Trust No One (Devlin & Falco), page 6
Jen repressed the shudder that rose inside her. Had to be coincidence. Maybe it was a different Abbott. Theo wouldn’t murder anyone . . .
The little voice she had failed her entire life to listen to screamed at her now to talk to Kerri . . . but what if she was mistaken? Then she would have spilled to Kerri about the affair for no good reason. As much as Jen knew Kerri loved her, after going through what she had with her ex, she wouldn’t understand about Theo.
No. Jen couldn’t talk to her.
She forced a smile at something else Diana said.
Really, the mere concept was ridiculous. Theo would never be involved with murder.
He wasn’t a killer, just a cheater.
6
4:55 p.m.
Abbott Crime Scene
Botanical Place, Mountain Brook
Kerri stood on the rear deck of the Abbott home and stared at the french doors that led to the master bedroom. The security-system cameras had been turned off for weeks. The entire system had been deactivated that morning. Not a single sign of forced entry. If not for the sporadic ransacking and the blood, the home would appear as if nothing untoward had happened inside.
Except a man and his mother-in-law had been murdered. And the pregnant wife was still missing. Maybe injured. Possibly dead.
If the wife was dead, there was a reason her body had not been left with the others.
Perhaps she had gotten up early, deactivated the alarm to go outside for a walk in the gardens, and encountered the killer. Maybe she’d gone for a run and returned home to find the killer. Jenkins had said the wife liked staying in shape. Early-morning runs were a matter of routine.
Was taking her—or her body—some sort of proof the job was done or for some sort of blackmail?
A hostage for money or something else of value? She had no surviving family. Abbott’s parents were still alive and lived right here in Birmingham. They had been informed about the tragic news. A more in-depth interview was scheduled for tomorrow morning. As of yet, they had not been contacted regarding a ransom, or Kerri would surely know. She felt confident Daniel Abbott was far too savvy a businessman to allow his emotions to rule him and attempt negotiating a hostage situation on his own.
Neighbors had been interviewed. No one had seen anything unusual except for the one neighbor directly across the street, who’d noted an old blue car parked at the curb on the Abbott side the previous week. Since street parking wasn’t illegal, and many of those employed in the neighborhood drove “older” cars, it wasn’t likely a useful lead. Those living closest to the Abbott home were happy to provide access to their security cameras, which gave Kerri nothing. The angle of the cameras didn’t cover every possible access point to the Abbott property, and they’d noted nothing useful happening in those that did show some of the property. Even stranger, Ms. Jenkins had concluded that nothing was missing from the house.
A second crime scene team was making a sweep of the residence. The chief didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. This was going to be a particularly high-profile investigation, and he wanted nothing left to chance.
Falco exited the french doors and walked toward her. “They’re done.”
With the bodies at the morgue and the evidence collectors done, there was no reason for them to stay any longer.
“Let’s call it a day.” She headed back into the house to find Matthews.
Matthews and Baker would see that the house was secured. Two other uniforms would babysit the place until morning, and then another team would take their place. No one was to come near this scene until further notice.
And there was always the chance the wife might have escaped death and would return to the house, perhaps in shock and half-dead from her own injuries. An APB had been issued for her. Both Abbott vehicles remained in the garage. Whatever way she’d departed the premises, it was not in one of the couple’s cars. A spokesperson for the family would appear on the local evening news with an appeal for Sela’s safe return. If they were lucky, she would be found in the next twenty-four hours. The idea was unlikely, but they could hope.
With Falco following, Kerri exited the crime scene and climbed into her Wagoneer. She turned the vehicle around and drove out of the gate. She waved to the officer maintaining the outer perimeter. Thankfully the reporters had decided there was nothing more to be gained by hanging out near the victim’s house.
“We going back to Abbott Options tomorrow?” Falco asked.
“We are.” Today’s visit had gotten the ball rolling. The staff had fallen apart as the news had spread through the offices. The few who had answered questions had been so emotional it was difficult to cultivate complete responses.
The staff was smaller than Kerri had expected. From what she understood, the primary operation remained in San Francisco. The office here was more the face of the company than the research and development activities. Abbott’s personal assistant, Marcella Gibbons, was pulling together the answers to many of their questions.
“While the techs were finishing up in the house, I flipped through a few of the photo albums,” Falco said. “Checked the personal files—any medical records I could find—and the medicine cabinets. Besides Sela’s mother, no one in the family was on any sort of prescription drugs unless the prenatal vitamins count.”
Kerri felt him watching her as she drove. “Anything else?”
“After looking at those photos, I’m convinced there’s no way Mrs. Abbott killed her mother or her husband.” He shook his head. “No way. They looked happy. Over the moon about the baby coming. It doesn’t add up.”
“Whether she did or not, she’s probably dead too,” Kerri reminded him. “If she was still alive, anyone capable of providing whatever the perpetrator wanted in return for her release would know by now. No one in the family has heard a word. No one at the office. No ransom demand. No contact at all.”
Silence filled the space between them for a few miles.
Then Falco said, “I have a kid.”
She glanced at him. “You do? I thought you’d never been married. No kids. Free as a bird, single guy.”
He shrugged. Stared forward. “I have no entanglements, Devlin. No wife, no mortgage, and no child that I am legally responsible for.”
She frowned. “Wait, you just said you have a kid.”
He nodded. “Boy. Eight years old. I gave up parental rights when he was six hours and four minutes old.”
Kerri wasn’t sure what she should say to that. Why? would be the next logical response. Not something she really wanted to know. If he was a bigger shit than his colorful reputation suggested, she would just as soon skip the conversation.
“It wasn’t because I wanted to,” he said before she could ask, his voice lower, softer than she’d ever heard it. “It was because it was the right thing to do. I wanted him to be safe and happy. As long as he was connected to me, he wouldn’t be either.”
“Wow.” That was certainly unexpected. “Do you know where he is now?”
“Huntsville. She sends me pictures and notes about what he’s doing and how school is going. Sometimes I drive by and see him playing in the yard or getting off the bus at his school. He played soccer this year. I even went to a game.”
“Have you considered asking for visitation? Sounds like she’s cooperative on some level.”
He shook his head. “Her husband adopted him. He’s his father. I don’t want to do any harm to that relationship. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Maybe the guy was a little deeper than she’d given him credit for. “That has to be hard, Falco.”
“Yeah, well, I made my decisions. I won’t have him pay for those.”
Prison? Drugs? Not possible. He likely wouldn’t be a cop now if that were the case.
“There are things I can’t tell you, Devlin,” he announced, as if he’d read her mind.
She braked to a stop for a red light and turned to him. “What does that mean, Falco?”
“I watched you today. You’re a damned good detective. I’m lucky to have you for a partner, and I know that. I don’t want you to judge me on what you think you know when you don’t really know me at all.”
A horn blew, and she forced her attention forward. The light had changed. She shifted her foot from the brake to the accelerator. “Okay. I’ll do my best not to base my assessments on rumor. I’ll stick to what I see with my own eyes. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah. Thanks. Maybe tomorrow you’ll even let me drive.”
Kerri laughed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Falco.”
More of that silence settled between them; oddly this time it was a little more relaxed.
Her cell sounded off, and she grabbed it, checked the screen. She didn’t recognize the number, but it was local. She hit speaker with her thumb. “Devlin,” she said instead of hello.
“Detective, this is Marcella Gibbons.”
“Ms. Gibbons.” Kerri exchanged a glance with Falco. “Have you found something that might prove useful to our investigation?”
“I was just thinking about something Detective Falco said.”
Kerri split her attention between her partner and the mounting traffic. “What’s that, Ms. Gibbons?”
“When we were in Mr. Abbott’s office, Detective Falco asked if the laptop on the desk was his.”
“And you said it was,” Falco spoke up.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But I started thinking about the laptop. The one at the office is the one he used for official business. All the security software, et cetera, that we use in Abbott Options is loaded onto it. But he also has a personal laptop. You should have found that one at his home.”
Another of those looks passed between Kerri and Falco before she said, “We only found a desktop computer in the home office. Two iPads and two cell phones. There was no laptop.”
They’d also found household inventory sheets in the files, the sort people filled out for insurance companies. Nothing listed was unaccounted for. There was a laptop listed, but they had assumed it was the one at his office.
“If his personal laptop—and it’s exactly like the one in his office—is not in his home or in his car, then it’s missing.”
They spoke for a few minutes more. Several reporters had camped outside the gates at Abbott Options, causing issues getting in and out. Kerri promised to send an officer to handle the situation. Ms. Gibbons agreed to come to the house tomorrow and do a walk-through with Officer Matthews to see if she noticed anything else that might be missing.
Until about three minutes ago, Kerri had been fairly convinced that the only thing missing was the pregnant wife.
It seemed that wasn’t the case at all.
7
I had to do it . . .
There was never a choice.
I was aware of that undeniable detail when I started this so very long ago. I was warned. Good God, I was warned. Most of my adult life the words haunted my existence.
You can’t do this. You will fail. Just like she did.
I work the rope around my wrist back and forth. The skin is raw already, but I cannot stop. I cannot fail.
My preparation was meticulous. Every single detail was in place. You see, perception is everything.
But I had not anticipated this.
Now, I have only one thing to lose, and I took that with me. Do I wish other things could have turned out differently? That perhaps I could have seen this one coming? Maybe there was a moment . . .
Ultimately, it wouldn’t have mattered. I would have lost the part that felt almost real anyway. Deception, betrayal—no matter how pure the motive—is never well received. Not even by those who profess to love you.
That final image of him appears in my mind’s eye. The tissue around the hole in his forehead had puckered and started to turn an ugly shade of purple. I blink the memory away, and I experience something akin to sadness. It feels strange. I can’t remember the last time I experienced a true emotion other than bitterness, unless, of course, determination counts. Yet somehow I feel . . . regret.
I’m sorry.
I don’t want to feel this sadness. That wasn’t part of the plan. Yet I do.
When all is said and done, people will hate me. They will say bad things about me. I know this, but it is what it is.
I had to do it . . .
If she were here, she would say that despite her misgivings, I did the right thing and that, in time, I will be okay. So many times she insisted I would be okay if only I would move on. Forget the past. Never look back. But how could I do such a thing? How could I forget and pretend the past never happened?
Don’t look back . . . you will be okay.
Even now I hear her voice deep inside me.
As comforting as the sound is, the one thing I am very certain about is that I will never again be okay.
It is the price I must pay to finish this, and I will not fail. I have been far too careful with my planning.
The most essential part of the plan was to never tell another living soul.
No one—absolutely no one—could know the first, second, third . . . or even the last step until the time was right.
I learned the importance of keeping secrets when I was a child. My mother taught me well. She had many secrets. So many secrets. I have kept them all . . . just as she did. Ultimately some will be revealed . . . they are essential to the steps that must come.
But the rest will go with me to my grave.
I continue rubbing the ropes on my wrists back and forth, first one and then the other. Back and forth. Then I reach down and do the same to the one on my right ankle. Back and forth. Back and forth. My skin bleeds. I do not stop. I ignore the pain. It is necessary to the final step.
The neighbors will all have expressed the same things to the police. Such nice people. Quiet. Private. Always pleasant. Always smiling and happy.
They have no idea they only saw what I wanted them to see. They don’t know me. I’m invisible. No one knows me. Not the real me. They will hear about all the good I’ve done—I worked particularly hard to accomplish so much in a short time. It was essential. But they will never know about the bad.
The bad was necessary as well. It was part of the plan . . . the promise. There are things that must occur moving forward. Events that work as catalysts to others.
As the steps play out, there are certain players who are not completely in the dark. Those select few are well aware of their roles. At first each no doubt denied the idea; then the next step happened, and they were forced to see what they wanted desperately to deny. They know what I want them to know. See what I want them to see.
More importantly, they have each reacted exactly as I predicted. How easy it was to prompt the desired response at exactly the right time. Not one has or will see the finale coming until it’s too late.
They will all, including the police, search and dig for truth. They will never find it . . .
But the players in this game will be forced to recognize one undeniable lesson.
They did this to themselves.
8
Thursday, June 7
7:00 a.m.
Devlin Residence
Twenty-First Avenue South
Kerri slugged down the last of her coffee. Her fingers tightened around the mug. Tori hadn’t said a word when Kerri had rapped on her door and told her to come down for breakfast.
She stared at the cheese toast topped with a single pineapple ring—her daughter’s favorite. How had Tori gone from her little girl to this impossible-to-make-happy teenager in the span of a few short months?
It would be easy for Kerri to blame it on her ex. The bastard had skipped out on his daughter the same as he had her. Made sense that losing a father was far more difficult at thirteen than losing a husband at thirty-six. As angry as Kerri was, her daughter was hurt. The man had lost his ability to truly hurt Kerri about a year before he left. She had stopped counting on him to be the man she had thought she married.
Then again, she wasn’t exactly the woman he had married either. His accusations about her all-work-and-no-play attitude rang in her head.
She had just finished the academy when they met and married. He had already graduated from college and locked in his first big job offer. Life had been exciting and full of possibility. But the honeymoon phase didn’t last long. Their careers slowly but surely took over their lives, and the beautiful baby girl they so happily brought into the world became a bone of contention. Who was taking her to school? Picking her up? PTA meetings. School plays. Parents’ night. Birthday parties. Ball games. Band practice. Doctor appointments. Work was always in the way. Anger, frustration, and resentment had mired them deep in misery.
Poor Tori had been the innocent victim trapped in the slow, agonizing death of her parents’ marriage.
She had a right to be angry. The two people she had depended upon most had both let her down. Kerri and Nick with their career obsessions and, more recently, his lust for a younger, more attentive woman.
“I’m not hungry.”
Kerri turned at her daughter’s announcement. The girl busily typed on her cell phone as she made her way to the fridge, bypassing the breakfast Kerri had prepared. It wasn’t an elaborate spread, but it was an effort. Did effort no longer count? Smiles and laughter from days gone by—before hormones had invaded—whispered through Kerri’s mind. She resisted the urge to sigh for fear of flipping the switch that set off another round of deafening silence from her daughter.
“You have plans for today?” Somehow Kerri managed to ask the question in a neutral, almost amiable tone. She was tired of fighting with Tori. For now, she would be thrilled for five minutes of peace between them.
“Nothing special.” Tori opened the fridge door and reached for a soda. “Elise is coming over to work with me on that art project for the band fundraiser.”
Kerri clenched her jaw to prevent herself from reminding her daughter that one day soon all the sugar she consumed would come back to haunt her. Instead, she offered, “Sounds like fun. You need money to order Chinese or something?”
