by V. B. Tenery
In a matching seat across from her husband, pretty Ann Grayson’s head rested against the chair back as though she’d turned to face the killer before the fatal shot left a gaping hole in her chest. Her face, ashen now, had delicate features and a wide, sensitive mouth. A passionate face in life, filled with wisdom and strength.
Matt blew out a deep breath. His jaw muscles tightened, unable to stop the question he had taught himself never to ask. Why, Lord?
He stood back and let his gaze roam around the room, filing every detail again. He wanted to remember, sear the scene into his mind. I promise you, Ethan. Somebody will pay for this.
Joe walked up and placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Matt rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Looks like the shooter stood in the doorway. Shot Ethan, then Ann, then caught Victoria as she came downstairs. Odd. Why a rifle and not a handgun?”
Joe shook his head. “Maybe the rifle was the only thing available.”
“That’s possible. But this looks too deliberate to be random. My gut tells me this was well-planned in advance.”
Matt moved on into the back of the house toward the kitchen. The pungent smell of smoke still hung in the air.
The acrid odor of burned food grew stronger as he reached the kitchen. A lab tech had marked and numbered the three shell casings outside the entrance for the photographer. The bodies were gone, but chalk outlines indicated where the victims fell.
The same scenario as the library. Shots came from just inside the room. Arrogant and accurate. Only one shot per victim. “Looks as though these three were shot first.”
“What makes you say that?” Joe asked.
Matt stepped into the room. “If Peter Grayson had heard the gunshots, he would have gone to check them out.”
“And Ethan wouldn’t have checked because . . .?”
Leaning over the island, Matt examined the chalk drawings on the floor. They almost overlapped. “Peter was a hunter, like his father. He was always shooting at targets. Ethan wouldn’t have paid any attention to the noise, figuring it was Peter.”
Joe readjusted his hat. “Wouldn’t there have been screams after the first shot?”
“Most likely, but the sound of shots would carry farther than screams. The kitchen is a good distance from the front of the house, and the walls are thick. Ethan and Ann were used to horseplay between the young people.”
Behind him, Lucy scratched notes in her notebook.
Detective Davis caught his attention. “The gardener’s in the den. We’re ready to talk to him if you want to sit in.”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “Did Sean identify the bodies?”
Lucy nodded.
Halfway down the corridor, Davis halted abruptly and turned to Matt. “We’ll want to notify the next of kin before Hall gives it to them in the news. You have any idea where to start?”
“I’ll take care of it. I met Martin Norris, Ethan’s assistant, last year. I’ll give him a call. He’ll know how to contact what’s left of the family.”
Sean McKinnon sat almost catatonic in an antique French crapaud armchair, his face pale—eyes red from a heroic effort to hold back tears.
Turner’s partner, Cole Allen, stepped into the room, carrying a large white Persian cat. “Look what I found.”
“That’s Longfellow, Mrs. Grayson’s cat,” Sean said, holding out his arms. “I wondered where he’d gotten off to.”
Davis pulled Lucy aside. “You take the questioning.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. She gave a curt nod, pulled up a chair next to Sean, and placed her recorder on the end table. “Tell us what happened.”
McKinnon recounted his movements that morning. He stopped twice and took deep shuddering breaths. When he finished, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
“When did you last see the family alive, Sean?” Lucy asked, her voice gentle.
She was good with the old gardener, Matt thought. Sean had relaxed a little, breathing more normally. Too bad she didn’t use that empathy with her co-workers.
The gardener opened his eyes and turned an unfocused gaze on the detective. “When they arrived early Saturday afternoon. I brought in their luggage then went about my duties. All except for Miss Emily. She dinna come home with the family. She must have arrived after I left.”
“Why didn’t she fly back with her mother?” Lucy asked.
“Amanda said she stayed in London for a friend’s engagement party. The only one I saw last night before I left, was Amanda.” His voice broke. “I stopped by just before six to tell her I would be eating dinner in town.”
“Why? I mean, since the family had just arrived home?” Lucy asked.
“Sunday is my day off. My son, Jack, called and asked me to meet him at the Red Dog Bar and Grill to catch a bite and watch the game.”
“What time was this?”
Sean rubbed a rough hand over his chin. “I arrived about five-thirty.”
“Did you notice anything unusual when you left the estate, any cars outside the gate?”
McKinnon shook his head.
Matt moved into the gardener’s line of vision. “Was the family expecting guests last night?”
“Not that I know of. It wouldna be like them to have guests when they’d just returned, not having a full staff. The butler Perkins, Amanda and Miss Emily always traveled with the family. Perkins stayed behind to close up the London house.”
He gulped and a lone tear trickled down his cheek. “I’m to pick up Perkins at the airport Wednesday. I canna tell him they’re gone.”
“Do you know of anyone who might want the family dead, who might be responsible for this…?”
The gardener shook his head slowly.
Matt eased from the room. In the entryway, two black bags rolled past him on gurneys. Certainly not the first body bags he’d ever seen, but somehow, they seemed unbefitting, too dehumanizing for Ethan and Ann.
County Coroner, Lisa Martinez and Joe Wilson trailed behind the bodies.
“Any idea what time the murders took place?” Matt asked Lisa.
“From the body temperatures and the progression of rigor mortis, they’ve been dead about ten to fourteen hours. You do the math.”
He stopped at the yellow tape. “You guys wrapping it up?”
“These are the last two victims,” Lisa said. “The others have already gone to the morgue. Not sure how much longer McCulloch will be here. Probably until Davis is satisfied everything has been tagged and bagged.” She touched Joe’s arm. “I’ll see you outside.”
“Call me if you need anything.” Joe patted Matt’s shoulder and followed Lisa through the entrance.
The crime-scene began to break up, leaving only Matt, Sean, and the two detectives inside.
The bodies were gone, but the aura of death lingered.
Only Victoria had survived…if she pulled through. And survive she must. She could identify the killer.
CHAPTER 3
Grayson Manor
Davis stood under the portico out of the rain and watched as Lucy gave vent to her anger. She stopped Cole in the vestibule. Gesturing with irate body language, catching his arm, she spoke in a low guttural voice Davis couldn’t understand.
“Turner, you want to ride with me?” He’d rather have a tonsillectomy with a dinner fork, but he had to start somewhere. Lucy Turner was a good investigator. He just hated the thought of tiptoeing around her feelings while trying to solve a major murder case. Besides, he’d flunked sensitivity training.
He hissed out a deep breath through his teeth. With any luck, the brutal crime-scene back there would convince the woman to do her job without the drama.
Ignoring the rain, she stomped out to Davis’ unmarked Ford. He considered letting her stand in the rain to cool off, but he pushed the lock release button on his key fob instead. She jerked the car door open, slid into the seat, slammed it closed, and crossed her arms.
Davis took his seat behind the wheel and
turned to face her. “We need to get something straight from the get-go, Turner. I won’t put up with you actin’ like a four-year-old. I’ll have Matt remove you from this case so fast you’ll think you broke the sound barrier. I let my daughter get away with tantrums, but you ain’t no child. Five people are dead. It’s our job to catch the killer. I won’t accept anything but a professional attitude and your best work. You got that?”
A red flush started at her neck and spread to her face. She gazed out the window for a long moment, then unfolded her arms. “Yeah, I got it.”
She didn’t sound happy, but he’d spoken his mind and he meant every word of it.
Silence hung heavy before she spoke again. With a glance at his ring finger, she said, “If you have kids, you must be married.”
Davis shook his head. “One kid, divorced. You have kids?”
“Yeah. Two boys. Where are we going?”
“We’re going to the station to look at that gate surveillance tape, see what we find, and send a couple of black-and-whites out to ask if neighbors saw or heard anything yesterday. Then we wait for Lisa to call and tell us when she starts the autopsies. She’s pushing this to the head of the line. When the call comes, we go to the morgue.”
****
Lucy watched Davis as he drove. Dressed in his nine-hundred-dollar suit, he bore a remarkable resemblance to Denzel Washington. Where did Davis get the money to dress in designer suits? His salary couldn’t cover his wardrobe expenses. A glance down at her own off-the-rack pantsuit added to her insecurities, which were legion.
Davis was arrogant, but she respected the man for laying down the ground rules. She knew where the lines were. Most of all, she hated that he was right. This wasn’t the time to vent. But she was hopeless at hiding her emotions. Thoughts rolled off her tongue before her brain engaged. Anyway, her quarrel wasn’t with Davis. Matt Foley had made the decision to remove her as lead.
The Grayson case was the biggest of her career. Solving it should get a big atta-girl in her personnel file and a pay-grade promotion on the next performance review.
With two kids, a mortgage, car loan, and insurance, money issues were never far from her thoughts. No child support from her low-life ex-husband, but it was better that way. At least Hank didn’t know where to find her and the kids. That was a blessing.
A family had been viciously murdered, for no apparent reason. Her head had to be completely in the game. The motive wasn’t burglary. None of Grayson’s priceless art objects appeared to be missing. This one had been personal.
****
Matt made sure the officers secured Grayson Manor, and then he saw Sean McKinnon back to his cottage. “Sean, can you ask Jack to come stay with you? Or can you go stay with him?”
“Jack left this morning on a hunting trip to Wyoming with his friends. That’s why he called last night. Wanted to see me before he left.”
Beneath Sean’s words was an unmistakable concern about his son. Did he think Jack was somehow involved? It wasn’t inconceivable. There’d been bad blood between Ethan and Jack. Matt couldn’t ignore the fact Sean’s son was a viable suspect. “Where in Wyoming, Sean?”
Sean lifted a weary gaze as Matt spoke, and when he answered, his tone signaled he understood the reason for Matt’s question. “Jackson Hole.”
Back in his car, Matt pulled out his cell phone, punched in the number for Grayson Limited, and asked to speak to Martin Norris. A few seconds passed before Norris picked up the phone.
“Norris, this is Chief Matt Foley in Twin Falls…” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. There was no easy way to say it. “I have bad news for you.” As succinctly as possible, he told Norris what happened.
In an English accent, husky with emotion, Norris asked. “The whole family, except Victoria? She’ll get the best of care, won’t she?”
“If it’s something the locals can’t handle, they’ll airlift her to Dallas.”
“Thank you for calling, Chief. I wondered about Ethan. He’s never late without ringing ahead. I tried to call him a few times this morning and didn’t get an answer. I’ll notify the family. And, of course, I need to advise the Grayson Board of Directors, unless you feel I shouldn’t.”
“You can tell them, but ask that they keep it quiet. The sooner you contact the family, the better. I don’t know how long we can keep this from the press.”
“Of course, I’ll get right on it,” Norris said. “Alexander, their oldest son, is in Australia. Lady Ann’s brother, Sir Ian is a missionary in Mexico. Lady Ann’s father has been in poor health. I’ll let her brother decide when to tell him. Ethan had no family. He was an only child, and his parents died years ago.”
Matt looked out the car window at the immaculate garden, vivid in the late-morning mist. “Someone will need to let the morgue know which mortuary you want to use.”
Norris exhaled an audible breath. “If I can’t contact Sir Ian soon, I’ll make the decision.”
Matt disconnected but didn’t put the phone away. He had another call to make—a difficult one. He activated the phone and punched in a familiar number.
****
During her lunch break, Sara Bradford left the Global Optics building, seeking a quiet place away from the hectic morning. She’d spent hours soothing the frayed nerves of regional vice-presidents worried about a new competitor that had sprung up near the company’s most profitable retail stores. All part of her responsibilities after her promotion to president six months ago.
She pulled in front of the English bakery on the town square. They had a deli in back that served chicken potpie to die for. Most of the lunch crowd had come and gone. She placed her order at the counter and found a table in the corner. After only a few bites of her meal, her iPhone chirped. Matt Foley’s name flashed on the screen.
Sara smiled. Her relationship with the Twin Falls Police Chief had not always been good. For four years, he’d considered her the prime suspect in her husband’s murder. Over the last year, something special had developed between them. She’d learned to trust him implicitly. He’d literally saved her life, twice from attempts made by a determined killer.
“Sara…” Matt paused, his voice minus its usual vibrancy. “Brace yourself. Emily Castleton and her mother have been murdered…most of the Grayson family as well. Victoria is alive. She’s at Twin Falls Memorial. I wanted to let you know since you knew both girls. I’ll get to the hospital as soon as I can.”
For a moment, Sara’s chest squeezed so tight she struggled to breathe. Emily’s lovely face flashed through Sara’s mind. A natural with kids, Emily’s laughing, gentle presence drew children like the pied piper. “Matt, what happened...who?”
“I don’t have any answers right now.”
Lunch forgotten, Sara placed her hand on her brow and blinked back tears, unable to absorb the tragedy all at once. Jumbled questions crowded her mind. Who would want to kill the Grayson family? Certainly, there could be no logical reason for such insanity. It made no sense.
She grabbed her purse. “I’m leaving now.”
Twin Falls Memorial Hospital
Heavy-laden clouds followed Sara’s drive over the short distance from the deli to the newly renovated hospital. The facility was state of the art. The administration boasted of its electronic record keeping. A spacious hallway in a blue and mauve theme led to the emergency waiting room.
Sara recognized the pretty blonde near the magazine rack as Caroline Norris, wife of Ethan Grayson’s assistant. She and Caroline had become acquainted at a number of local charity functions.
Caroline motioned her over. “Hello, Sara. I guess you heard. Martin asked me to be here for Victoria when she awakes.”
She nodded. “I heard Victoria survived. Any news?”
Caroline looked down at her hands and inclined her head towards the OR entrance. “She’s still in surgery.”
Outside the huge windows, the sky darkened and it began to rain. Gusts of wind increased in velocity, creating
the illusion of rain falling sideways. Sudden bursts of lightning filled the room with brief flashes of brilliance, and claps of thunder vibrated the windows.
A hurricane in the Gulf had sent the promised violent weather. The storm’s intensity mirrored the struggle in Sara’s soul, a war between white-hot rage and sorrow. Her eyes burned, but she couldn’t cry. Tears wouldn’t change a world where humanity held life in such low esteem.
She shivered as visions of Victoria Grayson and Emily seared her thoughts, so much alike they could have been sisters. Both just turned twenty, tall and slim, with the perfect complexion English women seemed blessed with. Victoria’s hair was dark brown, her eyes hazel, while Emily’s hair had light brown hues, and her eyes the most extraordinary shade of violet-blue.
Victoria, the quiet one. Studious and soft-spoken, Emily a born crusader. Tenacious and fought tirelessly to change the living conditions of the children in the church bus ministry. Her death seemed a mockery of all that was good.
****
Matt stopped off at the city manager’s office to bring his boss, Doug Anderson, up to date. As he left, Davis called, “Lisa just told me she’ll start the cuts on the Graysons in twenty minutes if you want to sit in.”
It wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he felt compelled to go, out of respect for Ethan.
The parking lot behind the morgue was unusually crowded. Maybe Lisa had called in extra help. Somewhere nearby, an engine roared to life and someone racked a hotrod’s glass pipes.
Matt pulled into the only available space, and joined Davis and Turner at the entrance. They exchanged nods, entered the building, and walked silently down a long green corridor to two metal doors. The smell of industrial-strength chemicals intensified with each step. Inside a scrub room, they donned paper gowns, masks, and booties before entering the autopsy room.
