Kent nodded at him, then turned back to the cop. “Did the neighbor hear the gunshot?”
“No. She says she didn’t hear anything until the kid knocked on her door.”
He pictured a four-year-old child running through the yard to get help for her mother. His stomach twisted. Surely a father wouldn’t murder the mother and let his child find her. But if he was strung out, who knew what he was capable of?
“Andy, let’s go talk to the neighbor. Then we’ll see what the husband has to say. He’s at work, supposedly. Hasn’t been notified.”
“You think he already knows?”
“Could be.” He clicked his phone on as he walked out of the house, dialed the department, and asked a police sergeant to run a rap sheet on the husband—William Lawrence, who went as Bo—and email it to him. He would try to open the file with his iPhone.
They crossed the yard and knocked on the door to the ramshackle house next door. A little woman of about sixty answered.
“Miss Prentiss?”
“Yes,” she said.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her nose crimson. She’d clearly had a bad morning. “I’m Detective Kent Harlan, Atlanta Homicide. This is my partner, Andy Joiner. Could we come in and talk to you?”
“Yes, but please—don’t upset the children,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve fed them and calmed them down.”
Kent stepped into the house. The little girl sat at the table, coloring on a piece of yellow legal paper. The baby sat on the floor, playing with plastic blocks.
Milly went to pick the baby up. “Poor little thing was crying and crying,” she said softly.
The little girl was still wearing her gown with bloody sleeves, and her feet were bare. “I need to talk to the child,” he whispered to Milly.
She looked distressed, but nodded.
He went to the table, pulled out a chair. “Hi,” he said.
The little girl looked up at him with soulful eyes as he sat down. Mucus had crusted under her nose. “Hi,” she said.
“I’m Kent. What’s your name?”
“Allie.”
“Allie, can you tell me what happened when you woke up this morning?”
Her bottom lip puckered out, and tears filled her eyes. “Mommy died.”
“Did you hear any noise?”
“No.”
“Did you hear her talking to anybody? Did you see anybody in the house?”
“No. She wouldn’t talk because she wouldn’t wake up.”
“So you didn’t hear a loud bang?”
She frowned, thinking. “I dreamed about a loud bang sound.”
“Dreamed it?” Kent asked. “Did it wake you up?”
“I don’t know.”
This wasn’t easy. The child probably heard the gunshot in her sleep, but didn’t wake all the way.
“What made you get up?”
“Carrie crying.”
“Nothing else?”
She shook her head and went back to coloring.
Kent tried one more time. “Allie, did you hear Carrie crying right after the bang?”
“No,” she said. “The bang was a dream, but the crying was real. It was later.”
He’d know more when the medical examiner figured out the time of death. He looked up at Ms. Prentiss. “Ma’am, did you hear a gunshot?”
“No, but I have sleep apnea. I sleep with a CPAP, and it makes noise. I sleep pretty deep. I hadn’t been up very long when Allie came.”
“What can you tell us about Mr. Lawrence?” Andy asked.
“I don’t like him very much,” she said in a low voice. “He’s had a problem with cocaine. Got arrested a few months ago, spent a little time in jail. Then they let him go to rehab. He’s only been out a few months.”
“Has he been using again?”
“Not that I know of. Devon told me he was doing good. That he was sober and going to work every night. She said he hadn’t been mean lately.”
The other officer had mentioned domestic violence. He’d probably gotten that information from her. “Mean, how?”
“I would hear them yelling sometimes. Couple of times I saw bruises. He broke her nose once, but even then she never would call the police. She finally did call them when she found a big stash of dope in her house and the baby almost got into it. Made her mad enough to turn him in. That’s when he was arrested.”
Kent met Andy’s eyes. If the wife was responsible for her husband’s jail time and probation, he might have gotten even tonight. “Where does he work?”
“At that convenience store at the Exxon station. It’s called J.R.’s 24/7.”
Kent hoped they’d learn more from visiting the husband and gauging his reaction to his wife’s death.
“Do you think this person might come back?” she asked. “I live alone, and I’m nervous.”
“We don’t know, ma’am. But we’re going to do our best to find him.”
“But how did the person get in? Do you think it was Bo?” she whispered, glancing at Allie as if making sure she couldn’t hear.
Kent didn’t answer. “We’re looking at all the evidence, but we don’t have answers just yet.”
“What am I supposed to do with the kids? I need to clean Allie up, but I can’t get in there to get her clothes.”
“We’ll get something for her to wear, and have someone come and take care of them until we can get a family member to pick them up.”
“No, that’s okay. They know me. I baby-sit them a lot. I’ll keep them until their daddy or grandma comes.” She burst into tears and covered her face. “This is so awful. Poor Devon!”
He resisted the urge to comfort her, but he hoped someone would. When he and Andy stepped outside, he heard the teary-eyed woman lock her deadbolt.
“I’m betting on the husband,” Andy said. “What do you bet he can’t prove he was at work all night?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
Kent left Andy working the crime scene. Driving to the convenience store, he considered the possibility that the husband wasn’t involved. He felt the burning in his gut that he always felt when he had to break the news of a murder to a family member. It was the part of the job he hated most.
He found the place, an old, peeling structure with burglar bars on the windows. The store was lit up, and beyond the glass was a man behind the counter, sitting on a stool and watching the television over his head.
He got out of his car and pushed through the glass doors.
“You doin’ all right?” the man asked as Kent approached. He looked sober. His eyes were clear, though he looked tired.
“Are you Bo Lawrence?” Kent asked.
The man crossed his arms. Defensive. Guarded. “Yeah, why?”
“I’m with the Atlanta Police Department, Homicide Division.”
The man’s face changed, and deep lines in his skin caught the shadows cast by the dusty light. “Homicide? What happened?”
“We had a call to your house this morning. Your wife had been shot.”
Kent watched Bo’s face. Bo swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It was hard to say whether his face changed color—he was already pale. “Shot? She’s okay, though, right?”
“I’m afraid not. She didn’t make it.”
Bo’s mouth fell open, and he couldn’t speak for a moment. He brought both hands to his greasy hair, slid his dirty fingers through. “But … we don’t have guns in the house. We don’t … who … what happened?”
“It appears to be a burglary. Someone came in and shot her in her sleep.”
He almost choked with his intake of breath. “The girls … my children … are they …?”
“They’re fine. Your daughter Allie found your wife.”
He wavered as though he might faint, and reached out to grab the counter. “Allie? Who did this?” he whispered loudly.
Kent kept his voice steady. “We wanted to notify you and find out who we could call about your children.”
&nb
sp; “Where are they now?” he asked, his face twisting in what looked like genuine anguish.
“They’re with Milly Prentiss, next door.”
He nodded. “Milly … that’s good.”
There were no tears, but that wasn’t unusual. Getting news of a murder was shocking, and people responded in different ways. “Who … who called the police?”
The question was odd. It wasn’t the first thing most people thought to ask. “Milly did, after your daughter went to her.”
“So … did she see who did it?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I’d like for you to come to the station, so we could talk to you about this. Maybe you could give us some leads.”
He looked down at the cash register. “Yeah … of course. I have to call my boss. I’ll have to close the store.”
Kent looked around. “How long have you been on shift tonight?”
At first, the man didn’t seem to hear. He stared into space, as if sorting through the news. “Uh … since 8:00 last night. I’m working a twelve-hour shift.”
“Have you left at all?”
The man picked up the phone, but he didn’t dial. “No, not at all. I’ve been here all night. Haven’t even gone out to smoke. I’ve been trying to quit.”
Kent’s eyes went to the security cameras on the ceiling behind the counter. He could get the video and confirm that what the man said was true.
“Look, I know the first person you always think of is the husband.” His voice sounded shredded, raspy. “But I swear … I loved my wife. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.” He brought his hand to his mouth, trembling, as his grief etched deeper into his face. Nothing unusual in his reaction.
After talking to his boss, Bo locked down the store and turned off all the lights. Kent retrieved the security video with no objection from him. Then Bo followed Kent out to the car and got into the front passenger seat. There were still no tears as Kent drove him to the station. When they got there, Kent watched the video footage. It confirmed Bo’s story. He had been at work all night.
The guy was probably just a grieving husband in shock, but Kent hoped he had some information that would lead them to his wife’s killer.
Chapter 5
Emily, you’ve got to stop staying up so late when you have school the next morning.” Barbara slid the cereal box across the counter at her bleary-eyed daughter.
“I can’t help it,” Emily said in a hoarse, groggy voice. “I can’t get to sleep any earlier.”
“It’s her nature, Mom,” Lance said, chomping on his Cheerios. “She’s a party girl to the bone.”
“Shut up,” Emily muttered. “I wasn’t partying.”
Barbara dug into her purse for lunch money for Lance and laid it on the counter. “I’m just saying, Emily, that you have to fight addictive behaviors like staying up all night when you have school. You have to learn to think ahead, not just do what feels right in the moment.”
“It’s not an addictive behavior, Mom. Everybody I know stays up late. It’s a college thing.”
“And that’s why half the student body drops out before they get a degree.” Barbara glanced at Lance, her sixteen-year-old. “Lance, promise me you’ll eat lunch today.”
He didn’t answer, just pretended to be engrossed in the writing on the cereal box.
“Lance, did you hear me?”
“Yes. But I hate lunch.”
“You hate lunch?” Emily asked. “That’s stupid. You hate gym or math or science. Nobody hates lunch.”
“They do if they have to sit by themselves.”
“I thought your girlfriend sat with you,” Emily said.
“April’s not my girlfriend. At least, not yet.” He brought his milk to his mouth, eyes grinning as he drank. He set the glass down too hard. “She doesn’t always sit with me. Sometimes she skips lunch. Why can’t I just be homeschooled?”
They’d been all through this. “Lance, you’ll make friends,” Barbara said. “Just hang in there.”
“I had plenty of friends in Jeff City.”
They’d moved here in January, after selling their house in Missouri. Lance had been recovering from a serious injury to his lung at the time, and he’d had a hard time fitting in after changing schools midyear. Since he hadn’t bonded with anyone by the time school was out for the summer, he’d had a long, lonely three months. Baseball used to be his pastime during those hot months, and it was a way to make friends, but since his lung capacity wasn’t back to a hundred percent and he didn’t know anyone well, he hadn’t signed up. Barbara regretted not talking him into it. “You were a popular guy back home, and you will be again. And you’ll be stronger for it. You’re learning new skills. Compassion for lonely people, for one. Good things can come of this. Moving here was right for the family.”
“No, it was right for you, so you could be closer to Kent. I get that, and I like him and all. But I miss my friends. I never hated going to school before this. Those jocks treat me like the biggest dork in Georgia. I thought this fall might be better, but nothing has changed since school started back.”
Emily seemed to be coming awake now as she nursed her coffee. “They’re just jealous. Some cute new guy comes in and invades their territory, and the girls take notice.”
“April’s the only girl taking notice, and she treats me like a brother. Trust me, they all think I’m a dork, too. I came to school skinny and sick, and that’s how they’ll keep seeing me.”
“You’re not a dork.” Barbara leaned across the counter, touched Lance’s chin. “Look at me, son.”
He met her eyes.
“You’re a hero. A life-saver. You know who you are. Don’t let them convince you that you’re anything else.”
“Yeah, well, they think I made it all up.”
“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Emily said. “We know what happened.”
Barbara looked down at her son’s chest. His breathing was still more labored than it used to be. She worried about him. Sometimes she considered moving back to Missouri just to make his life easier.
But she could barely make a living in Jefferson City, and Emily had way too many drug triggers there. And yes, she liked living near Kent. They’d grown closer since she’d moved here, and it looked like they might have a future together.
She’d been adrift since her husband died six years ago. Kent had brought joy to her life and a new outlook. He’d also helped her land a job here working as an interior designer for an architectural firm. It was a dream come true—and she was good at it. She was making even more money than she’d made during the best years of having her own business. She had so much debt from Emily’s drug days and the decline in her business, that the extra income was much needed. Her head was above water for the first time in years.
“Can you at least give me a ride to school this morning?” Lance asked Emily. “I hate riding the stupid bus.”
“Can’t,” Emily said. “I’m running late. I have to leave in a few minutes and I won’t have time to take you. Test today.”
“If I had a car my life wouldn’t be so miserable.”
Barbara smiled. “It won’t be that much longer.” He’d worked all summer mowing lawns to earn as much as he could, and she had agreed to match whatever he raised. But that still wouldn’t be enough to pay for a reliable vehicle.
Thankfully, Lance didn’t ask Barbara to take him to school. She had to go in early, too—to get her ducks in a row before her big presentation today. They were bidding on a new sanctuary for Three Roads Baptist Church, one of the largest Baptist churches in Atlanta. The architects depended on her to sell the deacon leadership and church’s senior staff on her colors, finishes, stained glass, and ideas for the architectural details that would make it a glorious place to worship.
In spite of her fatigue from last night, she was ready. If nothing went wrong, they would surely get this account.
Chapter 6
Emily felt guilty walking out to her car. Lance st
ood at the end of the driveway, waiting for the big yellow torture chamber they called a bus.
She got in and put her coffee cup in the drink holder, her books on the seat. She adjusted her rearview mirror, turned the ignition—
A pop shook the car, startling her. Suddenly, she saw Lance waving at her, arms arching wildly over his head. Confused, she rolled her passenger window down. “What is it?”
“Fire!” Lance yelled. “Get out!”
Emily jumped out. Smoke, white and thick, floated out from under her car, and as she stumbled back, she saw the small flames, way too close to the gas tank. Lance dropped his backpack and dashed into the garage, then reappeared with a fire extinguisher.
Emily stood back as he sprayed foam at the origin of the fire under the car. It went out, leaving only a cloud of smoke.
Out of breath, Lance leaned into the car and turned off the engine. His cheeks were mottled red as he stumbled back. Emily gaped at the car, stunned. “What was that?”
She hit the concrete and looked under her car. There was duct tape stuck to the wheel well, broken glass scattered in the foam, the smell of gas. A cord ran from the duct tape to the front of the car. Lance bent down and crawled closer. “Dude, that’s a bomb!”
No way. Something must have come loose … a wire … a belt … But duct tape? Emily moved into the foam and reached for the cord, but Lance grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch it. Call the police. They should see it just like that. Want me to call Kent?”
“No, I’ll call 911.” But she didn’t. Instead, she just crouched there, staring. A bomb under her car? Who would do that? It could have killed her if the flames had gotten to the fuel tank. Why would someone want her car to explode?
She heard the rumble of the school bus a couple of blocks up the street. “Bus is coming,” Lance said. “But I’m not going. I’m staying with you.”
Emily didn’t argue. She didn’t want to be here alone if someone was trying to kill her. What if there was another booby trap somewhere?
She got her purse out of the car and dug out her phone. Would the police even believe her, if they knew of her past? Her face had been all over the news here when she was missing two years ago, and lots of people still remembered her. Her DUIs in Jeff City would be on their computers like neon reminders that she used to live dangerously.
Downfall (An Intervention Novel) Page 2
