Читать книгу The Detective And The D.A. - Leann Harris - Страница 11

Ash cursed a blue streak as he followed Kelly’s car through downtown Houston to her office. The little bug she’d put in his ear kept whispering.

And whispering. And what it said left a hole in his gut.

Ralph had a legendary closure rate, one he held over everyone’s head. But what if that rate wasn’t all it was cracked up to be? What if Ralph had done things in other cases that had helped close them prematurely? Ash’s mind shied away from thinking about such things, because if the Carlson case wasn’t just an aberration, but part of a pattern in Ralph’s closure rate, then they were in deep trouble. If anyone caught wind of this, the courts would be waist deep in prisoners claiming their cases had been railroaded.

He tried to bury the worry as he carried the boxes from Kelly’s car to her office. Teresa, Kelly’s secretary, smiled coyly at him when he walked into the room.

“Let’s go into the conference room, where we can spread out this evidence on the table,” Kelly called over her shoulder.

Ash followed her into the room, noticing what a nice butt she had. He tried to ignore his awareness and set his box on the long table.

“Are you going to need me for anything else, Kelly?” Teresa asked from the doorway. She smiled at Ash again.

Kelly looked from Ash to Teresa. “No, you go on home, Teresa. We’re fine.”

Once they were alone, a warning flashed in Kelly’s eyes. Ash shrugged and opened the box in front of him. Inside was Catherine Reed’s blouse, covered with blood, different items from the room that had blood on them, a carpet sample from the bedroom and pictures from the crime scene. But the murder weapon, a Civil War saber that had hung on the hall wall outside the upstairs bedroom, wasn’t in the box.

Kelly unloaded her box. Evidence from Steve Carlson’s apartment, envelopes containing DNA results and samples of blood evidence. Kelly leaned back in her chair, glancing over the items on the conference table. They compared the items on the table with the inventory sheet. Kelly shook her head.

“Where’s the saber?” Ash asked.

Kelly looked through her file. “We gave it back to Andrew Reed, since it was a family heirloom and was valued around fifty thousand dollars.”

Kelly studied the evidence. “There’s nothing here that could be thought of as a smoking gun.”

“Let’s go over the inventory items.”

Kelly read them off the sheet.

Ash surveyed the items. “Nothing different from the file I reviewed yesterday.” He shook his head.

“What?”

He forgot that Kelly could read him in ways that other folks couldn’t. But that was before she had miscarried and turned inward and they had drifted apart. “The blood evidence still bothers me. I need to investigate it further.”

“It bothers me, too.” She shook her head. “I should’ve seen this problem the first time.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Kelly, you just went on what Ralph gave you.”

“What I did was accept his word and didn’t look closely at the case. It was a slam dunk, and I didn’t want to see anything else. I was worrying about my conviction rate. Wanted another promotion.”

No, what had really been going on at the time was Kelly had just miscarried their first baby. It had been a devastating experience for both of them. This case was the first one she’d handled after she went back to work. He saw that truth in her eyes.

“Let’s not panic. There’s no magic key here. It looks like I’ll just have to start from scratch and reinterview everyone listed here, see if I can develop any new leads.”

Kelly picked up a picture of Catherine Reed. “She was a beautiful woman.”

Ash looked over her shoulder at the picture of the victim. As much as they tried to divorce their feelings from these crimes and violence, once in a while a case got to you. “She reminds me of my vision of Snow White.” He shook his head. “Who’d ever think I’d say that?”

She smiled at him. After a quiet moment, she asked, “Why do I have a bad feeling about this, Ash?”

He shook his head and stood. “That’s because there’s something wrong here.”

A moan escaped her. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me that. But I knew…” She took a deep breath. “Okay, Ash. You’re the detective. I’ll go with your interpretation.”

“That’s a first.” The comment slipped out of his mouth before he could think.

Kelly laughed. The sweet sound made Ash want to kiss that lovely mouth.

Whoa, boy. Don’t go there.

Her eyes darkened and the air between them vibrated with their awareness. He stood and took several steps away from her to keep from touching her.

Ash didn’t mention that he had doubts about Andrew Reed. He wanted a closer look at the man. Since Catherine’s death had been so violent, it spoke of rage. Did Andrew Reed have a problem with anger? What was his relationship with his wife? That hadn’t been explored in the previous investigation. And why not?

Terrific, just what he needed, a nasty murder case among the rich and famous.

They quietly put the evidence back into the boxes. “Do you want me to put these boxes in another location?” When his gaze met hers, the electricity in the room exploded between them.

“Uh—” She swallowed. “Just leave them there.”

He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms and kiss her senseless. The thought scared him.

“I’ll be in touch.” He strode out of the room before he did something stupid.

Ash glanced around the elegant den of Andrew Reed’s mansion. The maid informed Ash that Mr. Reed would be with him momentarily. An original oil painting of the Texas Hill county by J. Williams hung over the fireplace. A photo of the artist, famous in Houston and San Antonio, and Andrew Reed, smiling and shaking hands graced the other wall.

“Do you like my Williams?” Andrew asked as he walked into the room.

Ash looked at the handsome man. Pictures of Andrew Reed with other local celebrities hung on the wall. A president, governor, a couple of senators. But there were no pictures of Catherine Reed. “I’m not much into art. My ex-wife said I had taste in my feet,” Ash commented.

Andrew’s brow arched. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“The D.A. wants more evidence for the upcoming retrial. I’ve been assigned to the case. I want to review with you what happened the night your wife was murdered.”

Andrew didn’t look pleased. “How long will this take? I’m scheduled to pick up my fiancée and take her to the opening of J. Williams’s new art show.”

“Probably a half hour.”

He glanced at his watch. “Could we do this tomorrow, a.m.?”

Alarm bells went off in Ash’s head. “Yes. But if you have five minutes now, I’d like a walk-through of the house so I can visually put it together.”

Andrew nodded. “Of course. Follow me.” Andrew walked to the library and showed Ash where the wall safe was located.

“After the party, I wanted a cappuccino. Catherine didn’t feel well and wanted to go home. So I left her off at the back door.”

“Did you drive into the garage?”

“No. There’s a door in the back that leads out to the deck and pool. She went in that way.”

If what he said was true, then Andrew Reed was, in Ash’s book, a selfish bastard who didn’t bother with anyone but himself. Ash would never let his wife walk into a dark house by herself. But then again, Ash had seen too many evil things.

“Where did you find her?”

“Upstairs.” He nodded for Ash to follow. Once on the second-floor landing, Andrew walked to the first doorway. “She was lying just inside the door on the floor, dead.”

“It was noted that the murder weapon was given back to you after the trial.”

“Yes, since it was an antique treasure.”

“Where is it now?” Ash asked.

“I gave it to the Civil War museum at Rice University.”

Ash observed the bedroom where Catherine’s body had been found. Obviously, it had been repainted and new carpeting put down. There were no pictures of the dead woman.

Andrew glanced at his watch. “I have to leave now, Detective.”

As they walked to the front door, Andrew’s expression seemed too pleasant. “I’ll be sure to block out the time for you tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

As Ash climbed into his car, he glanced back at Andrew Reed. He hadn’t moved from the front door. For a man who needed to get going, he wasn’t moving very fast.

Ash smiled and nodded at him. Andrew Reed turned and walked into his house. Glancing around the exclusive neighborhood, Ash decided to start interviewing Reed’s neighbors now. He might learn about the Reeds’ marriage. There wasn’t any mention of their relationship in the file and he wanted to know how things stood on that score.

He got out of the car, closed the door and walked to the next house.

Kelly rushed into the little burger joint tucked on the edge of downtown. She needed to talk to Ash and had called his office, but had been informed he was at dinner. They had told her where.

The evening traffic in this place was strictly folks who worked late at the jail, D.A.’s office and city hall. She immediately spotted Ash in a corner. Their corner booth. When they’d been married, they had often come to this little place for a quick meal together. Since the divorce, she’d only been here once. She walked over to the table. In the past two days, she’d visited too many of their old haunts for comfort.

“Well, Ash, you’ve lived up to your reputation,” she blurted out, not wanting to think about the past.

He rested his arm on the booth behind him. “Exactly what reputation is that? All-around pain in the butt or the tenacious detective?”

“I heard you’ve been cutting a wide swath through the upper crust of Houston society these last forty-eight hours.”

He cocked his head. “Is that what you heard?”

“From more than one source.” She leaned forward, not wanting everyone in the place to hear her answer. “You simply can’t bludgeon these folks, Ash.” The smell of his hamburger wafted over her and made her stomach growl.

“Sit down, Kelly. I’d planned on going by your office tomorrow, but since you’re here—” he shrugged “—we can talk about what I’ve discovered these past two days.”

She didn’t like the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes. She slid into the booth opposite him.

“I told you that I probably wasn’t the best man for this job. And as I recall, you didn’t object to my directness. You wanted it.”

She held up her hand. “You’re right. And you gave it to me in spades. I’ve heard from Catherine’s parents about you asking their friends and neighbors ugly and tasteless questions about the status of their daughter’s marriage.”

Ash grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “Tasteless? But true.”

She ignored him. “And I’ve heard from Mr. Reed that you weren’t very civil to his fiancée. I think Andrew Reed said you were as cordial as a damn carpet-bagger. I assured him that you were a native Texan and had grown up in Galveston.”

“What did he say, Kelly?”

“When I told him you were a native, he wondered why you didn’t have more genteel Southern manners. Then he decided you must’ve come from poor white tr—people.”

His wicked smile appeared. “What did you tell him?”

“What I wanted to tell him was he was a snob and to stick his opinion in his ear. But what I said was that if he wanted his wife’s murder solved and Mr. Carlson back in jail, he needed to cooperate with you and not worry about your manners.”

“What Mr. Reed is upset about is me discovering that he was fooling around with Catherine’s best friend. He’s probably worried that his spotless reputation with his in-laws might be tarnished.”

She sighed in disgust. “So that’s how the wind was blowing.”

“Indeed. Convenient that Steve Carlson confessed to the burglary. It prevented a lot of dirty laundry from being aired.”

“This just gets better and better,” she murmured. Her stomach growled again.

He handed her one of his fries. “Here, start on this while I order you dinner.” Ash turned to the man behind the counter and yelled, “Mark, I need another burger.”

“And onion rings and a Coke,” she added.

A twinkle of mischief sparkled in his eyes. After he yelled out the additional items, he settled back against the booth.

“All right, Ash, what have you got?”

He handed her another fry. “Andrew Reed is going to remarry next week.”

“Why would that be a problem?”

“He was not a happy camper when I showed up. In that house, there was not a picture of Catherine Reed anywhere to be found.”

“Reed, it’s been five years.”

He leaned closer. “I’ve thought about it. But wouldn’t it make sense that some trace, some memento of his dead wife, of their time together would be around? I mean he played the grieving husband to the hilt at the funeral and trial.”

“Why do you find that so unusual?”

“When my mother died, my dad kept her pictures all over that house until he passed away three years later.”

She frowned. “But Andrew’s case is different. Because of the heinousness of the crime, I wouldn’t expect him to have pictures of her around. Just like a divorced couple, I wouldn’t expect either partner to have things around to remind them of their ex.”

He didn’t respond and Kelly’s nerves were on alert. Had he—? She swallowed hard. “Maybe there’s something there you didn’t know about. A piece of furniture or picture, something that you wouldn’t know about.”

Mark showed up with the burger and onion rings. He winked at them. “Never thought I’d see you two again, sitting with each other.”

Kelly’s eyes widened.

“We’re working on a case, Mark,” Ash explained.

“Oh, is that what those vibes were I felt coming from here? Hey, maybe I should get into police work.”

This was the second time within a week that someone had commented on them being together. She stared down at her burger. Confusion rumbled around her head. What was going on?

“The point I’m trying to make, Kelly, is that Andrew’s neighbors said that within weeks of the murder, he had someone come in and redo the entire house. Nothing of Catherine remains.”

She took a bite of her burger and thought. “Still, Ash, it’s not that unusual a response to a death. A violent death.”

“Well, you wanted my gut reaction in this case. There it is. Also, this fiancée is the second one he’s had since his wife died. The society woman he was seeing while Catherine was alive expected to be the next Mrs. Reed. She was very shocked when Andrew dumped her.”

“Ash, I wish I could charge Andrew Reed with being a louse, but we generally don’t prosecute things like that. If we did, I’d have to charge over half the male population of the city with it.”

“When I interviewed the neighbors, I got a picture of a couple that fought frequently. Loud. Yelling and slamming of doors going in and out of their house. I also discovered Mr. Reed liked to spend money. And his business wasn’t doing well.”

Kelly lost her appetite. She pushed away her plate. “Why didn’t Ralph Lee come up with this evidence?”

“Because he conveniently had a suspect that had confessed.”

“You’re going to need to go back and talk to Steve Carlson, again.”

“You want to go with me?”

“Yes, that way no one can accuse you of being biased if I’m there to watch and record the interview.”

“Let’s do it now.”

There wasn’t a reason on earth they couldn’t do it tonight. Except it meant spending more time with Ash, at night, surrounded by darkness and breeding an air of intimacy. “All right, I’ll follow you to his apartment.”

“Don’t trust my driving, Kelly?”

“When the interview is finished, I can go home. It’s got nothing to do with your driving.”

And it had nothing to do with spending time in a car with him. Nothing at all.

When they arrived at the apartment building where Steve Carlson lived, they parked in the dimly lit lot. Several people stared at them as they walked up the outside stairs to the second-floor apartment. Ash knocked. There was no response.

“He’s there,” a little girl told them as she moved away from the door of her second-floor apartment.

Kelly smiled at the child. “How do you know?”

“I saw him let another man inside. Then they started to yell. Later, the man came out, but the other man didn’t.” She shrugged, then started to jump rope.

Ash looked at Kelly. “You think I’ve got reasonable doubt that something’s wrong?”

“I do. See if the door’s open.”

Ash drew his gun, then tried the knob. The door opened easily. They walked into the small apartment. There was no sign of anyone in the living room. The kitchen and dining area were empty. And neat. In the bedroom they found Steve Carlson, lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, a bullet hole in his right temple. A gun lay inches from his hand.

Ash looked at Kelly. “Why do I get the feeling this case has taken another ugly turn?”

“That’s because I doubt Steve Carlson killed himself.”

“Which means that someone wanted to shut him up.”

“Or, Ash, maybe someone wanted our investigation stopped. With Carlson’s death, that would be the logical assumption.”

“But you’re not going to quit, are you, Kelly?”

She looked back at the body, then at him. “Give me a reason to continue, Ash. Give me the evidence I need.”

“All right, I will.”