Detective Daddy

by Mallory Kane

  She sighed and dragged the case into the bedroom, set it in the corner and tossed her purse onto the bed, its heft reminding her that she’d meant to put her gun back in the trunk of her car. She didn’t like carrying a loaded weapon around.

  But she was too tired to go back outside now. Too tired and too upset. She was angry at Ash for telling her all about his doubts and fears, and then trying to play on her sympathy by coming on to her. And she was angry at herself for almost giving in.

  He’d looked right at her and told her that he’d screwed up his personal life. Well, guess what? He’d screwed up hers, as well.

  She’d been perfectly happy, with a great career and plenty of time to think about marriage and family. But then he’d made her fall in love with him. Worse, they’d been careless, and now she was pregnant. Pregnant with no strings attached.

  The problem was she wanted strings. No. Not strings. Rings. She wanted Ash in her life, in her baby’s life. She wanted him to love her, and that was never going to happen.

  She pressed her lips together and blinked against the stinging in her eyes as she changed into fleece pajamas. As she came out of the bedroom, thinking about what she wanted for dinner, there was a rapping on her front door. She went into the living room and peered through the peephole.

  It was Deputy Chief Hammond. She was a little surprised. Uncle Charlie had never shown up at her apartment before. In fact, since her dad had died, they’d spoken at work, but that was all.

  She opened the door. “Uncle Charlie, hi. What are you doing here?”

  “Can I come in?” he asked, looking ill at ease.

  “Sure. Come on in,” she said, stepping aside to let him pass. “I heard you were sick. Are you feeling better now?”

  He didn’t answer her question, he just walked into her living room and looked around. “Nice place. It’s kind of small, but it looks comfortable.”

  “It is,” she said, watching him curiously. A faint uneasiness began to quiver inside her. There was something wrong about him showing up here.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked. “Would you like something to drink?”

  He shook his head, still looking around the room, as if he wasn’t sure how he got here. Rachel watched him apprehensively.

  Finally he sat on the edge of her couch and turned his attention to her. She perched on the arm of her easy chair. For some reason, she was reluctant to sit.

  “You’ve turned out awfully pretty, Rachel,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said, pasting a smile on her face.

  “Your dad was always so proud of you.” Hammond leaned back. “He used to say there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do.”

  Rachel laughed a little uneasily. “Well, he was my daddy. That’s what daddies are supposed to say.”

  “Nope,” Hammond said. “That wasn’t just a father talking about his daughter. He really believed it. I believe it, too. You can do anything.”

  Rachel studied him closely, still unable to figure out what was going on with him. He was pale, except for dark splotches of red in his cheeks, and his hands were trembling. She didn’t smell liquor, but she supposed there were drinks, like vodka, that didn’t give off telltale odors.

  “For instance, you did a great job on the DNA for the Christmas Eve Murders.” His tone changed, hardened.

  The uneasiness in her chest grew to fear and slithered up her spine. “Uncle Charlie?” she started.

  He held up a hand. “But you’ve got to go back. Go back and tell the truth. Tell them that the sample was contaminated. That you were wrong. The DNA did belong to Rick Campbell.”

  “But it didn’t, Uncle Charlie. The report I turned in was absolutely right. The tests were conclusive. I’m sorry.”

  Sweat had popped out on his forehead and was pooling and running down his face and neck.

  “You’re not feeling well,” she said, standing. “I heard you had a virus. I’ll get you some medicine.” Her phone was in the kitchen. Maybe she could call Ash or Neil. She was afraid he was delusional. Maybe he was still feverish from the virus.

  “Sit down, Rachel,” he said.

  When she turned back to look at him, she saw that he was holding a Sig Sauer pointed at her.

  “Uncle Charlie!”

  “Sit down!” he bellowed suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. “Sit! Right there!”

  She sat. “Uncle Charlie, I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m disappointed in you. Your daddy would be disappointed, too. You let that preppy A.D.A. Meeks sweet-talk you. I don’t think you’d alter the sample.” He took a shaky breath. “I know you. I’ve known you since you were a baby. You’re not like that. But you don’t know much about men. What did you do? Let Meeks into your lab late at night? Let him touch you? Get you all hot and bothered so that when he disappeared for a few minutes after you two had—you know—you didn’t pay any attention to what he was doing?”

  Rachel stared at him in shock. “No!” she cried. “Tim Meeks? I never let him touch me. He was never in the lab. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Hammond stood and paced, waving the gun. “You don’t? Well, let me fill you in. Meeks and that D.A., Allen, made a big mistake, digging into the Christmas Eve Murders. That case was closed. Everything was fine. Until they got you to run that analysis. I’m telling you, Rachel, you were duped. Somehow, they changed the evidence to prove that the man I put in prison twenty years ago was innocent.”

  THERE WAS A KNOCK ON THE open door to the break room. Ash looked up and saw the night maid.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Is it okay to clean now?”

  “Sure,” Ash said. “Come on, Neil. Walk back to my desk with me. Are you about ready to go?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So how can you be sure none of your five suspects has a motive?”

  “Look at them. What’s Campbell’s mother’s motive? Or his brother’s?”

  Ash sat down behind his desk and intertwined his fingers behind his head. “Maybe they always had trouble with him. Maybe he was forever mooching money or getting in trouble, and their lives were much easier with him in prison.”

  Neil shook his head. “How about the prison guard?”

  “That one’s easy,” Ash said. “Maybe Campbell had something on him.” He paused. “And as far as the medical student is concerned, I have no idea why he’d have a beef with Campbell, but it’d be interesting to see what he claims his alibi is. It’s not that far to Chicago.”

  “Okay, you’re on such a roll, what about the chief?”

  Ash looked at Neil, then off into the distance while he thought. Then he sat up. “Try this,” he said, not exactly sure where he was going with the idea that had just popped into his head. “Hammond got his promotion because of the Christmas Eve Murders. Solving that case established his reputation. Once Rachel’s DNA analysis proved that Campbell couldn’t have committed the murders, Hammond ended up with egg on his face.”

  “Why should he care? He’s the deputy chief. Nothing can touch him.”

  “Yes, it can,” Ash countered. “Public opinion can.”

  Neil started to shake his head again, but instead he just stared at Ash. After a few thoughtful seconds, he said with an uncomfortable chuckle, “Okay. Let’s say the chief killed Campbell. What the hell happened at Campbell’s house?”

  Ash raised his brows. “Seriously? You want to keep going with this?” Neil didn’t move, so Ash went on. “Okay, then. The chief goes to Campbell’s house, thinking he can overpower him and make it look like Campbell committed suicide. But Campbell fights back and Hammond has to hit him. Now the chief is panicking. He still tries to stage it as a suicide but realizes it’s not going to work, so the chief carries Campbell out to Campbell’s own car and dumps him and the car in the lake. Then he makes his way back to Campbell’s house and drives his car home and pretends to be sick over an extended weekend.” By the time Ash finished, he was out of breath and out of
ideas. He spread his hands.

  “Sounds impossible, I know,” he said.

  But Neil was staring at a spot somewhere behind Ash’s head. “No,” he said pensively. “No. Not impossible. But how does he get back to Campbell’s house? It’s nearly forty miles from the lake.”

  Ash shrugged. “Cab? Bus? Friend?”

  “Not friend. I don’t know about buses.” Neil ran a hand over his buzz-cut hair. “As much as the cop shows would like us to think every cab and bus driver remembers every person they pick up, it isn’t that easy.”

  “I know. We could go through all the cab companies’ records, but that could take weeks, and what would we have? A fare that fits into the geography and the time frame. It’s still no proof.”

  “I know.”

  Neil’s voice sounded distracted. Ash frowned. “What is it?” he asked.

  When Neil looked at him, Ash was shocked at the look in the other man’s eyes.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “Tell me you’re not thinking about bringing the chief in. He’ll eat you for breakfast and not even belch.”

  Neil rubbed his eyes. “I’ve got to go through every one of the suspects the same way, but stick with me on Hammond for a minute. He takes a cab or a bus or some combination back to Campbell’s house. He needs to clean up the bathroom. He knows forensics. All he needs to do is wash the blood down the bathtub drain, mop up the drips and footprints, and wipe everything down to get rid of his fingerprints.”

  “Right. Campbell and his car are gone. There’s no sign of a struggle. We might take a look around, but we’d have no reason to mount a murder investigation. Campbell would go on the books as a missing person.” Ash drummed his fingers on his desk. “So why didn’t he?”

  “When he gets back, somebody’s outside smoking or just hanging around. Or a cop car drives by. The chief can’t afford to be seen, so he gets out of there.”

  Ash tried to find holes in Neil’s reasoning. There were a few, but they were small. “It’s possible,” he said.

  “So now,” Neil continued. “Say you’re the chief, and you know we’ve found the body and the car, and some of the fingerprints were partial matches for yours, what would you do?”

  Ash shook his head. “Okay, first of all, it would depend on whether I’d killed him or not,” he said wryly, checking his watch. “Damn it, it’s after eight. I need to check on Rachel.” He pulled out his phone and called her but there was no answer. He tried her home phone, but voice mail picked up. He disconnected without leaving a message.

  “I can’t reach her,” he said as worry twined around his spine.

  “She’s probably asleep,” Neil suggested.

  “She’d have her phone by her bed. She’s had a couple of spells of light-headedness. She could have passed out.” He looked at his phone. “Maybe I should call her mother and see if she’s talked to her.”

  “Try Rachel’s phone one more time,” Neil said, “before you go off half-cocked and scare her mother to death.”

  RACHEL STARTED TO STAND. That was the second time her phone had rung. Hammond acted as if he hadn’t heard anything, but as soon as she moved, he stopped pacing and pointed the gun directly at her chest.

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  “That’s my phone. It could be my mother or—or Ash. If I don’t answer they’ll be worried and probably come over here to check on me.”

  Hammond smiled. “I don’t think so. I’ll bet you told Kendall you were going to bed early. He won’t be checking on you. Now, we need to figure out how you’re going to retract your findings on the DNA analysis for the Christmas Eve Murders.”

  “Uncle Charlie, I can’t. Even if I tried, they’ve already got my results. The test speaks for itself. All the commissioner would have to do is have the tests run again by another lab, and they’d come up with the same findings.”

  “They’d have to get the DNA from your lab, right? You have access.”

  Rachel stared at him. “Yes, but all samples are kept under lock and key, and anyone who goes into the evidence cabinet has to sign the log. You know that.”

  “What if you don’t sign it?”

  “I have to.”

  “What if you don’t?” he demanded through clenched teeth. “What would happen?”

  Rachel didn’t know how to answer him. Of course, the cabinet had a lock on it and everyone who opened it signed a book indicating the time open and the time closed, what their business in the cabinet was and documentation of anything they removed or added. But there was no electronic monitoring of the cabinet doors. Maybe he didn’t know that.

  “There would be an electronic record of the cabinet being opened without proper signature and documentation,” she said. “The next time someone went to the cabinet, they’d notice, and there would be an investigation.” She wondered if the tremor in her voice had given her away.

  Hammond sat still, watching her for almost a minute. “Where’s the information recorded?”

  Rachel forced herself to hold his gaze. He was trying to trip her up. “It’s in—it’s located in the—”

  “You’re lying, Rachel. Your daddy would be disappointed in you. There’s no monitor on that cabinet.” He gestured with his gun.

  “Get up. We’re going down to the lab and you’re going to contaminate the remaining DNA from the Christmas Eve Murders.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “What if I told you I’d kill you if you don’t?”

  She shook her head. “You won’t kill me. You can’t. My dad was your best friend. You’ve been to our house. You know my mother.” She hated that she sounded like she was on the verge of hysteria, even if it was true.

  “Here’s what I know. My career is going down the toilet if I don’t do something.”

  “You don’t know that. No one is going to blame you. Didn’t you tell me there was a lot of public pressure back then to convict someone?” Rachel was talking as fast as she could, trying to remember everything she’d heard and read about the case. “And you had a strong circumstantial case.” She gave him a quavery smile. “You’ll be fine.”

  “That shows how naive you are, Rachel. The D.A. has his own stable of fair-haired boys, just waiting to take over my job and a lot of others. Allen’s doing his best to get us—the old guard—out of the way. Nope. The only way I can save face is to discredit Allen. Once the commissioner finds out the DNA was contaminated so that it wouldn’t match Campbell’s, it’ll be Jesse Allen’s butt in hot water.”

  “But it wasn’t contaminated.”

  Hammond stood and pointed the gun down at her. “Yes—it—was! You’ve got to accept that. There’s no other explanation. Campbell was guilty. He was guilty as sin and nothing you or anybody else says is going to change that.” He squinted at her. “Now get up!”

  Rachel stood, holding her hands out at her sides. “I’m in my pajamas. I need to change,” she said, trying for as much innocence as she could put into her voice. She needed to get into her bedroom and get her gun from her purse. It terrified her to go up against the chief, but she was afraid it was her only chance of surviving.

  “Nope. No time. You’ll go like you are.”

  Rachel tried to think, to plan. Once they got to the lab and she switched Campbell’s DNA with someone else’s, her “Uncle Charlie” would kill her. “I need to get my purse.”

  “Quit stalling. Walk to the front door and out.”

  “What about my keys?” she asked desperately.

  “We’re going in my car. You’ll drive.”

  “But—I need them for the lab.”

  “Don’t mess with me, Rachel. I know the lab door locks are electronic.”

  She was defeated. She had no idea what she could do to stop him or save herself. He probably had eighty pounds on her. And although she’d always thought of him as old, like her dad, he was only in his early fifties. She couldn’t overpower him. She probably couldn’t outrun him.

  She knew she couldn’t outrun his bu
llet.

  “Uncle Charlie,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m pregnant.”

  He stared at her. “You’re—”

  She nodded as her eyes filled with tears. “Think about it. Dad would have the grandson he always wanted.”

  “It’s a boy?” Hammond asked, his gun hand wavering slightly. “You know it’s a boy? Who’s the father?”

  “Ash. He’s so excited.” Tears streamed down Rachel’s cheeks as she told the half lie. The baby was Ash’s, but he wasn’t excited about it.

  Hammond shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Rachel. But I’ve got to do this. You understand, right?”

  “No, I don’t. If you’d just leave it alone, nobody would blame you. You’d still be division chief. You’d still have your career.”

  Now sweat was streaming down the chief’s face and soaking into the collar of his shirt. His skin had gone from merely pale to a sick greenish color, and the red spots in his cheeks were gone. “Stop talking, Rachel. Let’s go. We need to get this done.”

  Rachel wanted to try one more time. She wanted to ask him to let her go to the bathroom, but he was barely holding on to control. She could tell it in his white-knuckled grip on the gun, the wild look in his eyes, the sweat pouring off his pale shocky skin.

  So she walked toward the door.

  “Go!” he shouted. “Get a move on.”

  “I’m scared, Uncle Charlie,” she cried, letting the tears flow freely. She’d run out of ideas.

  “Open the door,” he ordered. “Now walk outside casually, like we’re going out to dinner or something. If you try to run, I’ll shoot you.” He dug the barrel of the gun into the small of her back. “Do you believe me?”

  She nodded. She could barely see for the tears glazing her eyes. She turned the doorknob.

  “Hold it! We’re going to walk down the sidewalk to my car. It’s parked to the right in the first row. Don’t stop for anything. If you see anyone you know, you smile, but that’s all. No conversation. Got it?”

  “I’ve got it,” she said dully, and turned the knob.

  The breezeway was well lighted, as was the sidewalk leading out to the parking lot. They didn’t run into any of her neighbors, for which Rachel felt relieved. She had no idea how she’d have acted, and if she’d said or done the wrong thing, she might’ve gotten someone shot.