by Jen J. Danna
“It looks like a still from a security camera,” Leigh said.
The hand that waved in her direction clearly conveyed the fact that he didn’t expect more from a mere intellectual mortal. “That’s a given. It’s pretty crappy quality, but four years ago a lot of those cameras were analog recorders using VHS tape, so I’m not surprised. Even if we could get our hands on the original media, there’d be no metadata to draw from, date and time, that sort of thing.”
“But there’s already a time stamp in the photo,” Leigh pointed out.
“That was either embedded in the video stream at the time of recording, or was added later. I’ll analyze the photo and look for tampering. But back to my original question. Where did the shot come from?”
“Clearly, it’s from across the street,” Matt interjected. “From the angle of the shot, you might be able to extrapolate back to where the camera was located. Then it’s a matter of trying to get the actual footage. But four years later, how likely is it that you’ll be able to recover anything? If it was really captured on VHS, it’s likely been taped over dozens of times, if the tape itself even exists still.”
“It’s going to be a challenge, I agree. But whoever sent this somehow got his hands on it.” He pulled out the remaining sheet of paper from the envelope. “Now … a cell phone log. Real?”
“No,” said Leigh. “I determined that much already. You need a subpoena to get a cell carrier to provide this kind of info. No subpoena was filed and the company has no record of supplying the log. It’s faked, but the highlighted number was real. It belonged to a burner phone that’s been out of service for years.”
Tucker was nodding, his eyes on the log. “I might be able to get you more information there. I can take this stuff with me?”
“Yes. The log is a copy. The photo is the original because I knew you’d need that.”
“Thanks. I’ll get it back to you once I’ve got it scanned into the system and I’ll keep it safe in the meantime.” He slid the photos and the log into the envelope. “That’s only two of the deliveries. What about the third?”
Leigh picked up the thicker envelope and slapped it against her open palm a few times. “This is the one that came to my house.” She met Tucker’s gaze and his eyes narrowed at her hesitant expression. “This is where things might get a little tricky. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I’ll understand if you want to step away. No hard feelings. I’d just ask that you keep what you know confidential.”
Tucker held out his hand, wiggling his fingers for the envelope. “You’ve got me, Abbott. I’m not backing out. Gimme.”
“But things get kind of murky from this point. You need to understand that.”
Tucker extended his hand even further. “I’ve got it. Now gimme.”
When Leigh paused again, Matt leaned forward and plucked the envelope from her hand. “He understands, Leigh, and he’s with you. Now let him do what he can to help.” He handed the envelope to Tucker.
“Thanks, man.” Tucker opened the envelope and took out the three case files. He quickly flipped through the first two, his eyes scanning quickly down the pages as his heel jiggled a rapid beat against the floor. He opened the third file and Matt knew the moment he hit the connection to the Essex Detective Unit as his leg suddenly went still. Tucker’s head tipped up slowly, his gaze finding Leigh’s. “You think someone from the unit is involved?”
“I don’t know. But right from the start it looked like an inside job. This is just the first real indication that the unit is linked into this somehow.”
“From this it looks like Trooper Mercer just investigated the two deaths in this case.”
“It also looks from the picture outside Bruno’s Tavern that my dad is having a drug meet. Sometimes things aren’t what they appear. And Trooper Mercer isn’t here to declare his own innocence seeing as he died three years ago.” Leigh pushed off the couch to stand in front of the fireplace, staring up at the watercolor painting. The small girl running through the churning sea waves with her black Lab puppy was Leigh herself. The small signature in the corner—Grace Abbott—had been painted there by the mother Leigh lost to cancer when she was barely older than the child on canvas.
Tucker swiveled to face Matt. “I can look into all these cases. Let me see what’s there to find.”
“That’s what we need you to do. Check the official records and make sure they match what Leigh’s being sent. After the phone log, we can’t know for sure that this is reliable information. And we have something else for you too.” Matt stood and crossed to the end table to pick up the hard drive. “This was from Nate Abbott’s home computer. Leigh thinks there might be copies of some of his files on here from when he used to work on them at home.”
Tucker whistled. “So if tampering in the files is a concern, that drive might be our only evidence of the truth from back then.”
“That’s what we’re thinking.” Matt handed it to Tucker.
Tucker ran a finger over the drive’s metal case. “Then let’s give the little lady a whirl.”
“You’re probably going to be looking for deleted files. Can you recover them?”
“Damn straight. Sometimes it takes a gentle hand to convince these girls to hand over their treasures, but they always do.” He gathered the envelopes and the drive and stood. “Abbott, give me some time. I guarantee I’ll find something for you.”
She finally turned back to the men. She was worrying her lower lip and had jammed her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to repay you for this.”
“There’s nothing to repay. It’s what friends do.” He perked up. “Unless you want to convince Harper that I need another fifteen big ones in my budget. There’s a sweet server I’d love to have.” He grinned at her, bright-eyed.
Leigh laughed, her shoulders relaxing fractionally. “Yeah, let me see what I can do for you there. Harper always comes to me for budget recommendations.” She scuffed a toe against the carpet. “But seriously, Rob, thanks.”
Tucker touched two fingers to his right temple in a salute. “Happy to help. I’ll see myself out. ’Night.”
In a flash he was down the hall and out, the door crashing shut behind him.
Matt studied Leigh as the color slowly eased back into her cheeks. “That went pretty well.”
“Better than expected, actually.”
Her whole body drooped with exhaustion, so Matt dropped onto the couch and caught her hand, pulling her down into his lap to catch her when she more toppled than sat. He pulled her in, resting her head on his shoulder. He waited as she pulled in a long breath, let it out, and finally sagged against him, her muscles going slack.
“You have more friends at the unit than you think.”
“Really? Have you been chatting with Morrison lately and know something I don’t?”
Matt nearly snorted. “Morrison? No. But think about the last few days. Riley shows up early on to help out with the scene and did you hear what Tucker said? ‘The drive might be our only evidence of the truth.’ He’s with you on this. They both are.”
She looped one hand up over his neck, stroking the hair at his nape, more to soothe herself than him, he suspected. “I just wasn’t sure.”
“About trusting Tucker enough to bring him on board? Or whether he’d stay and not bail?”
“Both.”
“You influence those around you more than you realize. You have friends, Leigh. Let them help. You’d step in to help them if they asked, wouldn’t you?”
“Well … sure.”
“Then give them that same chance. I can’t wait to see what he finds. I have to say, he’s an interesting guy.”
“What makes you say that?”
“His mannerisms and the way he seems to take in everything at once. I get the feeling he’s not just smart, he’s one of those scary smart guys who’s always miles ahead of everyone else in the room.”
“That’s T
ucker. Sometimes I have to make him back up and explain things to me again because he’s twelve steps ahead of me.”
Matt chuckled. “I know some people on campus like that. He’s a lot more normal than most of them. I think we’re in good hands.”
“God, I hope so.”
Matt tightened his arms around her and settled back more comfortably on the couch, watching the flames dance in the grate.
For now, all they could do was sit back and wait, but he had a good feeling that Tucker could be the key to all of this. They just needed to give him time to work his magic.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DENATURE
* * *
Denature: the attempt to prevent ethanol consumption by adding nauseating or poisonous substances to make it undrinkable.
Thursday, 1:22 p.m.
Lowell Residence
Brookline, Massachusetts
“Matt, Leigh’s here.” Mike’s voice floated up the stairs.
Matt yanked a clean T-shirt over his head and left the master bedroom at a jog. Leigh and his father were talking at the bottom of the steps. He recognized the two plain brown boxes beside the wheel of his father’s chair.
He stepped down from the staircase and nudged the bottom box with one foot. “Is that all of it?”
“No. There’s one more in my car.”
She turned to the door, but Matt was already slipping into the sneakers he’d left on the front mat. “I’ll get it. It’s unlocked?”
“Yes. Just lock it up when you’re done.”
“Back in a flash.” Matt ran out to the midnight blue Crown Vic in the driveway, returning moments later with the last evidence box in his arms. He set it down on top of the others. “It’s a good thing we have reinforcements coming. This is a lot of material.”
“I’m grateful for the help, even though there’s not much evidence by today’s standards, considering the crime,” Leigh said. “A home invasion and a murder. But back then they didn’t collect the same types of evidence we do now.”
“DNA wasn’t even remotely on the horizon in nineteen-seventy-five, nor was a lot of the chemical analysis done routinely today.” Matt turned to his father, who sat near the newel post. “You mind if we take over the kitchen for the afternoon? We could use the counter space.”
“Not at all.” Mike deftly whirled his wheelchair around to face his son. A car accident a decade before had taken both his wife and the use of his legs. It had also ended Matt’s military career in the Marines when he’d left post–9/11 Afghanistan on a hardship discharge to take care of his father in the wake of his mother’s death. “Do you need a hand? You’re going through an old case file? Something related to your current case?”
“Probably not,” Leigh said. “But we’ve sworn off coincidences in this case, so we’re not leaving anything unexplored.” She turned to Matt. “You’ve filled him in?”
“Uh … yeah.” After a handful of cases together, Leigh understood Matt often kept his father abreast of his work, but that information never left their house.
“The wife of the old man who started the whole investigation was killed in nineteen-seventy-five during a home invasion. But when I asked the family about it, they clammed right up. I understand murder is horrible, but over thirty years after the fact they still didn’t want to talk about it to a homicide cop? The kind of person who’d best understand both the process and what they’ve gone through? That’s a bit unusual and raised some red flags for me. And after two apparently unconnected deaths suddenly became very connected, I’m not letting anything slip by. If Samuel Kain murdered Charles Ward, and eighty years later the body of Ward’s grandson is left in the same location, then these families are linked and we have to look at everything. Especially when it involves another murder. So, if you have time to help us sort through evidence and run through files, I’d be grateful for the extra set of eyes.”
The sound of a motorcycle engine suddenly broke the silence as it roared up the street. Matt opened the front door just in time to see Paul pull into the driveway, followed closely by Kiko and Juka in Kiko’s little hatchback. After stowing his helmet under his seat, Paul joined Kiko and Juka on the front walk.
Matt elbowed Leigh lightly and tipped his head toward her. “Kinda makes you want to borrow it again, doesn’t it?” he murmured.
She glanced at him sideways and gave a low laugh. “I’m not sure you could convince Paul again. You barely managed it the first time. You could always buy your own, you know, if you miss it so much.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’d forgotten how much fun it is.”
Kiko, Paul, and Juka trooped up the front steps, their familiarity with Matt’s father evident in their casual greetings. In the midst of handshakes and hellos, the sound of nails on hardwood heralded Teak’s arrival. A K-9 wounded in Iraq when an IED exploded during a search that cost him both his left eye and ear, and almost his life, the Belgian Malinois was now Mike’s faithful service dog. Man and dog were firmly bonded—the walking wounded finding comfort in each other. Teak eagerly wound through legs and around boxes, greeting each new arrival individually and receiving scratches and pats in return.
When Matt noticed Leigh taking in the group with wide eyes and a baffled expression, he sidled a little closer. “They come over a couple of times a year for dinner or a barbecue, so they know Dad and Teak.” When her gaze narrowed on him, head slightly cocked in contemplation, he squirmed self-consciously. “What?”
“You’re a good boss. Not all bosses invite their staff home with them like that. They maintain a separation between work and personal lives.”
“I have the advantage of being in an academic setting. No strict business rules. It’s very casual.”
“That may be, but you still do it better than most. In many ways, they’re your extended family.” She turned back to where Paul was in an animated conversation with Mike as Kiko and Juka both bent down to pet Teak. “It’s time to get this going or we’ll spend the whole afternoon in the front hall.” Leigh cleared her throat and raised her voice. “Guys, let’s take this into the kitchen.”
Matt, Juka, and Paul each grabbed a box and the group moved into the kitchen, Teak trotting eagerly in their wake.
Leigh motioned to the floor at one end of the counter. “Put it all there.” She waited while boxes were set down and the men moved back. “Thanks for offering to come out this afternoon to give me a hand. There’s a definite advantage to working as a group when doing these big case reviews. Did Matt explain to you what we’re doing?”
Kiko nodded. “Looking into the murder of the wife of Samuel Kain.” She leaned in conspiratorially, a gleam in her eye. “You’ve met him now. Do you think he killed Charles Ward and bricked in the body?”
“I may never be able to prove it, but, yes, I do.”
“I’m not sure I understand why we’re here.” Juka sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. Teak immediately laid his muzzle on Juka’s leg and gazed up at him imploringly with his single eye. “You don’t think this death is related in any way, do you?” He scratched around the dog’s intact ear. Teak gave a noisy sigh of contentment and leaned against Juka in bliss.
“I don’t know. Kain lost his wife, Anna, to a home robbery that went badly wrong, according to the official report. But I couldn’t get anything from the family besides that, so I wanted to look into it further.” She laid a hand over the lid of the top box. “It’s all in here. I haven’t even had time to crack open the lids. Let’s run it like we always do—when you find something, no matter how small, speak up.”
“Let’s get started then.” Moving to the counter where mugs, cream, and sugar were set out, Matt looked up to find Paul already eyeing the full coffee pot. “I don’t even need to ask you. Anyone else besides Paul want coffee?”
For the next few minutes, he and Leigh maneuvered around each other delivering case files and coffee mugs. Finally, he set two mugs down and pulled a tall leather barstool up to the breakfast counter. He pointed to
one of the two mugs before patting the empty stool beside his. “Sweet and light, just the way you like it.”
She handed him a file and settled in. “There you go. Hit me with some groovy nineteen-seventies science.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Leigh picked up her mug, cradling it in both hands, and took a long sip, letting out a satisfied sigh as she set it down. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For the kitchen and the coffee.”
“The coffee was bait to get Paul on board.”
“I heard that.” Without even raising his head, Paul’s voice came from the kitchen table where he sat, bent over a file, between Juka and Mike.
“You’re a cheap date,” Matt retorted. “And predictable.” He turned back to Leigh, grinning. “But you’re welcome.”
The room settled into a comfortable silence for a few minutes.
Kiko was the first to break that silence. “It looks like I have the responding officer’s report,” she said. “Trooper Bern responded to the call from the Lynn Police Department. Mr. Kain had come home from work to find his wife dead in the hallway leading to the front door. She was lying facedown and he rolled her over to administer CPR.”
“What time was that?” Matt asked.
“About five-fifteen.”
Matt winced inwardly. He could imagine the man coming home to his dead wife, rolling her over to try to save her, only to find her body stiff and her skin ice-cold beneath his hands. “Autopsy report lists the time of death between ten a.m. and two p.m. The body would have been cold by then with rigor setting in already.”
“I have the scene photos,” Mike said. “The body has definitely been shifted judging by the original blood puddle on the floor. Mrs. Kain is lying face up and there appears to be a gunshot wound to the chest and another to the abdomen.”
“Gut shot. It’s an excruciating way to die.” The edges of the autopsy report crumpled under his grip and Matt forced himself to loosen his hold. Forced himself to push back memories of dying comrades lying on the hot sand amid rubble and bomb debris. “That was the first shot. The ME estimated approximately five minutes between the two shots, based on blood loss and the extent of bruising while the heart was still beating.”
