Detective Alex King and his partner, Detective John Alvarez, were speechless as they stared through their unmarked sedan’s windshield, not believing their eyes. They had been called to an apparent double homicide in Congress Park but never expected to see this.
The German Shepard barked and snipped as two Animal Control officers wrestled with the beast. Dragging its thick nails across the pavement toward the back of their van, they tugged, but the dog tugged harder, refusing to go down without a fight. On it went for several more minutes until finally the two officers had the sharp-toothed dog safely contained in the back of their van.
“Let’s hope our night is a little easier than that,” Alvarez said, opening his door.
King followed Alvarez’s lead and stepped out beneath a flickering night sky. There was a chill in the air but nothing he couldn’t handle. The two large men approached the two-story Tudor and badged their way past the police line before entering the house where they were quickly pointed to the upstairs master bedroom.
After climbing the creaky Victorian stairs to the top floor, King stepped into the room where a couple lab technicians were already busy working. They combed for clues and collected evidence as King pulled a pair of latex gloves from his sport jacket pocket and slid his fingers inside. The elastic band snapped around his wrist as he swiveled his neck to each of his shoulders, assessing the scene.
At the center of the room, a white couple in their mid-forties lay on top of the covers of their queen-sized bed. They were both fully clothed, their eyes closed, a peaceful expression on their faces. King’s gaze drifted down the man’s arm to find his hand seemingly purposely draped over the woman’s. It was an intimate gesture, suggesting they were married.
King and Alvarez split up—King going to the dresser and his partner to the bed.
At the tall oak dresser, King took note of an expensive looking sports watch on one end and a pair of diamond studded earrings on the other. It was your classic married couple’s bedroom—his side and hers with a walk-in closet only feet away. Inside that, clothes and shoes for all occasions. It was clear this couple was comfortable with their finances.
As King side-stepped back to the dresser, he listened to Alvarez speaking to the crime lab investigator behind him. “No forced entry. Nothing reported stolen—valuables left out in the open. And no sign of struggle,” the investigator said.
King opened the leather wallet near the watch. He thumbed through various credit cards before matching the victim’s name, Keith Brown, to the Colorado issued driver’s license inside. Putting the wallet back where he had found it, he glanced over his shoulder and asked himself, “Who did this to you, or did you do it to yourselves?”
Alvarez was still conversing with the officer when King padded his big feet to the bed. There was a half-emptied bottle of scotch on the nightstand marked as evidence. Next to it sat a glass still full of the amber liquid, also flagged by the techs.
King peered down for a closer look.
A lipstick smudge in the shape of a smile was imprinted on the glass rim. A prescription pill bottle was opened. The label was for Vicodin but the imprint on one of the pills inside suggested it was generic.
King turned his focus to the victims. He studied each of their faces, making note of how their bodies were positioned. Both their lips were blue, and what appeared to be dried saliva in the corners of their mouths had King thinking this was an overdose or possible suicide. He glanced to the woman’s ring finger, noticing a wedding band—big expensive rock—still firmly locked in place. The scene was too clean for it to be a murder, he thought.
“Anyone know her name?” King asked.
“Keith and Pam Brown.” Alvarez relayed what the investigator had shared only a moment ago. King had been lost inside his head, making mental notes of his findings, piecing it all together. “He was a banker and she was an accountant.”
“Bankers have more enemies than accountants, right?” the young officer at the door said. His eyes were bright as he glanced between the detectives.
King glared at him from under his brow. Making assumptions was like walking a tightrope. Too risky to chance it.
“How about you make sure no one enters the house who isn’t authorized.” Alvarez read King’s expression and patted the officer on the back. Guiding him to the exit, King went back to studying the bodies.
“What do you think?” King asked Alvarez when it was just them and one lab tech still in the room.
“I think it’s a suicide.” He side-stepped and pointed over the bed to the opened prescription pill bottle King had seen on the nightstand.
“Who found them?”
“The young chap you just sliced up with your eyes.” Alvarez shoved his hands inside his pants pockets and raised his brows. “Responded to a disturbance call. The call was made by a neighbor complaining about a dog barking. The front door was jarred opened so they came inside and discovered this.”
King kept his eyes on the husband’s hand perfectly draped over his wife’s. The dog would have been a huge deterrent if an intruder did break-in—unless the dog knew who the attacker was. King’s thoughts kept churning over every possible scenario. “If the front door was left open, why didn’t the dog just leave?”
“Maybe you’re underestimating a dog’s loyalty.”
King cast his gaze to the wooden floor. He could imagine the dog sitting guard at the bedroom door, protecting his owners as they took their last breaths—which then ruled out carbon monoxide poisoning.
“There was nothing else reported.” Alvarez’s cheeks ballooned as he bounced his gaze around the room. “Only a barking dog.”
King straightened his spine and met his partner’s gaze. “Anyone speak to the caller?”
Alvarez shook his head, no.
“Ah, my two favorite homicide detectives.” Leslie Griffin, the medical examiner, arrived and stepped into the room carrying her supplies.
King and Alvarez quickly briefed her as she readied herself for a night’s work. They didn’t know much, but shared all the facts with her. She didn’t seem to mind. King liked Leslie’s approach. She kept it fun, considering the job. Leslie was quick on her toes and was always one to appreciate a good puzzle.
“Suicide, huh?” she said, moving to the nightstand and picking up the pill bottle while eyeing the scotch. “I was kind of hoping for a homicide.” She glanced back and flashed a squirrely grin. “But, yes, it has all the makings of a perfect, lovely mutual suicide.” She laughed. “Though I won’t know for sure until I get these two back to my office and run some tests.”
The detectives left Leslie alone to give her more room to work. As they opened up the first of the other two bedroom doors, King was toying with the idea that they could be working a murder-suicide case.
It was a guest bedroom they browsed first and, as they combed through the sheets and pulled back the curtains, King thought back to similar cases he’d worked in the past. Nine out of ten times, it was the controlling and depressed husband or boyfriend responsible for the woman’s death. Was Keith Brown one of those men? But besides how the couple lay in bed, nothing else gave him reason to conclude it was anything other than an accidental overdose.
“Let’s just call it a suicide and get on with the night.” Alvarez scrubbed a heavy hand over his chin.
The men exited the guest bedroom and entered the next through the en-suite bath. King paused at the sink and knew he’d found something of interest.
The feminine scent and beauty products were everywhere. Hair bands, lotions, and makeup. He knew they were about to step inside the bedroom of a teenager girl and, as they did, he moved to where a collage of photos was pinned up on the wall. There, King found his reason for being here tonight.
“They have a daughter.” King unpinned a family photo from the wall and thought about Samantha’s son, Mason. Where is she now and does she know her parents are dead? The thought was dreadful.
“Lord, why does it always have
to be a family?” Alvarez muttered as he stared at the Browns’ family photograph. “All right.” He rolled his shoulders back. “Let’s see what the neighbor says before we go searching for this girl.”
Chapter Five
The sky was pitch black and the street lamps had turned on by the time Erin and I left the hospital. Susan decided to stay behind to keep Allison company. The doctors wanted to keep her for observation as they worked to monitor Allison’s condition. It killed me that they didn’t know why she had collapsed. Despite Allison’s cheer, I knew she wasn’t painting a complete picture to how she was actually feeling.
“You know Susan is only staying because her boyfriend works here.” Erin flashed me a knowing look.
“I know.” The corners of my eyes crinkled. “Can you blame her?”
Our sneakers squeaked on the floor as I thought about how great it was Susan had found someone as wonderful as Dr. Benjamin Firestone. Even if he worked crazy hours, I knew they were good for each other.
“So, you going to tell me what all those messages were about back there?” Erin glanced to my phone just as we were stepping inside the elevator.
I punched the lobby button with my finger and watched the doors close. Some were from my editor, Ryan Dawson, others from Mason, but the only one Erin really cared about was from Ms. Dee. “Ms. Dee was just saying we could stop by.”
“It’s not too late?”
“I imagine she hasn’t been sleeping much since Cameron went missing. She said it would be easier to tell us what happened in person.” We stepped out at the lobby floor and headed for the exit. “I think now that we know Allison is all right we need to learn as much as we can about Ms. Dee’s daughter. She’s already been gone for far longer than what makes me feel comfortable.”
Erin clutched her stomach as if suddenly feeling queasy about the situation herself. “Like I’d rather be doing anything else.”
I reached for Erin’s hand and, when my fingers took hold of hers, we shared a smile. We stepped outside and I called Ms. Dee.
“Samantha, is that you?” she answered.
“Is now still a good time to meet?”
“Yes. Of course.” Ms. Dee repeated the same directions to her apartment she’d texted me earlier. “If you have any trouble, call.”
Erin co-piloted as I drove east toward the Denver-Aurora line. We mostly talked about Allison, our website, and the future for Erin’s podcast. Real Crime News was gaining subscribers and our monthly visits were growing. Word was spreading about our work and I was starting to believe that I would soon have no choice but to decide what I wanted more; working the crime beat for the Colorado Times, or running Real Crime News full-time. Either way, I was certain our website was why Ms. Dee came to us instead of going to a private investigator.
Less than twenty minutes passed before we arrived. The apartment complex was what I expected. It wasn’t fancy—simple and nondescript. We parked, entered the building without hassle, and trotted up the stairwell with the bounce in our step that only came with a new story.
“This is it,” I said as we approached the door.
Erin knocked and, not a second later, Ms. Dee answered. She was still wearing the same purple blouse we’d seen her in at the restaurant and her straight black hair was neatly done. Her eyes were puffy and swollen but she forced a smile anyway.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Ms. Dee moved to the small kitchen with beaten up wooden cabinetry. “I don’t have much, but a glass of water?”
I politely declined and took in her home. It was impressively small for two adults to be living in. There was a nice vanilla scent in the air and the furniture, though used and worn, came from a single collection. “Not meaning to be rude, Ms. Dee, but I’d like to cut straight to the facts around your daughter’s disappearance.”
Ms. Dee swallowed and held out her hand for us to take a seat at the tiny round kitchen table. It shared the same room as the foyer and living room, no walls to separate the three. We took our seats and I asked, “Tell us, when did you last see or speak to your daughter?”
Ms. Dee’s hands were folded on the table in front of her. There were gold rings on her fingers but I guessed she wasn’t married based on her living situation. Ms. Dee’s brown eyes cast to the ring she spun lazily around her knuckle. “We had an early dinner here.” Her voice was so small I could feel her pain. “Cameron was quiet that day.”
“And what did you two talk about?”
She shook her head and sucked back a deep breath that whistled as it passed over her lips. “Nothing unusual. I had just come home from my job at Safeway and she was here watching TV.” She lifted her eyes and locked her gaze on mine. “That was Saturday night and I would always bring home a roast chicken from the deli on Saturday.” Her eyes fell back to the table as she grinned. “Cameron left after dinner and that was the last time we spoke.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“Out.” Her head shook. “I didn’t ask. She’s eighteen, old enough to make her own decisions. I assumed she wanted to walk out her back pains.”
“What kind of car does your daughter drive?” Erin asked.
“Cameron doesn’t have a car.” Ms. Dee arched a brow. “Just like her mother.”
My stomach rolled as I easily put myself inside her shoes; having a teenager was no piece of cake. “What are Cameron’s friends like? And, more importantly, what do they like to do on Saturday nights?”
Ms. Dee dropped her hands onto her thighs. “Cameron’s not like that.”
“Like what?” I knew Ms. Dee thought I was making assumptions about her daughter, but I wasn’t.
“The party stopped for Cameron the moment she learned she was pregnant. I made sure of it myself.” Ms. Dee gave a stern look.
“Hence the back pains?”
She nodded and cast her sad eyes back to her hands. “That’s why I assumed she stepped out for a walk. The doctor said it was good for her, and I couldn’t agree more. All she does is watch TV. It’s not good for her or the baby. She needs to move more. Be on her feet.”
I tipped forward in my chair. “How far along was she?”
Ms. Dee smiled but kept her eyes low. “Thirty-eight weeks tomorrow.”
“Is the father still in Cameron’s life?”
Ms. Dee’s arm muscles flexed. I could see her body tense beneath her blouse. She couldn’t look us in the eye for several minutes, but when she did, she said, “She did have a boyfriend. His name is Tyler Lopez, but he made sure Cameron knew he had no interest in taking responsibility for the child Cameron and I were both certain was his.”
“Tyler denied the baby was his?”
“As if his life depended on it. And I suppose it does. But it’s not entirely his fault. My daughter has a thing for bad boys.”
“It seems like you resent him.”
“Damn right I do.” Ms. Dee brought one closed fist to the table. “Cameron’s future was looking bright until he came along. He ruined her life.”
“Did you tell Cameron that?”
“I did. And, depending on the day, she might even agree.”
Erin pushed away from the table and casually perused the room, never once leaving Ms. Dee’s sight. “Are you married, Ms. Dee?”
Ms. Dee glanced over her shoulder and answered Erin. “Cameron’s father left me when she was three. He wanted more children and I didn’t.”
I took note of her cheap jewelry and makeup. “When was the last time you spoke to Cameron’s father?”
“The day he left,” she said firmly.
Erin dropped back into her seat at the table. “Are you seeing anybody now?”
“Why are you asking these questions?” She glared at Erin.
“Because, Ms. Dee, if someone has kidnapped your daughter, chances are good that Cameron knows them.”
“You think my daughter has been kidnapped?”
“Do you?”
Ms. Dee’s lips parted, her gaze going dis
tant. She blinked and said, “Cameron is a very likable young woman. We tell each other everything.” She paused when she heard her voice crack. With tears filling her eyes, she asked, “You think Tyler took my baby?”
“If he wasn’t ready to become a father, it could explain her disappearance.”
“Oh, God.” Ms. Dee covered her mouth with her hand and started crying.
I shared a concerned look with Erin. I wasn’t sure we had enough to go on, or even if I wanted to begin searching with so little information. “And you mentioned all this to the police?”
“I have. They haven’t told me anything. I’m not even convinced they’re looking for her.”
I was nibbling on my lip when I felt her hand steal mine. She had working woman’s hands. Strong and calloused, much like the strength I saw glimmering inside her eyes. But it was in that mother-to-mother moment I knew I had to at least try to find Cameron.
“Promise me you’ll find my baby.” Ms. Dee stared and pleaded with her eyes. “Samantha, you’re my only hope. Please, you have to help.”
I patted her hand and stood. Without making a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep, I said, “Let us come up with a plan and I’ll give you a call soon.”
Ms. Dee escorted us to the door and thanked us for coming as we left her apartment. Erin didn’t say anything until we were back at the car. “I suppose if we’re going to help her we should first speak with Tyler Lopez.”
“It’s really the only clue she gave us.” I turned the key and flicked on the police scanner. King still hadn’t responded to my text from earlier and I assumed he was busy working his own case. “If Cameron wasn’t pregnant, I’m not sure I would have agreed to help.”
“It won’t take long to decide where to place this story. If it’s only good for a brief blog post, fine. But maybe it could grow into something bigger I could use for the podcast.”
That was exactly what I thought Ms. Dee wanted to achieve. Have her daughter’s story raise hell in the media with hopes of it getting the police’s attention to act. Suddenly, the scanner crackled with life.
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