Cold Case Reopened

by Caridad Piñeiro

  But as Jackson went through all of Rhea’s detailed notes, photos, maps and more, it was impossible for him to ignore the discrepancies that were piling up, deeper and deeper, like the winter snows when they came.

  He leaned back in his chair, cradled the now almost-empty coffee cup and scrutinized the materials. Sucking in a breath, he shot to his feet and poured himself another cup. He searched through the junk drawer for a pen and pad and sat down once again, taking notes as he went through the papers a second time. He added his own questions to those that Rhea had raised until he had filled a few pages in his pad.

  An ache blossomed in his back, and he tossed his pen onto the paper. He rose slowly, unfolding his large frame vertebrae by vertebrae into a stretch until the ache died down. Pacing around his kitchen, he ran his hand through his hair as he considered all the questions jumping around in his brain. Once the ache had been relieved, he returned to the table, leaned his hands on the top rung of the chair and examined all the materials again. Stared at his own pad of growing notes and questions.

  With a sharp shift of his shoulders and a jagged exhale, he realized that there was only one thing he could do.

  THE HAMBURGER SHE’D eaten hours earlier sat heavily in her stomach, keeping her awake.

  It had been a large burger and quite tasty. Since she hadn’t eaten all day, she’d scarfed down the burger and fries, but was paying the price for it now.

  She was about to give up on sleep when the thump against the French door frame drew her attention.

  Is someone trying to open it? she thought and held her breath, listening intently for any other sounds.

  A rattle and another slight thump came again, louder. As if someone was jerking the door handle, trying to enter.

  Her heartbeat raced in her chest as she carefully reached for the smartphone beside her bed, telling herself she was mistaken about what she was hearing. But the rattle came again and was followed by a scratching sound against the frame of the door.

  She had no doubt now that someone was trying to break into her room.

  She leaped from the bed, her phone in her hand and held it up, shouting as she did so.

  “I’m calling 911! You hear me! I’m calling 911!” she shouted, while also engaging the camera and snapping off a burst of shots of the French door, hoping to capture an image of whoever was on the other side of the glass. For good measure, she raced toward the fireplace and grabbed a poker from the andirons. She held it up and said, “I’m armed! I’ll use this!”

  Heavy footsteps pounded across the balcony and down the fire escape, confirming that she hadn’t been wrong. Someone had been out there.

  Her own heart pounding as loudly as the footsteps, she raced back to the night table and snapped on the light. She pulled out Detective Whitaker’s business card and dialed his number, hands shaking as she did so.

  He answered immediately, almost as if he had already been awake. “Detective Whitaker.”

  “It’s Rhea. Someone just tried to break into my room.”

  JACKSON RACED OVER to the Regina Inn, where a police car sat in front, watching the building.

  He pulled up behind the cruiser, got out and approached the officer behind the wheel.

  “Good evening, Officer Daly. Have you seen anything since I called?” he said.

  The young man shook his head. “Nothing except the innkeeper coming out to ask what was happening. She’s upset that someone might have tried to break in, but also that we’re drawing too much attention.”

  Jackson understood. “Do me a favor and pull around the corner where you’re not as visible. That might help if someone was here and decides to come back. They won’t spot you on the side street.”

  He pulled his flashlight from his belt and walked the grounds around the inn. At the fire escape there were clear signs of footprints on ground softened by yesterday’s rain.

  To avoid any further upset, he dialed Rhea to advise her that he was coming up and also dialed the innkeeper.

  The innkeeper met him at the door in a bathrobe she had tossed on, her face filled with worry. Lines of tension bracketed her mouth and her hair was in disarray, as if she had repeatedly run her fingers through it.

  “Mrs. Avery. I’m so sorry to drag you out of bed at this late hour,” he said with a tip of his head and swept his Stetson off as he entered.

  “Is everything okay? Do we need to worry?” she asked, clutching the lapels of her robe with age-spotted hands.

  He hated to cause upset but had no choice. “There’s evidence someone was in the area of the fire escape. I need to check Rhea’s room and balcony just to confirm and will let you know once I finish my investigation.”

  “Investigation?” she hissed and glanced up the stairs to the guest rooms.

  “If something happened, I don’t think you have to worry about the other guests, and we’ll try to keep things quiet,” he said, understanding the older woman’s concern.

  Jackson went up the stairs, careful not to make noise so as to not wake the other guests. He tapped softly on her door, and it flew open.

  Like the innkeeper, Rhea had a robe wrapped tightly around herself, dark hair tousled. Her face was pale and she worried her lower lip for a second before she said, “Thank you for coming so late at night.”

  “Just doing my job,” he said, although he had already started thinking of Rhea as something other than just a job. “May I check the door?”

  She nodded, and he hurried over. He opened the French door and looked out. Muddy areas on the balcony appeared to be footprints. He slipped onto the balcony, avoiding the footprints, and noted that some paint had been scratched off the frame close to the latching mechanism. Someone had clearly been trying to pry it open.

  He slipped back in, closed the French door and locked it shut. For good measure, he engaged the security bolts at the edges of both doors that would prevent it from sliding open even if someone broke the lock.

  When he faced her, she stood hugging herself, obviously fearful. “Please tell me I was imagining it.”

  He shook his head. “You weren’t. Someone tried to get in. When you called you said you snapped off some photos. May I see them?”

  She nodded, slipped her hand into the pocket of the robe and removed her smartphone. She unlocked it and handed it to him.

  The blurry shots of the doors didn’t show much. If you looked closely, there was a shadow on the balcony, but the photos were too dark to reveal much about whoever had been out there.

  He handed her the phone. “I’m sorry. There’s not much to work with, but someone was there. Did the person look familiar?”

  She quickly shook her head. “I couldn’t see much. I was too scared. I’m sorry.”

  Jackson walked over and laid a comforting hand on her forearm. “No need to apologize, Rhea. You were understandably frightened. If you had to guess who—”

  “Matt. Selene’s husband. He’s angry that I’m pushing for Selene’s case to be reopened,” she immediately said.

  Her response was possibly a little too quick. “How do you know?”

  She swiped her screen again and held it up for Jackson to read Matt’s message.

  I’ve had enough of your lies and the trouble you’re making for me. Leave me alone.

  “You think he knows that you want to reopen the case?” Jackson asked.

  Her answer came quickly again. “Yes. I think he has a connection on the force. Someone who works for Matt when he’s not on duty.”

  Since it wasn’t unusual for officers to have second jobs for when they had multiple days off on their shift, it didn’t seem unlikely that there was some overlap between the police force and a local contractor. But it was something he’d have to check out, if his chief agreed to let him proceed with the investigation.

  “I’ll speak to the Avalon Police Department
and have them see if Matt’s at home. In the meantime, I can stay—”

  “I’m okay. There’s no need for you to stay,” Rhea said, thinking that while the detective’s presence would be comforting in one way, it would be disturbing in another. He called to her too strongly in a physical way. Even with tonight’s upset, he was hard to ignore.

  Jackson narrowed his gaze, considering her, but then he heaved his shoulders up in a shrug. “If you’re sure, but I’ll arrange for an officer to stay outside and keep an eye until the morning.”

  Only until the morning, Rhea thought. “What happens after that?”

  Jackson hesitated, but finally said, “After that, we’ll decide what to do.”

  “With an open mind?” she reminded him, still worried about what he thought about the evidence she had gathered.

  “With an open mind,” he confirmed and then gestured to her front door. “I have to get going. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

  She dragged a hand through her hair and blew out a harsh breath. “I won’t. Thank you for coming tonight.”

  He tipped his head. “Just doing my job, Rhea.”

  But as his gaze met hers, Rhea suspected that he was thinking of her as more than just a job. Her heart sped up at the thought, but she tamped it down.

  Her one-and-only involvement with the handsome detective had to be finding out the truth about Selene’s disappearance.

  Anything else was out of the question.

  Chapter Four

  “You want to do what?” Chief Robinson said, eyes wide in disbelief.

  “I want to reopen the Selene Davis case, Chief.” He sat in front of the older man’s desk, leaned toward him and argued his case before his boss totally shut him down.

  “I looked at all the materials Rhea gathered.”

  “It’s Rhea now, is it?” the chief muttered.

  “It is because I was trying to establish a rapport with her in order to determine if she was a crackpot or genuine,” he said and plowed on. “She’s genuine, Bill.”

  His chief sniggered and shook his head. “Never figured you’d let a pretty face sway you.”

  The heat of anger burned through his gut, but he tempered the flame. “If that’s what you really believe, then maybe I shouldn’t be your choice for police chief when you retire.”

  His boss’s big body shuddered with a rough laugh and he wagged his head again. “I’m sorry, Jax. You know I trust you—”

  “Then trust me on this, Bill. I looked through all her materials. Did a thorough review just like you asked. There are major discrepancies in Selene’s husband’s alibi and his actions the night she disappeared. And neither us nor the Avalon Police Department were aware of the fact that there might have been domestic violence going on,” he said, arguing his case the way a lawyer might before a jury.

  Chief Robinson laced his fingers together and placed his hands behind his head. He leaned back and his chair creaked from his weight. “I know that’s a hot-button topic with you on account of Sara.”

  “It is, but you have to admit that if we’d had that info we would have looked at Matt Davis much more closely since—”

  “Most murdered women have previously been victims of domestic violence,” his chief finished for him.

  With a chop of his hand against his palm for each item, he said, “There’s evidence he abused her. His business was in trouble. The life insurance payout would keep that business afloat. He had a bonfire going almost all night. Who keeps a bonfire unattended for that long and takes a trip up a mountain at night to look at a building site?”

  The chief swung back toward his desk and laid his forearms on the edge, steepled hands held before him. “What about a body, Jax? Hard to charge someone without a body.”

  With a dip of his head, Jackson agreed. “True, but we didn’t find a body in the lake and were still prepared to label it a suicide.”

  When his boss didn’t respond, he forged ahead. “I know it’s all circumstantial, but we may be able to make a case. Maybe that’s why someone tried to break into Rhea’s room last night. Either to silence her or to get their hands on the evidence she collected.”

  Chief Robinson scrubbed his face with his hands. “This could be embarrassing for both departments, Jax. And if it is, you can forget ever becoming police chief here or anywhere for that matter.”

  “I know that, Bill. But again, none of us were aware of the abuse. If we had known we would have handled the investigations differently.”

  With a sweep of his hand, the older man said, “Go ahead, Jax. But if this all goes south—”

  “I’ll take responsibility for it, Bill. Count on that. I won’t dishonor the department no matter what.”

  RHEA HADN’T BEEN able to sleep after what had happened. She’d snapped on the television and snuggled on a couch with a clear view of the French doors and windows, the heavy brass poker resting by her side. In the early morning hours she’d dozed off, but woke as the sun rose and bathed her room with light.

  She’d made a cup of coffee and sat impatiently, waiting for the detective’s call, even if only to arrange for the return of her folder. She was surprised when he suggested that they meet for lunch to discuss her materials and last night’s intruder.

  She tried to tell herself not to be too optimistic. Not to believe that the detective might actually be reopening her sister’s case. She didn’t want to have her hopes dashed, as they had been when she’d gone to the Avalon Police Department.

  But then again, that police department hadn’t even taken a moment to review her evidence. The Regina Police Department had.

  Or at least she hoped the detective had done as promised.

  At the restaurant, Detective Whitaker had already taken a seat at a table by a window. As she entered and met him, he straightened his long, lean form and wagged his head in greeting.

  “Miss Reilly.”

  “Detective Whitaker. Thank you for meeting with me, and thank you again for last night.”

  “I wish I could say it’s my pleasure, but we both know this meeting isn’t about pleasure.” He pulled out a chair for her.

  She sat and clutched her hands together tightly in her lap. “Have you made a decision?”

  A momentary flicker of some emotion, indecision maybe, flashed across his face. “I have, but first, I’d like to know more about Selene. About you.”

  It was her turn to hesitate. With a quick shrug, she said, “We were very close as you can imagine. Inseparable until Selene got married.”

  “What happened then?” He angled his big body toward her as if to hear her better. His gray gaze, steely with determination, fixed on her face. Slightly unnerving professionally and personally. Her body responded to him in a way it never had to any other man, maybe because she wasn’t used to being around such physically powerful and lethally potent men.

  She shifted her chair back a little. “We grew up in Boulder but moved to Denver for school. Roomed together during college and after. My career took off like a rocket while Selene was getting her master’s.”

  “She was a teacher?”

  “She’s a music teacher, but also a very talented pianist and singer. She often performs in Denver when she visits,” she said and her voice grew husky with emotion.

  He stroked a hand down her arm to offer comfort. “Take your time, Rhea.”

  She nodded, dragged in a breath and released it with a rush of words. “She got a teaching job in Avalon and moved there. Met Matt and they married. After that we would have regular girls’ weekends, mostly in Denver. Matt didn’t like having me around.”

  “Maybe because you saw more than you should,” Jackson said, sympathy alive in his tone.

  With a shrug, she continued. “Maybe. When I first saw the bruises, I asked Selene how she’d gotten them. She told me she had falle
n while on a hike. I forced myself to believe it, but then it happened again. A few times, but Selene had an excuse each and every time.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Rhea.”

  “But I do. I tell myself that if Selene’s dead...” She stopped short, well aware of the slip and that the detective had caught it. For a long moment she sat there, trying to decide whether to be honest, but if she was anything, she was honest.

  “Something was off that night after the text. I knew Selene was in trouble. I still feel her—” she tapped her chest “—in here. I know she’s still alive.”

  Long moments passed, but as she peered at the detective’s face, she had no clue what he was thinking. His face was as stern and stony as the summits of the mountains in the distance.

  The waitress approached at that moment, but sensing the tension between them, and at Jackson’s raised hand, she walked away.

  As he had before, the detective leaned toward her and, in a low voice, he said, “Selene is gone, Rhea. We both wish it was different—”

  “She’s alive. I know it,” she insisted, and his features softened as he sat back. She worried that she’d blown whatever chance she had of his reopening the case. But then he said, “Promise me one thing, Rhea.”

  Relief speared through her. “Whatever you want.”

  He arched a brow. “I know you’re not normally that agreeable. If you were, we wouldn’t be sitting here discussing this.”

  She couldn’t argue with him. When it came to finding out what happened to her sister, she’d fight him tooth and nail if she had to. “You’re right. What is it you want so that you’ll reopen the case?”

  “Promise me that you’ll accept Selene’s gone if that’s what all the evidence says.”

  Accept that her sister was gone. Forever. That they’d never have another girls’ weekend. Never share another laugh. Or cry. Never see that face that was like looking in a mirror. Something that anyone who wasn’t a twin could never understand.

  “That’s some promise,” she said and swiped away the tears that spilled down her cheeks.