by CJ Lyons
“Yeah, it’s listed in the car’s contacts. Says he was talking to a Matthew Harper.” He paused. “Any relation?”
“How long did the call last?” Harper asked. The Reverend had been the last person to speak to Spencer before he was killed? Why hadn’t he told the police?
“Not sure. It wasn’t dialed through the car, so he might already have been connected as he got into the car and started it? Anyway, it was disconnected four seconds after the engine started.”
“Four seconds?” Long enough for someone to reach inside the SUV and grab the phone from Spencer. Had her father heard the killer?
“Does that help?”
“Yeah, thanks.” She hung up and passed the information about the timing on to Tierney.
“Fits with what I’m finding,” the medical examiner told her. “My guess is that he’d started the car, was hit on the head—or hit his head on something—and while unconscious he was placed inside the car, the engine left running. He breathed in a few minutes of exhaust, enough to raise his blood carbon monoxide to the levels we found, but not high enough for the CO to kill him before the lung failure from the cervical spinal fracture caused fatal asphyxiation. Now,” he warned her in a stern tone. “That’s a working hypothesis, only. I’ll be repeating the calculations and need to complete my microscopic examination of the tissues before I rule for certain.”
For Tierney to bend his rules and go as far as offering a hypothesis was a small miracle. One that Harper would gladly take. She turned to leave, then turned back, remembering her other case. “When do you think you’ll get to Lily Nolan?”
“Who?”
“The girl found in the alley yesterday morning.”
“Right.” He glanced at the clock—it was almost eleven—then at the corpse before him. “Perhaps tomorrow? I saw Maggie’s notes and the films; it looks pretty clear-cut. But I won’t know for sure until I see for myself.”
Harper blew her breath out in frustration. But then she had a thought. “Maggie said she died of a blow to the head. Her body was beaten—I thought to make it look like a robbery gone wrong. And Spencer Standish also died from a blow to the head, but his death was staged to look like suicide—”
Tierney glanced over his glasses at her, his expression stern. “Detective, I know you’re new at this, but you can’t go leaping to conclusions, not without evidence. And right now, I have no evidence that the two deaths are related.”
“But—”
“Do you know how many people die of head injuries any given year?”
Yeah, but how many of them were victims of homicide? Harper had the urge to shoot back. But she kept her silence, knowing that Tierney was right; she didn’t have any evidence to connect the two cases. In fact, the only real connection between Lily and Spencer was Harper herself—it was only because she knew the details from both cases that they appeared similar. Luka had warned her about that, had called it the “fallacy of confirmation bias.”
She forwarded him the information about the time and cause of death. But she hesitated about adding that the Reverend was the last person to speak with Standish while he was alive. That particular tidbit seemed to require a conversation—as uncomfortable as it would be to tell Luka that her father might be more involved with the case than they’d suspected.
But she couldn’t believe he’d bury evidence of a killer. What had he heard during Standish’s final call? Maybe nothing. Maybe the call had been a simple follow-up after the Reverend had counseled Standish about his confession.
Except… it’d been Sunday morning. And the Reverend did not allow anything—legal work, family, breaking news, the house could be on fire—nothing interrupted his Sunday morning prayers as he prepared to preach his first service of the day. And yet, he’d taken a call from Spencer Standish.
She left the morgue, pausing at a vending machine to grab an energy bar before calling Luka. “The techs found something,” she said. “Standish made a call that was cut off seconds after he started the car engine. Probably about the same time he was attacked and his phone taken. Well, maybe.”
“Call to who?” Luka sounded distracted.
She swallowed. The good thing about the call between the Reverend and Standish was that it gave the Reverend a rock-solid alibi for Standish’s murder. “My father.”
There was a pause; she heard voices in the background. “Yeah, okay. I’ll deal with him later. Right now, we’ve something more urgent. Are you still in the hospital?”
More urgent than finding a killer? “Yeah, I’m downstairs in the morgue. What happened?”
“A mother and her newborn child have disappeared from the hospital. I’ve locked down the area and am heading to security to review the tapes.”
A critical missing person case took priority over everything. Harper spun on her heel and jogged to the nearest stairwell, not wanting to wait on the elevator. “What can I do?”
“I need you to help Leah. She suspects the mother might have been a victim of domestic violence, on the run from her partner, and she’s going to start canvassing the shelters and outreach programs.”
At first Harper was tempted to protest the assignment; it felt so minor, as if she was being sidelined again. If she wasn’t going to play a role in finding the mother and child, then why not focus on her own case? She itched to follow up with Macy—who’d conveniently never mentioned that she’d gone with Lily to rehab. What else had she hidden? But then she realized that not only did Luka’s assignment give her a way to search the streets for Macy, she also had the perfect person who knew every domestic shelter worker in the county and could coordinate them to help with the search for the missing patient.
“Tell her I’ll meet her in the ER in five,” she told Luka.
Harper ran up the steps and through the ER and found Leah Wright waiting for her at the CIC’s entrance. “There’s a long list of places she might have gone to for help,” she told Harper, holding her phone up. “This might take all day. I think we should start at the Salvation Army’s shelter and then try the one on Maple.”
Harper smiled. It wasn’t often that she held the upper hand when it came to Leah. But she knew exactly who might be able to shed light on where a desperate woman fleeing someone might go. Jonah’s outreach mission. Finally, one of her family members who might actually do more than criticize her career choices or call her a traitor for not betraying her badge.
She told Leah, “We need to make a quick stop first.” They reached Harper’s Impala parked in front of the ER. “Trust me,” she told Leah as they got in.
As Harper drove, Leah was on her phone to her mother, Ruby. “Did you get my text? Yes, I know it was only ten minutes ago, but this is important. Okay, ask Nate to send anything to my phone as soon as possible. Thanks.”
“What was that all about?” Harper asked.
“I’m trying to get a photo of Beth. We don’t have any to circulate and without even knowing her last name—”
“Gonna be hard to ask any outside agencies to help find her, much less make a public appeal.”
“Exactly.” Leah sighed. “But try explaining that to Ruby.”
Harper’s phone buzzed. Another text from Rachel. Now that Harper knew her father had been the last to speak to Spencer Standish, she understood her mother’s sudden interest in Harper’s career. She hesitated. She and Leah weren’t that close. But maybe that was good; maybe that meant a more objective viewpoint. Especially as they seemed to share similar situations with their families. Yet, somehow Leah had made her fraught relationship with her mother work. “You two don’t get along. I mean, you didn’t talk to your mother for years, not until after your husband died, right?”
“She walked out on me when I was eleven, so I guess two decades of silence counts as not talking.” Leah shifted in her seat, obviously uncomfortable. Harper was tempted to simply drop the topic, but she couldn’t let it go.
“And yet you talk now, she’s living with you, helping with your da
ughter—” Harper frowned, trying to sort out her confused emotions. “How did you make that happen? How do you make it work? Was it because she changed?”
Leah drew in a breath, glanced at Harper. “Ruby will never change. But she does occasionally bend a little—for Emily’s sake, not mine. And I… well, I’m still angry with her, hell, I still don’t trust her. She practically promised Emily she’d win a ribbon at the fair, but when that didn’t happen—” She gave a quick, angry shake of her head. “Anyway, as soon as she lets Emily down, Ruby takes off and I have to pick up the pieces.” She sighed. “But I guess we have enough common ground that we make it work, even if it’s only baby steps.”
“Baby steps,” Harper mused.
“Is this about your father? Luka mentioned that he wasn’t happy that you were working a case involving one of his parishioners. Is it hard for him, a minister, seeing his daughter become a police officer?”
Harper shook her head. “It’s not that I’m a cop. We had problems way before then, ever since I was in college. Maybe even before. I think I’ve always disappointed him, never could live up to his expectations. But you’re right, baby steps. Yesterday, he actually asked about my job. So did my mom—she seems more excited about my making detective than I am. As if suddenly I’m legitimate.” She held back that Rachel’s interest seemed mostly motivated by the Reverend’s involvement in the case—that was too humiliating to share.
“Families are hard. Even if you know they love you. I always knew Ruby loved me; that was never the issue. But she made me somehow feel like I didn’t deserve that love, like I hadn’t earned it. As if that made it okay for her to leave.”
“Try being the only daughter of a man whose three sons joined him in the ministry. Talk about feeling unworthy. Plus, I was adopted—something that I could never forget anytime I looked in the mirror. When I was a kid it made me work twice as hard to be good enough, but after I went away to college…” No need to expose those old wounds. “Things changed.”
“You became an adult, started to think for yourself, make your own choices.”
“Live with my mistakes was more like it, but yeah, something like that.”
“So here you are, an accomplished professional—but your parents still see you as that little girl. And you feel like you have to prove to them that you are an adult, an equal.” Leah blew her breath out. “Good luck with that. I don’t think Ruby will ever see me that way. Only good thing I’ve ever done in her eyes was to give her a granddaughter.”
“Well, my folks better not be waiting for that, because it’s not happening anytime soon.” Harper parked in a red zone across the street from Jonah’s mission.
“Then keep working those baby steps.” Leah glanced out her window. “The Pierhouse Mission? You think Beth might have come here?”
They left the car, the morning sun already raising waves of scorching air from the pavement. “If not, I know someone who can help us check the other shelters and programs in a fraction of the time it’d take us.” Harper led the way across the street.
“Who’s that?”
“My brother Jonah. He runs the place.” Harper didn’t bother to hide her pride—of all her brothers, Jonah was her favorite and, to her mind, the one doing the most to make a difference. You could preach all you want, but actions always spoke louder than words. Jonah was here every day, fighting to make life better for folks who had nothing and no one.
Folks like Lily Nolan. And Beth Doe and her baby.
Twenty-Five
Within a few minutes of meeting Harper’s brother, Leah realized that the Pierhouse Mission reflected his energy and passion. When Harper explained about Beth and her missing infant, Jonah immediately leapt into action, sending a group text to fellow shelter directors and other resources Beth might have availed herself of.
The replies came in almost as quickly: no one had seen Beth in the past and especially not today.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Jonah told them as he escorted them out. “But we’ll all keep our eyes out.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Leah gave him some of her cards while Harper gave him a hug. It was strange to watch—Harper never revealed anything personal, kept her private life firmly divided from her work. But it was nice to see.
They’d no sooner reached the door than both of their phones chimed. Harper had a call that she answered, stepping to the side of the foyer as she spoke, her shoulders hunching with tension. Leah, however had a text—from Emily: Found where baby lady came from at fair. Come home and we can show you. This was followed by a chorus of emojis including a carousel, baby, hearts, and a smiley face blowing a kiss.
Since Jonah and his associates had pretty much blanketed the city with alerts for Beth, Leah didn’t have much else to do to help other than trying to find Beth’s cell phone. She typed back: on my way, good work! And waited for Harper to finish her conversation. When the other woman hung up, a scowl filled her face.
“Something wrong?” Leah asked.
“No. Krichek’s filling my inbox with scut work. He’s sent me a list of license plates to trace, says he’s too busy. It’s not as if I don’t have my own case to work on as well.”
“Mind dropping me back at Good Sam so I can get my car? The kids reviewed their photos from the fair and think they might have figured out where Beth came from and where she threw her phone out. Maybe we can finally get an identification.”
“Not to mention GPS tracking of where she was before the fair.” Harper nodded. “Sounds like a better lead than anything I have. Let’s go.”
“What about your license plates?”
“They can wait.”
A blast of heat hit Leah as they left the mission. The old building didn’t have air conditioning, but its solid architecture and ceiling fans had kept the inside comfortable. She couldn’t remember last summer being this hot, not so hot that the concrete sidewalks and the blacktop roads were shimmering with steam.
Despite wearing a jacket over her blouse, Harper seemed impervious, leading the way back to the car baking in the sun. Suddenly, she stopped, her hand dropping to her gun, gaze fixed on something down the block.
“Wait here,” she told Leah as she took off at a stride that covered the ground faster than most people did while jogging.
Leah stood beside the car—she didn’t have the keys, so there was nowhere else to go—and shielded her eyes from the sun to see what had caught Harper’s attention. At the end of the block, a man was shouting at a girl he had pinned against a bright orange sports car. Leah couldn’t make out any words, but when she saw him slap her, she set off after Harper, who had her phone out, talking to someone as she moved down the street.
“Darius, I’m sorry,” the girl cried as Leah drew nearer, keeping behind Harper. “I couldn’t help it—”
Darius raised his hand again, this time curling it into a fist. But then he caught sight of Harper, who’d stopped about ten yards away. “What do you want?” he demanded, lowering his hand and slipping it into his pocket. “This ain’t none of your business.”
Harper said nothing, merely shifted her weight so that her jacket slid open, revealing her badge and gun.
“Go away!” the girl shouted. “We’re fine.” Except, from the way her words slurred, Leah doubted that was true.
“Doesn’t look that way to me, Macy.” Harper’s gaze never left the man’s hands. “Come over here, Macy.” Then she addressed the man. “Sir, I’m Detective Harper. I’d like to see your hands. You can wait right there while I speak with Macy about one of her friends.”
Smart, Leah thought, applauding Harper’s attempts at defusing the situation. Letting Darius know he wasn’t the reason why she was there, trying to get Macy out of his reach, repeating the girl’s name to forge a connection, while keeping things professional.
Unfortunately, Darius didn’t see things that way. Instead, he grabbed Macy’s arm, pulling her close to him. “She ain’t going nowhere. Like
she said, leave us alone, we’re fine, don’t need no police.”
“Happy to,” Harper replied. “Soon as I’ve talked with Macy. She’s a witness in a murder investigation.”
“Murder?” Darius’ voice rose, both in pitch and volume, and his posture immediately shifted into an aggressive stance. His grip on Macy tightened. “What’cha tell this bitch, Macy? You tell the cops I killed someone?”
“No, I never—” Macy’s words were cut short by a strangled cry as Darius pulled a knife and held it to her throat.
“I didn’t kill no one!” he shouted at Harper. His eyes grew wide as a patrol car pulled across the intersection down the block, two officers emerging, weapons drawn. Darius dragged Macy across the sidewalk until his back was to the brick wall and she shielded him from the front. “You all got the wrong man! I didn’t do nothing!” he yelled to the patrolmen. Then he glared at Harper. “This bitch is trying to frame me! I’m innocent.”
Harper realized her mistake and backed away, motioning for the other officers to hold their position. Leah saw the frustration cross her face at how events had escalated so quickly—less than a minute had passed since they’d left the mission. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw a crowd gathering in the shade of the mission’s awning, spectators using their phones to record the event, their faces filled with anger and mistrust.
As the crowd began to shout at the police, voicing support for Darius, several raising their own hands over their heads, yelling, “Hands up, don’t shoot!” Leah realized that the police, including Harper, weren’t going to be able to easily calm things. She glanced again at the girl, Macy. She was barely able to stay on her feet, her head lolling against Darius’ shoulder. More than high—early stages of an overdose?
