The chief shot out of his chair. “Jesus Christ, Jo.”
“Our next step is procuring a search warrant.”
Chief Grimes paced between the door and his desk. “There’s not a judge out there who is going to sign off on that.”
“I’ve gotten warrants with less.”
The chief stopped and wagged his finger at her. “Not for a district attorney, you haven’t.”
“I’ll admit, this is uncharted territory. But if I’m correct—”
“If.” He turned to her partner. “And what about you, Squint? You’ve been awful quiet while she laid all this out. One would think you disagree.”
“One would be wrong. She’s speaking because she’s the one who kept gnawing on this case after everyone else—myself included—was willing to chalk up Mr. Horton’s death as a suicide. For a reasonable person to believe a crime—”
“I know the definition of probable cause, Detective. But what’s going to happen if you’re wrong? The media would have a heyday. We’d be the laughingstock of the state. Not to mention that any goodwill between our department and the DA’s office would be irreparably damaged.”
Jo’s ire rose. “Not to mention the conversation you’d have to have with the city manager.”
“You’re dangerously close to being insubordinate, Detective Wyatt.”
“Tye Horton deserves justice,” she shot back.
“Then find me more than circumstantial evidence and innuendo. Once you have that, CBI can take over. Until then, don’t even think of pursuing a warrant.” He pushed in his desk chair. “Time’s up.”
* * *
Jo was so angry she couldn’t speak, and they climbed the stairs in silence.
Squint closed the office door behind them. “Well, that was fun.”
“I’ve had fun before. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it.”
The courthouse, with its looming bell tower, sat a block away. How many people had shivered in its shadow, waiting upon justice? How many had walked away from that place disappointed, disillusioned, disheartened? Jo had lost her faith in a lot of things over the years: the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, her father. On occasion, even herself. But she’d never lost faith in justice.
“He told us we couldn’t get a warrant,” Jo said. “He didn’t say anything about talking to the DA.”
Squint wasn’t a man who laughed easily, but he laughed now, and his amusement held a warm timbre. She enjoyed the sound more when it wasn’t directed at her.
He pulled out his chair and sat. “Are you going to clean your desk out before or after the conversation?”
She was too riled to sit, and she paced beside the desks. “Neither.”
“So what’s our game plan?”
“Not ours, mine. You’re the acting sergeant of this unit.” She paused next to his desk. “I distinctly heard you tell me to listen to the chief and stand down.”
“I don’t recall saying that.”
“Well, maybe you didn’t actually say it, but you should have.” She resumed pacing.
The levity left his face. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow you to pay a visit to a murderer by yourself. So unless you want me to tail you for the next few days and miss my much-needed beauty rest, let’s not pretend you’re going anywhere without me. And as I see it, Walsenberg isn’t going to be inclined to speak to you after yesterday. Add me to the picture and he’s more likely to think it’s a legit consultation. At least enough to get us through the door.”
Squint was right. But then again, it was the rare day he screwed something up. The department would lose him in a couple of years. She wanted to imagine him on a beach somewhere, sipping an umbrella drink, enjoying retirement. But that wasn’t his style. He’d paint his barn, regrout the tub, restore another tractor. Something responsible, something no one else had time to finish. But that was the very fabric of his being. Dependable.
And there was no sense trying to sidestep him. “I’m going to visit him tomorrow morning before he goes to work and ask him about the queries.” Jo placed her backpack on her desk and transferred the holster from her belt to the bag. “It will be an unexpected broadside—I’m hoping to rattle him into saying something stupid.”
“Why at the house and not the office?”
“I want to invade his space. We’re like vampires at the moment. Without a warrant, he has to invite us in. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and see something in plain view.”
“He’s too smart for that.”
“He thinks he is. But we’re also dealing with a man who used databases that log every query. I’m telling you. Watch for the blink.” She shut down her computer and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Meet me here at seven. We’ll knock on his door at seven thirty. Until then, I’m going to go pick up my bike trainer from the house and then do my best to pedal away my frustrations.”
43
The deed still listed Jo as half owner, but the house she’d shared with her husband no longer felt like home. Cameron had packed up some of her things, and a stack of boxes lined the foyer wall. Block letters identified the contents. Her heart lurched when she saw a box labeled Jo’s China. She pulled it off the top of the stack and opened it, expecting to find her mother’s vintage Limoges china in shards. Instead, each piece was in a sleeve and tucked neatly on edge in the sturdy dish barrel.
The end of their marriage had been a year in the making. In truth, they’d both dragged their feet. Now, standing at ground zero of the wreckage, she couldn’t blame him for wanting to pack up her things. Erase her. The only things she encountered on a daily basis were the items she’d taken with her last month. Cameron was surrounded by the debris of their marriage. Every room held memories, and Jo’s mark was still very much in evidence. She wandered among rooms until she stopped in the bedroom. It was at once familiar and yet so devastatingly foreign.
Drawer by drawer, she reminded herself of what still remained. She collected the last of her lingerie, a few sweaters, some outdoor gear, and piled it all on the chair in the corner. She was still in the bedroom when the garage door opened. Guilt coursed through her and she felt like a thief in her own home.
The inner door opened, his footsteps echoing through the kitchen. His kitchen.
“Jo?”
“I’m upstairs, just grabbing a few things.”
“Yours, right?” He bounded up the stairs.
Exactly the kind of crack she’d been trying to avoid. “Very funny. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to be home.”
“I’ve got court tomorrow. I traded shifts.” His eyes fell on her lavender silk nightgown, and she wished she’d left it in the dresser drawer. “The first time I ever saw you, you were wearing a dress that color.”
“I was a bridesmaid,” she reminded him. “There were three of us in that color.”
“Yeah, but you were the only one I asked to dance.” He smiled, but it was weighted with sadness and disappeared quickly. “I heard you’d hooked up with Aiden since he’s been back.”
She was too tired to parse words. “If by hook up, you mean visited, yes.”
“Sorry. That came out wrong.” He picked up the nightgown, then quickly released it as if the fabric sparked something in his brain that said he couldn’t—shouldn’t—touch such things anymore. “It’s just … I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About you. Us.”
The nightgown slid off the chair, landing in a messy heap on the carpet.
“Don’t,” Jo whispered.
He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “Of all the people in your life, Aiden’s the only one who ever made me jealous. From the first time you introduced me to him. There was … I don’t know. It’s like you two shared a secret language or something. I never understood it. I could never break in.”
“We grew up together.”
“It’s more than that. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you marry him?” He made a feeble attempt at a chuckle. “I’m sorry. It rea
lly doesn’t matter.”
She struggled to find the right words. “Aiden is my friend. I married you.”
“And in a few months, he’ll still be your friend.” He tried to mask his pain, but it thrummed just below his skin.
He deserved an answer, although she suspected the real question was not why she hadn’t married Aiden, but rather why the man she had married hadn’t been enough.
“We’re too much alike, Aiden and I. Someday one of us would’ve gotten the call that required a choice between the relationship or the job. The job would always come first.”
“It’s just a job, Jo.”
“It’s always meant more to me.”
“You can get a job anywhere. What’s hard is finding someone who’s seen you at your worst and still loves you.” Cameron removed his watch and laid it on the dresser. When he turned, he looked her in the eyes. “I found a couple of the guys gawking at a magazine in the locker room yesterday. One of them said he’d left it on your desk as a joke. He realized after seeing you charge down the hallway with your hair on fire that you probably hadn’t found it nearly as funny. He hightailed it back to your office and grabbed it. It’s a disciplinary action, so I can’t go into detail. But it’s taken care of. You won’t have anything like that happen again.”
A joke. Her money was on Estes. “Not even a week with stripes and you’ve had to deal with a personnel issue. That’s brutal.”
“I’m trying, Jo.”
“Thanks.”
“You could have told me.”
“It wouldn’t have served any purpose.”
“You could have told me,” he repeated.
Jo hugged her husband, and that was her undoing. He rarely wore cologne, but he was today. The same cologne he’d worn on their first date. The first time they’d slept together. Their wedding day.
Her desire surprised her. Blindsided her as effectively as a sucker punch.
Cold still clung to the hair at the nape of his neck, and she twined her fingers through it. Any longer and he’d be breaking department policy.
She tilted her head back and brushed her lips against his—the man she’d promised to leave behind after vowing to love him forever.
“Look at me, Jo-elle.”
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. This close, the flecks of green in his irises seemed to separate from their blue background. When had this whole person ceased to be everything to her? Was it too late? Truly?
“I’ve never kissed a woman against her will. I’m not about to start with the woman I loved enough to marry.”
Had he tried to take something from her, she’d have resisted. Hidden behind her outrage. His reticence only made her want him more.
Heart pounding, she unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. It caught on a thread. His hand rose, and she thought he was going to stop her; instead he snapped the thin strand.
She wanted his weight against her. Needed the release of too many emotions all tied up in a bow of indecision. She wanted her husband back. A return to the life they had shared before it all went sideways. She placed her hand against his stomach. Traced the trail of dark hair to the top of his jeans.
“Jo-elle.”
His voice had a throaty note of hesitancy she didn’t recognize. It thrilled her. She brushed her fingers against the front of his jeans. Felt his desire for her.
She peeled off her clothes until she stood clad only in her underwear. Deliberately she removed her bra.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked.
Jo backed up until the bed hit the back of her knees and drew her husband down on top of her.
He fumbled with her panties, pushing them aside. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed.
This. This was the man she’d married. They’d pledged themselves to each other once. She knew how his chest hair felt against her breast, the heat of his breath against her thigh. She craved the taste of his sweaty skin and the weight of him pinning her to the bed. Spent.
His thrusts were fierce, urgent, and she clasped him tight. She needed him to make her forget. Forget their broken marriage. Forget the gut-wrenching disappointment of not getting the promotion. Forget the horrible things people did to each other in the name of love.
He buried his face in her hair, groaned, and it was over.
Jo needed more.
Cameron’s weight eased as he propped himself up on his elbow and looked down into her face. He traced the outline of her breast. Smiled that crooked little grin that made her melt. “I’m glad I traded shifts.”
“Me too.”
He rolled off the bed and headed toward the bathroom. “You saved me a trip.”
She stretched, enjoying the expanse of the bed. Their bed. “A trip?” Oils from his face and hair had stained the pillowcase over time. Couldn’t he remember to wash his sheets?
The sound of the shower turning on nearly muffled his reply. “I went to the courthouse today and filed the final papers. Your copy’s on the table.”
The shower door clanged behind him as he washed away the last trace of his wife.
Jo gathered her clothes and dressed.
The bike trainer would be in the garage. She draped the outdoor gear from the chair over her arm. The nightgown she left on the floor.
44
The Walsenbergs’ front door was flanked by two massive urns filled with spruces and bedecked with tartan ribbon that struck a holiday note. While Squint knocked, Jo kept a lookout down the street and tried not to yawn.
District attorney Zachary Walsenberg approached, his figure indistinct and wavy through the antique glass panels on either side of the portal. He unlocked the door and greeted Squint. “Good morning, Detective. You’re off to an early start.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry to disturb you at home, but I was hoping to discuss an unfolding case with you.”
“Of course, come in.”
Squint stepped forward, and for the first time the DA saw Jo. His lips flattened into a grim line, but he held the door until she entered. Inside, a crystal-covered Douglas fir towered in the center of the foyer. Even this early in the morning, tiny white lights blinked within the boughs. The DA brushed past her and led them both into his office.
Unlike the spartan tidiness of his work office, a more relaxed feel pervaded his home office. He still favored dark-wood furniture, but this was as much a retreat as a working space, with sports memorabilia on one wall, two leather club chairs angled around a small table, and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase behind them.
“Won’t you sit down?” Walsenberg offered.
“No thank you, sir,” Squint answered. “This isn’t a social call.”
“I didn’t believe it was, Detective MacAllister. Friends usually wait until a more civilized hour.”
Jo wandered over to the bookcase and perused the titles. Plenty of law books for gravitas. Biographies took up an entire shelf—mostly political personages. Julius Caesar. Machiavelli. Churchill. Powell. More sports. A collection of thrillers—again leaning toward the political. The history of Echo Valley. Scrapbooks and photo albums.
“Sir,” Jo said, taking over now that Squint had gotten them through the door. “Is there anything you can share with us about Tye Horton?”
The DA stood with his back to the wall. “I’ve already told you I didn’t know the man beyond that he was an acquaintance of my son’s.”
“Yes, that’s true, but originally you hadn’t even remembered that. I was hoping you might have remembered something else. Anything could be helpful.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“You ran his name through NCIC and other databases last February. Does that remind you of anything?”
He blinked. “February. That’s ten months ago. I don’t recall why I’d have the occasion to run his name.”
“I’m perplexed about it as well, because as far as I can tell, he wasn’t involved in any sort of investigation. You’re certain you don’t recall the reason?” She
considered mentioning the other two names but decided to hold that back.
She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Alice Walsenberg stood with her hand raised as if caught midknock. How much had she heard? Jo inclined her head. “Mrs. Walsenberg.”
Alice’s gaze fell first on Jo but quickly skittered between Squint and her husband. “Zachary?”
The DA smiled at his wife. “There’s been a misunderstanding, Alice. It’ll be sorted out in no time.”
That seemed to satisfy her.
“Would anyone like coffee? I was about to make a pot.”
“That’s kind of you, sweetheart, but we’re almost wrapped up here. They won’t be staying.”
Alice took a step toward the door.
“Ma’am,” Jo said. “Is anything in this room yours?”
Alice laughed, but her eyes flicked toward a short file cabinet next to the DA’s desk. “We’ve been married for nineteen years, Detective. Last time I checked, Colorado was a community property state.”
“Your business is with me, Detective. This is my office.”
“So everything in here belongs to you, Mr. Walsenberg?”
“Asked and answered. Get to your point.”
“May we search your office, sir?” Jo asked.
Another slow blink.
“Surely you know my answer, Detective Wyatt.”
“How dare you.” Alice sprang forward like a lioness intent on bringing down a threat. “My husband is the district attorney.” She rounded on Squint. “Does Chief Grimes know of this?”
The outburst was not entirely unexpected, but Jo had anticipated outrage from the DA, not his wife.
Squint held his hat in his hand and motioned with it as if to direct her to a chair.
“Don’t you dare tell me where to go in my own home.” She swatted his hand and knocked the Stetson to the floor.
Jo took a step closer, but Squint remained unruffled and calmly retrieved his hat off the rug.
“I’ll see to it that you’ll both be out of jobs come tomorrow,” she continued.
“Alice.” The DA intervened and wrapped his arm around his ramrod-straight wife and kissed the side of her head. It had the desired effect, and Alice relaxed against him.
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