He’d have to talk to her, just in case. Actually, there were several people he needed to talk to, once he had copies of all the photos Ian had just taken. There were several in the clan who had knowledge of the old, dark ways, even if they didn’t practice those forbidden arts themselves.
“Okay,” he said, after a long pause during which both his assistants studied him with worried expressions, as if they guessed he had the beginnings of certain suspicions going through his mind, suspicions he didn’t yet wish to share. “I’m going to check out the rest of the condo.”
“You won’t find anything,” Ian said. “Nichols was killed here in the living room. Nothing in any of the other rooms was disturbed.”
“Maybe,” Jack replied. “But I still want to check it out.”
Ian shrugged and returned to his photographs, while Grace went to retrieve her fingerprint kit and head into the kitchen, which appeared relatively untouched. The whine of the camera seemed to penetrate Jack’s eardrums as he moved down the short hallway to the bedroom.
As Ian had pointed out, there wasn’t all that much to see. Jack didn’t know how long Jeff Nichols had lived here, but it was obvious enough that he hadn’t bothered much with trying to make the place his own. The bed was rumpled and half-covered with a dark blue comforter, as if that was all the effort he’d put into making it that morning before he left for work. The walls and the dresser and nightstand were completely bare, except for a clock radio and an unplugged cell phone charger on the nightstand.
Well, there was one thing….
The dresser had a framed wedding photo of Jeff Nichols and Kate Campbell. Kate Nichols, Jack reminded himself, even if it sounded as though she had already started using her maiden name again. In the photograph, Kate’s smile was luminous, although Jack thought he detected something almost strained about it, as if she’d just realized that maybe this wasn’t the happiest day of her life after all. The Jeff in the photo was in much better shape than the man whose body now lay under a rubber sheet, but even back when the picture had been taken, he gave the appearance of someone who was carrying too much weight…a certain puffiness around the eyes and chin.
Trying to dismiss that uncharitable thought — what kind of asshole goes around criticizing the appearance of someone who’s just been brutally murdered? he admonished himself — Jack turned away from the photo and stuck his head in the bathroom to take a quick look around. Someone had already turned on the lights above the vanity, so he didn’t have to worry about getting out his gloves so he could touch the switch.
Again, nothing much to see here. Flecks of dark bristles, remnants of that morning’s shave, were dusted over part of the cultured marble vanity top and in the sink itself, and the mirror needed to be wiped down, but what else would you expect from someone newly returned to the bachelor life? Jack had to admit that his own bathroom probably would be in similar shape if it weren’t for Teresa, the woman who came in to clean his place every Tuesday. It would be waiting for him in freshly scrubbed splendor whenever he got home tonight, a notion he found reassuring. He wanted things to be clean after having to see this kind of filth.
As Grace had already pointed out, all evidence suggested that the killer hadn’t ventured farther into the apartment than the living room. Jack headed back out there, where Ian was already packing up his photographic equipment and Grace was entering some notes on her iPad.
“Was the TV on?” Jack inquired. He’d noticed it earlier, an enormous curved 60-incher sitting on a low entertainment console.
“What?” Grace replied, looking up from the iPad.
“The TV. Was it on?”
Her fair eyebrows pulled together. “No. That did seem kind of strange, because we found a half-eaten sandwich on a plate on the coffee table, as if the victim had been sitting there, eating and watching TV, right before the crime occurred. You think it’s significant?”
“Not sure.” Actually, he did have a theory, but it wasn’t one he could share with Grace. In most cases, you’d think it would make more sense for the killer to have left the television on, simply because the sound would have helped drown out any of the noise of the murder itself. But that same sound, whether it was from a basketball game or watching the evening news, would also disrupt the casting of those dark spells. Sound was energy…as was magic. “Just trying to figure out what the hell happened.”
She nodded. “Not much to go on yet, I’m afraid. I just have to hope that once I can get back to the lab and process some of this evidence, I’ll find something.”
If there was anything to find. The person responsible for the murder clearly was methodical and cool, an organized killer, not someone who would be careless enough to leave anything significant for the authorities to detect. But he’d just have to hope. Sometimes the flimsiest of clues provided a pathway to a conviction.
“I’m going to go down and talk to Ms. Campbell again,” he said.
“You think she had anything to do with it?”
Not a chance, he thought, but he only replied, “No. I just want to follow up on a few things, and then I’ll have Lopez and Manning take her home. She’s had a hell of a shock.”
Grace offered a sympathetic nod. While it was their job to be wary, anyone with eyes to see could tell that Kate Campbell was innocent.
Besides, she was a civilian, a non-magical person, and so she couldn’t have cast those dark spells even if she wanted to.
Saying that he’d see everyone back at the station, Jack left the condo and headed over to where Kate still sat in the back seat of Lopez and Manning’s squad car. She had a plastic bottle of Costco-brand water in one hand and was staring off into the distance, clearly trying to avoid focusing on the immediate scene around her.
When she saw him approaching, however, she got out of the car and tucked the bottle of water into her oversized purse. Questions filled her eyes, but she waited for him to speak.
“I’m going to have these officers take you home,” he told her with a slight tilt of his head in the direction of the two men, who were standing in front of the car and having a muffled convo.
A sort of wary relief entered Kate’s expression. “You don’t want to question me?”
“I interviewed you already, Ms. Campbell. For the moment, you’re not a suspect.” He hesitated, then said, “Is there someone you can have come and stay with you? It’s probably better if you’re not alone.”
“I’m fine,” she began, but he cut through her protests.
“Maybe, but I still think it would be better if you had someone with you. Or someplace you can go stay. Do you have family in the area?” Sooner or later they’d need to discuss her brother Colin and his connection to the witching world, but that could wait.
“My parents are down in Tempe. But I’d rather not go there. It would feel strange to try to sleep somewhere that wasn’t my own place.” A slight pause, and she went on, “I’ll call my friend Samantha. She lives here in Scottsdale, too.”
“Good.”
Kate’s face looked so pale, so stricken. Jack wished he knew her better, that he was a friend instead of the detective called in to handle this case, because right then he wanted to reach out and give her a hug, let her know that she’d survive this.
Instead, he offered her what he thought of as his “official” smile — not too wide, meant to be reassuring more than anything else. “I’ll contact you tomorrow, Ms. Campbell. In the meantime, try to get some rest. And probably take the day off from work.”
Her lips compressed. “I think I’d rather go to work. Maybe if I’m surrounded by other people, I’ll be in better shape.”
While he understood the sentiment, Jack knew generally that wasn’t the case. People needed time to process these sorts of tragedies. Still, he didn’t want to prod her. This was her life, her choice. “Well, don’t make a decision now. See how you feel in the morning.”
She offered a dubious nod. Then she said, her voice tight and desperate, “Who would
do such a thing? Why would they do…that?” Her gaze tracked up to the condo where her estranged husband’s body lay, then back down to Jack, pleading, fear and worry and horror all blending in her eyes. Now he saw they were hazel, a warm mixture of green and gold.
Right then, he really didn’t have any answers for her. “I don’t know, Kate,” he said gently, using her first name on purpose, hoping the more casual form of address might help to put her at ease. “But we’re going to find out.”
3
A nightmare. This whole thing had to be a nightmare. Any minute she’d sit up in bed and blink into the darkness, and realize everything was fine, Jeff was fine, that she’d had a horrible dream born of her anxiety about taking him the divorce papers.
Problem was, she knew this wasn’t a nightmare. This was reality, her sitting in the back seat of a patrol car while she was being taken home, the nice cop — Manning — behind the wheel, while his decidedly not-so-friendly partner followed them in her Jetta. Not to relieve her of the stress of driving, though. No, Lopez was going to take her car to the police station so they could check it for evidence. She’d wanted to protest, but realized they were only doing their job. If she really decided to go to work after all, she’d call an Uber or something.
Officer Manning hadn’t said much of anything to her, except to ask if she wanted the heater on. Silly question, wasn’t it, when the night outside was so mild? But she realized then that she’d begun to shiver, that goosebumps pimpled the exposed skin of her forearms. Shock, of course. What else did she expect?
She managed to murmur a reply, saying that would be fine, and then lapsed into silence as she watched the familiar streets of her adopted town pass by. How happy she’d been to move here eight months ago, how thrilled to land her dream job with the city’s planning department. Getting the job when so many other applicants were vying for the position seemed to be a sign that her decision to leave Jeff had been the right one, that the universe was trying to lay an easy path before her.
Dear God, how wrong she’d been about that.
Her tears were a hard, burning lump lodged somewhere in her throat. Kate knew if she actually talked to her best friend Sam, then she really would start to cry hysterically, and she wasn’t going to do that. Not while sitting in the back of a cop car, anyway. No doubt Officer Manning had seen his share of women sobbing in the back of his patrol car, but Kate refused to be one of them. Once she was safely home, then she could fall apart.
Anyway, she texted Sam to let her know something terrible had happened, and would she mind coming over and staying the night? Bless her, Sam hadn’t asked any questions, had said she’d be over in twenty minutes, even though she probably had about fifty other things to do with her evening downtime, including heading out for a drink to unwind.
Or not. Samantha had broken up with her boyfriend two months earlier and wasn’t quite ready to get back out there. She and Kate liked going out together because that way they weren’t being hermits, but they also could feel safe in knowing that they had each other’s backs in case any over-eager guys didn’t get the hint that the two women weren’t looking for anything except a chance to relax and have a few drinks together.
Officer Manning pulled up in front of Kate’s apartment complex, while Officer Lopez parked her Jetta immediately behind the squad car and got out. He still looked unfriendly as ever, although this time she wondered whether that was because he’d drawn the short straw when it came to babysitting her car.
“We’ll walk you to your door,” Officer Manning said.
She nodded. Right then, she was all too glad to have the escort, although she shuddered to contemplate what her neighbors might think if they saw her go to her apartment, flanked by a couple of uniformed cops. Well, the news about Jeff’s death would get around eventually, and people would realize the policemen had been there to protect her, not the other way around.
Officer Manning got out and came around to the rear door, which he opened so she could climb out. Officer Lopez was already waiting for them on the sidewalk, dark eyes grim and unsmiling. He didn’t say anything as she got out of the squad car.
They walked her down one of the paths that wound through the complex, the moon overhead so bright that the landscape lights set out to illuminate the area were hardly needed. Her building was toward the front of the complex, so they didn’t have too far to go.
When they got to the landing, Samantha was already waiting there, a flowered SportSac weekender bag sitting on the landing next to her. The light from the fixture beside the door gleamed in her red hair. Her eyes widened at the sight of the two police officers, and her mouth opened, probably to ask what the heck was going on.
Kate forestalled her by saying, “Thanks so much for getting here so fast, Sam. Officer Manning, Officer Lopez, this is my best friend, Samantha Davis. Detective Sandoval thought it would be better if I wasn’t alone tonight.”
“Good advice,” Officer Manning said, and gave Sam a brisk, no-nonsense smile. He shifted his attention to Kate and added, “Go on inside. Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone without a badge.”
She assumed he was just trying to be helpful — and make sure nothing happened to her on his watch — but Kate couldn’t repress the chill that went over her. Had Jeff opened his door to a stranger, or had the murderer simply broken in? Detective Sandoval hadn’t let slip anything of what he’d found in the condo, but she supposed that was to be expected.
“I won’t,” she promised, and dug her keys out of her purse. It wasn’t until she tried to insert the key in the lock that she realized how badly her hands were shaking — so badly, in fact, that Sam came to her and took over, turning the key and opening the door. Then she went back to where she’d been waiting and retrieved her weekender bag.
“Let’s get inside,” Sam said. “Thanks for bringing her home, officers.”
Both Manning and Lopez nodded. Kate went inside, glad that she’d left the torchiere lamp in one corner of the living room switched on. She’d turned it on before she left for Jeff’s place because she hated coming home to a dark house.
Then Sam closed the door behind them and turned the deadbolt. She set down her bag and said, “Kate, just what the hell is going on?”
“Jeff’s dead,” Kate said. That was all she could manage, because immediately afterward the tears finally came, flowing down her cheeks, and she sobbed, in awful spasms that wracked her entire body.
At once Sam came to her and took her by both hands, guided her over to the sofa so she could sit down. “God, I’m so sorry, Kate,” she murmured as she stroked her friend’s arm. “What — what happened? Was there a car accident?”
“N-no,” Kate replied. She didn’t want to say anything more than that, but she knew the murder would be all over the news soon enough. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could exactly be covered up. “He — he was murdered.”
Sam went stiff with shock. “Murdered?”
“Yes. And — and oh, God, Sam, you should have seen the blood. It was all over the walls, like…like graffiti made with blood rather than paint.”
A shocked sound, and Sam dropped an arm around Kate’s shoulders, hugging her fiercely. “Jesus Christ. So…is that what happened when you went over to take him the papers? You found him?”
“Y-yes.” Kate gulped back her tears as best she could and sucked in a deep breath, telling herself that she needed to try to get a little control back, if for no other reason than she wouldn’t be able to tell her friend what had really happened if she kept having hysterics. “It was like something out of a horror movie. Worse, because it was real. I don’t — I’ll never forget it. Ever.”
Another hug, and then Sam pulled away slightly. “I’m getting you a drink. What’ll you have?”
“There’s some Cuervo on the top shelf of the pantry.”
“Okay.”
Sam got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen. Kate could hear her rummaging around for a minute or two, and
then she returned to the living room, a bottle of Cuervo Gold in one hand and a pair of shot glasses in the other. She set everything down on the glass-topped coffee table and poured tequila into each shot glass, filling both of them nearly to the top.
“For what ails you,” she said, and handed Kate one of the shot glasses.
Kate took it, and bolted the contents of the glass, letting it hit the back of her throat and drop straight into her stomach with a thud she could almost feel. The heat of it spread into her shocked and chilled limbs, and she nodded.
“Better?”
“A little,” she said. “I’d better have another, though.”
Without comment, Sam refilled the glass, and once again Kate tossed back the liquor, glad of the way it had already begun to blur the edges of reality, was making her feel for the first time in the last few horrible hours that she might somehow be able to get through this.
Sam picked up her own shot glass and drank about half its contents before setting the glass back down on the table. “Well, now I know why those cops were walking you to your door. They don’t think…?” She trailed off there and sent Kate a questioning look.
“No,” she replied at once. “I mean, I’m not sure Officer Lopez is entirely convinced of my innocence, but the lead officer on the investigation, Detective Sandoval, basically told me I wasn’t a suspect. I’m not saying that might not change, but for now it’s not something I need to worry about.”
“No, all you have to worry about is some crazed killer roaming around out there,” Sam blurted, and then almost immediately put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, shit. I am so sorry. That’s not what I — ”
Defender (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 11) Page 3
