Deathwatch: Inspirational WWII Suspense

by V. B. Tenery

  “Thanks, Stein, but we brought our own.” They slipped into the footwear and gloves as they entered.

  Stein motioned for another officer to take over the post and led them to the sunken living room with floor to ceiling windows and an amazing view of the lighted Dallas skyline in the distance.

  Stein sized up the always fashionable black detective. “Tell me, Davis, how do you manage to look like you just stepped from a men’s catalog when you’ve been rousted out of bed after midnight?”

  “Simple. I never went to bed. It’s supposed to be a holiday weekend, remember?”

  Stein shrugged. “Maybe for ordinary folks.”

  Davis scanned the room, noting the fine hand of an interior decorator. The room was large with off-white walls on three sides, displaying large modern oil paintings, all angles and lines of bright primary colors. Soft white leather and glass furniture added just enough warmth to keep the place from feeling like a showroom.

  He moved down the two steps to the main floor and gazed at the woman’s body. She lay on her side, blond hair splayed around her head, feet bare, almost as if she were sleeping. The blood on the thick sand-colored carpet and the light blue crop-top and shorts she wore ruined the illusion. Caucasian, late twenties to early thirties, and lovely in a polished way, makeup still perfect and recent manicure and pedicure. Tiny American flags were painted on each big toe.

  That small detail sparked a silent rage. When this beautiful young woman prepared to celebrate the holiday she had no idea she wouldn’t live to see it. Someone had stolen from her the most precious thing she had. Her life. The killer had robbed her of all her tomorrows.

  He walked a circle around the body and turned to Officer Stein. “Stab wounds.”

  “Looks that way to me,” Stein replied.

  “Did you find the weapon?”

  “Yeah, a kitchen knife from a block set. Looks to be wiped clean.” He nodded towards the doorway. “Here comes the woman who can give us some definite answers.”

  Medical Examiner, Lisa Martinez, stepped down to the living room and place a black bag beside the victim. The coroner was a stunningly beautiful woman, her thick dark hair pulled into a ponytail, with dark brown eyes that snapped with energy. She exchanged nods with Davis and Hunter. They were colleagues and had worked more crime scenes together than either of them cared to count. She knelt beside the body and started the preliminary examination.

  Davis stepped back to give Lisa space and directed his question to Stein. “Has the victim been ID’ed?”

  Stein nodded. “Yeah, McKenzie St. Martin. The guy who found the body identified her. This is her apartment.”

  “Who found her?” Hunter asked.

  “Her next door neighbor, Gerald Robb.”

  “How’d he get in?” Davis asked.

  Stein stepped back a few paces and lowered his voice. “He had a key. Said she gave it to him to feed her cat when she traveled.”

  Davis scanned the room. No sign of a cat anywhere.

  “Robb took the animal next door,” Stein said.

  “Where’s the neighbor now?” Davis asked.

  “Guy in the red polo by the front door,” Stein said. “I told him to hang around.”

  Davis gave his partner a knowing look and Hunter strode towards Robb.

  ***

  “Mr. Robb?” Hunter asked.

  The man gave a slight nod and his hand smoothed his red shirt then went to his sleek latte-colored hair. Hunter’s first impression was of a man with his emotions under control despite the situation. A handsome body-builder type, who’s grey-eyed gaze kept wandering to the body in the living room.

  Hunter pulled the man aside, away from the crowd in the hallway. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  The two ducked into an alcove and Hunter removed his notebook from his inside coat pocket. He didn’t trust recordings. They could vanish on you for no reason. “Tell me how you came to find the victim.”

  Robb cleared his throat and his gaze wondered back to the living room. “I heard shouting at her place between 5:30 or 6:00 this evening. I couldn’t understand what was said, just that the voices were angry. I saw her friend leave shortly afterward. I had work to take care of, and when I finished I knocked on her door to see if she wanted to come over for a drink. She didn’t answer. Months ago she gave me a key so I let myself in. I found her . . . like that.”

  “What time was this?” Hunter asked.

  “Around eleven, eleven-twenty, somewhere around that time. I called 911 immediately.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “No. but my fingerprints will be all over the place. I’m in her apartment from time to time.”

  “Did you know who the friend was?”

  “He’s an attorney at the firm where she worked. His name is Josh Bradford. She introduced us a few months ago.”

  “Did you notice if he had blood on his clothing when he left?”

  “He was headed for the elevator and I only saw his back. I didn’t see any blood.”

  “How well did you know Ms. St. Martin?”

  “I guess you could say we were good friends. We didn’t socialize outside the apartment complex, but we had drinks together in my place or hers pretty often.”

  “You weren’t lovers?”

  “No, she usually had something going with someone else. The Bradford guy lasted the longest. She hoped to marry him.”

  “Do you have the name of the firm where she worked?”

  Robb gave him the firm’s name and Hunter jotted it down in his notebook. Hunter considered asking him to submit to a luminal test but if Robb killed the woman, he would have showered and changed before he called 911.

  Hunter handed Robb a card. “You can go back to your apartment. If you think of anything that might be helpful, give me a call.”

  Davis met him when he walked back into the living room. “Anything?”

  Hunter shrugged. “He didn’t confess.”

  Monday, July 6

  Stanbridge Law Firm

  Dallas, Texas

  Josh unfolded the Dallas Morning News on his desk. Another city in Iraq taken over by ISIS. Already in a low mood, he had no desire to read more bad news from the Middle East. The depression that settled over him last night was still with him, deeper than muscle, deeper than bone. Sara was leaving him. She hadn’t said so, but he’d read it in her eyes.

  He started to toss the paper aside when a caption in the lower right corner stopped him made his heart beat in double-time.

  PROMENIENT ATTORNEY MURDERED

  Below the headline was a picture of McKenzie St. Martin.

  That couldn’t be true.

  He quickly scanned the article—his hand trembled spilling coffee over the edge of the ceramic mug. Leaning back in the chair he ran his hand down his face. She had been murdered, stabbed. He’d been at her apartment last night and there would be witnesses. Probably a video of his entrance and exit. That could be a good thing unless she was killed immediately after he left. Medical examiners couldn’t pinpoint the exact time of death.

  Eyes closed, he rested his head against the chair’s soft leather back. What a fool he’d been to play with his and Sara’s lives so callously. Whatever happened, he deserved to pay for his sins, but Sara didn’t warrant being drawn into this sordid mess.

  After a few calming breaths, he picked up the phone and called his friend Harry Golden. Josh needed a criminal attorney and Golden was one of the best.

  When he hung up from speaking to Golden, he called Sara.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tuesday, July 7

  Stanbridge Law Firm

  Dallas, Texas

  Josh’s secretary stuck her head in the door. “Detectives Davis and Hunter are here, Mr. Bradford.”

  “Thanks, Nancy. Send them in.” He glanced at his attorney who’d hurried over as soon as Josh told him the detectives were on their way to interview him.

  Harry Golden straightened his tailore
d Italian jacket and sent his client a troubled look. “I wish I could convince you to say nothing and let me do the talking. You’re a lawyer. You know the importance of keeping your mouth shut with the authorities. That part of the Mirada Warning that says, ‘Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,’ isn’t just rhetoric. Why hire me if you’re not going to take my advice?”

  “I don’t plan to tell them anything they don’t already know, Harry.”

  “Don’t be naive, Josh. The issue isn’t what they know, it’s what they can prove.”

  ***

  An older woman with short grey hair and a well-tailored red suit showed Davis and his partner into a corner office with an impressive view of downtown Dallas from a wall of floor to ceiling windows. A large desk and credenza held center stage with a small conference table and six chairs. A well-tanned man in a gray Armani suit, and silver hair sat at the table.

  “Have a seat, gentlemen,” Bradford said. “This is my attorney, Harry Golden.”

  Davis observed Bradford as he made the introductions. Bradford had the same blond good looks of a young, Robert Redford—he appeared nothing at all like a killer, but few people did. The handsome attorney motioned them to sit across from Golden.

  After they were comfortably settled, Davis said, “We won’t take up much of your time, Mr. Bradford. We just have a few questions. How well did you know McKenzie St. Martin?”

  “She was a colleague and a personal friend.”

  “Were you at her apartment last evening?”

  “I was. But I assure you she was alive and well when I left.”

  “How did you learn of her death?”

  Josh nodded at the newspaper on his desk. “From the Dallas Morning News.”

  Davis glanced over to ensure Hunter was taking notes and continued. “Can you tell me why you were there?”

  Before Bradford could answer, Golden spoke up. “Josh, I’m advising you not to answer.”

  Bradford ignored him and seemed to collect his thoughts before he spoke. “If you don’t already know, you will soon find out, Ms. St. Martin and I were having an affair. I stopped by to tell her it was over.”

  “A neighbor said he heard loud voices while you were there.”

  Bradford nodded. “She didn’t take the news well.”

  Davis tried to hide his astonishment at Bradford’s candor. He was either an innocent man with nothing to hide, or the most brazen killer Davis had ever encountered. “Why did you end the affair?”

  The skin on Bradford’s face tightened and his jaw muscles flexed. “She called my wife . . . said I wanted a divorce. That wasn’t true and I didn’t want my wife hurt.” He cast a hostile gaze at Davis. “And in case you’re thinking my wife killed McKenzie, there was no motive. My wife knows me. Knows I wouldn’t send someone else to ask for a divorce.”

  Bradford shifted in his chair and shot a glance at his attorney before moving back to Davis. “I’ve been straight forward with you, Detective. For my wife’s sake, I would prefer not to see this played out in the media.”

  “Be assured, Mr. Bradford, we don’t share our investigations on the evening news,” Davis said. “Where did you go after you left the St. Martin apartment?”

  “I went directly home, where I remained for the rest of the evening.”

  “Was your wife at home when you arrived?”

  “Yes.”

  Despite Bradford’s disclaimer, statistics had already put his wife at the top of their suspects list, right next to her husband.

  Tuesday, July 7

  Twin Falls Baptist Church

  Twin Falls, Texas

  After the detectives left, Josh called Pastor Seth Davison and asked to see him. The pastor said to meet him in the church office in thirty-minutes.

  For most of their married life, Josh avoided going to church with his wife except on holidays where he could blend in with the crowd. In reaching out to Pastor Davidson, he acknowledged his weakness. He needed help to save his marriage, maybe even to save his life—he’d failed too often on his own.

  Only one vehicle sat in the parking lot when Josh arrived. He pulled in beside the pastor’s older model black pickup. The church’s front door was open and he made his way through the darkened sanctuary to the office and rapped on the open door jamb.

  “Come in Josh,” Seth Davidson said and came from behind his desk to shake hands. The pastor was a little over medium height and heavy set with smiling blue eyes. He pointed Josh to an empty chair, then sat beside him. “How may I help you?”

  Josh closed his eyes, took a deep breath. His fingers tightened on the chair arm and he looked into the pastor’s eyes. “This isn’t easy for me Seth . . . my marriage is in trouble.” He drew in another deep breath. “I’ve been unfaithful to Sara almost from the beginning. I want to become the husband she deserves. I have to change. I’ve made a lot of broken promises . . .”

  “Before you continue, I need to ask you a question that will help me know where to start. Are you saved, Josh?” Seth asked.

  The question caught Josh off guard. After a beat, he nodded. “Yes, when I was twelve at church camp. I haven’t served the Lord much since.”

  “Knowing you’ve sinned is the first step to recovery. If you sincerely want to change, you can.”

  Josh dropped his head into his hands, his voice low and uncertain. “I’ve tried, Seth, I really have. I just can’t seem to avoid temptation . . .”

  “It won’t be easy. To break a bad habit, you need to replace it with a good one. When temptation knocks, shower your wife with attention. Do you think there are attractions so strong you can never overcome them?” Seth asked. “Think about it. If we were destined to sin without hope of overcoming our faults, there would have been no need for Jesus to die for sins we couldn’t prevent.”

  Seth clasp his shoulder. “That’s one of Satan’s favorite tricks, to make us believe we can’t turn over a new leaf, that we’re fated to sin without hope of redemption. With God’s help, nothing is impossible. Would you and Sara want to go into marriage counseling?”

  “I’ll talk to her, but I think . . . I’m afraid she’s finished with me. And I’m the one that needs the counseling.”

  “That may be true, but it will take a long time for her to trust you again. She’ll need frequent reminders that you’re making an effort. That’s what counseling is all about. Keeping the channels of communication open.”

  “All I can do is ask her.”

  Seth reached into his desk drawer and handed Josh a book. “This should help. It outlines your responsibilities to your wife with scripture references. Read it and look up those verses in your Bible.”

  “There’s something else I need to let you know.” He turned to face the pastor and told him about the death of McKenzie St. Martin.

  Seth stood when Josh finished speaking. “Let’s go into the sanctuary for prayer. Sounds like you’re going to need a band of angels in your corner.”

  Tuesday, July 7

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Twin Falls, Texas

  A summons from Dale McColloch, head of the Crime Scene Unit, sent Miles Davis to the crime lab. Hunter was already there. “What have you got for us, Mac?”

  “Not much that will be helpful. I’ve enhanced the apartment building’s security videos.” McColloch switched on the monitor and started the tape. It was clearer than most black and white tapes, but still grainy. “I’m only showing you Bradford’s entrance and exit. He was there twenty-two minutes. As you can see he’s wearing the same suit he arrived in. There’s a clear shot of him from the front leaving the elevator and one from the back as he leaves the lobby. There are no visible blood stains on his clothing and he isn’t carrying anything out with him. And as you know there were no bloody clothes found in the apartment.”

  “So what you’re saying is that Bradford doesn’t look good as our killer.”

  “Couldn’t he have removed his clothes, killed her, then
dressed? He could even have taken a shower afterward,” Hunter said.

  McColloch chuckled. “Not a bad idea, Chris, but the time frame makes that almost impossible. In my opinion it would take more than twenty-two minutes to argue with the victim, remove his suit, kill the woman, shower, redress, and get back down to the lobby. And by the way, we checked the drains for blood. There was none.”

  “O-kay, if he’s not our guy, we need to identify everyone on that tape who entered the building that day while she was alive and left after she was murdered,” Davis said. “We’ll need the best photos you can give us of those people, Mac. We can’t rule out the other tenants as suspects, especially the neighbor.” He turned to Hunter. “I want background checks on every resident in that building.”

  “Already started on it. The manager gave me a list of the tenants. I’m also running the manager through the system.”

  “Good. Have you run Gerald Robb’s prints?”

  “Mac just sent them to me. I’ll do that when I get back to my desk. I did run Robb’s name and social security number and got zilch.”

  “Are you still holding on to the crime scene?” Davis asked McColloch.

  “Yeah, we’ll finish up today. The manager is anxious to get in and replace the carpet. Wants to put the apartment back on the market. The guy has a real big heart.”

  “I assume you scanned the video for Mrs. Bradford?”

  McColloch nodded. “Nothing there of her coming or going.”

  Tuesday, July 7

  The Bradford Home

  Twin Falls, Texas

  Sara left work early again after Josh called to tell her about McKenzie’s death. At home she went upstairs, discarded her clothes, and stepped into the shower with its intricate tile pattern and rain shower-head. She stood there in the dim lighting, numb, letting the hot water flow over her head, hiding from the world.