Deadly Aim

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “I just want to ask him some questions.”

  Rachael shook her head. “You’re treading on thin ice, kiddo. It sounds as though you’re doing your own investigating, and that’s definitely taboo.”

  “All right. I’ll stay in the car while you ask him questions.”

  Rachael rolled her eyes. “Like what? Did you murder the Reverend Todd Elroy Dixon and Alex Carlson?”

  “That’ll do for a start.” Angel wondered at the wisdom of coming here herself, but she had to do something.

  Broadman lived in a ten-year-old subdivision filled with expensive homes. The yards, his included, were neatly maintained. Broadman was obviously better off than his sister and mother.

  “I’m not really worried about it,” Angel went on. “You’re with me, so I doubt he’ll try anything, and if he does, I’ll have a witness. Anyway, let him try. I’d take great pleasure in seeing him arrested.”

  Rachael folded her arms. “Humph. I just hope he’s the one who ends up getting arrested and not you.”

  There was no car in the driveway, and no one answered the door. Disappointed, Angel started back to the Blazer. “We might as well go.”

  They were just getting into the car when Callen drove up. He didn’t look happy to see them. “Would you two mind telling me what you’re doing here? In case you’ve forgotten, Delaney, you’re on leave.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Angel lifted her gaze to his face.

  “And you’re here because...?”

  “We came out to talk to Broadman.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “I know Broadman is guilty.”

  “You know nothing of the kind.” Callen rubbed his jaw. “Look, I know you believe he’s the one who threatened you, but again, you have no proof.”

  “Well, not proof exactly. But listen to this. Rachael and I talked to Alicia Dixon, and she indicated that all was not well between Broadman and her husband.” Angel frowned. “Why are you here?”

  “I talked to Mrs. Dixon on Saturday, and based on her testimony and the alleged animosity between the two men, I was able to obtain a search warrant. I was just about to go in.”

  Angel nodded her approval. Not that he needed it or wanted it. “Do you mind if we stay to see if you turn up anything?”

  “Suit yourself.” He still sounded angry. “You can come in with me if you want. I’ll do a walk through, and if we find anything, I’ll get the lab people out here to take samples.”

  The house was a single story home in which all the walls were painted white. Except for a few breakfast dishes in the sink, it looked spotless. In the office they found notes and papers pertaining to the lawsuit, and correspondence to Dixon, but nothing to indicate Broadman might’ve killed the man.

  Angel and Rachael followed Callen through the house and yard. After checking the garbage can, Callen brushed his hair back and straightened. “Place looks clean on the surface.”

  “If he did kill Dixon,” Angel said, “he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave any evidence laying around.”

  Callen placed both hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I know this is important to you, but we’re on it, okay? Why don’t you go home and let me handle the investigation?”

  “I am letting you handle it; it’s just that I need to know what’s happening.”

  “I’m telling you what I can.” Callen dropped his arms.

  That isn’t good enough. She heaved a sigh. “All right, you win. I’m going now.” She’d gone a few steps when she stopped and turned around. “Callen, about Alex Carlson. Call me when you get the medical examiner’s report, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Once in the Blazer, Angel cranked the key. In her rearview mirror, she saw Callen get into his car and ease away from the curb. She fell in place behind him.

  “You know, Angel, Broadman may not have killed Dixon.” Rachael gave her a sidelong look. “Maybe you have the wrong person.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” She chewed on her lip as she maneuvered around a garbage truck. “But then who did it?” She had to admit there were other possibilities, but none so compelling as Broadman. The man was a menace, and she had no problem imagining him as a killer.

  Rachael shrugged. “Maybe you need to step back and—”

  “Hold on.” Angel made a sharp right.

  Rachael yelped and grabbed for the dashboard. “Where are you going?”

  “Broadman wouldn’t leave any evidence around for anyone to see it.” Angel drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, turning right again. “He’d get rid of it.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  Angel pulled up on the opposite side of the street from Broadman’s house and stopped. “Dixon’s throat was slit. If Broadman did it, he would’ve gotten blood on his clothes and maybe on his shoes. He’d need to get rid of the evidence as soon as possible.”

  “So?”

  “So he gets into his car and drives home.”

  “But we didn’t see any blood in the house.”

  “Because he would’ve cleaned it up. Put yourself in his place. You’ve just killed a man and have blood all over yourself.”

  Rachael made a face. “Okay. First I wouldn’t want to get in my car because I’d get blood on the seat and the floor mats.”

  “But you have no choice.”

  “Okay.” Rachael frowned. “I can clean it up later, especially if I have vinyl seats. I need to get home fast so I can shower and change.”

  “But you can’t go inside—there’s blood on your shoes,” Angel reminded her.

  Rachael glanced at the house. “I could drive into the garage, take off my clothes and shoes, put them in a garbage bag, then go inside.”

  “And what would you do with the garbage?”

  Rachael thought for a moment. “I couldn’t put it in my own garbage can. The police might check that.”

  “Exactly. Which we did and found it empty. In fact, that empty can is what got my attention. The garbage truck we saw was heading toward Broadman’s house, not away from it. So where is Broadman’s garbage?”

  “Maybe he took it to a dumpster somewhere.”

  “Or maybe he used a neighbor’s can, knowing that the garbage truck would be coming today.” Her hands gripped the steering wheel. “Let’s take a look.”

  “I don’t know, Angel. Maybe you should call Callen back.”

  “I will if we find anything.” Angel drove around to the alley and parked behind the house. All of the garbage cans except for Broadman’s were out at the curb awaiting pickup. Angel checked the cans on either side of Broadman’s house while Rachael went to the other side of the alley.

  Angel proceeded to the right to the end of the block and came back to the can two doors down. After she carefully lifted the lid to preserve fingerprints, she noticed a black plastic bag, layered between two white bags.

  Rachael came up behind her. “What’ve you got there?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s open them and find out.” The top white bag contained the usual kitchen garbage. She pulled out the black one and untwisted the tie. Inside she could see a bundle of clothing and a pair of men’s shoes. “Rachael, I think we may have our evidence.” Angel turned around.

  A large hand covered Rachael’s mouth. Ray Broadman stood there even bigger than Angel remembered him, holding a .38 snub-nosed revolver to Rachael’s temple.

  Angel dropped the lid and stepped away from the can. “Let her go.”

  Ray Broadman dragged Rachael backward toward his house. “Make a sound and she dies.”

  “You’re not going to get away with this.” Angel took another step toward them.

  “Stay back.” He waved the gun at her, then directed it back to Rachael. His left arm was hooked around her throat.

  Rachael’s gaze caught Angel’s. Angel sent her a silent message. Don’t try anything foolish.

  But in a sudden movement, Rachael raised her hands and grabbed Broadman’s arm. Then in a
maneuver any karate instructor would’ve been proud of, she jabbed her heel into his instep and slipped her head free.

  Angel took advantage of his surprise and made a dash for him. She kicked his right hand, sending the .38 to the ground. Rachael got around behind him and pushed while Angel slammed the back of his neck with her fist, sending him to the ground. She scooped up the revolver and held it on him.

  She had Rachael go to the car for the cell phone to put a call in to dispatch. Five minutes later a police car pulled up. Nick climbed out of his vehicle. “What’s going on?”

  “These perverts were poking around in the garbage cans,” Broadman spat out. “Arrest them.”

  “Garbage cans? What the...?”

  “He’s the one you need to arrest.” Rachael leaned against the garage door. “He pulled a gun on me. He was going to kill me.”

  “They attacked me!” Broadman countered. “They’re the ones with the gun.”

  Another police car pulled up, this one unmarked but all too recognizable. Callen stepped out, his gaze sweeping over them and landing on the gun Angel was holding. Nick briefed him on what he knew about the situation, which wasn’t much.

  “I thought you went home.” Callen looked directly at Angel.

  “I was going to and then I spotted the garbage truck. But Broadman’s garbage can was empty. I got to thinking that if Broadman did kill Dixon, he’d have gotten blood all over himself. He couldn’t use his own can, but I thought he might use a neighbor’s.” Angel pointed to the black bag she’d dropped. “I think he did. I have a hunch you’ll find more than enough evidence here to charge him.”

  Broadman glared at her. “She framed me. I got a right to protect my own property. Those aren’t even my clothes.”

  Angel folded her arms across her chest. “I’m sure the crime lab will determine that they are and that the blood is Mr. Dixon’s.”

  “She’s right. It won’t take the crime lab long to find out.” Nick mirandized and cuffed him. “In the meantime, we’ll be taking you in for questioning.”

  “This is police brutality!” Broadman yelled. “Can’t you see what they did to me?” He turned to Nick. “They kicked me. I got the bruises to prove it.”

  “You creep.” Rachael pushed off from the garage door. “You had a gun in my face. Don’t preach to me about brutality. Sheesh.”

  But when Nick left with Broadman, Rachael started to shake, her face going pale. “I’m going to the car. I’m not feeling so good.”

  Angel started to follow, but Callen grabbed her arm and swung her around. His green eyes bore into her. “How could you do something so stupid? You not only risked your life, you risked Rachael’s, and you may have damaged the credibility of the evidence.”

  Angel stepped back as though he’d slapped her. But she knew he was right; she should’ve called him with her suspicions right away instead of looking through the garbage cans on her own. “I just wanted to—”

  “Smart thinking,” he interrupted, “but your follow-through was lousy. What I should do is arrest you for obstructing justice. This isn’t your investigation! You... are... on... leave.”

  Angel wasn’t about to let him have the last word. “If I hadn’t found that evidence—”

  “We’d have found it sooner or later.”

  “Right. And just how long do you think that garbage would be there?”

  “Long enough. I saw the garbage truck too, Angel, and realized his can shouldn’t have been empty. I’d already called the lab guys to come out and do a more thorough search. Besides, if we hadn’t had the clothes, we had his car.” He dragged a hand through his hair and heaved an exasperated sigh. “Go home and stay there. Let me do my job.”

  Angel spun around and headed for the car. Without a backward glance she climbed in behind the wheel, revved up the engine, and drove away. She had made him angry, and she couldn’t afford to do that. If he filed a complaint against her, she’d probably be out of a job for good.

  Callen watched her leave, then jogged to the alley where he had instructed the garbage collectors to bypass the block. He went back out to his car to wait for his lab team and thought again about Angel. What was he going to do with her? She frustrated him to no end, and at the same time he admired her spunk. She had the tenacity of a bull rider in a rodeo. She’d been thrown more times than he could count, yet she kept coming back, refusing to stay out of the saddle.

  She was understandably concerned, but in trying to conduct her own investigation, she was getting in over her head. She hadn’t been trained as a detective and wasn’t aware how delicately a crime scene needed to be handled.

  Callen’s phone rang, and he flipped it on. “Detective Riley here.”

  “Riley, this is Dr. Murrey. You wanted me to call when I got something on the Carlson boy.”

  “Right, what do you have?” Callen had seen the boy’s body and had a hunch what the findings would be.

  “Looks as though the boy’s mother might be right about Alex not being a drug user. The kid had drugs in his system, but he also had trauma to the mouth and throat that indicates he may have been force-fed. I should have a preliminary report to you in a day or two.”

  Callen thanked him and hung up. When the lab techs showed up, he gave them instructions to go over the entire house to look for blood evidence. They found traces in the shower and in the garage, as well as in his car. That along with his discarded clothing should put him away for a long time—if the blood matched Dixon’s.

  By the time they’d finished, it was 5:00 P.M. and time for Callen to call it a day. He had dinner to make for a very special lady.

  Later that evening Angel brought Rachael along to dinner at her parents’ home. Paul put an arm around Rachael’s waist the minute she stepped inside. “Miss me?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Like crazy,” Rachael whispered back.

  Angel squeezed around the two lovebirds blocking the door and followed the wonderful aromas coming from the kitchen. She stopped just short of the wide arch, suddenly wishing she hadn’t come. She could hear Callen’s rich baritone voice and her mother’s soprano; she had forgotten that her mother had invited Callen to join them.

  He was the last person Angel wanted to see, especially after the way he had confronted her at Broadman’s place. She was surprised he’d come at all. She started to back out when Peter came up behind her.

  “Something sure smells good.” Peter ruffled her hair before making a beeline to Anna.

  “Peter, you made it.” Anna reached up for a hug. Gesturing toward Callen, she said, “Look who’s come to dinner.”

  Peter looked from his mother to Callen and then to the white apron Callen wore over his polo shirt and slacks. “What gives?”

  “He cooks,” Angel offered. “Our mother has found her soul mate.”

  Callen ignored her tone and grinned at her. “Wondered when you’d show up.”

  “If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have.”

  “Angel Delaney,” Anna scolded. “That’s no way to talk to our guest.”

  “Your guest.” She glanced around. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Right behind you.” Frank squeezed her shoulders and took his regular place at the large wooden table.

  Angel looked at Callen again. For some reason, seeing her mother cook with him stirred up a fierce jealousy. Anna looked vibrant and happy as she showed Callen where to find utensils. Somehow Angel had gotten the idea that her mother didn’t like anyone helping in the kitchen. But thinking back, she realized the opposite was true. Her mother had invited her to help make a meal many times. Why hadn’t she?

  Because I was too busy trying to please Dad.

  Angel tossed the idea aside, focusing again on Callen. No one else seemed to notice his intrusive presence. Peter sat down next to their father. Paul and Rachael squeezed past, followed by Tim, Susan, and the girls. Angel remained in the doorway.

  You can still leave, she told herself. Instead, she watched as C
allen sampled a dish he’d been working on. He tossed the contents of the pan into the air and caught it all in the pan again, then repeated the move several times without spilling a drop.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Angel asked.

  He grinned over at her. “Practice. I’ll teach you sometime.”

  “I don’t cook, remember?”

  “It’s not too late to learn.” Callen slid the contents of the frying pan onto a serving platter. Anna placed a bowl of steaming, oven-browned vegetables in the center of the table on one of the brightly designed trivets. Callen helped her bring the rest of the food to the table, and while she took her place beside Frank, he sat down in one of the two end places.

  “Angel, come sit down,” her mother urged.

  Angel shrugged and slipped into the only empty chair, next to Callen. She was hungry, and the food looked great. Her feelings for Callen would have to take a backseat to her rumbling stomach.

  For the next few minutes they all focused their attention on the succulent Marsala chicken, gnocchi made with potatoes, cream cheese, and herbs, and the large tray of oven-browned vegetables—broccoli, asparagus, squash, cauliflower, onion, and mushrooms.

  “I could get used to this.” Rachael set her fork down to pick up her drink. “It’s decadent.”

  Anna grinned and with the pride of a mother announced, “Callen made the chicken.”

  Angel didn’t comment as the compliments flew. But she had to admit the chicken was tender and moist, and its delectable sauce was smooth and almost as good as dessert.

  Paul asked Rachael how her day went, and to Angel’s chagrin, she went into the entire spiel about how she and Angel had single-handedly captured Dixon’s killer.

  “Ahem.” Callen cleared his throat. “His alleged killer. We’re still testing blood samples.”

  “Whatever.” Rachael shrugged her shoulders.

  Paul turned to Angel. “How could you take a chance like that?”

  “Don’t blame Angel, Paul.” Rachael came to her defense. “We both went. The creep snuck up on us and caught me by surprise.”

  “It’s a good thing you know self-defense.” Paul’s reaction was a lot like Callen’s had been.