Murder in the River City

by Allison Brennan

  “No,” she snapped.

  A cop approached and whispered in Black’s ear, again. Shauna tried, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. But Black immediately said, “Tell them I’m on my way. Make sure Simone is taking lead on forensics and send at least two extra cars. In this heat, we’re going to need crowd control with all the people going to the river.”

  He turned to Shauna. “We’re done here. You have my card. Call me if you need anything.”

  She jumped up. “But—”

  “Ms. Murphy,” Black said while responding to a text message on his phone, “most crimes like this are just what they appear to be—this one, a robbery.” He pocketed his phone. “I assure you this is a priority for our department, and I want to catch these guys as much as you. I have to go now—I’ll be in touch.”

  He strode off without looking back.

  The cop had another case. Mack hadn’t been dead half a day, and already there was another homicide, another problem to be solved. She didn’t want to be frustrated with Detective Black—she knew the dire straits of the police department and the severe budget cutbacks—but whoever killed Mack had to be put in jail.

  Shauna didn’t like that the detective hadn’t taken her observation about the Babe Ruth baseball seriously. Maybe he hadn’t taken her seriously.

  Her phone rang. She grabbed it again. Austin. “I’m coming,” she said without a hello. He’d texted that he was worried about her, and while she appreciated the thought, she wasn’t his girlfriend to worry about. All Shauna wanted to do was figure out how to make the police focus on Mack Duncan’s murder.

  If they didn’t catch these guys, she’d constantly worry about her grandfather and everyone else who worked at Dooley’s. Because in the back of her mind, she still couldn’t help but remember the first image that had flashed in her mind: that of her grandfather, dead.

  Chapter Three

  His first official day back on the job Detective Sam Garcia caught a homicide.

  Sam flashed his badge and was let into the parking lot, half of which was cordoned off by yellow caution tape. The American and Sacramento rivers met in the 160-acre Discovery Park. He and the Murphys had swam in the river and hiked in these woods years ago. Sam had been an only child and had adopted the raucous Murphy family as his own. Back then, this part of the river had been almost pristine; now, Discovery Park was over-crowded and unkempt from illegal camping and careless visitors.

  He realized he hadn’t been here, except as a cop, for more than fifteen years.

  Sam ignored the gaggle of media as they were unloading their equipment. How had they beat him? Police scanners, no doubt. But still, they inundated him with questions he had no answers for. If he had, he would still have responded with the same, “No comment.”

  “Welcome back, Sam,” Officer Riley Knight said when Sam walked under the crime scene tape.

  “Thanks. Good to be home.” When he accepted the position in Los Angeles two years ago, it had seemed like the right thing to do. His life had been falling apart, professionally and personally, and L.A. was an opportunity for advancement and change.

  But Sam wasn’t an L.A. cop at heart, and he missed his friends and family in Sacramento. When the Sac PD chief called him about an opening on the homicide squad, he said yes.

  “Is John here?

  “On his way,” Riley said.

  Though they didn’t have assigned partners, the homicide teams worked as a unit, and John Black was the senior detective for his team. Two years ago when Sam had been with the gang unit, he and John had crossed paths often as gangs and homicide went hand-in-hand. John was one of the few cops who hadn’t turned his back on Sam when it came out that Sam had turned his partner in for accepting bribes.

  “What do we have?” he asked Riley. His back was damp from perspiration. It wasn’t even noon and the heat had already won for the day. People waited behind crime scene tape, irritated they couldn’t get relief in the shallow river below.

  He had little sympathy, not when he had a murder to investigate.

  “A lot of unhappy swimmers,” Riley grumbled. He gestured toward the cliff, a thirty-foot sloping drop to the river, which was running extremely low this summer. Tangles of cottonwood and willows, their roots spreading along the cliff, dominated the vegetation. “Female victim,” Riley said. “Approximately twenty-to-twenty-five years of age, blonde, spotted by a family who came early to beat the crowds.”

  “Did anyone touch the body?”

  “No, we haven’t gone down yet, waiting for CSI and the deputy coroner. They’re en route. We’ll need a team to pull her up. Try to do this too fast and she could roll into the river.”

  Sooner rather than later. This heat was going to make the body wholly unpleasant to work with. “What makes you certain it’s a homicide and not an accident?”

  “Take a look for yourself.”

  Sam walked over to the cliff and looked down. Fifteen feet below, about halfway between the edge and the river surface, the blonde lay sprawled over a tangle of roots attached to low-lying trees. Her eyes were nearly opaque, even in the early stages of death. Her body appeared unmarked except for the obvious bruising around her neck and blood over half her face.

  “Detective”—Riley gestured to an area five feet to his left—“we marked off this area because of possible blood.”

  Sam looked over at the large thirty-by-thirty foot space of asphalt that had also been cordoned off by Riley and the other first responders. In the center was a marker next to what looked like a large smear of dried blood, about a foot long.

  Sam looked down at the victim, then at the smear. Strangled, likely from behind. He pictured the possible series of events: killer pushes her down, or she tries to run and falls. He bangs her head into the ground. Perhaps continues to strangle her, she fights, her face rubbed half-off by the rough surface as she dies.

  It made sense—the victim was killed in the parking lot and conveniently dumped over the edge of the cliff. But here, the riverbank was wide enough to catch her body, making her easier for someone to spot.

  Brutally violent. Anger. Possible sexual assault, though the victim appeared fully clothed. They’d need to wait until the autopsy.

  “Who found the body?” Sam asked.

  Riley glanced over to where still more people were gathering by the cordoned off area. The news crew was filming, using Sam’s conversation with the cop as backdrop. He gestured with his head. “That father in the Giants cap with the two young boys.”

  “Talk to them?”

  Riley nodded. “They parked there”—he gestured to a small pick-up truck—“at approximately 9:15 a.m. and started down the path. A reflection caught the dad’s eye and he spotted the body.”

  “No one else saw anything?”

  “Only two other people were in the lot. We talked to both of them—I have their names and tags. Nothing unusual.”

  “Thanks.” He glanced over at the attractive, petite Simone Charles who’d been a rising star in the forensics unit two years ago. He hadn’t seen her since he’d returned.

  “Is that Sam Garcia?” Simone asked. “I heard you were back.”

  “I am. Good to see you again, Simone.”

  “Too bad it wasn’t over drinks with the old gang. Where’s my victim?”

  “On the cliff.”

  “Terrific.” Into her radio she said, “Ty, grab my rappelling gear and backpack.” She turned to Riley and smiled. “Good to see you again, Riley. How’s your sister?”

  “Working too hard, as usual. She and her husband go on vacation next week—if Dean wraps up this big case he has going.”

  “They deserve a break.” Simone glanced over at the smear of blood. Her causal expression changed to all-business, her cool demeanor returning. Simone had always been about the job, and Sam could see that hadn’t changed in two years.

  Ty, Simone’s assistant, ran over with her equipment while she slipped on her gloves and squatted next to the sm
ear. She collected samples, tested them with her kit, then announced, “Blood and tissue.” She stood up and put on her gear. “I’ll go first, then call up if I need assistance preparing her for retrieval. Otherwise, no one goes down that cliff until I say so. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sam said and got out of her way.

  He spotted John Black cutting through the media without a glance or comment. Sam raised his arm in greeting, and John came over. “Sam Garcia. The chief said you were on my team.” He extended his hand. “Glad to have someone with experience. My last two were rookies.”

  Sam filled him in on what they knew. “Simone Charles is down the cliff with the victim.” He looked over to where Simone’s assistant Ty was peering down the cliff, communicating with Simone on their radios.

  “Violent weekend,” John said. “I just came from a bar where the bartender was bludgeoned to death, all for a couple bills and baseballs.”

  Sam jerked his head toward John. “What bar?”

  “Dooley’s in Old Sac. You been there?”

  His heart sank. “The victim—it wasn’t Patrick Dooligan, was it?”

  “No. Mack Duncan.” John assessed him. “You know the proprietor?”

  Sam nodded, relieved Dooley hadn’t been murdered, but upset about Mack. “All my life. His grandson is my best friend. Mike Murphy, a trauma surgeon at Sutter. I also knew Mack. What happened?”

  “There’s been a rash of robberies downtown. This the first fatality.” John eyed him. “You know Shauna Murphy, then.”

  “Mike’s little sister.”

  “Not that little. Protective of her grandfather while also prying. I suspect she’s going to dig around some more, and that won’t be good for my investigation, or her safety.”

  “You want me to talk to her?”

  “That might be a good idea.”

  Definitely not a good idea.

  Chapter Four

  As soon as Shauna knew Dooley was going to be okay if she left for ten minutes, she agreed to meet Austin at the small coffee house around the corner. He was already there, drinking a latte, and she waved at him, before approaching the counter.

  Hal, the owner, came over as soon as he saw her.

  “We heard,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Shauna. Does Dooley need anything?”

  “Just friends for now,” she said. “He wants to reopen as soon as the police tell him he can.”

  Hal slid over a mug of black coffee and refused her money. “When Denise gets in, I’ll go over and talk to him. Make sure he’s not drinking too many pints.”

  She stirred a teaspoon of raw sugar into her coffee. “I appreciate it, Hal. I’m going to be around as well. I should never have left.”

  “You can’t be a barmaid your entire life, not with that degree and all that talent.” Shauna had a degree in architectural design and her dream was to work on historical renovations. But her dad’s construction company that she’d helped run since his heart attack made its money in industrial construction and some commercial renovations. Boring for her, but it was bringing the company back into the black. The side projects she enjoyed were few and far between.

  “He’s my granddad,” she said. “He needs me. I can work from the bar. I used to study at that bar every night.”

  “That you did.” Hal smiled, then frowned when he glanced over at Austin. “You’re not back with that weak-chinned loser, are you?”

  “Austin has neither a weak-chin nor is a loser. You’ve been talking to Dooley too much. And no, I’m not back with him. I was never with him—a handful of dates, that’s it. But he’s worried about Dooley.”

  Hal snorted. “Doubt it.”

  She wrinkled her nose at Hal, then picked up her mug and walked across to the window seat Austin had saved for her. He immediately took her hand. “I was so worried about you, baby.”

  “Don’t call me baby,” she said. She squeezed his hand, then extracted it from his grip. “I came here so you’d know I’m fine. It’s Mack who’s dead, and the police are investigating.” Not that they were doing enough. She was trying to figure out how to learn what they knew. But mostly, she wanted to follow through on the baseball. She could tell Detective John Black didn’t take her seriously. That irritated her almost as much as Austin calling her baby.

  “If you need anything, Shauna, you know you can come to me.”

  She smiled. Austin wasn’t a bad guy, just clingy, insecure, and a spendthrift. He thought the way to make friends was to spend money on them. People took advantage of that, and Shauna wasn’t going to be one of them. Austin was a smart guy—book smart. He’d earned his money by working hard, and she didn’t like most of his friends.

  “I know, and I appreciate it.”

  “Promise me you’ll stay away from that place. I’ve always thought it was too dangerous for you to come down here at night.”

  Shauna glared at him and had to bite back her initial, knee-jerk comment. “Austin,” she said in a voice harsher than she wanted, “you have no say in what I do. Dooley’s is my granddad’s place. I was raised there. I’m not walking away.”

  “Then let me escort you when—”

  “No.” She took a deep breath and reminded herself that Austin was just helping the only way he knew how. “I appreciate your concern,” she said slowly, “but we’re not dating. We’re not together. You’re my friend, and as a friend I’ll take your concern to heart. But if the police are right, this was a robbery connected to others downtown and they won’t be coming back. Dooley has never been robbed before this, other than an employee stealing from the till now and again.”

  “I was hoping you’d come to a gala with me Friday night. One of my clients is putting on a charity casino at the Hyatt—it’ll be fun.”

  “Austin—”

  “No strings. Not a date. I get that.” But he glanced away. Shauna knew what he was thinking—that if she had fun, she’d get back together with him. Because Austin could be fun. He was smart and generous.

  But she wasn’t going to use him just for a little fun, especially since he had given her that creepy feeling on their last date.

  “Thank you, Austin, really—but no.” She finished her coffee. “I need to get back to Dooley, make sure he gets home, then go through the insurance papers. He shouldn’t do it alone.”

  “I’ll walk you back.”

  She almost said no, but he looked at her so wistfully, so full of chivalrous concern, that she couldn’t dash his spirits.

  She smiled with genuine appreciation and understanding. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Five

  Tuesday

  After checking on Dooley, Shauna spent all morning at the library while waiting for Detective John Black to return her calls. She’s tried him last night, and again this morning. She’d even tried him through the Sac PD switchboard. Nothing worked.

  She wanted to find out everything she could about the other robberies. She pulled all the newspaper articles and the local crime blog that seemed to have a lot more information than the papers. While she couldn’t find definitive proof that Mack’s murder and the other robberies weren’t connected, there were several glaring differences. She gathered all the information into a folder, then tried the detective again. No answer.

  He was avoiding her.

  She made the rounds to the two sports memorabilia stores in the area. All she had to tell them was that she was Patrick Dooligan’s granddaughter and they gave her all the information she needed. The night before she’d made a list of the missing baseballs and included a picture she’d copied from the insurance files. She gave them the information and asked two questions: Had anyone come in since Sunday with any of the baseballs? No. Had the police come by asking if anyone had come in? No.

  She then visited the pawnshops within a five mile radius of the bar—all three of them—and asked the same questions. She learned the police had sent a fax to the pawnshops asking them to be on the lookout for stolen merchandise and mentioned the autograp
hed baseballs. But there was no photo and no detailed description.

  If John Black was as competent as he seemed yesterday, then he must know something else he hadn’t shared with her. She’d emailed him a copy of the file she had with her—the details and the photos—and he hadn’t given it to the pawnshops.

  She drove to the main police station on Freeport Boulevard in the older neighborhood of South Land Park and asked to see Detective Black. She was told he was in the field, so she waited in the parking lot. Quickly, her car became an oven, and she sat under an oak tree. She used the time wisely on her cell phone, covering her dad’s business and making sure his construction crews knew that just because she wasn’t in the office didn’t mean she didn’t have eyes and ears on them—and if anyone slacked off or cut corners, she wasn’t in the mood for second chances. Most of her crew were long-timers, but because of the economy, she sometimes had to hire guys she didn’t know as well. She depended on her project manager to monitor the crews daily. So far, the day’s work was being done competently, on time, and within budget.

  She leaned against the tree and stared at the parking lot, waiting for the detective. She couldn’t forget how scared, how old, her grandfather had looked yesterday morning. She would never forget how she felt running down the wooden planks of the sidewalk, thinking Dooley was dead.

  Shauna had known Mack Duncan for nine, nearly ten years, since the day Dooley hired him. She’d been eighteen at the time, sitting at the end of the bar, studying for finals in between balancing Dooley’s books. She’d been managing his finances since she was fifteen and realized his accountant was ripping him off with fees and charges that were completely unnecessary. Dooley was a great owner-operator of the pub, but he’d never been a numbers person.

  Mack had walked in, responding to the ad Dooley had run looking for a full-time bartender. Unshaven, with receding hair in a stubby ponytail and a faded Pink Floyd T-shirt, he looked like an old rocker who had always been on the fringe. But Dooley saw a military tattoo on his bicep and talked to him for nearly three hours while they drank beer. Mack had been a vet from the first Desert Storm, had been in and out of jobs because of a gambling habit he said he’d beat. Dooley took a chance on him, and it had paid off. Mack had proven loyal and had taken over much of the hard labor of running the bar, things Dooley should have stopped doing years before like swapping out kegs and getting on the floor to fix the plumbing. Without Mack, Shauna suspected Dooley would have retired years ago. Mack kept Dooley’s alive.