Читать книгу Revenge Of Innocents - Nancy Taylor Rosenberg - Страница 9

Tuesday, October 12—8:15 P.M.

One side of Veronica’s head was gone. Her blond hair was caked in blood, and her face was unreconizable. Carolyn bent over and stared at the gold wedding band on her left hand. “It’s her,” she told the morgue attendant, a portly Irish man with red hair and freckles. When he started to zip the bag up, she added, “I’d like a few minutes if you don’t mind.”

“Take all the time you want,” Sean O’Malley said. “Just give a holler if you need anything.”

Poor Veronica, Carolyn thought. Before Marcus had come into her life, she’d envied her. She might not have had much in the way of material possessions, but she’d had everything that mattered—a decent husband, four beautiful children, a great personality. No matter how depressed Carolyn got, Veronica always found a way to pull her out of it. She’d never let her work get to her. Last year had changed that, though. But she couldn’t think of that now. She had to pay her respects, let go, find a way to reconcile herself to what had happened.

Picking up her friend’s lifeless hand, she said, “I love you, honey. I promise the bastard who did this to you will pay. Don’t worry about Drew and the kids. It’ll be hard at first, but they’ll make it.” She placed the dead woman’s hand on her chest, the same chest the county pathologist, Charley Young, would soon slice open during the autopsy.

Why was she talking to a corpse?

Was Veronica with God now? She’d never done anything seriously wrong, at least not as far as Carolyn was concerned. Her friend didn’t see it that way. Now she wondered if Veronica had been right, and her death was some sort of divine retaliation. Veronica should have taken her suspicions to the police last year. Carolyn had talked her out of it. Was she now just as responsible?

Even with the most experienced officers, there was always that one case that tore their heart out. Veronica’s had been a child mutilation. She would have eventually put it behind her if the murderer hadn’t been set free. The worst part was that he’d been released because of the incompetence of the county’s chief forensic officer at the time. Robert Abernathy had been charged with multiple counts of falsifying and mishandling evidence, as well as perjury. Lester McAllen, the monster who’d butchered Billy Bell, was only one of scores of defendants whose convictions were overturned because of Abernathy. When Abernathy and Lester McAllen were both murdered, Veronica suspected the boy’s father had killed them. She also blamed herself for contacting Tyler Bell and telling him that the man responsible for his son’s death was scheduled to be released.

Carolyn wrapped her arms around her chest. If Veronica’s spirit was lingering somewhere, it certainly wouldn’t be inside this dreadful place. Carolyn made the sign of the cross, zipped the bag up, and quickly left the room.

O’Malley stood, handing Carolyn a white envelope.

“Is this her death certificate?” she asked. “I’m not a relative. She was my friend, but anything official should be handled by her husband.”

“Turn it over,” he said. “It’s got your name on it. You’re Carolyn Sullivan, aren’t you?”

She used her fingernail to tear open the envelope. As soon as she read it, she jerked her head up. “Where did you get this?”

“It was on my desk,” O’Malley told her, taking a sip of his coffee.

Carolyn’s eyes flashed with fear. “Who put it there?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Must have been someone on the day shift.”

“Call them,” she said, the paper fluttering in her hand. “This is a death threat. I have to know where it came from.”

O’Malley leaned back in his chair. “We’ve got three people working the day shift, Louise Reynolds, Sam Ornstein, and Cory Williams. Louise usually sits at this desk. She goes bowling on Tuesday nights. I guess I can try her cell phone. Tracking everyone down will take time.” He gestured toward a row of plastic chairs. “Have a seat. Want me to get you some coffee? I just put up a fresh pot.”

Carolyn ignored him, reading through the words again. The letter had obviously been typed on a computer. The font was enormous and all the words were in caps.

I KNOW YOUR SON GOES TO MIT.

I KNOW YOUR DAUGHTER GOES TO VENTURA HIGH.

I KNOW YOU NO LONGER LIVE AT THE SAME HOUSE.

I KNOW MARCUS, THE MAN YOU ARE GOING TO MARRY.

KEEP YOUR NOSE OUT OF THIS, OR I WILL KILL THEM ALL.

THEN I WILL KILL YOU.

“I need rubber gloves and an evidence envelope,” Carolyn said, interrupting O’Malley while he was dialing.

“I can only do one thing at a time,” he complained, opening the top drawer and slapping a box of gloves on the corner of his desk.

Carolyn set the paper down and put on the gloves, then folded the note and placed it back inside the envelope. Removing the gloves, she shoved them in her purse in case she needed them later. She was too anxious to sit down. Punching the autodial on her cell, she called Hank Sawyer and read him the letter. O’Malley was talking to someone on the phone, but he looked over at her, and she could tell he was eavesdropping.

“This person knows me, Hank,” she said, opening the glass doors and stepping outside in the hallway. “It has to be someone from the agency. They even know I moved recently, and that I’m getting married.”

“Your house was up for sale for six months,” the detective told her. “There’s no telling how many people passed through that place. You probably had things lying around. You know, stuff about the wedding, maybe something from MIT. As far as Rebecca is concerned, they could figure out she goes to Ventura High because of where the house was located.”

“But we moved.”

“They could have assumed you didn’t transfer her because teenagers hate to change schools and leave their friends.”

“Fine, fine,” Carolyn said, beside herself. “This person still threatened to kill me and my family. Whoever wrote the note must have murdered Veronica. Am I right?”

“Maybe,” Hank said. “It could also be a nutcase. Some guy could have walked through your house when it was up for sale. Then when he heard about a probation officer being murdered, he reasoned that someone who knew you would go to the morgue, or someone at the morgue would know you and get the note to you.” He paused. “The local station broadcast the story live not long after I called you. The clerk at the front desk notified them before he called us. What a bastard, huh? Everyone wants to be on TV. I hate the damn media. All they do is cause problems for us. They’re still out here at the motel with their camera crews. We haven’t had a tsunami, an earthquake, or a hurricane lately, so I guess they’ve got to find some way to give the tragedy junkies their fix.”

“I don’t care about the media,” Carolyn shouted. “Get someone over here, damn it! My best friend got her head blown off, for Christ’s sake, and someone just threatened to kill my entire family. I demand that you take this seriously. One of the morgue attendants may have seen this person. We’re trying to get in touch with all of them now.”

“I’m about to clear here. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Where’s Veronica’s husband?”

“At the house,” Carolyn told him. “Haven’t you spoken to him yet?”

“No,” Hank told her. “Mary Stevens called about thirty minutes ago. A woman named Linda Cartwright answered. She said Drew went out looking for his oldest daughter. You think he had anything to do with Veronica’s death?”

“Absolutely not,” Carolyn said. “Drew’s a great guy.”

“No problems in the marriage?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she told him, remembering the dark circles under Veronica’s eyes. “I’ll talk to you when you get here.”

Once she concluded her call with Hank, Carolyn saw she had four messages from Marcus. They were both busy people, and made it a habit not to call and disturb each other at work unless it was absolutely necessary. Realizing how late it was, she dialed their home number. “I’m sorry,” she said after telling him what had transpired. “I just couldn’t tell anyone else. I’m at the morgue. The more I talk about it, the more upset I get.”

“I understand,” Marcus said. “Rebecca saw it on the news, though, and was terrified it was you.” The line fell silent. “Is there anything I can do? When are you coming home?”

“I’m not sure,” Carolyn said. “Don’t wait up for me. Once I leave here, I’m going back to Veronica’s house. We dumped the kids on a woman from work. She needs to go home to her family.”

“I’ll stop and pick up some food and meet you over there,” he said. “Rebecca is upstairs studying.”

“No,” she said, her voice elevating. “Don’t leave her alone!”

“Rebecca isn’t a baby. She drives all over the place in her car. And we have security. Why won’t you let me help you get through this?”

“Please,” Carolyn pleaded, “if you want to help me, stay at the house with Rebecca.”

“You can’t take on the responsibilities of Veronica’s family,” Marcus said. “This is a terrible tragedy, honey, but you need to think of yourself. We’re getting married in two weeks.”

“We can’t get married now. Veronica’s my maid of honor. How can I have a wedding when my maid of honor is on a slab at the morgue?”

“But, darling,” he said, tension crackling in his voice, “we’ve been planning this for almost a year. Brooke and Ethan are flying in from the East Coast. We’ve already received a ton of gifts. Rebecca can be your maid of honor.”

“I can’t talk about this now,” Carolyn said, clicking off the phone. Brooke and Ethan were Marcus’s children by his first marriage. They both attended Princeton, and were only a year apart in age. He’d been estranged from them for years, so she knew how important this was to him. He didn’t understand how deeply she cared for Veronica. Since they’d been seeing each other, she hadn’t socialized with her outside of work. Veronica and Drew couldn’t afford to eat in expensive restaurants. When she’d explained this to Marcus, he suggested inviting them to his house. She was embarrassed by Marcus’s wealth. How could she flaunt her future lifestyle to people she knew were living from one paycheck to the other?

Carolyn hadn’t told Marcus about the letter. Everything had happened too fast. How could she protect John when he was so far away? She couldn’t ask him to drop out of school. Attending MIT had been his dream, and he’d worked hard to make it a reality. An event like a wedding would offer the killer the perfect opportunity to make good on his threats.

She went to check with O’Malley. The attendant told her he’d managed to contact everyone, and no one recalled seeing anything even remotely suspicious.

Seeing Hank and a striking black woman step off the elevator, Carolyn rushed toward them. “None of the day attendants recall anyone giving them the letter, nor did they see it on the desk. The man on duty now came to work at four. He found an envelope addressed to me underneath his clipboard. He had his clipboard with him when he took me to the back to identify Veronica’s body. That’s when the person must have placed the envelope on his desk.”

Detective Mary Stevens was tall and shapely, with luminous brown eyes and flawless skin. She wore a red shirt and jeans that hung low on her hips. Carolyn knew she must have been at the motel where Veronica was murdered, as she always changed into a red shirt when she responded to a homicide. She called it her murder shirt. “Forensics is on their way,” Mary told her, reaching into her pocket for a pair of gloves. “Can we take a look at the note?”

At fifty, Hank Sawyer stood just under six feet. At one time, he’d been heavy, but he’d gone on a fitness program a few years ago, and now took pride in his physique. He still had a thick head of hair, although the gray strands outnumbered the brown. His face had a rugged look to it. Lines shot out around his mouth and eyes. “You touched it, I presume,” he said, watching as Carolyn handed Mary a plastic evidence bag. After Mary removed the letter from the envelope, Hank looked over her shoulder to read it. “Since it was hand-delivered, we might find fingerprints or other evidence that could help us identify this creep.”

“What about the man who rented the motel room?” Carolyn asked. “He could have been lying about his credit card being stolen.”

“Not likely,” Mary said, placing the note back in the plastic bag. “He was at work. At least five people saw him. He came in at eight and worked until six this evening. He brings his lunch from home, so he never left the building. He’s an underwriter at National Insurance.”

“Drew used to work for National Insurance,” Carolyn said, her face flushed with tension. “That was years ago, though. He works at Boeing now. Where was this man’s credit card stolen from, and why didn’t he report it until after the murder?”

“He claims he didn’t realize it was gone until we called him,” Hank said, chomping on a toothpick. “He left his wallet in a locker at the Spectrum Health Club last night. The only thing missing was his MasterCard and about thirty bucks in cash.”

Mary spoke up. “The motel clerk claims he rented the room to a black male in his early twenties the night before. Jonathan Tate, the man whose card was stolen, is a Caucasian male in his forties. That rules Tate out even without the alibi. It’s interesting that Veronica’s husband may have worked for the same company. People in the insurance business jump around a lot, though, and since you say it was a long time ago, it’s doubtful if Tate and Campbell knew each other.” She shrugged. “We’ll check it out, though. I’d follow a snail right now if I thought it could lead me to the killer.”

“Why don’t you go home, Carolyn?” Hank suggested “When the crime lab gets here, we’re going to have to clear everyone out except for the stiffs.”

Carolyn cut her eyes to him. “One of those stiffs was my best friend.”

“Sorry,” Hank said. “It’s been a long day. Tomorrow we need you to go through all of Veronica’s cases, everything in the past three or four years.”

“Four years! Do you have any idea how many cases our people handle?”

“There’s still a chance it could be the probationer she mentioned to you this morning,” he told her. “We didn’t find any signs of forced entry, but it isn’t that hard to get into a motel room. The guy who rented it with a stolen credit card may have left early that morning and accidentally left the door ajar. Then this Phillip Bramson could have snuck in with the intention of fooling Veronica into believing he had a right to be there.”

“Did Brad Preston send you the information in his file?” Carolyn asked, running her fingers through her hair.

“Yeah,” Hank said. “Bramson hasn’t shown up at work for two weeks. He also didn’t pay the rent on his apartment, so his landlord locked him out four days ago. Veronica’s file indicated she placed a number of phone calls to him. There was also a notation that she suspected he was using narcotics again. He could have found out she was looking for him, and arranged to meet her at the Motor Inn.”

“It’s possible,” Carolyn said. “What happened to Veronica’s gun?”

“We have it,” Hank said. “It may turn out to be the murder weapon. We found it in a Dumpster at the rear of the motel.”

Carolyn scratched a patch of dry skin on her arm. “Veronica hated guns. He must have overpowered her. She was always afraid of something like that. She believed we were safer without guns. Not just people in law enforcement, but private citizens as well. Veronica thought if you bought a gun and kept it in your house, instead of your defending yourself with it, someone would use it against you.” She paused, thinking. “If Bramson was strung out, he would never have agreed to see Veronica. He had drug terms. If he tested positive, he was looking at a certain prison term. In reality, she could have violated him for not showing up at his job. He may have lured her to the motel to kill her.”

“Why didn’t he just abscond?” Mary interjected.

“Addicts don’t act rationally,” Hank reminded her. “He may have thought he could con Veronica into thinking he was clean. When she didn’t buy it, he impulsively grabbed her gun and shot her.”

“But why would Bramson threaten me and my family?” Carolyn asked. “Not many murderers would risk showing up at a county facility only hours after the crime, particularly if the victim was in law enforcement. And how did he find out so much about me?” She turned to Hank. “I doubt if Bramson took a tour of my house. It doesn’t make sense. Junkies look and act like junkies. My real estate agent never brought anyone to the house without screening them.”

“You must know more than you think you know,” Mary told her, exchanging tense glances with Hank.

Had she already put it together? Carolyn asked herself. Mary Stevens was one of the sharpest women she’d ever known. Her father had been a high-ranking officer with the LAPD. When he was killed in the line of duty, Mary had tracked down his murderer, then relinquished a lucrative position in the private sector to become a cop. Her statement had struck too close to home. If the detective had somehow sniffed out the truth about Tyler Bell, Carolyn’s future was at stake. Instead of going on her honeymoon, she could end up in the county jail.

“I have to go,” Carolyn said. “I’ll be on my cell if you need me.” Seeing Hank about to say something, she cut him off. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to throw my gun away. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve already killed one murderer. I don’t need any more notches on my belt, but I’d welcome the chance to shoot this one. Do me a favor. Find him before I do.”