by Mallory Kane
“I ought to be interviewing them tonight, but I’m too tired to think, and I doubt they’ll make a run for it between now and tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ash said wryly. “I’ll see you at the mansion tomorrow.”
“Come on, Kendall, how long are you going to dog my tail?”
“Until you figure out that nobody in my family murdered Rick Campbell.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Why in hell can’t they leave us alone?” Craig Kendall barked Sunday morning. He was holding a mug of coffee and pacing back and forth, stopping every couple of steps to glare out the window at the press vehicles parked on the other side of the gate.
Ash clenched his jaw. His uncle’s anger coupled with his loud mouth was going to antagonize Neil. Luckily, he didn’t have to warn him. Aunt Angie was already taking care of that.
“Craig, please don’t throw a tantrum. Fred, tell him. We need to cooperate. We know we didn’t do anything wrong.”
Fred Farley, the family’s lawyer, opened his mouth, but closed it again when Craig shot him a narrow glance.
“Ash, dear, what kind of questions will he ask?” She twisted a dish towel in her hands.
Before Ash could answer, Craig pointed out the window. “Somebody just opened the gate!” he shouted. “What the hell?”
“It’s okay. I gave Neil the gate code.” As Ash spoke, his cell phone rang. It was Neil, his voice pitched high with excitement. “Kendall, we got a call about a body in Horseshoe Lake,” he said.
Ash’s heart rate skyrocketed, zero to sixty in two seconds. “Hold on,” he said, turning the phone away from his family and walking through the dining room into the living room. “Okay. Horseshoe Lake? That’s what—thirty miles from here?”
“More like forty. The local uniforms pulled him out. An ambulance is bringing him here.”
“So you’re not at the lake? Who just came through the gate here?”
“That’s Detective Jones. He’ll be doing the interview.”
“So where are you?”
“I’m with the M.E., waiting for the body. His height and weight are consistent with Campbell’s.”
“Any sign of the car?”
“The deputy chief out there tells me that one of his officers took his boat out. He radioed back that he saw a car in the lake. It’s going to take them a while to pull it out.”
“I want to see the body.”
“Kendall, there are so many conflicts of interest—”
“I’ll see you there,” Ash interrupted and hung up. He walked back to his aunt and uncle, who both looked at him with apprehension plain on their faces.
“Detective Chasen can’t be here himself to interview you.” Down the hall a loud bell chimed over his last word. “That’s Detective Jones. He’ll be asking you questions. Remember what I said. Just tell the truth.”
Ash kissed his aunt’s forehead. “Turn that frown upside down,” he teased with a smile. “That’s what you used to tell us.”
She slapped playfully at his arm as her lips turned up in a small smile. “Go on. Shoo.”
Ash drove straight to the autopsy lab. When he got there, Neil and the M.E. were standing over the table where the corpse lay. He was dressed in a shirt and pants. He wasn’t in too bad a shape, considering where he’d been, but his skin was a grayish-white, as if there was no blood under it.
No blood. Ash’s gaze snapped to the swollen wrists. There was a deep gash running vertically up the arm from the pulse point. The suicide attempt?
“Damn,” he said. “What happened to his face?”
“Probably catfish,” the M.E. said. “Noses, lips and ears usually go first, along with fingers and toes.”
“That’s not going to make it easy to ID him, is it?”
Suddenly, anger welled up in him so sharp and hot that it cut off his breathing for an instant. It had been building ever since Chief Hammond had told him Campbell was going free. He clenched his fists and tried to banish the urge to rush to the table and beat the corpse to a pulp for getting itself murdered.
He forced himself to listen to the M.E.
“From the condition of the body, I’d say he’s been in the water forty-eight hours at least,” the medical examiner was saying. “I’ll need a water sample from the lake and its ambient temperature before I can be more specific.”
Neil barely glanced at Ash. The M.E. didn’t even look up. “What about height and weight?” he asked the doctor.
“Height’s easy,” the M.E. replied, pressing a remote controller in his hand to activate the tape recorder. “This is a rather poorly nourished white male in mid-to-late-fifties. He’s approximately five feet six inches and looks like he may have weighed somewhere in the range of one-twenty to one-thirty.” He punched the button again.
Ash’s anger flared again. “That’s Campbell all right,” he said sharply. “What about C.O.D?”
At that question, the M.E. looked up, an amused expression on his lined face. “This is as far as we’ve gotten.”
Ash pointed to the wrists. “Look there. Maybe he did commit suicide.”
Neil looked at the gashes. “Dr. Patel, what do you think?” he asked.
The medical examiner looked at the wrists through a lighted magnifying glass. “Well, there do appear to be hesitation wounds. That’s normal in suicides. But to be positive, I’ll need to examine him more closely.”
“So the hesitation wounds prove that Campbell did commit suicide?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I need to complete the autopsy first.”
While they were talking, Ash was examining the rest of the body. “It doesn’t make sense that Campbell would commit suicide. Why now, when he’s free for the first time in twenty years?”
“Are you asking me?” Patel asked.
“Sure, if you’ve got an answer.”
“I’ve been Medical Examiner here for seventeen years. People have odd reactions to getting out of prison, especially after an extended period of time. Some are agoraphobic. They find themselves a small apartment or room—an enclosed space—and refuse to leave it.”
“You’ve seen a released prisoner kill himself?” Neil asked.
The M.E. nodded. “Two cases that I remember.”
“Why?”
“You’d have to sit down with a psychiatrist to figure out the answer to that question. All I can tell you is that it happens.”
Ash looked at Campbell more closely. “What’s this, on his head?” he pointed out.
“Let me see,” Patel said.
Neil stepped over beside Ash to watch as Patel turned Campbell’s head and examined his scalp. “There’s a contusion here. Again, I need to examine the wound more closely to give you a definitive answer, but it looks like a blow from a blunt instrument.”
“Did it happen accidentally in the water, or did someone hit him?” Neil asked.
“I tell you what, gentlemen. Why don’t you let me do the autopsy and send you my report. Then if you still have questions, I’ll be happy to answer them, based on fact rather than conjecture.”
“Thanks, Dr. Patel,” Neil said. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
As they left, Ash said, “It makes no sense that someone would hit Campbell and then put him in the tub to try and fake a suicide.”
Neil stared at him. “You do realize you’re not on this case, right?”
Ash shrugged. “You don’t want me around, just say so.”
Neil’s jaw twitched. “I’ve allowed you to observe as a professional courtesy, but tomorrow when the chief gets back, I figure you and me both are going to get our butts chewed.”
Ash grinned. “But that’s tomorrow. Are you heading out to check on the car?”
“I am, but I suggest that you get home to your girlfriend. She might be craving pickles this morning.”
“Ah, hell, Neil.”
“Did you think I’d forget that comment about cravings? I’ve got three kids, remember
?” Neil assessed him. “How did you, of all people, let that happen?”
“Carelessness,” Ash said dully.
“Careless? Ashanova?” Neil stopped at his car and pressed the remote unlock. “I don’t think so. Rachel’s a beautiful woman, though I’m not sure you’re good enough for her.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Ash said ruefully. “But I’m not—”
Neil waited a beat. “You’re not what? Not ready to settle down? You should have thought of that—when? She can’t be too far along.”
“About nine weeks, I think.”
“You’ve got a lot going on right now.”
Ash laughed. “You think?”
ASH SWUNG BY THE MANSION on his way back to his house. He found Angela, Craig, Natalie and Devin sitting at the kitchen table. None of them looked happy. Natalie was pale and the corners of her mouth were pinched and white.
“The questioning was rough?” he asked.
“Rough?” Uncle Craig barked. “That’s what you call it? No, it wasn’t rough. It was brutal, humiliating. How in hell can the police justify treating victims like suspects? No! Not even suspects—criminals!” He banged his palm on the kitchen table.
Natalie jumped and Angela uttered a little cry.
“Uncle Craig,” Devin said. “You’re upsetting Nat and Aunt Angie.”
Spilling a mouthful of curse words, Craig pushed back from the table and got up. “It was the detective that upset everybody. And that wimp shyster Farley didn’t open his mouth.”
He glared at Ash. “What good is it having a cop in the family if you can’t protect us from that kind of bullying?”
“Uncle Craig—” Ash started, but his uncle was past listening.
“I’m going out,” he said bluntly and left the room.
Ash started after him, but his aunt caught his eye and shook her head. “Don’t. You’ll just get into a fight.”
“Where’s he going?” Ash asked.
“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me.” She looked down at her hands and back up to meet his gaze. “He wasn’t—he’s been out every night this past week—except Friday when you called.”
“Out? Out where?” Ash looked at Devin, then at Natalie, but they shook their heads.
“He wouldn’t say where he was—not even to the detective.” Angela’s eyes filled with tears and they overflowed onto her cheeks. She swiped at them, but they kept falling.
Ash felt a sense of dread weigh on his chest. “Are you saying he wasn’t here Thursday night?”
“That’s right, dear. He’s been so upset ever since that Rick Campbell got out of jail.”
“Oh, don’t cry,” Natalie said, her voice hoarse. “It’ll be fine.”
Devin pushed breath through his clenched teeth. “The guy had the tact of a bull elephant. Nat was white as a sheet by the time he finished with her.”
“I hate that Neil had to turn the questioning over to somebody else. He’d have been much more considerate. And I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I have news, though. They found Campbell’s body.”
“Body?” Angela echoed in a quavery voice. “Oh, dear.”
“Where?” Devin asked.
Ash looked at Natalie, but she had her hand on Angela’s arm and was comforting her. Worrying about their aunt seemed to help her. She was getting some color back into her cheeks.
“They found him in Horseshoe Lake. They found his car, too. He has deep cuts on his wrists, but he also has a wound on his head.”
“What does that mean?” Devin asked.
“The M.E. will have to get back with us about the cause of death, but I don’t think it’s going to be ruled a suicide.”
RACHEL WAS GOING STIR-CRAZY. Ash had left before eight to be with his family while Neil questioned them. She’d woken up when he had left, but then she’d gone back to sleep for another hour.
When she got up, she realized she was stranded. She’d let Ash talk her into leaving her car in the division parking lot and riding with him to dinner last night.
So she’d made coffee, realized it wasn’t decaf and only allowed herself half a cup. She’d cleaned up the kitchen, stripped the beds, washed and dried the linens and then remade the beds. When she checked the time, it was barely two o’clock.
Frustrated, she’d sat down to watch an old movie. It ended exactly the same way it had the first time she’d seen it over twenty years before.
Sighing, she glanced at Ash’s file box. TV or case files from The Christmas Eve Murders? It was no contest.
She turned off the TV and dug into the box. She’d seen quite a bit of its contents but certainly not all. Retrieving a pad and pen from her purse, she pulled a stack of files from the box.
When she heard Ash’s key in the lock, she realized she’d been sitting there for over three hours.
Ash seemed a little surprised to see her. “Oh, hi,” he said dully.
“Ash? Is something wrong?” Rachel set the files aside and stood. “How did the questioning go?”
He shrugged as he pulled his weapon from the paddle holster at the small of his back. He went into his bedroom and she heard him put the gun in his bedside table.
She went into the kitchen to get some water.
After a couple of minutes, he came in, opened the refrigerator and got himself a soda. He sat down at the kitchen table and popped the top, then stared at it. His whole demeanor was dejected. His shoulders slumped.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I could heat up some soup.”
He shook his head and took a swig of soda.
She sat down across from him. Apprehension skittered through her. He’d been worried about how his uncle Craig had reacted to the news that Campbell was getting out of prison. “How did the interviews go? Did your uncle do okay?”
“Not very well,” he said flatly, twirling the can to make little patterns in the condensation that ran down onto the tabletop. His mouth was thin and set. He looked exhausted, beaten down.
She reached out and touched his hand and he looked up at her. To her shock, she saw tears glistening in his eyes. Her face must have reflected her alarm, because he looked down again and shook his head.
She waited, afraid of what he was going to say. Don’t let any of his family be involved in Campbell’s disappearance, she prayed.
“You know, bad things happen to a lot of people,” he said finally, still playing with the soda can. “When you’re a cop, you see it every day. Most people seem to cope really well even with the worst tragedies. I thought I was.”
Rachel wanted to reassure him, but he had something on his mind and she didn’t want to interrupt him. He needed to talk. He’d told her himself that he’d never talked about his parents’ murder.
“I guess I got the idea that life was too short. That I needed to get as much fun out of it as I possibly could.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “For me fun equaled girls. I always liked girls.” Rachel smiled. And girls like you.
“The other side of me wanted to do something about people like Campbell—” He stopped and shook his head. “Like whoever killed my parents. I joined the army, but that didn’t work. The reality of fighting other human beings is way different from the idea that I had. I was sent to Iraq. It was hot and dirty and boring, with a few bursts of absolute terror.” He took another swallow of soda.
“After my tour was over, I went to the police academy. I didn’t like killing. Plus, I wanted to stop the scumbags here at home. Taking murderers off the streets seemed like a noble profession.” He shrugged. “That’s worked out pretty well.”
“You’re very good at your job,” Rachel said softly.
Ash met her eyes. “Yeah, I am. But it turns out that’s not enough. I sure have screwed up my personal life.”
His words stabbed her in the heart. Was he talking about the baby?
Ha, she answered herself. What kind of question is that? Look at him. He’s Ashanova, and he was perfectly happy until she dropped that bomb on him.
“Ash, wait.” She didn’t want to ask the question, but she couldn’t help herself. “Why do you think you’ve screwed up your personal life?”
“Why? Look what I’ve done. I’ve always prided myself on not hurting anyone. But I was careless and now you’re pregnant.”
“I’m not sorry about the baby,” she said, her voice hitching.
He wiped his hand down his face. “Well, I am. I had no right to make love to you without using protection. It was irresponsible.”
Her heart took another hit. “It takes two to make a baby, Ash. I’m very sorry that you regret what happened, but I don’t.”
“Damn it, Rach. You know I don’t mean it like that.”
“Oh? How do you mean it?”
He shook his head and a rueful smile curved his lips. “See? I can’t open my mouth without saying the wrong thing.” He stood and drained the soda can. “Chalk it up to a long, frustrating day.”
He tossed the can into the trash, then headed to his bedroom and closed the door.
After a few minutes, she heard the pipes squeak and the water heater come on. He was taking a shower.
Sure enough, within twenty minutes he emerged, dressed in a new white T-shirt and old jeans. His hair was damp and he was freshly shaven. Just looking at him made her heart hurt. He looked like everything she’d ever wanted.
“Didn’t you say something about dinner?” he asked. Then he smiled and her heart broke into a million pieces.
Dear God, let the baby look like him, she prayed. Because she was going to miss that smile.
BY THE TIME HE’D FINISHED showering, Ash felt a lot better. Of course he knew why he’d been so melancholy. He was terrified that Uncle Craig may have killed Rick Campbell.
A week ago, he’d have said his uncle couldn’t have done something like that. But seeing his anger this morning and the information from Aunt Angie that he’d been gone every night—including Thursday—well, if he’d had to testify under oath, he wasn’t sure he could say he was one-hundred-percent sure Craig wasn’t capable of murder.
If his uncle had killed Campbell, that would be the last straw.
