimore detective’s tone. “I can reach out to the coroner offices in the tri-state region, go wider if need be. Alert the ERs, AA and NA groups, shelters—I’ll make up an e-flyer, start it circulating.”

  “Thanks, Maggie. I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s family, Luka. No need for thanks.”

  He’d hung up from her feeling marginally less guilty about not being able to devote his full energy to Tanya, then gathered what was left of his team in the conference room where they’d begun the day.

  “Do we have Cochrane?” was Luka’s first question. He fit the description of the man in black running from the house. Both Ray and Krichek shook their heads. “How about tracking his car and phone?” Fancy new Mustang had to have GPS.

  “Waiting for the court orders,” Krichek told him. “The ADA said she’d give us an arrest warrant for the online threats and the assault in the ER, just to get him off the street. And if Harper can ID him as her attacker—”

  Luka shook his head. “She can’t. Not yet, anyway. She saw the guy, but her head’s messed up with the concussion.”

  “But she’s gonna be okay?”

  “All the doctor would tell me was that they were sending her for a CAT scan and it would be a while before they knew anything.” His jaw clenched at the not knowing. “And what about this chemistry professor, Olivia Karmody?”

  “Left this morning for a conference in Amsterdam,” Krichek answered. “She and Katrina Balanchuk have been living together for a year—since Trina isn’t a student in Karmody’s department, the college was okay with it.”

  “So they disclosed their relationship?”

  “Yep. I even called the college head of human resources to make sure Trina wasn’t lying. Trina’s parked over in Interview Two, if you want to talk with her some more. But so far everything she’s told me has checked out. Their apartment building has electronic locks. The logs match with both Trina and Dr. Karmody being home together at the time of the murder.” He paused. “Not sure about her sighting of the man in black on campus—still going through the red tape with campus security, trying to get any footage they might have.”

  Luka considered. Like Krichek, he hadn’t gotten the sense that Balanchuk had lied during their conversation. He mentally searched for stray threads he could tug at, trace back to an actual clue. He’d started the day with no suspects and now it seemed he had four—Cochrane, Balanchuk, Karmody, and Leah Wright—but no actual proof. “How did they find Leah at her aunt’s house? I’m certain we weren’t followed—and Harper didn’t see anyone on our tail either.”

  “Maybe they were tracking her phone?” Krichek suggested. “You had it with you on the drive to the farmhouse, right?”

  Luka had already dropped Leah’s phone off with Sanchez, the tech guy who’d been helping Ray weed through Cochrane’s postings. He still wasn’t sure if Cochrane was working with Leah Wright or against her—maybe both? What if she’d used Cochrane, somehow manipulated him into killing for her? Or maybe he was simply a random nutjob complicating things and Luka needed to focus on the women: the widow, the art student, and the chemistry professor. At this point anything was possible. He needed more evidence. “What would it take to do that? Track her phone?”

  Krichek answered. “Feds can turn just about any phone into an omnidirectional microphone, activate the GPS and video. Supposed to have a warrant, of course, but I’ll bet your DIA friend has ways around that.”

  “You think the Defense Intelligence Agency sent an operative to attack two unarmed women, a child, and Harper? Got a reason?”

  Luka had already spoken with Radcliffe. As usual the DIA man had been less than helpful even while promising any government resources Luka needed. Luka had added Cochrane and his Mustang to Radcliffe’s list of subjects to locate, which still included the man in black’s motorcycle. After he’d hung up, he’d felt as if it was all a waste of time. But one of Ahearn’s first questions when he’d arrived on scene was if Luka was cooperating with the DIA as ordered, so at least he didn’t have to lie.

  “Okay, okay, so not the DIA,” Krichek conceded. “Maybe Cochrane was spying on Wright? Could he have planted some malware in her phone?”

  “Doubt it,” Ray answered. “Sanchez says Cochrane’s cyber skills are amateur.”

  “Balanchuk?” Luka asked. “Any evidence that she’s got hacking skills?”

  “Not exactly what they teach in art classes,” Ray answered. “Maybe her chemistry professor friend? The one who conveniently fled the country the day after the murder?”

  And who was now out of their reach, Luka thought. “Have Sanchez check Cochrane and Balanchuk’s electronics for evidence of spying software they could have used on Leah Wright.”

  Ray grabbed his phone and texted the cyber tech.

  “I know you’re going to tell me I’m paranoid,” Krichek said. “But could Leah Wright have done it to herself? All along she’s been playing the victim card—the video at the crime scene with her daughter, the roses and vague threats, Cochrane’s postings trolling her. Then an attack at her mom’s house, while she’s conveniently safe outside, and the only person hurt is Harper? She’s acting the sweet, sympathetic widow—but is she really?”

  “If she’s been playing us, we’ll never convict,” Ray argued. “Not without a confession or some hard evidence. Maybe not even then.”

  Luka paced the length of the conference room. “Do we have a love triangle? An obsessed stalker? A wife tired of her cheating husband? What the hell is really going on here?” He scrutinized the whiteboard. Krichek had been diligent in filling in Ian Wright’s timeline going back twenty-four hours but there were still some definite gaps. “Let’s start from the beginning. We have the time of the murder.”

  “We know the killer is a man and has access to a motorcycle,” Krichek said.

  “We know the killer wasn’t working alone,” Ray added. “If the roses the doc got are part of the mix, that is. Then he’s working with a woman.”

  “It’s not the chemistry professor. She couldn’t have bought the roses today,” Krichek said. “I verified it, she’s definitely in Amsterdam.”

  “Helluva alibi,” Ray said. “Maybe she orchestrated the killing and has Balanchuk doing the cleanup?”

  “Krichek, put up the photos from the hospital cameras of the woman. Could that be Katrina Balanchuk in a wig?” They all lean
ed forward, staring at the enlarged CCTV images. The hospital’s system was hopelessly outdated, the images lo-res and grainy.

  “Could be my mother for all I can tell,” Ray finally said. “But add to your list that the killer or someone working with him knew how to torture Ian Wright.”

  “And had access to a designer drug cocktail and knew how to administer it.” Luka began jotting notes on the whiteboard, the squeak of the marker making his teeth itch.

  “We need to consider that Ian Wright wasn’t the primary target.” Luka frowned. He needed to find a motive that made sense. He considered the board for a long moment before he turned back to the others. “I can’t stop thinking about what Cochrane said. About if you really want to hurt someone you don’t go after them, you go after their family.”

  Ray jerked his chin up at that. “You think the widow is the target?”

  “I thought you said she was clean, no malpractice, no serious complaints,” Krichek said.

  “Let’s dig into her patients, best we can.”

  Ray scoffed. “No way in hell are we going to get access to what, four years of patient records? You have any idea how busy that ER is?”

  “Actually, it’s more like eight years. We need to go back to when she worked in Pittsburgh as well.”

  Krichek began tapping at his laptop. “Eight years? Heck of a long time to hold a grudge.”

  “Not if you’re serious about it,” Ray told him. “I’ve known cons sent away longer, spent their entire sentence planning their revenge. Savoring it—some said it was what got them through.”

  “That’s an idea. Any way to cross-reference ER patients and convicted felons?”

  Both men glanced at Luka as if he was crazy. More like exhausted and grasping at straws. “Sure, if this was an episode of Criminal Minds,” Ray scoffed. “Want a Gulfstream, too, while you’re at it?”

  “Unless we ask the DIA to help?” Krichek offered, earning glares from both Luka and Ray.