Echoes of Murder (Till Death do us Part Book 2)

by Bradshaw, Cheryl

  Evan raised a brow. “Take a look? What do you mean?”

  Chief Hall cleared his throat in a way that was obvious and emphatic, even to a dimwit. The gesture was ignored. He tried again, this time opting for verbal jargon. “Even if you wanted time with the body, I can’t allow that. Not just yet.”

  It was the kind of comment Reagan expected. “You can and you will.”

  “I’m gonna take a stab here, ma’am, and assume you don’t understand how this process works, Mrs…?”

  “It’s Miss,” Reagan clarified, “and stab all you want. I understand perfectly.”

  “Then you know there’s a specific process involved with situations like this.”

  “A process entitling the next of kin the right to order a private autopsy if they wish,” Reagan said. “That kind of thing?”

  This caught the chief off-guard. And he wasn’t the only one. Evan also seemed to be trying to make sense of her words.

  “Are you … some kind of lawyer?” the chief asked, his pronunciation of “lawyer” coming out lah-your. “’Cause if you are, then you should know in a case like this, the medical examiner, also known as an ME, assumes custody.”

  Also known as an ME? His attempt to school her was almost laughable.

  “Until the autopsy and findings are complete, yes. Afterward, the family has every right to request a second opinion.”

  The chief’s unflappable countenance started to crack. “They have the right, yes. Doesn’t mean they’ll exercise it.”

  “Of course they will.”

  “Reagan?” Evan began. “What’s going on?”

  Reagan ran a hand up and down Evan’s arm while directing her words to the chief. She spoke in a slow, direct manner to avoid any further confusion. “I lack the patience to continue going ’round and ’round the merry-go-round with you, Chief Hall. It’s time for me to get off the ride. My full name is Reagan Ann Davenport.”

  She allowed the name to marinate until it clicked.

  “R.A. Davenport. You’re the new medical examiner for Iron County.”

  “That’s correct. And you’re the new chief of police for Washington County. Like I said before, I’m aware I need to wait until your ME is finished examining Isla Davenport, but then I fully intend to conduct my own autopsy on behalf of both families.”

  CHAPTER 7

  After answering some preliminary questions, Evan and Reagan were advised to return to the main banquet hall where the rest of the remaining guests had been corralled until further notice. Most of the wedding party was still in attendance, since the original plan had been for everyone to stay overnight and have breakfast together in the morning before going their separate ways.

  Not anymore.

  The procedure was familiar to Reagan, although she’d never been on the receiving end, never been asked to stand aside while her personal belongings were riffled through. The idea of someone else’s hands all over her stuff made her feel violated, even though she knew on any other day, she did the exact same thing to someone else.

  She perused her surroundings. Hard to believe only a short time ago the same room she sat in now had been vibrant and alive with jubilant celebration. The present mood was reticent, with words being spoken in a hush or not at all. Human grief in its rawest form masked the faces of friends and family alike. But it wasn’t just grief Reagan detected in the faces of others. It was something else.

  Suspicion.

  Scrutiny.

  Was it you?

  Or was it you?

  Did you have something to do with Isla’s death?

  Was it an accident, or was it murder?

  Nonverbal judgment was flinging from every direction like Frisbees in an open field. Reagan found it a bit presumptuous. There was no concrete evidence yet. Nothing to prove what happened to Isla was anything more than an unfortunate tumble in the night. Even so, the haggard pieces of fabric found strewn along the path weren’t left there by accident. In Reagan’s opinion, Isla had been running, possibly away from someone, possibly for her life.

  Evan slid onto a chair next to her. His body hunched forward as if his limbs struggled to support him. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there.

  After several minutes, the silence grated on Reagan. “How are you holding up? Are you all right?”

  Of course he’s not all right. What kind of question is that?

  The kind he didn’t want to answer. “You never told me you were a medical examiner.”

  “I just transferred from Salt Lake City. Thought it might be nice to work closer to home. Now, I’m not so sure I made the right decision. Anyway, about my line of work, I guess I assumed Isla would have mentioned it to you.”

  “Aside from talking about Nathan, she didn’t speak about your family too much.”

  “That’s not what you said back in your room.”

  He smoothed a hand down the side of his face. “Yeah … about that. I was hard on you and your mother. I shouldn’t have been. I’m sorry.”

  “You have no reason to apologize. I should be the one asking forgiveness from you. I could have tried harder with Isla. Been a better friend. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”

  “Don’t put that on yourself, Reagan. Your brother might be the only person who really knew her. I know I made it sound like we talked all the time. Truth is, it wasn’t as much as I led you to believe.”

  “Why not?”

  He ironed his hands up and down the front of his jeans. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “It needs to stay between us. I know she’s gone now, but I don’t want people remembering her for something that happened in the past.”

  “This something … did my brother know?”

  “I’m not sure. My parents knew. I knew. Brand. She begged us to keep quiet, so we did. I’ve never said anything to anyone until now.”

  “Whatever it is, you can trust me. This conversation stays between us.”

  Evan offered Reagan a slight smile, and she knew he believed her.

  “When Isla was seventeen, she was abused in the worst possible way.”

  Abused in the worst possible way only meant one thing in Reagan’s mind. “Are you saying she was raped?”

  He shook his head. “Let me start over. She was physically abused—beaten.”

  “By whom?”

  “Alex McMasters.”

  “And he is …?”

  “He was her high school boyfriend.”

  “What happened?”

  “She looked at another guy.”

  “What do you mean looked?”

  “I mean exactly what I said. He was driving her home one day after school. They came to a stop. Another car pulled up beside them. One of the football players from a rival school looked over, saw Isla, winked. That was all it took.”

  “You’re saying this Alex guy beat your sister because another guy looked at her?”

  “If you met him, you’d understand. He had a reputation. I warned her. Everyone did. She came home that night, walked in the door, crying, eyes swollen. I mean, we all knew the guy had a temper, but I still couldn’t believe what he’d done.”

  “When you found out, did you do anything?”

  “I did what any big brother would do in my position—I gave back what he dished out. If my dad wouldn’t have stopped me that night, I probably would have killed him.” Evan paused then said, “I never thought I had it in me to take another person’s life, but when I looked at my sister, saw her bloodied face, … I don’t know … something rose up inside me—something so ugly, so deep, all I could think about was one thing: revenge.”

  The roof of Reagan’s mouth tingled. It felt scratchy. Dry.

  Evan reached out, placed his hand over hers. “Please don’t think badly of me, Reagan.”

  “Oh, Evan. I don’t. I’ve witnessed things in my job you wouldn’t believe. I’ve put myself in the position of ot
hers, thought about what I would do if I was faced with the same situations. Murder. Rape. Physical abuse. Most people go through their lives lucky, never touched by the kind of tragedy that destroys their minds to the point where the ugliness boils over and they realize what they’re really capable of. I’m a God-fearing woman. I believe in goodness and doing what’s right. I also believe in justice. And I’m not blind enough to who I am as a person to say I wouldn’t have done the same thing if it was my sister.”

  Evan’s hand was folded over Reagan’s now, a gesture that others, including her mother, took note of.

  “I believe we have an audience,” Evan said.

  “Let them stare. Your sister just passed away. My brother is in the hospital. There’s nothing to see here except two friends supporting each other in their time of need.”

  She believed her words. She also believed if circumstances hadn’t been what they were, there could have been something even more.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Reagan.”

  Trying to lighten a dismal day, she said, “By amazing, are you saying I’m no longer the kind of woman that makes men feel they’ll never understand women?”

  “Oh, no, you’re still her, but you’re so much more.”

  “I wish things could have been different, with your sister, with … everything.”

  He squeezed her hand, stared at the ground as the tears surfaced once more. “I know. Me too.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Sallie Davenport was tired of waiting, tired of sitting in a torturous metal chair surrounded by a room full of people she didn’t like spending a couple hours with, let alone a couple days. Had she known beforehand she’d be inconvenienced like this, she would have never invited so many friggin’ people in the first place. After attending so many weddings over the years, she’d kept track of every gift she’d ever given, every dollar spent, knowing one day she’d be the one extending the invitation, and it would be everyone else’s turn to pay their dues.

  When Nathan and Isla announced their wedding date, Sallie dusted off the old Rolodex and went to work, knowing Nathan’s wedding might be her only chance to get back what she’d given. Reagan wasn’t getting any younger, and there were no potential suitors in her future. Shame, really. A few more years and she’d be past her prime, and with the way she kept increasing in dress size, Sallie doubted anyone would marry her at all.

  The table in the corner was brimming with unopened gifts. Sallie eyeballed the boxes, passing the time by trying to determine what might be inside each one.

  It would be such a pity to see them go to waste just because Isla was foolish enough to nose dive over the side of a mountain. The girl should have been more careful. What on earth was she thinking going on a moonlit stroll so late at night?

  Isla had never been the brightest, in Sallie’s opinion. And certainly not good enough for Nathan. For one thing, she didn’t talk enough, and she had shifty eyes. So maybe that was two things. But who was counting? It hardly mattered now. Isla was gone, out of Nathan’s life forever. Nefarious or not, Sallie smiled as she thought of it. She simply couldn’t help herself. If that meant one day when her time came she ended up roasting in hell for thinking as she did, so be it. It was far too late for her to change who she was now.

  Sallie stood, her ass making an audible cracking noise like it had fractured in at least three different places. She thought about bending down far enough to get the name of the chair’s manufacturer. A chair as unsteady as this was a lawsuit waiting to happen.

  Several feet in front of her, Reagan and Isla’s brother (whose name always escaped her except for the fact she knew it started with an “E”) were huddled together, whispering, their hands locked together. Sallie slanted an eye. What the hell was the boy playing at? She’d just accepted one Everley into her life. And short lived as it was, she didn’t possess the energy to pretend to like another one.

  She shook her head, her focus changing to the only way out. Standing next to both exits were uniformed officers, and as cordial as they seemed, Sallie knew they weren’t there for nothing—they were guarding them. She was trapped. Everyone in the room was trapped. She didn’t like it, and she was done playing nice. She wanted answers—now. And when the chief of police sauntered through the door, she took it as a sign. The time had come for her to get her answers.

  CHAPTER 9

  The chief entered the room using one of the side doors. He glanced around, waved over a few officers. A conversation ensued that included a fair amount of nodding and unnerved faces. Reagan had seen the same look many times before, and she knew what it meant. Something wasn’t right.

  Reagan’s mother made a beeline for the chief, her voice booming. “I’m not some cockatoo you can squeeze until I start squackin’, I assure you. I want out of here. A mother has a right to be with her son, and right now, mine’s in need of his.”

  The chief flattened his hand in front of him, as if the gesture was enough to keep Reagan’s mother at bay. “Ma’am, step back. I’ll deal with you when I’m finished here, and not before.”

  “You’ll deal with me now. We all have a right to know how long we’re going to be here.”

  Two of the officers gave a knowing nod to the chief and dipped outside. The chief’s fingers flipped up and down like he was a flight attendant giving pre-flight instructions. “Like I said, ma’am, we’ll be addressing everyone momentarily. Please sit down.”

  “What’s happening out there?” Sallie demanded. “Those cops who just left, where are they going?”

  The chief sighed, his patience diminishing at an accelerated rate. “I won’t ask you again. Sit down.”

  Sallie’s pointer finger jutted out, stabbing the chief in the chest repeatedly to the beat of the words that flowed from her mouth. “I … will … not … sit … down.”

  The chief looked to his left, said, “Officer Jarrod, take this woman into custody.”

  “Now wait just a minute,” Sallie said. “You can’t—”

  “Ma’am, I warned you. Several times.”

  A timid Officer Jarrod mumbled, “If you could place your hands behind your back,” like she was just going to comply with his request because he was polite about it. When she refused, instead of taking charge of the situation, the officer looked to the chief for support. The chief swore. It wasn’t loud, but it was audible enough for Reagan to hear.

  Officer Jarrod looked new. Acted weak. He was in the wrong line of work.

  “I’m not placing my hands anywhere,” Sallie said.

  “You’re under arrest,” the chief said. “Don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.”

  “Arrest? I don’t think so.” Sallie attempted to back up. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me!”

  The chief seized her wrist, shot a dirty look at Officer Jarrod. “A little help here?”

  After several minutes of sparring, a pair of zip ties were secured over Sallie’s wrists. The chief ordered the officer to place her inside the back of a squad car “for now.” As she was escorted out, she passed a familiar face.

  A face she wasn’t happy to see.

  CHAPTER 10

  Detective Dustin Waterhouse lined Reagan up in his sights, the grin on his face swelling with each lengthy stride in her direction. Reagan leaned back, pretended the moment wasn’t happening, that she wasn’t really seeing him, that he wasn’t almost standing right in front of her. Except he was.

  The last time Reagan saw Dustin a few months earlier, she’d spent the evening trying to explain why they didn’t have a future together, a feeling he neither shared nor tried to comprehend. In fact, he hadn’t accepted her decision at all, instead pressing her for examples, proof, anything to justify her decision to break up with him. He was a logistics guy. She was a “gut instinct” girl. By the time they parted ways that evening, she had ended it, and while the break wasn’t as clean as she’d hoped, she felt the message had been received. It was over. But it was far from over for him, as she
would eventually discover.

  Mirroring her height, their bodies lined up perfectly together when she stood to greet him. Dustin reached out, enveloping Reagan in a tight embrace. She responded with a couple of quick pats on the back, followed by a third when he wouldn’t let go. By the fourth pat, she’d managed to pry herself free.

  “You get my messages?” he asked.

  All seventy something of them? Yes.

  She nodded.

  “And yet, you couldn’t call me back? Not even one time?”

  Reagan wasn’t sure how to answer, so she didn’t.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I’m here … well … I was here for my brother’s wedding.”

  Dustin cocked his head to the side, his shaggy, blond hair falling over one of his eyes. He brushed it away. “So he’s the one in the hospital, and it was his new bride who—”

  “Was found dead this morning, yes.”

  “And you—”

  “Found her. Along with Nathan and her brother.” Reagan gestured to the side. “Dustin, this is Isla’s brother, Evan.”

  Up to now, Reagan wasn’t sure whether Dustin had seen Evan’s hand on hers. Judging by the way Dustin changed his stance, she knew he had. Instead of jealousy, he looked relieved to learn who the man sitting next to her was. It was like he’d convinced himself that his ex-girlfriend, the one he still had feelings for, was comforting Nathan’s brother-in-law after his loss and nothing more. No harm there.

  The two men acknowledged each other with a nod.

  “What’s happening?” Reagan asked. “We’ve been held up in this room for over two hours.”

  “I just got here. They’re searching one of the hotel rooms. They think they’ve found something.”

  “Something like …?”

  “I really can’t say, Reagan. You know that.”