Authors: Erica Spindler
Tags: #Contemporary Women, #General, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Fiction
Justice for Sara (12 page)
Thursday, June 6
11:30
A.M.
Luke didn’t know how it was up north, but down here, in a town the size of Liberty, a lawman, especially the chief—or in this case, his standin—was expected to sit awhile. Visit. Talk about the weather, family or politics.
Iris Bell had decided on family, but Luke didn’t doubt that if he gave her the opportunity she’d work her way around to the other categories.
He took another sip of the tea. It was too sweet. Old school, he thought. Before all the fancy flavored and herbal teas, before people thought about how many grams of sugar they ingested in any given day.
His attention drifted once again to Katherine’s place. She and Danny Sullivan had arrived with a couple teenagers and a pickup loaded with boxes. The teens had carried them in, then taken off. She and Sullivan had talked for a while before he’d driven away.
Interesting
. Her sister’s old boyfriend. Boxes that no doubt had been in storage. She’d told him what she meant to do; she sure hadn’t wasted any time getting about it.
He wondered if she’d learned anything he could use.
“Can I get you another glass of tea?”
He jerked his attention back to Iris Bell. “No, ma’am. But thank you.”
“It’s lovely you stopped by, Chief. How’s Margaret?”
She had him confused with his dad. “Stephen is my dad, Mrs. Bell. Margaret’s my mother.”
She looked at him wide-eyed, then blinked. “Such a lovely woman.”
“Thank you.” He set aside the glass. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about the night Sara McCall was murdered.”
“Oh dear.” She brought a hand to her throat, to the strand of pearls he had never seen her without. She toyed with them. “Such a horrible thing.”
“Yes. Awful.”
“Whatever happened to her?”
“Who?”
“Sara? She was a sweet girl.”
“Sara was murdered.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Did you mean, what happened to Katherine?”
“Yes, that’s right.” She smiled brightly. He had the sense that the lights were on, but nobody was home.
“Do you remember that night?” he asked.
“Yes, I do.” She seemed suddenly, completely lucid. “So many cars that night. So many visitors.”
“What do you mean, so many cars? All at once?”
“She was dating that fella. Didn’t like him much.”
“Who? Miss Sara or Katherine?”
“Miss Kat used to climbed out the side window. I told Sara.”
“You did? When was that?”
“I think I told her.” She frowned. “Or did she tell me? I know I saw her.”
“The boyfriend you didn’t like, do you know his name?”
“Dark hair,” she said instead. “Good-looking.” She shook her head. “Slick.”
That could be Ryan Benton or Danny Sullivan. “Any chance you can recall his name?”
“It’ll come to me. He was there that night.”
“Did you say the boyfriend was there that night? The night Sara was murdered?”
Iris shifted her gaze across the street. “Someone’s moved in. It looks like a lovely young couple. I wonder if they have children.”
“Not a new couple. Miss Katherine’s back. Remember, you called me about the vandalism? The graffiti spray-painted on the front of the house?”
Again, she blinked. “That’s right.” She shook her head. “I forgot for a moment.”
Luke leaned forward. “Think back to that night, Mrs. Bell. It could be really important. You said a boyfriend was there that night. Was it Danny Sullivan? Or Ryan Benton?”
She frowned. He sensed her struggling to remember, to make sense of her own addled thoughts. “I wondered why he was visiting so late.”
“Who, Mrs. Bell?”
“Yes, who?” She toyed with the pearls once more. “I’ll have to ask my girl, maybe she’ll remember.”
The woman who had greeted him and brought them tea. Viola, her part-time housekeeper/sitter.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her at the screen door, peeking out, checking on her charge.
“You said you saw many cars that night? Did you recognize any of them?”
She nodded. “Do you think a plant would be nice?”
“A plant?”
“From my garden. A welcome gift for my new neighbor.” She turned to look across the street, at the now-empty front porch. “Or would cookies be better?”
He’d gotten everything out of her that he was going to, at least for today. “Why don’t I go ask?”
She smiled brilliantly. “Good idea, Chief.”
He stood. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Bell.”
She tried to stand. The screen door squeaked open and Viola stepped out. She smiled apologetically. Almost as if it were she who had wasted his time. “Let me help you, Miss Iris.”
“Thank you, Viola.” She turned her gaze back to him. “And Stephen, please tell Margaret I said hello.”
Instead of correcting her again, he smiled. “I will.”
Viola crossed to the edge of the porch. “She’s not having a good day. Some days are like that. Try back another.”
“I will, thanks.” He nodded and glanced back. The old woman was gazing up at the sky and humming to herself. What about that night was locked away in her brain, inaccessible except for brief moments of clarity? Enough to have cast suspicion in a direction besides Katherine’s, he decided. Already, he had fragments to go on.
Luke crossed the street. Kat must have seen him coming, because she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.
“Hey,” he said as he reached her.
“Hey.”
“Mrs. Bell wants to know, would you prefer a plant from her garden or cookies? For a housewarming gift.”
“Are you serious?”
“I am. But she’s probably already forgotten she asked me to find out.”
“You’ve launched your investigation, I see.”
“And so have you. Did Danny pass?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Of course she did. He thought of what Iris Bell had said. A man had been at the cottage that night. He had been visiting late.
That man could have been Danny Sullivan.
“This isn’t a game, Kat. Don’t forget that.”
“Not to worry. I have the feeling you won’t let me.” She folded her arms across her chest. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got boxes to start going through.”
“Speaking of, what’s up with that?”
“What do you mean?”
He could tell she was irritated. “The boxes. What’re you looking for?”
“It’s my and Sara’s old stuff. It’s been in storage.”
“I gathered. Looking for anything in particular?”
“Sara’s journal.”
He frowned. That’s the sort of item the prosecution loved. “I never heard anything about a journal.”
“I told your dad about it. Told my lawyer, too.”
“One wasn’t introduced into evidence, which tells me they didn’t find one.”
“But she kept one. She started journaling after our parents’ death.”
“I believe you. But maybe she stopped long enough before the murder that it had no relevance for either side.”
“I know she didn’t.”
“How?”
“She told me so. She wondered if she could turn it into a book one day. Something about coping with loss.”
“When’d she tell you that?”
“I don’t remember exactly. But it wasn’t that long before her death. I remember wondering what she wrote about me. Worrying about it. Because I was so bad.”
He smiled. “You tried to find it and read it, didn’t you?”
She flushed. “I thought about it, but I guess when it actually came down to doing it, I didn’t want to know.”
“Who else knew about her journaling?”
“I thought everyone knew, but I just learned Danny didn’t.”
“Or so he said.”
“Yes.”
“He knows you’re looking for it?”
“He does now.”
She glanced at her watch. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’m meeting Tish Alexander at the real estate office. The owner of the Riverview property’s agreed to sell.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks. But I’ve gone through this enough times to know that celebrating before all parties have signed on the dotted line is a big mistake.”
Thursday, June 6
2:00
P.M.
“Hey, Trixie,” Luke said. “Messages?”
“Nothing important.” She handed him three message slips. “One’s from your mom, reminding you it’s lasagna night. She’s setting a place for you.”
He never missed his mother’s lasagna. Her maiden name was Furelli, and she had the food gene that came with it. He flipped through the others, then tucked them into his pocket. “Trix, I’m going to need the logbook from the night Wally Clark was killed.”
She seemed to freeze. “The logbook? Why?”
He could have pointed out that he didn’t have to explain why, but that wasn’t the way this place ran. “I’m reopening the McCall homicide.”
“I know, but Wally—”
“Was killed the same night. His also went unsolved.”
She looked genuinely confused. “But Sara McCall’s murder was. Kat McCall—”
“Was found innocent,” he said sharply. “Which means, in the eyes of the law—and therefore the world—she didn’t do it. The case was unsolved.”
She flushed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that your father—”
“I’m not my father, Trix. I need you to remember that.”
“Yes, sir.”
He gentled his tone. “What’s wrong, Trixie?”
She shook her head. “Do you think your dad missed something?”
“Fresh eyes. It’s only fair to Officer Clark and both McCalls.”
“Only fair,” she whispered. “Yes.”
“Who was on desk that night?”
“I was. I used to … I worked nights when the kids were little. So I could be home with them during the day while Pete was at work.”
Her gaze drifted to a point beyond him, the expression in it far away. “That was the worst night of my life. Wally and Sara McCall, both of them.” She met his eyes. “Your dad was beside himself. I’d only seen him like that once before.”
When Stevie died.
“It must have been difficult for you.”
She nodded and lowered her eyes. He noticed her hands were shaking. “I don’t have access to the old logs, they’re in storage. Your dad has the key.”
“Thanks, Trix.” He laid his hand on her shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll get it from him.”
*
His parents still lived in the house he had grown up in, a small, raised Creole cottage on Front Street. He let himself in. It smelled of his mother’s home cooking, the way it had his whole life. “Mom,” he called. “It’s me.”
She appeared at the door to the kitchen. “Hi, sweetheart. Perfect timing.”
When it came to food, he had impeccable timing. He crossed to her and gave her a big hug, then kissed her cheek. “Where’s the old man?”
“Staring at the news. Grumbling about the state of the world.”
Of course he was.
“How’s he feeling today?”
She smiled. “Today was a good day.”
Luke headed for the living room. He found his dad just as his mother said he would.
“Hello, son.”
“Pops.” Luke took a chair. “What’s up?”
“World’s getting more screwed up by the day.” Luke didn’t comment and he went on. “More than a murder a day over in New Orleans. Can you believe that?”
Unfortunately, he could. Gang on gang. Cities across the country had the same problem.
“Got a question, Pops. Where would I find the logbook for the night Wally was killed?”
“I can tell you whatever you need to know.”
“I’d rather read it.”
He grunted. “Sheriff’s department has it.”
“They don’t. Your testimony, that’s it.”
“Should be enough.”
“You taught me better than that.”
That brought the hint of a smile to his craggy face. “Damn right I did.”
“Dinner, you two.”
His dad struggled to his feet, and they made their way to the dining room. They sat, taking the same chairs they had all his life, his dad at the head of the table, his mother at the opposite end, Luke to his dad’s left, the chair across from his empty.
Stevie’s place.
Some nights he barely noticed the empty spot, others it shouted at him. Tonight it remained mercifully quiet.
After grace, Luke dug into layered pasta, waiting for the first bite to hit his taste buds and send him swooning. It didn’t have its usual effect, and he laid his fork aside.
“Pops? The McCall case, you ever hear anything about Sara McCall having a journal?”
“There was no diary.”
“Katherine McCall says there was.”
“So she said back then.” He frowned. “We went through that place with a fine-toothed comb, there was no journal.”
“Like I said, McCall believes there was. She’s looking for it.”
He frowned. “We couldn’t have missed that.” He looked at his wife as if for confirmation, and Luke was struck by the vulnerability of it. His dad didn’t do that. His dad’s word was law, he needed no one to help him make up his mind.
She sent Luke a warning glance, then reached across and covered her husband’s hand with hers. “No way you could have missed it.”
They ate in silence for several moments.
“What do you think, Pops, if there was a journal, maybe the perp lifted it?”
His dad paused, fork of pasta halfway to his lips. Luke could almost see him thinking: the perp. The person who had beaten Sara McCall to death. But if that murderer was Kat McCall, why was she looking for it now?
“They’re in storage,” his dad said suddenly.
“What’s that, Pops?”
“The logbooks. I’ll get you the locker key before you leave.”
Chief Stephen Tanner
2003
Two days after the murder
Jeremy Webber sat across the table from him. Waiting.
Tanner eyed him, took his time. The ball was in his court. His party, his pace. And he didn’t want to rush this one.
“Thanks for coming in, Webber. I know this is a difficult time for you.”
“Anything I can do to help catch the bastard who did this, I’m all in.”
How would he respond if he told him they’d already caught her? “What can you tell me about Sara and Katherine’s relationship?”
“What do you want to know? They were sisters. Sara was put in the unenviable position of having to raise her little sister after their parents’ death.”
“It was a turbulent relationship, wasn’t it?”
“The last year or so, yes.”
“Why was that?”
He looked incredulous. “Kat became a teen. Teenagers can be difficult. Surely
you
know that, Chief Tanner.”
Because of Luke. They had almost come to blows more times than he could even remember. The whole town knew. And it was damn embarrassing.
Tanner didn’t allow the thought to cross his face. He changed tack. “How would you describe your relationship with Sara McCall?”
“Mine?” Webber looked surprised. “Cousins, of course. Friends. She used me as a sounding board. After her dad died … she needed a father figure, I guess. Someone she could turn to for advice.”
“So she confided in you her worries about Katherine?”
“Yes.”
“That she was thinking about sending her to a boarding school?”
“Who told you that?”
“Danny Sullivan. Is it true?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Sara was upset about the idea. She couldn’t believe it had come to that. But she was at the end of her rope.”
“What precipitated the decision? The straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.”
He hesitated. “I don’t know if there was one thing. They had a big fight recently. It was pretty ugly.”
“Had she told Kat about the boarding school?”
“The last time we spoke, no.”
“And when was that?”
“About a week. Six days, maybe.”
“How do you imagine Kat would react to that?”
He hesitated. “Not well.”
“She’d be angry?”
“I see where you’re going with this, but you’re wrong.”
“Answer the question, please. Would Katherine be angry at her sister if she decided to send her away to school?”
“I believe so.”
“She might even fly into a rage?”
“She didn’t do this.”
“Why so sure?”
“I know her. She’s going through a tough time, but she’s not a killer. Plus, Sara was all she had left. Her only family.”
“Except for you.” He didn’t respond and Tanner went on. “Tell me more about this fight of theirs. What was it about?”
He spread his hands, expression helpless. “Kat told Sara she’d joined the girls’ softball team at school, that she had practice every day after school.”
“But that was a lie.”
He inclined his head. “Sara bought wholeheartedly into the story. She was excited that Kat was taking an interest in something. She took her to the sporting goods store to buy everything she needed to play. Sara was crushed when she learned it was all an elaborate hoax to spend time with her friends.”
“Of whom Sara didn’t approve?”
He laced his fingers. “Yes. Sara confided in me she was afraid Kat was dabbling in drugs.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“To get her tested.”
“Drug abusers will say and do anything to keep using, isn’t that right, Mr. Webber?”
“I don’t know. I’ve heard that, but—”
“What would you say if I told you Sara was beaten to death with a baseball bat?”
All the color drained from his face. “A baseball bat?” he repeated, his voice choked. “Are you certain?”
Tanner laughed, the sound harsh. “That’s not something I could make a mistake about, Mr. Webber. And I certainly wouldn’t make it up.”
Tanner let the information sink in a moment before he went on. “Poetic justice, maybe. Certainly, highly coincidental. Sara being beaten to death with what I believe was the symbol of the ‘straw that broke the camel’s back.’”
“She didn’t do it,” Webber said, though he didn’t sound as convinced as before.
“What about a boyfriend? Did she have one?”
“Maybe. Sara suspected.”
Same thing Sullivan had said.
“Did she give you a name?”
“No. It was just another worry.”
“It?”
“That she was becoming sexually active.”
Sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll. The three mortal enemies of every parent.
“What do you think, Webber?”
“It’s definitely possible. She’s seventeen. A beautiful girl. Rebelling.”
“Let me pass something by you. Sara and Kat get into a big fight. Maybe she’s found out about the boyfriend. Maybe there’re drugs or alcohol involved. Sara confronts her sister. Tells her she’s had enough, she’s shipping her off to boarding school. Kat’s furious. Her sister is taking everything away from her. Her friends. The boyfriend. The partying and drugs. Or maybe she thinks her sister is trying to get rid of her. So she can start her own family with Danny Sullivan.
“Rage boils up in her. She doesn’t mean to kill her sister. But the bat’s right there. And once she starts hitting Sara with it, she can’t stop.”
“No.”
“All the pent-up anger spilling out. At her sister. But at her parents, too. For going out that night. For getting killed. For destroying her life. And she takes all that anger out on her sister, Sara.”
“I know Kat, she couldn’t do that.”
Webber’s voice shook. Because he could see it going down that way. Because he didn’t want to.
Tanner pressed on. “Think about it. She’s covered in blood. But she’s in her own home. It’s easy. She strips naked, cleans up best she can and goes to bed. Like nothing happened.”
“So where are the clothes, Chief Tanner?”
“She dumped them someplace.”
“She doesn’t have a car.”
Tanner made a mental note to have his deputies begin scouring every garbage bin, drainage ditch and unimproved lot within walking distance of the McCall place. “Sure she does. She takes her sister’s.”
“You think you have this all figured out, don’t you? Well, you’re wrong.”
“Fine.” Tanner folded his big hands on the desk in front of him. “Who do you think did it?”
“Sure as hell not Katherine. A stranger. Or an acquaintance. A student with an axe to grind. Maybe someone who heard about Sara’s money. Thought she’d have a safe at the house—”
“Went to rob her? Big problem. Nothing was stolen. And it wasn’t a sexual predator, because she wasn’t sexually assaulted.” When Webber didn’t respond, he pressed on. “Who had a lot to gain from Sara McCall’s death? Only one person. Her sister, Katherine.”
“This is all circumstantial.”
“That’s okay. Because it’s a lot of circumstantial. And it’s good.”
“Maybe she did have a boyfriend. A really bad guy. And he did it?”
Or they planned it together.
Tanner wasn’t about to say that aloud. Not yet. He inclined his head. “Maybe so.”
“She’s more malleable than she seems. Easily duped. She’s been so sheltered.”
“That makes sense.” Tanner stood. He held his hand out; Webber took it. “She’ll talk to you, Jeremy. See what you can find out. She might be protecting someone who doesn’t deserve her loyalty.”
“I will. Kat didn’t do this, Chief. I promise you that.”