Hidden in the Stars

by Robin Caroll

  Unnecessary destruction. Just plain evil.

  Even the lamps that had sat on either side of the fireplace and the candelabras that had decorated the mantle were now crushed and ground into the wood floor. Grown men having a temper-

  tantrum. It’s all this was. If— “They didn’t find it.”

  Julian sat up straighter and leaned closer to her hospital bed. “You remember what they were looking for?”

  She shook her head. “Look at the pictures. They’d already killed my mother and left me for dead. Surely, what they were looking for wasn’t small and clear enough to be hidden in the chandelier or candelabras. They were enraged because they didn’t find whatever it was, and that’s why they destroyed everything.”

  Julian nodded. “I thought so, too, but we have to go through the evidence as best we can. We don’t want to miss anything.”

  She nodded, her mind racing. The bulky man leaned over her and wrapped his hands around her neck. The leather smooth against her skin. Squeezing. Not enough oxygen! She couldn’t breathe! Tighter. Tighter. Then everything went black.

  Sophia snapped her eyes open. “He wore gloves. They both did. Black. Leather. Like driving gloves.”

  Julian nodded as he wrote in his notebook. “Good.”

  Disappointment fluttered inside her. “But it means there won’t be any fingerprints.”

  “It’s okay. Every little detail helps,” Julian reassured her. “Even the minor things you think are of no importance. Especially those things.” He held the picture back up for her to see. “Is there anything you notice? Anything at all?”

  She stared at the picture as a whole. Nothing jumped out at her. Well, nothing other than the senseless violence. She shook her head. The mess would take quite some time to clean up.

  Staggering grief washed over her as she realized she’d never see her mother again.

  “Can you think of anything odd or out of place that happened recently? Unusual phone calls? Seeing strange people? Anything?”

  Sophia silently snorted. “It’d just been announced I made the U.S. Olympic gymnast team. We were plagued with unusual calls—reporters wanting interviews, publicists wanting to schedule appearances and group photos . . . all kinds of crazy stuff. Even though I’d come to spend some time with Mamochka, they found our number and called. A lot.”

  “Yes. I can imagine.” Julian glanced at Charlie, then back at her.

  “What?”

  “We’ve managed to keep the news of the incident out of the press for now, knowing you’d prefer to recover privately, but there are reporters snooping around.”

  Sophia could imagine the yellow crime scene tape across the front drive. She shuddered.

  “We just locked the gate at the end of your mother’s driveway and have an officer in an unmarked car guarding the house. To the outside observer, it could appear you were just taking precautions against the increased interest.”

  “Thank you.” But it wouldn’t be long until people figured out something was amiss.

  She needed to call her coach. They would have to call in one of the alternates to practice with the team. But . . . she looked at Charlie and mouthed, “Can you get a message to my coach for me?”

  Charlie nodded. “I’ll be happy to.”

  “Happy to what?” Julian asked.

  “Get a message to her coach.”

  Julian looked at Sophia and shook his head. “Let’s hold off on that for now. At the moment, nobody knows what happened. No one knows you’re here. You’re safer this way.”

  It took her a minute, then her pulse spiked. “If they know I’m alive and know I can identify them, they’ll come back to kill me.” Pure terror clawed against her heart.

  Julian set his hand on her forearm, ever-so-lightly. “I have officers outside your room around the clock with instructions that only medical staff and law enforcement are approved to enter. And your grandmother.”

  Relief sent warmth down to her toes. At least she was safe for the time being. But aside from that, she didn’t want Alena. “You can remove her from the approved list.”

  “Sophia, are you sure you want to do that?” Charlie asked.

  “Until she can stop lying to me, yes.” Sophia mouthed.

  Charlie sighed.

  “I need to let my coach know as soon as I can. I’m supposed to report to the training center next week, and they need to notify one of the alternates as soon as they can. I can’t leave the team hanging.” It nearly killed her to hear Charlie say the words aloud.

  Before Julian could reply, a knock sounded at the door, then the door swung open.

  “So, how’s our patient today?” Dr. Rhoads strolled into the room with his usual air of authority. He flipped the top page of the chart in his hand as he moved alongside her bed.

  “Better, I think,” Sophia mouthed and Charlie spoke.

  Dr. Rhoads glanced up from his chart to look across Sophia at Charlie. “I see. Are you a doctor, ma’am?”

  Charlie and Julian chuckled as Charlie explained, “It’s what she said, not me. I’m just a lip reader who’s translating for Sophia.”

  “Well. You can be useful.” Dr. Rhoads met Sophia’s stare. “Would you mind her staying during my exam of you so you can answer some specific questions?”

  Julian stood. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He tucked the photos back in his folder under his arm. “I’ll be back later, if it’s okay?”

  His smile knocked her off balance, and suddenly, Sophia was happy the nurse had cleaned her up.

  4

  Go back through everything again, then. Find me something.” Julian slammed the phone down and stared at the reports spread across his desk. With all the technology and testing, forensics should have been able to find something, at least one thing he could use as a lead.

  Nothing. Not one single piece of evidence. Not a clue to who had killed Nina Montgomery and left Sophia for dead. Not one single shred of anything to lead him to their identity.

  The stench of burnt coffee filled the station. Most everyone had already been to lunch and returned, but no one had remembered to make fresh coffee, thus, the stench. Still, it was familiar to Julian. It was home, despite how much he’d tried to deny the fact earlier in the year.

  Phones rang and people talked—a background soundtrack to Julian’s concentration.

  He leaned back in his chair and twirled his keyring on his index finger as he glared at his case notes open on the computer monitor. What was he missing?

  His partner was still out in the field, rattling the cages of the usual suspects to see if there was any word on the crime beat about this attack. Somebody had to know something.

  “Frazier!” Captain Pittman hollered from his office.

  Dropping the keyring to the desk, Julian stood and stormed into his boss’s office. “Yes, sir?”

  The captain looked up, his thirty-some-odd years on the force evident in the deeply etched lines wrinkling his face. “Shut the door.”

  Uh-oh. That usually meant trouble. Julian did, then took a seat in front of the captain’s desk. “Yes, sir?”

  “Where’s Alexander?”

  “Conducting field interviews, sir.”

  The captain harrumphed. “Where are you two on the Montgomery case?”

  Nowhere. “The initial forensic report yielded us nothing. I’ve requested they review again. I’ve been working with Sophia Montgomery—have her statement and have reviewed the crime scene photos. Nothing yet, but I’m going back this evening to question her again.”

  No reaction at all from Captain Pittman. Julian refused to give in to the strong urge to fidget under the older man’s scrutiny.

  “Frazier, we’ve got word from higher ups . . . we need something on this case. The media will be all over this as soon as so much as a whisper gets out. Sophia Montgomery is a hometown girl made big. Just last week, there was a feature article on her in our local paper about her making the Olympic team.” The captain tossed the
newspaper across the desk to Julian. “The local reporters are clamoring to interview her before she goes back to Texas next week to start training. We’ve already got three reports from the uniforms at the crime scene of having to run off the press.”

  Just what he didn’t need. “I understand, Captain.”

  “When news of the attack comes out, and it’ll come out sooner rather than later, mark my words, then we need to have some lead . . . something to tell the public to squelch local panic and national interest.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “Frazier, do you know where Stoneham, Massachusetts, is?”

  “Um . . . no, sir.” Was it important to the case? Had he missed something?

  “It’s Nancy Kerrigan’s hometown. And do you remember how the press descended upon the little town after the attack on Nancy?”

  Julian remembered the whole Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding Olympic attack incident. He nodded.

  “The same kind of media coverage is about to descend on Hot Springs Village, Detective, and when it does, I want us to have an answer for those questions the reporters will ask in regard to whether we have any leads in the case. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Julian stood. He was already motivated to get a break in the case because . . . well, if he was honest, he’d have to say because something about Sophia Montgomery tugged at the protectiveness trait locked inside him. Cases like hers were the reason he’d become a cop in the first place. He grabbed the paper with the article on Sophia. “May I keep this, sir?”

  “Sure. Take whatever you need, but get some jump on the case.”

  “Yes, sir.” Julian headed back to his desk. He slumped into his chair and glared at the blinking cursor over his case notes. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  He grabbed the paper and stared at the picture of Sophia in the Arkansas Gazette. Even in black-and-white newsprint, she looked so much better than she did right now. In the picture, she wore one of the Olympic team warm-up suits. Her long, wavy hair was pulled high into a ponytail at the top of her head. But it was her expression that drew the reader—him, Julian—in closer.

  Pure, unadulterated happiness radiated from her smile, from her eyes . . . she practically beamed with bliss.

  For the first time in a long, long time, Julian yearned for what he saw in her face, for what he missed in his own life. He coveted the peace she portrayed.

  How long had it been since he’d been truly at peace? He couldn’t remember.

  “None of our informants had any information about the attack,” Brody’s comments jerked Julian’s attention back into focus. He plopped down behind the desk across from Julian, leaning his long frame back in the chair. Always so serious, Brody looked much older than thirty-five, only six years older than Julian. He might be aged beyond his years, but he was also usually wiser as well.

  “Forensics came up empty, too. I have them reviewing everything again.” Julian shook his head and opened the file to the crime scene photos. “Sophia remembered they wore gloves, but surely, with this much damage, they had to leave something. A fiber. A hair. A single drop of sweat to give us DNA.”

  Wait a minute . . . sweat.

  Julian snatched the phone and called the head of the forensics unit. Julian cut off the man’s greeting. “This is Detective Julian Frazier again. Go over Nina Montgomery’s clothing again. This time, look for bodily fluids to test for DNA, especially in her top. I have reason to believe her attacker might well have sweated on her.”

  “We’ll see what we can find.”

  “This is priority, per Captain Pittman.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as we finish.”

  Julian hung up the phone, the first twinge of excitement building in his veins.

  “He sweated on her?” Brody asked from across the desks.

  “Sophia remembers the man who attacked her mother was wearing one of those winter Russian hats. Fuzzy, furry, whatever, with flaps. Whatever, but it’s hot here. The day of the attack, it was in the high nineties.” Julian lifted his keychain and began spinning it on his finger. He always seemed to think better with the habit he’d picked up right out of the academy. “If he’s exerting even the slightest bit of effort, which we know he was to be threatening Nina, then there’s a good chance he sweat during the attack. And if he was bending over Nina, like Sophia has described, he could’ve sweat on her.”

  Brody nodded. “Hey, at least it’s something, right?”

  “Better than nothing.” Julian would take a long shot over a big fat zero any day. “And we need something pretty fast.” He brought Brody up to speed on his conversation with Captain Pittman.

  “Sounds like we’re in the hot seat,” Brody said as he accessed the case file on his computer. “Captain doesn’t like to look unflattering in the press. Especially since rumor has it he’ll be running for police commissioner next year.”

  “So you heard it, too?” Julian shook his head. Just when they got somebody in the captain’s office who was more of an asset than just a placeholder on a political path, they either retired or got political aspirations themselves. “I’d hoped Pittman would stay in the chair longer.”

  “Yeah, me, too. But he’ll be a good commissioner. At least better than the numbskull we have now.”

  “True that.” Almost every person in uniform had a beef with the current police commissioner because he’d cut the force every chance he got, if it made him look more attractive in some way. Cut hours, makes the budget look better. It was even worse because he’d never gone through the ranks with the guys. He’d always been an outsider.

  “These all your notes from Montgomery’s interview today?” Brody asked, pointing at the computer screen.

  Julian nodded. “I’m going back later to see if she can give me a list of people who might have had something against her mother.”

  “It’s clear she had something someone wanted pretty badly.”

  “Yeah, but Sophia hasn’t a clue what. She did figure out her life could be at risk.”

  “We’d better hurry.”

  Julian nodded again. Time was of the essence . . . for more than one reason.

  “Maybe we should take another look at the house. This time, knowing they were looking for something, we can focus on the obscure. What do you think?” Brody asked.

  They had nothing else. Julian shut off his monitor and stood. “It beats sitting around here doing nothing.” He shoved the newspaper with Sophia’s smiling face into the folder and snapped it shut, then tucked it under his arm. He always carried his case file when he visited the scene of the crime. Sometimes it helped him see something he’d missed before.

  “Let’s go.” Brody led the way out the back to their unmarked car.

  The afternoon sun burned hot and bright on the asphalt parking lot.

  Julian slipped into the passenger seat. Brody always drove. He kept their assigned car as well. Julian always preferred his own Dodge. A sweet 1972 black Charger. He’d spent three years restoring it himself. Well, with Eli’s help.

  A lump lodged in the back of Julian’s throat. Would the reaction ever go away?

  “Heard a lot of people were starting to nose around the Montgomery property,” Brody said, as he pulled the car onto the street.

  Julian nodded. “Captain said there was activity. Hope the uniforms are being vigilant.”

  “Me, too.” Brody pushed a little harder on the accelerator. “I even asked some of our informants to see what the word on the street is about anything with Russians.”

  “Are you thinking like organized-crime type Russian?” Julian stared out the window to the setting sun. “Yeah, the Russian mob exists in places like New York or Boston, but in Hot Springs Village, Arkansas?” He laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  “You never know. Nina Montgomery was a star ballerina in the Russian ballet back in her day, right? And the guys who attacked them were Russian. So, hey, it’s not a far stretch to consider.”

&nb
sp; Brody had a point. Julian just couldn’t wrap his mind around any type of organized crime being in their sleepy town, best known for its sweeping landscapes, natural settings, and championship golf courses. Twenty-six thousand acres, the town had a population of approximately thirteen thousand people. Most people moved to the village, as everyone affectionately called the town, in retirement, or the homes built were second homes. Places to stay for long golfing weekends or blocks of the summer. Many of the homeowners rented out their homes on a weekly or monthly basis. Hardly a hopping crime metropolis. Most of the crimes in the village were against property: those vacant homes. In a busy year, they’d see no more than eighteen or so violent crimes.

  Nothing like this case. The attack was the most violent Julian had worked in years. Maybe it was the viciousness that made this one tighten his gut.

  Or maybe it was Sophia Montgomery.

  Brody turned off the highway onto the road where Nina Montgomery lived. “Charlie told me about Alena Borin. She’s very Russian.”

  “She is.” And there was some reason Nina Montgomery had lied to her daughter about Alena being dead. “Let’s order a background on her. Maybe we’ll get lucky and hit a connection. There has to be something we’re missing.” Julian pulled out his phone and called in the background check order.

  Brody pulled the car to the gate of Nina Montgomery’s home. The marked police car’s door opened and a uniformed officer stepped out. “You can’t—oh, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t recognize your car with the glare.” He moved toward the gate and unwound the chain holding it closed.

  “No problem. Has there been a lot of activity today?” Julian rolled down his window and asked the uniformed man.

  “A little more than usual. Mainly reporters. One even tried to bribe me . . . said she needed to get an exclusive of mother and daughter before Sophia left to go into training.” He shook his head and opened the gate. “I’ll give it to them, they’re a determined bunch.”

  “Good work. Thanks.” Brody eased the car through the gate and down the drive toward the house.