by Mary Burton
He’d not only seen her, but he’d also managed to piss her off.
Now, it wasn’t even ten o’clock and Zack was juggling what was going to be a high-profile murder and Lindsay. Shit.
Zack decided to focus on the lesser of the two evils – the crime scene.
The responding uniformed officer had roped off a generous perimeter around the body and had done a good job keeping everyone out and the area secure until Zack had arrived.
A monthlong drought had left the ground bone dry, so the chances of retrieving footprints, DNA, weapons, the victim’s hand, and anything else left behind by the killer were all good. But they’d have to work fast. Thick rain clouds that looked ready to burst hovered above.
‘Officer Watt,’ Zack said, speaking to the older officer behind him. ‘What do you have so far?’
In his midfifties, Watt’s gray crew cut emphasized a perpetual scowl. Usually, he had little to say, but when he did speak smart detectives listened. ‘Call came in from a Ruby Dillon. She found the body just after eight. Ms Dillon spent the night at the shelter. She was in charge of supervising the overnight residents and getting the four female residents off to work and the two male children to summer school. The place was empty when she came outside to dump the trash and discovered the body.’
Zack patted his shirt pocket in search of cigarettes. The pocket was empty. He’d quit smoking nine months ago, but cravings still plagued him. ‘Did she hear or see anything last night?’
‘Not a word. And none of the residents mentioned anything out of the ordinary to her before they left for the day. It was an unusually quiet night.’
Zack studied the corpse’s bloated features. He didn’t need ID to know who he was: Harold Turner.
Turner was well known at headquarters, because he wasn’t particular about whom he defended as long as the case translated into cash or media attention. Turner had been in the news this past week for his defense of drug dealer Ronnie T., who, after numerous delays, was on trial for tax evasion. Now that Turner was dead, Ronnie T.’s trial could be compromised. That worried Zack. Eighteen months ago, he had been one of the undercover cops who’d gathered evidence against the affable Ronnie T.
Zack rose and removed a notebook from his breast pocket. He jotted notes: interview Quinton Barlow, Harold’s law partner. Examine Turner’s client list. Talk to Mrs Turner.
He glanced left and right at the surrounding houses. With his partner on vacation, he would also be knocking on a lot of doors today. ‘Any other witnesses?’
Officer Watt shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
Zack was careful to stay clear of the blood-caked grass and dirt around the body’s mutilated arm. The scent of decaying flesh made his stomach clench. He’d been a cop for thirteen years, could look at any grisly sight without flinching, but the smells always got to him.
‘Do you have an ETA for forensics?’ Zack asked Watt.
‘They’ve been called twice and should be arriving any minute.’
‘The sooner the better. We’re not going to have much time with this one and I don’t want any evidence compromised by the weather, curious cops, or reporters.’
‘Understood.’
Zack glanced at the shelter. ‘Also, make sure Ms Dillon and Ms O’Neil don’t leave the shelter unless I know about it. I want to talk to them both.’
‘Sure.’
Ms O’Neil. Lindsay.
Zack had not seen his wife since the meeting at the lawyer’s office almost a year ago when she’d served him with divorce papers. She had let the attorney do her talking and had refused to acknowledge him, because he had been drinking.
Hell, who was he kidding? He’d been drunk. Shit.
Zack had worked undercover narcotics for three years before he met Lindsay. Drugs had been a part of that world. He’d been careful to stay clear of the drugs, knowing he got tested by the department regularly. But he had started drinking more heavily during that time. Ego had had him believing he could handle the booze. He’d been wrong.
When he’d met Lindsay, he’d cut way back on his drinking. But then he’d started working more undercover assignments. The stress of hiding his private life from the drug world grew along with the cravings for booze. Soon he was chasing beers with shots of bourbon.
Lindsay had figured out what was happening very quickly. She had begged him to stop drinking and to consider AA meetings. He’d assured her he didn’t have a problem. He’d seen the hope in her eyes. She’d wanted to believe him but when he hadn’t quit, she’d tossed him out. He’d felt betrayed, furious, and he’d done the dumbest thing he could have. He’d slept with another woman. Lindsay had found out and there’d been no going back after that.
That day in the lawyer’s office, he’d been royally pissed because she’d not returned any of his phone calls. He’d said terrible things to Lindsay, hoping to wound her the way her throwing him out had hurt him. His words had found their mark. Unshed tears had glistened in her eyes when she’d fled the attorney’s office.
Zack would like to have said he’d joined AA right after that meeting. But he hadn’t. He’d stayed drunk another month before his brother, Malcolm, had threatened to expose his drinking to the department if he didn’t get sober. Zack had agreed. With the help of his family, he had sobered up.
After he’d been sober sixty days, he’d known he’d have to leave narcotics. So he’d parlayed his arrest record and gotten a transfer out of narcotics to homicide. He’d been in the new job eight months.
Zack had wanted to call Lindsay after he’d gotten sober and apologize for all the crap he’d put her through. But he’d been afraid she’d reject him and he didn’t fully trust his sobriety those first few weeks. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. He got stronger, more in control of the cravings that would never really leave him. But now, nearly a year had passed since that day in the lawyer’s office, and here they were: married strangers.
He wasn’t sure what he expected when he saw Lindsay, but he did know that their first meeting wouldn’t be easy under the best of circumstances – nothing with his wife had ever been uncomplicated. Intruding into his crime scene was classic Lindsay.
What he hadn’t anticipated was her pale skin and the veil of bravado that was as thin as her frame.
This past year had been hard on her too.
Zack’s head throbbed. He shoved out a breath and buried the remorse. He had a job to do.
The snap of rubber gloves had Zack turning toward the forensics tech, Sara Martin. Tall, slim, and in her early thirties, she wore her long auburn hair in a tight ponytail at the base of her neck. She’d slid crisp blue coveralls over her clothes and booties over her shoes. In the three years he’d known her she was always immaculate, always contained no matter what the situation.
‘Sorry it took me so long.’ Sara’s sweet perfume drifted above the blood’s pungent rusty smell. ‘When my beeper went off I was still in the shower. So what do we have?’
‘Harold Turner.’
She didn’t look surprised. ‘It’s a wonder he lived this long. Guy had a ton of enemies.’ A digital camera dangled from her neck and she switched it on, then started to snap pictures. ‘Jesus, his left hand is gone.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What can you tell me about the murder?’ Sara said.
‘I just got here myself. But from the looks of it, Harold was shot point-blank in the chest and his left hand severed. In which order, I don’t know yet. The medical examiner should be able to tell me.’
Sara nodded, lowered the camera. ‘Blood-splatter patterns suggest he was shot where he fell. The bullet to the chest would have been enough to kill him.’
She squatted and studied the body. ‘There seem to be no bruises, no scratches, and no signs of trauma. And there’d be signs of all that if the killer tried to take the hand first.’
‘Harold was a street-savvy guy and didn’t trust easily. But it looks like he came of his own free will with the killer. His
car isn’t parked on the street.’
That caught her off guard. ‘He rode here with his killer?’
‘I think so. But that only narrows the search to about a million people,’ Zack said.
‘What would make him get into the car with a killer?’
‘Look at his left arm.’
She frowned. ‘Track marks. You think he came for drugs?’
Zack understood the power of addiction. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’
She snapped more pictures. ‘With all the blood it will be a miracle if the killer didn’t get any on his feet. I’ll search for footprints.’ Sara glanced up at the sky and frowned before she lowered her lens back to Harold’s wrist. ‘Any sign of the hand?’
‘Not yet. I’ve got officers walking the backyard searching for it.’
‘Why take the hand? Some kind of trophy?’
‘Maybe.’
She glanced around at the houses. ‘I’m guessing a silencer was used. Gunshot residue will tell me if the killer was close.’
‘Work fast. I don’t think the weather is going to hold.’
Sara nodded. ‘Morning news says late morning thunderstorms coming out of the west.’
Not good. A scene like this could take days to process and it appeared that they might only have hours.
‘I’ll leave you to your work. Thanks.’ Zack stepped back, aware that tension had settled in his lower-back muscles. He wanted a beer but that was out of the question. He’d have to settle for a long run along the river.
‘Hey, Zack.’
‘Yeah?’
Sara flipped her bangs out of her eyes, which were bright with anticipation. ‘I’m having a party this weekend to celebrate my promotion. Care to come?’
Over the last couple of months Sara had asked him out a few times. He’d made the mistake of sleeping with her a year ago. Since then, he had made a point of keeping their relationship professional and sidestepping all of her invitations. He couldn’t explain why but he felt he owed fidelity to Lindsay until the divorce papers were signed. ‘Thanks, Sara, but I don’t think I’ll make it.’
She didn’t hide her disappointment. ‘You sure you can’t come? Everyone at headquarters is going to be there. The party should be a real crush.’
‘Sorry. I’m going to have to pass, Sara.’ He offered a wan smile and took a step back.
Sara nodded thoughtfully and let her gaze drift from him to the shelter. ‘When you see Lindsay, tell her I said hello.’
Chapter Four
Monday, July 7, 9:45 A.M.
Lindsay leaned over the sink in the shelter’s kitchen, staring out the window toward the crime scene. Zack had expanded the crime scene to include the entire backyard. No doubt, he’d seal it for days, months. If anything, he was thorough.
Any hopes she’d had of preserving the shelter’s anonymity had vanished when she’d spoken to Zack. He wasn’t going to cut one corner on this investigation. She’d asked Ruby to call around to other shelters to find beds for her six residents.
Lindsay watched as the forensics technician brushed her bangs off her forehead as she stared up at Zack. The tech leaned toward him a fraction, her smile subtle but flirty. One hundred dollars said the chick was wearing perfume.
A familiar knot burned in the pit of her stomach. Was she the one Zack had slept with the night she’d thrown him out of their apartment? Painful memories compressed her heart. She turned from the window. It took a moment before she could breathe deeply.
Lindsay’s fingers tightened into fists. ‘I don’t care who he sleeps with now.’
Ringing phones startled her from her mood. All at once three lines lit up on the phone on the kitchen wall.
Lindsay slid open the pocket door that separated the kitchen from the conference room. Ruby sat at a small desk, the phone cradled under her ear. She mouthed ‘line two.’
‘Got it.’ Lindsay picked up the line in the kitchen. ‘Sanctuary Women’s Shelter.’
‘Lindsay?’
It was Dr Sam Begley, chief resident in emergency medicine at Mercy Hospital. Immediately, the pressure in her shoulders relaxed. Sam and Lindsay had met six months ago when she’d given a seminar on domestic violence to the hospital staff.
‘Sam, what can I do for you?’ She leaned against the sink, her back to the murder scene.
‘You might want to come down here,’ he said in a sober tone. ‘I’ve got a woman in cubicle six who’s been badly beaten. Her story has changed a couple of times. I think the abuse is domestic.’
A protective urge welled inside her. ‘How bad are her injuries?’
‘Cracked ribs. Bruised arms. Sprained wrist.’
She rubbed her temples with her fingertips. A headache was starting to pound behind her eyes. ‘Did she say who did it?’
‘No, but she exhibits all the signs you outlined. No bruises on her face. Whoever did this didn’t want anyone to know she’d been slapped around.’
‘Did she say anything about what happened?’
‘She said she fell down some stairs. I was hoping the shelter had a bed available.’
Lindsay turned toward the window facing the cops crowding her backyard. ‘I don’t think we’ll have a bed for a few days. But I could talk to her, try to get her in another place if she’ll take it.’
He sighed into the phone. ‘Good. She needs someone to talk sense into her.’
‘You sound tired. Did you pull another eighteen-hour shift?’
He chuckled. ‘No rest for the wicked.’
Lindsay admired Sam. He was one of the hardest-working people she knew. She checked her watch. Better to stay, deal with Zack, and be done with him. ‘I’m stuck here at the shelter for another hour or so. Can you hold on to her?’
‘She’s over eighteen and can walk out of here any time she wants.’ He dropped his voice a notch. ‘But you know how slow the paperwork moves around this place. It could easily take a couple of hours before she’s discharged.’
Lindsay couldn’t help but smile. Sam made life easy. ‘I’ll be by as soon as I can.’
‘Good.’
‘You’re one of the good guys, Dr Sam Begley.’ She imagined his face turning red.
‘You’re the one who does the real work.’ He hesitated. ‘I had fun at the movies last week. We should do it again sometime soon.’
‘Sounds good.’ She hadn’t really thought of their outing as anything more than a friendly trip to the movies until Sam had kissed her. The awkward moment underscored the fact that she’d not been out with another man since she’d left Zack.
‘How about tonight?’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll buy you a slice of birthday cake.’
Her birthday was in two days. She’d almost forgotten. Leave it to Sam to remember.
‘I’m going to be working late tonight.’ She was grateful to have a real excuse. ‘Rain check? Maybe next week? And make the cake carrot.’
He laughed. ‘Consider it done.’
She glanced at her phone console, noticing two other lines blinking. ‘Hey, look, I’ve got other calls. Lots of stuff going on here today.’
‘Everything all right?’
‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I see you.’
‘No problem. See you in about an hour.’
‘Thanks.’ Lindsay hung up and caught Ruby’s gaze.
Ruby cupped her hand over the receiver. ‘Line three. Dana Miller.’
Lindsay’s stomach knotted with tension. ‘Thanks.’
Dana, the shelter’s board chairman, was essentially Lindsay’s boss. Had Dana already heard about the murder or was the call about the missed teleconference? Neither topic boded well.
She punched line three. ‘Hello, Dana.’
‘What’s going on over there? First you miss our phone meeting and then the director at Riverside Shelter calls and tells me Ruby requested bed space for some of your residents.’
Lindsay sighed. No beating around the bush with Dana. ‘A body was found behind the shelte
r.’
‘What!’
‘It wasn’t one of our residents,’ she rushed to say.
‘Who the hell was it?’
‘I don’t know. The police aren’t telling me much right now.’
‘Damn it, Lindsay. This is not good.’
Lindsay pictured Dana sitting in her high-rise office wearing her trademark red Brooks Brothers suit. On her desk there’d be a half-full cup of coffee and a cigarette burning in a crystal ashtray. Dana had made millions in real estate and had built a reputation as a hard-driving ball buster who disdained sloppy emotions. Lindsay never could figure why she’d decided to champion battered women or Sanctuary.
‘I know the victim is a man, and as soon as I know anything else I’ll call you,’ Lindsay said.
‘Do you know how the guy died?’
‘No.’
Dana exhaled. ‘We don’t need bad press, Lindsay. Not after what happened before with that other woman.’
‘Her name was Pam Rogers.’ Dana may have forgotten the woman’s name but Lindsay never would.
Dana blew out a lungful of smoke into the receiver. ‘Handle this, Lindsay. I don’t want to defend the shelter again to the media. It’s not good for me or you.’
Handle this. ‘Consider it done.’
The line went dead.
Ruby poked her head into the kitchen, clearly having overheard the conversation. ‘Sorry about that. I wanted to call Riverside first thing. If we can get Aisha Greenland and her boys transferred there, the boys won’t have to switch schools.’
‘The children’s well-being comes before politics. You did the right thing. Did they get bed space?’
‘Yes. I’ve also put a call in to Michelle Franklin over at Hayden House.’ The shelter was in the east end of the county. ‘They’ve got two beds.’
‘We’ve got six people here now.’ Lindsay mentally went through the list of residents. ‘Greenlands to Riverside. Tracy and Cindy to Hayden House. Call the Y and see if they have a bed for Barbara.’
‘I’ll take care of it.’
‘I’ll contact the women at work and tell them what’s happening. The last thing they need is to hear about this on the news.’
