Warrior Son

by Rita Herron

  Nerves fluttered in the doctor’s eyes.

  “Other than the lab tech who ran the sample, you were the only person who knew about that test and the results.”

  A coldness seeped into the doctor’s eyes that struck Roan as guilt. A second later, the doctor swung his hand toward the door.

  “Get out, Deputy. I’m done with your accusations.”

  Roan refused to be intimidated. “Know this, Dr. Cumberland, if you were involved in either of the McCullens’ death or the Burnses’, or if you’re lying about what happened to the twins, I will find out.” He leaned closer, eyes pinning the man to the spot. “And nothing had better happen to Dr. Lail. Do you understand?”

  Another tense second passed, and then the doctor gave a clipped nod.

  But Roan didn’t trust him. As soon as he and Megan left the office, he phoned the lab and asked them to examine the doctor’s phone and bank records going back three decades.

  If someone had paid Cumberland to fake the twins’ death, that would be a place to start.

  * * *

  MEGAN WORRIED HER lip with her teeth. “If Barbara had something to do with Joe’s death, maybe we should talk to her again.”

  “She’s not going to confess,” Roan said. “She’s just as defensive as Dr. Cumberland.”

  “Then talk to Bobby. If his mother killed Joe and he didn’t know about it, he might turn on her.”

  “Good point. Let’s pay him a visit.”

  She struggled to make sense of the situation as he drove to the prison where Bobby was locked up. He was being held in a minimum-security facility that provided mental health.

  “I still find it hard to believe that Dr. Cumberland would deceive the McCullens like that,” she said, thinking out loud. “He seemed to genuinely care for them. And no one has ever filed a complaint against him.”

  Roan scrubbed a hand through his thick, long hair. “You never know what people will do if they’re pushed into it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was a long time ago,” Roan said. “We don’t know what was going on in the doctor’s life back then. Hell, what if he and Barbara had had a thing?”

  “That doesn’t seem likely,” Megan said. “But I guess you’re right. I just hate to think that he betrayed that family’s trust.”

  They parked at the prison, then cleared security, and Roan explained to the warden that he needed to visit Bobby. “How is he doing?”

  “He has his good days and bad days. The therapist is working with him on anger management issues. He’s been sober now for weeks, so that helps.”

  One of the guards led them to a visitor’s room, and a few minutes later another guard escorted Bobby into the room. He wore prison garb and was handcuffed, but lacked the shackles. The gray pallor of his skin indicated he hadn’t seen much sunshine, and the glint of anger in his eyes indicated he still harbored bitterness toward the world.

  “You can remove the handcuffs,” Roan said.

  Bobby seemed wary, but muttered a thanks when the guard unlocked the cuffs. For a moment, he rubbed at his wrists as if the cuffs had hurt. Or maybe he just hated confinement.

  She remembered being confined in that body bag and understood the suffocating feeling of having your freedom stripped away.

  “Hello, Bobby, I’m Deputy Whitefeather, and this is Dr. Megan Lail, the medical examiner in Pistol Whip.”

  Bobby cut his steel-hard eyes toward Megan, and a spark of male appreciation replaced his resentment. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Megan forced a neutral expression, determined not to let him bait her. “We need to talk to you about your father.”

  “My father is dead,” Bobby said matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, he is,” Roan said. “But we know the truth about how he died now.”

  Bobby’s eyes flickered with emotions that Roan couldn’t quite define. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I performed an autopsy on Joe,” Megan said. “He didn’t die of natural causes. Someone poisoned him.”

  Bobby gaped at them in shock. “My father was murdered?”

  Megan nodded slowly.

  “That’s impossible,” Bobby said. “He was sick. He had emphysema...”

  “Yes, he did,” Megan said. “But his illness didn’t take his life. I found traces of cyanide in his tox report. Someone slowly poisoned him to death.”

  “Cyanide?” Bobby’s voice grew shrill. “But that’s crazy.” He spread his hands in front of him and stared at his bruised knuckles.

  “You had the most to gain from your father’s death,” Roan said bluntly.

  Bobby’s head jerked up, rage darkening his face. “You think I killed my own father?”

  Megan swallowed hard at the pain in Bobby’s voice. Was he lying or was he really shocked by his father’s murder?

  * * *

  ROAN NARROWED HIS EYES, scrutinizing Bobby. “Maybe you already knew what your father put in that will and you weren’t happy about it.”

  “But I didn’t know,” Bobby stuttered.

  “Then you thought he was going to change his will and cut you out completely, and that wasn’t fair.” Roan lowered his voice. “Hell, man, I get it. You were just as much a son to Joe McCullen as Maddox or Brett or Ray, but he never treated you the same. You got bits of his time and attention when he could fit you in.”

  Pain wrenched Bobby’s face.

  “I don’t blame you for being angry, for hating the McCullens. Joe should have made you a part of his family. He should have given you the riding lessons and the land and his name—”

  “Yes, he should have,” Bobby growled.

  “You visited him when he was sick?”

  Bobby nodded. “He apologized, said he knew he’d let me down, but that I had to shape up. Hell, I bet he never talked to his other sons that way. They didn’t have to prove they were worthy of being a McCullen like I did.”

  How could Roan not understand the man’s animosity? “Even when he was dying, he didn’t acknowledge you to your half brothers?”

  Bobby shook his head. “He was ashamed of me.”

  Roan’s heart pitched. Would he have been ashamed of him if he’d known he was his son?

  “So you decided to get back at him, didn’t you?” Roan asked. “You slipped some poison in his drink and slowly watched him die.”

  Bobby shot up from this seat, outrage flashing in his eyes. “That’s a lie.”

  The guard stepped forward, stance aggressive, handcuffs in one hand, his other on the gun at his waist. He motioned for Bobby to take a seat.

  “Damn this.” Bobby glared at the guard, but sank back in the metal chair. He rolled his hands into fists on the table, then took several deep breaths.

  “That’s total crap. Yes, I was furious at my father, and I never made any bones about the fact that I resent my half brothers. They’ve never done anything for me. I’m sure they’re pissed that Dad included me in the will.” His eyes darkened. “Have you considered the fact that maybe one of them wanted to get back at him for his affair with my mother?”

  “That makes no sense,” Roan replied. “First of all they had no knowledge of you. And secondly, if they did, they would have tried to convince Joe not to include you in the will. Killing him only meant you got your share sooner.”

  Bobby’s face fell. Apparently he hadn’t thought his theory through.

  “Listen to me.” Bobby lowered his voice. “I was mad at my father, but I didn’t kill him. Like a fool, I...kept hoping he’d make things right before he died.”

  Roan chewed the inside of his cheek. The pain and raw hope in Bobby’s voice sounded sincere.

  “What about your mother?” Megan asked. “Barbara had just as much reason to be angry at Joe as you did.”

  Bobby twisted his head toward her. “She loved Joe until the end. She would have never hurt him.”

  “Really?” Roan said. “She was obsessed with Joe for years. She wanted him, but even aft
er his wife died, he refused to marry her.”

  Bobby’s lips thinned into a straight line.

  “In fact, we now believe that Grace McCullen might also have been murdered.”

  “What?” Bobby stuttered.

  “Did you know that Grace McCullen was pregnant with twins a few months before she died? That she lost those babies?”

  Bobby looked from Roan to Megan, then shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Then I’ve got a story to tell you,” Roan said. “Joe married Grace and had three sons. Later she got pregnant with twins. Somehow Barbara had met Joe and had a thing for him, but she knew he wouldn’t leave his wife. So she hires someone to help her kidnap those babies when they’re born. Grace and Joe think the babies died, but Grace can’t get over it. That was Barbara’s plan—she wanted to drive Grace and Joe apart.”

  “You’re crazy,” Bobby muttered.

  “It worked for a while. Joe hooked up with your mother, and they had you. But Joe still loved his wife and refused to leave her. A few months later when Barbara realized her plan hadn’t worked, she decided the only way to have Joe was to get rid of Grace. She discovered Grace was on antidepressants, so somehow she found a way to get some alcohol into Grace. Mixed with the pills, Grace passes out and is killed in what appears to be a car accident.”

  Roan paused. “But that doesn’t do the trick. Joe still won’t marry her. He still keeps you and your mother on the side. Barbara puts up with it for years but her resentment grows. Then eventually Joe gets sick. She finds out about the will and is irate at how he left things and poisons him.”

  Bobby shook his head in denial, but said nothing.

  “She took your father from you before his time was up,” Roan said, pressing harder. “Maybe if she hadn’t, he would have found a way to introduce you to your half brothers.”

  Bobby’s face blanched. “My mother wouldn’t have done that.”

  “Can you be sure, Bobby? Just look at what she did a few months ago. She pulled a gun on Scarlet Lovett and threatened the McCullens.”

  Bobby looked down at his hands, his face anguished. His breathing was choppy as he stood. A cold resignation framed his eyes as he met Roan’s gaze. “I want to see my mother.”

  Roan’s pulse jumped. He was hoping he’d say that. “I can arrange that.” He paused. “But only if you let me listen to your conversation.”

  A vein throbbed in Bobby’s neck. “You want me to try to trap my mother into confessing to murder?”

  “I want the truth,” Roan said. “I think you do, too.”

  Bobby squared his shoulders, his body ramrod straight. “Fine, set it up. But I’ll prove you wrong.”

  Roan gave a small nod, although Bobby’s voice lacked conviction, as if he didn’t think that would happen at all.

  As if he thought his mother was guilty.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sympathy for Bobby welled in Megan’s chest. If his mother had murdered Joe and Grace and kidnapped the twins, she would spend the rest of her life in prison.

  Bobby would also lose the only parent he’d ever really known.

  But at least if Bobby confronted her, they’d learn the truth.

  Although it was early evening, Roan didn’t want to put off the interview with Barbara until the next day. If he did, Bobby might change his mind. He might also find a way to contact his mother, which could work against getting that confession.

  She and Roan stopped and had dinner at the local diner while he arranged the transport and meeting. Two hours later, they sat in a room with a two-way mirror that allowed them to view the conversation between mother and son.

  Bobby looked even more agitated than he had when they left him. Barbara looked...excited, happy about seeing Bobby again.

  “Son, I’m so glad to see you.” Barbara swiped at tears and folded Bobby in her arms. Roan had instructed the guards to remove the handcuffs so the two could talk openly. If the situation spiraled out of control, the guard would step in.

  Roan was prepared to back him up.

  “Mother, you look...good,” Bobby said.

  Barbara blushed and shook her head. “Orange has never been my color. And they won’t let me have my makeup. It’s a travesty.”

  Megan almost laughed. The woman was harping on her looks when she was locked up for months. If they made this kidnapping or murder stick, she would be inside for the rest of her life.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Bobby. You look good. Although you’re a little thin.” Barbara fluttered a hand down her cheek, then sank into the metal chair, but kept one hand clasped in her son’s.

  “The food sucks,” Bobby said.

  “Well, one day we’ll be out and I’ll fix you all your favorites again.” Barbara pressed Bobby’s hand to her cheek. “I dream about that all the time. Making that pulled pork you like and that coconut cake with the three layers.”

  Bobby looked torn. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

  “How did you arrange this get-together?” Barbara asked. “Are you getting an early release?”

  Bobby had plastered on a smile, but it faded. “No early release, but I’m working through rehab.”

  “That’s good, son. I want you to do well, to get out and prove to those McCullens that you deserved to be one of them.”

  “I don’t care about being a McCullen anymore,” Bobby said.

  “But you’re inheriting your own piece of land, Bobby. You’ll have your own spread one day just like I always dreamed about for you.”

  Bobby gritted his teeth. “I know, Mom. I need to ask you something.”

  Anxiety knotted Megan’s shoulders as she watched Bobby. She couldn’t imagine confronting one of her parents in this kind of situation.

  “What is it, honey? You want to talk about your therapy?”

  “No, Mother, I want to talk about my father.”

  Barbara thumbed a strand of hair from her cheek. “All right.”

  “The police said Dad was poisoned. Did you kill him?”

  Barbara gasped. “How can you ask me that, Bobby? You know how much I loved Joe.”

  “Yes. But I also know how much you hated his wife. The police say she was murdered, too.”

  “Yes, I hated that woman,” Barbara admitted. “And I wanted her to die so I could have Joe, but I didn’t kill her.”

  “Joe was poisoned with cyanide.” Bobby leaned closer to her, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “You kept cyanide, Mother. You used it in your gardening. And you visited Joe multiple times, and you were always making him cookies.”

  Rage slashed Barbara’s face as she pushed herself to stand. “I can’t believe you of all people would accuse me of such a thing.” She glanced at the guard, then around the room.

  “Did you do it?” Bobby asked. “Did you kidnap those twins, then kill Grace so Joe would be with you?”

  Barbara went stone-cold still. She turned slowly and looked at the mirror on the wall, then spoke as if she knew they were watching. “How dare you force my son into trying to trap me to confess. I did not kill that damned woman, and I certainly didn’t kill Joe.” Her eyes turned menacing. “You will pay for turning my son against me. You’ll pay.”

  She flicked her wrist and motioned to the guard. “Now get me out of here. I’d rather be in my cell than visiting with a son who would stab me in the back.”

  * * *

  “THAT DIDN’T GO as I expected,” Roan said.

  “I know you were hoping for a confession.” Megan fastened her seat belt as they drove toward Pistol Whip. “But maybe we have it wrong. Maybe Barbara wasn’t the killer.”

  Roan grunted in frustration. “Could be. Everything leads back to Dr. Cumberland and that night the twins died...or disappeared. He could have covered up Grace’s and Joe’s murders, too.”

  “But he spent his whole life helping people in this town,” Megan continued.

  Roan phoned the doctor, but his voice mail picked up, so he lef
t a message.

  He hung up, but couldn’t get the doctor off his mind. A second later, his phone buzzed. The lab. “Deputy Whitefeather.”

  “Roan, it’s Lieutenant Hoberman. We researched Barbara Lowman’s accounts as well as Dr. Cumberland’s. There were a few deposits made in Barbara’s account that could have raised red flags, except we cross-checked with Joe McCullen’s and they match.”

  “Joe was supporting her and Bobby?”

  “Yes, for years.”

  No surprise there. Would he have helped Roan’s mother if he’d known she’d given birth to his son? Or would he have denied having a Native American child? “How about the doctor?”

  “His are a little more interesting. His income has been stable, but we dug deep into when he first started practicing.”

  “He owed a lot of money?”

  “That’s not it. The year before the twins died, he made a mistake that cost a patient her baby,” Hoberman said. “The couple claimed he took some uppers to keep him awake during a delivery. The delivery went south and the baby died. The couple was going to sue, but something changed their mind and the case was dropped.”

  Roan’s chest constricted. “They were paid off.”

  “Probably. I’m trying to get the couple’s names, but it’s difficult to access medical files.”

  Yes, it was. But the incident suggested a motive for Dr. Cumberland to take the McCullen babies. Maybe he was trying to pay the couple off by giving them another child.

  * * *

  MEGAN’S CHEST ACHED as she listened to Roan explain the CSI’s findings. “Oh, my God. A mistake like that would have cost him his license, his entire career.”

  “But it was swept under the rug,” Roan said. “Probably for money, or maybe Dr. Cumberland came up with another solution.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He could have replaced the child with another baby. Or two.”

  Megan’s heart pounded as she considered his theory. Unfortunately, it made sense. If Dr. Cumberland had caused that infant’s death, guilt could have forced him to kidnap the McCullen babies.

  But to steal a child—no, two children—from his own friends? And why would he have chosen the McCullens?