by Carsen Taite
“Wrong.” Riley stepped aside. “Come in.”
Claire followed her into the room, but when Riley suggested they sit, she begged off. “I can’t stay long.”
“Okay.”
“You seem annoyed.”
“Did you go to my dad’s house today?” Riley asked.
“Did he tell you we came by?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Claire asked, certain she knew what Riley meant, but desperate to keep her distance for now.
“Answer a question with a question instead of answering what was asked. You’re doing it to deflect.” Riley reached for her hand and Claire didn’t back away from the touch. “I thought we were past that,” she said, her voice now soft and gentle.
“Riley, this is my job. I can’t tell you everything.” She watched sadness fill Riley’s eyes and she instantly regretted the harshness of her tone. “Not yet.”
“Okay. I get it. The civilian has been sidelined.”
“It’s not that simple.” Claire wanted to tell Riley that her boss was out to get her father, but what was the point of getting her worked up about it? There was no evidence to link Frank Flynn to these crimes, and eventually Bruce would see that. The best thing she could do for Riley was go home, review all the evidence again, and figure out why someone had tangled her up in this mess. She looked down at their joined hands. It wasn’t the same as coming home to someone at the end of the day, but their connection was a start, the beginning of something bigger. She could feel it and she knew Riley did too. All she had to do was solve this case, and she’d be free to explore these new feelings.
“I promise, this will all be over soon. Until then, I have to focus.” She grinned. “And it’s pretty damn hard to focus with you in the room.” She leaned in and captured Riley’s lips between her own in a soft, lingering kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she promised as she left, quickly before she could change her mind.
Chapter Nineteen
“If we don’t eat something soon, my brain will melt right inside of my skull,” Nick said with a groan, dramatically slumping down in his chair.
Claire threw a paper airplane she’d made from one of the index cards they’d been using to track the evidence in the case at his head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
He pointed at the whiteboard on the wall. “It makes about as much sense as your flowchart to nowhere.”
He was right. They’d spent all morning reviewing every piece of evidence they had. Interview notes from each victim’s family, friends, and co-workers and members of the Eastside Sketchers, Reyes’s autopsy reports, photographs of the scene, and they were no closer to any conclusions than they’d been when they started. The best idea she’d had was to run full background checks on every one of the Eastside Sketchers who’d been at the Old Red meet-up when Riley’s sketchbook had gone missing, and they were still waiting on the results.
“I’ll feed you if you come up with one new idea,” she said. “Something that will get Bruce to move off his obsession with Frank Flynn.”
Nick suddenly sat up straight. He jerked his chin toward the glass door of the conference room. “Speak of the devil,” he whispered.
Claire turned to see Bruce walking toward them, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He pushed through the door of the room and tossed the papers on the table.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
Claire was almost afraid to ask. She pulled the papers toward her and read the first page. “A search warrant for Frank Flynn’s house?”
“Yes. Signed by Judge Richter. There’s a team on standby to help you execute the search. Are you ready?”
Claire looked at Nick and widened her eyes to telegraph her surprise. She flipped to the affidavit and skimmed the text of the document supporting the warrant. Under Bruce’s impatient stare, she was only able to glean a few key phrases here and there—dog hairs, daughter’s sketches, silk scarves. It read like Bruce had compiled a list of the forensic evidence at each scene and then bootstrapped an argument asserting that because of Frank’s past and his current association with Riley, there must be similar evidence where he lived. The arguments were thin, but the judge’s signature was all they needed to make the warrant official, and Judge Richter was well known for his propensity to side with the police when there was any doubt.
“Chief, may I speak with you alone for a moment?” Claire asked, hoping Nick would read her mind. She needn’t have worried. He excused himself to the john, and as soon as he’d cleared the door of the conference room, she turned to confront Bruce as a mentor, not her superior, but he spoke first.
“I know what you’re going to say. Richter would sign a blank check if we brought it to him, but this is a gift. Instead of spinning your wheels, you get to do some actual police work.”
“I don’t feel right about this. Part of the basis for the warrant is a dog we heard barking at the house. We didn’t even see the dog and we don’t know who it belongs to or how long it’s been living there, but we’re supposed to collect hairs and send them out to be tested?”
“You didn’t have any problem grabbing a few hairs off Buster Creel’s dog.” He grinned. “Yes, I’ve been reading your reports.”
“We were invited into Buster’s house. This is different.”
He pointed at the warrant. “This is how you lead. That promotion isn’t going to happen if you can’t step up. Can I count on you?”
She stared at the warrant like it was a coiled snake ready to deliver poison. And it would if Frank was smart enough to hire a good attorney to challenge it in court. But what if he had a Lionel Darby on his side and what if they found real evidence that helped them close this case before any other young women were murdered? Was a sense of loyalty to Riley more important than preventing another murder?
She knew Bruce was going to have this warrant executed whether she led the team or not. At least if she was in charge, she could make sure they adhered to the letter of the law if not the spirit. She didn’t know how that would go over with Riley, but she had to trust their connection would survive because for the first time in her life, personal sacrifice—in the form of Riley shutting her out—wasn’t worth professional gain.
* * *
Sunday morning, Riley deliberately placed her phone across the room to keep from checking it for messages from Claire. She was preparing for next week’s classes, and the distraction of wondering what Claire was doing was bad enough without the added frustration of picking up her phone every few minutes only to find Claire hadn’t reached out because her focus was elsewhere.
Her apartment was so quiet that when the phone finally did ring, she jumped at the sound. With four long strides, she crossed the room and looked at the screen. The number was familiar, but it wasn’t Claire’s. She took a chance and answered it anyway. “Hello?”
“Riley, it’s Parker Casey, Morgan Bradley’s law partner.”
“Listen, I told Morgan yesterday that I’d think about going to the hearing, but I haven’t made my decision.”
“That’s not why I’m calling. In fact, I’m not sure there’s going to be a hearing.”
“Oh.” Riley sank onto the couch, certain hearing from her father’s attorneys two days in a row couldn’t be a good thing. “What’s going on?”
“DPD is in the process of serving a search warrant at your father’s house in connection with the recent murder cases around town that you discussed with Morgan. She’s on her way over there now, but she wanted me to give you a heads-up in case the police show up at your place.”
“Why would they show up here?”
“If you repeat this, I’ll deny it, but one of my buddies on the force said that the search warrant affidavit—that’s the information the judge relies on to give them permission to search—references sketches of yours that were found on the murder victims. It’s entirely possible you might be next on their list.”
Riley wanted to tell Parker she was wrong. That
she’d been cooperating with the investigation and Claire had already cleared her as a potential suspect. But a nagging feeling crept up her spine, urging her to find out more before she opened her mouth. “Thanks for the warning. I have to go.” She hung up before Parker could respond and immediately fired off a text to Claire.
Are you arresting my father?
She set the phone down and stared at it, willing it to come to life with words of reassurance. For a full sixty seconds—she counted—there was nothing, and then dots appeared to indicate Claire was typing her response. Finally, her message appeared on the screen. No. Can’t talk now. Hang tight.
Hang tight? What the hell kind of platitude was that? She was tight, all right. She was twisted in knots at the idea of the police storming her home and shoving their way through her studio, exposing her unfinished work to strangers. She typed her response so fast, she had to retype it three times before she got the question right. Do you have a warrant for my apartment?
Again, the interminable wait before finally the answer appeared. No. That was it. No explanation, nothing more to put her at ease. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Claire was on the job and what Riley had suspected from the beginning and brushed aside in the name of attraction was becoming clear. Cop Claire was a very different person from the woman who’d shared her bed. And of course she was. Her entire life revolved around her career; she’d said so herself. But Riley had ignored the signs because she’d wanted to believe the tender woman who’d made love to her was a bigger part of the whole than this version of Claire whose singular focus was closing this case.
She waited another few minutes before deciding Claire’s last message was the end of the conversation. She tossed her phone into her bag along with a new sketchbook and a box of her favorite pencils. She’d considered canceling on Jensen, but now she really needed the distraction.
She drove the long way around the lake, past the spillway, and the arboretum, feeling her mind and body relax at the soothing sight of joggers and cyclists enjoying the last rays of daylight before dusk settled in over the water. She turned into Jensen’s apartment complex, envying its proximity to the water’s edge as she had when she’d been here once before. If she didn’t have a deal with the landlord at the brownstone, she’d want to live here where she could step outside and be in nature within moments. She found a parking space marked visitor, scooped up her bag, and headed toward Jensen’s building.
“Riley!”
She turned at the sound of her name, shielding her eyes against the sun as she tried to find the source of the voice.
“Over here,” the voice called out.
The voice was deeper than Jensen’s, and for a moment she thought one of her students had spotted her and wanted to say hello. She walked through the parking lot, toward the sound, surprised when Warren Spencer stepped out from behind a large SUV. “Hey, Warren.”
“Hi,” he said. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me here.” Before she could answer, he added, “Jensen invited me to tag along. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” Given her current mood, she would’ve preferred a one-on-one lesson today, but maybe teaching the two of them would provide added distraction from thoughts about Claire. “I told Jensen I’d knock on his door when I got here.”
“Me too,” Warren said. He swept his arm in a flourish toward the building. “After you.”
Riley smiled at the old-fashioned gesture and took the lead. They’d only gone a few steps when he called out. She looked back and he was staring at his phone. “What’s up?”
“Jensen just sent me a text to say he’s on campus and his car won’t start.” He started typing into his phone.
Riley instinctively pulled out her own phone to check for a similar text, but the last text she’d received had been the one from Claire earlier today.
“He said he was about to text you, but I let him know we’re together. I asked him if he needs help, but he said no. He’s waiting on a friend who lives on campus that might be able to get his car running. He’s not going to make it back before sunset though.”
“That’s all right,” Riley said, feeling a twinge of relief. “We can reschedule.”
“Oh, okay,” Warren said, his voice laced with disappointment. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your spare time than giving an old amateur like me some pointers.”
Riley looked up at the sun, which was dropping lower in the sky. As if he read her mind, Warren said, “We can drive over to the boat slip and get there in time to set up before the sun crests over the water’s edge.”
Riley imagined the scene full of oranges and blues and purples, playing out against the water, and decided a burst of nature was exactly what she needed right now. “Let’s do it, but I can drive.” She started to reach for her keys, but Warren jingled his in front of her and pointed at the SUV next to them.
“Please let me.” He patted the side of the vehicle and pressed the button on the remote to unlock the doors. “Hop in.”
Riley climbed into the passenger side and settled into the cushy leather seat. She surveyed the dashboard and determined it had every optional feature available. “Sweet ride,” she said to Warren as he settled into the driver’s seat.
“Isn’t it?” He smiled, while he fumbled with something on his left. “I’m still learning the features.” He pointed to the shoulder belt. “Speaking of which, that will be easier to fasten if you do this.” He leaned closer and reached across her chest as if to grab the belt, but the next thing she knew she couldn’t see. With her right hand, she reached for whatever was covering her eyes, but intense pressure against her neck drew her attention away. It became difficult to swallow and she lowered her hand, slapping out against whatever was choking her, but she couldn’t gain purchase. Adrenaline surged through her, and she thrashed against the pressure, the panic only making the pain more intense. The last thing she remembered before she passed out was the smell of chloroform and the fear of death.
Chapter Twenty
Claire knocked on Riley’s door for the third time when she heard a door open downstairs.
“She’s not home,” a woman’s voice called out.
Claire peered over the railing at the twenty-something sporting a beret. She bet this was the coffee lending neighbor, and she took a chance she might be equally as generous with information. “We were supposed to meet here. Do you happen to know where she went?”
Beret cocked her head like she was thinking. “Not sure, but she had the bag she takes when she goes out to draw.”
“Thanks.” Claire stood on the landing contemplating her next move. She wanted to go home and shower and eat and sleep, but she knew none of those things would be fulfilling until she talked to Riley and explained what had gone down today. They’d served the warrant and found a whole lot of nothing. The dog wasn’t there when they showed up, and Frank’s roommate told them it was his sister’s and he’d only been keeping it for a few days. Bruce had still insisted they send dog hairs they found in the house to Reyes for testing, and he’d talked the DA into filing a motion to delay Frank’s hearing pending the outcome. Claire wanted Riley to hear about it from her first, but she’d have to find her to make that happen.
She was walking back to her car, when her phone buzzed. She looked at the screen, hoping it was Riley, but it was Nick. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Probably nothing, but that Jensen guy just called me. It was kind of weird. He said he was supposed to meet up with Riley today at his place for an art lesson, but she stood him up.”
Claire knew how he felt. “So? She’s an adult. If she decides to blow him off, I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do about that.”
“That’s the thing. He said her SUV is parked at his apartment complex. She was supposed to meet him there and they were going to the boat slip together. Something about sketching the sunset on the water. He sent her a few texts, but she hasn’t responded. I guess she decided to go on her own,
but I figured I should let you know. You want me to go by there and check it out?”
“No, I’m not home yet. I’ll go by.” Claire told herself it was probably nothing. She fired off a text to Riley and turned in the direction of the lake. The car Jensen had seen was probably one that looked like Riley’s or Riley had decided to go to the boat slip alone. Still, she zipped toward her destination, grateful for the light weekend traffic. When she reached Jensen’s apartment complex, she slowed down and cruised the parking lot, looking for Riley’s SUV. She spotted it on her first pass, parked in a visitor’s spot. She touched the hood and it was cool. She circled the car, scouting for any signs of foul play, but there was nothing to indicate anything other than Riley had left her car parked here without incident.
The simplest explanation was that Riley had walked down to the boat slip on her own, but Jensen had been so certain they’d had plans, he’d called Nick to report that Riley hadn’t shown up. Riley didn’t strike her as the kind of person who’d no-show on a friend, and Claire sensed something was off. She pulled out her phone. Riley hadn’t responded to her first text, but she fired off another anyway, staring at the screen after she hit send, praying for a quick response. When the phone rang in her hand, it almost startled her into dropping it.
“Hey, Nick. I just got here. Her car’s here, but no sign of her. Any word from Jensen?”
“No, he was going to head down to the boat slip to see if she was there, but I told him to wait for you. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. We just got those background checks back from Lexis. Nothing out of the ordinary on Jensen, but we got several hits on that older guy Warren Spencer. His daughter, the one we saw in the wedding photos at his house? She was murdered about a year after she got married. Bruce and Danny were the detectives on the case, but it went cold.”
“Okay. That’s unfortunate, but I’m not sure how it relates to these murders.”
