The Forgotten Widow
Page 13
“Dean, you could have been a bit nicer to the poor guy,” Kenna conceded with a sideways grin, not willing to hold back her opinion. She picked up her coffee mug and walked over to the microwave to heat up the now cold contents. “You had the man shaking in those boots of his. I think he peed himself a little bit. You can be pretty intimidating, and it’s not due to the firearm you carry. That’s not to say that I don’t appreciate you looking out for me. I do. I know how serious this situation is, and I won’t take it lightly.”
The microwave beeped, so Kenna opened the door and grabbed her coffee cup by the handle. She hadn’t heard Dean move from the other side of the island while she was turned away. It was a good thing that her mug wasn’t full, or else she would have had coffee all over her hand. He stood right in front her, his presence consuming her space as he asked a question that had her heart beating hard against her chest, as if to let her know she was still alive.
“Do I intimidate you, Kenna?” Dean asked, his voice an octave lower and reminding her of last night when his warm hand cradled her cheek. She was so shocked by his question, that she didn’t answer him right away. “You have absolutely no reason to be afraid of me.”
She shook her head slowly, wanting to say something…anything…that didn’t have to do with the case. They continued to stare at one another, him mostly to gauge if she was telling the truth. She would have liked to invite him back to dinner this evening, but that would mean letting him know that he did frighten her in a completely different way than what he’d been referring to a few moments ago.
“I’m finished with the upstairs,” Stan announced, cutting through what could only be called sexual tension. Dean didn’t react one way or the other, though. He simply reached for his coffee cup that was still on the island and then smoothly tossed its contents down the sink as if they hadn’t just had a moment. He then began to leisurely make another cup of coffee. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that he was staying until Stan had completed his walk through of the house. Unfortunately, she was once again left with wondering if this attraction was only one-sided. “Garage?”
“Through there,” Kenna replied, pointing to the door on the opposite side of the room, wanting another private moment with Dean. She waited until Stan went around the corner, having located the white door. Regrettably, all he did was flip up the switch and take inventory of the windows and access door from the side of the house. “Are you sure I can’t get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, no,” Stan replied once more, his gaze darting to Dean, who was now leaning back against the counter enjoying his cup of freshly brewed coffee. “I’ll just go ahead and finish documenting the entry points. It shouldn’t take me long to catalog the first floor.”
“Where did you get this guy?” Dean asked as she joined him against the counter. Thankfully, he’d waited until Stan had disappeared back down the hallway to where her small office and guest bathroom were located on the main level. “From a billboard advertisement?”
“I’ll have you know that his company comes highly recommended by the Better Business Bureau, which rates firms on customer satisfaction,” Kenna replied defensively, although she wouldn’t be opposed to hearing alternatives. “That’s important to me.”
“I’m just messing with you,” Dean murmured with a smirk before taking another drink of his coffee. He never seemed to mind the fact that the rich beverage was scorching hot. “I’ll stay until he’s gone, and then make sure you get on your way to the phone store.”
Kenna wanted to ask if she was the errand he needed to run before he met with someone else who was related to the case, but Dean might take it the wrong way. She in no way wanted to infer that he was staying behind while Stan was here for personal reasons, even though she’d love to know the truth. Something had changed between them last night. She might not have dated in a very long time, but she still recognized the signs of an undeniable attraction.
“I appreciate it, Dean.” Kenna gave Stan a small smile when he appeared in the living room, scratching notes on the paper attached to the metal clipboard. She had scolded herself earlier about not acting spontaneously last night when she had the chance, so she didn’t allow herself to think about the words that came out of her mouth. “I’m making chili for dinner. You know, in case you find yourself not heading back to New Haven tonight.”
He stroked his thumb across the display of his cell phone, ensuring that he brushed her cheek in the photograph he’d taken yesterday while she’d been walking down the sidewalk. The pain staring back at him from her green eyes told him that he’d chosen the right widow. She deserved to be released from her pain. There was no reason to leave her to suffer.
Of course, things had gotten in the way of his research. He hadn’t had time to figure out her schedule or when the best time of the evening was to break into her home. It was very frustrating when his attention was pulled in other directions, such as around the holidays. He’d come to accept that he had other responsibilities, but he would never forget his promise to those whose grief consumed their every waking moment.
“Soon,” he whispered, staring at the beautiful face before him. He was the only one who had the courage to release her from her pain. “I know of just the right color rose to give you in celebration of your newfound freedom.”
Chapter Fourteen
“What can I help you with?” Timothy August asked warily as he stepped away from the front counter of the gym. The young woman manning the greeting station didn’t bother to hide her curiosity. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’ve been following the rules. You can check with my parole officer.”
With counterterrorism at its highest levels, Dean didn’t work many cases involving serial killers the way some local offices had done in the recent past. When the chance did come up, though, he preferred to be in the field tracking down leads. The body language of certain suspects once they were caught unawares usually aided in diminishing those from the pool. Without even asking his first question, Dean had already scratched Timothy August’s name from his list. This man had turned the corner and had long since tired of the constant flight from law enforcement that career criminals always had to endure. He’d changed his ways, clearly hoping to forestall spending another hour behind bars.
The man was more concerned about what the young woman behind the counter thought of him than any public reputation he had in the neighborhood. He continually gave her a smile of reassurance, even shifting his stance so that Dean’s back remained to her. At no point did he seem to make the connection to the recent murders and the fact that a federal agent was in his place of employment.
The stifling air mingled with rancid sweat and cheap air freshener was almost too much to take after a few minutes. It was a harsh reminder that Dean hadn’t been running lately, which was probably why all of his energy was going in a completely different direction. What the hell had he been thinking last night? Better yet, what the hell had he been thinking this morning when he’d stepped out of bounds with Kenna yet again?
“I’m not here about any parole violations, Mr. August,” Dean said, having already gone over how to broach the subject while en route. It was time better spent than criticizing himself over how he’d handled himself at Kenna’s place. Frank had decided to speak with the bartender and afternoon manager at their residences instead of the pub, wanting to confirm their most likely suspect’s alibi. “I’m investigating the three murders that have taken place in Winter Heights these past five months. I saw your name on a list of parolees who were released around twelve months ago. I was hoping you might have overheard something from the inmate grapevine before your release.”
August’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, his relief evident over the fact that Dean hadn’t shown up to his place of work in order to drag him out of the building in cuffs. It was also enough of a relief for the man to finally meet his gaze. Now that he’d been reassured that he hadn’t violated parole in the eyes of law enforc
ement, he was about to take an attitude that Dean didn’t have time for. The abrupt change in attitude also had the man’s veins bulging alongside his neck.
“Are you serious? You want me to snitch on—”
“Mr. August, I’m well aware of your rap sheet. Where were you June third between eight and eleven o’clock that evening?” Dean asked, raising his voice just enough that the young woman could hear him over the two men who’d just entered through the front doors. There had been two ways this could have played out, and August had chosen the difficult route. That was fine by Dean. “Or what about August twenty-first between the hours of—”
“Whoa, hold up there. Wait just a second,” Timothy protested, stepping forward in urgency and denial. He’d dropped the bravado the moment his own ass was on the line. “You said that you wanted to know if I’d heard anything while I was inside. You never said anything about me being a suspect in your murder case.”
Dean purposefully remained silent, allowing August to come to his own conclusions. It didn’t take the man long to figure out how the rest of this conversation should be played out. Kenna had mentioned that Dean had intimated the technician this morning, and not because of his firearm. He wasn’t so sure she was right about her view of the situation. The badge held a lot of weight, and he used it accordingly to sift through the bullshit as quickly as possible. It was one of the reasons he’d questioned her about how she saw him personally. His attempted inquiry had backfired, and his reaction to the way she’d parted her pink lips in response had him thankful someone had been in the house to stop him from doing something he’d later regret. Hell, he was already regretting the way the course of this investigation had taken him.
“Look, no one said anything about any murders,” Timothy denied emphatically, raising both hands in rejection of such a theory. “I swear on my life. Nobody was talking that much shit.”
August’s oath didn’t mean much, but Dean had already made up his mind that Timothy August had nothing to do with the case. Dean let the man sweat it out for a few more minutes, not letting him off the hook completely. The young woman behind the counter had definitely gotten the hint, though.
Dean welcomed the fresh air as he stepped outside, noticing that the warming temperatures had melted most of the snow they’d received two days ago. His drive home tonight should be a breeze, if the traffic wasn’t too bad. He’d already pushed aside the tempting offer of chili, willing to settle for whatever was in his own freezer.
He took the time afforded from the drive back to the station to reach out to his mother and brother in a two-way phone call. Both were fine, although they were already discussing Thanksgiving dinner. Dean promised that he’d be in town, provided there wasn’t something with the case that would preempt the holiday meal. He figured his chances were looking pretty damn good, given that the unsub usually struck late at night. A three o’clock dinner was what was agreed upon by the time he’d disconnected the line and pulled into the first available parking spot.
“Well, don’t you look well rested,” Chaz said after Dean had been let through the door by Chen. He was still hobbling around on that ankle of his, but the phone lines seemed to be keeping him busy today. “Could I talk to you in my office for a moment?”
Chaz had been coming out of the smaller conference room that he’d set aside for answering the hotline. At first glance, Dean thought maybe the sheriff had been able to rustle up some more volunteers for the calls that were sporadically coming in now that excitement of the last article had worn off. That wasn’t the case. Not by a long shot.
Mr. and Mrs. Chambers were sitting side by side answering phone calls alongside Will Fenlo and Chloe Reynolds. The older couple had phoned into the station every single day since they’d lost their daughter, and Chaz had made it known that he was to receive their calls no matter where he was or what he was doing in the particular moment. The sheriff took his job seriously, and his dedication to the important role he played in his community was one of the main reasons that Dean wanted to keep local law enforcement involved in the investigation.
“How is Ms. Burke, by the way?” Chaz asked knowingly once they’d reached the privacy of his office. “Was the hotel not up to your standard?”
“It’s good to see that those additional patrols we have set up are doing their job,” Dean countered, having no intention of answering Chaz’s question. “Why are the Chambers here?”
“It gives them something to do, and I thought it might help ease their pain answering a few calls and writing down tips.” Chaz didn’t have to expand on his response any further. “I take it you spoke with Timothy August?”
“He’s not our guy.” Dean decided to take a seat. He’d just gotten comfortable when Frank appeared in the doorway. “I was just telling Chaz that Timothy August is a bust. How did your follow-up with Rhonda Benson and Paul Harrison go this morning?”
“They both agreed that Brighton was at the pub when the two previous murders occurred.” Frank took the other chair, seemingly having already shed his coat in the other room. Either that or he’d left it in his car again. Dean focused a bit more attention on his partner, noting that the dark bags under the man’s eyes were a bit more discolored than they were yesterday. Something was bothering him, and Dean wondered if it had anything to do with his nephew. “The first two murders occurred while the bar was still under the previous owner’s name. According to both Benson and Harrison, all three of them were scoping the place the out. All agreed they’d stayed until closing.”
“You don’t believe them?” Chaz asked, leaning back in his chair with a cup of coffee. Judging from the grimace on his face after taking a drink, the contents were cold. “We could always ask the previous owner if he’d allow us the opportunity to view the security camera I spotted above the bar. Technically in the eyes of the law, he would be the owner of that footage unless the purchase agreement specifically included security tapes on dates before the sale. It would avoid us having to apply for a warrant.”
“Which we wouldn’t receive based on lack of probable cause,” Dean added, not liking that they were once again running out of leads.
“Paul Harrison’s wife backed up his claim that he was out those nights with Brighton. She didn’t seem too pleased to hear that the female bartender had been included in those outings, though.” Frank shrugged as if to say they had nothing to lose by asking the previous owner for the tapes. “I’ll reach out to Connor Pryor today. The chances he took any footage from that camera with him are next to nil, but it’s worth a shot.”
“I wanted to go over something with the two of you.” Chaz reluctantly sat forward on his chair and set his coffee down in the only clear spot on the desk. He must have asked Frank to join them, which really was cause for concern. He grabbed two pieces of paper, holding out one to each of us. “This is going to be printed in tomorrow’s paper.”
Frank’s expletives said it all. Once Dean scanned the article, he also understood Chaz’s reasoning behind allowing the parents of Viola Chambers to be a part of the hotline set up for tips from the public. They were definitely going to need more volunteers, but not due to information. It had more to do with fielding complaints. The article suggested that the only reason the FBI was involved in the murders was because one of the victims had been related to the governor. They’d already covered this topic, but Quinn Simmons was bringing it back for some reason to sensationalize the story.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Frank said again, crumbling the paper into a ball and tossing it back on Chaz’s desk. “Are you going to shut this down?”
“We can’t just shut it down, and you know it.” Dean wasn’t about to let the tension boil over when there was nothing anyone could do about Simmons, at least for the moment. The journalist seemed to know exactly what to say and how to say it in order for her articles to remain front and center. “It’s time for a little bit of damage control. I take it that the editor was the one who gave you a heads up?”
“Fat chance that’ll happen,” Frank muttered, though he’d taken Dean’s subtle gesture that he needed to cool it. “You handle this, then. You’re the one who still wants the locals involved. Dollars to doughnuts, they’ve got their fingers in the pie again.”
Frank stood and left the office without another word. He was usually surly in the mornings, but today was worse than usual. Dean made a mental note to check on his colleague later this afternoon. Right now, it was time to give Quinn Simmons what she’d been promised yesterday.
“Call your guy at the paper,” Dean instructed, folding the piece of paper in half so that he could put it with his notes on the case. “Tell him we’ll both meet with his journalist as agreed later today. I’d rather we ran the narrative than the alternative.”
Chaz nodded, still focused intently on the doorway. He pointed in that direction.
“Something I should know about?”
“No.” Dean had not hidden the fact that Frank’s nephew had appeared on one of the lists. By nature, his own name could be included if they’d extended the perimeter, not that he had any ties with Winter Heights. “Set up the meeting at fifteen hundred hours. I’ll make sure I’m here at the station to field the interview with you.”
Dean didn’t wait for Chaz to respond, already knowing that the sheriff was on board with getting out in front of the article. Archer had enough on his hands with the domestic terrorism cell than to deal with the governor’s link to this case, which had technically already been squashed.
The station seemed to be at its busiest. Two men were arguing with Chen about something at the window, a woman was speaking with a state trooper at one of the deputy’s desks, and Dwight was on his cell phone outside of the conference room. Frank came out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee. That was the exact moment Dean comprehended just how bad of a morning it was going to be. Frank was never the one to get the coffee.