Читать книгу Silent Witness - Diane Burke - Страница 12

THREE

“You can stare at them photos till the cows come home and you’re not gonna see anything you ain’t seen before.”

Liz startled at the sound of Tom Miller’s voice but tried not to show it as she turned to face her deputy. She’d been standing in front of the white erase board, examining every inch of the crime scene photos.

“There has to be something here,” Liz said. “Something that can steer our investigation in the right direction. What are we missing?”

“Wish I knew. Those pictures are making me plumb cross-eyed.” Deputy Miller handed her a foam cup filled to the rim. The rich, robust aroma, unlike the mudlike brew they normally had available, woke up her senses. When he passed her a Boston cream doughnut, too, she almost drooled.

“You know me too well, Tom.” She smiled, bit into the doughnut and licked the oozing, sweet cream off her lower lip. “This is just what I needed,” she mumbled with her mouth full.

“There’s a couple dozen more on the table in the break room. And a decent pot of coffee for a change. Thought the men could use the boost before our meeting this morning.”

He stood beside her and stared at the board. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I came in early. I stared at the board for hours just like you been doing. Not one of them pictures talked to me. Leastwise, nothing I wanted to hear.”

He shook his head and raised his hat brim then let it settle back down. “Thank God your daddy isn’t alive. It would break his heart to see a family destroyed like this in his town.” He glanced at her and a red flush crept up his neck. “No offense, Sheriff. I’m not sayin’ that you’re not just as torn up about all this.”

“I understand, Tom. I miss him, too.” Liz placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this guy.”

Voices sounded behind them as the investigation team filed into the briefing room and took their seats around the conference table. Liz glanced at their brimming coffee cups and the doughnuts in their hands. She chastised herself for not thinking of it herself but was grateful that Tom had. She took a seat at the head of the table. Detective Davenport sat to her right. Sal pulled up a chair on her left. The rest of the men filled in the remaining seats.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” She smiled at the men as they returned her greeting. “While you finish your breakfast, I’ll get this meeting started so we can get back out there as quickly as possible.”

She shuffled through some papers in the pile in front of her and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Darlene is off this shift. I have a copy of her preliminary report. The autopsy reports aren’t available yet but we hope to have them by tomorrow. Detective Davenport’s team has verified that the plastic bag we recovered from the Hendersons’ bedroom did contain five pounds of high-grade cocaine.”

“Five pounds?” Paul asked. “That’s not recreational use. The guy was a dealer.”

“Did they get any prints off the bag?” Tom asked.

“No prints. Not even Henderson’s. It was wiped clean.”

Sal looked puzzled. “That doesn’t sit right with me. No prints? Not even his own? Why would the guy wipe his prints off the bag before hiding it under his mattress? Did he have some kind of sixth sense that he was going to get raided or something?”

“Maybe he wore gloves,” Paul replied.

“Maybe,” Sal answered. “But if he wore gloves every time he handled the bag, then where are the gloves? We haven’t found any, have we?”

Liz scoured her evidence inventory sheets. “No gloves.”

“See.” Sal leaned back in his chair. “Something stinks and I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Moving on.” Detective Davenport took over the lead. “Nothing significant has shown up in the Hendersons’ background check. Henderson was a model employee and well liked at his old job. They hated to see him leave but were happy for him when they heard he planned to start his own computer tech firm.”

“Anyone express any animosity about the move?” Tom asked. “Any signs of jealousy that the guy was going to run his own business?”

“Nothing that turned up in our initial interviews. Everyone seemed to sincerely wish him well. His boss not only gave him a letter of recommendation but was instrumental in helping him get his first client. Seems Third National Bank has a branch in Country Corners and was updating their computer software. Since his old firm holds the account, the boss threw the local business his way.”

“What about the boy’s school?” Paul asked. “Anyone talk to any of his teachers? Maybe the parents had a falling-out with another parent or something.”

“One of my men checked that out,” Davenport replied. “Jeremy had been in an Easter Seals special education preschool class when they lived in Tennessee. Kate chose to homeschool him once they moved here but not because of difficulties with the schools or parents. She just wanted to take a more hands-on approach to his education. She continued to take him to Poplar Bluff for occupational therapy three times a week.”

“Anyone know what brought them here in the first place?” Sal asked.

“I can answer that one,” Liz said. “Kate told me that she was born and raised in Poplar Bluff, which has grown quite a bit since she was a kid. They talked about it and wanted to settle somewhere a little more rural. They thought Country Corners would be the ideal suburban setting to raise children and yet still be close enough to take advantage of the things more populated areas had to offer.

“Kate’s mother has dementia and lives in a nursing home in Poplar Bluff. Our town is still close enough that she could take Jeremy for his therapy and visit her mom, too. Seemed like the ideal situation.”

“Didn’t work out quite the way they planned, did it?” quipped one of Davenport’s men, who was immediately censured with a glare from his superior.

“How about you, Sal? Got any leads?” Liz asked.

“On the surface, it’s a lovefest at this job, too. Everyone singing the boss’s praises. But we all know that nobody likes to speak ill of the dead. I did a little digging and I found out that Henderson fired a couple of people this past year. Don’t think they’ll be singing his praises when I interview them.”

Liz and Davenport absorbed the information and both nodded.

Brian Walker, one of the men on Davenport’s team, spoke up. “I read in this morning’s paper that the Henderson boy is being released today.”

Liz winced. She wished there was some legal way to muzzle the press. How was she supposed to run an investigation when every move was broadcast to the public? Didn’t the press know that killers read, too?

“Is that true?” Davenport asked. “Has anyone even talked to the boy yet? Does he know anything pertinent to our investigation?”

Liz spoke with authority. “Yes, it’s true that Jeremy is being released this afternoon. So far he has not been able to respond to any questions regarding the murders.”

“Released? Where? To whom?” Sal’s expression looked annoyed that she hadn’t shared this information with him earlier.

“Dr. Morgan is accompanying the boy to his home until we can make other arrangements.”

Liz sighed deeply and leaned back in her chair, steeling herself to deliver the rest of her news.

“We can’t ascertain yet if Jeremy witnessed the murder or not. But one thing we do know. That child saw his family lying dead. My goal is to bring the killer to justice and to help Jeremy feel safe again.”

“Are you sure he saw what happened?”

Liz answered Tom’s question. “The boy hasn’t spoken a word about the incident so we’re not sure yet what he witnessed, if anything at all.”

“If he did witness his family’s murder, how do you plan to keep him safe?” Sal asked. “I mean, once the killer reads the papers or hears on the news that he’s been released, what’s going to stop him from making a second run at the boy?”

“We are,” Liz answered, putting a don’t-dare-

question-me tone in her voice. “I will be arranging for 24-7 police protection.”

A low murmur traveled around the table.

Liz held up her hand for silence. “I know. Everyone’s been working double shifts as it is. We are a small department with a small staff. I understand.”

She glanced around the table. “I have a plan. Most of the coverage has already been arranged.” Liz turned her attention to Davenport. “My team and I will be able to cover most of the time slots. I’ll need to utilize your men on the graveyard shift so I can get some sleep. Can I count on you, Sergeant?”

“I’ll make it happen.”

“Thanks.” Liz took a breath and prepared herself for dropping her next bombshell. “Dr. Morgan and I will be moving into the residence with the child.”

Paul, who had been sipping coffee and eating doughnuts through the entire meeting, looked up. “You’re moving in, Sheriff? What does that mean?” Still looking a little sick, even five days after the incident, her youngest deputy scratched his head and looked puzzled. “Are you just sleeping over there or what?”

“I’ll be moving my office to the house. With computers, visual teleconferences and cell phones, I feel confident I can temporarily run my office from there. When there is an occasion that requires my presence outside of the home, I will arrange for one of our team or one of the troopers to stand in for me until I return. Our goal is to provide 24-7 protection for Jeremy and to catch this killer as quickly as humanly possible.”

“And just how long do you think you’re going to be able to run a sheriff’s office from the house?” Sal’s disapproval at this turn of events was evident in the sharp tone of his voice. “It’s going to be hard enough protecting the boy. Aren’t you making a target of yourself, too?”

“I will be protecting Jeremy.” She looked directly at Sal. “And I appreciate your concern, Sal, but I’m a cop not the victim. I don’t need protection.”

Sal scowled, the news still not sitting well with him. “Do I need to remind you that the Henderson case isn’t our only case?”

“I don’t need to be reminded of my obligations—by you or anyone else.” A tense silence descended upon the room. “That brings up another point. How is the investigation progressing with the drug dealer’s murder? Any leads?”

Sal shrugged. “Nothing definite. Got a couple of nibbles I’m following up. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything solid.”

Liz nodded. “Have any of you been able to tie the cocaine in Henderson’s possession to any of our known local dealers?”

“Still working on it. Nothing yet.” Paul wiped the last of doughnut cream from his lip.

“What’s on your agenda today, Tom?” Not willing to continue a verbal battle with Sal, Liz tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Well, I love Country Corners same as the next fella,” Tom said. “But all small towns, even ours, have secrets. Maybe Henderson stumbled across one of those secrets and it got him killed. So, I’m gonna force myself to have tea with some of the old lady gossips in this town. Ain’t no tellin’ what I might find out.”

Laughter rippled through the room.

“Good idea,” Liz said.

“Well, then the way I see it,” Tom said. “If we want this killer caught and our sheriff back in her office, then we better get off our butts and make it happen.”

* * *

He spread a line of cocaine on the kitchen counter, twisted a dollar bill and snorted it into each nostril. The instantaneous rush raced along his nerve endings, filling him with an almost inhuman energy considering he’d had very little sleep since “the incident.”

That’s how he thought of it—the unfortunate incident. He hadn’t planned it. He hadn’t wanted it to turn out that way. He had just wanted to talk to the man, but things had gotten way out of control

He bounced on the balls of his feet and paced back and forth to the rap music on his radio with a nervous, uncontrolled energy. How did people listen to this crap? But he had to admit the rhythm sounded pretty good when you were high on coke.

His thoughts skittered back to the Hendersons. He hadn’t wanted to shoot them. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes and bounced and paced faster.

No.

It wasn’t his fault. The wife had gotten a good look at him. He’d had no choice. Self-preservation. Isn’t that a human’s strongest instinct? He’d done it quickly. She hadn’t suffered. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

The music, if that’s what you wanted to call it, ended and the sound of the newscaster’s voice caught and held his attention. He listened intently. They were reporting that the kid was going home today.

Now what was he going to do about that kid?

* * *

Liz Bradford stood beside her patrol car, lifted her face and basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun. She breathed in the floral scent of the last blooms of summer. And just as she’d thought five days ago, everything appeared normal. But there was nothing normal about a little boy returning to the house where his parents had been murdered. Sadness weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Liz adjusted her dark sunglasses and looked inside the glass doors to the hospital elevator bank. She hadn’t waited long when Adam Morgan stepped off an elevator, leading Jeremy by the hand, and headed her way.

She’d felt guilty when she’d done it, but she had looked Adam up on the internet to see what he’d been up to over the years.… She’d been surprised to discover he’d won several awards for his work with children.

But, then again, Adam Morgan had been a bundle of surprises from the moment he’d returned. Not that it mattered. Liz had no time in her life for relationships, especially ones that had already failed so spectacularly. Her work was her life and she intended to keep it that way.

When they reached the car, the boy wrenched his hand out of Adam’s, froze in place and flapped both of his hands in the air. “Stranger’s car. Jeremy can’t go. Stranger’s car. Stranger’s car.”

Adam crouched down so he could be eye level with the child.

“Look at me, Jeremy.”

“Can’t go. Stranger’s car.”

Adam waited a second or two and then grasped Jeremy’s chin. He turned the child’s face toward him, released his hold and pointed to his own face. “Look at me.”

Jeremy did as he was told.

“This is Sheriff Bradford’s car. You remember Sheriff Bradford, don’t you?”

Liz waved at the child, even though neither of them bothered to look in her direction.

“Sheriff Bradford is not a stranger. She is a friend and she is going to drive us home.”

“Home. Jeremy wants to go home.”

“Good.” Adam straightened and gestured to the backseat. “Get in and we’ll go home.”

“Jeremy can’t go. No. No. Stranger’s car.”

Adam lifted the boy and placed him in the protective child seat that Liz had already secured in the back.

Instantly, a high-decibel wail pierced the air. Jeremy flailed his arms and arched his body in a futile attempt to buck his body out of the car seat.

One of the nurses had followed them off the elevator and now handed Adam a small object that looked like a miniature Kevlar vest.

“What’s that?” Liz leaned in so she could get a closer look.

“A weighted vest.” Within seconds, he had the vest on the child and the car seat belted safely. Without a word, he walked around to the other side of the car and slid into the backseat beside the child.

“Thanks, Cindy.” Adam reached through the open door and handed her a set of keys. “Tell Charlie to give us a couple of hours before bringing Rerun and the rest of my things over to the house. I want the boy to have some time to get acclimated to being home.”

“Sure thing, Doc.” Cindy flashed him a bright smile and the cutest little wave and then walked back inside.

Liz chewed her lower lip and tried not to grin.

Even in high school, Adam had never liked flirts and she could see the years hadn’t changed him. She recognized the red flush on his neck, the sheepish look in his eyes when he looked up at Liz to see if she had realized Cindy was flirting with him. His discomfort was so genuine, so sweet, she almost laughed out loud. Almost. The child’s loud, shrill screams made it impossible to focus on much else than saving her eardrums at the moment.

She climbed into the driver’s seat and twisted her face toward the back.

“Why the vest?” She had to shout to be heard over the boy’s screaming.

“Remember our conversation about swaddling? The weight of the vest and the snug seat belt should help Adam feel a little more secure on the trip home.”

As if on cue, the boy continued to sob but the sounds no longer rent the air.

“Who’s Rerun and Charlie?”

“I’ll explain later. Just get us out of here.”

A tap on the driver’s side window drew Liz’s attention. A woman she didn’t recognize held a microphone in her hand. A photographer stood behind her with camera ready and probably rolling.

“Sheriff, is it true that you’re taking the boy back to the scene of the crime?”

“Sheriff.” A second voice grabbed her attention. Harriet Townsend, a reporter from the local paper, tapped on the passenger window. “Has the boy said anything to you yet? Is he able to describe the killer?”

Within seconds, Liz saw at least a dozen more people running toward the car. Heaven help them, their little hometown secret had leaked out and was now national news.

As reporters stormed the car and banged on the windows, Jeremy’s cries began to intensify.

“Get us out of here before those idiots make the situation worse.”

Liz ordered the people to step back and slowly eased her car through the growing crowd.

She heard Adam trying to soothe the screaming child. He spoke in short, concise sentences. His voice remained low and calm.

Liz pulled out of the hospital lot and moved into the flow of traffic. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Adam held a small wad of brightly colored putty in the palm of his hand. He squeezed and stretched the putty and then handed it to the boy and encouraged him to do the same. Sobs subsided into whimpers and then hiccups rather than tears.

Liz breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention back to the road. She admired the way Adam was able to take charge of the situation and soothe the boy. Of course, he should know how. This was his job.

But not all psychiatrists knew what they were doing.

Fleeting thoughts of Luke surfaced and left a bitter taste in her throat.

She glanced in the mirror one more time. Satisfied with the peace that had descended upon the backseat, Liz allowed herself to relax. On the very slim chance that Dr. Adam Morgan was half as good as the reputation that preceded him, she conceded that maybe he was right. Maybe the familiar surroundings of his own home would be good for the boy. Maybe this wasn’t going to be the full-blown disaster she’d anticipated after all.

But just in case, she started to pray.

* * *

He positioned himself on the ground, well hidden from view in the brush at the edge of the woods. He’d just surveyed the area with his binoculars for the fourth time in the past hour and was certain he’d picked the optimal spot. There were no houses, no hiking trails, no reason for anyone to be walking in this area. No witnesses.

He propped himself up on his elbows and raised the rifle to his shoulder. He adjusted the scope and aimed the weapon exactly at the crest of the curve in the road. He calculated wind velocity, car speed and made all necessary adjustments. He was ready.

Where were they?

Rivulets of perspiration dotted his forehead and slid down the back of his neck. Gnats buzzed around his head, and he steeled himself not to lose concentration and swat at them.

The news on the radio had prompted him to action. He’d raced to the Henderson house to make sure they hadn’t arrived before him only to find hordes of media camped in the driveway looking for their lead story for the night.

Well, be patient, folks. Real soon now, I’m going to make sure you get the story of a lifetime.

He sniffed and wiped his runny nose on his sleeve. Hours ago, he’d shot up with heroin and cocaine, known on the street as speedballing. He needed another fix and he hated himself for it. The hit of cocaine he’d had in his kitchen wasn’t taking the edge off the urge for more heroin. It simply energized him for this task so he wouldn’t nod out.

When had he become a junkie? Nothing good came from drugs. He knew that. But still… How could he ever explain how great it felt to shoot up? The feel of the rush. Wired up. Energized. Alive. And then the nodding out. The deep well of black nothingness. Maybe it wasn’t all bad.

He tapped his finger against the gun stock and tried to distract himself by beating out a rhythm to one of his favorite songs. A bead of sweat dripped into his eye and he cursed as he wiped it away. Boy, he needed another fix.

He shifted his weight and visually checked out his rifle. The barrel rested in the tripod. He adjusted the vertical cheek piece. He looked into the telescopic sight and then he saw them, approaching fast from the east. He eased his finger against the trigger and waited.

Any second now.

Wait for it.

Wait.

The police cruiser pulled into the curve.