As he got out of the car, she grabbed her camera and took a quick picture of him as he turned onto the sidewalk and down a small pathway to a blue front door. She grabbed her cellphone and took another shot, a side profile as he unlocked the door, before he stepped inside.
She studied the photo.
Too blurry. I need a better-quality phone. But I have the camera shot. The close up.
And I have a sixty on Paul Rothman.
She opened the text chain with Raven and attached the photo from her phone, sending it before typing in another message, I have eyes on him. How are things with you?
She shoved the phone in her pocket and took the helmet off, shaking her hair free before stuffing the helmet in her bag. She stepped off the bike and ambled down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, taking in the view until she reached the corner, more than ten houses away. A light turned on in Paul’s second-storey window, and two windows sat on each level above it.
Five storeys. He has some money. I need to get closer.
Paul passed in front of the window, and as she approached his place, through the window a fridge on the opposite wall came into view as her cell buzzed in her pocket. She took it out and opened the message.
Better now because of you, Raven said.
Madigan shoved it back in her pocket as pride swelled in her chest. Paul passed by the window again, and the weight of the cell phone in her pocket hung heavy.
She feels better because I’m watching Paul, but no one’s watching her. If Paul’s not the one leaving her things, she’s exposed right now to whoever is.
But she has the door jams. And locks.
And I have my work cut out for me tonight.
Stay alert, awake, and aware of Paul’s whereabouts until morning.
Twenty-Three
Grace turned onto the next street, and as her phone rang, the Amherst Police Department came into view.
“Incoming call from, Tarek,” her Bluetooth said.
She hit the button on her visor and answered, “Hello.”
“Sheppard, hi, I’ve got something on that woman you asked me to look into. Julia Morris. Is this a good time?”
Madigan’s mom.
“Go ahead,” she said, pulling into the parking lot of the Amherst P.D.
“I did as you asked and ran it through the system, and there are no addresses that match that name in Amherst or all of Deerhorn County. I then took the liberty of checking all hospitals, and that didn’t take long. Nothing there.”
Mac’s car pulled into the spot beside hers.
“Okay, could you speed it up?”
“Sure, so I checked with homeless shelters in Amherst. There are two, and I did find that The Amherst Mission had a record of her name. I spoke to someone who volunteers there, and they said they’d get back to me the next day, but it took this long, and it wasn’t even the same person I spoke to, but they keep a check-in record, and she has been checking in a few times a week for a long time now.”
“How long?”
“They didn’t go back too far. Said they were too busy, but we could send someone to come check the records. They know it’s been months.”
“Thanks so much for doing this, Tarek.”
“Sure, sure. You owe me that cinnamon bun, though.”
Mac bent down and knocked on her window.
“And the Mocha Frappuccino,” Grace said. “I remember. I have to go. Thanks again.” She ended the call and opened her door.
“Having second thoughts?” Mac asked as she stood.
She shot him a look. “No. Last time I spoke to the higher-ups, I was offered a promotion, remember? A place back here.”
“I remember. I also remember the way some of the people in there treat you.”
Who could forget?
“Well, I’m trying to get past that now.”
“Hey.” He reached out his hand toward her but lowered it again. He wanted to touch me. Comfort me. “You don’t have to act tough for me. I’m here for you. I’m your back-up. You don’t have to take anything from these people.”
She gave him a small smile before they strode around the building, and she lifted her chin, head held high, as they walked through the front doors to reception, her heart still racing in her chest.
“Detective Grace Sheppard,” she said to a female officer she recognized. “I need to speak to the detective on the Edger Cull case, please.”
The officer raised her brows and turned to the computer, typing something in. “Detective Shelling.”
Grace’s shoulders dropped, and she opened her clenched fists. “Great. Is he in?”
The officer pressed a button on the phone and a few more.
“Grace Sheppard here to see you,” she said and waited before hanging up. “You know the way?”
Grace nodded and led Mac through the door and down a hallway toward Shelling’s cubicle where she had told him everything she and Madigan knew about the Tina Morelli investigation he was working on just months prior.
Shelling swiveled around in his chair and stood in his light tan suit with a small smile. “Sheppard. How are ya?” He shook her hand.
“Much better this time, thanks. And thanks for the good word you put in for me.”
“Oh.” He shook his head and waved her off.
“This is Officer MacIntyre. Mac, this is Detective Shelling.”
“Great to meet you,” Mac said, shaking his hand.
“Likewise. So what can I do for ya?”
“We’re here about a case you worked two weeks ago. Edgar Cull.”
Shelling tilted his head. “Just finished up the paperwork on him.”
“You concluded that it was suicide, Grace said.
“That’s right. What’s going on?”
“We don’t know yet,” she said. “Can you tell us anything more about it?”
“It was a tough one.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “He did it in the garage where he lived with his wife. She found him in the morning and called it in. We found him in there, driver’s seat. M.E. Donovan Slade said he’d been dead for several hours before she found him. That it happened in the early morning while she slept.”
“And what did you find?”
“No evidence of any foul play.” He picked up a file folder and opened it, scanning the pages. “Unfortunately, there were some woman’s items in the trunk that I returned to the vic’s wife, but they weren’t hers. Very upsetting.”
“What items?”
He opened the file to photos labeled as evidence and angled them toward her and Mac. “A lipstick, a bracelet, and what was it… oh, one of those hair tie things. I don’t know what they’re called. Scrunchies? I don’t know. Are you going to let me know why you’re interested?”
“I’m working a case right now. The car crash on Blackrock in Tall Pines? His name was Tyler Gibbons, and there’s not enough concrete evidence to point us in any direction. Brakes look like they could have been tampered with, but forensics can’t say for sure. He displayed some strange behaviour prior to the crash, as witnessed by the woman in the car behind him. He received some bad news that day, a lawsuit, and has some enemies as well.”
“Huh, sounds like a tough one. So, did he know Cull?”
“Not directly, as far as we know, but he and Cull were witnesses and persons of interest in a suicide investigation in Tall Pines surrounding a college student there, Donelle Gaines. This happened just over three years ago. Tyler was the student studying after hours with her, and Cull was security that night. He says he saw Tyler leave, but he couldn’t place the time. The detective on the case found Gaines had jumped off the roof. Another suicide.”
“Huh.”
“We have evidence from our M.E. Raven Lockwood that Tyler was punched not long before the crash occurred. He was in Amherst, by the way, working and then commuting home, but he went somewhere else in Amherst before then. Cull’s from Amherst. So was Donelle Gaines. She lived with her father, Charles Gaine
s, and he’s also a person of interest right now. He blamed Tyler and their other friends for what happened to his daughter. He doesn’t believe it was suicide.”
Shelling squinted down at her. “Are you questioning Cull’s death?”
“No…” The “o” lingered. “I wasn’t sure. I wanted to know what you made of it.”
“I’ll take another look at the case,” he said, “but I wouldn’t have decided on suicide if there’d been any evidence to the contrary.”
“And I’m not questioning you and your work at all. I just can’t shake the feeling it’s all linked. We’re waiting on DNA to come back, but you know how long it takes, and Amherst’s always the priority.”
“I didn’t know that, actually.” Shelling bit his lip and shook his head. “Okay, how about I put a word in for ya?”
“That would be great,” Grace said.
“Hey, thanks.” Mac shook his hand.
“I’ll be in touch about the Cull case, okay?” Shelling asked, shaking Grace’s hand.
“Thank you.”
“Hey, next time you guys are around, let’s grab a drink.” Shelling swivelled back toward his computer.
“Sounds good,” Grace called as they started back down the hallway.
“That was pretty good.” Mac opened the front door for her.
“We didn’t find out anything new.”
“No, I meant coming back here. For you.”
“Oh.” Grace smiled as they walked back to the lot.
Were people staring at me as usual? I didn’t notice. I wasn’t even checking to see.
“I’m almost off my shift,” Mac said, “and we should check in with Banning.”
“Yeah. I’ll be there soon. I have to get a cinnamon bun and Frappuccino on the way.”
He raised his brow.
“For Tarek.”
“Oh, so Tarek gets treats, does he?”
“He’s been helping me look for Madigan’s birth mom. I have to call her and let her know what he found.”
Mac started for his car as she opened her door. “Hey, maybe grab me a cinnamon bun!”
“Okay!”
As she ducked into her car, he called again. “And a Frappuccino. Whatever that is!”
“Okay,” she said, laughing, shaking her head as she pulled out of the spot and Mac followed.
Café. Then update Banning.
I’ve still got nothing to show for this investigation, except a tangled web involving other cases in other jurisdictions. If Shelling can get the DNA tests moving, I’d have something to work with. I’d have something concrete to report, because right now, I might as well not waste Banning’s time.
Twenty-Four
Long after the last of the sun dipped behind the row of townhouses, a blue glow emanated from the top window of Paul Rothman’s home. Muted tones flashed against the walls and reflected off the windows by the light of the TV. Madigan hid behind a car parked on the other side of the road, hunkered down, pretending to search through her bag at any moment the neighbours came home, or walked down the street.
If he looked outside right now, and again at any time, he could see that I’m here—watching. There’s no place to hide.
A woman walked her terrier down the street, past Madigan as she dug through her purse and produced her phone.
I might as well check in on Raven.
She kept her attention on Paul’s home, watching through the car’s windows as she pressed her phone to her ear.
“Hey,” Raven said. “Still in Newport?”
“Yep,” Madigan whispered. “Watching his house right now. Light on upstairs and car parked out front.”
“Okay, good.”
“Has anything happened at all today?”
“No presents,” Raven said. “I don’t feel like I’m being watched.”
“Good. You’ve locked your doors and windows, though, right? With the door jams and everything?”
“I have, and listen, those gifts, maybe they’ve stopped now. Maybe he’s given up. I mean, if he’s there, he’s not watching me, right?”
If he’s the one who’s been leaving you things…
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound confident in that… because you’re not sure if it’s Paul, are you?”
“No, we can’t be sure.”
“If you’d been on that date, and I hate calling it a date, you’d have seen how weird he was. I don’t know how someone can go from being so friendly, confident, and laidback to someone so forward and… just no chill. He had no chill. I even excused myself to go to the bathroom, and he had a bottle of the restaurant’s most expensive wine sitting at the table when I got back. He poured some in my glass, and I told him no thanks, that I had to drive, and he looked so disappointed. How is that my fault that he assumed it was something I wanted? I’m sorry, I’m getting upset all over again. This is what I don’t need. I don’t need to obsess over it.”
“I know it left you with a bad feeling, but I’m just telling you, you don’t know it’s him.”
The light in the kitchen turned on, and he walked by the window.
“You’re right,” Raven sighed. “I’m feeling better, though, or I was starting to. Oh, and I’m having a security system installed on Monday.”
Just a few more days and she’ll be properly protected.
“Good.”
“And I want you to take the day off tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Well, first of all, you deserve a break. I’ll be safe at work, and tomorrow night, I’m going out for some drinks.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I asked Melanie if she’d like to have a girl’s night out, and I wanted to invite you, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, not as my bodyguard or anything. Just some friends hanging out.”
I haven’t made a new friend in a long time, and it sounds nice. And she doesn’t have to know I’m also going to watch out for her.
“Actually,” Madigan said as the blue light in the top room turned off. “I could use some time to relax.”
“No kidding. Mel’s going to meet me at Roy’s. We’re both taking taxis so we can have some drinks. Want to meet any time after eight?”
“Sounds good. I actually used to work at Roy’s.”
“Oh yeah? You’re full of surprises. Okay, well, I look forward to seeing you then. I’ll give you another paycheck then, too. You’ve provided round the clock service, and I appreciate it. You be careful tonight.”
“Thanks, you too. See you then.”
Madigan slipped the phone into her purse without taking her eyes off the top window. A slight blue light shone, casting long shadows on the far wall.
Maybe an alarm clock. I think he’s gone to bed.
She pulled out a can of cola from her bag and cracked it open, taking a long drink.
I need to stay awake and keep watch.
Why hasn’t Paul answered her text? The only reason not to answer is because he’s the one doing this. He’s embarrassed, or he wants to play with her mind, or he just doesn’t think replying will further whatever his game is.
But why wouldn’t he just deny it, anyway?
She drank another mouthful and focused on the upstairs window. The soda bit at her throat as she swallowed.
Whatever’s going on, maybe it’s over? Maybe he thought he could win her back, but he realizes it’s not going to work.
Her thighs ached from remaining in the same crouched position. She supressed a groan as she leaned against the short fence behind her.
I wish I was home in bed, Buster by my side, falling asleep to the whooshing waves of the ocean.
Her heavy eyelids closed, and she stood up straight, shaking herself awake.
I have to get to the bottom of what’s going on here.
She guzzled the remaining soda.
Raven might want me to take a break, but I can’t until I know she’s safe.
Twenty-Five
Grace woke to a trilling and constant buzzing. She reached out toward her night table and grabbed her cell phone mid-ring as Mac rustled in the covers beside her.
“Hello?” she asked, her eyes barely open.
“Sorry, were you sleeping?” Tarek asked.
She cleared her throat and sat, pulling the phone away from her ear and squinting at the screen.
Just after six. I should have been up. Why didn’t my alarm go off?
“What’s up?” she asked.
“When I got here, I had a missed email from the Amherst lab. Your results came back on the DNA from Tyler Gibbons.”
Grace nudged Mac’s arm and put the speakerphone on.
Shelling came through with that favor.
“What were the results?” she asked as Mac sat up.
“The sample was enough to form a match,” Tarek said.
“Who?” Grace asked.
“That’s the thing. It’s enough for a match, but they didn’t find one. Whoever’s DNA that was isn’t in the system. They concluded it’s male, but that’s it.”
Grace pushed the covers away and swung her legs off the side of the bed.
“Sorry, I guess that’s not what you were hoping for,” Tarek said.
“What did the sample come from?”
“The belt buckle.”
“And nothing else?”
“No, I’m sorry. I guess if you can get samples from your suspects, you could find a match, so at least you have one of the pieces.”
A useless piece for now.
Grace sighed and stood. “Thanks, Tarek.”
She ended the call, set the phone on the nightstand, and walked into the bathroom. As she closed the door, Mac stared up at her with disappointment, and she shook her head, closing it all the way.
As she showered, the names of the suspects ran through her head.
Charles Gaines. Revenge for what he considers Tyler’s involvement in his daughter’s death.
Derek Mann. To stop being plagiarized for good and take revenge on the man whom he thinks stole his success.
Joel Wallace. To claim the fame, fortune, and freedom for himself.
All have motive, but Charles’ knuckles looked like they’d punched someone or something—and revenge—he’s had years to plot it. We need a DNA sample from him, but he’d never consent to it.
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