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

by Carolyn Arnold

  He opened his arms and she fell against him, burrowing her head into his chest. Her father wrapped his arms around her, and all she could smell was the fragrance of Irish Spring soap. It was the kind he’d used for as long as she could remember. His body was warm and comforting, and in this moment, she felt so loved and accepted—like she was home and had never left.

  Her father ended their hug, and said, “My Mandy Monkey, it’s about time you returned to us.”

  She sniffled, hating to admit to herself that if it hadn’t been for the threat against her father, she probably wouldn’t be there now. “I’m so sorry. It’s just…” She forced a smile. She was angry and embarrassed and overwrought with guilt. If only she hadn’t insisted on getting involved with the Palmer investigation, then her father’s life wouldn’t be at risk and she could avoid all these uncomfortable feelings. “I can’t stay long.”

  “Nonsense.” Her mother reappeared. “I just put the kettle on to make us some tea.”

  “Someone’s waiting for me outside,” Amanda said.

  “They’re welcome to come in.”

  “No.”

  Her mother glanced at her husband.

  “It’s just that we’re in the middle of a case,” Amanda clarified.

  “Why come by now then?” Her mother’s brow arched in confusion. “You should have come by when you have some time.”

  “I just needed to talk to Dad about something.”

  Her mother’s chin quivered, and she crossed her arms.

  Amanda went to her; touched her elbow. “I’ll be back when I have time.”

  Her mother palmed her cheeks and met Amanda’s gaze. “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “You remember that when a Steele gives their word, they—”

  “Keep it. And I will.” Amanda kissed her mother on the cheek and squeezed her.

  “I’ll just be in the kitchen.” Her mother padded off.

  Amanda turned to find her father watching her.

  “This a question you have about a case? Want the old man’s advice? I’ve been out of the game for a while, but I’m sure I can still help.” He grinned.

  “Why don’t we sit down?” She sat on a couch.

  “Ah, sure.” Her father took up in a chair next to a side table where there was a glass with some amber liquid.

  “When did you start drinking again?” Her chest pinched just thinking she knew the answer: her abandonment.

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I have it under control. So what brings you here?” He leveled his gaze at her, and in his posture and eyes she saw the former police chief still lived on.

  She told him about Palmer’s murder, the article, snippets of her encounter with Rick Jensen.

  “I saw the article—a bunch of horse crap.”

  “Well, Lieutenant Hill didn’t see it that way.”

  Her father leaned forward. “Sherry Hill as lieutenant. Now that’s a miscarriage of justice.”

  Amanda wanted to ask exactly what her father’s beef was with Hill, but now wasn’t the time.

  “Did she suspend you?” her father asked before she could say anything else.

  “No, but she took me off the case.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Dad?”

  “So what? Are you also here to tell me you’re going rogue? If so, you should step away. It’s not worth ruining your career over.”

  She shut her mouth; she couldn’t bring herself to tell her dad that things at work hadn’t been the same as before the accident.

  “But you’re not going to back off, are you?” Her father peered into her eyes.

  “How can I? Jensen’s threatened you.”

  Her father batted his hand. “I can look after myself.”

  She thought of Trent’s little words of wisdom and how the strong have weak moments. “You just need to be careful, but know that I’m going to do whatever I can—”

  “To get that man justice?” Her father shot to his feet. “The same man who—” He snarled and balled his hands into fists.

  Amanda put a hand on his back to cool him down. “I know. But you heard what Mom just said: Steeles keep their word.”

  He tightened his jaw and nodded. “But why you ever got yourself wrapped up in this in the first place, Mandy, I’ll never understand.”

  “I just felt I needed to at the time. And, trust me, it’s probably a good thing I did insert myself.”

  Her father’s gaze met hers, and she continued. “There’s little girls, Dad. Palmer was booked with a bracelet and there was a hidden data chip on there— Oh, whatever you do, don’t say a word of this to Malone. He doesn’t know yet. But there’s evidence of a sex-trafficking ring.”

  “An active one here?” Her father dropped back into his chair, his complexion pale. Nothing much shook her father, but it was obvious this news had.

  “I assume it’s still active. I don’t really know, but I intend to find out and to help those girls.”

  “And to slam the doors on everyone involved.”

  “Goes without saying.” She jacked a thumb toward the front door. “I should get going.”

  Her father sprang up again, pulled her in for a hug, and tapped a kiss on her forehead. “I have absolute faith in you.”

  She sniffled and nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”

  She saw herself out with another hug of her mother. She’d considered going back to her parents over the years, but the longer time had dragged on, the harder the thought of actually doing it was, but now that first step was out of the way.

  All it had taken was a threat to her father’s life.

  Thirty-One

  After leaving her parents’ house, she didn’t feel much like talking at all. It had been unsettling seeing her mom and dad again, like she belonged but at the same time was a stranger. But she’d go back—she had promised her mother—maybe give a reconnection a true chance. Trent got onto highway SR 234 north. “So where are we going? You never said before and I didn’t ask.”

  “The Department of Forensic Science.”

  “Manassas? And you do realize their regular hours are eight to five Monday to Friday?” The dash read 8:45 PM.

  Trent looked over at her. “Sure, but everything that’s connected to the Palmer case is to be given priority attention.”

  She slowly nodded, remembering Malone had told her that. A twinge crept up into her skull with the action. “Who’s going to be there?” She wasn’t sure she had the tolerance threshold to put up with CSI Blair tonight.

  “Blair and Donnelly.”

  She blew out a deep breath, and Trent laughed.

  “I know she’s not your favorite person.”

  “Is she anyone’s?” Amanda tapped her fingers on the armrest in the door. “I don’t know what her problem is with me.”

  She let that sit there, but Trent didn’t offer any suggestions. She might never find out Blair’s issue, but she wasn’t exactly feeling like coming out and asking.

  She went on. “At least she’s putting in OT for— Oh, does she know I’m off the case?”

  “Don’t know, but I’m not telling her.” Trent winked at her.

  The guy was starting to grow on her, and she was starting to witness firsthand that loyalty he claimed to have. He might not be as bad as she thought, but she still didn’t need a partner.

  “They do know we’re on our way though,” he added. “I called while you were in with your parents.” He glanced over at her and she was quite sure she read the unspoken question in his eyes: How was the reunion? At least he was smart enough not to ask.

  “So where was the Caprice found?” Her jaw ached from talking and her body longed for bed, but it would have to hang in there.

  “Hikers found it in the parking lot for Prince William Forest Park. They saw it on Monday morning, then again about two this afternoon.”

  She nodded. She used to take long walks with Kevin at that park when they were dating and before Li
ndsey came along. After Lindsey, the walks became shorter. She used to love getting out in the woods during the winter months. There was something invigorating about the brisk air nipping her nose and ears while she burrowed against Kevin’s side. She was stuck on why the hikers would call though.

  “Just because the Caprice was there two days in a row wouldn’t have deemed it suspicious; why did they think something was up with the car?”

  “No good reason to be honest, just their instinct. And lucky for us it was right. They’ve been cleared.” He looked over at her. “I was debating whether to rope you into this. The sarge said you were pretty upset, and I mean, you left your badge and gun behind.”

  When she’d done that, she’d almost felt like she was watching herself from out of her body but also like she was doing exactly what she should have done a long time ago.

  “You can understand why I hesitated?” Trent prompted.

  “Yep.” That’s what she said, but she wasn’t sure she did understand. Though he was risking his career by keeping her up to date on the case. She looked out the passenger window as Trent passed a slower-moving vehicle.

  “It’s completely intact too. The Caprice,” Trent said. “No one’s taken a joyride with it.”

  “What about any stolen goods in the trunk?”

  “Nope. Nothing that obvious, but Blair and Donnelly will be tearing the entire thing apart and we’ll be there to watch.”

  “So let me get this straight: all day while I was, you know, otherwise occupied, what were you doing besides questioning some hikers?”

  Trent smirked at her. “I also obtained the warrant for the Happy Time surveillance footage, picked it up, and watched it.”

  “Did it capture a good image of what happened to Palmer? The gunman?”

  “Yep. Well, useful anyway. No direct facial shots, but we now have the height, structure and gait of his assailant. Black hoodie, black jeans.”

  “George told me about the hoodie.”

  “I have a still in my phone…” He reached into his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Just in my gallery.”

  She took the phone and woke the screen. “Pin?”

  “One, two, three, four.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re a cop; you should know better.”

  He laughed. “It’s just easy to remember.”

  “Ah, rookie.” She unlocked the phone and found the icon for the photo-gallery app.

  “It should be the last ones. I have a couple there.”

  She studied them both; they were quite similar. The attacker’s face was in shadow, but they appeared trim. “What was his height estimated to be?”

  “Somewhere between five ten and six one.”

  “Quite a spread.”

  “There’s actually a little snippet of the video on there too.”

  “Why?”

  Trent kept his gaze out the windshield. “Never know when I’m going to have a minute and want to take another peek; might not be at the station.”

  “You’re telling me you take your work home with you?”

  He glanced from the road to her. “Maybe,” he dragged out.

  She smiled. “You’re a brown-noser.”

  “A what?” he rushed out.

  “It’s someone who kisses up to look good to authority figures.”

  He met her gaze and held it longer than she would have liked. She pointed out the front window.

  “Eyes on the road please.”

  He glanced out the windshield. “Do brown-nosers typically work on a case their partner has been taken from?”

  “Okay, fair point.” She smirked.

  “Thank you.” He laughed.

  She proceeded to play the video clip. It captured the lot from the vantage point that looked down at the perp’s back. She watched as the gunman came up on Palmer when he was nearing the Caprice. The perp was carrying the gun in his right hand, close to his side, but his walk showed he was favoring his left knee. She paused the video. “I’d say the gunman’s left knee is injured,” she said to Trent.

  “I noticed that too.”

  A driver ahead of them tapped their brakes and changed lanes without signaling. Some people didn’t know how to drive. She returned her attention to the video. Something caused Palmer to turn around. Maybe he’d heard the perp’s footsteps, or the perp had said something. A brief animated interaction followed, resulting in the gun being raised on Palmer. Palmer had his hands up in surrender and it appeared the perp waved for him to put them down. The perp then corralled Palmer to the passenger side of the car at gunpoint, then struck Palmer in the head and hoisted the dead weight into the Caprice.

  End of video.

  Things played out a little differently from what George had told her in the Happy Time lot, but he had admitted to drinking that night.

  She rewound to take a closer look at the stand-off. It was hard to tell, but the gunman seemed twitchy, his arms and shoulders rising and lowering. Either not comfortable holding a gun or nervous. If this was Palmer’s killer, she’d say the nerves didn’t testify to someone who had killed before. She shared that observation with Trent.

  “I wasn’t sure what to make of that myself.”

  “I think we need more pieces of this puzzle.” She straightened but every millimeter of adjustment trickled agony down her spine. “So you also watched a video, ate some popcorn… anything else?”

  “You’re tough, you know that.”

  She bobbed her head side to side. She could blame that on her father. He’d stressed to her that the only way to succeed and advance rank was to put in the hard work. By passing this “toughness” on, she was really doing Trent a favor.

  “And yes, for your information, I did more than just that. I’m quite sure I found out where Palmer got the Caprice.”

  She jerked her neck so fast to face him, she cried out.

  “Whoa. You okay?”

  Tears were in her eyes as she met his. “Do people”—she winced—“normally cry out in pain when they’re okay?”

  “I can take you home if you need or the hospital. You probably should get checked out.”

  “You take me to either of those places and—”

  “You’ll what?” He was toying with her; she had nothing she could do to him.

  “Just keep driving, rookie. And where did Palmer get the car?”

  “A guy named Simon Wheable. He’s forty-one, and he’s spent time behind bars for robbery, but he’s been out and free of parole for a few years now. He works at Eco-Friendly Auto Recyclers.” Trent took their exit.

  “It’s a vehicle salvage yard.” Amanda cut through the beautifully painted lingo to the gist of the business model, but she was also familiar with the place from personal experience. It was where her first jalopy had gone, not that she’d thought of the Honda Accord as that when she’d bought it for fifteen hundred with money she’d earned working part-time at a donut shop. Eco-Friendly Auto Recyclers was where vehicles went when they died. Or in the case of her Accord, became more costly to repair than it was worth. She’d ended up with a few hundred in her pocket for the parts.

  “That’s right,” Trent said.

  “What led you to Wheable? The plate?” Given the right genius at a computer, the plate could have been enhanced from the Happy Time video.

  “Nah, it was stolen and got me nowhere, but I did a little surveillance on Freddy.”

  “You followed him?”

  “Not going to confirm on the grounds it might incriminate me.”

  “Ridiculous. Go on.”

  “Anyway, he happened to go to the salvage yard, and I just sort of put two and two together. Would make sense if the car was transporting stolen goods. They’d want to put Palmer in a piece of junk that wouldn’t warrant attention.”

  “And the guy was driving without a license,” she mumbled. “Did you talk with Wheable?”

  “Haven’t had a chance yet.”

  “I was impressed until then.�
�� She smirked over at him and he smiled back, obviously picking up her sarcasm. She proceeded to forward the images and video to her phone and then handed his back to him. She pulled out her own. “I do have a couple of voicemails to check though, if you can entertain yourself while I do that.”

  “I’ll figure something out.” Trent tapped his fingers on the wheel to some beat he must have had playing in his head.

  She called in and listened to the four unheard messages. The first was from Detective Banks, the lead investigator on the Casey-Anne Ritter murder, basically just saying he was returning her call and when she had a chance to call him back. It had come in that morning; it was probably the blocked number that rang just as she was headed into her house before everything that had happened with Jensen.

  The second message was from Malone.

  “I understand that you need to cool off. I get it. Trust me. Hill can be a piece of work, but don’t throw away everything. In fact, I don’t accept your resignation. I never saw anything in writing.”

  She smirked up at the ceiling of the car and continued listening.

  “I’ll always have your back…” There was a lengthy pause, then, “But… whether you’re coming back to work or just taking a break, I’ll still need your alibi—the sooner the better.”

  She groaned and Trent looked over at her.

  “Everything all right?”

  Amanda nodded and listened to the third message, which was from Becky, touching base to see how she was holding up. The fourth message was from the detective in Sex Crimes.

  “Detective Steele, this is Detective Patricia Glover with Sex Crimes. I’ve been assigned the case referred to me by Detective Jacob Briggs in Digital Forensics. I don’t want to leave details over the phone, so please call me as soon as you can.”

  Her call had come through at 1:03 PM. Glover was probably wondering if Amanda had fallen off the face of the Earth. No to that, but she had temporarily lost her way.

  She pocketed her phone just as Trent pulled into the parking lot of the Department of Forensic Science.

  Thirty-Two

  Amanda led the way to the front door, Trent trailing behind.

  “Yeah… we’re here…” he said into his phone and put it away a few seconds later. He told Amanda, “CSI Blair will come get the front door.”