Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

With an in-house CSU facility, tests took a matter of hours or days instead of weeks or months.

  What one of his professors in college had told him proved to be true. Old-fashioned legwork solved crimes, but forensics got the convictions.

  This case was different. Past success would mean nothing if they didn’t solve this one.

  At least the timing on the Pryor case would be good for him. The diversion would absorb his attention. Something to keep him away from home. The emptiness there still closed in on him. Wouldn’t be the first night he’d spent on his office sofa, and Rowdy wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.

  He rose to fill a mug from the conference room coffee bar when Chris Hunter entered. The detective carried Archie, the station mascot, a yellow tabby trying for the Guinness World Records book for most obese cat. Hunter, not to be outdone by Archie, stood five-six with a paunch that hung over his belt.

  Hunter set the cat on the floor, then pulled out a chair. “You wanted to see us, Chief?” He nodded towards the door. “Miles is behind me. Had to make a pit stop. Probably needed to comb his hair.”

  Davis strode through the doorway and gave his partner a pointed look as he smoothed his perfectly trimmed hair with both hands. “I heard that.”

  The two made a good team, despite their different personalities. Laid back and easygoing, Hunter was the opposite of his partner, who was high energy, introspective, and often moody. Somehow, the conflicting personas blended into a cohesive team of investigators.

  Matt placed a yellow pad on the table. “Anything new turn up at the crime scene after I left?”

  Davis shook his head. “No, but I’m not surprised.”

  It didn’t surprise Matt, either, not with a crime scene that old. “The fact the body was Governor Ferrell’s niece hasn’t hit the news yet, but it won’t be long.”

  “Don’t I know it. We’ll be knee deep in reporters.” Davis’ face scrunched into a frown. “I can’t wait.”

  Hordes of reporters blinding them with flashbulbs and sticking microphones in their faces made a difficult job harder. Matt brought the conversation back to the job at hand. “You guys know your business, but I wouldn’t wait for forensics. Check out the old neighborhood, see if anyone remembers anything new about that night. All the reports from the first investigation are in the casebook.” He shrugged. “Which I guess is now the murder book. Did you get anything yet from Sam Pryor?”

  Davis shook his head. “Overtime on this, Chief?”

  “Whatever you need,” Matt said. “McCulloch is trying to track down the sleeping bag, but it’s probably too early to expect answers.” Matt picked up the casebook and stood. “I’ll return this later. We’ll meet here for a daily update at 0930. The mayor, city council, and my boss will be breathing down my neck until this case is closed.”

  Back in his office, Matt called the morgue. Lisa Martinez answered.

  “Just FYI, Hunter and Davis will be there for the Pryor autopsy when it’s scheduled. It has taken on some political importance. Anything yet?”

  “No. I do have other cases ahead of that one. Tell Davis I’ll schedule the exam for tomorrow morning at eight. Don’t let them show up early. All I need are those two underfoot, pressuring me.”

  “Lisa, they won’t come by until you begin the autopsy. You control that. Just let them know when you’re ready. I only called to give you a heads-up. The case is going to get a lot of media attention, so you might want to rearrange your priorities.”

  “Don’t tell me how to run my department. I’ll call you when I have answers. But not today.”

  The line went dead.

  He stared at the phone in his hand. Unbelievable. He must have said something to set her off. After replaying their conversation in his head, he still couldn’t see it. Perhaps he should tell Davis to take her a new broom when he went for the autopsy.

  County Morgue

  Lisa Martinez slammed the receiver back on the hook. The man made her crazy. Dense was the only word to describe Matt Foley.

  Why did she have so much trouble with relationships? First Paul’s father, now Matt Foley?

  Matt found her attractive. She hadn’t imagined the appreciation in his eyes. Too many men had cast that look her way for her to miss it. But for some reason, he avoided her attempts to get close to him. His wife had been dead for two years. He should be over that by now.

  Why couldn’t she fall for a nice, solid guy like Joe Wilson? He would be a good husband and a great father for Paul.

  She shook her head. Who could explain the laws of physical attraction? Maybe it was time to listen to her head. Following her heart hadn’t worked out too well. Anyway, it was too soon to be shopping for a husband.

  All this introspection made her crave a cigarette. She didn’t have time for a smoke break outside. Stupid rules. The people she worked with could hardly complain about secondhand smoke. But there was always the possibility she could set off an inferno with all the lab chemicals.

  Lisa pushed through the double metal doors into the autopsy lab. Removing a clipboard from a hook, she scanned the log sheet—a busy week. They had six bodies, besides the one from Bay Harbor. Four from an accident, two from local nursing homes, and Joe Wilson had just called to say another body was on its way.

  Tired, she pulled on a Tyvek apron and sleeves over her scrubs, added a hair cover, facemask, protective eyewear, and latex gloves. She gave the gloves an angry snap and made her way to the steel exam table.

  Microphone in place, she stated the victim’s name and started the cut on one of the women from the nursing home, recording her findings as the autopsy progressed. Most senior care patients died from loneliness and a broken heart, but she couldn’t put that on a death certificate. This one suffered from malnutrition. Common in nursing home deaths. Not always because they were mistreated. Mostly, the patients just gave up and stopped eating.

  As she finished with the woman, Joe Wilson’s big hulk pushed through the swinging doors. She placed her hands on her hips. “You personally delivering bodies these days, Joe?”

  His face flushed a dusty pink under his tan. “No. Things are just a little slow, so I decided to come along. You’re here kinda late.”

  “Paul’s with his dad.” She waved at the chart on the wall. “Good thing I came in.”

  Joe turned to assist the ambulance driver with the gurney.

  “Who is it?” Lisa asked.

  Joe handed a copy of his report to a nearby tech. “Robert Cook. All the information is here. He lived out on FM10. Apparently, died of natural causes, but that’ll be your call. A neighbor found him.”

  Joe slid his hands into his pockets with a wistful grin. “You have time for coffee?”

  Lisa switched off the microphone and turned away from her table “Sure, Joe, I have time. Give me a minute to wash up.”

  At the sink, she removed her lab gear and added a generous dollop of anti-bacterial soap, working it over her hands and arms. Joe’s profile reflected in the mirror above the sink. She studied his face. Handsome, yes, but he didn’t have the animal magnetism of Matt Foley.

  Lisa dried her hands and joined him at the morgue entrance.

  Joe crossed the break room to the coffee maker in the corner. “We’re in luck,” Joe called over his shoulder. “Someone made a fresh pot.”

  He pulled two foam cups from the plastic sleeve. “You still take it with one cream and two sugars?”

  She joined him at the counter. “Yeah. It’s sweet that you remembered.”

  He grinned down at her. “I’m a sweet guy.”

  “And modest, too.” She laughed, then lit a cigarette as she took a seat in the booth.

  He slid in across from her. “How’s Paul doing?”

  Lisa smiled. Paul was her favorite subject. “He’s good. He’s a bright kid, but he likes fishing and baseball way better than school.”

  “That makes him normal. He’s a fisherman?”

  “Oh yeah. My dad takes him when he feels l
ike going. Dad has emphysema, so he’s not up to fishing very often.”

  Joe pointed at her cigarette. “Think those could have anything to do with your dad’s illness?”

  Her brow knitted into a scowl. “Don’t you start on me. I get enough of that from Paul.”

  He held up both hands. “Subject closed. You like to fish?”

  Fishing expeditions with her father flashed information from the past. The tranquility of the water, the quiet, cool mornings, eating breakfast burritos filled with sausage, eggs, potatoes, and hot sauce. Good times. “I haven’t been since I was a kid, but I loved it.”

  “I go every weekend I’m off duty.” He took the last sip of coffee in the cup. “You and Paul want to join me next time?”

  She lowered her gaze and looked up at him through her eyelashes. Then flashed a flirty smile. “Give me a call. I’ll bring the burritos.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to get back to work.”

  In the morgue, she picked up the phone and dialed Miles Davis’s number. “If you and Hunter can get here in thirty minutes, I’ll do the Pryor exam tonight.”

  “We’re on our way,” he said.

  If Matt wanted a fast turnaround, he could pay his detectives overtime.

  By the time she finished setting up, Davis and Hunter were climbing into the paper smocks, booties and masks. They joined her at the table that held the small skeleton. A lab tech had x-rayed the remains earlier. The films hung on a clip above the table.

  She switched on the microphone and began. The date Penny disappeared wasn’t necessarily the date she died. Lisa accepted she might never be able to nail that down, but a hands-on examination could help determine the cause of death.

  With efficient fingers, she inspected the neck’s fragile bones, speaking into the mic as she progressed. The vertebrae leading to the skull’s right side were shattered. Most likely the cause of death. The x-rays showed massive head and neck injuries. She detailed her findings into the recording―careful to note the heavy equipment at the gravesite may have caused some of the fractures, though she didn’t buy it. With heavy equipment, the damage would have been more extensive and not isolated to one area.

  Matt had emailed her a copy of the missing persons report on the Pryor girl and the parents identified the personal effects. Could she rely on their memory after such a span of time? Probably. She would remember every detail if something happened to Paul.

  Lisa laid the small skull back in place. A vision of her son’s dimpled smile nudged its way into her mind. She missed him already. She couldn’t bear the thought of something like this happening to Paul. His mental image reminded her that this little girl had also been cherished by her parents.

  Lisa shivered. At times like these, she wished she’d chosen another field. Pediatrics maybe. Healing had to be more rewarding than this.

  She turned to the two detectives. “You guys have what you need?”

  Davis still had his notebook out. “Any idea what caused the blow to the head?”

  She shrugged. “Something big.”

  “How big?” he asked.

  She leaned back against the table. “Hard to say without the tissue. Smaller than a tree, bigger than a fist.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Or as it’s known in our profession, the unidentified blunt object.”

  “Great,” Davis said. “That narrows it down to a few million possibilities.”

  City Manager’s Office

  Douglas Anderson sat at his desk, scanning the file labeled Matthew Foley. City Councilman Terrance Randall Hall was on his way to discuss a case under investigation.

  The pompous little man made Doug’s blood boil, but Hall had political connections, so Doug had to tread softly. But then, Matt Foley also had a few political heavyweights in his corner.

  He flicked the file open to review the sheets that comprised Foley’s personnel file. Already familiar with most of it, he wanted to refresh his memory in case Hall tried to con him.

  The top sheet reflected Matt’s military career. Six years in the U.S. Army 75th Brigade, a Ranger special mission unit sharpshooter. He spent his last two years of service in Afghanistan in the second Gulf War. After leaving the Army, he attended Texas A&M at Kileen, graduating in the top ten percent with a degree in Criminal Justice. Pursued by large police departments across the country, Matt applied for the Twin Falls position when the old chief retired. Doug snapped him up. One of his better personnel decisions.

  Doug closed the file, then tapped it with his index finger. There was more to Matt Foley than his file reflected. Most of Doug’s information came from trusted sources, stories repeated often enough to have the ring of truth.

  Matt lost both parents when he was nine years old, after a drug dealer picked the wrong house. Raised by an abusive, alcoholic uncle, he’d joined the Army as soon as he turned eighteen.

  After college, he met the daughter of the richest man in Texas at a political rally. They married a year later. Rumor had it Matt could become the next U.S. Senator. All he had to do was say the word.

  Unlike Hall, who would chew his right arm off for a shot at the Senate, Matt didn’t want it. He was a good cop. No, better than good. Matt Foley was a great cop. It was his passion.

  The irony reminded him of a quote from Scottish author George MacDonald. “It is not in the nature of politics that the best men should be elected. The best men do not want to govern their fellow men.”

  The office door opened and his secretary stepped in. “Councilman Hall is here, Doug.”

  “Show him in, please.”

  Terrence Hall strode into the room and sat in a chair in front of Doug’s desk. At five feet four, Hall wore his Napoleon complex like a badge of honor. Dark brown hair reached his collar, blow-dried with every strand in place. His expensive suit, navy with a tiny gray stripe, finished the look of a man with an eye on the mayor’s office.

  Hall settled himself into the chair for what Doug hoped would be a short visit.

  “You heard about the governor’s niece?” Hall asked.

  Doug’s expression didn’t change. “Matt keeps me informed.”

  The city councilman’s left brow lifted, probably a looked he practiced before a mirror. “Do you think he can handle such a high-profile case?”

  Doug smiled, but not because he thought it was funny. “He’s never given me any reason to think otherwise, Terry. His ratio of solved cases is higher than any police department in the state.”

  “Like I said, he’s never handled anything like this.”

  “Neither have you, Terry.”

  Hall stood and walked to the door like an actor delivering his exit line. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, Doug. You put too much faith in Foley.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Sara Bradford’s Home

  Sara awoke to the clock’s buzzer a little after daylight and shut it off on the second try. She lay back against the pillows and tugged the comforter up under her chin. Through half-drawn drapes, dawn’s slim pink fingers reached into the slate-gray sky as day gently pushed back the night.

  With a groan, she gave the pillow a punch, then pulled the cover over her head. “Arrrrrgh.”

  As the doctor predicted, she suffered no serious after effects from the accident. A few bruises and some sore muscles. But that didn’t stop the mental horrors of yesterday from coming alive. She still refused to accept the reality of the explosion, the terror as the detonation sent her sailing. By God’s mercy, she’d hit the plastic sheeting rather than the cement-block wall.

  It seemed so senseless. Who would plant a bomb? And more important, why?

  No time or inclination for a pity party now. Life had never been fair. Why should it start with her?

  Giving the pillow another punch, she heaved a deep breath, flung the covers aside, and shuffled her stiff muscles across the thick carpet to the bathroom. She stood in the shower, letting the hot spray pulse against her face. The pounding water couldn’t erase the humiliation in R
oger’s office yesterday. He’d brushed aside her years of service like flicking lint from his jacket.

  It wasn’t just the uncertainty of her job, the explosion, or even that after four years the police still considered her a suspect in Josh’s death. Her life had taken a downward spiral she couldn’t control. She didn’t believe in luck, good or bad. But there was no denying a dark cloud had taken residence over her head. The urge to kick something overwhelmed her. Almost as soon as the thought occurred, she dismissed it. That wouldn’t help. She grabbed a towel from the rack and dried off with more vigor than the task required.

  Roger would probably find some way to blame her for what happened at Global. She could see the headline DISGRUNTLED EMPLOYEE BOMBS WAREHOUSE.

  She grinned at the irony. At least he couldn’t fire her. He’d already taken away her job.

  A wisp of hair fell across her eyes and she pushed it away. From the closet, she selected a sweater and tartan slacks, appropriate for ministry visits. Saturday morning’s ritual began by joining bus workers headed out to the poorer parts of town, knocking on doors to see if the children wanted to come to church on Sunday morning. The rewards were many, but the best part was that many of these youngsters became Christians because of the church’s outreach.

  After she finished dressing, she made up her bed. A ritual instilled by her mother. She could still hear her voice. “No matter how bad you feel, you need to maintain order in your life. It helps you stay grounded.”

  The aroma of fresh-baked bread wafted up the stairwell, teasing her nose and stirring her appetite. She followed the smell downstairs and out the door that led onto the deck. Aunt Maddie greeted her with a smile. Breakfast outside had become a ritual whenever the weather permitted.

  “This looks wonderful.” Sara waved a hand at the table display of crusty loaves of apricot bread and cream cheese.

  “I waited for you.” Maddie filled her cup from the teapot. “Come help me do justice to all these calories.”

  Maddie Jamison’s petite figure appeared fragile, but fragile she wasn’t. As the star pitcher on her college softball team, she had a cabinet filled with trophies to prove it.