The Truth About Family

by Kimberly Van Meter

  COLIN PAUSED BEFORE ENTERING the chief’s office. A voice inside his head told him to stop and think before charging in with both barrels. He was letting emotion rule his actions and that’s what got cops killed in the field. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself of the oath he took to uphold the law and turned the corner.

  The chief was bent over a report and didn’t notice Colin. He gave a short rap on the doorframe to announce his presence and Roger looked up. He looked relieved as he gestured for Colin to enter. “Damn reports are making my eyes swim,” he said, leaning back in his chair as Colin took a seat. “What can I do for you?”

  Colin licked his lips, unsure how to proceed. A look of concern passed over the chief’s face. “Danni okay?” he asked, suddenly at attention.

  “Danni’s fine,” he assured him, realizing there was no point in beating around the bush and wasting time. “Actually, Chief, I need to talk to you about some things I’ve found during the course of my investigation into the McNulty accident.”

  “Oh?” The chief’s eyebrows went up in wary interest. “What sort of things?”

  “Just some questions….”

  “Questions? About what?”

  Colin drew a deep breath. “It seems someone cut the brake line on Charlie’s truck.”

  Roger’s gaze narrowed. “Go on.”

  “And, well, in digging a bit I found reason to look into the events that happened in Charlie’s life thirty years ago…such as his wife’s and Hank Walker’s deaths.”

  “What reason would that be?” Roger’s mouth tightened and all sense of good humor fled from his expression. “Rose’s death was a suicide and Hank Walker’s was an accident. Case closed. No mystery and no bearing on what happened to Charlie on Old Copper.”

  Colin tensed under the rebuke but didn’t back down.

  “You mentioned being friends with Charlie at one time.”

  “Yeah? So? That was ancient history.”

  “So, why were you chosen to file the report on Hank’s accident? Seems there’d be a conflict of interest.”

  “There was no conflict,” the chief said, his tone almost a bark. “Because I was never Hank Walker’s friend.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing. There was no conflict.”

  The chief sent a hard stare Colin’s way, wordlessly telling him to drop it. “What if Hank’s death wasn’t an accident?” Colin blurted out, despite his good sense screaming for him to stop. “Maybe you missed something.”

  “What’s to miss? There was ice on the roads, he took a bad spill and bam! He died. There was nothing anyone could’ve done to save the poor bastard. It was an open-and-shut case.”

  “Just like Charlie’s?” he said softly, catching the chief’s pointed stare. Colin took a step forward, placing both hands on the desk. “Did you run a mechanic’s report on Hank’s truck?”

  Roger looked away. “I’m telling you, there was no need.”

  “Chief—”

  The sound of Roger’s heavy fist slamming down on the desk stunned Colin into silence. “Enough! Leave it be, detective.”

  The two men stared at each other until Roger heaved a short breath, satisfied the conversation was over. Not quite sure what to make of the chief’s oddly vehement refusal to talk about the old case, Colin turned to leave.

  “Don’t waste too much time on Hank Walker. He isn’t worth the effort.”

  “And why’s that?” Colin dared to ask.

  “Because he liked to beat women.” The chief looked away, then continued with a hint of disgust, “And he wasn’t what you’d call faithful, either.”

  Caroline—a battered woman. Something told him Erin had no idea.

  The chief shifted in his chair and his shoulders relaxed subtly. “Colin, you’re a good cop. I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

  Colin read true regret in the older man’s expression, adding a perplexing new layer to the situation. He nodded his acknowledgment of the apology, but the chief’s reaction had left him restless and edgy.

  As he walked back to his desk, he realized he’d come away with very little in the way of resolution. He’d hoped the chief would absolve himself with a few simple answers, but instead, Colin was left with the sinking feeling that the chief had something to hide.

  Colin sank heavily into his desk chair and stared at the stack of reports waiting for him but he made no move to start. His mind was elsewhere and his stomach was twisted in knots. He didn’t care what the chief said. Something awful happened thirty years ago, bad enough to create a secret between three people that was worth killing to keep quiet. But secrets, as Colin knew, had a way of coming to light sooner or later. He just had to ask the right questions. He closed his eyes for a second and concentrated on his options. Suddenly an echo of Leslie’s advice came to him in a flash….

  There should be a newspaper article or two somewhere.

  His eyes snapped open and a grim smile followed. God bless the press. If anyone could sniff out a secret, it was a journalist with the scent of blood in his nostrils. There was bound to be something he could glean from the newspaper archives he could put to use. And then—his smile faded—he could take the next step. What that step was he didn’t like to think about.

  ERIN’S EYES WERE DRY AND GRITTY and her legs were cramped from sitting in one position for hours as she’d poured over more journals, though she’d been disappointed to discover nothing new in Caroline’s later ones. It was nearly noon and her stomach was loudly reminding her that it was getting accustomed to the idea of food on a regular basis.

  Walking stiffly into the kitchen she grabbed a banana and had just snapped the tip to peel it when a knock at the front door stopped her. Her first thought was of Colin and she had to admit it wasn’t an unpleasant one. A rush of tangled feelings overwhelmed her ability to think clearly.

  Opening the door, she was surprised to see not Colin, but a burly man wearing a stern expression to go with his shiny badge. Although it’d been a while since she’d seen him, she recognized the man instantly. “Mr. Hampton?”

  His skin paled as he stared, his expression changing from businesslike to something else, and Erin felt distinctly vulnerable without anything heavier than a knickknack to serve as a weapon. Her heart rate accelerated and her hands became clammy. Calm down. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “You’ve grown up to be the spitting image of Rose,” he said in a choked whisper. “God help me…the spitting image.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, I don’t remember her,” she said, feeling awkward. “What can I do for you?”

  As if awakening, the tips of his ears reddened, and he dropped his gaze to the ground before bringing his hands to rest on his generous hips. “May I come in?”

  Erin’s hesitation must have been obvious, for he begrudged her a smile. “I’m sorry. You caught me off guard. If I didn’t know better I’d swear I was looking at Rose. I just came by to offer my condolences in person. Caroline was a good woman.”

  At the mention of Caroline, Erin softened and waved him in. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rude. It was a rough morning,” she said, leading him to the living room, where they took seats opposite each other.

  “No need to apologize. I’m the one who’s bargin’ in on you, coming unannounced. I know the reason you’ve come home isn’t social. At one time Caroline was a good friend. She’ll certainly be missed in this town.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, pushing down the familiar lump in her throat.

  Roger fidgeted a little, seeming a bit lost, and Erin’s feeling of unease returned.

  “Were you and your aunt close?”

  “I’d thought so,” she said, her mind returning to the journals she’d found and the cryptic bombshells of information they had revealed. When Roger looked at her sharply, she found herself reluctantly explaining. “I found some journals….” she said, shrugging. “And, I’ve realized my aunt had many secrets.”

  “Sec
rets?”

  Erin chuckled, missing the subtle change in his voice. “Yeah…just some things about my family that weren’t too savory.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, I think my mother and my Uncle Hank were having an affair….”

  At this admission, Erin was surprised when Roger actually looked relieved as he shook his head. “No. Never in a million years. Trust me on that.”

  Erin cocked her head. “How do you know?”

  “Well, we were once really good friends and I knew your mother quite well. She hated Hank Walker. Almost tore the friendship between her and Caroline right in two when they started dating. I’m not one to speak ill of the dead but Hank Walker was no peach of a man.”

  Erin frowned, more than a bit confused by this new tidbit of information. “How do you know all this?”

  Roger shifted and pressed his lips together as if he were regretting having said too much already. “It’s all water under the bridge now. I didn’t mean to stir things up.” Erin started to protest, hoping to get him to share more but he was already standing and getting ready to leave. “I just wanted to drop by, let you know if there’s anything you need, you can give me a ring. It’s the least I can do for Caroline.”

  Hungry for more information, Erin wanted to ask him to stay, but he was in a hurry to go. In two quick strides he was at the door and after a polite goodbye and another condolence, he was gone.

  As the door closed behind him, Erin frowned at the odd exchange. Instinct told her she ought to call Colin and tell him of Roger’s visit, but first she wanted to check something. Caroline had once mentioned that she had a special keepsake chest she kept in the attic. Erin had never had cause to think about it before, but after Roger’s revelation about her Uncle Hank, she wanted to see if Caroline had hidden Hank’s photos in the chest.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, she pulled the trap door on the ceiling that led to the attic and started climbing.

  It didn’t take long to find. Within minutes, Erin had pulled open the chest with her heart in her mouth.

  Just as she’d hoped, it was full of treasures from the past. Baby booties she assumed were hers, a lace garter and other odds and ends she regarded for a moment before setting them aside, searching for something that might help.

  Her questing fingers found a bundled bunch of photos, which she snatched up eagerly.

  Hank Walker.

  Finally! In her hands she held photos of the man Caroline had grown to hate, yet at one time had loved enough to jeopardize one of her most beloved friendships. Erin studied the black-and-white photo as if it might offer an answer to the questions in her mind. Hank Walker had a bright smile but there was a mean glint to his eyes that almost made them flinty. A lot of people said photography lied but Erin disagreed. Most people just didn’t know what to look for. The eyes were the window to the soul and it didn’t take more than two seconds for Erin to see that Hank Walker’s soul was dead.

  An awful feeling settled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Caroline married to such a man. Returning the photos to the bottom of the chest, she shut the lid quickly and wiped her hands free of the fine layer of dust clinging to everything in the attic. At least she had a face to the name, she thought, eager to leave the cold confines of the attic.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Colin what she’d found.

  COLIN FLIPPED THROUGH THE microfiche scanning for newspaper articles on Hank Walker’s accident. At the time there were two publications, the Granite Hills Tribune and the Poison Ivy. While he struck out with the Tribune he managed to pull two substantial articles from the Ivy that warranted attention.

  The writer, Emmett Jones, wasn’t a name Colin recognized but since the Ivy went out of business years before he even came to Granite Hills, he supposed Jones moved on to a different paper. The article was full of veiled accusations, that skirted the line of good journalism, but raised interesting questions.

  Accident or Foul Play?

  By Emmett Jones

  Staff writer

  Hank Edward Walker, a local man known for his charm and wit, died of head injuries after his Ford pick-up truck crashed head-on into a full-grown birch tree on Old Copper Road. Although the police report states Walker died from wounds sustained from the accident, a source within the county coroner’s office refutes that conclusion, stating, “Walker’s wounds are not consistent with trauma associated with a vehicle accident.” Questions have been raised as to the possibility of foul play, but the local police refute that theory.

  “Our investigation has concluded that Hank Walker died as a result of injuries sustained in a head-on vehicle collision,” said Granite Hills Police Chief Ronald Hampton. “It’s unfortunate and certainly tragic but we’ve found nothing to support the theory that anything criminal may have occurred.”

  Colin scanned a little further.

  Inquiries have also been raised as to whether Roger Hampton, the young officer who filed the report, was seasoned enough to take on such a complicated case. Hampton, the only son of police chief Ronald Hampton, had been on the job for three months before the crash and some feel a more experienced officer should have handled the incident. Despite a cloud of suspicion, the case remains closed.

  Pulling away from the view screen, he rubbed his hand over his eyes to alleviate some of the strain caused by the microfiche machine and jotted down some notes. He needed the autopsy report from Hank’s accident. Somehow he had a feeling it was long gone. A quick call to the coroner’s office would solve that mystery. His cell phone rang, interrupting his thought process. The name Erin McNulty registered on his caller ID. He picked it up before it rang a second time.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice strangely subdued.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly on alert.

  “Can we meet somewhere private?”

  “Of course,” he answered readily, suggesting his place. “Danni’s at school until three p.m.”

  “Thanks, Colin. I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”

  She clicked off and Colin returned the phone to his belt loop. Printing double copies of the two articles, he paid for his prints and headed for home. On impulse he dialed the coroner’s office as he drove the short distance.

  “County coroner,” a congenial voice sounded on the other end.

  “This is Detective Colin Barrett with the Granite Hills Police Department. I’m looking for an old autopsy report on a Hank Edward Walker, DOB, 7/26/47.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Colin pulled into his driveway and shut the truck off to wait. After about three minutes she came back on the line and apologized.

  “I’m sorry but we don’t seem to have that report. Are you sure it was filed in this county?”

  “Pretty sure,” he answered, not quite surprised. “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for your time.”

  He hung up and headed for the house. The report, if it corroborated what Emmett Jones wrote in his article, would’ve given him the authority he needed to reopen the case. But, someone had known that and effectively took care of the possibility.

  He went inside and sat down to wait for Erin to show up. Her tone had him on edge and the information he’d found in the archived newsprint had his mind moving in sickening circles.

  If it turned out that the chief had a hand in Charlie’s accident, could he really arrest the man who was more of a mentor than a boss to every single cop in the department? Was he willing to make that sacrifice?

  A rap on the door alerted him to Erin’s arrival. He quickly let her in and to his surprise she went straight into his arms and buried her face against his chest while Butterscotch pushed past to commandeer her spot by the fireplace.

  He wasn’t about to complain but he knew something had spooked her. “What’s wrong?”

  For a long moment Erin just remained pressed against his chest, as if trying to hide from something and, although curiosity was eating him up, he didn’t want to s
ever the connection he felt between them. He wanted to savor it.

  “I think my Uncle Hank was a bad man,” she finally said, pulling away to stare up at Colin with pain in her eyes. “That’s why there are no pictures of him anywhere. Caroline hated him…and so did my mother.”

  “I think you’re right,” Colin agreed, remembering the small bit of information the chief had let slip about Hank Walker. “He used to beat Caroline.”

  Erin inhaled sharply, her eyes glittering. “If he were alive, I’d kill him,” she said vehemently.

  He chuckled. “I believe you. But then, I’d have to arrest you.”

  Erin cracked a smile. “Dudley Do-Right.”

  “That’s me,” he said, tightening his arms around her, loving the feel of her, the smell of her sweet hair against his nose. “Defender of helpless women—”

  “Helpless?” Erin pulled away with an arched eyebrow. “Who are you calling helpless?”

  Colin laughed and pressed a kiss at her crown. “Certainly not you. You are probably the most independent, completely self-sufficient woman I’ve ever run across, but I like it.”

  “Oh?” The laughter faded from her eyes and she seemed to hold her breath, as if not quite sure what to think of such a statement. Colin held her gaze, wishing he could explain the feelings she created. She started to pull away but he wouldn’t let her. “What are we doing?” she asked, the halting tone of her voice giving it a husky sound that drew his entire body taut with desire.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But at the moment I don’t care. Whatever it is…I like it and I don’t want it to stop.”

  “I’m not staying,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “You know that, right?”

  Yeah, I know. “Why not?” he asked, the question popping out without his permission but he realized he wanted to know the answer. “Do you hate it here so much?”

  Erin pulled out of his arms, avoiding his stare as she put distance between them. “It’s complicated,” she answered, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “But, even if it weren’t, I have a life to get back to, which includes a career I love.”