His phone buzzed, but he ignored it. He watched her with a look of concern as she slid behind the wheel. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She forced a smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow about the case.”
• • •
Sean watched her pull out of the lot, cursing himself. He shouldn’t have rushed her. He should have taken it one small step at a time, like he’d planned.
But one taste of her and his plan had gone up in flames. She was so hot, everything about her, and he couldn’t resist touching her. He always knew they’d have chemistry, but he’d never expected that. He hoped to hell he hadn’t screwed it up.
His phone buzzed again and he pulled it out. Callie.
“What?”
“Hey, hey. What’s your problem?”
“Nothing.” He took a deep breath. “Everything okay there?”
“Better than okay. I got a lead from Samantha Bonner’s phone dump.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I went back three months. She has a half dozen calls from her boss, and a bunch more from one of her coworkers at the coffee shop, Kaitlyn Spence. Then she’s got almost daily calls from Amy Doppler, her AA friend. But listen to this.”
“I’m listening.”
“She’s also got calls from a Jared Doppler. Three late-night calls on Monday of last week. And Jared, my friend, has a rap sheet. Five years ago he did six months in lockup.”
Sean’s pulse quickened. “For what?”
“Aggravated assault. You’ll never guess his weapon of choice.”
“A knife.”
CHAPTER 8
At noon the next day Sean pulled his pickup into a parking space beside Callie’s SUV. She got out and jumped into his passenger seat.
She looked him over. “You’re dressed up.” He was in the dark suit he always wore in court. “How was Samantha’s funeral?”
“Depressing.” Sean hated funerals, but sometimes they came with the job.
Callie handed over a file folder, and Sean opened it in his lap as he loosened his tie. The plan was to go over some background info before they approached the target at his workplace.
Sean skimmed the phone records, focusing on the three highlighted calls from Jared Doppler. “Interesting timing.”
“I thought so, too. Late enough to be a booty call.” Sean glanced up, and Callie’s expression turned slightly defensive. “Why else would he call her at one in the morning?”
“Drug buy?”
“Okay, good point.” Her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t think of that.”
Sean smiled and tucked his tie into his pocket.
“Why was the funeral depressing? Besides the obvious.”
“It was small. Who’s this number here?”
“The registrar’s office at her university. Mind if I have some coffee?”
“Sure.” Sean finished with the phone records and then flipped through to Jared’s rap sheet.
“Eww! It’s stone cold.”
He glanced up. “What’d you expect? I bought it at seven this morning.”
Sean had spent an hour at the doughnut shop, but no sign of the kid. Or Brooke. He’d been on the lookout for both of them, but had completely struck out.
Callie put the coffee back in the cup holder. “How small is ‘small’?”
“Eight people, including the priest.”
“Yikes.”
“Couple people from her job and an AA friend who sat with Amy. Plus her foster mom and a social worker.”
“Any suspects?”
“With the exception of her boss and the priest, it was all women.”
“What’s the story with the foster mom and the social worker?”
“I don’t know yet. After we finish here, I plan to find out.” Sean handed back the paperwork. “Okay, I’m good. You ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
They got out of the truck and approached the hardware store, which was part of a local chain. Not as big as Home Depot, but sizable enough to attract a decent crowd on a Saturday afternoon.
Sean looked at Callie, who was in her typical detective outfit—black slacks, plus a blazer to conceal her firearm. Her shiny gold detective’s shield was clipped at her hip.
“You take the lead,” Sean said. “If my instincts are right about this guy, you’re going to get under his skin.”
She shot him a look as he held open the door.
The store smelled like fresh paint. They started at the customer-service counter, where they asked for Jared Doppler. He appeared a few minutes later with a scowl on his face, and Callie held up her police ID. After some tense words with a manager, Doppler led Callie and Sean outside. He went around the corner of the building and turned to face them, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You trying to get me shit-canned?”
Callie shook her head. “Not at all, Jared. We just have a few questions for you. If you don’t want to talk here, we can always do it at the station.”
Doppler dug a pack of smokes from his shirt pocket. “What questions?”
“How do you know Samantha Bonner?” Callie asked.
“I don’t.” He lit a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke.
Sean flipped open his notebook. “Never met her?”
“Nope.”
He jotted that down as Doppler eyed him with suspicion.
“Never talked to her?”
“Sure, I talked to her once or twice.” He gave a shrug. “But I don’t know her or anything. She was friends with my wife, not me.”
“Don’t you mean ex-wife?”
Doppler looked at Callie.
“We have that you two divorced—what was it, Detective Byrne? Five months ago?”
“Six.”
Doppler sucked in a drag and squinted. “Whatever.” He blew out the smoke. “She was Amy’s friend.”
“And you never actually met her face-to-face,” Callie stated.
“That’s right.”
“Okay, what do you know about her?”
“She was an alcoholic, same as Amy. She filled Amy’s head with a bunch of mumbo jumbo about getting in touch with her higher power, or some such shit.”
Callie glanced at Sean, then back to Doppler. “According to Samantha’s phone records, Jared, you called her three separate times just ten days before she died.”
He sucked in a drag, but didn’t respond.
“All on the night of November fifth.” Callie glanced at the notebook. “You called at one sixteen, one eighteen, and one twenty-two in the morning. The last call lasted twelve minutes.”
“So?”
“So, you want to tell us what you talked about?”
He stared at Callie for a moment. Then he looked at Sean. “I told her to butt out. To stop calling my wife and mind her own business.”
“Ex-wife.”
Jared glared at Callie.
“It didn’t take twelve minutes to tell her that,” Sean said. “What else did you talk about?”
“Nothing. I just told her to butt out of our business.”
Callie lifted an eyebrow. “And if she didn’t? What’d you plan to do then?”
“What the hell is this? Did Amy say I threatened that bitch?” Doppler pointed his cigarette at Callie. “Because I didn’t.”
Sean was starting to get pissed off, but Callie smiled calmly.
“I guess we’ll never know, will we, Jared? Because ‘that bitch’ is dead.”
“Where were you at eight forty-five Wednesday night?” Sean asked.
Doppler didn’t look surprised by the question. “I was with someone.”
“Really? Who?” The note of disbelief in Callie’s voice made Sean smile.
“Her name’s Jenny Landry.” Doppler tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and pulled out his cell phone. “I texted her at eight forty. I’ve got it right here.” He showed his phone to Sean. “I headed over to her place at eight forty-five.”
“We need her
address,” Sean said.
“Hyde Creek Apartments. She’s in unit twelve.”
“And when did you leave there?”
“Nine thirty.”
Callie whistled. “You’re fast.”
“Back to the phone calls with Samantha,” Sean said. “Had you been drinking when you talked to her?”
Of all the questions, this one seemed to make Doppler the most defensive. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“I’d maybe had a few beers.”
“Two? Three? Six?”
“I don’t know. A few.”
“Any chance you have a drinking problem?” Sean asked.
“Did Amy tell you that?”
“Your rap sheet told us,” Callie said. “You’ve got a pair of DWIs.”
“I don’t have a drinking problem. Or any other kind of problem unless I get fired from my job.” He glared at Sean. “Are we done here?”
“I don’t know. Detective McLean, are we done?” Sean looked at Callie.
“We’re done for now, but we’ll be checking your alibi, Jared.”
“Have at it.”
“And I’m going to need you to stay available.”
• • •
Sean and Callie stared after him as he stormed off.
“Can’t imagine why he’s divorced,” Callie said.
They started across the parking lot to their cars.
“What’d you think of his alibi?” Sean asked.
“Lines up perfectly.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“We’ll see if his girlfriend can back it up.”
“He wouldn’t have given us her name otherwise.”
Callie glanced at Sean. “You’re saying he knew we were coming?”
“Probably. Guy’s an ex-con and he recently communicated with a murder victim.”
“I’ll talk to this girlfriend of his, see if she’ll corroborate his timeline,” Callie said. “Unless you want to do it?”
“She’s all yours.”
“Speaking of girlfriends, how’s it going with Brooke?”
“It’s not.”
“Why not? Did you ask her out yet?”
“She says she’s taking a break from men.” Sean popped the locks on his truck. The sooner he ended this conversation, the better.
“And?”
“And what?”
Callie laughed. “And don’t you want to know why?”
“Hell yeah. I’m working on it.”
“Ask her out again. See if she’ll open up to you. Maybe she’s on the rebound and you can be her shoulder to cry on.”
Something told him Brooke didn’t want a shoulder. Something also told him that the hard-sell approach wasn’t going to work with her. He had to be subtle. And patient.
The opposite of how he’d been last night when he’d practically begged her to come home with him.
A text landed on Sean’s phone as he slid into his truck. “Hey, here’s something from Jasper.” He read the message. “Someone found a knife near Samantha Bonner’s house.”
“Are you serious? What kind?”
“He doesn’t say. There’s no blood on it, though.”
“Who found it?”
“Mrs. Morton’s dog came across it when they were walking near the train tracks.”
Callie looked at Sean. “You think it’s the murder weapon?”
“Might be.”
“That would be huge.”
“Yep.”
“Why aren’t you excited?”
“I don’t get excited this early. It could be a steak knife, for all we know. We need to get it to Delphi for testing.” He checked the time. “Damn it. I can’t go right now. I’ve got an interview in ten minutes.”
“I can run it over there.”
“You mind?”
“Not at all. What else do I have to do this afternoon? It’s not like I’ve got some hot date to get ready for.”
“I can do it after my interview.”
“No, let me. You’ve got enough on your plate. I can take the lead on this one.”
Sean started up his truck. “Thanks. Let me know what you hear.”
“I will. And good luck.”
“With what?”
She rolled her eyes. “With Brooke. It’s only Saturday. The weekend is young.”
• • •
Farrah Saunders had changed out of her funeral clothes, and Sean almost didn’t recognize the social worker when she walked into Java House. She wore a camo-print jacket with jeans, and her curly blond hair was pulled back in a loose bun.
Sean stood up as she took a chair at the little table. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you.” She checked her watch. “I have to be on a fishing boat in an hour, so I need to make this quick.”
“That case, thanks for making the time, Ms. Saunders.”
Her expression told him she caught the sarcasm. “Call me Farrah. And it’s no problem.”
Sean watched her body language as she glanced around the coffee shop.
“Did you know Sam worked here?” he asked.
“She mentioned it once. She was a barista?”
“She’d been promoted to shift manager.”
Sean had picked this location as a sort of test. He wanted to get a read on how much this woman knew about Sam’s current life.
“I saw you at the funeral talking to Sam’s foster mom.” Sean flipped open his notebook. “Diane Jacobs. So, Sam went by the name of her birth mother, I’m guessing?”
“That’s right.”
“Were her birth parents married?”
Farrah watched him warily, but didn’t respond.
“This is public record. I can find all this out, but it would be a lot faster if you told me.”
Farrah started to respond, but the scream of a coffee grinder cut her off. She waited until the noise stopped. “Her birth mother was single. She never married.”
“Any other kids?”
“No. At least not that I’m aware of.”
“And when did Sam move in with the Jacobs family?”
“When she was fourteen.”
“Before that, did she always live with her birth mom?”
“No.”
“So . . . she lived with a relative? Another foster family?”
“She lived with her aunt for several years, but it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
Farrah watched him for a long moment. Then she leaned forward. “Look, Detective. An important part of my job is protecting my clients’ privacy.”
“I understand. But your client is dead now, and it’s my job to figure out who killed her.”
Farrah shook her head. “Sam’s records are confidential. If you need to see them, you can file a request—”
“That could take ten business days to process, I know.” He looked at her. “This is a murder case, Farrah. That means we’re on a ticking clock here. Every day that goes by without a suspect makes it more and more likely that whoever killed Sam will get away with it. And that means an extremely violent person is out there roaming the streets.” He paused to let that sink in. “This isn’t just about Samantha Bonner. I have a duty to this community. So do you.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “You’re good at this. A little thick on the guilt, but it’s effective.”
He held her gaze but didn’t say anything.
“Fine.” She huffed out a breath. “I can give you some basics. But if you want detailed specifics, you’re going to need to file that request.”
“Okay, then.” Sean wrapped his hand around his coffee cup. “Tell me the basics.”
“How about you tell me what you’re looking for? It might be quicker for everybody.”
“I’m sure you saw some of the details of Sam’s murder on the news.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know it was brutal. We think the killer knew Sam personally. The thing is, none of the friend
s or coworkers we’ve interviewed have been able to tell us about a boyfriend or any men in her life.”
“I don’t know about all that.” Farrah shook her head. “It’s not like we were friends, really.”
“You were one of eight people at her funeral.”
She unfolded her arms and rested her hands on the table. “Sam was special. She’d managed to beat the odds. Or at least, I thought she had. She dropped me notes from time to time to let me know how she was doing.”
“And how was she doing?”
“Very well.” Farrah glanced down. “I thought so, at least. She was holding down a job. She’d started college part-time. Did you know she was studying social work?”
“I heard that.” He watched her, trying to read her expression. “What was Sam’s life like growing up?”
Farrah looked uneasy. “Hard. I can’t get into specifics . . . but I can tell you many of my cases are children who have to be removed from their homes because of drug or alcohol addiction. They go into the foster system, which—as we all know—is far from perfect. Despite our best efforts, sometimes the kids end up in homes where they’re even more at risk than in their original setting.”
“ ‘At risk,’ as in sexual abuse?”
“Yes.”
Sean watched Farrah’s eyes, trying to pick up every little clue. “This was when Sam lived with her aunt and . . . I’m guessing her uncle?”
Farrah nodded. “I can tell you want a name, but it won’t help. Her uncle’s been dead for years. Since shortly after Sam moved out of his home, actually.”
So much for a viable lead. But at least Sean had got Samantha’s caseworker talking. “What about the next home? The Jacobs place?”
Farrah’s face brightened. “Sam thrived there. She really did. That’s why she stayed in touch with her foster mom, I think.”
“Did they have other kids?”
“It was just Diane, and, yes, she had several other foster kids. All girls. Sam seemed to do well there. She started making good grades. She joined the choir. She graduated high school with honors over in Burr County.”
“And then?”
“And then what?”
“And then sometime after graduating with honors she ended up in a twelve-step program. Sounds like she had some setbacks.”
Farrah tilted her head to the side. “Do you know how many of my kids end up with drug and alcohol problems in adulthood? It’s amazingly common. The unusual thing about Sam was that she caught it early and decided to get help. I don’t see that as a setback.”
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