Detective Daddy

by Mallory Kane

  “Wait a minute,” she muttered and flipped back to the first page. Then raised her gaze to his. “Your dad was shot, but your mother was strangled?”

  “I thought you were going back to bed,” he remarked.

  “I’ll go to bed when you do,” she said, then blushed. She cleared her throat and continued. “You’re obviously planning to go through all this, and I don’t think you should do it alone.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, grabbing the Fingerprints folder.

  “Right. Now let me read what the M.E. says about the cause of death.”

  Ash opened the folder and let his eyes roam over the information that he already knew by heart.

  After a few minutes, Rachel looked up. “Why would he shoot your dad but strangle your mother?”

  Ash closed his folder, marking his place with a finger. He leaned his head back against the couch cushion and closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to strangle both of them but Dad woke up so he had to shoot him.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Rachel said. “Plus he shot him at point-blank range. The M.E. notes that the bullet went all the way through your Dad’s heart and the mattress and was embedded in the hardwood floor.”

  Ash grimaced. It irritated him that he was still bothered by all this. He’d read these reports several times over the past four years. He was a homicide detective. By now he should be able to look at this case with the same detachment he brought to his other cases. “What other explanation is there? Did he shoot Dad, then decide the gun made too much noise?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Although, it wouldn’t have made much noise pressed up against his chest like that.”

  Ash felt a shudder tighten his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, Ash. I’m not trying to be insensitive—”

  “I know you’re not. Go ahead. I’ve read all these findings over and over again, but I’ve never been able to talk about them to anyone, certainly not a criminalist. I’m glad you’re going through the files with me.”

  She went back to the M.E.’s report. “The M.E. concludes that your dad was killed first, then your mom, because the blood spatter on your mom’s face and neck was smeared. That makes sense. He says that it appears she tried to get out of bed, but was dragged back. Her feet were out from under the covers.”

  Ash closed his eyes. “That’s right. I remember from the crime scene photos.”

  “You’ve got the crime scene photos?” Rachel said, her voice rising in excitement. “Let me see them.”

  He pointed toward the folder, then stood. “If you don’t mind, I’ll pass on looking at them again.”

  Rachel took the folder and stood. “I’ll look at them at the kitchen table,” she said, her voice suddenly soft and gentle.

  He nodded and sat back down and read the fingerprint report again.

  By the time Rachel had finished going over the photos, Ash had set the fingerprint report aside and picked up the folder containing the detectives’ reports. He was deep into Hammond’s record of his initial findings when Rachel came back into the living room and set the closed folder on the coffee table.

  Ash looked up, his eyebrows raised and a lump of dread in his chest.

  “Everything I saw was consistent with the M.E.’s report. I agree with his findings, just exactly as he wrote them. I don’t think there’s any need to review the photos again.”

  The lump in Ash’s chest shrunk a little.

  “But, Ash. There are a couple of things I don’t understand.”

  “Just two?” he asked.

  She shrugged with a wry smile. “Two in particular. First, according to the M.E.’s report, the abrasions on your mom’s finger were made by ripping off a ring. But your dad wore a ring, too, and there was a gold money clip with several hundred dollars in it on the dresser.”

  Ash nodded. “The clip had Dad’s initials on it. He might have figured it would be hard to fence.”

  “He could have left the clip. The money, though—why didn’t he take the money?”

  “Maybe he heard something when he was taking Mom’s ring. Decided he’d better get out of there.”

  Rachel shook her head. “Maybe. But I’ll bet your mom’s ring was also engraved. It would make it hard to fence.”

  “I don’t know whether it was or not. We could ask Aunt Angie.”

  “It’s almost as if he shot your dad just to get him out of the way. Like his real target was your mom.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Ash protested.

  “I know it doesn’t,” she said. “It just doesn’t feel like a burglary gone bad.” She tapped the detectives’ reports in Ash’s hand. “The ring wasn’t found on Campbell, right?”

  “Yeah. Hammond notes here that Campbell must have dropped it. CSI searched around the grounds and turned his house upside down, but they never found it.”

  “Well, that wasn’t the only thing he dropped, then. What happened to the gun?”

  Ash frowned at her. “I don’t know.”

  “Campbell didn’t have a gun on him when they picked him up, right?”

  “Right. And as far as I remember, they didn’t find anything at his house.”

  “Right. Not even evidence of other burglaries. Just the jewelry and coins he had on him from the neighbors’ houses.”

  Ash tapped the folder he was holding. “This is Hammond’s initial report. It’s—” he shook his head “—odd.”

  “Odd?”

  “This morning after the press conference, he told me the case against Campbell was essentially open-and-shut. But according to his report, it’s not. I mean, he lists all this stuff—the missing gun, Dad’s ring and money clip, which were left untouched, the lack of fingerprints—but he doesn’t say a word about the inconsistencies. The more I read, the more I find that doesn’t add up. There’s an awful lot that’s not explained.”

  “I know. Are we missing something?” Rachel asked.

  “I can’t think what. But we’re looking at the evidence twenty years later. Maybe we’re jaded. We take all this technology for granted. I’m going to ask Hammond about it tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure Uncle Charlie did the best he could. My dad thought he was the best detective on the force.”

  “I’m not saying he did anything wrong. I just want to find out what I’m missing. What made the case open-and-shut.”

  “They should have had pretty good ballistics data. Where’s the ballistics report?” she asked.

  He pointed to the box. “In there somewhere.”

  She dug into the box and he went back to reading Hammond’s report. After a few seconds, she pulled out a folder and sat down to read.

  “Here it is,” she said. “The forensics lab concluded that the bullet recovered from the floor underneath the bed came from a .22 caliber semiautomatic handgun. It says here that ‘although the bullet was deformed from impact, the striations were consistent with a Smith & Wesson 22A.’”

  She turned a page and then another. “They didn’t find a match in the database, so the gun was clean.”

  “Yeah, at least it hadn’t been used in a crime in this area. That’s another thing about the technology. These days we can check if a gun’s got a dead body connected to it anywhere in the country—hell, in the world.”

  Rachel nodded and read a little farther. “Campbell didn’t have gunshot residue on his person or his clothes, either.” She sat back with a long sigh.

  “Hey. There’s a page here where Hammond listed the suspects,” Ash said. “He’s got Uncle Craig listed here. Come on, Chief, that’s just stupid. They weren’t even living in Missouri at the time.”

  “Well, obviously they didn’t pursue him for long,” Rachel commented. “Who else?”

  “Martin Thames. He was a senior vice president at Kendall Communications. Apparently he and my dad didn’t get along at all, according to people Hammond interviewed. He’s got a note here about recent firings at the company. There are four names here. All o
f them had alibis.” Ash looked up at Rachel. “That’s no surprise,” he said.

  “Right,” she replied. “It was Christmas Eve.”

  Ash went back to reading. “Here he’s got some jotted impressions. Campbell—guilty?? Others—alibis. Jewelry & coins on Campbell’s person. Nothing at house.”

  “Sounds like he had a pretty good circumstantial case against Campbell,” Rachel said.

  “Whoa,” Ash said, surprised by the next few lines. “I’ll be damned.”

  “What?” Rachel said, looking up.

  “Listen to this,” Ash said. “Campbell claims saw man near Kendall house. Man saw him & ran. No description. No time. C. trying to throw off suspicion? I never heard this. There was someone else sneaking around the mansion that night.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ash stared at Hammond’s report. “I can’t believe we were never told that another unknown suspect was there that night.”

  “Uncle Charlie doesn’t say anything else about him?” Rachel asked.

  “Not here.”

  “Ask him about it.”

  “I plan to,” Ash said, flipping pages. “Here’s the transcript of Devin’s 9–1–1 call.”

  “Devin called?”

  “Yeah. I remember hearing Natalie screaming—” Ash stopped. He had to swallow before he could continue.

  Rachel scooted closer to him and laid her hand on top of his. It bothered him that her touch helped.

  “I wondered why Mom was letting her cry like that. Then I heard Devin running down the hall. After a few seconds he screamed, too.” Ash squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them. “I ran and Thad was right behind me. By the time I got there and saw—what had happened, Devin was calling 9–1–1.”

  Rachel’s fingers curved around his and she squeezed. “I’m so sorry, Ash.” Her eyes were filled with tears.

  He shook his head without opening his eyes. “I guess it’s never going to get easier,” he said, his voice shaky. He took a deep breath.

  “I hate to hear that but I understand. It’s only been seven years since my dad was killed, but I still miss him so much.” She sighed. “Anyway, you were saying Devin called 9–1–1.”

  “Right. The police came within a few minutes. There were two policewomen who took us back into the other wing, where our bedrooms were. Marie, the housekeeper, was there by then. She lived in the guesthouse. She held Natalie and rocked her, trying to calm her down.”

  He leaned his head back against the couch cushion again. “Somebody gave Natalie something to relax her and stop her from crying. Now that I think about it, it was probably the M.E. She went to sleep finally, and Devin and Thad and I all sat on Devin’s bed. I have no recollection of what we did. But we were still there huddled together when Uncle Craig and Aunt Angie arrived late that evening.”

  “Ash—”

  He held up a hand. “Don’t, Rachel. I know.”

  “But—”

  “Let’s just talk about the case, okay?”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Where were your aunt and uncle? Where did they come from?”

  “They lived in California.” Ash leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “They moved out there after my cousin Connor was killed when a car lost control and hit him on a sidewalk. But they came back here and took care of us. We were lucky to have them.”

  Rachel touched his hand again, but he pulled away and sat back. He didn’t want her sympathy. He didn’t much want her there at all while he dug through the piles of evidence about his parents’ murder. But he valued her insight as a criminalist. And it was good to be able to talk about the case with someone. Nobody in his family could stand to listen to the details.

  He picked up the Fingerprints folder, determined to get back to the facts. “The fingerprints are pretty straightforward. After ours were eliminated from the bedroom, there were no unidentified prints.”

  “None?” Rachel asked.

  Ash smiled. “Marie was obsessive about cleaning. She and the day maid both wore gloves for everything—and I mean everything. She even wore gloves when she set the table.”

  “Wow,” Rachel said. “What about the rest of the house?”

  He nodded. “The glass in the front door was broken. But whoever did it was wearing gloves, because where prints should have been, there were only smears. Not even a partial.”

  “Whoever he was, he was certainly prepared. It sounds like he thought of everything.”

  “Too bad they didn’t have DNA testing back then. They might have found a trace somewhere and been able to identify him.”

  Beside him, Rachel stiffened. “Oh, God,” she gasped. “Oh, no!” Her hands flew to cover her mouth.

  “What?” Ash demanded. “Are you sick?”

  “No! No.” She shook her head. “I just remembered something—oh, no.” She tapped her forehead with her fist. “I am so stupid.”

  “Rach—”

  She met his gaze, shaking her head. “The day I took the DNA report by the commissioner’s office, I was on my way to a doctor’s appointment.” Her face was turning pale. “That was the day I found out I was pregnant.”

  Ash waited without speaking for her to continue.

  “I had the office copy with me. I was going to take it in the next morning and file it, but I forgot.” She paused, pressing her lips tightly together.

  “Ash, I was wrong when I told you that nothing was missing from my apartment. Whoever broke in took the DNA report that proves Rick Campbell is innocent.”

  “You’re sure it was there?”

  “Yes. I remember now. It must have fallen under the bed. I remember laying it on the bedside table that evening when I got home from work.”

  “The commissioner’s office had the original, right?”

  “Yes. But Ash, if the burglar knew I had that report, and broke in to get it—”

  “Then the break-in is somehow connected to my parents’ murder.” Ash sat up. “I’ve got to call Neil and let him know.”

  RACHEL WAS WRAPPED IN Ash’s strong arms. She came awake slowly, sighing with contentment. Her hand rested on his lean abs, which rose and fell with his slow, deep breaths.

  She opened her eyes to darkness, the only light coming from the kitchen. Her head was nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. She took a deep breath, filled with the scent of him. He smelled like rain and fresh breezes—the scent of the detergent he washed his T-shirts in—and warm tan skin. She loved it.

  She craned her neck slightly and looked up at his face. It was planed in shadows that cut across the strong line of his jaw. His eyelashes were ridiculously thick. They rested on his high cheekbones and cast feathery shadows on his skin. His nose was long. Its straight lines gave his face an elegant symmetry. By anyone’s standards he was handsome. By hers, he was gorgeous.

  His lashes fluttered as he opened his eyes. The kitchen light reflected like green fire in his eyes as a corner of his mouth turned up. “Hi, there,” he whispered.

  “Hi, yourself,” she answered.

  “How’d we end up like this?” he asked, yawning.

  She hadn’t been awake long enough to think about that. She’d been basking in the feel of him. She laughed softly. “The last thing I remember was reading the detectives’ reports.”

  Ash shifted. “That’s right. I’d given you half of them.” He yawned again and stretched.

  “Well, someone turned off the lamp.”

  He closed his eyes and pulled her closer. “Oh, yeah. I did.”

  “Oh, yeah, you did?” she teased, sliding her hand around to his ribs and digging her fingers in.

  “Hey!” he gasped, twisting away. “Stop it. I’m not ticklish.”

  “Oh, of course you aren’t. You’re just laughing to be polite.”

  He caught her hand. “Seriously, stop it. I don’t want to wake up yet.”

  “No?”

  He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “No,” he murmured, sliding her hand u
p to the back of his neck. “I like this dream.”

  “Mmm, me, too,” she murmured, letting her fingertips drift across his nape.

  His palm played along her forearm and on past her shoulder and down her rib cage. Her skin tingled where he touched. She traced the line of his jaw, thinking as she had when they were dating, that it was the barometer of his mood. Sometimes he clenched it so tightly the muscle quivered. Right now it was smooth and relaxed under his morning stubble. Absently, she twirled her finger in little circles on his skin.

  She felt the muscles move as he smiled. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “Giving you a jaw massage. It’s where you keep all your tension.”

  “It’s not tense now, is it?”

  “No.” Without thinking about what she was doing, she let her fingers drift to the corner of his mouth and around to touch his lips.

  He shifted and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her on top of him.

  “Ash—” she gasped. “What are you doing?”

  But by the time she’d gotten the words out, he’d lifted her. She grabbed his forearms and straddled him, because that was the only place she could put her legs.

  She opened her mouth to protest again, but his hands were sliding up, up, underneath her pajama top, until his thumbs caressed the underside of her breasts. His touch stole her breath and sent sudden hot longing searing through her. His erection grew rigid and tight through his jeans.

  “Ash—” she rasped, trying and failing to sound like none of this was getting to her. “This is probably not a good idea—”

  Her words were sucked right out of her as his thumbs moved up to pinch and tease her nipples. She felt them harden into tight, throbbing nubs. Each flick of his thumbs sent another thrill skittering along her nerve endings. The exquisite lightning bolts of pleasure he coaxed from her nipples sizzled all the way through her, calling up an answering flare from her very core.

  His erection grew even harder, if that were possible. It pulsed with energy, with his need. Her own need over-whelmed her, sending rationality flying right out of her head.