Kitabı oku: «The Blade Brothers of Cougar County», sayfa 3

“Dinner.”

“Kinda late for dinner. Were you alone?”

“It was a business dinner. At Baldacci’s. My guests were Drs. Rafferty, Lemon and Lattimer. We were discussing a new drug, one that I rep. The reservation was for eight o’clock. We finished up a little before eleven.”

“Eleven,” he repeated. He hit a few more keys and again turned the screen so she could see it.

paprs signd last dink

“This one came in at 11:05. Were you still at the restaurant?”

She shook her head. “I had just arrived home.”

“Alone?”

The question bothered her. Perhaps because of what had happened between them two months ago, and what she sensed to be the underlying suggestion that she often spent the night with near-strangers.

“Very alone.”

If she hadn’t been watching his face closely, she wouldn’t have seen the barely perceptible tightening of his mouth and the infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes.

He nodded. “So why don’t you tell me more about these property settlement papers? Was your divorce not final?”

Again, she sensed a hidden question—had Lexie been married when they’d slept together?

“The divorce was final six months ago. However, there was a problem with the paperwork, something fairly minor that only recently came to light. Dan took advantage of it, though, and filed an appeal of the original settlement, claiming that the division of property hadn’t been equitable, and that he should retain possession of this house.”

“And you didn’t agree?”

“No. The house belonged to my grandparents and had been willed to me nearly a year before Dan and I married. Besides, he didn’t really want the house. He hated it. He just wanted to drag things out.”

“What makes you say that?”

“This wasn’t the first time he claimed to have signed the documents,” she said.

Instead of commenting, Jack punched more keys. He held up the phone.

Pick up tnight or brn them n house

“Where were you when this came in?”

“At home. I was still sitting in my car, debating what I should do.”

“Did you believe that he might actually burn the papers and the house?”

“Dan never threatened. He warned of consequences.”

“So you thought him capable?”

“Of burning the papers?” She glanced away. “Yes. I thought him capable.”

“And the house?”

She rubbed her forehead. The headache really pounded now, making it difficult to think.

“Lexie, did you think he might burn the house?”

She shoved the hair that had fallen forward off her face as she looked up, meeting his gaze. “Intentionally? No. Accidentally? Maybe. If he’d been drinking,” she admitted.

“Did he have a drinking problem?”

She fiddled with the charm bracelet again, her fingers automatically searching out and finding the smooth, heart-shaped locket. “Not as far as he was concerned.”

Once again, Jack’s eyes narrowed, but this time that wasn’t the only change. It was like watching an approaching tornado, the clear skies of a summer afternoon suddenly turning dark and lethal. Treacherous and unpredictable.

And in that moment, it hit Lexie that she wasn’t being paranoid earlier. Jack did think she might somehow be involved. Probably Detective Fitz did, too. How had she not picked up on it sooner?

Without saying a word, Jack got up and left the room briefly. When he came back, he had a cell phone encased in a plastic bag, the inside of which was smeared with blood. He wasn’t alone this time, either. A Hispanic man followed him in, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt printed with CRIME SCENE, but stopped just inside the door.

This time Jack didn’t sit down. Deep Water’s police chief held up the phone, as he had the last one.

Silently, she read the screen: Don’t drink with murderers

“Care to explain that?”

She realized that if they’d been looking for motive, she’d given them several in a matter of minutes. Her ex-husband was bullying her on a property settlement. He’d threatened to burn a house that she obviously wanted enough to fight him for. And then there was the most damning reason—the one they didn’t even know about yet.

“Lexie?” There was menace in Jack’s tone.

She lifted her eyes to his but remained mute. Should she ask to see an attorney? No one had read her her rights yet. Didn’t they have to do that? Wasn’t anything she said up until now inadmissible in court?

Jack punched more buttons, held the phone up yet again. F off

“Were you angry?”

“Irritated. And…” Lexie closed her mouth, worried that her response would be misinterpreted.

Jack placed the phone on the table in front of her, the screen still lit and the words still there. The smeared blood on the inside of the bag blurred the screen. She looked away, her gaze stumbling onto Jack’s as he watched her.

“You don’t believe Dan’s death to be a suicide?” Her voice was pitched lower than usual. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Lexie looked toward the Hispanic man, who hadn’t moved. “Do you?”

Jack’s voice came as if from a distance. “It’s up to the medical examiner to make that determination. Our job is to do a thorough investigation in the meantime. Anytime there is a questionable death, we have to approach it as if it’s a homicide.”

She didn’t believe him. Maybe they had to wait on the official word, but her gut told her they were already building a case. Against her.

“Would you be willing to submit to a gunpowder residue test? Just to help rule yourself out?”

Lexie sat there for several seconds, weighing the request. She was really and truly screwed, wasn’t she? If Dan hadn’t killed himself—if he had instead been murdered—no one would buy her innocence, would they? She had opportunity and more than enough motive. And now they would have a residual test?

She stood slowly, her gaze moving from the man who waited near the door—the reason for his presence now obvious—to the man in front of her, who stood between her and the back door.

“It would be a waste of time,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I spent part of my afternoon at the gun range, trying out a new pistol.”

Chapter Three

Jack didn’t say anything for several moments, but then he didn’t need to. The look in his eyes, though quickly concealed, was all the proof she needed. Jack Blade—a man she had slept with and still dreamed about some nights—actually thought her capable of murder.

“Any witnesses to that?”

“Two or three.” She cast a quick glance in the direction of the crime scene officer. Fitz had returned and now stood next to him. Great. Just what she needed, a bigger audience.

“What gun range?” Jack asked, and she returned her attention to him.

“Frankie’s on Sabal Run.” She gathered up her purse and her jacket. “Now, if you’re through with me…” She adjusted the purse on her shoulder.

“Unfortunately, I’m not.” He looked over at Fitz. “Please inform Ms. Dawson of her noncustodial rights.”

She couldn’t breathe. “Am I under arrest?”

Fitz shook his head. “No. You have the right to leave at any time. And you have the right to hire an attorney and have him present before this interview continues.”

“It’s the middle of the night.” She glanced from Fitz to Jack. Asking for an attorney would only serve to make her look guilty. And while she may have entertained the thought of killing Dan once in sheer frustration, she hadn’t ever done anything to harm him.

“What is it that you want?” she asked.

“For starters? For you to submit to gunpowder residue testing,” Jack said.

Lexie put her jacket back on the table, as well as her purse. The procedure, nothing more than a swab of both hands, took a matter of minutes.

“Anything else?”

“Your shirt. There’s blood on the right cuff.”

Involuntarily, Lexie’s hand flexed. The vision of Dan’s bleeding, shattered skull swam before her eyes. Nothing would have saved him. “I tried to help….”

“Help how?” Fitz asked politely. Too politely.

Lexie glanced up, taking in the three identical expressions of professional skepticism. Ignoring Fitz’s question, she met Jack’s stare. “You want my shirt? What would you like me to wear home?”

As she continued to meet his gaze, another vivid memory of the night two months ago surfaced. Jack unbuttoning her blouse, his warm hands pushing it off her shoulders and down her arms. She wanted to glance away but didn’t.

Jack nodded to the heavyset detective. “Fitz, get something for Ms. Dawson to put on.”

Fitz brought her one of Dan’s shirts. She opened the kitchen door into the dining room, heading for the small bath beneath the stairs, but when she reached the foyer, a sharp breeze whipped in through the open front door. In the next instant, she realized why it stood open.

Everything went cold inside her as she watched two men maneuver Dan’s body out of the den. Dan hadn’t been a big man, just shy of two hundred pounds, but they still struggled, their feet shuffling noisily against the wood floor as they made a wide turn to avoid the entrance table and a small side chair. Only when the load was aligned with the front entrance did they carry their burden out into the frigid December night.

Dan was dead. Was inside that heavy bag. Tonight was the last time she would see him. She wouldn’t attend the funeral. Not because she didn’t want to, but because her presence there would upset Dan’s parents. And she understood just how difficult it was to lose a child.

The body bag was loaded into a waiting vehicle. She should feel something. Grief. Sorrow. Maybe even outrage. But she felt none of those things. She simply felt empty and scared.

The men moving the body hadn’t noticed, but a detective who she’d been introduced to earlier but hadn’t seen since—and whose name she couldn’t remember—walked out of Dan’s office at that moment and stood staring at her, his gaze direct and condemning.

Immediately bowing her head, she ducked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She’d been in such a hurry that she hadn’t turned on the light, so now was forced to fumble for the switch. The few seconds that she was trapped there in the dark pushed her to the edge of her already tenuous hold on her control.

Had the timing been on purpose? Had they hoped seeing Dan’s body would force her to confess?

Turning, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes appeared dazed and slightly red. Some of it was the late hour, the fact that her contacts were beginning to feel scratchy, but mostly it was the shock. Not just Dan’s death, either. She’d gone through her whole life trying to do the right thing. Believing that as long as she did, everything would be okay. Tonight showed her just how stupidly naive she’d been.

After removing the blouse, Lexie shoved an arm into one of the long sleeves. She could smell Dan’s cologne on the shirt. Not strongly, but it was still there. Her fingers felt stiff, unresponsive, so buttoning the shirt took some effort. As she lifted her hands to do the topmost button, the material brushed across her rib cage. The sensation of cloth across skin tightened her apprehension. Dan’s fingers. That’s what the contact felt like. As if it was Dan touching her.

When she lifted her gaze to the mirror this second time, she saw a familiar stranger. Someone terrified and lost. She recognized that face, but the last time she’d seen it, she’d been twelve years old.

Maybe she’d had it all wrong earlier. Perhaps Dan hadn’t brought her here tonight to kill her, but to frame her.

Was it possible to make a suicide look like murder? Could Dan have hated her enough to do that?

Lexie turned her back on the mirror. She had to pull herself together. She couldn’t go out there looking the way she did now. Beaten. Frightened.

Someone knocked on the door. “You okay, ma’am?” Fitz asked. Was he waiting for her to come out? To confess?

“I’m fine,” she said, but realized she didn’t sound that way, her voice pitched higher than normal. She slumped against the wall and waited until she heard Fitz move away.

But he was waiting for her when she opened the door, and took the blouse and jacket from her.

He placed them in separate evidence bags. “We need to inspect the contents of the gun safe.”

With a sharp nod, she immediately headed for the stairs. It was easier to give them what they wanted. Besides, if the gun was her grandfather’s, they’d find that out soon enough.

She led the way upstairs, Fitz and the tall, rangy detective whose name she didn’t remember trailing behind her. The master bedroom had been redone since she moved out, the antiques replaced by contemporary pieces. The bed was neatly made, but there were signs that the room had been searched—drawers not quite closed and the closet door left open.

Taking that first step into the master bedroom closet, suddenly surrounded by Dan’s personal things, it seemed as if he was there in that small space with her.

She remained unmoving after that initial step, her eyes focused on the door to the gray safe. One of the two men behind her cleared his throat, reminding her that she was not alone. They probably thought her hesitation was motivated by fear over what they would find inside. Maybe she should be.

She took the final steps. As she lifted her fingers to the dial, she realized they trembled. Her companions would no doubt have already noticed. Lexie manipulated the combination lock, then reached for the lever handle. With the scent of gun oil suddenly overriding that of Dan’s cologne, she thought of another man—of her grandfather. It was his presence that she felt as she scanned the lineup of shotguns and rifles, the shelves where automatics and revolvers were arranged neatly.

Out of habit, she started to reach for the Colt 1861 Navy revolver, but Fitz stopped her. “We can take it from here, ma’am.”

After Fitz escorted her to where Jack was waiting for her in the kitchen, he left, presumably retracing his steps.

She wrapped her arms in front of her. “If we’re done here, I really would like to go now.”

Even though she was standing right in front of him, her gaze meeting his, she didn’t see the man who had made love to her two months ago. At that moment, he was just a stern-faced professional doing his job. She knew it was too much to expect one night together to make any kind of real difference, but still found herself oddly angry with him.

“We’re done for tonight,” he said.

Instead of maneuvering around him as most people eager to escape would have, she remained where she was, her body only inches from his, and waited, eyes reflecting what she hoped appeared to be confidence and not the fear she actually felt.

Jack didn’t step aside, but did turn enough to let her past. At the last moment, he wrapped his fingers loosely around her upper arm, forcing her to turn back, to lift her gaze to his again. She felt a sharp stab of awareness run through her, accompanied by the memory of his hand closing around her upper arm, his mouth coming down hard on hers. But not this time. This time his mouth only flattened with… Disgust? Distrust? It didn’t really matter, she realized.

Jack’s fingers flexed. “Where will you be staying?”

“Detective Fitz has the address, but then you already know the way, don’t you?”

The pressure of his fingers increased and his eyes briefly lost some of their remoteness. “Hire a lawyer.”

She frowned. “I didn’t kill my ex-husband, Jack.”

He looked as if he planned to say something more, but didn’t. Releasing her, he stepped back.

Once outside the back door, Lexie fought the urge to run. The rain had stopped, the night clearing so that stars hung overhead now. Without the protective blanket of clouds, the temperature had continued to drop toward the low thirties, and without a jacket, she was shivering before she’d made it halfway around the side of the house.

Had she made a mistake in answering questions, in submitting to the residue test? In opening the safe?

It was too late to worry about it now. What was done was done. But she’d do as Jack suggested; she’d contact an attorney first thing in the morning. If Jack or his men had more questions they wanted answered, she’d only do it if her attorney was present.

A wind gust went through the material of the shirt as if it wasn’t there. Wrapping her arms around herself, she kept walking, faster now, with her shoulders hunched and her head bowed. She was suddenly eager to reach her car, not just for the warmth it offered, but also for the privacy.

As she turned the corner of the house, though, she realized that getting in her car and leaving wasn’t going to be so simple. When she’d arrived earlier, the drive had been empty, but now a dozen or so police vehicles packed the area in neat order, one beside the other. At least two of them blocked her company sedan.

She took a few more steps forward, wondering how long it would take to get them moved. It was two-thirty in the morning. Even if she called a cab, it would take at least a half hour for one to show up. All she wanted was to go home. Maybe with a lot of luck, she could get a few hours of sleep. Maybe even for a span of hours forget about the nightmare that had suddenly become her life.

Hearing the front door open, she turned. Jack stepped out onto the porch. Maybe he’d been watching from the window and, recognizing the parking problem, was coming to rectify it.

He walked down the steps and headed across the damp grass toward her. Tightening her arms across herself again and locking her knees, she bounced in place on the balls of her feet as she waited on him. He moved easily, his stride loose. She’d noticed that about him even before they’d actually met. Her awareness of him had gone beyond that, though. But then, if you asked any woman in Deep Water to describe the chief of police, the word hunk was bound to come up.

Hearing rushing footsteps behind her, she glanced over her shoulder, catching only the glimpse of a woman’s white face and dark hair before she felt the blow to her left cheek that landed openhanded and with stinging force.

“Evil bitch!”

As spittle splattered Lexie’s face, she fell back a step, confused. She wiped the spit off. “What do you…who the hell are you…?”

Instead of answering, the woman picked up a fist-size rock from the ground and rushed Lexie, who was still backing away. “You’re going to pay!”

At the last moment, seeing the rock driving downward toward her head, Lexie ducked and immediately lashed out with a fist. Pain exploded in her hand as it connected with the woman’s shoulder. What seemed like a thousand kilowatts of electricity shot upward into her elbow.

Jack grabbed the woman and dragged her backward. Lexie doubled over her injured hand and turned her back as several other officers arrived.

“Don’t you understand? That bitch killed him!”

She heard Jack handing off the woman, who continued to rail as she was led away.

Then he approached Lexie. “You okay?”

She tried to form words, but couldn’t seem to push them past her lips. Where she’d been freezing seconds earlier, now sweat clung to her, and her chest felt painfully tight. But it wasn’t until her vision tunneled toward black and her knees started to buckle that she realized what was happening to her.

“Lexie? Are you all right?”

What the heck was wrong with the man? She was anything but okay. Still cradling the hand close to her body, she sank to her knees.

Jack squatted down in front of her. “Do you think it’s broken?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath and tried to let it out slowly. Another knifelike pain climbed her arm. “That’s the problem with being a girl,” she managed to mutter between gritted teeth. “No one teaches you how to throw a punch. How to protect yourself. Because they figure there’s going to be a man around to do it. Well, I got news for them—”

“Come on, Sugar Ray. You’re going to the hospital.” Jack helped her to her feet. She wobbled slightly and he steadied her. When she looked up into his face this time, she thought she saw concern. In the next instant, though, it was gone. Or perhaps it had never existed.

“Did you want to press charges?” Jack asked.

“No. I think I have enough problems, don’t you?”

She took a deep breath. With even the least bit of jarring, it felt as if someone was stabbing her wrist with a very dull knife. All she wanted was enough medication to deaden the pain. Since hands and wrists were his specialty, she thought about calling Ken Lattimer. If only she’d accepted his invitation—if she’d said yes instead of no to dessert—tonight would have turned out so differently. For her, at least.

She was so intent on keeping the hand and wrist steady, she didn’t see the newcomer.

“Lexie?”

At the sound of Fleming Whittemore’s voice, she turned. He stood five feet away, dressed more casually than she was used to seeing him, his expression grim. He wasn’t alone. One of the officers, the kid who’d been guarding the front door, was with him.

When Fleming tried to approach, the officer stopped him. “What’s going on, Lexie?”

“Dan’s dead.”

“Dead?” Fleming shook free of the officer’s restraint but didn’t make any move to reach her. “What happened?”

“Suicide, they think.” She shook her head. “Maybe murder.”

“Are you okay?” Fleming asked, his glance traveling from her face to the face of the man beside her.

She nodded as Jack’s fingers closed around her upper arm. Lexie glanced up at the man who held her. Why was he suddenly holding her? To keep her from Fleming? “This is Fleming Whittemore, Dan’s partner. I called him earlier. He…he should be the one to phone Dan’s parents.” She looked at Fleming again. “I need to go to the hospital. Do you think you could drive me?”

Jack’s fingers tightened their hold. “One of my men will take you.”

“But I’d rather—”

“Andy,” Jack interrupted. He motioned to the woman who had assaulted Lexie. “Put her in the back of a car for now. I’m sure Fitz and Shepherd will want to talk to her and to Mr. Whittemore.” He looked at Fleming. “I assume you have no objections to answering a few questions?”

Fleming shook his head.

It was only as her attacker was being led away that Lexie recognized the woman as one of Dan’s nurses. What was she doing here at this time of night?

Taking off his coat, Jack draped it around Lexie’s shoulders. “Come on.”

The gesture surprised her. But as the weight of the coat settled around her, she realized it shouldn’t have. Wasn’t that one of the first things she’d noticed about Jack the night they’d met—his ability to make a woman feel very alive, but also safe?

IT WAS NOW NEARLY 4:00 a.m. Jack had stepped outside, hoping the cold air would stave off the exhaustion that seemed to be gaining on him. He’d already been up for more than twenty-three hours and figured he had another couple to go before he could catch a few hours of sleep.

News crews were setting up out on the street. The dispatcher at the police station had relayed the message that calls were coming in requesting interviews with Jack. Word had gotten out about the prominent doctor’s death. One persistent reporter had already called the mayor at home, waking him from sleep with the news and asking for a reaction. Luckily, or perhaps more accurately, unluckily, the mayor had refused to comment until morning. At which time he promised to hold a joint press conference with Jack.

That was just what Jack wanted to do first thing in the morning. Share a microphone with a man who had publicly criticized him on more than one occasion. The friction between Jack and the mayor, and even with several members of the city council, was no secret, and the press was likely to play on that angle if they got the chance.

Jack’s cell phone rang. It was Fitz. “I’ve invited Whittemore into the kitchen for questioning. I thought you might want to join us.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The doctor was already sitting in the breakfast nook, Fitz’s bulk squeezed in on the opposite side of the table.

Jack grabbed a cup of coffee and took a seat at the island counter where Fitz had been earlier, content to just watch and listen. If it had been anyone but Lexie, he would have done the same earlier, been a spectator during her questioning.

Dr. Fleming Whittemore, one of the city’s preeminent obstetricians, looked as tired as the rest of them. He’d shed the heavy leather jacket and was now dressed in jeans, a brown flannel shirt and work boots. Both the boots and jeans had mud on them. But not the hands, Jack realized as Whittemore reached for the foam cup of coffee. Skin pink, nails clean, as if they’d been scrubbed aggressively.

“Looks as if you’re a bit of an outdoorsman?” Fitz commented. Building rapport by establishing common ground with the interviewee always came first.

Jack had intentionally skipped that step with Lexie. They’d previously established common ground—one he hadn’t been anxious to have revealed to his men. Though Jack wouldn’t be surprised if their previous relationship came out at some point.

Fleming looked down at the chunks of mud he’d left on the floor. “I have a cabin in the Ocala Forest. I was out there checking on it earlier.”

“Do you hunt, then?”

Whittemore slumped. “No. I just keep it as a retreat.”

“Does your wife go with you?”

“I’m not married.” Whittemore glanced over at Jack.

Jack sensed that instead of relaxing, the casual questions that were unrelated to what had taken place here tonight put the doctor on edge. Jack wondered why, and suspected Fitz did, as well.

“How long had you and Dr. Dawson been partners?” Fitz asked.

“Just over three years.”

“How did the two of you meet?”

“My practice had grown to a point where I couldn’t handle it any longer alone. I took out an ad in a medical journal. Dan had finished up his residency in obstetrics down in Miami and, because of his relationship with Lexie, wanted to relocate to Deep Water.”

Jack wasn’t surprised when Fitz avoided showing too much interest in Lexie. The detective had obviously sensed that it was still too early. That if Fleming guessed they were focusing on Lexie as a suspect, his responses might become more guarded.

After all, the fact that she’d called Whittemore suggested that the relationship between them was a strong one. Just friends? Or something more? Jack didn’t try to deny that his interest in the answer to that question wasn’t strictly professional.

“Would you say he was a good doctor?” Fitz asked.

“Yes. A very good one. He tended to take plenty of time with his patients, and most of them seemed to like him. Of course, there’s always one or two who don’t.”

“No impending lawsuits?”

Whittemore shook his head. “No.”

“How was he around the office and with the staff? Was he easygoing or uptight?”

“You could tell when things weren’t going well.”

“So he had a bit of a temper?”

Whittemore glanced away briefly. “I never saw him really lose control in the office,” he said when he looked back.

“What about outside the office?”

Again, Whittemore looked away.

Fitz changed tack with the next question. “What about his divorce? Did he ever discuss it?”

“No. But then I would be the last person he would talk to about it.”

Jack could think of several reasons why a man might not discuss a divorce with a business partner, the most obvious being a love triangle. Was it possible that that was what was going on here?

“Why would you be the last person?” Fitz asked.

“Because I was the one Lexie came to the night she lost the baby.”

Lost a baby? Fitz glanced over at Jack, speculation evident in the detective’s face.

Had they finally hit on something? Whittemore hadn’t said “miscarried.” He’d said “lost.” How many ways were there to lose a baby? Problems in the delivery room? No. There was more to it than that. Whatever had happened had created tension between the two doctors.

Fitz straightened. “Okay. Maybe you should tell me about that night.”

Whittemore didn’t answer right away, the pause once again suggesting he was choosing his words carefully. Why? Who was he protecting? Himself? Dan Dawson? Or Lexie?

“It was about eleven months ago,” he said. “A Sunday night. Late. I’d just returned from vacation and was at the office catching up on some files.”

Whittemore took another sip of coffee, the last. Normally Fitz would probably have refilled it, but didn’t this time. Possibly because he was afraid that given too much time to think, Whittemore might stop talking altogether.

“You were at the office?”

He nodded again. “If it hadn’t been the private line, I wouldn’t have even answered the phone.” He looked as if he wished he hadn’t. “It was Lexie. She was hysterical. Dan had pushed her down some steps.” He glanced over at Jack. “It wasn’t the first time.”

Jack felt his gut tighten. Domestic violence, crimes against women and children, topped every cop’s list of most hated call-outs. But the anger he felt now was more personal than that, he realized. Lexie wasn’t a stranger.

Up until that moment, Jack had been telling himself that, despite the fact that he knew her, he’d be able to maintain a professional distance. He now realized just how difficult it was going to be—almost as difficult as it would have been to keep his hands off Dan Dawson if he was still alive.

“How far along in the pregnancy was she?” Fitz asked.

“Over eight months.”

“Nearly full-term then. Any problems with the pregnancy before that night?”

“No.”

“So you met Lexie at the hospital and—”

“I tried to get her to go to the hospital, but she insisted that the office was closer. I figured I’d stabilize her there and then get her transferred. Of course, I didn’t know how bad it was.”