by Debra Webb
“You know this family.” Laney leaned against the counter. Pearl rubbed against her legs. “What are the chances that Vinn Bradshaw could commit an up close murder like this? Is he even strong enough to have overpowered Sylvia? She was fit. Worked out often. The kid is clean. No drugs. He’s on the basketball team so you know they drug test him. I can see him hyped up on some drug and going crazy, but he doesn’t do drugs.”
McCabe scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I just can’t see him doing it, which is why it bugs the hell out of me that Vernon won’t let us clear this up with another interview.”
“Unless Mr. Bradshaw has something to hide. The Bradshaws fired Sylvia. Maybe Vinn’s mom caught daddy messing around. That could be why he felt so confident allowing us to talk to Vinn at school. He knew Vinn had nothing to hide, but things didn’t go the way he expected.” Laney shook her head. “Whether he killed her or not, the kid knows something.”
“I’ll call the attorney and tell him we need to talk to the whole family. Maybe the kid will open up despite what the lawyer or his parents say. It was clear he wanted to. He’s got something to say, he’s just afraid to say it.”
Laney had come to the same conclusion. “I’ve thought some more about what Shonda Reed said. You know, about the trip Sylvia was planning to Venezuela. The lab is going through her laptop, they may find she was searching human trafficking. It’s possible she was on a mission to find the missing girl who worked for her a few months back.” She shrugged. “I can’t see how that would have gotten her killed unless she poked the wrong bear and it sniffed its way to her house.”
“That’s a long shot, for sure.” McCabe poured himself another coffee. “But we’ll see what the lab has to say.”
Silence lingered for about a minute. Laney suspected he was as deep in thought as she was. Two days and not one damned bit closer to uncovering what happened to Sylvia Cole. Pearl looked up and voiced her own opinion. Laney reached down and gave her a stroke, then rounded up her kitty breakfast.
“I’m sorry for showing up at your door and imposing on you last night.”
Laney reached for her mug once more and met his gaze. “I didn’t have plans anyway.”
“That’s not the point. There are things I need to get under control. I’m aware, but it’s easier said than done.”
“We all have our demons.” She thought about the nightmare that had awakened her. “Sometimes they’re hard to shake.”
“Well, I’ve allowed this one to eat at me for a long time. I should be moving on rather than looking back.”
“Sometimes they follow you.” Laney had tried hard to outrun hers, didn’t work.
Their gazes held, a kind of understanding passing between them. There were some things that were better left unsaid.
McCabe reached for his cell. Took a call.
Laney grabbed a cup of yogurt from the fridge. What she really wanted was a poppy-seed bagel. Maybe she’d drop by The Grind in a couple of hours. She intended to stay on top of Ikard until he was honest with her. What was it with all these people and their secrets?
McCabe ended the call and tucked his cell back onto his belt. “That was Lott Delaney. We’ve got a crowd gathered outside City Hall. He’s doing what he can to answer their questions. They want to know why we haven’t solved this murder yet.” He set his mug in the sink. “I’m thinking I might need backup.”
Laney tossed the empty yogurt container into the trash bin. “I’ll be right behind you.”
She had known this was coming. Who knew it would take two whole days?
~
Approximately thirty people were gathered outside City Hall. Laney parked in her usual spot and met McCabe in front of his Bronco.
“Our esteemed mayor is standing right beside Zion Cole,” he said, clearly frustrated.
McCabe had shaved on the way here. Apparently he carried an electric shaver in his vehicle as well as keeping one in his locker. Eyes looked a little clearer. He no longer looked exactly like a guy who had a hangover. More like one who’d worked all night and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.
“Might as well hear what they have to say.” Laney squared her shoulders and headed toward the waiting crowd. McCabe walked beside her.
“Chief McCabe,” Jessup said. “Deputy Holt. I arrived at my office this morning and found this concerned group of citizens waiting for your arrival. I’ve been doing all I could to bring them up to speed.”
“Thank you, Mayor.” McCabe took a place in front of the crowd, braced his hands on his hips and said, “Good morning. I’m sure you’re all here for the same thing.” He glanced at Zion Cole. “You want answers.”
“My wife wants to know when we can bury our daughter, Chief,” Cole spoke first. “I’ve called you three times in the past two days and I’ve gotten the same answer every time.”
“Zion, there is no one who wants to get this done more than me. But we’re at the mercy of the coroner’s office. I’m hopeful we’ll have news next week. Until then, there’s just nothing I can do. I wish that wasn’t the case, but it is.”
Frustration rumbled through the crowd. A reporter from the Sacramento paper stepped forward. “Based on Mayor Jessup’s briefing, it sounds as if your department doesn’t have the first suspect. Have you considered calling in help from a more experienced agency? Perhaps Shutter Lake isn’t prepared for this kind of investigation.”
Laney tensed.
“Actually,” McCabe said, “Deputy Holt was a homicide detective with a stellar solve rate before joining us in Shutter Lake. She’s a top-notch investigator. We are doing all that can possibly be done. The Nevada County Crime Scene Unit is providing support.”
“Shutter Lake is a small, tight community,” another reporter piped up, “how are the citizens handling the idea that they likely have a killer in their midst?”
The crowd rumbled with uneasiness. Several citizens Laney recognized spoke up, echoing those same concerns.
Another twenty minutes of answering questions and McCabe urged the folks to go on about their days with the knowledge that Shuttle Lake PD had the investigation well in hand.
Jessup and Cole followed them into City Hall.
McCabe jerked his head toward his office when Laney would have detoured to her own. She wanted to groan, but she understood. He needed her to have his back in all this. After all, she was the one with the experience. Her experience was in the field, not in the political part of the investigation.
“Chief, I’ve been fielding endless calls about how slow this investigation is moving,” Jessup complained. “We really need to see some results by the time we have the press conference on Monday.”
“One of Sylvia’s girls told me,” Zion spoke up, “that Sylvia still took care of Troy Duval’s home personally. All the others are afraid of him. For that matter, none of us really knows him. I believe you should look into him.”
“I interviewed Mr. Duval,” Laney spoke up. “Sylvia took care of his home personally because she considered him a good friend. Mr. Duval is very ill and frail. He wouldn’t have had the physical strength to harm your daughter, Mr. Cole.”
“How can you be sure?” Cole demanded. “Are you a doctor as well as a former homicide detective?”
“Zion,” McCabe stepped in, “I know you’re hurting and I understand that you’re upset, but there’s no need to go after the people who are trying to help.”
Cole exhaled a big breath. “I apologize, Deputy Holt. I’m certain your instincts are well honed when it comes to sizing up someone like Troy Duval.” He shook his head. “I just want to know what happened to my baby.” Tears shone in his eyes. “I want whoever did this found. I want it over so my wife and I can grieve in peace.”
“We’re doing everything we can,” McCabe repeated the assurance he’d given the crowd that had assembled outside.
“Zion,” Jessup reached out, patted his arm, “we should go now and let them do what needs to be done. I’m certain th
e chief will have news for us by Monday.” Jessup sent a look at the chief—one that challenged him to make that happen. To Cole he said, “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
When the two men had gone, McCabe dropped into the chair behind his desk. “Tell me what to do, Holt. We’ve got just over forty-eight hours to figure this out before we have a riot—one prompted by the victim’s father and the mayor, I suspect—on our hands.”
Laney perched on the edge of the chair in front of his desk. “First of all, we can’t make something out of nothing, but we can give the entire community something to think about. We can walk them through the steps of what we have been doing. Rather than saying we’re doing all we can, tell them what we’re doing.”
He blew out a breath of exasperation. “I can do that. I guess I should have today.”
Laney smiled. “Then you wouldn’t have had any bones to throw them on Monday.”
“Good point.”
“Second,” she went on, “we rattle the Bradshaw cage. It’s the best lead we have.”
McCabe shook his head. “I can’t get right with the idea that the kid did this.”
“He probably didn’t,” Laney agreed. “But he knows something. And right now we just need to learn whatever it is he knows. That’s the thing about murder investigations. It’s the little things that no one believes are important that usually make all the difference.”
“One rattle coming up.” McCabe picked up the phone on his desk and made the call to the attorney.
~
The Bradshaw home sat behind an iron gate at the end of a long paved driveway. The grand house was surrounded by woods and elegant landscaping. Inside, the great room was made for entertaining with soaring ceilings and floor space that went from the front wall of the home to the back.
Vernon, Connie and Vinn sat on the sofa. Their attorney, Morris Barton, sat in a chair next to the sofa. Laney and McCabe took the sofa facing the Bradshaws. A seven or eight foot wood coffee table sat between them, like the border between two warring countries.
“You may ask whatever you like,” Barton announced, “and we reserve the right to pass on anything we feel is out of line or inappropriate.”
McCabe nodded to Laney and she began. “Vinn, when we last spoke you seemed very upset about something Sylvia had done. I believe you said she’d lied to you. Will you tell us what happened to upset you so?”
Vinn opened his mouth, but Barton spoke first. “We feel as if you’ve explored that avenue well enough, Deputy Holt. Perhaps you’d like to ask something else.”
“Vinn,” she said again, “you seemed very angry with your father in our last meeting. Was he somehow involved in whatever it was that Sylvia did to upset you?”
The attorney held up his hand again. “You are just determined to beat that dead horse, Deputy.”
Laney wanted to tell him that the only dead horse she wanted to beat was him. Damn. “Mr. Bradshaw.” She turned her attention to the patriarch of the family. “What was your relationship with Sylvia Cole?”
“Until a few months ago, she was an employee of my wife’s. She cleaned our house once each week. Beyond that, I knew her as a resident of Shutter Lake. I’ve been to parties at her family’s home, as her family has been to parties at mine. Everyone knows everyone in Shutter Lake, Deputy. We all have close relationships.”
While he spoke Laney watched Vinn’s face. He practically sneered at the man. Oh yeah. Daddy had done something to upset the son.
“What about you, Mrs. Bradshaw?” Laney shifted her attention to Connie Bradshaw. “What was your relationship with Sylvia?”
The attorney held up his hand again. “I believe Mr. Bradshaw has already answered that question sufficiently.”
“Not really,” Laney argued. “He said Sylvia was an employee of his wife. So I’m asking his wife about the relationship. I’m certain she can tell us why she decided to fire Sylvia. After all those years of being satisfied with her work, why would you suddenly fire her?”
Connie stared at Laney for a moment before she spoke. “She stole some of my jewelry.”
This time Vinn’s mouth actually dropped open.
Both the mother and the father were lying.
“Did you report this theft?” Laney asked.
“We are close friends with Zion and Yolanda,” Vernon Bradshaw began.
“The question is for Mrs. Bradshaw,” Laney told him.
“We didn’t want to cause any hard feelings with Yolanda and Zion so we let it go,” Connie said, “Sylvia and I parted amicably.”
Again Vinn stared at his mother, clearly stunned by her words. Good boy.
Laney exchanged a look with McCabe. They had discussed how this would go. He gave Laney the go ahead to give the Bradshaws something to think about. But she wanted to be sure he hadn’t changed his mind. He nodded.
Well, all right then.
“If you have no more questions,” the attorney was saying.
Laney shook her head. “No more questions, but there is something I’d like to say to the Bradshaws.” She stared directly at the attorney. “And to you.”
He turned up a hand indicating that she should proceed. “Be my guest, Deputy.”
Laney shifted her attention to the three seated on the sofa. “Vinn was involved with Sylvia in some manner.”
Barton lifted his hand and Laney shook her head. “You agreed to hear me out, sir.”
“Let her have her say,” Vernon Bradshaw said. “Let’s just see how foolish the Shutter Lake PD really is.”
“I know you were,” Laney said to Vinn, her gaze pressed against his. “I have yet another witness who saw you have a tense exchange with her. Whatever your parents and your lawyer over here tell you, we know this. It’s only a matter of time before we know the exact nature of that relationship.” Laney glanced first at Connie, then at Vernon, but her attention resettled on Vinn. The son was the weak link. “We also know there was trouble between your mother and Sylvia. She wouldn’t have fired her otherwise. Do I believe she fired Sylvia for stealing? Not for a second. Sylvia was wealthy in her own right. She didn’t need your mother’s jewelry.”
All three stared at her with faces of stone, but the fear in their eyes was clear.
“Are you quite finished, Deputy Holt?” Barton’s patience was at an end.
“I am.” Laney stood. “You think about what I said, Vinn, because I will find the truth, one way or another.”
Beside her, McCabe nodded. “Have a nice day.”
They were outside in his Bronco before he spoke.
“You pushed the boy hard.” He started the engine and turned the vehicle around.
“He’s the only chance we’ve got of getting the truth.”
McCabe glanced at her. “You’re good, Holt. Really good.”
“You said that already, Chief.” Laney laughed. “If you keep it up, I’m going to expect a raise.”
He braked at the end of the drive. “I mean that I couldn’t do this without you. You’ve got the best cop instincts I’ve had the privilege of encountering. And, for the third time, you are damned good.”
“I appreciate it, Chief. Let’s just hope I’m good enough.”
Chapter Thirteen
At two o’clock on Saturday afternoon downtown Shutter Lake was crowded with pedestrians. Folks who lived in town walked to restaurants and pubs for late lunches or early afternoon drinks. The Wine & Cheese House was particularly busy on Saturdays. Laney, Dana, Julia and Ana often gathered there for girls’ night. Laney had taken her mother there when she visited back in the summer. Speaking of her mother, Laney really should go home for Christmas this year. She’d missed the past two.
She watched out the front window from City Hall. She should have called it a day half an hour ago. McCabe had told her to take the afternoon off, let the interview with the Bradshaws stew with the rest of the pieces of this investigation simmering in her head. He was right. It was time to mull it all over and decide on the best n
ext move.
McCabe was in the process of re-interviewing four of Vinn Bradshaw’s closest friends. The fathers had all said they were happy to allow their boys to talk to him as long as he was alone. Evidently word about Laney’s newest interview with Vinn had already hit the grapevine. Small town gossip lines were fast and notoriously influential. No one would look at Laney the same after this investigation.
The people who had welcomed her so graciously wouldn’t be so gracious anymore.
Nothing she could do about that. Finding Sylvia Cole’s killer was far more important than a few ruffled feathers.
She hadn’t really expected this easy, laid back way of life to last. She should have known that life in Shutter Lake was too pleasant to be true. A laugh bubbled into her throat when she recalled that back when she’d described the place to her mother and her sister she’d compared her new hometown to Stepford, Connecticut, the fictitious town in that movie about the perfect wives in the perfect community.
Considering the age of the men who had founded this town, she wondered how many had been thinking of that old movie when they created their idyllic new community.
“No more Wild Turkey for you, Holt,” she muttered to herself.
Laney walked back to dispatch and gave a nod to the two officers fielding hotline calls. She sat down at the small conference table in the center of the room to review the stack of printed out notes about each call. Any notes on relevant calls would be routed directly to Laney and McCabe, but it never hurt to look over the rest of what came in. She’d done so twice already this week. McCabe reviewed the notes everyday and she was reasonably sure he would have let her know about anything important.
As she skimmed the pages, she thought again about the cash in Sylvia Cole’s hidden safe. One former prostitute on staff did not an escort service make, but the money had to have come from somewhere. As for drugs, no one had been busted for drugs beyond the marijuana that a couple of middle school students had been growing among their mother’s flowers in her garden nearly a year ago.
