Her Second Death: A Short Story (Bree Taggert)

by Melinda Leigh

CHAPTER THREE

  In the passenger seat of their unmarked car, Bree reviewed Dillon Brown’s criminal record and studied his photo. He was short, with unkempt brown hair and a bushy beard. “He drives a 2002 F-150. No evidence of gang affiliation, though it’s always possible.”

  “Reilly said Brown is small-time scum.” Romano started the engine.

  Based on the exigent circumstances, they’d already performed a warrantless search of Dillon’s apartment. They’d found plenty of weed—which they ignored—but no gun and no child.

  “Does he have a job?” Romano asked.

  Bree checked her notes from her phone conversation with his parole officer. “Dillon works at Brown’s Building Supply, which is owned by his father.” She read off an address on Front Street.

  Romano cruised past St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children and the Ronald McDonald House. A few blocks farther north, two big chain-link gates marked the entrance to Brown’s Building Supply. She drove through and headed for the office, a small cinder block building painted white. The parking lot was surprisingly full of vehicles.

  “There.” Bree pointed to a white pickup. “That looks like his ride.”

  Romano drove past it, slowly.

  Bree confirmed the license plate. “That’s Dillon’s.”

  “Then he’s here.” Romano parked.

  A blue warehouse the size of a big-box store loomed behind the office. The double doors were open, and Bree could see rows of lumber and other materials. They got out and went into the small building.

  The office smelled like sawdust and mold. Decor leaned to the 1970s.

  “Can I help you?” A dark-haired woman in her midfifties sat at an old metal desk.

  “We’re looking for Dillon Brown.” Romano showed her badge.

  The woman sighed and didn’t even look at the badge. “What’s he done?”

  “We just need to speak to him.” Romano put her badge away. “It’s important.”

  “The little jerk is in the warehouse.” The receptionist gestured vaguely toward the wall facing the warehouse. “He drives a forklift.”

  “Thank you.” Romano spun on her heel.

  “Good luck.” The woman returned her fingers to her keyboard.

  Bree and Romano left the office.

  Outside, Bree asked, “Do you think she’s calling him?”

  “She didn’t seem to be a fan.” Romano quickened her pace and they hurried to the open warehouse doors.

  They stepped onto the cold concrete. Workers were loading lumber onto a flatbed truck. They followed the beeping of heavy equipment down an aisle until they spotted a forklift at the other end.

  Bree recognized Dillon. “That’s him.”

  Unfortunately, Dillon pegged them as cops from twenty yards away. He leaped down from his forklift and sprinted for the back door.

  Bree dashed after him. “Stop! Police!”

  He glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t slow down—not that Bree expected him to. She cranked up the speed.

  Clearly, Dillon didn’t get up every morning and run five miles like Bree did. She gained on him quickly. He shot her another panicked look, then wrapped a hand around the back doorframe and used the motion to make a hard right on his way through it.

  Two seconds later, Bree burst through the opening into a weedy, wet field. She shouted “Police!” one more time, then saved her breath for running.

  The ground squished under her boots as she raced across the dormant grass to a gravel lane. He jumped a fence and raced down an alley. Bree vaulted the fence and kept after him.

  In three more strides, she’d almost caught up to Dillon. Just ahead, he obviously heard her because he suddenly stopped, spun, and pulled a knife from his back pocket. His face was flushed and moist. Waving the knife at her, he panted. “Get away.”

  “Drop it!” She slid to a stop and drew her service weapon. “I’m a cop.” Cold air pumped in and out of her lungs like bellows. In her peripheral vision, she saw industrial buildings, no windows.

  No help.

  She wasn’t as out of breath as he was, but the hard sprint had left her winded. “I’m going to get my badge out.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about your badge,” he yelled, fighting to catch his breath. “I can tell you’re a cop.”

  Bree’s pulse hammered in her ears. She kept her gun aimed at Dillon. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

  He wheezed and gulped. “I know why you’re here!”

  She waited.

  “I didn’t do it!” Color flooded his face. He talked with his hands, the knife waving as he gestured.

  Bree didn’t want to shoot him. “Do what?”

  “Kill James.” His voice cracked.

  “OK.” Bree kept her voice calm. “Drop the knife, and you can tell me everything.”

  “No!” He held the knife up and slashed the air between them.

  Bree wished she carried a Taser. She didn’t want to shoot him.

  An engine roared, and the Crown Vic came hurtling down the alley. It screeched to a stop inches from Dillon. He spun, but Romano opened the car door, smacking Dillon with it and knocking him off his feet.

  Dillon’s knife went flying, and he face-planted on the asphalt.

  Romano stepped out and drew her weapon. “Get on your knees. Hands on top of your head.”

  Dillon obeyed.

  Bree moved forward and cuffed his hands behind his back. She hauled him to his feet, turned him around, and pressed his back against their vehicle.

  “What are you arresting me for?” he whined.

  Romano gave him an exasperated look. “Your apartment is full of weed. You’re on parole. You’re carrying a concealed weapon, and you just brandished it at a police officer. That’s at least three felonies.”

  He shook his head hard. His eyes were bright with fury. “You can’t send me back to jail. It was just some weed. Fucking cops. You’re out to get everyone.”

  “I can’t make any promises,” Bree said. “But personally, I don’t care about your weed. I’m trying to find James’s kid. Where is she?”

  “What kid?” Dillon tilted his head.

  Bree watched his eyes. “The little girl who was with James.”

  “There was no kid.” He didn’t blink or look away. His gaze was full of genuine confusion.

  “No kid in the back seat?” Romano asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” Dillon gave them an exaggerated shrug. “I would have noticed a kid. Please, you can’t send me back to jail.”

  “Tell us what you saw.” Bree leveled him with a gaze. “No bullshit. You tell us everything.”

  “James wanted to buy some weed. Just a little. He was trying hard to stay off the Oxy. He thought a little weed might smooth him out. His old lady gave him shit constantly. She’s a crazy bitch.” His head shook slowly. “You don’t know.”

  “Where were you supposed to meet him?” Bree hurried him along.

  He gave the street where they’d found the Ford and James’s body. “Near the warehouse.”

  Romano rolled a wrap it up hand in the air.

  “We were supposed to meet at one. I saw his car. The window was down.” His mouth flattened. “But when I went up to the window, James was dead.”

  “You’re sure he was dead?” Bree asked.

  Dillon paled. “His brain was splattered inside of the car.”

  “And you’re sure there was no kid inside?” Romano pressed.

  “I’m sure.” He nodded.

  Romano put him in the back of the car. Bree grabbed an evidence bag and picked up the knife.

  “Hey, I thought you were going to let me go if I told you everything.” He sounded indignant.

  “I never said we’d let you go.”

  “And we’re not so sure you told us the truth.” Romano closed the car door, put her back to the vehicle, and asked Bree, “You think he’s lying?”

  “I wish I did.” But Bree hadn’t gotten any lying
cues from Dillon.

  They slid into the vehicle.

  “Shit.” Romano punched the steering wheel. “Me either.”

  “Let’s get a warrant to search the building supply company property, just in case he stashed her there.”

  “I didn’t take any kid!” Dillon shouted from the back seat.

  They ignored him.

  Romano put the vehicle in reverse and backed out of the alley. “Maybe next time, we could coordinate? I hate it when my partner gets stabbed, and I don’t even know where they are.”

  Heat burned Bree’s cold cheeks as she filled out the evidence bag label.

  Romano continued. “If you get yourself stabbed, I am not doing that paperwork.”

  “Sorry.”

  Romano shook her head. “I will say that you’re a lot faster than my old partner. He was a great detective, but the only thing he could run was his mouth.”

  They went back to Brown’s Building Supply. Two patrol cars were parked in front of the office. They transferred Dillon to one of the uniforms. Mr. Brown agreed to let them search the premises without a warrant. Normally, they’d prefer to wait for the paperwork, but with a child missing, they took advantage of his offer.

  More uniforms arrived and searched the buildings. The city was turning out every available body to find Lena.

  But they didn’t find her.

  “Now what?” Frustration tasted bitter in Bree’s throat as she climbed back into the Crown Vic. Only about an hour of daylight remained.

  “Now we go back to Kelly, ask her more questions, and give her an update.”

  An update on how her daughter was still missing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bree’s heart ached as Kelly broke down sobbing.

  “Where is she? Where is Lena?” Kelly hunched on the sofa, her shoulders caved in, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “Please tell me you’re still looking for her.”

  “Yes,” Romano assured her. “We have alerts out to every officer on duty in the city and surrounding counties.”

  James’s father, Marty, came through the door. A few hours of searching the neighborhood around the crime scene had left his cheeks and nose red from the cold. “What can I do?”

  Kelly cried harder.

  Romano started asking pointed questions. “When did James go back to using?”

  “He wasn’t using. Well, maybe he smoked a little pot,” Marty conceded. “But he wasn’t doing anything hard.”

  “You don’t know that,” Kelly cried.

  Romano gestured to Marty. “Can I talk to you outside?”

  “Sure.” Marty followed her out onto the little concrete patio that constituted the backyard.

  Bree picked up one of the snapshots of Lena, the one with her holding her stuffed elephant at the zoo.

  Romano’s voice sounded muffled through the back door. “Did James have anyone he might have trusted with Lena? Maybe a new girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know.” Marty didn’t deny the possibility that James had been seeing someone.

  Bree carried the framed picture into the little girl’s bedroom. Kelly had cleaned up. She’d probably wanted something to keep her occupied. Nervous energy didn’t like to be contained.

  Standing in the center of the small space, Bree let her eyes drift. They fell on the stuffed elephant, now in the middle of the nearly made bed. Instead of seeing Lena’s room, Bree was transported back to the run-down farm in upstate New York where she’d spent the first eight years of her life. She rarely returned to her hometown. The memories were too painful, but today’s mental trip was unavoidable.

  There were too many similarities.

  A sad little girl with a stuffed animal friend, a friend she’d taken everywhere to help her cope.

  A sound in the doorway caught her attention. Kelly leaned on the jamb.

  “I just want my little girl back.” Kelly sniffed.

  Bree turned back to the room. Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t identify the source of her unease. “Does Lena have any special friends? A neighbor, maybe. Someone she might go to if she were scared.”

  “No. She isn’t good at making friends.”

  “Can you make a list of people Lena sees on a regular basis? Her teacher, her doctor, anyone who interacts with her frequently. Also, are there any new people in her life?”

  “No one new.” Kelly turned away. “I’ll make a list of the rest.”

  Bree left the little girl’s room. She could still hear Romano and Marty on the back patio. She walked through the house and went out the front door. On the sidewalk, she turned and stared at the block. She spotted Mrs. Lawrence looking out her own window. Bree turned to the neighbor on the other side of Kelly’s unit and knocked. The light was on.

  The man who opened the door wore pajama bottoms, day-old stubble, and dark circles under his eyes. “Sorry. I work nights.” He rubbed his eyes.

  Bree showed him her badge and explained that Lena was missing.

  “That’s terrible. She’s a cute little thing. Quiet.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  The bridge of his nose wrinkled. “A couple of days ago. I work nights at the hospital as an orderly. I usually get home around nine in the morning.”

  “Did you hear Mr. and Mrs. Tyson fighting recently?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Like every time he comes over here. I wish she’d just divorce him already.”

  “When did you hear them fighting last?” Bree asked.

  “Last night.”

  Bree straightened. “Do you mean yesterday morning?”

  “No. It was definitely last night. I was getting ready to leave for work. It was after eleven. Closer to midnight.”

  “Did you hear what they were fighting about?”

  He shook his head. “I went to work.”

  “And you’re sure it was James?”

  “Yep. His blue beater was parked at the curb. Can’t miss it, with that huge dent in the front fender.”

  “Thank you.” Bree left the stoop. If James was at the house last night, then Kelly was lying. She marched back to the Tyson house. Bree went inside, looking for her partner.

  Kelly had lied about when she’d last seen James. If he’d been here last night around midnight, where was Lena? Where was she now?

  From the hall, Bree spotted Romano and Marty still on the patio. She glanced into Lena’s room and saw Kelly smoothing the bed comforter. When she heard Bree enter the room, she froze. Their eyes met.

  And the pieces began falling into place.

  “I have a little sister.” Bree gestured toward the stuffed elephant on the bed. “When she was young, she took a stuffed rabbit with her everywhere. I mean everywhere. It used to sit on the closed toilet when she took a bath. She wouldn’t let that thing out of her sight.”

  “Lena is like that with her elephant. Marty bought it for her at the zoo.”

  Then the answer to Bree’s doubts dinged in her head like a fucking bell.

  If Lena had packed for her normal weekly trip to her father’s house, why hadn’t she brought her elephant?

  Kelly’s eyes went cold, and Bree knew in her bones that Kelly had shot James. Why was Lena’s elephant here on her bed, when she had supposedly been at her father’s place for her normal visit? Why would Kelly lie about when she’d last seen James and when she’d fought with him? Innocent people rarely lied about critical information. James had been at Kelly’s house just before he’d been murdered.

  Do you know who lies in a murder investigation? Killers.

  But who killed James and why wasn’t the most important question at that moment.

  Bree narrowed her eyes at Kelly. “Where is Lena?”

  “I don’t know.” Kelly’s gaze sharpened. “You’re supposed to find her.”

  “You lied about when you last saw James. He was here last night just before midnight. Where is Lena, Kelly?” Bree took a step forward.

  “I don’t know what yo
u’re talking about.” Kelly inched backward.

  “Don’t you?” Bree pushed.

  “No.” Kelly stood and brushed past her, leaving the bedroom. “Why would you think James was here last night?”

  Bree followed her into the hallway. “Your neighbor saw him,” Bree lied. Saw was an overstatement, but whatever. “He heard you fighting.”

  Kelly turned, a gun in her hand. “Don’t move.”

  Fuck.

  No wonder they hadn’t found the gun. It had been on Kelly’s person the whole time.

  Bree’s hand inched toward her own weapon. “What are you doing, Kelly? Drop the gun. You can’t get away.”

  Kelly’s eyes darted to the back door. Romano and Marty were still on the patio. Was Kelly going to try to run? Without her daughter? Unless she knew where Lena was . . .

  “Where is Lena?” Bree asked.

  “I don’t know!” Kelly shouted. “You were supposed to find her, but the whole police department is so fucking stupid, they can’t find one five-year-old.”

  “What happened, Kelly? Why did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t say I did.” Kelly put her back to the wall.

  Bree gave her a Look. “Give it up, Kelly. I know.”

  “I didn’t mean to do it.” Kelly’s eyes narrowed with hate. “But I don’t feel bad. He wanted to take Lena away from me. He said if I wanted a divorce, he’d go for full custody. Said he wasn’t paying child support. No fucking way. He’d take Lena and the money I get from the state. If I fought him for the money, he’d kill me.”

  “Why not call the police?”

  “And what would you do?” Kelly snarled. “Have me file a restraining order? That’s worth nothing. He would still kill me.” She snorted. “I did the only thing I could to protect myself and my daughter. I killed him first.”

  “Did Lena see you shoot James?” Bree shifted sideways, trying to turn her body so Kelly wouldn’t see her draw her gun.

  Kelly looked horrified. “Of course not! I’m not a monster. James brought Lena back so he could go buy drugs. Lena was already asleep. I put her to bed, then I followed him.”

  “You left her alone?” Bree asked.

  Kelly sniffed indignantly. “She was sleeping, and I didn’t have a choice. James would have killed me, but I had no proof and no other way to protect myself.”