Behind the Badge, page 4
“Try again.” Crys spun on her heels and continued down the hall.
A small part of her—teeny, tiny—was flattered. She would be lying if she denied it. Luke was attractive, successful and intelligent. Who wouldn’t want someone like that to be interested in them?
But another part—a much larger part—was offended. That he would think so little of her professionalism that he’d assume she’d pursue a romantic relationship with him while searching for a killer. Make that a serial killer, if this latest victim was connected to the first two.
“Why don’t you believe me?”
Crys felt Luke’s eyes searching her face as though looking for answers when he wasn’t willing to give any. The nerve. “Don’t you have enough to do at SIU?”
“I can manage my caseload there and help you.”
“Who are you, Superman?”
“More like I don’t have a social life.”
He wasn’t going to tell her what he was up to. Crys’s muscles tightened with exasperation.
She took a detour to her desk. Avoiding looking at Vic’s, Crys grabbed her dark blue bomber jacket and navy-blue satchel.
“Fine, then help. That would be great.” She shrugged her satchel onto her right shoulder. “But stay focused on this case. One misstep and I’ll find a way to get you dropped from this investigation.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
Crys was taking a wait-and-see approach. Without responding, she continued to the stairwell, then jogged down the two flights of stairs to the police department’s black-and-white-tiled lobby.
Luke kept up with her as she strode to the door. “Were the two women with you at the bar last night your sisters?”
Crys slid him a look. So much for staying focused. “I think you know the answer to that. Here’s a question for you: How do you know Caleb Brunson?”
Luke gave her a half smile. “We’ve been friends since college.”
Crys arched an eyebrow but maintained her silence. Another strike against him.
Reaching past her, Luke pushed the glass-and-silver-metal entrance door open, allowing her to precede him from the building.
“Detective Rashaad. Crys.”
Turning toward the woman’s voice, Crys found Abby Hansen Tiller near the entrance to the police department. Dressed in blue tennis shoes, black yoga pants and a loose-fitting, lightweight gray sweater, her deceased partner’s eldest child used both arms to clutch an oversize, thick manila envelope to her chest.
Abby’s voice trembled. “May I speak with you, please?”
Crys was torn. The other woman looked to be in distress, but she’d just lectured Luke on focusing on the case. “I’m so sorry, Abby.” She glanced at the special agent before continuing. “We’re on our way to a crime scene. Could I—”
“This won’t take long.” Abby took a tentative step forward. “I promise.”
She couldn’t continue to ignore the pain in Abby’s eyes. They were pink and swollen as though she’d been crying. Again.
Crys glanced back at Luke. “I’m sorry. Could you give me five minutes?”
“Of course.” Luke’s eyes were on Abby’s envelope.
Crys drew the other woman aside. “What’s wrong, Abby? How can I help?”
Abby glanced at the envelope. “My father left something for you.”
“Me?” Shocked, Crys pressed her right palm to her chest. “We barely knew each other. Why would he do that?”
Abby continued. “He left me a message, telling me where to find this packet. I was to give it to you immediately upon his death. I know eleven days isn’t immediate. I’m sorry. I read it first.” She drew another deep breath as though trying to ease the pressure in her chest. “Crys, I need you to know my father was a good man.”
“I know that.” Crys reached out to rub Abby’s arm, offering comfort. A cloud of misery surrounded her partner’s daughter. Crys was hurting for her, for both of them.
“My dad loved being a detective.” Abby’s voice was husky. She squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened them again, tears poured down her cheeks. “Keeping people safe, protecting the community. But he loved his family, too. Is that so wrong? Everything he did was to try to protect us, to keep us safe. Do you understand that?”
Crys felt a chill of foreboding. “Abby, what’s going on?”
The other woman hesitated before relinquishing the packet to Crys. “Please. Just try to understand.”
Without another word, Abby spun toward the parking lot and hurried to her car. Frowning, Crys watched her shrink into the distance. She looked at the thick, surprisingly heavy packet in her hands. The words For Crys were written in Vic’s nearly illegible cursive. What was happening right now? What was in this envelope? She shifted the packet to open it.
No. Crys drew a steadying breath and focused on her primary responsibility: finding a serial killer. Keeping her community safe. She dropped the envelope into her satchel and pulled the keys to her department-issued tan, four-door sedan from her front pocket.
She turned to find Luke staring at her. “Let’s go.”
“What’s in the envelope?” He strode beside her into the parking lot.
“None of your business, Nosy.” Crys used the key fob to unlock the car, then dropped the satchel into the backseat. “Keep your mind on the case. Remember?”
* * *
Keeping my mind on the case, and not on the very large, very thick, mysterious mailer stashed in Crys’s car.
Luke crouched closer to the corpse. The killer had left the body on the banks of the Scioto River at the Griggs Reservoir. This spot was popular for fishing as well as Frisbee golf. A quartet of players had found the body earlier this morning.
“The victim is Sally Stead.” Crys’s tone was somber as she went through the wallet found in the dead woman’s purse. “According to her driver’s license, she recently turned fifty-seven. Her address is on the southeast side.”
“The exact opposite end of the city from this park.” Luke looked up at her.
Crys stood on the other side of the corpse. She was tall with a dancer’s well-toned figure. She’d paired her smoke-gray, tapered jeans with a black boatneck blouse that featured a pink rose-petal pattern. She’d wrestled her mass of brown curls into a ponytail that she’d secured at the crown of her head with a red, yellow and green polyester scarf. Her hair swung above her narrow shoulders as it danced with the wind. Her delicate golden-brown profile was marred by a slight frown. Luke’s fingers itched to smooth it away.
Keeping my mind on the case.
He resumed his examination of the crime scene. Sally Stead’s shoulder-length, ash-blond hair streamed behind her. It was tangled with leaves, grass and sticks as though she’d been dragged across the lawn to this spot. Dirt had burrowed into her pink coat and over her tan slacks. A stiletto was missing. Bruises at her neck and wrists stood out against her pale white skin. There were cuts on her small palms. Defensive wounds? There was very little blood at this site.
“She’d struggled with her assailant.” Luke pressed against the victim’s arm. “Rigor mortis has set in.”
Crys’s eyes were shadowed as she looked at the body. “The killer waits until the middle of the night to move the victim from the primary crime scene—which could be anywhere—to the river, which they’ve chosen as their secondary.”
Was it his imagination or was there something about this scene that was affecting Crys? Luke dismissed his suspicions. He knew from her files that Crys had been in law enforcement for almost ten years. She’d worked other homicide cases as a patrol officer. She could handle scenes like this.
“Your report noted the bodies were found twelve or more hours after the estimated time of death. You’re right. The murder may not happen at the same location each time.” Luke straightened and studied their surroundings. “Are there any differences between this scene and the other two? Is the killer escalating, declining, maintaining?”
The Scioto River rolled north to south. The water was brown and swollen from the heavy rain earlier in the week. A thin, cool breeze whispered past him. It jostled the underbrush and shook the tiny spring buds that clung to the tree branches. Luke breathed in the moist air, laden with the scents of damp earth and wet grass. Nature’s harmony was interrupted by the sounds of patrol car doors slamming, crime scene cameras clicking and voices calling up and down the riverbank. A beautiful spot for an ugly act. Was that deliberate, too?
“Each victim had been recovered from a different area of the reservoir. Otherwise, this scene matches the other two exactly.” Crys paced around the body. “Bruising around her neck. Defensive wounds. The victim is posed on her left side. The knife has been twisted in her back.” She stopped beside Luke and crouched down. Reaching out with her gloved right hand, Crys angled the deceased’s chin toward her and revealed a plastic silver minnow hanging from the victim’s mouth. Her voice was low. “Here’s the fishing lure.”
“There are also drag marks.” Luke nodded toward the nearby parking lot where patrol cars and their sedan waited. “The killer must have parked over there, carried the body from the car to the hill, then positioned it. That explains the dirt and foliage in the vic’s hair.”
“In Sally Stead’s hair.” Crys straightened and stepped back from the body. The wind tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “Let’s notify Ms. Stead’s family.”
Luke stripped off the blue latex gloves and followed Crys back up the incline to their parked car. It wasn’t his imagination. This case was affecting her. Luke wanted to wrap her in his arms and reassure her they’d find Sally Stead’s killer and bring that person—or people—to justice.
The reckless impulse stunned him. Where had it come from? He didn’t know Detective Crystal Rashaad. Worse, she was the subject of his ethics investigation. Was she the dedicated civil servant her colleagues claimed her to be? Or, as the confidential complainant alleged, was she a corrupt officer—now detective—abusing her power for personal enrichment? Until he had answers to those questions, he had to walk a careful line between his two newest cases: the hunt for a serial killer and the search for the real Crys Rashaad.
* * *
Wylie Stead had almost collapsed after Crys had responded to his demands for information by explaining his wife, Sally, was dead.
Fortunately, Luke’s swift reflexes had enabled him to catch the sixty-something-year-old before he crumpled to the floor. Tall and broad-shouldered, Wylie had been even heavier than he’d looked. Crys had directed Luke to help Wylie into a nearby seat at the dining table, while she went in search of the kitchen for water and napkins.
“Mr. Stead, we’re so very sorry for your loss.” Crys pressed a glass of water into the grieving man’s hand.
Wylie’s ruddy features were drawn and tight with stress. His thinning salt-and-pepper hair was tousled as though he’d been pulling at it in frustration for hours. When they’d identified themselves and explained what they were doing there, he’d gone into denial. He’d become angry, curling his hands into fists as though he’d wanted to fight them. Then Crys had shown him the photo of his wife’s body at the reservoir.
“Where did you find her?” Wylie struggled to speak through his tears. “Where did you find my Sally?”
“At Griggs Reservoir.” Crys sat across the table from Wylie and Luke. The large, rectangular, white wooden piece accommodated six chairs with a section for expansion.
Wylie stiffened with shock. “Griggs? What the heck was she doing way the heck over there?”
“We were hoping you could tell us, sir.” Crys’s voice was as soft and gentle as a summer breeze. “When was the last time you saw your Sally?”
“Yesterday morning.” Wylie collapsed back against his chair. He drained the tall, clear glass of water before elaborating. “I have the night shift. Sally’s on—” His voice choked with fresh tears. “She was on days. I wake up and keep her company while she gets dressed for work. Then I call her when I get to work around five. She’s usually getting ready to go home by then.”
Luke saw the flash of pain in Crys’s eyes. The older man’s grief affected him, too. They would confirm Wylie’s alibi as a matter of course, but Luke didn’t think the new widower killed his wife. His distress was genuine and heartbreaking.
“When did you realize your wife was missing?” Luke tried to model his tone after Crys’s.
“This morning.” Wylie caught his breath, scrubbed his face. “I got home after midnight. She’s usually in bed by then, but this time she wasn’t. The bed didn’t even look slept in.” He tossed an arm ahead of him, presumably toward the bedroom. His voice was rising as emotions gripped him. “I texted and called a couple of times. Nothing. I called her friends. They’d seen her at work, but she didn’t tell them if she was going somewhere afterward. Heck, she didn’t tell me she was going anywhere, either.”
Luke frowned his concern. “Why didn’t you report her missing?”
Wylie’s swollen brown eyes widened. His voice edged ever closer toward hysteria. “You’re supposed to wait twenty-four hours before filing a report. Everybody knows that.”
Crys reached across the table and squeezed his upper arm. “We understand, Mr. Wylie. We’re so sorry for your loss. Where did your Sally work?”
Wylie seemed to calm down under Crys’s magic touch. “Coventry First Bank downtown.” He looked lost. “My kids and I have been looking for her all day.” He grabbed his head with his hands and pulled his hair. “What am I supposed to tell my kids?”
Crys leaned into the table. “Why don’t you call them now, sir? Ask them to meet you here. We’ll stay with you until they arrive.”
While Crys watched Wylie text his children, Luke couldn’t look away from her. The concern in her eyes moved him. The care in her voice made him want to be a better person. It also confused him. Her empathy was at odds with the type of person who’d extort tens of thousands of dollars in bribes from families whose loved ones were facing criminal trials.
Luke stood. “I’ll make coffee while we wait.”
Wylie’s three adult children—two sons and a daughter—arrived within minutes of their father’s summons. As promised, Crys helped him break the tragic news. She and Luke asked some preliminary questions about Sally’s mood, state of mind and behavior before she and Luke left, giving the Stead family privacy to grieve.
“Let’s return in the morning.” Crys led the way back to the car she’d parked down the street. She depressed the key fob to unlock the sedan. “They aren’t in any condition to answer our questions now.”
“I agree.” Luke waited for Crys to get in behind the wheel before settling onto the passenger seat. “Based on what Wylie was able to share with us, it sounds as though Sally had a normal day until after work. The killer either took her during her commute or after she arrived home.”
“We’ll get some patrol officers to help us canvass the neighborhood.” Crys checked traffic before pulling away from the curb. “Maybe we’ll luck out and one of Wylie’s neighbors will have security cameras that caught something—anything—about Sally’s abduction. I’m going to stop for gas on the way to Coventry First Bank.”
Luke gestured toward the windshield. “I saw a station around the corner.”
Crys shook her head. “There’s a station two blocks west that’s cheaper.”
Luke frowned at her profile, his eyes lingering on her lips. “Won’t your department reimburse you? Why drive out of your way?”
Her voice cooled. “It doesn’t matter whether it’s coming out of my pocket or the department budget. A waste of money’s still a waste of money.”
Surprised, Luke turned his frown toward the passenger window. Nothing about Crys Rashaad made sense in the context of his investigation. He would have expected someone susceptible to bribery to be more cavalier toward their department’s finances. Instead Crys had found the cheapest gas station in their area with which to fill up her city vehicle. Could this budget-conscious employee really be on the take?
* * *
Crys pulled herself through the connecting door off her garage Thursday evening. She was emotionally and mentally exhausted after interviewing Sally Stead’s supervisor and several coworkers. No one had been able to provide any helpful information. Perhaps they were in shock, and something would come to them later. Crys held on to hope.
She crossed her entryway’s cream laminate flooring. Kicking off her black loafers, she left them at the foot of the honey wood staircase, hooked her satchel onto the handrail and hung her bomber jacket in the coat closet. That’s when she remembered the packet Abby had given her earlier that morning. It had been a long day.
Luke’s presence had made it longer. It was hard keeping her guard up when she enjoyed watching him work, admired the way he assessed the case, lost herself in the warm notes of his voice.
Pull yourself together. Luke Gilchrist was a colleague. A colleague who kept secrets.
Crys pulled the envelope from her satchel, opening it as she walked in stocking feet into her kitchen. She withdrew its contents onto the blond wood table. Her mind went blank with disbelief. The packet contained the missing documents from her aunt’s homicide cold case. Her eyes grew wider as she shifted through the stack of witness forms, forensic documents and interview notes. Her stomach dropped. Her muscles quaked with shock, confusion and anger. She collapsed into the blond wood chair beside her.
How? When? Why?
This must be how Abby had learned the circumstances of her aunt’s murder. She’d admitted to reading these papers before relinquishing them. Crys’s mind fired off obscenities that would have made Jade blush.
A plain white business envelope had risen to the top of the pile. Her name was on it. She recognized Vic’s almost illegible cursive. Crys tore it open. Her hands shook with anger. “You’d better have an awesome explanation for this, Vic.”
The letter began with an apology she wasn’t ready to accept. Her late partner confessed to taking a bribe to destroy critical documents from her aunt’s case file. Although he’d taken the money, he claimed he’d tried to protect her by safeguarding the paperwork instead. Did he think that absolved him of his criminal act? A fresh stream of swear words exploded in Crys’s brain.
