Revenge of Innocents

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Carolyn set the paper down and put on the gloves, then folded the note and placed it back inside the envelope. Removing the gloves, she shoved them in her purse in case she needed them later. She was too anxious to sit down. Punching the autodial on her cell, she called Hank Sawyer and read him the letter. O’Malley was talking to someone on the phone, but he looked over at her, and she could tell he was eavesdropping.

  “This person knows me, Hank,” she said, opening the glass doors and stepping outside in the hallway. “It has to be someone from the agency. They even know I moved recently, and that I’m getting married.”

  “Your house was up for sale for six months,” the detective told her. “There’s no telling how many people passed through that place. You probably had things lying around. You know, stuff about the wedding, maybe something from MIT. As far as Rebecca is concerned, they could figure out she goes to Ventura High because of where the house was located.”

  “But we moved.”

  “They could have assumed you didn’t transfer her because teenagers hate to change schools and leave their friends.”

  “Fine, fine,” Carolyn said, beside herself. “This person still threatened to kill me and my family. Whoever wrote the note must have murdered Veronica. Am I right?”

  “Maybe,” Hank said. “It could also be a nutcase. Some guy could have walked through your house when it was up for sale. Then when he heard about a probation officer being murdered, he reasoned that someone who knew you would go to the morgue, or someone at the morgue would know you and get the note to you.” He paused. “The local station broadcast the story live not long after I called you. The clerk at the front desk notified them before he called us. What a bastard, huh? Everyone wants to be on TV. I hate the damn media. All they do is cause problems for us. They’re still out here at the motel with their camera crews. We haven’t had a tsunami, an earthquake, or a hurricane lately, so I guess they’ve got to find some way to give the tragedy junkies their fix.”

  “I don’t care about the media,” Carolyn shouted. “Get someone over here, damn it! My best friend got her head blown off, for Christ’s sake, and someone just threatened to kill my entire family. I demand that you take this seriously. One of the morgue attendants may have seen this person. We’re trying to get in touch with all of them now.”

  “I’m about to clear here. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Where’s Veronica’s husband?”

  “At the house,” Carolyn told him. “Haven’t you spoken to him yet?”

  “No,” Hank told her. “Mary Stevens called about thirty minutes ago. A woman named Linda Cartwright answered. She said Drew went out looking for his oldest daughter. You think he had anything to do with Veronica’s death?”

  “Absolutely not,” Carolyn said. “Drew’s a great guy.”

  “No problems in the marriage?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” she told him, remembering the dark circles under Veronica’s eyes. “I’ll talk to you when you get here.”

  Once she concluded her call with Hank, Carolyn saw she had four messages from Marcus. They were both busy people, and made it a habit not to call and disturb each other at work unless it was absolutely necessary. Realizing how late it was, she dialed their home number. “I’m sorry,” she said after telling him what had transpired. “I just couldn’t tell anyone else. I’m at the morgue. The more I talk about it, the more upset I get.”

  “I understand,” Marcus said. “Rebecca saw it on the news, though, and was terrified it was you.” The line fell silent. “Is there anything I can do? When are you coming home?”

  “I’m not sure,” Carolyn said. “Don’t wait up for me. Once I leave here, I’m going back to Veronica’s house. We dumped the kids on a woman from work. She needs to go home to her family.”

  “I’ll stop and pick up some food and meet you over there,” he said. “Rebecca is upstairs studying.”

  “No,” she said, her voice elevating. “Don’t leave her alone!”

  “Rebecca isn’t a baby. She drives all over the place in her car. And we have security. Why won’t you let me help you get through this?”

  “Please,” Carolyn pleaded, “if you want to help me, stay at the house with Rebecca.”

  “You can’t take on the responsibilities of Veronica’s family,” Marcus said. “This is a terrible tragedy, honey, but you need to think of yourself. We’re getting married in two weeks.”

  “We can’t get married now. Veronica’s my maid of honor. How can I have a wedding when my maid of honor is on a slab at the morgue?”

  “But, darling,” he said, tension crackling in his voice, “we’ve been planning this for almost a year. Brooke and Ethan are flying in from the East Coast. We’ve already received a ton of gifts. Rebecca can be your maid of honor.”

  “I can’t talk about this now,” Carolyn said, clicking off the phone. Brooke and Ethan were Marcus’s children by his first marriage. They both attended Princeton, and were only a year apart in age. He’d been estranged from them for years, so she knew how important this was to him. He didn’t understand how deeply she cared for Veronica. Since they’d been seeing each other, she hadn’t socialized with her outside of work. Veronica and Drew couldn’t afford to eat in expensive restaurants. When she’d explained this to Marcus, he suggested inviting them to his house. She was embarrassed by Marcus’s wealth. How could she flaunt her future lifestyle to people she knew were living from one paycheck to the other?

  Carolyn hadn’t told Marcus about the letter. Everything had happened too fast. How could she protect John when he was so far away? She couldn’t ask him to drop out of school. Attending MIT had been his dream, and he’d worked hard to make it a reality. An event like a wedding would offer the killer the perfect opportunity to make good on his threats.

  She went to check with O’Malley. The attendant told her he’d managed to contact everyone, and no one recalled seeing anything even remotely suspicious.

  Seeing Hank and a striking black woman step off the elevator, Carolyn rushed toward them. “None of the day attendants recall anyone giving them the letter, nor did they see it on the desk. The man on duty now came to work at four. He found an envelope addressed to me underneath his clipboard. He had his clipboard with him when he took me to the back to identify Veronica’s body. That’s when the person must have placed the envelope on his desk.”

  Detective Mary Stevens was tall and shapely, with luminous brown eyes and flawless skin. She wore a red shirt and jeans that hung low on her hips. Carolyn knew she must have been at the motel where Veronica was murdered, as she always changed into a red shirt when she responded to a homicide. She called it her murder shirt. “Forensics is on their way,” Mary told her, reaching into her pocket for a pair of gloves. “Can we take a look at the note?”

  At fifty, Hank Sawyer stood just under six feet. At one time, he’d been heavy, but he’d gone on a fitness program a few years ago, and now took pride in his physique. He still had a thick head of hair, although the gray strands outnumbered the brown. His face had a rugged look to it. Lines shot out around his mouth and eyes. “You touched it, I presume,” he said, watching as Carolyn handed Mary a plastic evidence bag. After Mary removed the letter from the envelope, Hank looked over her shoulder to read it. “Since it was hand-delivered, we might find fingerprints or other evidence that could help us identify this creep.”

  “What about the man who rented the motel room?” Carolyn asked. “He could have been lying about his credit card being stolen.”

  “Not likely,” Mary said, placing the note back in the plastic bag. “He was at work. At least five people saw him. He came in at eight and worked until six this evening. He brings his lunch from home, so he never left the building. He’s an underwriter at National Insurance.”

  “Drew used to work for National Insurance,” Carolyn said, her face flushed with tension. “That was years ago, though. He works at Boeing now. Where was this man’s credit card stolen from, and wh
y didn’t he report it until after the murder?”

  “He claims he didn’t realize it was gone until we called him,” Hank said, chomping on a toothpick. “He left his wallet in a locker at the Spectrum Health Club last night. The only thing missing was his MasterCard and about thirty bucks in cash.”

  Mary spoke up. “The motel clerk claims he rented the room to a black male in his early twenties the night before. Jonathan Tate, the man whose card was stolen, is a Caucasian male in his forties. That rules Tate out even without the alibi. It’s interesting that Veronica’s husband may have worked for the same company. People in the insurance business jump around a lot, though, and since you say it was a long time ago, it’s doubtful if Tate and Campbell knew each other.” She shrugged. “We’ll check it out, though. I’d follow a snail right now if I thought it could lead me to the killer.”

  “Why don’t you go home, Carolyn?” Hank suggested “When the crime lab gets here, we’re going to have to clear everyone out except for the stiffs.”

  Carolyn cut her eyes to him. “One of those stiffs was my best friend.”

  “Sorry,” Hank said. “It’s been a long day. Tomorrow we need you to go through all of Veronica’s cases, everything in the past three or four years.”

  “Four years! Do you have any idea how many cases our people handle?”

  “There’s still a chance it could be the probationer she mentioned to you this morning,” he told her. “We didn’t find any signs of forced entry, but it isn’t that hard to get into a motel room. The guy who rented it with a stolen credit card may have left early that morning and accidentally left the door ajar. Then this Phillip Bramson could have snuck in with the intention of fooling Veronica into believing he had a right to be there.”

  “Did Brad Preston send you the information in his file?” Carolyn asked, running her fingers through her hair.

  “Yeah,” Hank said. “Bramson hasn’t shown up at work for two weeks. He also didn’t pay the rent on his apartment, so his landlord locked him out four days ago. Veronica’s file indicated she placed a number of phone calls to him. There was also a notation that she suspected he was using narcotics again. He could have found out she was looking for him, and arranged to meet her at the Motor Inn.”

  “It’s possible,” Carolyn said. “What happened to Veronica’s gun?”

  “We have it,” Hank said. “It may turn out to be the murder weapon. We found it in a Dumpster at the rear of the motel.”

  Carolyn scratched a patch of dry skin on her arm. “Veronica hated guns. He must have overpowered her. She was always afraid of something like that. She believed we were safer without guns. Not just people in law enforcement, but private citizens as well. Veronica thought if you bought a gun and kept it in your house, instead of your defending yourself with it, someone would use it against you.” She paused, thinking. “If Bramson was strung out, he would never have agreed to see Veronica. He had drug terms. If he tested positive, he was looking at a certain prison term. In reality, she could have violated him for not showing up at his job. He may have lured her to the motel to kill her.”

  “Why didn’t he just abscond?” Mary interjected.

  “Addicts don’t act rationally,” Hank reminded her. “He may have thought he could con Veronica into thinking he was clean. When she didn’t buy it, he impulsively grabbed her gun and shot her.”

  “But why would Bramson threaten me and my family?” Carolyn asked. “Not many murderers would risk showing up at a county facility only hours after the crime, particularly if the victim was in law enforcement. And how did he find out so much about me?” She turned to Hank. “I doubt if Bramson took a tour of my house. It doesn’t make sense. Junkies look and act like junkies. My real estate agent never brought anyone to the house without screening them.”

  “You must know more than you think you know,” Mary told her, exchanging tense glances with Hank.

  Had she already put it together? Carolyn asked herself. Mary Stevens was one of the sharpest women she’d ever known. Her father had been a high-ranking officer with the LAPD. When he was killed in the line of duty, Mary had tracked down his murderer, then relinquished a lucrative position in the private sector to become a cop. Her statement had struck too close to home. If the detective had somehow sniffed out the truth about Tyler Bell, Carolyn’s future was at stake. Instead of going on her honeymoon, she could end up in the county jail.

  “I have to go,” Carolyn said. “I’ll be on my cell if you need me.” Seeing Hank about to say something, she cut him off. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to throw my gun away. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve already killed one murderer. I don’t need any more notches on my belt, but I’d welcome the chance to shoot this one. Do me a favor. Find him before I do.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Wednesday, October 13—6:30 A.M.

  The morning sun filtered in through the white wooden shutters, casting the room in a golden hue. Carolyn was snuggled in Marcus’s arms. She inhaled the masculine scent of his skin as she gazed at his handsome face. When he slept, his forty-eight years disappeared and his face took on a look of childish innocence. She loved the graceful slant of his nose, his hooded, seductive eyes, his sensuous lips. Her hand drifted between his thighs; then she felt her head throbbing and the events of the day before thrust their way to the surface.

  Slipping out of bed, she squatted on the wood floor, using her feet to push herself into the corner. After she’d left the coroner’s office, she had gone to check on Drew and relieve Linda Cartwright. Her eyes drifted closed, and she was standing at the front door of Veronica’s house.

  Carolyn knocked several times, but no one answered. Using the key Veronica had given her years ago, she let herself in, not wanting to wake the children by ringing the doorbell. Empty beer cans were scattered on top of the coffee table, alongside toys, newspapers, and various clutter. Drew was asleep on the sofa.

  She checked the bedrooms and found all the children in their beds except Jude. Since Linda wasn’t there, she assumed Drew had sent her home.

  Carolyn tiptoed back down the narrow hallway, walking over and tapping Veronica’s husband on the shoulder. When he only groaned and changed position, she said, “Drew, it’s Carolyn. Where’s Jude?”

  “How the hell do I know?” he said, his speech slurred from the alcohol. “She’s probably doing dope with one of her low-life friends. I drove around for hours trying to find her. For all I know, she’s shacked up with some gangster.”

  Carolyn sat on the edge of a chair across from him. “I’m going to notify the police that Jude is missing. I’m worried, Drew. Veronica’s murder has been on the news. She should have called or come home by now.”

  Drew pushed himself to a seated position. “This shit happens all the time, Carolyn,” he told her. “That damn kid drives her mother and me nuts. She should be in college, but all she’s interested in is partying.” He rummaged among the beer cans until he found one that still had a few drops left in it. Once he slugged it down, he tossed the empty can into the pile. “You got any cigarettes?”

  “I don’t smoke,” Carolyn said. “Didn’t you stop years ago?”

  “Yeah,” Drew said, leaning forward over his knees. “After what happened to Veronica, I’m wondering why. We knock ourselves out to stay healthy and then some maniac comes along and…” He covered his face with his hands. “Christ, what am I going to do? I tried to tell the kids, but I couldn’t. I keep thinking I’ll wake up tomorrow and Veronica will be beside me in the bed. That isn’t going to happen, is it?”

  Carolyn shook her head. “You have to tell them, Drew.”

  “I know, I know…All I want to do is sleep right now. I’ll find a way to tell them. I just can’t do it right now.”

  “The police are going to ask you a lot of questions,” Carolyn said. “Didn’t you used to work for National Insurance?”

  “I worked for National Car Rentals before I got the job at Boeing. Jesus, Carolyn, that’s got to
be fifteen years ago. What does this have to do with what happened to Veronica?”

  “Nothing,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “Were you and Veronica having problems?”

  “Of course we had problems,” Drew told her. “We have a screwed-up teenager, and with both of us working, we still have to scrimp to make ends meet. It didn’t help that Veronica started popping out babies ten years after we had Jude. Veronica swore she was on birth control, but I think she snookered me. Then she decided Stacy had to have a brother or sister closer to her age. I don’t know where Michael came from. With this many rug rats, Veronica and I either can’t find the time to have sex or we’re too exhausted.”

  He was still using the present tense, Carolyn noticed. He should have gone to the morgue instead of her. He seemed to be dealing with his wife’s death as if it were a temporary situation, something along the lines of having your car repossessed. It made you feel lousy, but you could take out a second mortgage on the house, make up the back payments, and everything would be fine.

  “How did she look?” he asked. “Was it bad?”

  “Yes,” Carolyn said, staring at a raggedy teddy bear on the floor and thinking how sad it looked. Her mind went blank, blocking out the terrible image of Veronica’s blood-splattered body.

  She shrieked when she felt someone pulling on her hand, believing she was at the morgue and Veronica had reached out and grabbed her. “You startled me,” she said, seeing Marcus standing over her. At six-one, he had dark hair and hazel eyes with flecks of green in them. His hooded lids gave him a seductive look. Bedroom eyes, her mother used to call them. “I must have dosed off.”

  “Have you been on the floor all night?”

  “I woke up early. I got out of bed because I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Marcus yawned, then stretched his back. “Jump in the shower while I make you some breakfast.”

  Carolyn let him help her to her feet, then wrapped her arms around his waist. “Oh, Marcus,” she sobbed, her head pressed against his chest. “It was so awful. One side of her head was gone.”