“I admit I spoke to Gunther, but he was the original reporter—”
Cox waved her quiet, but Abby knew now the core reason for her anger: the chief was coming back, which meant Cox would no longer be acting chief of police.
Cox faced her, hands on hips. “The damage is done. All we can do is try to contain the blowback. But I want you to know that if for some reason the Triple Seven case is reactivated, it will be handled by Carney and O’Reilly, not Hart and Roper. Is that clear?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Good. And I want you to give a brief statement to press relations about why and how you kept your identity quiet for so long in case the chief wishes to give an official comment on it.”
With a wave of her hand, Abby was dismissed.
She visited community relations and gave a statement to the officer on duty. The woman was happy to have something to put in a press release, telling Abby the news channels were driving them crazy.
Abby was perplexed. “They stopped calling me. I knew this would be news, but I admit I never thought it’d be this big. Why am I such a big deal?”
“You’re not,” she said with a laugh. “But the connection to the governor is huge.”
Woody had said as much, Abby thought as she walked back to her office. Rollins makes all the difference. And I’ll bet, in more ways than one.
“Let’s go work on Jenkins,” she said, setting the newspapers aside.
She and Bill left the station and walked the neighborhood around the victim’s business, talking to people without uncovering anything new. When they returned to the station, she gathered her purse to leave for her meeting with Luke.
“Anything wrong?” Bill asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“Just annoyed by all the press.” She opened her ancient Rolodex, something left to her by Asa. Since they were on the Jenkins case and Gunther had cryptically mentioned Crunchers, the reporter needed to be recontacted. But Abby didn’t have the energy to field any of Gunther’s inquiries about her past. One excellent perk of having a partner was being able to share.
“Do me a favor; call Walter Gunther.” She gave him the card with Gunther’s number. “He gave me the Crunchers lead on the Jenkins murder. See if he has any more to add.”
Immediately interest sparked in his features, and as Abby turned to leave, Roper picked up the phone.
Wish everyone was that easy to please, she thought.
All the way out to her car, she wondered at the wisdom of meeting Murphy. She almost called to cancel, but the phone rang before she could dial. It was DA Drew calling to say Lil’ Sporty was indeed ready to cut a deal.
“That was fast,” Abby said, surprised and a little relieved. Death penalty cases were often tough and drawn out.
“He’s remorseful, according to his public defender. He’s also on suicide watch.”
“Probably more because he’s in forced detox than anything else. Are you going to deal?”
“Only with the death penalty. We’ll take that off the table. Nothing else.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” Abby hung up, certain Davis was her killer and knowing that without direct evidence, a jury trial could be a coin flip. The jury pool watched too many TV crime shows. They wanted to be wowed by DNA and supersecret crime lab techniques. Though Abby knew she’d give solid testimony, she wasn’t an eyewitness and she couldn’t show them a direct DNA match. She was too pragmatic not to appreciate that a sure conviction was a good thing.
Second Street was busy but not horrible for afternoon. At noon the area was usually packed. Abby parked the plain car and sent dispatch a message saying she was code 7, out to lunch.
She saw Murphy as soon as she got out of the car. He stood on the sidewalk at the corner of Java Shack. He turned, and when she saw recognition in his expression, butterflies erupted in her stomach, a reaction she couldn’t fathom. I love Ethan, she thought. I don’t even like this guy.
Working to keep her face as blank as if she were going to interview a suspect, Abby walked up to him. “Thanks for meeting me.” She extended her hand.
Murphy took it in a rough, strong grip. “Believe me, it’s my pleasure. But why the frown? Do you have bad news?”
Mouth suddenly dry, Abby couldn’t believe he’d read her so easily.
“Sorry; the press has been persistent to say the least.”
He arched an eyebrow in understanding, then turned to open the door to the Shack. Abby entered first with Murphy right behind her. They both ordered coffee before finding an open table in the back.
“I was surprised by your call,” Murphy said once they sat.
Not as surprised as I was that I made it, Abby thought. But what she said was “It was a no-brainer. We both want the same thing. I saw you on TV and heard that you’ve been investigating the Triple Seven for a while. You’ve studied my parents?”
He nodded, and Abby sipped her coffee, nerves surfacing, wanting something familiar to settle them.
“When I put together a file, it was obvious that your folks were the targets, not my uncle. I tried to talk to the lead investigators but they were both retired. They were less than helpful, seemed to think I was criticizing their investigation.” He tapped the table with two fingers. “I only wanted to help.”
“Don’t take it personal. It’s a sore spot that the crime never was solved.”
“Are you going to work the case?”
Abby shook her head. “I’ve memorized the investigation. Now that everyone knows who I am, I’ve been told that I’m too close. If the case is investigated, Carney and O’Reilly will be assigned.”
“I know them; they’re good guys. But that has to be rough. I mean, you tell Rollins who you are—I would imagine to get information to activate the case—but that ends up making it impossible for you to investigate the case.”
Abby sat back, amazed he could see the whole picture so quickly. Her identity was the only thing she had to wager, and she’d staked everything on being able to elicit info from Rollins and lost.
Finally she sighed. “I hoped he’d talk to me. I also hoped he’d show some interest in finally resolving the case. It was a long shot.”
“With you investigating?”
It felt like he had punched her. “I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.”
“Yeah, but he sure didn’t seem to want to talk about it,” she managed, hoping she didn’t sound as jumbled as she felt.
“He did have a strange reaction. It’s important for you to close this case, isn’t it?”
Meeting his gaze and seeing the intensity there unnerved Abby for a minute. She played with her engagement ring and looked away before answering. “Of course. The murders of my parents changed my life. I drove myself to make it to homicide to find the killers.” She stopped, feeling old anger and hatred boil up, emotions she thought she’d buried forever. Dede’s words rang in her mind: “Don’t let the quest for justice become your god.”
“I get it,” Murphy said simply, and Abby knew he did. His eyes calmed her and validated her anger all at the same time.
She sipped her coffee.
“I don’t know how you stayed away from it for so long. I’d have been ramming my head against walls, shouting in the streets, probably gotten myself fired by now.”
Abby smiled and studied the design on her coffee cup. “At first it wasn’t easy. When I got hired, of course the background investigator knew but kept it confidential for Asa and Woody. Then during training, there was so much to learn about being a cop. When I finally did reach homicide, Asa was my partner and he really wanted me to leave well enough alone. And when my fiancé found out . . . he also wanted me to stay quiet.”
“What’s he say now?”
“He and my aunt both worry about my safety.” She cleared her throat, not really wanting to talk about Ethan with Luke Murphy. “After working homicide for four years, I’ve seen how much an arrest and conviction can help the victim’s friends and fa
mily. It can’t put things back the way they were, but it does provide a measure of stability, I guess. Something they can lean back against and say, ‘This bad thing happened, but there’s justice in the end,’ you know?”
“I do. I want my uncle’s killer dealt with.” His warm gaze regarded her, and the perusal made her shift in her seat. “You called me,” he said. “I’m assuming it’s because of this case. You want to talk to me about it?”
She wondered how to tell him what she wanted. He could refuse, and then how would she gracefully back out? But her parents’ murders were too important for her not to try.
“I’d like to compare notes.”
Murphy sat back and Abby relaxed. He was intrigued; he wasn’t going to say no.
“How would you like to have dinner at my house tonight? Bring your files and we’ll go over everything.”
Abby stiffened. “It’s not a date.”
Murphy reddened and held his hands up. “Sorry; I didn’t mean it that way. You just told me you’re engaged. I live with my folks and my daughter. I just thought we’d be more comfortable going over everything in an informal environment.”
Sipping her coffee, Abby struggled to keep her expression neutral. The invitation caught her off guard because she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Did she want Murphy at her house? No.
“That might work,” she said after a long minute of awkward silence. “Would you mind if I brought my dog?”
ABBY PULLED UP in front of the East Long Beach house a little before six. She’d picked up her phone three times to call Murphy and cancel, scrolling through her contacts each time but stopping before dialing his number.
What am I thinking, going to his house?
In the end, the desire to learn what he knew overrode her discomfort. She scooped up Bandit and got out of her car, keeping an eye on two young girls playing basketball in the driveway. Which one is Murphy’s daughter? she wondered.
As she walked toward the house, the taller of the two girls, with a long blonde ponytail bouncing, skipped toward the house.
“Dad, your friend’s here!” She then turned toward Abby. “Can I pet your dog?”
“Sure,” Abby said as the two girls charged her way. The taller girl was definitely Murphy’s; the eyes confirmed it. Abby liked kids, worked in the nursery at church when she was able, and smiled as the girls got close.
“His name is Bandit,” she said, anticipating their question.
“He’s soooo cute!” both girls cooed at the same time the front door opened and Murphy stepped out onto the porch.
“Can I hold him?” Murphy’s daughter asked.
Since Bandit seemed to be enjoying the attention, Abby said yes and handed her the little dog. His tail wagged ferociously, and when he began to lick their faces, the girls giggled.
“Detective Hart.” Murphy stepped off the porch, a smile on his face. “Glad you could make it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as his daughter turned to him with Bandit next to her cheek.
“Look, Daddy, he’s so cute. Can’t we get a dog like this?”
Murphy grimaced. “We’ll talk about it some other time. Right now you and Olivia need to wash up for dinner.”
“But I want to hold Bandit.”
“Later, I promise.” Murphy’s tone was firm, and Abby wondered if she’d made a mistake bringing the dog. She’d felt bad because she’d left him all day while she was at work. She didn’t want to leave him all evening as well.
The girl made a face but handed the dog back to Abby and turned to go inside.
Murphy stopped her. “Just a minute.” He gestured to Abby. “Detective Abby Hart, this is my daughter, Madison, and her friend Olivia.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Madison said, holding out her little hand.
“Likewise,” Abby said. She shook two small hands, first Madison’s, then Olivia’s, then watched as the girls ran into the house.
“Sorry if bringing the dog created a problem for you,” she said, facing Murphy.
He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Kids sometimes want everything they see. That’s the dog from the other night, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. I forgot you would have seen Bandit then. I didn’t have the heart to dump him off at animal control.”
“Rollins did say that you could do what you thought best.”
“I’m glad I got that out of him before he fled.”
Murphy’s mouth cocked into a lopsided smile. “He sure left in a hurry, didn’t he? Makes me wonder about some things.”
“Me too,” Abby said. Her gaze shifted when she saw movement over Murphy’s shoulder. An older woman had stepped out of the front door.
“Luke, dinner is ready.”
With those words Abby found herself following Luke Murphy into a house and a dinner with a family she would have avoided like the plague if it hadn’t been for the Triple Seven investigation.
To solve the murders of her parents, Abby knew she’d step into any and every situation no matter how uncomfortable. Or dangerous, she realized, as Woody’s fear and warnings echoed in her mind.
“I’M SURE YOU DON’T REMEMBER ME, Detective Hart, but I knew you when you were six. I knew your parents as well.” Grace Murphy spoke as everyone sat at the table.
Luke tried to watch Abby without staring. She had such a cop face, but he thought he saw an array of emotions briefly before she could shut down: discomfort, curiosity, maybe longing?
“I remember your name from the reports. I know your brother died getting me out of the fire. Please, call me Abby.”
Grace took her seat. “That was my brother, always thinking of others. Luke was named after him. He loved working at that restaurant, loved your parents and Lowell.”
“Cookie. I called him Cookie.”
“Oh.” Grace put a hand over her mouth. “You remember that? Your dad gave him that nickname. My brother made the best sugar-orange cookies. He made the best because he loved to eat them.” She smiled and raised her hands, indicating it was time to bless the meal.
The girls stopped their chattering, clasped hands, and bowed their heads. Abby was on Luke’s right, and it was a couple of seconds before she took his hand.
Luke’s dad gave the blessing, ending by thanking God that Abby could join them for the meal. After the amen, the girls resumed their chatter, and Grace served everyone. While Luke had a million questions he wanted ask Abby, he let his mom start off.
“What a surprise when Luke told us who you were. My land, I’m amazed that you’d be back here. I admired your mom and dad; they were loving parents.”
“I wish I remembered more of that period of time.”
“You don’t remember anything about the fire?” Luke asked.
Abby shook her head. “Not really. Only heat and Cookie telling me I’d be okay.”
“Probably just as well,” Grace said, her brow furrowed. Luke knew that meant time for a change of subject. “I don’t recall your mother ever talking about a sister,” she said. “And I was at the restaurant a lot. I adored my big brother.”
“From what I know, my mother and her family were estranged. My grandparents let her stay here with friends to finish her senior year while they and Dede moved to Oregon. She never moved to rejoin them.”
“I actually talked to the family your mother stayed with,” Luke said. He wondered if Abby knew the family history he’d discovered during the course of his investigation. By the look on her face, he was betting no.
“You did? The Turners, right?”
“Yep. Betsy Turner was your mom’s best friend. Your mom didn’t want to be uprooted, and she was already dating your father.”
She twirled her fork on her plate, and Luke hoped he wasn’t upsetting her. But when she looked up, he saw only curiosity in her eyes.
“I know she married my father right after high school and before he joined the Army.”
“Yeah, I don’t know much about those years. I thin
k your mom moved to where your father was stationed, and then they moved back to Long Beach after he got out. Most of the people I talked to remember her and your dad trying their hand at different businesses before they struck gold with the Triple Seven.”
“That I remember,” Grace said. “The first business was a flower shop—that was where my brother started working with them. He worked there while attending cooking school; then he went out of state for a while. When he got back, Lowell was in the picture with money, and they were talking about a restaurant.”
“Yeah, Lowell had the money to get the restaurant started.” Luke held Abby’s gaze. “Your mom and dad did all the work; he just supplied the capital.”
“The arrangement worked for them,” Grace said. “I never remember seeing any friction. What about your grandparents, Abby?”
Grace took over and Luke listened. He’d seen the interest in Abby’s eyes; they’d get back to Rollins soon enough.
“Something happened between my mom and my grandparents; I don’t know what. From what Dede says, my mom cut them off. I certainly don’t remember them at all. My dad’s parents were deceased. My dad’s brother, my only uncle, is in prison somewhere, so he was not an option. From the report I know police tried to notify my mom’s parents, but by then my granddad was dead, and my grandmother was in a nursing home with dementia. Word didn’t get to Dede about the murders for a couple of years. When she did hear and tried to find me, she spent a long time cutting red tape.”
“All that to keep you safe?” Luke asked.
“That’s what they told Dede. Social services was adamant that she keep quiet about who I was. As I got older, I wondered if they were more concerned that she might want to file a big, noisy lawsuit.”
That comment brought chuckles, and Abby paused before continuing.
“In any event, my aunt was happy to take me away from the big city. When she adopted me, I took her married name, Hart.”
“Is there still a threat for you?” Grace asked.
Abby grimaced. “Now? I don’t know. People I trust tell me to be cautious.”
Drawing Fire Page 15
