Detective Daddy

by Mallory Kane

  The fragile, precious bond that had held his family together would be broken and the thing he’d feared for twenty years would come to pass.

  His family, his foundation, would be destroyed. He’d give anything to believe that Uncle Craig wasn’t guilty, but he couldn’t. Because he knew that anger. He recognized it. It burned inside him, too.

  As Rachel served up the dinner she’d made, Ash told her about finding Campbell’s body and his car in Horseshoe Lake. She asked a lot of questions. By the time he’d finished two helpings of her surprisingly good concoction of chili, vegetable soup and rice, and had given her the rundown of Dr. Patel’s preliminary findings, his mood had improved a lot.

  He helped Rachel with the dishes, then went into the living room. There were manila folders and papers scattered over the coffee table and the couch. “What’s all this?” he asked her.

  “Oh,” she said. “I was going stir-crazy here all day, so I went through the case files and made notes.”

  Ash frowned at her. “Notes about what?”

  She moved some stacks of papers to the coffee table from the couch, then picked up a pad and pen and sat down. “Listen to this,” she said, looking down at the pad.

  “I made a list of things that were never followed up. Number one, Campbell didn’t have the ring or the gun. Two, the scratches on his arm were never positively matched to your mom’s fingernails. Nor is there any mention of checking the windowsill that Campbell claimed scratched him. Three, Campbell swore he saw a man leaving the area of your parents’ house, and there’s no follow-up on that. From what I can tell, no one ever even interviewed another suspect.”

  Ash thought back on the telephone conversation he’d overheard in Chief Hammond’s office. “It does seem odd that the chief didn’t check out those discrepancies. He reamed somebody for not doing a thorough canvass of a neighborhood in a murder case just the other day. He said he hated shoddy work. But then when I asked him about the ring and the gun and the second man, he nearly reamed me.”

  “Your parents’ case was twenty years ago,” Rachel said. “Still, it’s not like Uncle Charlie was a rookie. He started around the same time as my dad did, so that would mean he’d had almost ten years’ experience by then.”

  “Yeah.” He gestured toward the box. “There was nothing in there about the windowsill?”

  “There’s a photo of it, marked with a number but nothing other than Uncle Charlie’s handwritten notes.”

  “And the man Campbell saw running from the scene?”

  She shook her head. “Same. Nothing but his notes. And there’s no mention of anyone canvassing your neighborhood,” Rachel said. “Now, that’s careless. Twenty years later, there’s probably no chance of finding a soul who remembers seeing the man,” Rachel said. “Even if they remembered, they probably couldn’t describe him.”

  Ash vaulted up off the couch. “Damn it,” he said, slamming a fist into his palm, his anger rekindling.

  “Ash?” Rachel said, her voice tinged with worry.

  He deliberately unclenched his fists and took a deep, cleansing breath.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “It’s just that Campbell’s the only one who saw anything that night. Now he’s dead, and the answers to those questions died with him.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rachel yawned and covered her mouth.

  Ash smiled at her. “Tired? I haven’t asked you how you’re feeling.”

  “Wow. Suddenly I’m sleepy,” she said as she stood. “I’m feeling good. I don’t seem to be getting nauseated as much, but I’m trying to be careful what I eat.”

  She started toward the guest bedroom. “I guess I’ll go to bed.” She paused. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded, standing and following her. “When’s your next doctor’s appointment?”

  She turned at the guest bedroom door and smiled, thinking about what the doctor had told her. “In about three weeks. I’ll be getting an ultrasound.”

  “An ultrasound?” he asked, his features lightening. “To look at the baby?”

  Seeing his expression, Rachel felt, for the first time, that she wasn’t facing this long, unfamiliar road alone. His face was filled with curiosity and concern, he hovered over her protectively and his eyes held a soft glow she’d never seen before.

  “Will we find out if it’s—if he’s—” he took a deep breath “—a boy or a girl?”

  She chuckled to hear him stumbling over what to call the baby. “It’s pretty early,” she said as her hand moved to her tummy.

  Ash’s eyes widened. “Early? So we won’t—?”

  “Apparently, he or she is going to look more like a peanut than anything else. We may have to wait another month or so to find out what we have.”

  He looked down at her hand. “Can you feel the baby?”

  “Not yet. Mostly I feel a little achy in my lower back and my clothes aren’t fitting like they should.”

  He looked at her, his eyes softer than she’d ever seen them before. “Can I touch you?” he asked tentatively, holding out his hand.

  “Sure,” she said, not sure at all. He put his hand over hers where it rested on her belly. It was large and warm and encompassed her hand completely. Slowly, she slid her hand out and placed it on top of his.

  “Your belly is rounder.”

  “A little,” she replied softly as the warmth of his hand seeped through her clothes. From deep inside her came a glimmer of desire. She held her breath. If he moved at all, she was afraid that the desire she was holding in check might flare. And he was too close to her. There was no way he wouldn’t feel it. She struggled to keep her attention on their conversation and off her swirling hormones. “The doctor said because I’m small, I’ll start showing sooner.”

  “What about having the baby? Will you be okay?”

  “He said my hips were good and wide,” she said wryly.

  “That’s a good thing,” he whispered.

  She lifted her head slightly. “What?”

  But instead of repeating what he’d said, Ash leaned down and touched his lips to hers. He whispered something, his mouth moving against hers, tickling her skin, then he kissed her.

  Sure enough, her yearning flared and heat spread through every cell in her body, pulsing and flowing like lifeblood, all the way to her fingers and toes. She rose on tiptoes and kissed him back, wanting him more at this moment than she ever had before. And that was a lot.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, putting both hands on her waist. “So lush and sexy.”

  He deepened his kiss, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth and teasing and sparring with hers. Her body softened, opened to him, ready for him. But her brain wouldn’t surrender.

  Then his hands slid up her waist to her breasts and he moaned as he cupped them.

  “You are such a turn-on,” he muttered, his mouth leaving hers and sliding down to her neck. Then his hands encircled her waist and lifted her.

  “No,” she whispered, but he held on to her and lowered her until he could reach her lips.

  She almost surrendered, almost wrapped her legs around him and let him take her to his bed, but one word he’d uttered kept echoing in her ears.

  Lush. He was turned on by the changes in her body caused by her pregnancy.

  “Ash?” she murmured.

  He made a sound deep in his throat and moved one hand to cup her bottom, urging her leg to bend.

  “Ash,” she said more firmly.

  He looked at her, his eyes soft with passion. Then he lowered her until her feet touched the floor. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Why are you doing this?”

  He blinked. “Doing what?”

  “This.” She spread her hands. “Coming on to me like this? What’s it about?”

  “About?” He looked bewildered. “It’s about—”

  She waited, but he seemed stuck there. And that was the problem, she realized. He was stuck—stuck i
n his own casual love ’em and leave ’em—happy world. She supposed she could understand why he’d grown up determined to squeeze as much fun as he could get out of life.

  But that didn’t work for her. It never had. She’d started dating him because of his charm and good looks. She’d continued because she’d fallen in love with him. For him the fun was the point. For her it was merely lagniappe.

  “I’m sorry, Ash. I can’t do this.” She stepped backward. “Just take me to get my car so I can go home.”

  He scowled at her. “It’s after ten o’clock. We’re both going into the office tomorrow. There’s no reason to get out tonight. You’re tired.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

  “I promise I’ll leave you alone.” He nodded toward the guest room. “That door locks if you don’t trust me.” With that he turned on his heel and went into his bedroom and shut the door.

  The sound of the latch was as loud as a prison gate slamming shut. Not locking her in. Locking her and her child out of Ash’s life.

  WHEN ASH GOT TO WORK the next morning—a Monday— Neil was in Chief Hammond’s office. Tamping down the urge to barge in and find out what was going on, Ash went straight to his desk. He had reports to write on some cases and a court appearance to prepare for. He was happy to leave the explanations of everything that had gone on over the weekend to Neil.

  But every few minutes, he glanced up to be sure Neil was still in there and willing him to come by his desk once they were done. He hoped Hammond didn’t stop Neil from sharing information about Campbell’s death with him.

  When his phone rang, he actually hesitated before answering it. He didn’t want to get involved with something and miss Neil.

  Finally, he picked up the handset. “Detective Kendall,” he said shortly.

  The call was about an abandoned vehicle on the Martin Luther King Bridge at I-70. The vehicle’s doors were locked and there was a wrapped bundle in the backseat that, according to the officer on the scene, could be a baby or a small child.

  Ash had to pass Deputy Chief Hammond’s office as he headed out. Neil was still in there. He was talking and Hammond was standing, his arms folded and a pensive look on his face.

  It wasn’t until after five when Ash got back to his desk. By then most of the squad room was empty. Hammond’s office was dark. Ash dialed Neil and heard his phone ringing from across the large room.

  He headed toward the sound, hanging up as he stepped into the tiny break room where Neil was digging his phone out of his pocket with his left hand while he poured coffee with his right.

  “Hey,” Ash said. “Any left?”

  Neil held up the pot. Ash grabbed a mug, checked to see that it was relatively clean and held it out so Neil could pour him a cup of coffee. Ash drank a swallow and grimaced.

  Neil chuckled as he leaned against the counter and sipped from his cup. “Ever notice how everybody drinks the coffee and then they make that same face?”

  Ash nodded. “I had to go out before you got through with Hammond. What’s up with him?” he asked.

  “It was like his daughter said. He woke up with a bug on Thursday,” Neil said. “He took her advice that evening and turned off his phone and holed up on the couch that Friday, sleeping and watching football all weekend. He called his boss, but nobody let us know.”

  “So how’s he doing?”

  “He said he was okay this morning, but he didn’t look real good. He was pale. Really kind of green. When I came back by his office around three, he was gone.”

  “What’d he say about Campbell?” Ash asked.

  “He was surprised—but he believes Campbell killed himself—out of guilt.”

  “What?” Ash poured the last half of the coffee down the sink and rinsed his cup. “How did he figure the car and the body got to the lake?”

  Neil shrugged. “His theory is someone found him—maybe his mom or his brother—or both of them—and they managed to haul the body off.”

  “I guess,” Ash commented. “Have you questioned them?”

  “Yeah. They’re pretty torn up. Claim they don’t believe he’d kill himself. His mother said he had a job interview on that Friday.” Neil looked at Ash. “Detective Jones said your uncle wouldn’t answer any questions about his whereabouts this past week. Apparently, he wasn’t home on Thursday evening.”

  Ash sighed. “Are you going to bring him in?” he asked harshly.

  “I need to know where he was on Thursday night.”

  Ash blew out a frustrated breath between his teeth. “Go easy. He’s hanging on by a thread.”

  “Jones said he acted belligerent, but he looked terrified.”

  “I know,” Ash said. “I’m afraid he’s going to have some kind of breakdown.”

  Neil eyed him narrowly. “You don’t look so good yourself. Do you think your uncle could have killed Campbell?”

  Ash couldn’t answer. He swallowed against a lump in his throat.

  Neil didn’t say anything for a moment, then to Ash’s relief, he changed the subject. “I’ve got the M.E.’s full report.”

  Ash cleared his throat. “What did he say about the blow to the head?”

  “He couldn’t verify whether the blow to Campbell’s head was pre- or post-mortem. He said the fish did a number on the wound.”

  “What about cause of death?”

  “He said the cause of death was exsanguination. He said being in the water all that time made it hard to pinpoint the time, but taking everything into consideration, he figured Campbell died late Thursday night or early Friday morning.”

  “What did CSI find on the car?”

  “Oh, get this. There was almost no evidence in the car. They found a few traces of blood, all Campbell’s. But almost everything, including hairs, fibers and fingerprints were obliterated by the water and the mud. They did turn up a few partial prints.”

  “Yeah?”

  “None of them are clear enough to make an ID. In fact, they’re so degraded that when the lab ran them, they came up with too many matches.”

  “How can you have too many matches?”

  “Okay, here’s what the fingerprint tech told me. Fingerprints aren’t as unique as people once thought they were. We all have certain things in common. He said the smaller the section of print he has, the more matches he gets from the database.”

  Ash looked at his fingertips. “Okay. I think I get it.”

  “Well, from Campbell’s car, he got—” Neil paused and pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket “—four partials that yielded twenty-three hits.” Neil spread the sheet open on the counter, inviting Ash to look at it with him.

  “That’s one of the partials,” he said, pointing. “And this graph indicates the points of similarity.”

  Ash couldn’t make much sense out of what he was looking at. “What? They’re ID’d only by social security number?”

  Neil folded the sheet of paper and took out his notebook. “He sent me his report online. I’ve given printouts to a few officers to run down the people. I told them to work on the ones located closest to St. Louis first. But listen to this. These are just a few of the twenty-three hits.” Neil met Ash’s gaze. “This is going to blow you away.”

  Ash folded his arms. “Okay. Blow me away.”

  Neil started reading. “Among the four prints, there are matches to Campbell, of course, his brother and his mother, an embezzler serving time in Ohio, a postal worker in Florida—”

  “So far I’m not blown away. Are you going to read me all of them?”

  Neil continued as though Ash hadn’t interrupted. “A judge, three men serving in the military, a shoplifter and—” He looked up at Ash expectantly.

  Ash waited, holding his breath. Whatever Neil was onto, he was certainly excited about it.

  “Two people connected to Campbell’s case. A guard at the prison where Campbell served his time, and the chief.”

  Ash thoug
ht he’d missed something. “The chief what?”

  “Our chief. Hammond.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Ash said, at a loss for words. “Did you tell him?”

  Neil nodded. “That’s one of the things we were talking about in his office. He thinks it’s funny—ironic, you know.”

  “Funny? What are you going to do?”

  “He’s already given me a report on his whereabouts Thursday night. He said he was feeling bad, so he called his daughter, who brought him over some soup. They watched part of a ball game together, then he went to bed early.”

  “What do you think?”

  “What do you mean, what do I think?” Neil answered. “I think I’ve got twenty-three possible suspects and I’ve got to talk to every single one of them.” He took a deep breath.

  “I spent this morning talking to Campbell’s mother and brother. Both of them deny everything, of course. Campbell’s car belongs to his mom, so naturally their fingerprints would be in it. Oh, and they’re alibiing each other.”

  “How far have the officers gotten contacting the others?”

  “I’ve heard back on three. The prison guard was on duty Thursday night until eleven. He went home and was there all night, according to him and his wife.” Neil flipped another page. “A medical student at Washington University couldn’t be reached. His mother told my officer he took off a semester and is spending it with his dad in Chicago.”

  Ash pushed his fingers through his hair. “So you’ve got five likely suspects, including the Deputy Chief of the Ninth Division of the SLMPD, and none of them have airtight alibis.”

  Neil’s frustration was showing. He closed the notepad and jammed it into his pocket. “That’s right. And unless one of them decides to confess, I don’t have squat. They all had the means, they all had the opportunity and not a one of them had a motive.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rachel got home before six. When she unlocked the door to her apartment, she saw her suitcase sitting in the middle of the living room. She hadn’t taken time to unpack before everything had happened with Rick Campbell.