Grave Instinct

by Bev Pettersen

  “Is this some sort of clue?” he asked, still frowning.

  “No, it’s food,” she said. “Part of my apology. I’m sorry for thinking so crazy, you know, about Erin. It’s always been easier to blame you than m-me.” She paused, surprised at the lump in her throat and how it was making her voice crack. She studied his face, searching for any hint of softening. His mouth was still flat but at least he hadn’t slammed the door in her face.

  Swallowing, she forged on. “You’re right about old baggage. Erin’s probably always going to be my hot spot. But I need to stop jumping to conclusions, letting it drive my life, and interfering with, you know, important relationships.”

  “It’s okay, Nikki.” His voice sounded too resigned to make her feel much better. However he did reach out a chiseled arm and take the food, and she caught the flare of his nostrils. “Smells good,” he said. “Is it from Vinny’s?”

  “Yes, and there’s lots. Enough for a family of four. He’s always giving extra.” She pressed her mouth shut, didn’t want to sound like she was trying to extract an invitation. Worse, she was babbling, something she never did.

  “Why don’t you take some home,” he said, peering into the bag. “You’re probably hungry too. I don’t need all this.”

  So he was alone. But he didn’t want to invite her in.

  Not surprising. His home was his refuge—the place to escape the demands of his job—and her conversation always circled back to police topics. She used him as a sounding board for Erin and it was time to ease up. She pulled in a breath, steeling herself for rejection.

  “Or we could eat it together,” she said. “And I promise not to talk about law enforcement, fighting techniques or my sister.”

  “Think you can do that?” His skeptical expression made her think a long moment before answering.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I’d like to try.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Try some more cannelloni,” Nikki said, sliding the cardboard container closer to Justin’s plate. “It’s Vinny’s signature dish.”

  Gunner glanced up from his spot on the floor, his eyes hopeful. Justin hadn’t hesitated about inviting her dog in. As soon as he’d spotted Gunner, he’d strode over and opened the car door.

  “No, thanks,” Justin said, tapping his stomach. “I’m full. It’s a good thing Gunner is around to take care of leftovers.”

  “I thought you might not want him inside,” she said. It was understandable Justin didn’t want hair everywhere. His sleek kitchen dissolved into a luxurious den with a Persian rug, copper light fixtures and watercolors displayed over a circular stone fireplace. She was no connoisseur but even the art looked expensive.

  “Gunner lived here for a while,” Justin said. “He knows the rules.”

  “Which are?”

  “Dogs stay downstairs. No climbing on furniture or unnecessary barking.”

  Easy enough. Gunner certainly didn’t look inclined to break them, not like at Robert’s where he kept sneaking into the pool area. Although if dogs were so graciously accepted, it meant she was the one who had never ranked an invite.

  “I remember your last place,” she said, working hard to keep the wistfulness from her voice. “We always used to barbecue after our workouts.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was fun.”

  He nodded.

  “And you had that detector to check beneath cars,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  She cradled her wine glass, trying to think of a way to draw him out—a way that didn’t veer into police talk. There was definitely a wall between them, and it was even more apparent now that they’d finished eating. He was doling out words like they were blocks of gold and she longed for their old camaraderie. “You’ve been here for what...two years?” she asked.

  “Five.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize it was that long.”

  “You’ve been focused.”

  She shot him a wary look. Was that a polite way of saying she’d been obsessed with finding Erin? But she wasn’t going to apologize. At one time, he’d been similarly obsessed. They’d certainly never struggled for conversation before. Of course, always before they had Erin to talk about. And when Nikki had been a kid at the barn, they’d been busy discussing horses.

  She’d promised not to talk about police work but horses seemed a safe subject, so long as it didn’t lead back to the stable. Questions still nagged at her about that day, like if Pancho had been cut by spurs. But she pressed her lips together, realizing that staying on safe topics was rather difficult. And it was quite a revelation that she couldn’t go thirty minutes without talking about her sister.

  A smile played over Justin’s mouth. Clearly he’d picked up on her frustration. But that was okay because his amusement was far better than disinterested one-word replies.

  “I’ve been a pain, haven’t I?” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I understand that no one wants to talk about old cases. The other detectives stopped returning my calls ages ago.”

  He moved his hand out from beneath hers and reached for the wine bottle. “That’s because you remind us of our failures. And even cops need to escape those for a while.”

  She gave a silent wince. Despite her best intentions, she’d pushed the conversation back into work. Worse, she’d done it inside his home, his sanctuary from the horrors of his job.

  “I’ll always return your calls,” he went on. “Your loyalty and fire is admirable. Don’t ever lose that. I just wish you’d ease up on the witch hunts. I never know what direction you’re running.”

  His words were level but there was an edge to his voice. He’d never asked her to ease up. In fact, countless times he’d helped her and Robert check out fringe suspects: the hiker who happened to have a criminal record, the vet student who had visited the barn, and the male librarian who’d found Erin a history book and given her his private number.

  “You never called them witch hunts before,” Nikki said. “Only after I asked where you were at four o’clock that day. If our positions were reversed, I’d certainly expect questions. And answers. I am an investigator after all, something you encouraged me to become.” Sighing, she set down her glass. “But I’m talking about Erin again. Seems I can’t stop. So I’ll go now.”

  “I was moving shavings from the pit to the shed that day,” Justin said tonelessly. “That’s where I was between four and four-thirty.”

  Shock froze her. That was a lie, and not a very good one. Justin had never wasted time with bedding. That was the handyman’s job; shavings were trucked in every Saturday morning when stable workers—kids like her and Erin—were around to shovel. Then through the week they moved the shavings to the back of the barn as required for the stalls.

  But there had been shavings stockpiled at the end of the barn. She remembered her relief when she saw she didn’t have to push a wheelbarrow back and forth to the outside pit. It had sped up her job, leaving her time to practice braiding. Had Justin done that? She shook her head in confusion. “Why?”

  “You were a spunky little kid,” he said. “But cleaning all those stalls for your sister was wearing you down. I thought you needed help.”

  That made sense. He’d always helped anyone who was struggling. But she hadn’t been asking why he’d done it, but why hadn’t he told her in the car when she had asked. It was almost as if he was embarrassed. The truth would have cleared everything up though, and the trip to the K-9 facility might have ended differently. And much more pleasurably.

  She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing.

  “I gave a complete accounting of my time to the police,” Justin added dryly. “And there were other people that confirmed my whereabouts. So you can stop looking at me like I’m a suspect.”

  The fact that other people had confirmed his whereabouts didn’t jive with the information in her office file, but re-stocking the shavings explained a lot. And the relief that warmed her chest was more than
welcome. “You never really were a suspect,” she said. “Besides, I have a new name. I’ll tell you about him another day.”

  This time it was Justin who grabbed her hand. “Tell me now. It’s dangerous for you to be chasing these leads alone.”

  “Okay,” she said happily. She always liked to talk about this stuff with Justin and the fact that he was holding her hand made it even better. “His name is Thomas Carlton. He’s doing life for drug running, money laundering and murder. Turns out my father was one of the cops who played a part in his conviction. And Carlton had a habit of making people disappear. Of getting even.”

  “Carlton was big money at the track,” Justin said slowly. “But that was a long time ago and he’s been locked up for years. Long before Erin disappeared.”

  “Yes, but what if he was biding his time? Waiting to take his revenge?”

  “Doesn’t feel right. And previous investigators never believed there was a link. But it’s true your father was the keystone of that case. His evidence was invaluable.”

  There it was again. Someone praising her father. And though Justin didn’t realize it, his hand was still wrapped around hers, his touch both exciting and soothing. His scowl wasn’t soothing though. And it seemed to deepen the more he thought about Carlton.

  “I better check.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “See if Carlton has any power. Find out if he had a vendetta for your family.”

  “But there’s no one left in my family. Only me.”

  “Exactly,” Justin said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Nikki stretched back against the sofa, her left hand trailing over Gunner’s head, the other cupping the glass of wine Justin kept filled. It had been a long time since she’d felt so relaxed. Not talking about Erin wasn’t so difficult. In fact, she hadn’t mentioned the case in almost an hour, not since Justin promised to check up on Carlton. Knowing he was following up was a big relief. She’d already made an appointment to visit Carlton’s ex-wife so between the two of them they had things under control.

  Admittedly, the dinner and wine contributed to her sense of well-being but it wasn’t only that. Justin was back to his old self, and they talked about everything from politics and sports to the best vacation hiking trails. He’d traveled much more than her; his art pieces had been picked up in various countries. He was also still a passionate horse lover. One of his walls was entirely devoted to race pictures.

  “I like the picture of the two horses in the stretch,” she said. “Where one wants to win so much, he’s reaching over to bite.”

  “That’s Great Prospector, doing anything he can to cross the wire first.” The approval in Justin’s voice showed he empathized with the horse trying to intimidate his rival.

  “The horses are certainly competitive,” she said. “It was obvious that time you took me to the races. That day was so much fun.”

  “Then why did you refuse to come with me again?”

  She was about to shrug it off but his eyes were intent, as if her answer was important. “I felt guilty,” she said. “Having fun, laughing, forgetting. Mom wasn’t pleased when I came home...” She let her voice trail off, determined not to mention Erin’s name and wreck the evening.

  “Your mom was probably sensitive about the track,” Justin said. “Your father spent a lot of time there.”

  “You mean when he was working the Carlton case?”

  “No, he was always a big race fan. He even founded a Thoroughbred ownership group. It’s been over twenty years and officers are still having fun with it.”

  “But we didn’t have money like that.” She tilted her head in confusion. “Certainly not enough to own a racehorse.”

  “Ownership consortiums don’t cost much. Anyone can buy in with a modest investment. That’s how I got started. Five hundred bucks and I was the proud owner of a chestnut mare called Beginner’s Luck.” His laugh was rich and deep, as if the memory still brought pleasure. “Me and twenty-nine other cops.”

  “But there was never any horse talk at our house. Mom didn’t like horses. She was so upset when I went to the track with you that day. It was easier to just avoid horses considering the way she yelled. And all the other stuff she dredged up.”

  Nikki felt disrespectful, speaking about her mother, remembering her tirades. But Justin simply wrapped an arm around her shoulder. His touch was reassuring, as was his silence. He never asked questions about her relationship with her mom; he already knew.

  “I have a picture of your dad at the track,” he said after a moment. “I bought a yearling by one of Carlton’s stallions and the manager sent me some photos from the stud’s stakes wins. It must have been taken when your dad was posing as a groom. Want me to pull it out?”

  A week ago she would have spurned the offer but now she hesitated. Part of her reluctance came from their position on the sofa. Justin had shifted so that his arm draped over the back of the couch but his hand still rested on her shoulder. And she wasn’t in a hurry for him to move.

  “That picture must have been early in the investigation,” she said. “Because I already learned that Dad was a driver for Carlton. That’s how he was able to tape all the incriminating conversations. I’m meeting with Carlton’s ex-wife tomorrow, see what she remembers. Based on our phone call, it sounds as if she doesn’t like him much.”

  Justin’s hand tightened over her shoulder, his grip a warning. “Be careful poking around. Carlton might be protective. I know his brother is still active. Their organization isn’t the powerhouse it once was, but it still has bite. When I talk to the warden, I’ll find out who’s on Carlton’s visitor list. See if his ex stays in touch. She may not be entirely truthful.”

  “When will you talk to the warden?”

  “Tomorrow,” Justin said.

  She twisted in surprise. Robert thought any warden talks would take weeks, if not months. Clearly Justin had more clout. He’d always been a staunch friend, never worrying about calling in favors on her behalf and always interested in her life. Yet he had interests like horse racing she hadn’t even known about.

  It was as if she’d been wearing blinkers all these years. Certainly she’d participated in many activities with him—martial arts, conditioning and visiting the shooting range—but those had been driven by her goal to find Erin. She’d also refused to talk about her father and that close-mindedness in someone else would have left her frustrated. But that was going to change.

  “Yes.” She gave a smiling nod. “I’d love to see that picture of Dad.”

  Justin squeezed her shoulder, rose and disappeared into what looked like an office, judging by the partially visible bookcase.

  He returned with a thick binder. “There might be pictures from the riding stable mixed in,” he warned.

  She nodded. It had been her mother, not her, who had cleansed their home of every photo containing a horse, or a picture of her father. Her mom had been forever thrusting albums at Robert, pleading for him to get rid of them. Justin had been privy to some of her mother’s rants and even one pointed reference that Erin’s abductor must have worked at the stable. Nikki had been horrified and embarrassed, and clearly Justin remembered.

  “It’ll be good to see all the pictures,” she said with a smile.

  And it was. In fact, it was rather cathartic flipping through the pages, listening to Justin’s deep voice introducing her to the various horses he’d known. His family had owned horses since he was a kid, but he hadn’t been drawn into racing until his first year as a rookie cop.

  Halfway through the album, he stopped, pointing out Carlton’s horse. She barely twitched when he tapped the decades-old picture of her father grinning from the winner’s circle, looking impossibly young and full of vitality.

  “Hard to believe he was working undercover,” she said, studying her father’s cocky grin. It wasn’t just the coloring she’d inherited from him, but also his eyes and mouth.

  “Apparently he was good at his job,” Justin said.
“The first from his class to make it into undercover.”

  “Sometimes I wish he hadn’t,” she said, surprised by the empathy she felt for her father. She hadn’t had much sympathy before, deciding he’d been a coward for giving up on life. “Maybe if he hadn’t been exposed to all that darkness, he’d still be alive.”

  “It’s a tough job,” Justin said. “I’m sure your mother wasn’t comfortable with him disappearing for weeks at a time. The best can burn out, no matter how much support they receive at home.”

  Or how little. Nikki doubted her mother had been super supportive. Although she remembered the laughter when her parents were together; they’d seemed happy. Her mother had been so quiet after he died. The sniping and blame pointing hadn’t started until after Erin disappeared. Looking at her father’s confident face, remembering his infectious laugh, made it hard to believe that short months later he would take his own life.

  She traced her finger over the picture. He looked carefree, a victorious groom standing in the winner’s circle beside Carlton’s horse. But he must have been terrified that his identity would be exposed. Maybe it had. Perhaps he hadn’t chosen to leave his life, his family…her.

  “Is there any possibility Carlton got to him?” She kept her voice light, knowing she was grasping. The coroner had ruled it a suicide; her father had been found slumped over a park bench with his gun in his hand. He’d been thoughtful though, making sure there was no mess in their home. And that his body would be quickly discovered by a beat cop.

  She felt Justin’s narrowed gaze. “There was never a note,” she added.

  “I never realized you had doubts.” His arm tightened, pulling her closer. “You never said anything before.”

  “I never spoke about him before. And I didn’t know about the Carlton case. Not until Tony mentioned it.”

  “Fair enough,” Justin said. “Want me to take a look?”

  “You always do so much. I didn’t come here for that.”