The Little Grave: A completely heart-stopping crime thriller (Detective Amanda Steele Book 1)

by Carolyn Arnold

  She should just go home, have a shower and wash the sex off her. After all, her shift started at eight in the morning and it was going on eleven thirty at night. But the pain in her soul was so intense, it was like its own entity. She used to cry so hard after sleeping with a man, her body would heave. Now she stuffed any emotions way deep inside, did her best to shut them out completely. But tonight, she could use something stronger than a sleeping pill. And it wasn’t just because she’d slept with a stranger. The drunk who’d killed her family had just been released from prison a few days ago, giving her that final nudge toward the precipice. Maybe now she’d finally have the courage to step further into the darkness.

  She drove to a sketchy neighborhood with a smattering of lit Christmas lights clinging to the eaves on a few houses. The strings sagged as if begging for reprieve. Discarded trees were lined up at the curb awaiting pickup.

  She parked in front of a rundown clapboard house. It wasn’t advisable for a woman—or any outsider, for that matter—to come to this area unaccompanied after dark, but she wasn’t entirely alone. She opened her glove box and took out her Glock. Her detective’s badge slid to the front of the compartment, resting over the registration and insurance paperwork. She held it in her hands and traced her fingers over the eagle. This piece of gold used to mean so much to her, but when Kevin and Lindsey had died it was like the world had gone from color to black and white, and she wasn’t sure how to reinfuse color.

  She looked at the house—no sign that Christmas cheer had ever existed there—but couldn’t get herself to step out of the car. She’d never been here before, but she knew who was inside. He went by “Freddy,” but his real name was Hank Cohen. He’d turned to the streets at fifteen when his mother took up with an abusive man who’d slapped him around one too many times. He had been in and out of jail for dealing, but Amanda would guess his list of crimes was more extensive than that. The reasoning behind his handle was a mystery to her.

  Now, all she had to do was get out of the car, walk up the cracked pavement to the door, and knock.

  That’s all, she coached herself. But it really wasn’t “all.” She was a detective in the Homicide Unit under the Criminal Investigations Division and Violent Crimes Bureau for the Prince William County Police Department. She was supposed to be a role model, to lead by example.

  But Freddy could give her what she needed. He offered street drugs, but she was interested in getting her hands on some Xanax. After the accident, her doctor had prescribed it for a few months but then he had refused to renew the prescription. He’d told her it wasn’t healthy to stay on the pills long-term and recommended she see a therapist. He’d referred her to one, who she saw a grand total of three times. It made her feel worse talking about Kevin and Lindsey to a stranger. Her internal dialogue nattered enough, and that’s why she needed something to shut up the voices. The over-the-counter sleeping pills could only do so much. The Xanax helped her become so relaxed she didn’t have the energy to feel or think a damn thing.

  She gave another glance toward Freddy’s house, then at the badge still in her hand, and blinked back tears. She’d already fallen so far from grace. Did it matter if she slipped further? If she took this step, would there be a way back? And if there wasn’t, did she care?

  She tossed her badge back in the glove box and reached for the door handle. Her cell phone rang, and her heart palpitated off rhythm. She took a few deep breaths. “Detective Steele,” she answered, sinking lower in her seat and feeling shame.

  “Amanda? It’s Becky.”

  She’d known Becky since kindergarten, but now Becky was an officer with Dumfries Police Department, the small town where Amanda lived. Given that it was just after midnight now, she’d wager Becky’s call was related to work as Dumfries PD turned suspicious deaths and murders over to Amanda’s department at PWCPD for investigation, but Amanda wasn’t on shift. “Is everything okay?”

  “There’s something you should know. Chad Palmer’s been found dead in a room at Denver’s Motel.”

  Amanda’s throat constricted and her vision went black. Chad Palmer—the man who’d destroyed her world and taken her family from her. All because he’d gotten behind the wheel drunk and crossed the line in more ways than one.

  She couldn’t bring herself to talk. She was too busy processing this news. Denver’s was a dive motel that catered to lowlifes. It was a fitting exit ramp for Palmer.

  “I had to call it in, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” Becky’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Was he murdered?” she squeezed out.

  “I don’t know. I’m here now, and it’s not obvious exactly what killed him.”

  Chills shot down her arms, goose bumps rising in their wake. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Of course.”

  Amanda hung up but kept her grip on her phone tight and turned her attention to the glove box, her mind on her badge. She gave one last, desperate look at Freddy’s and drove toward Denver’s. Becky’s call had saved her this time.

  Two

  Amanda pressed the gas and made it from Woodbridge to Dumfries in less than the fifteen minutes it would normally take. Between the time of night and her speed, it took her under ten. But for every one of those minutes she was thinking about what she was going to find once she got to Denver’s Motel. Was Chad Palmer really dead?

  If so, he had finally gotten what he’d deserved after all this time. The law certainly hadn’t doled out justice when it had given him five years, the equivalent of a slap on the wrist. Even tacking on the additional five months he’d spent behind bars during the trial was nothing. Call it karma that he’d just been released from prison two days ago and his undeserved freedom had been snatched from him so quickly.

  Denver’s Motel was a single-story establishment with maybe twenty rooms, laid out in a horseshoe around an inground swimming pool that had found a second life as a garden. Its clientele would have included the shadier types.

  When Amanda arrived, there was no sign of the Crime Scene Unit, but two police cruisers were in the parking lot; both had their lights flashing. An officer was in one but shrouded in darkness, making it hard to distinguish if it was Becky. There was also an SUV marked Police Town of Dumfries, which would belong to a sergeant with Dumfries PD, likely Lisa Greer. Amanda only knew of her through Becky and hadn’t met her yet, as she’d just transferred in a few weeks ago. Hopefully, that meant she didn’t know Amanda’s history with the deceased. But whether the sergeant was Greer or someone else, they’d leave once Amanda’s sergeant from PWCPD arrived. Their immediate job was just to watch over the scene until it could be handed over.

  Amanda parked, grabbed her badge and gun and set across the courtyard. There was a woman in slacks and a winter coat posted next to an opened door.

  “Amanda,” Becky called out to her.

  Amanda shut her eyes for a second, then turned. Her friend’s shoulder-length hair was in a ponytail, as it often was when she was on duty, and swinging side to side. She’d hustled to catch up.

  “What are you doing here?” Becky asked.

  “Where else would I be?” Amanda resumed walking, but Becky cut in front of her, blocking her path.

  “You need to go home.”

  Amanda juked to go around Becky, but her friend moved with her. She was a couple of inches shorter than Amanda’s five-foot-nine, but she was solid and athletic. Amanda stopped, let her arms dangle. “You had to know I’d show up.”

  Becky looked over a shoulder, and it had Amanda following the direction of her gaze. The woman outside the motel room was watching them closely, her brows pinched together.

  “Maybe,” Becky admitted, “but I’d hoped you wouldn’t. Your being here really isn’t a good idea.”

  Amanda tucked a strand of her ginger hair over her left ear and scanned the lot for any department vehicles from PWCPD. “I don’t see any other detectives from Homicide on scene yet.” The words were out before A
manda gave them much thought. Did she really want to get involved with the investigation, assuming Palmer had been murdered? When she’d sped over here, it had been an instinct, just to see the man who had killed her family dead, as if by doing so it would heal a part of her.

  “No, but—”

  “Then I’m the first homicide detective to arrive. That means I qualify to enter the scene.”

  The woman waved her over. Amanda pointed her out to Becky. “I’m guessing that’s Greer?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, your boss seems to think I’m here because I was assigned the case.”

  “But you weren’t.”

  “Can’t help what other people think. Besides, it’s only a matter of time, and she’s looking impatient.” Amanda butted her head toward Greer. She felt like she was careening down a steep hill without brakes, unable to stop, only able to steer.

  “Fine,” Becky huffed out. “But, just so you know, seeing him dead isn’t going to help. You might think it will, but it won’t.”

  Tendrils of anger twisted through her, squeezing, gripping, like vines to brick, working to pry the stone loose and destroy the structure. “How could you possibly know? That man took my—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. There were times she battled with who was truly to blame for the accident. If she hadn’t insisted that Kevin look at some stupid meme on her phone, maybe he’d have had a chance to react in time.

  Becky put a hand on her arm. “I know.” With that, she walked back to her cruiser to resume guarding the crime scene.

  Amanda clenched her jaw and worked to calm her temper. She flashed a cordial smile as she approached Greer. “Sergeant,” she greeted her. “I’m Detective Steele from Homicide with Prince William County Police Department.” She held up her badge with a shaky hand.

  “Sergeant Greer,” she said stiffly, glancing past Amanda to Becky, likely curious about their interaction.

  Amanda tucked her badge away and peacocked her stance. She wanted to give the absolute appearance that she belonged there. “Has the medical examiner’s office been called?”

  The sergeant’s attention shifted back to her. “Yes, of course, and crime scene investigators from Forensics.”

  “Mind if I—” Amanda gestured toward the room. Number ten.

  “Not at all.”

  Amanda stepped over an upturned running shoe just inside the doorway and stopped.

  Chad Palmer was supine on the bed beside two empty handles of whiskey. A rigored hand was wrapped around one of them. His eyes were shut, but there was vomit around his nose and mouth. She turned away at the waft of stench hitting her nose, but otherwise she was unmoved. Numb, indifferent, as if she were watching a scene from outside of herself.

  The man she’d villainized appeared vulnerable in death, soft, human… even harmless. A man of thirty-seven, only two years older than she. But she could never forget the evil he’d inflicted.

  The black pavement is glistening from the rain, making it look like they’re driving on a blanket of a million sparkling diamonds. Fat drops pitter-patter against the windshield and the wipers squeak on every other pass.

  “I spy something that is… black,” Lindsey says amid giggles.

  I turn and smile at my baby girl. Her ginger curls fall as ringlets over her shoulders.

  “Give me a clue,” Kevin says, keeping his attention on the road. “Is it outside?”

  “Yes.” Another gaggle of laughter, the sound of a cherub.

  My phone pings with a message from my sister, Kristen. I laugh and hold my phone up for Kevin to see. He starts to smile, but a blinding light is rushing straight for us.

  Kevin torques the wheel, but it’s not fast enough.

  A deafening crash of metal on metal as two vehicles mangle together and spin.

  Absolute darkness descends.

  Amanda turned her back to Palmer, her heart hammering. What did she really expect by coming here? Closure? Redemption? Debt repaid? Ridiculous.

  “Steele? What the hell are you doing here?”

  She blinked as her boss, Sergeant Malone, came into focus. He was in the doorway, hands on hips. He was in his fifties with a receding hairline. What hair he lacked on the top of his head, he made up for with a full beard and mustache. All of it gray, supposedly to testify to his wisdom and experience, as he would happily point out. In her favor, he was looking more concerned than pissed off by her presence.

  “I was nearby.” She could still back away without inserting herself in this investigation, but something about seeing Palmer dead made her feel a modicum of control, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  “Small town. Everywhere is nearby.” Malone scowled and jacked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate Becky. “Your being here have something to do with—”

  “It has nothing to do with her.”

  “Uh-huh. Detective Steele, I’d like to talk to you. Outside. Now.” Malone curled his finger, signaling for her to go with him but, when he turned, he bumped into Detective Dennis Bishop a.k.a. Cud.

  He was smacking gum, as he often was, much like a cow. Hence the nickname. Except Cud was a lean, muscled brickhouse, with not an inch of flab on him. “Oh, Steele, I didn’t know—”

  “She’s just about to leave.” Malone met her gaze and darted his eyes toward her car.

  Sergeant Greer was speaking with Becky by her cruiser, and, given her friend’s defensive gesturing, it would seem Malone might have mentioned something to the Dumfries sergeant about Amanda’s connection to the victim. The touch of guilt she felt for showing up there and causing a problem for Becky still wasn’t enough to make her leave. It was almost like she had something to prove now; though what that might be, she didn’t quite know. “I’m not going anywhere,” she stamped out.

  “No?” Malone angled his head, challenging her.

  “We don’t know what happened to Palmer yet.”

  “And your point?” he countered.

  What was her point? Again she faced the question of whether she really wanted to get involved in the investigation, but like that out-of-control car, she didn’t feel she could stop herself. Like she’d already come too far or crossed a line just by showing up here and now she had to see it through. She gave Malone’s question some thought, then said smoothly, “If he was murdered, I’m going to have the most motivation to find the killer.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  Fair question as she didn’t feel sorry for the guy—not at all. So what was her motivation here? The feeling of control was something that echoed back to her. She’d had none when he’d wiped out her family; by uncovering what happened to him, in a way she’d have some power over how justice was served.

  “Palmer? As in Chad Palmer?” Cud interjected, bringing his chewing to a momentary pause. “The man who—” He silenced under her glare and paled.

  That was the thing with small towns; everyone knew your story. It was also something that had her going to Woodbridge to meet men. “Don’t you ever mind,” she slapped back.

  “I was just going to say you made a good point… You know, with what you said.” Cud glanced at Malone, then back to her and added, “You would have motive.”

  She glared at Cud, hoping he received her silent sarcastic thanks for your support, buddy. “If he was killed, there’s at least one other person with motive, because I didn’t kill him.”

  “Hold up. No one’s saying you did,” Malone groaned but seemed to hesitate.

  “You can’t honestly be considering assigning her the case.” Cud flailed his arm toward Amanda.

  “Excuse me,” she barked. “I’m more than capable of setting aside my personal connection here.” But her internal voice was calling her out on that claim. Did she have the ability to set it aside?

  “More accurately, conflict of interest,” Cud volleyed back.

  “Sarge,” Amanda said, wishing Malone would step in. “Give me the opportunity here.”

  Malone rubbe
d his jaw.

  Cud smacked his gum. “You can’t really be considering letting her take the lead, boss.”

  “What’s it to you?” Malone snapped at Cud. “I give it to her, and you and Detective Ryan catch the next one.”

  That would be Natalie Ryan, nicknamed Cougar, for reasons any knowledgeable adult could imagine.

  “Whatever,” Cud mumbled.

  “Give us a minute alone.” Malone snapped his fingers at Cud when he didn’t move.

  “Fine. I’ll be over there.” He walked about ten feet away.

  Small flakes started coming down and Amanda glanced up: overcast and no visible stars. Nothing to wish on. Story of her life these days.

  “You sure you could handle this?” Malone asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  He leaned down, leveling his gaze with hers. “If you have any doubt about it, speak now. You know you can talk to me.”

  Scott Malone had been a good friend of her father’s, and still was, as far as she knew, and it earned her special treatment. Other detectives under Malone couldn’t talk as freely to him as she could.

  “No doubts,” she lied. How had things escalated to this point: her fighting for the case? Her heart wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move.

  He scanned her eyes and straightened back up to full height and rubbed the top of his head. “I’m probably going to regret this— And if I catch a whiff of drama, so help me, you’ll be off the case so fast your head’ll spin. Got me?”

  “That means—”

  “Yeah, I’m letting you work it.” The way his mouth contorted, his permission must have tasted like bile. “If Lieutenant Hill finds out, my head will roll, so I’m being very serious when I say don’t let me down.”

  The sergeant really was putting himself in a precarious spot, and a flash of remorse rushed through Amanda. Sherry Hill was no-nonsense and not one to mess with, and, as much as Malone was a fan of her father’s, Hill was not. The lieutenant made no secret of holding a grudge against her dad. Keeping drama out altogether would be a challenge, but she’d do her best. “I won’t let you down.”