Читать книгу Quest For Justice - Kathleen Tailer - Страница 11

TWO

Franklin Kennedy stepped up to the table where Bailey Cox was manacled in the interrogation room and took a seat across from her. She’d been there for over three hours while they had verified her story, and so far everything she’d said had checked out. They’d found the text on her cell phone, and she did indeed have a concealed weapons permit, despite her criminal history.

She’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time just because she was worried about her father—and now he had to tell her she’d never see the man again.

Frank hated giving death notices. He dropped the file on the table and leaned back. She was antsy and her hands moved constantly, giving away just how uncomfortable she was in the police station. He said nothing for several minutes, and his quiet seemed to unnerve her.

Finally, she gave a frustrated groan. “Well? Are you ready to release me? I’ve been here for hours.”

“Not quite yet, Ms. Cox.”

“You’ve known me half of my life. You might as well call me Bailey.” She leaned back. “Surely you’ve had time to check my cell phone and verify my story.”

Frank nodded. “We have. We found the text.”

Bailey’s eyes widened. “So? What else are you waiting for? I’ve got to go find my father. You can’t just hold me here forever. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Frank shrugged and eyed her closely. She hadn’t changed much in the last six years. Her face was more mature and she’d grown into her figure, but her eyes held the quick intelligence they always had, and her high cheekbones and full lips still made her one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen. In his book, it was a pity that such beauty was wasted on a criminal.

She spoke again and her voice was caustic. “You’ve heard of false imprisonment, right? I mean, they do teach you something at the police academy.”

He ignored her comment. She’d always had a feisty mouth. Her refusal to be cowed was actually something he admired about her. Even when the chips were down, she was a firecracker, vivacious and spirited.

Finally, he opened the folder and sifted through the papers it contained that detailed her life for the last six years. After prison, she’d worked in Mobile, Alabama, taking night classes in computer science until she got her degree. She lived a simple lifestyle. No extravagant purchases. What had happened to the money she stole? Was she afraid that if she spent it, he would be able to trace it back to her? His mind was full of questions, but he held his tongue. Now wasn’t the right time, especially because he saw the vulnerability shining in her eyes beneath that tough veneer.

Deep down, he knew he was focusing on the money because he didn’t want to think about the conversation they needed to have. Somehow, he had to figure out how to tell her about her father’s death. He raked his fingers through his shortly cropped hair, unable to avoid the task any longer. “We found your father.”

She sat up quickly. “Where? Is he okay?”

He leaned forward, unlocked the handcuffs and then pocketed them. She rubbed her wrists and stood. “So?” Her face was expectant and so full of life and vibrancy that he hated to say the next words.

“I’m sorry to tell you that your father has been killed, Bailey.”

Bailey slowly sat back down. Her eyes widened and he saw a flicker of pain before her face became a mask. “How? Where?”

“We found him with a fatal gunshot wound. He was in the back of that sedan that was parked behind his office building. The two men who probably committed the crime are also dead after they fired upon police officers. We’re running forensic tests right now to verify that one of their guns was the weapon used to shoot him.”

“Why was he killed?”

“We don’t know yet. We’re investigating that now.”

“No! You’re lying!” She lunged at him across the table and he grabbed her hands, stopping the onslaught.

“He can’t be dead!” She was really upset now. Maybe he should have waited to release her from the handcuffs, but he couldn’t imagine telling her that kind of news with her hands manacled. Still, she was clearly out of control. For the second time today, he found himself bearing the brunt of her temper. She struggled against him, but he was much stronger and easily overpowered her. He pulled her to the side of the table and into a tight hold with her back against his chest and her arms secured so she could do no further damage. Sobs racked her body. She finally gave up her struggles and just sagged against him, the tears pouring down her face.

Her pain touched him. Sure, she was a criminal and justice had never been served in her case, but she was clearly suffering. He wouldn’t wish this type of agony on his worst enemy. He held her tightly, letting his strength buoy her up. He would hold her for as long as she needed. It was the least he could do, despite her past and his feelings about it.

* * *

Bailey just couldn’t hold it in. He couldn’t be dead. Her grief was overwhelming. Although her father had abandoned her as a child, Bailey had finally been able to forgive him and move forward with their relationship within the past year. It had been a slow and bumpy process, but getting to know her father had been a big part of her life over the last few months. She had even started working with him on his cases, and they were becoming a formidable team. How could all of that be over?

Once her tears ebbed, she felt numb and listless but savored the feel of warmth and security that Franklin Kennedy offered in his embrace. He might be her enemy, but at least now she knew he was human. He was aware of her criminal history and everything she had done, yet he still didn’t push her away in her hour of need. She was grateful and also a bit surprised.

Finally, she caught her breath and stepped back from his touch. He offered her a handkerchief and she took it and wiped her eyes. Who carried handkerchiefs anymore? It was an inane thought, but it distracted her for a moment, and she wanted desperately to think about anything but her father’s final fate. She took another step back, embarrassed by her behavior. “I’m sorry. I guess I feel overwhelmed by all of this, but I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Please forgive me.” She softened her voice as she brushed some stray hairs away from her face. “So where is his body?”

“At the morgue. I need to take you over there to identify him when you’re ready.”

“Is that why you kept me here so long?”

Kennedy nodded. “It’s one of the reasons. I didn’t want you to see him in the trunk of that car. That shouldn’t be your last memory of him. By the time we get downtown, they’ll have him cleaned up a bit.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Bailey. I really am.”

She nodded and was silent for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Okay. Kennedy had scored two points today in the humane category. They could never be friends, but at least some of her anger toward him had dwindled. Maybe he didn’t hate her after all. Six years ago, Kennedy had pursued her relentlessly and had finally caught her red-handed with the stolen medical equipment that her mother needed to survive. She’d been convicted and sentenced, but, even so, she doubted he counted it as a victory.

They both knew the prosecutor had failed to gather enough evidence to convict her of her more serious crime—stealing a little over a million dollars to pay for her mother’s medical bills. However, her mother had died shortly after the theft, and Bailey had actually spent very little of it. It was currently hidden away in an offshore account, well concealed from local law enforcement and the forensic accountants they’d hired.

She pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the here and now. A new thought hit her. “So who were the two men behind my father’s building?”

Kennedy shrugged. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? I think I have a right to know who killed my father.”

He pursed his lips, apparently unwilling to answer her.

She pressed on. “Were they American?”

He still didn’t answer.

“Oh, come on, Kennedy. You won’t be giving away government secrets by letting me know what my father stumbled into.”

“That’s Detective Kennedy, Bailey, and I meant it when I said I’m not at liberty to say. There’s an ongoing investigation in place. That’s really all you need to know.”

She fumed inwardly but could tell that he wasn’t going to budge. At least not today. She let the issue drop for now but resolved to revisit it once things settled down. She was going to find out why her father had been killed. That was the bottom line.

It was time to go. She needed to get the viewing over with and then hide away in her apartment so she could just be alone in her pain. “Let’s do this,” she said quietly, trying to mask her grief. They left the interrogation room and she gathered her phone and keys from the desk sergeant as they left the station. She didn’t protest when Kennedy held on to her guns and knife, knowing her objection would be futile. She wasn’t actually surprised at his precaution since he had seen her temper flare so much today. Probably the last thing he wanted was for her to lose it again and have her gun in her hand at the same time.

He always seemed to catch her at her worst. Even though she’d made admirable attempts to turn her life around, Kennedy would always see her as a criminal.

They arrived at the morgue and were greeted by a worker who took them to a small room with a window covered by thick, dark curtains. Kennedy met her eye. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I can be,” Bailey answered. “Go ahead.”

Kennedy pushed the button on the intercom near the window. “We’re ready.”

The curtain opened and showed a medical room behind the glass. She gasped as the attendant pulled back the sheet. The body was definitely her father, but she hadn’t been prepared for the damage the bullet had caused. It was a horrible image that she was afraid was going to stay with her for several years to come. She nodded and the attendant quickly put the sheet back over the body. She gripped the handkerchief, praying she wouldn’t start bawling right here at the morgue.

“I’ll take you home,” Kennedy said softly.

She glanced up at him and their eyes connected. There was compassion there, yet still the determination and grit that she had always seen in him since he had first snapped the cuffs around her wrists six years ago. But, in this case, his determination was a good thing. If he was assigned to solve her father’s murder, then he wouldn’t give up until he had the culprit behind bars.

“Are you going to be working this case?”

“I am,” he confirmed.

A wave of satisfaction swept over her. “So am I,” she said vehemently. “One of those two goons in the alley probably pulled the trigger, but there has to be more to this. I’m going to find out who and why and make them pay.”

He put his hands up. “No, you’re not. You’re going to go home and stay out of the way while I do my job. I don’t need or want your help.”

“That’s not the way it works, Detective,” she said grimly. “He was my father. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, no matter what it takes.”