Laurel Heights 3

by Lisa Worrall

  Ally Turner’s face swam briefly behind his eyes, then his gaze shifted to the name below that. He might take his time with the last one, too. Why not? His smile widened and he closed his eyes as he thought about exactly what he was going to do to Scott Turner.

  Will looked at the clock for what may well have been the forty-fifth time in the last forty-five minutes and sighed heavily. He’d been trying to go back to sleep since ten after four when he got up to pee, to no avail. His brain had woken up with his bladder and a million thoughts bounced around his skull, each one clamoring for attention. He lifted the duvet and sat up, careful not to disturb Scott, who snored quietly, his hand tucked under his chin like a little kid. Will stood up, grabbed his cell off the nightstand and padded across the room to the dresser. As quietly as he could, he opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, then headed downstairs.

  In the kitchen, he put on the clothes he held in his hand then turned on the coffee maker. After he’d replaced the filter, spooned in the coffee and filled the water reservoir, he pressed the button and sat down at the table to wait. While the machine did its thing, Will retrieved his laptop from the living-room. If he was going to be awake at 5 a.m., he may as well be productive. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he opened the laptop and, after doing the math in his head, he typed Red Hook High School in the search bar and the year Ally’s class graduated. Google spat out several links and he clicked on classmates.com that assured him he’d find Red Hook yearbooks. He quickly created himself an account and selected the correct year. “Cool,” he murmured out loud as a list of student’s names appeared in the navigation window. He scrolled down until he found Allison Turner and tapped the mousepad.

  The screen was filled with candid pictures of Ally and her cheerleading teammates at various football games or posing with their pom poms held high. He zoomed in on one of the pictures taken next to the huddle of players and smiled as he spotted Matt hunched down, listening intently to the coach. He scrolled further, then back up again as he noticed something. Most of the photographs of Ally included two other girls. He clicked on one and read the caption; ‘Allison Turner, Rachael MacKenzie and Jenny Boul’. From the pictures, it looked like the three girls were attached at the hip, arms always wrapped around each other, goofy grins on their faces. Will also came across several pictures of the three girls with three football players in their respective uniforms who were named as Matt Stiles, Jack Burns and Ellis Dent. He frowned. Who are—?

  “Hey.”

  Will looked up to find a sleep-dazed Scott wandering into the kitchen. He’d been so lost in yearbook pictures that he hadn’t even heard Scott get up, and when Scott got up, everybody knew it. He wasn’t exactly the quietest of risers. “Hey,” Will replied. “What are you doing up?”

  “Um… the alarm went off.” Scott’s response was slightly confused.

  “What?” Will glanced at the time in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen and his eyes widened. It was six-thirty. “Wow, I didn’t realize it was that late.”

  “Late?” Scott echoed as he took two cups down out of the cupboard above the coffee maker. “How long have you been up?”

  “A while.” Will took the cup of coffee Scott poured out for him and smiled gratefully. “Thank you. How did you sleep?” He sipped at the strong brew and studied Scott from beneath lowered lashes as he slumped down into the chair opposite. Scott shrugged and mumbled something non-committal, but the tell-tale wrinkle above Scott’s nose and the tightness of his jaw told Will he was already thinking about Kimberly. He picked up his phone. “I’ll call the hospital—”

  “Already did.”

  Will arched an eyebrow. “And?”

  Scott sighed heavily. “All they said was she had a comfortable night. What kind of answer is that? Of course, she had a comfortable night. She’s in a coma for God’s sake. Just tell me she’s going to be okay.” Will could feel his frustration, quickly followed by anger as Scott ground out. “I know what I said before, about Jack and Rachael, and I’m sorry for that. But whoever did this better be looking over their shoulder because I’m coming for them.”

  Will wished he could tell Scott what he wanted to hear, what they both wanted to hear. Instead, he stood up, took the few steps to Scott’s chair, where he straddled Scott’s thighs and sat down on his lap. Scott’s curled his fingers into Will’s sweatshirt and buried his face in Will’s neck as he wrapped his arms around Scott’s shoulders and held him tight, offering what comfort he could. He knew that if anything happened to Kimberly before Scott had a chance to make it right between them, he would never forgive himself. After a few minutes, Scott mumbled something about not being able to feel his legs and Will got off his lap and returned to his chair.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” Will asked.

  “Actually,” Scott replied. “Do you mind if we grab something on the way to the station? We’ve got to bring in Audrey Petersen today and I want to have a look at the coroner’s reports on Rachael and Jack before we go.”

  “Sure.” Will had no objections. He turned off the laptop and leaned back in his chair, his hands curled around his coffee.

  “Porn?” Scott deadpanned.

  “I was looking at old yearbook pictures.”

  “Yearbook pictures?” Scott looked confused.

  “Yeah,” Will confirmed, taking a healthy mouthful of coffee and hissing as it warmed his throat. “From the year Ally graduated from Red Hook.”

  “Why?”

  Will shrugged. “The only firm connection between Jack, Rachael and Kimberly is high school, so it seemed as good a place to start as any.”

  Scott sipped at his coffee. “As long as you don’t go looking through mine,” he said, pulling a face. “My yearbook picture is not something you need to see.”

  “Don’t worry.” Will grinned, lifting his arms above his head and stretching his tired muscles. “I wouldn’t want you checking out mine either. It was mostly Ally, Rachael and some other girl called Jenny Boul. Did you know her, too?”

  “No,” Scott replied, shaking his head. “I don’t recognize the name.” He downed his coffee, stood up and crossed the kitchen to put his empty cup in the dishwasher. “Do you want to hit the shower first?”

  Will shook his head. “No, you go. I’ll finish up down here.” He watched Scott from beneath lowered lashes as he turned on his heel and strode from the room. When he heard the telltale creak of the floorboards on the landing, he sighed heavily, a knot in the pit of his stomach. Did Scott really think he wouldn’t notice the tightening of his shoulders, or the flicker in his eyes and the quick change of subject? He stood up and refilled his cup as he mentally added another item to the long to-do list his mind had been putting together since the ass-crack of dawn. In fact, he was going to stick this one at the top of the list: Who is Jenny Boul and why is Scott lying—again?

  A little under an hour later, after a quick stop for bagels, Will sat down at his desk and turned on the computer. He tapped Rachael’s name into the database and printed off the police and coroner’s reports associated with her case. Jack’s wasn’t as easy because he’d died in Manhattan, so he would need to speak to the precinct involved and ask them to email the reports over to him. He grinned when he saw the name of the officer who’d been allocated to Jack’s case. He’d worked with Dean Calvert for a while when they were rookies and they were still in touch via the odd text and email. He picked up the phone and asked the operator to patch him through to the 24th Precinct. It wasn’t long before Dean’s voice boomed in Will’s ear.

  “Billie-Boy!” Will rolled his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Nice to hear your voice, too, Calvert,” Will deadpanned. “How are things on the upper side?”

  “Upper side?” Dean laughed loudly. “Not quite in the Armani suit yet, man, but I’m working on it. How’s it going down on the plain?”

  “Good, good,” Will replied, glancing at Scott as he sat down besi
de him. “Listen, I need a favor. You worked on an overdose case a while ago, Jack Burns, city businessman, in adver—”

  “Found in his car,” Dean interjected. “Took a speedball big enough to kill an elephant.”

  “That’s him.” Will leaned back in his chair. “Can you email me your report, the coroner’s, too?”

  “Why?” Dean asked, sounding confused. “I mean, sure, yeah, but why? It was pretty much open and shut. The family said the guy didn’t have a problem, but all the evidence was there, I think they were just kidding themselves.”

  “There may be a connection to something I’m working on at the moment.”

  “Okay.” Will could hear Dean scrabbling around for paper. “Give me your email and I’ll send it straight over.” After he’d taken it down, Dean added, “Listen, tell that idiot you live with it’s poker next month at mine and I expect to see you both.”

  Will chuckled. “Didn’t you learn anything from last time?”

  “Yes, I learned I need to win my shirt back!” Dean countered. “Okay, the reports should be with you now, let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks, Dean,” Will said gratefully as the pc signaled the arrival of the email.

  “And don’t forget, next month, you’d better show!”

  “We’ll be there,” Will promised and hung up.

  “We’ll be where?” Scott asked, with a confused frown.

  “Calvert’s poker night.”

  “Seriously?” Scott smirked. “After I cleaned him out last time?”

  “Apparently, he’s a glutton for punishment.” Will motioned toward Glenn’s office. “What did he say?”

  “He said he’s happy for us to look into the overdoses alongside the Petersen case. He doesn’t believe any more than we do that Kimberly did this to herself.”

  Will opened the email from Dean and printed the attached reports. “Can you grab those?” he said to Scott, who reached out and plucked the wad of pages off the printer at the end of the desk. Will separated Jack and Rachael’s cases, handed Jack’s to Scott to read, while he read Rachael’s, then they swapped.

  “They’re identical.” It was said in unison.

  Will shook his head. “Both found in their car, rubber bands around their arms, drugs on the passenger seat. Rachael still had the syringe in her arm for God’s sake.” He picked up the coroner’s report. “’Cause of death the same in both, overdose of a combination of cocaine and heroin.”

  “Your basic speedball,” Scott agreed.

  “But have you seen the levels in their system?” Will could hardly believe what he’d read. “I’m going to have to agree with what Doogie Howser said yesterday. How the fuck is Kimberly still breathing?”

  “Dean did a good job, though,” Scott said, picking up Dean’s report. “He took on board what Jack’s family said and looked into every avenue he could with what he had, but there was nothing to suggest foul play.” Scott sighed heavily. “If I’d been given Jack’s case, I would have come to the same conclusion.”

  “I know,” Will would have liked to disagree, but he couldn’t. There was nothing in either report to suggest that Rachael and Jack had died from anything other than an accidental overdose. Will sat back in his chair and folded his arms.

  “What are you thinking?” Scott’s gaze narrowed as he studied Will.

  “I’m thinking…. I need more coffee.” Will stared at him with a raised eyebrow until Scott took the hint and strolled across the room to the coffee maker.

  Did he really need more coffee? No. But there was only one way he was going to get what he wanted, and he didn’t need Scott in the vicinity while he did it. Keeping his eye on Scott, Will picked up his phone and fired off a quick text.

  My place. 7 o’clock. We need to talk.

  He added the address and pressed send before he could change his mind. He had a whole list of questions that he needed the answers to, and he was not above employing a little subterfuge to get them. His cell vibrated to signal a response and he opened the little envelope.

  See you there.

  Will took the coffee that Scott held out to him and smiled as Scott sat back down, hoping it looked a helluva lot more natural than it felt. Not that it mattered. The deed was done. The bull had been grabbed by the proverbial horns. Of course, there was a good chance Will might finish up on the end of them, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

  Chapter nine

  Scott stopped the car, turned off the engine and motioned to the Petersen house with a nod of his head. “If that idiot is in there again, can I punch him?” he asked, turning to Will in the passenger seat.

  “Calm down, Serpico,” Will replied firmly. “We’re just going to suggest it would be better to discuss the case in a more formal setting. However, if her moronic cousin makes a scene and your elbow accidentally collides with his nose while I’m helping her into the car, well…, that’s between you and your maker.”

  Scott squared his shoulders. “Can I say something first?”

  Will frowned. “What?”

  “I am not looking forward to this.”

  Will sighed heavily. “Neither am I.”

  “I mean,” Scott said bluntly. “I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but if there was ever anyone who deserved a knife in the back…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence to put his point across. The look in Will’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. But he had a job to do. His own personal feelings didn’t come into it. “C’mon,” he opened the door, “let’s get this done.”

  Scott knocked firmly on the front door and it wasn’t long before he heard the tap of shoes on the tiled floor of the hall within. His heart sank when the door was slowly opened to reveal the last person he wanted to see.

  “Hi, Christopher,” Will said brightly. “Do you remember us?”

  “Yeah,” the young boy replied, his gaze darting suspiciously between Scott and Will.

  “Is your mom home?”

  Christopher ignored Will and looked at Scott. “Have you got I.D.?” he demanded.

  Scott arched an eyebrow. “You just said you recognized us,” he pointed out.

  “You might not be you.” Christopher’s tone was condescending.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m me.” Christopher looked at him as though he were an idiot. Sighing, Scott took out his wallet and showed Christopher his badge. “Is that okay?” He had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud as Christopher studied his I.D. intently, just as he had before.

  “I—”

  “Chris, what the hell?”

  Christopher didn’t have time to respond as he was cut off by Michael Barrett’s screech. Okay, maybe he didn’t exactly screech, but that’s how his voice sounded in Scott’s head.

  “Mr. Barrett—”

  “Don’t you people ever phone ahead?” Barrett said sarcastically, snatching Scott’s wallet out of Chris’ hand and almost throwing it back at Scott.

  “We find it gives the bad guys a head-start if we let them know we’re coming,” Scott replied, unable to keep the edge out of his tone.

  “What bad guys?” Christopher asked, his voice very small compared to Barrett’s.

  Scott immediately regretted his choice of words. “Don’t—”

  “Go upstairs and play.” Barrett cut Scott off and ushered Christopher toward the stairs.

  Scott had to tamp down the sudden urge to trip over the doorstep and use Barrett’s face to break his fall. The knot in his stomach tightened as a very reluctant Christopher climbed the stairs under the weight of Barrett’s stony glare, and the desire to punch the other man in the face grew. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Will step closer to him and felt the brief press of his hand against the small of his back. Scott took a deep steadying breath and shot Christopher what he hoped was a reassuring smile as the boy reached the landing. The twitch of Christopher’s lips in response made him feel a little better—but only a little. He turned his atten
tion back to asshole in front of him and asked, “Is Mrs. Petersen home?”

  “She’s resting.”

  “We’ll wait.” Scott stepped over the threshold and into the hall, pushing past Barrett without a backward glance, Will right behind him. “Are we in the living-room again?” He didn’t give Barrett a chance to reply as he strode toward the living-room and opened the door. He paused as he walked into the room to find Audrey Petersen reading a magazine on the couch. He threw a glare over his shoulder at a very pissed off Barrett. “Audrey,” he said with a smile. “We thought you were resting.”

  Scott felt sorry for her as she scrambled to her feet. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car and she swayed slightly as she stood up. Luckily, Scott managed to reach her before she actually fell, and Will helped him to ease her back down onto the couch.

  “I’m so sorry,” Will said softly. “We didn’t mean to startle you.” He turned to glare at Barrett and snapped, “Maybe a cup of coffee would be in order?”

  Barrett grumbled something uncomplimentary as he stomped down the hall and Audrey motioned for them to sit down. Will sat down beside her, and Scott chose the armchair, as he had the other times he’d been in this room.

  “Are you okay?” Will asked, his fingers resting against her wrist. “Your pulse is a little fast. Have you eaten today?”

  “I’m fine,” Audrey said, with a watery smile. “I just stood up too fast.” She looked from to the other. “I thought I answered all your questions yesterday.”

  “You did,” Scott replied. “Unfortunately, we have some more.”

  “I-I don’t know what else I can t-tell you,” she stammered.

  Will glanced at him and Scott nodded, leaning forward in the chair to clasp his hands loosely between his knees.

  “The thing is, Audrey,” Scott kept his tone even. “As we said yesterday, there is no evidence of anyone else in the house with you and Tristan on Saturday night. No forced entry and, by your own admission, nothing has been stolen.”