Authors: Erica Spindler
Tags: #Contemporary Women, #General, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Fiction
Justice for Sara (23 page)
Thursday, June 13
10:30
P.M.
It took all of Kat’s self-control not to break into a run, tear down the steps and across the yard. It wasn’t until she locked herself in the Tahoe that she fell apart.
Stupid. Crazy. On so many levels.
Terrifying. What if they’d caught her? The police would have been the least of her worries.
She looked down at her lap, at the spool of ribbon. She had taken it on impulse. As proof.
It looked identical to the ribbon that had been tied into a pretty bow around the bat’s grip.
Kat started the vehicle, carefully turned around and headed down the gravel lane, not turning on the lights until she reached the main road. She glanced down Bitsy’s drive as she passed. Red taillights. One of their vehicles, backing out of the garage.
They’d heard her and were coming after her.
Heart in her throat, Kat floored the SUV, not easing off until she was confident they weren’t following her. She breathed deeply, willing her heart to slow. Reassuring herself she hadn’t been found out.
What to do now? Kat glanced at the dash clock. Ten thirty. It seemed so much later. Like the middle of the night.
Luke. She needed to recount what she’d overheard, tell him about the ribbon. He would know what to do.
Not the hospital, she thought. She would drive by his house. If his vehicle was there, she would go to the door.
It was there. The lights were on. Kat parked in front, climbed out. She saw the front blinds move. He had seen her.
She reached the front door, rang the bell. He opened it; she stepped inside. And into his arms.
Kat wrapped her arms around his waist, laid her head against his shoulder. It fit perfectly, nestled in the crook of his neck.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“Being here.”
Simple. Honest. Vulnerable. She couldn’t have wished for anything more.
“How’s your dad?”
“Out of ICU. Mom stayed with him.”
“Do they know what—”
“Not yet. He’s scheduled for an MRI in the morning.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“You already did it.”
She stood on tiptoes and kissed him. He kissed her back. They stood that way for minute after minute, exploring each other’s mouth. Learning how the other felt and tasted, how they advanced and retreated. Long, drugging kisses that left Kat’s legs weak and her head light.
She hadn’t come here for this. So many other things had been at the forefront of her mind. Now there was nothing else on it.
He lifted her off her feet; she curved her legs around his waist and he carried her to the bedroom. He laid her on the bed but didn’t move to meet her there.
She gazed up at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to move too fast.”
She smiled and reached for him. “I don’t think you could.”
The mattress dipped as he joined her on it. Their mouths met again, this time with more urgency. Their hands searched, explored. They tugged at clothes, greedy to feel skin against skin. Body joining body.
When he entered her, she cried out. It was as if she had been waiting all her life for this moment. For this man.
Afterward, they lay facing each other, hearts slowing as urgency became contentment. For long moments, they simply gazed at each other. Kat studied him, learned his face, every crease and nick. The small curved scar at his right eyebrow, the one on the bottom of his chin.
She touched the one at his eyebrow. “How did this happen?”
He smiled. “Dog bite.”
She touched the other. “And this one?”
“Fell off my bike.”
She smiled, imagining him as a little boy. “How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“For both?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Who would have thought being eight could be so dangerous?”
“Not nearly as dangerous as nine.”
She started to ask what he meant, then remembered the photo of his brother. “That’s how old you were when your brother drowned.”
“Yeah.” He ran his hand over the dip in her waist, the curve of her hip. “Any scars I should know about?”
“Mine are all on the inside.”
He kissed her. Saying without words:
I’m sorry. I understand. I’m here.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Dad collapsing today, it was my fault. I pushed too hard.”
Kat wanted to assure him it wasn’t, but she let him talk. There would be time for assurances later. “What happened?”
“We fought. Right before it happened. I was questioning Sullivan, he barged in.”
Luke rolled onto his back, gazed up at the ceiling. “I told him I didn’t respect him anymore. Then I quit. Gave him my gun and badge.”
“I’m sorry.”
“After Stevie died, Dad changed. At least toward me. We didn’t hang out the way we had when Stevie was alive. Used to be, we’d all go fishing, he’d throw the football with us, take us into New Orleans to see the Saints play. It all stopped.”
She smoothed her fingers over his heart, wishing she could take away the hurt.
“For a long time, I tried to make up for losing Stevie. Tried to be the best at everything, to make him happy again. After a while, I just got angry.” He met her eyes. “Rebelled. Turned into a regular hell-raiser.”
Anything to get his dad’s attention, she thought. She wondered if she was a part of that rebellion.
She propped herself on an elbow to see his face. “What about now, Luke?”
“I thought I was over it. That I’d made my peace with it. Until the last few days. You … this case … He’s not the man I thought he was.” He paused. “So I walked away. I heard the chair go over. But I thought … I didn’t even look back.”
She felt his regret. The depth of it. She understood how that felt. How it could eat at you.
“Don’t do this to yourself.” She trailed her fingers across his stubbled jaw. “He knows you love him.”
“Does he?” He caught her hand, brought her palm to his mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For what my dad put you through. For the things he missed, the mistakes he made. You were right. You looked guilty, and he looked no further. You know, I never questioned the kind of lawman he was. I always thought he was a good one.”
“One case doesn’t change that.”
“Thank you for that.” He kissed her. “But I found some things out so … easily. If he’d even looked—” He bit the rest back. “About Danny.”
She held her breath, waiting.
“He had—has—a gambling problem. He paid for her ring with winnings.”
“Sara didn’t know. If she did, she wouldn’t have seen him anymore. Because of Mom and Dad.”
He nodded. “I think he asked her to marry him, and she turned him him down. And then he lost it.”
“And killed her.” Her voice shook. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
“He was there that night. He admitted it. I didn’t get an opportunity to question him further because Dad burst into the interview room.”
“That must be what he wanted the loan for, gambling debts.”
“No, the loan checked out, just the way he said. But that doesn’t change the fact that he saw your sister as his ticket to easy street.”
The way Ryan had thought of her.
Ryan. The things she’d overheard. The fury in his voice. Bitsy.
Luke must have seen something of it in her expression. “What?” he asked frowning. “Is something wrong?”
“No. It’s about tonight. I—”
Her stomach interrupted her, growling loudly. He laughed and it growled again.
“Sorry,” she said, cheeks hot. “I didn’t eat.”
“C’mon then. Let’s take care of that.” He rolled off the bed and held out his hand. “We can talk while you’re eating.”
He offered her one of his T-shirts. And because her feet were cold, a pair of his socks.
“I look ridiculous,” she said when they reached the kitchen and she caught a glimpse of herself in the window.
“You look adorable. Sit.” He pointed toward the kitchen table. “And I’ll see what kind of grub I can whip up quick.”
He opened the refrigerator and started poking around. “I’ve got some leftovers. Gumbo. White beans and shrimp. I could whip up an omelet or—”
“How about oatmeal?”
“Oatmeal,” he said, looking back at her, cocking an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I love oatmeal. It’s cozy.”
“Cozy? I like that. Coming right up.”
He prepared her a huge bowl, way more than she could eat at one sitting. With nuts, raisons and cinnamon sugar, it looked delicious. Kat told him so and dug in.
He turned one of the chairs to face her, and straddled it. “Earlier, what did you start to tell me?”
“You’re going to be pissed.”
“That’s not the opening I hoped for.”
“Ryan was there, at the cottage, the night Sara died.”
He was suddenly still. “How did you find that out?”
Kat filled him in on everything Iris Bell had said, including the number of cars, seeing Wally drive past and, then, about Bitsy. And finally, about Ryan. “She said Ryan was there that night. I confronted him and Bitsy. He admitted he was there, but told me I’d never prove it.”
“Dammit, Kat! I thought you were going to leave the investigation to me?”
She took a final bite of the oatmeal and pushed the half-full bowl away. “That’s not the part you’re going to be pissed about.”
“Great. There’s more.”
So she shared the rest, as simply as possible.
“You broke into Bitsy’s house—”
“Not quite. The door was unlocked, so I just let myself in.”
“And hid in the food pantry—”
“I thought I’d have more time to look around—”
“What the hell were you thinking?” He stood, crossed to the window, then turned to face her again, pinning her with his angry gaze. “Not only was that illegal, it was stupid. And pointless. What did you hope to find, ten years after the fact?”
“I had a list. Gas can—”
“Which was left at the scene—”
“Fleur-de-lis diamond earring—”
“You were having lunch with Bitsy, how could she have lost hers while vandalizing your car?”
“Black spray paint—”
“Would prove nothing. I have a can or two in my garage.”
“Okay”—she threw up her hands—“I admit it. It was stupid! But I found something.”
“Other than the things you just told me about?”
“A spool of red ribbon. It looks like the same ribbon that was wound around the grip of the bat. It was in the pantry.”
He was quiet a moment. “That could be useful. If we established it’s the same ribbon. And if we could lift a print from the bow or the bat. But it doesn’t prove Ryan or Bitsy had anything to do with Sara’s murder.”
“Then why would either one of them try to scare me off by leaving the bat?”
“Lots of reasons. For one, Bitsy could be threatened by you being here. Because of your and Ryan’s past history.”
“I took it.”
“What?”
“The spool of ribbon. It’s in the car.”
Luke massaged his right temple. She caught her bottom lip, watching as he struggled to get a grip.
“I’m guessing by your expression I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You contaminated it, Kat. Even if we establish it’s the same ribbon, we can’t use it. It’s your word against theirs. And you acquired it illegally.”
“I could take it back. Sneak in and—”
“God, no.” He sat back down. “Let’s focus on the facts. When you confronted Ryan, did you ask him why he was there that night?”
“Oh, yeah. He told me he meant to convince her he was a stand-up guy. He didn’t convince her, though.” She leaned forward. “Tonight he and Bitsy were fighting. She asked him about that night, his being there.”
“And?”
“Sara told him he was a loser. That she would never allow us to be together. He said he saw the bat, that he thought about using it on her.”
“Do you think he did?”
Kat shifted her gaze, putting herself back in that moment. “He had a temper. This … chip on his shoulder. He would have been furious when she called him that.” She nodded.”Yes. I think he could have. But why wouldn’t he have admitted it to—”
“Bitsy? His fiancée? He’d be afraid she’d either run, turn him in or someday blackmail him into staying with her.”
“What do you think? Did Danny do it? Or Ryan?”
“It’s odd, but their motivations are similar. Sara was Danny’s ticket to the good life, you were Ryan’s.”
“That’s what I was thinking earlier.”
“I’ll bring them both in for questioning.” His cell phone went off and he answered. “Tanner.” He listened a moment, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“Is it something with your dad?” she asked when he ended the call.
“It is. And he’s asking for me.”
“You have to go.”
“Yes.” He kissed her. “I’m sorry, I can’t ask you to go with me.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“Stay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Friday, June 14
6:08
A.M.
For Luke, it was a long, tense night. His dad had been agitated, his heart rate all over the place. They’d had to sedate him and administer an antiarrhythmic drug to try to regulate his heart.
Although the treatment had the desired effect, neither Luke nor his mother had left his side. Morning now, the hospital hummed with activity. Breakfast being delivered, meds administered, doctors making their rounds.
“Morning,” the nurse said cheerily as she entered the room. “I’m Karin. I’ll be taking care of the chief today.”
She crossed to the bed, checked his vitals. “Rise and shine, Chief Tanner. It’s a beautiful day. And you have visitors.”
He stirred, opened his eyes. She smiled sympathetically at them. “Everything looks good. The doctor will be in shortly.”
“Hey, Pops. You gave us a bit of a scare last night.”
“Sorry ’bout that.” His dad’s voice was thick. “Help me sit up, boy.”
His mother took over, cooing and fussing with the pillows. Even as weak as his dad was, Luke could tell the coddling was driving him crazy.
He smiled to himself. Oh, yeah, his dad was feeling much better.
“Luke?”
“Yeah, Pops?”
“Need to talk.”
His mother signaled him with a small shake of her head. Luke squeezed his dad’s hand. “It’ll wait, Pops. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But I might be.” He looked at his wife.
She hesitated a moment, then agreed. “I’ll get us some coffee, Luke.”
She bent and kissed her husband. “I’ll let you two talk. Just promise you won’t get yourself worked up.”
After hugging Luke and giving him a “go easy on him” look, she left the room. Luke pulled the chair closer to the bed.
“Last night, Mom said you were asking for me?”
He nodded and motioned him closer. Luke bent his head.
“Afraid cancer’s back,” he whispered. “They … worried it might have spread to my brain.”
Luke’s gut tightened at the thought. “You don’t know that, Pops. This could be nothing more than—”
“I’m not stupid, son.”
His dad was scared. Luke saw it in his eyes. He squeezed his hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Might not be.” He lowered his gaze. “Have to … tell you—”
“Dad—”
“Got to set things right. Just in case.”
A lumped formed in Luke’s throat. “About the other day, I shouldn’t have said those things. I was angry. I—”
“No. You were right. I screwed up. The McCall case, I didn’t—”
“It’s just one case, Pops. We all make mistakes.”
He chuckled, the sound weak and raspy. “I must be sick. Yesterday you were ready to kick my ass.”
“We’ll work this out. We don’t have to do it now.”
“Yeah, we do. I did some things I’m not proud of. Things that—”
Luke could hardly hear him and bent his head even closer.
“I don’t want to carry around anymore. I don’t want to go to my grave this way.”
“Dad, you’re not going to your grave. Not yet.”
“Let me … talk. I need to … do this.” Luke agreed and his dad began. “What you said the other day, about me, you and Stevie … it broke my heart. I don’t … blame you for Stevie.” His voice thickened. “I blame myself. I should have been there. I was supposed to take care of you. Protect you. I didn’t.”
His voice cracked. “Every time I looked at you, I hated myself a little more. So I pushed you away. Turned to alcohol. For years, the booze … my life revolved around it. Because it numbed the pain.”
Luke couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His dad? An alcoholic? How had he kept it hidden?
“Did mom know?” he asked.
“She did. Threatened to leave me if I didn’t dry out. Remember the summer the two of you spent a month at Grandma Wells’s house?”
He did. And he remembered his mother crying a lot.
“So I sobered up. For a while. Then I’d fall off the wagon, go on a bender. One that would last a week. Or several months. The last time was the night of Sara McCall’s murder.”
When he spoke again, he sounded like a man consumed by regret. But one on a mission, as well. “Wally called that night.”
Luke didn’t hide his surprise. “The night he was shot? That wasn’t in the report.”
“I was drunk. I couldn’t … I couldn’t remember what he said. Truth is, I didn’t even remember him calling.”
“Then how—”
“His number, in my cell phone. And Trix. He told her he had talked to me. That he gave me the description of the vehicle at the side of the road.”
He started to cry. Quiet tears of shame. They rolled down his cheeks. “He may have asked me to assist, I don’t know. If I hadn’t been drunk, it would have gone down differently. Wally might still be alive.”
It could have changed everything.
“So what did you do, Pops?”
“I lied. I convinced Trix to lie, too. Begged her. So no one would know. About me. How I failed Wally.”
Luke let it all sink in. It was one of those life moments when everything synced. Past and present, fact and feelings. And as it all clicked into place the truth emerged, both staggering and freeing.
“The description of the vehicle?” Luke managed.
“Made it up. Doctored the log.” He paused. “You don’t have to say anything, I see the disappointment in your eyes. I’ve never forgiven myself. Or taken another drink.”
Luke didn’t know what to say, so he simply caught his dad’s hand. Curved his fingers around it.
“I broke my oath,” he went on, voice wobbling. “And Wally’s shooter was never caught.”
And for ten years it had been eating at his insides.
“What about the McCall case?” Luke asked softly.
“Something came over me. Like I had to prove something to myself, the sheriff’s deputies I’d lied to, and everyone else. That I had the chops. That I wasn’t just a good old boy with a badge.”
He cleared his throat. “But I promise you, I didn’t have a doubt in my mind that Kat McCall got away with murder. Not one doubt. Until yesterday.”
He cleared his throat, struggling, Luke suspected, to return to familiar footing. “You say Danny Sullivan was there, at the McCall place that night. He admitted it?”
“He did. Though he claims he didn’t kill her.”
“And you say he’s got gambling issues?”
“Pretty significant ones, from the sound of it.”
“I should have known that. I screwed up. Big-time.”
“We all do, Pops. The question is, where do we go from here?”
“Let’s make this right.”
Luke nodded. “We’ll do it together. Get it solved.”
His dad laid his head back against the pillow. Sagging. Exhausted.
Luke got to his feet. “We’ll talk more later. You need some rest.”
“Bullshit. Sit your ass back down.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned them back on Luke. “I’ve been thinking about Wally. A lot these days.”
His voice thickened and Luke offered him the cup of water.
“You’re fussing as much as your mother.”
“I heard that.”
Luke turned. His mother stood in the doorway, a cup of coffee in each hand, her gaze on her husband. With such affection. He wasn’t sure how—or why—she still loved him after all these years, but she did. That was the kind of love, the kind of marriage, he wanted someday. Somebody who could put up with his crap and still love him. It was possible. He believed it because he saw it in action.
He thought of Kat and wondered if she believed in it, too.
“The doctor’s on his way in,” she said. “I just spoke with him. They’ve scheduled you for an MRI.”
Luke started to stand, his dad caught his hand. “I need you, son. Get your badge. Talk to Trixie. She’ll give you whatever you need.”
The doctor arrived. Luke released his dad’s hand, then bent close. “I will, Pops. We’ll get it done together.”
*
Luke found Trixie at her desk. “How is he?” she asked first thing.
“Okay this morning. He had a bad night. They’ve got him scheduled for an MRI this afternoon.”
“What can I do?”
“Right now, you’re doing it.” He paused. “We need to talk, Trix. Can you come into Dad’s office?”
Apprehension raced into her eyes, but she nodded and stood. “Sure thing.”
Luke closed the door behind them. His badge was on the desk, right where he’d left it. He clasped it onto his belt. “My weapon in the gun safe?”
“Yup. Glad you’re back.”
He smiled. “Me, too.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “You’re not firing me, are you?”
“Nope.” He sat, looked her square in the eyes. “Dad told me about Wally, what he asked you to do.”
The color drained from her face. She dropped her eyes. “Maybe you should fire me.”
“You did what your boss asked.”
“I could have refused. I should have.”
Luke heard the regret. The self-loathing. Same as he’d heard in his dad’s voice.
“Wally was a decent man. And for his killer to never have been caught, it’s just not right.”
Luke agreed. “That’s why, knowing the truth now, I want to reexamine what happened that night. How clearly do you remember what Wally said to you?”
“Pretty clearly. I’ve gone over it so many times in my head. I even wrote it down, so I’d always remember the truth.”
Luke nodded. “That’s good. Very good.”
“I have it here. If you want—”
“Thank you, Trix. That would help.”
She went to her desk and retrieved a small, worn spiral notebook. It was held together by a rubber band. She handed it to him. He noticed that her hand shook.
“I knew your dad had a drinking problem. It hadn’t interfered with work much, but I’d covered for him when it had. Small stuff. Forgetting to do things. Missing something. I understood. Couldn’t judge. I mean, after what happened to Stevie, how could I? If it had been my son, I don’t know if I could’ve gone on.”
She fell silent, the expression in her eyes raw. Like it had happened yesterday. “Once it was done,” she said softly, “I felt like I couldn’t go back.”
“It’s okay, Trixie. I get that.”
She sank back to the chair. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I always hoped I’d have the chance to tell the truth.”
He unwound the rubber band, opened the notebook. And began to read. The facts were there, as he knew them, as were snippets of conversation from that night. She and Wally had chatted. He’d mentioned his girlfriend. And the McCall place.
But the notebook served as a sort of journal, as well, recording ten years of second-guessing and regret.
He shifted his gaze to Trixie. “It was a ‘vehicle’ at the side of the road, not a sedan. He never mentioned a color or make.” She looked down at her hands, then back up at him.
“He’d already talked to your dad, he said.” She wrung her hands. “I asked if he’d been by Louanna’s. I was craving one of those strawberry-filled doughnuts she made. I asked if he would bring me a couple.”
She fell silent and he prodded her. “Then what, Trix?”
“He said he would, then I heard his sirens pop on, then a moment later go off. He said, ‘Oh, no worries, be back at you in a few.’ I always thought he was just being Wally, you know. Friendly. Now I wonder if it meant something else. Like ‘Never mind.’”
No worries, cancel that.
“Why would he do that?” Luke asked.
“This is what I figure. He was calling in to report something suspicious, then it wasn’t anymore. He recognized the car. Or the driver.”
Luke nodded. “That makes sense to me, Trix. Did you ever talk to my dad about that?”
She shook her head, looking miserable.
“How long was your conversation?”
“A couple minutes, tops.”
He nodded. “May I keep the notebook?”
“Of course.” She looked away, then back. “I always thought it was too weird that Wally and Sara McCall were murdered on the same night. Do you think the same person could have killed them both?”
“I do, Trix.”
“Not Katherine.”
“No, not Kat.” He stood. “I’ve got to head back to the hospital. You can reach me there.”
She looked up at him, eyes welling with fresh tears. “Can I stay in here for a minute, please?”
To collect herself. “Of course, Trix. Take as long as you need.”