by Alexa Grace
Jennifer looked down at her pad for a second then asked, “According to my information, you were a no-show at the search organized to find Catherine last weekend? Is that right?”
He nodded again.
“Now, maybe it’s just me, but I find it odd that a long-time boyfriend wasn’t there to help search for his girlfriend’s body. I mean if I’d been in a relationship with a guy that went missing, I’d be the first one at a search organized to find him.”
“I had plans I couldn’t get out of.” He was starting to sweat and wiped across his forehead with the back of his hand.
“What kind of plans?”
“I’d already committed to chaperoning the high school debate team at a meet in Terre Haute.”
“How many members of the high school debate team are female, Nicholas?”
“I don’t know. I guess eleven or so.” He replied sharply, acting as if she were asking a stupid question.
“I’m asking because I hear you have a thing for high school girls.” Jennifer asked, holding her temper in check.
“I thought we were here to talk about Catherine?” Nicholas was eager to change the subject.
“Did Catherine discover that you have a thing for high school girls? Is that why you two argued?” asked Jennifer.
“Who said we argued? We got along just fine.” Nicholas eyes were blinking at her, then suddenly he looked down. He was lying.
“That’s not what I hear, Nicholas. I have witnesses who say you and Catherine quarreled a great deal.” She chided.
He just stared at her.
“Just a second. It seems like there was another question I wanted to make sure I asked you.” Jennifer flipped through her notepad until she found a page. She tapped on it with her fingernail. “So on the night Catherine disappeared, you say you were home alone watching the Pacers vs. Miami Heat game on ESPN?”
“That’s right.”
“Hmm, that’s where I get confused, Nicholas, There was no Pacer game on ESPN that night.”
Nicholas glared at her.
“Another thing, when I talked to kid who delivered your pizza, he said when he arrived you were not alone.”
“He’s lying.” Nicholas spat.
He was getting rattled, just like she wanted.
“Is he? If he’s lying, then he had a vivid imagination. He told us he saw a light-haired woman wearing a lot of makeup sitting on your sofa. “Catherine never wore a lot of makeup, did she? I wouldn’t describe her hair color as light, either. “
“He’s mistaken.” Nicholas said the words but wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“I’m thinking that you had a date that night. You ordered pizza. Maybe you found a good movie on TV and got cozy with your date on the sofa.”
“No, you’re wrong. I was alone.”
“Yeah, I think you were getting cozy with your date and Catherine caught you. She wondered if you were cheating, and now she was sure. Once Catherine arrived, your date left. That’s when you and Catherine had a fight. Maybe it was the worst fight you ever had. Things happen. The fight turns violent and before you know it, Catherine is dead. Is that how it happened, Nicholas?”
He jumped out of his chair. “No! That didn’t happen!”
“Calm down and sit down,” Jennifer hissed.
“Okay, I was with someone. But no one can know about it. She’s married. Her husband will kill both of us. He was out-of-town and we spent the night together.”
“If she’s your alibi, I’ve got to have her name, Nicholas.”
“You don’t understand. If I tell anyone and he finds out, he’ll kill us both.”
“Okay, then,” She said as she closed her notepad. “I’ll get a deputy to take you to your cell.”
“All right, all right. It was Patti Simpson.”
<><><>
A loud knock sounded on the door. With her eyes glued on Nicholas, Jennifer opened the door and stepped into the hall where Blake waited.
“Why did you stop me? It was going well.”
“We have to cut him loose.”
He had to be kidding. “What the hell? He’s got guilt written all over his face.”
“Yeah, he does. But I don’t think it’s about Catherine’s murder.”
Jennifer shook her head with confusion. “What are you talking about, Blake?”
“The killer just called Julie Thomas with Catherine’s cell phone.”
“What?!”
Blake pulled Jennifer out of the hallway and into the small room with the one-way glass. “We tracked the cell phone’s ping at a tower near the Thomas house when he called. He’s either turned off the phone or removed the battery. We’ve gotten nothing since.”
“So you think he was at their house when he called?”
“It looks that way. He must not have known the Thomases are at Memorial Hospital.”
“Why would the killer call Catherine’s mother?” Jennifer was incredulous. She’d never heard of a case where the killer phoned the victim’s mother. It was the definition of cruelty.
“It sounds like the prick called to taunt her. He said something about good girls don’t always go straight to heaven and that he made sure Catherine got to visit hell first.”
A quick and disturbing thought flicked through her brain. “At the crime scene, remember how the killer posed Catherine’s body with her hands folded together, as if she were praying?”
“Yes.”
“Is he communicating that just Catherine needed to visit hell before going to heaven? Or is he saying that all women should?”
“Somehow, I don’t think he’s just referring to Catherine, which makes it that much more critical to catch this sick freak before he kills again.”
Lane entered the room and touched Jennifer’s arm. “Hey, have you heard from Dick today?”
“No, I called him earlier but got no answer. Why?”
“Dispatch just sent an ambulance out to his place.”
“Oh my God. Why?” asked Jennifer, her heart racing.
Lane shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know why. His neighbor called it in.”
Jennifer nodded and raced out of the building to the parking lot; Blake was close behind. Outside, he grabbed her arm and led her to his SUV. “I’ll drive.”
Blake flew his SUV out of the parking lot, flicking on the lights and siren. Jennifer shivered, as a wave of apprehension swept through her.
“Was Dick out sick today?” asked Blake
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him. That’s why I think something must be wrong. Dick always calls me,” Jennifer began. “I should have checked on him earlier. I don’t think he’s missed a day of work in twenty years. My intuition told me something was wrong, but I ignored it.”
“Stop blaming yourself, Jennifer. We don’t even know what’s wrong.” He held her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers.
Blake raced through town, hitting all the green lights. He didn’t slow down until he hit County Road 47, a gravel road that ran through farm fields that would soon be filled corn and bean plants. Once they passed the Maffett farm, they could see the swirling lights of emergency vehicles lining the sides of the road. Blake hadn’t even brought the SUV to a stop, when Jennifer jumped out of the car. She rushed ahead, flashing her badge at a deputy who tried to stop her. She needed to find Dick. He had to be okay.
“Jennifer, stop,” called Blake as he raced after her.
She ran down Dick’s long driveway panting so hard she thought her lungs would burst. Jennifer had to reach Dick and see that he was okay.
She grabbed the arm of the first EMT she saw. “Dick Mason lives here. Where is he?”
The EMT only shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
An older man, face crinkled from working years in the sun, stepped forward. “Are you Jennifer?”
“Yes.” Jennifer was numb. Dick couldn’t be dead. She wiped at the tears blinding her vision.
The man took her hand in his, and said, “I’m C
arl Freeman. I own the farm up the road.” He paused as a deputy ran past them. “Dick’s told me all about you. Dick and me usually shared a beer in the evenin’ on my porch. He’d tell me about his day, and I’d share mine. Hell, I think we’ve been doing that for more than ten years. Kind of our ritual. He was mighty proud of you, Jennifer. He said you were a good detective.”
She bit her lip and asked, “Do you know what happened?”
“Just what I saw. Dick hadn’t been over to see me in two days. This was unusual so on my way to town this morning; I stopped in to check on him. As soon as I got close enough to the house, I noticed exhaust smoke seeping out from under his garage door. I jumped out of my truck, lifted the garage door and turned off his car. Dick wasn’t in the garage so I went through the open kitchen door and walked through the house calling his name. The air was so thick with exhaust I had trouble breathing so I opened up the front door and living room windows. I found Dick on his bed. He was already gone. There was a cup of coffee and a prescription bottle on his bedside table. Little pills were strewn everywhere, on his bed, on the table, on the floor. Found out from the EMT, the pills were Valium. Don’t know how many Dick took.”
“Are you saying Dick committed suicide? No! He wouldn’t do that.”
“Jennifer, I wouldn’t have believed it either, but I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Was there a note?” asked Jennifer.
“Yes, it was on the kitchen table. It said, ‘I’m not the man people think I am.’“
Blake reached Jennifer and gathered her into his arms, holding her snugly against him. He stroked her hair and said, “Jennifer, it’s going to be okay.”
Sobbing, she pushed at his chest. “No, it’s not going to be okay. Dick was my partner. I’m supposed to be his backup and protect him when he needs me. But I wasn’t here to protect him. I sensed something was wrong and did nothing. I should have found a way to make him talk to me.”
<><><>
Dick Mason was to be buried in the same cemetery as her baby, Timmy, his headstone overlooking the Wabash River. It was a gray, misty morning, the weather almost as depressing as the occasion. The entire sheriff’s department was in attendance in dress uniform, each wearing a black band around his or her badge to signify the loss of a fellow law enforcement officer. Standing next to Frankie and Lane, Jennifer listened as a man played “Danny Boy” on his bagpipes next to Dick’s coffin, which was covered with the American flag.
Jennifer hated funerals. She’d always been a private person, and the public good-bye ceremony was too much for her emotions. It brought back memories of the day she buried her baby boy. Jennifer quickly wiped a tear away with the back of her suit sleeve and felt Blake squeeze her hand. She glanced at him and wished she were wrapped tight in his arms, pressed against the warmth of his hard body. Jennifer couldn’t forget how Blake had held her at Catherine’s crime scene, and how right it’d felt to be in his arms. And she’d tried.
Jennifer was going to miss Dick Mason more than anyone knew. It was Dick who’d patiently shown her the ropes when she made detective. He did it for her, and not to impress her dad. Dick didn’t give a damn that her father was sheriff. He wanted her to succeed and had told her that many times.
Jennifer thought she’d known Dick inside and out until the day she discovered he had a son. She thought they’d shared everything about themselves. Why did he keep that a secret from her? Perhaps he was ashamed of the way he’d left his son with his ex-wife years before and never looked back.
Dick’s estranged son, Damon Mason, was standing on the other side of the coffin and Jennifer couldn’t stop staring at him for some kind of sign that he and his father had made amends. But he showed little emotion that revealed they had.
Damon was good-looking in a rugged kind of way, with a long, lean body like his father’s that stood tall and straight. His tanned skin reflected his occupation as a conservation officer and his preference for outdoor work. His eyes were blue, but more of an ice blue, with little warmth to them. His expression during the entire funeral proceedings was as blank and unreadable as it had been the day she’d seen him at the crime scene.
Damon was her partner’s only family member, but she couldn’t bring herself to comfort him. There was something off about him, and she couldn’t figure out what. She’d pulled his statement about why he didn’t secure Catherine Thomas’s crime scene. He’d written exactly what Dick reported, that he hadn’t discovered a body before and he’d become so upset he screwed up the procedures. Okay, maybe she should cut him a break for Dick’s sake. But that wouldn’t be soon. She was still pissed that valuable trace evidence, which might have led them to Catherine’s killer, was washed away by the rain.
<><><>
Sheer luck and his genius was a powerful combo. If he weren’t surrounded by so many mourners, he’d bust a gut laughing his ass off.
Dear old Dad had invited him over for coffee. Said he wanted to talk, to get to know him better. That was a laugh. He sure wasn’t interested in getting to know his son better twenty years ago when he abandoned him. Did the bastard really think he wouldn’t pay for deserting him and leaving him with a sadistic lunatic?
The house was way the hell out in the country. He thought he’d never find it. Once he did, he found himself on a long driveway leading to an old farmhouse that had seen better days. His father was waiting for him in the front yard.
He’d excused himself to use the bathroom while his dad made coffee in the kitchen. That’s where he saw the prescription bottle of Valium in the medicine cabinet and his plan was born. This day would be his father’s last. He couldn’t believe he’d been that fucking lucky. But luck didn’t have anything to do with the genius of the plan.
He stuffed several Valium in his hand, and then went to the kitchen where his dad was pouring coffee into two mugs. He offered to carry the mugs to the living room, while his dad carried a plate of cookies. Halfway there, he told Dad he needed some milk for his coffee, turned and carried both mugs back to the kitchen. He dropped the Valium in his father’s mug, and poured milk into his.
It wasn’t long before dear old Dad was too drowsy to talk. And being the good son he was, he’d helped the older man to his bedroom. He then returned to the kitchen, grabbed a kitchen towel, lifted Dick’s mug and placed it on his bedside table along with the bottle of Valium. Spilling the pills was a nice touch.
Grabbing some car keys he found in the kitchen, he went into the garage and started up the Crown Victoria. The car had a full tank of gas! Luck was with him again. He found a pen and paper and wrote a note he left on the kitchen table. All those years playing with a box of old letters from his father that Mama had kept paid off. He’d spent hours tracing and retracing each of the letters in the sentences that Dad wrote. He knew his father’s handwriting better than his own.
He slipped out of the house through the front door, carefully wiping the knob with a kitchen towel. The rest, well, was history.
Of course, that hadn’t been his original plan, which was to abduct his father, strap him to a table and give him a taste of what his mother had done to him for years, thanks to his desertion. How he would have enjoyed it.
Chapter Five
Exhausted, Jennifer couldn’t remember a time she was more pleased to be in the comforts of her home. It had been one of the longest days and nights she’d ever lived through. She locked the front door, then took off her coat and put it in the coat closet. Glancing at her wall clock, she noticed it was already nine o’clock.
If there was one thing she detested, it was a funeral. Hell, she hated saying good-bye, period. Jennifer didn’t want to think about how much she was going to miss Dick. Actually, she didn’t want to think at all. All she wanted was a hot cup of coffee, a shower, and some food.
She walked through the living and dining room to the kitchen where she made a fresh pot of coffee. Jogging up the stairs, she jumped into a hot shower and tried to scrub the miserable day off her body and
out of her mind. Turning off the shower with one hand, Jennifer reached with the other for the baby oil that she smoothed all over her body before she dried off with a thick towel. Her stomach growled as she threw on her bathrobe, letting her know she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.
Downstairs Jennifer headed for the kitchen and opened every cabinet to find something to eat. Nothing. She opened her refrigerator. There were two cartons of yogurt that should have been thrown out weeks ago, a jar of olives, a half-gallon of drinking water and a near-empty carton of milk. Damn. When was the last time she got groceries?
<><><>
Blake took a deep breath, then turned his SUV onto Jennifer’s street and parked outside her house. He glanced at her living room window. Her lights were on, which was a good thing and a bad thing. It was a good thing because he hadn’t purchased the large sausage and mushroom pizza, hot-from-the-oven, nor the six-pack of Coors in the passenger seat for nothing. It was a bad thing because he shouldn’t be within a city block of Jennifer Brennan. Not only was she a detective on his team, but her father was the sheriff, for Christ’s sake.
If he had half a brain, he’d turn his vehicle around and head for home. But then, where Jennifer was concerned, he wasn’t sure he had even half of a brain. The thing was — he couldn’t get Jennifer out of his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Spending all day with Jennifer, interviewing suspects and not being able to touch her was pure torture. He couldn’t look at the woman without wondering what she would be like in bed. Every time he got near her, he felt this buzz of sexual awareness.
The days were tough, but the nights were worse. Each fantasy was more erotic than the last. The dreams started with removing Jennifer’s clothing slowly, one piece at a time. They ended with their bodies in a hot, slick dance until they exploded with pleasure. Inevitably, that was the moment he’d awaken on fire, panting and aroused.
He was a bastard coming here tonight. Hours before he’d attended Dick’s funeral with Jennifer and watched her grieve for her partner. He was thinking maybe Jennifer didn’t want to be alone tonight. Perhaps she needed someone to talk to. If she did, he wanted to be that guy.
