When a Secret Kills

by Lynette Eason

The other very serious truth she’d kept hidden also had to be exposed. She had to tell Colton about Meg and today was the day to come clean. Soon.

  Dread centered itself in her stomach. She was more worried about telling Colton about Meg than she was being a target of a killer.

  “Jilly?”

  She looked over her shoulder. Blake stood behind her. The smirk on his face made her want to smack him. “It’s a nickname from high school.”

  “I can’t imagine you letting anyone get away with calling you Jilly.”

  “Shut up.” She kept her tone mild.

  He chuckled, then sobered. “That’s why you picked the name Julie.”

  She spun. “What?”

  “Julie. Jilly. They’re not so different.”

  “They are too,” she sputtered. “You’re crazy.”

  “Liar. You like the name Jilly, because Colton gave it to you.”

  “Do not.” She sounded like a three-year-old.

  “Do too,” he taunted.

  A fraction of the tension left her shoulders and she burst out laughing. “Okay, maybe you’re right.” She threw up her hands. “Who knows what I was thinking during those first few days on the run.” She sighed. “Maybe it was a subconscious decision.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But you may not call me that. Ever.” His eyes sparked and she knew he’d call her that at some point. “I’m glad I never had any brothers. You’re so annoying.”

  “I live to serve.” He frowned. “So, what are you thinking about?”

  “Everything. And it’s all jumbled in my mind.”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

  “Gerald Benjamin did the autopsy of Governor Martin.”

  “Right.”

  “Benjamin and Pike were friends who’d planned to get together to go fishing at a place Benjamin had sprayed for bees. And yet he was stung repeatedly, his epi-pen untouched in the unopened cooler.”

  “Murder.”

  “Definitely. And premeditated at that.”

  “And you think Senator Hoffman had something to do with that murder too?”

  She sighed and turned back to the window. “I have no idea. I just know that I want this over with. I want my life and my daughter back.”

  “And you want Colton back.”

  Jillian flinched and kept her eyes on the window. Then shrugged. “Yes. I want Colton back.”

  Colton’s phone rang and he answered it as he and Hunter walked up the steps to the Pikes’ front door. “Hey, Katie, if it can wait, let me call you back.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Conrad Pike answered a few seconds after Colton rapped his knuckles on the wooden door. A handsome man in his early sixties with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair smiled. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “Come in,” he said and held the door open for them.

  Colton stepped inside the spacious home and took in the details. Mr. Pike led them to a cozy den area that reminded Colton of his own house. A lot of wood and a deer head over the mantel. The brick fireplace held gas logs. Fortunately the air-conditioning worked well.

  Once they were seated and introductions made, Conrad asked, “So ten years later you decide Gerald’s death warrants looking into?”

  Colton leaned forward. “Yes, sir. We’ve had some new evidence come to light that suggests his death wasn’t an accident.”

  “I’ve said that all along. Just couldn’t prove it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Can you?”

  “That’s what we’re working on.”

  The man’s shrewd gaze drilled him. “What have you found?”

  “An eyewitness. It appears we’re getting too close for comfort for someone. We’re not sure what it is yet, but it’s obviously making someone nervous and he’s made several attempts to kill her. She’s in protective custody right now.” Colton paused. “Did you receive any threats after Gerald died?”

  That got the man’s attention. “Threats? No. Why?”

  “Because his wife did.”

  He leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Ah. Well, that explains a lot.”

  “She never mentioned them?”

  Pike shook his head. “No, not a word, but every time I brought up Gerald’s death, she’d get skittish and shut me down.”

  “Too scared,” Hunter murmured.

  “Where’s Mrs. Pike?” Colton asked.

  “Babysitting our grandchildren. We have two,” he said as his chest puffed out a bit.

  “Did Mr. Benjamin say anything to you about the death of Governor Martin?”

  Mr. Pike flinched. “Harrison?”

  “You were friends with him?”

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “Not best pals or anything like that, but we saw each other at a lot of social functions and I respected him as the governor. I thought he was doing an outstanding job. Harrison’s death was a tragedy for our state.”

  “Did Gerald say anything about the autopsy?”

  Mr. Pike frowned and thought. “Not that I recall. Why?”

  “Did you notice any changes in his behavior after the governor’s death?”

  The man shook his head. “No.” He paused. “Well, yes. He was stressed, but I think that was about the time his daughter was so sick. Needed a kidney transplant. I just figured that’s why he seemed so out of sorts.”

  “But he never said anything that got your attention about anything he was doing at work.”

  “No. Nothing.”

  Colton sighed. This was going nowhere fast. He questioned the man about the day the ME died, and Mr. Pike’s story matched the one they’d gotten from Gerald’s wife. “Just one last question,” Colton said. “Do you know where Gerald would have gotten the fifty thousand dollars he used to pay toward his daughter’s kidney transplant?”

  Pike lifted a brow. “Seems like he said something about borrowing it from his wife’s parents.” A shrug. “He died shortly after that.” He rubbed his chin. “Such a shame. Two good men gone within weeks of each other.” He narrowed his eyes. “You think there’s a connection?”

  “We’re trying to figure that out. Can you give us a connection?”

  Pike pressed his lips together while he thought, then said, “Gerald and the governor were high school buddies. I think they even roomed together in college for a year or two before Gerald went to med school. Gerald was devastated when Harrison was killed.”

  Colton’s brain whirled as he processed everything.

  Hunter asked, “When you found Gerald at the lake, he was already dead. Did anything stand out to you as . . . abnormal?”

  “Other than the fact that my friend was dead? Stung by dozens of bees that never should have been in that area because he had it sprayed on a regular basis? And his epi-pen was still in the cooler?”

  “Yeah. Other than that.”

  Pike rubbed his face and sighed. “No. Not really. But it didn’t feel right. The whole thing was just . . . wrong. Everything—the email, the lack of communication with Gerald that morning. Everything. I took it to the authorities and they shut me down.”

  They talked with Pike a few minutes longer, but learned nothing more. After thanks and goodbyes, Colton and Hunter left.

  Once in the car, Colton asked, “You get the feeling he knows more than he does?”

  “No. You?”

  “No.” Disgusted, he cranked the car and turned the air-conditioning on full blast with a glance at the clock. “Maybe my uncle will have something enlightening to share with me. I’ll drop you at the hotel to get your car and check on Jillian for me.”

  Hunter nodded. “You need backup at lunch?”

  Colton pursed his lips, the fact that Hunter even felt the need to ask bothering him. “No. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

  And yet the niggling of doubt he heard in his voice made him wonder if he believed that anymore.

  Colton approached the restaurant, his eyes darting, watching, being careful not to assume anything anymore. Would his uncle set him up? Tell him he’d meet hi
m for lunch, then have someone waiting to take him out?

  A sigh slipped from him. Paranoia didn’t feel good, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. His uncle’s reaction at the hotel, then his utter shock at seeing Jillian, convinced him the man knew something, even if he wasn’t directly responsible for the governor’s death. But Colton still didn’t have any proof either way.

  Inside the restaurant, he flashed his badge. “I’m meeting Senator Hoffman. Do you mind if we use your back room?”

  “Of course.” The waitress smiled and grabbed two menus. She led the way and motioned to him to pick his seat. He did. Back to the wall, in full view of the door.

  She handed him the menu and placed the other at the seat opposite him. “Someone will be with you in just a moment.”

  Colton waited ten minutes before he started to wonder if his uncle was going to stand him up. He called Katie as he waited.

  She answered on the first ring.

  “What do you have?”

  “The fifty grand deposited into Gerald Benjamin’s account did come from the Vances, but Mr. Vance finally broke down and told me the truth.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Gerald gave the couple fifty thousand in cash. Told them it was to pay for Tracy’s kidney, but he couldn’t have the money traced back to him as cash. He asked if they would deposit the money from their retirement fund into his checking account, and if anyone asked where the money came from, he would say his in-laws.”

  “And they just accepted that?”

  “No, but when they asked questions, Gerald wouldn’t tell them anything, just said that if they cared about Tracy, they’d do it.”

  “So they did.”

  “Yeah. Everything was totally legit on the surface. They just put that fifty thousand in cash back in the bank a little at a time over the next six or seven years so as not to arouse any suspicion.”

  Colton blew out a sigh. “Just another confusing piece in this crazy puzzle. All the pieces go together, I know they do, I just can’t figure out where to place them so they make sense.”

  “I’ll keep digging.”

  Frank entered the room and made his way toward the table.

  Colton said, “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Katie hung up and Colton stood to greet his uncle. “Thanks for coming.”

  Frank ignored his outstretched hand and slipped into the chair. “What’s this all about?”

  Colton lifted a brow. So that’s the way it was going to play out. Frank looked rough. Deep grooves had etched themselves on either side of his mouth. His forehead had extra creases and dark circles rimmed the man’s eyes. Colton decided to be blunt. “You look horrible. You sick?”

  Frank barked a short laugh and placed his napkin in his lap. “No, I’m not sick. I’m stressed.”

  “The campaign?” Colton decided to play along.

  “Yes. The campaign. Among other things.”

  “Like being accused of murder?” So much for playing along.

  Frank froze.

  The waiter chose that moment to enter the room and the men fell silent. After receiving their glasses of water and placing their orders, they were once again alone. Colton waited.

  Frank met his gaze. “What was that?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why would you even say that? Whose murder?”

  Time to play again. “Governor Harrison Martin.”

  “Harrison?” His uncle laughed, then sobered. “You’re joking, right? The man was a good friend of mine and he was killed in a car wreck.”

  “Jillian says she saw you shoot him.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “I don’t know what to believe. Why don’t you tell me what she saw that night.”

  “Exactly what night would that be?”

  Weariness hit Colton. “Ten years ago. June 6th, 2002.”

  “Son, I have no idea—” He cut himself off. “Wait a minute. I was in the hospital that night with a mild heart attack.”

  “I know. But you didn’t get there until after two in the morning.”

  Frank lifted a brow. “Checking up on me?”

  “Yeah. And neighbors reported a gunshot in your neighborhood that night.”

  Frank scratched his chin. “I remember that. Cops knocked on the door right after the party. Told them we didn’t hear anything. It ended up being some car backfiring or something.”

  Colton ground his teeth, then said, “Then why would Jillian lie? She said you shot him and then fell. You saw her and raised the gun.” He leaned forward, letting the intensity of his emotions show.

  Frank slapped a hand on the table and rose to his feet. “Enough. I won’t sit here and listen to this nonsense.”

  Colton stood too. “Then tell me the truth! Stop pretending nothing happened and tell me the truth! What did Jillian see if you didn’t kill him? Why else would someone want her dead?”

  His uncle’s jaw worked, then tightened as he sank back into the padded chair.

  Their food arrived, but the waiter, sensing the thick tension between the men, didn’t linger.

  “The truth, Uncle Frank, or I take you downtown and we look at all the evidence against you.”

  That snapped his head up. “What evidence? You don’t have any evidence because there’s none to be found.”

  “Did you have your boat painted recently?”

  Frank’s eyes shuttered. “What does that matter?”

  “Give me a straight answer. You’re being evasive and it doesn’t inspire my confidence in you.”

  Frank rocked back against his chair and Colton softened his tone. “It matters because the crime scene unit found a slip of material at the scene of Serena’s bombed house. That material had boat paint on it. I asked Aunt Elizabeth if you’d had your boat painted. She didn’t know. I go out to the lake house to look and the boat’s gone.” Colton leaned in. “What am I supposed to think?”

  “Maybe that I’m being set up! Maybe you should be trying to prove my innocence rather than my guilt. Why aren’t you asking your father these questions? He was at the house that night too.”

  Colton narrowed his eyes and refused to follow that thread. He knew when someone was trying to distract him. “Then you can tell me about that later. Where’s your boat?”

  “Getting painted.”

  “Why?”

  Frank shrugged. “It was time, Colton. I usually have it painted every other year. You know that.”

  Despair, hurt, fury . . . and fear mixed together inside Colton to produce a certainty that he was going to have to recuse himself from this case. But before he did, he had to make sure Jillian was safe and find out if her accusations had any merit. The sick feeling in his gut said they did. “You never have it painted this early. If you won’t talk to me, I’ll have someone pick you up and take you downtown.” He slapped a fifty on the table and rose. There was no way he would be able to swallow a bite. “Lunch is on me.”

  He started for the door.

  “Colton. Wait.”

  Colton stopped and spun back to face his uncle. The look on the man’s parchment-white face drained some of Colton’s fury. “What?”

  “I didn’t . . .” As before, Frank sank back into the chair. His right hand grasped his left arm and he grimaced. But he looked up at Colton. “The night is fuzzy, I can’t remember everything. I guess I had a little too much to drink, but . . . I—” He gasped and panted. “I . . .”

  Colton reacted. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911, then got his uncle on the floor and loosened the man’s clothing while he barked orders at the 911 operator.

  “Sir? What is it?”

  Colton looked up to see the waiter’s anxious face. “See if you can find me some aspirin.” The man spun and bolted out the door. Colton looked down at his uncle’s pale face. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “Help’s on the way, Uncle Frank.”

  “I didn’t . . .”

  “Here.” The wait
er held out two tablets. “Is he going to be all right?”

  Colton gave one to Frank. “Chew it up. Gets in your system faster.”

  Frank chewed and time passed at a snail’s pace.

  Paramedics finally arrived and Colton stepped back to give them room to work. As they rolled his uncle toward the ambulance, Colton ignored his heavy heart and dialed his captain’s number.

  30

  Colton paced the hallway of the hospital, waiting for someone to give him an update on his uncle. He’d called Jillian and Blake and told them what happened. They’d reassured him that Jillian was staying put.

  Aunt Elizabeth and Carmen, followed by Elliott Darwin, rushed through the sliding doors. He held his hands out and Elizabeth slipped her cool, dry ones into his.

  “Well? How is he?” she asked.

  “Hanging in there.”

  “What happened?” Elliott asked. His pinched face betrayed his worry for his longtime friend. Friends. Elliott would be crushed when Colton had to break the news about his uncle’s possible involvement in a murder. Not to mention how it was going to affect Elliott’s career. How it was going to affect the careers of all of the people who’d put their trust in Frank Hoffman. Tamping down his emotions and digging out his cop facade, Colton recapped the lunch, leaving out most of the details.

  Carmen shifted, her perpetually bored expression sliding into place.

  Elizabeth frowned. “He’s been under so much stress lately with the campaign and all. Something is really stressing him out.”

  “More than just the campaign?”

  She shrugged and Colton looked at Elliott. “Do you have any idea what’s going on with him?”

  “No, but she’s right. I’ve noticed it too.”

  “Any pressure from the senate about voting a certain way?” Colton asked.

  They both shook their heads. Elizabeth said, “I haven’t heard him mention anything. Then again, like I said, he’s been . . . not himself lately.”

  Elliott’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and his lips tightened. “I need to take this.”

  “Sure.” The man stepped away and Colton looked at his aunt. Her usually smooth features were drawn into a frown, a thoughtful look in her eyes.