Mounting Evidence

by Karis Walsh

  And no more following that particular train of thought. Kira tried to focus. On Abby’s aura of strength and self-confidence. On the advice Kira imagined she’d give, if she were here, about how to handle this situation. To keep control, to pay attention to her surroundings. Kira couldn’t see anything but darkness, couldn’t hear anything but the car’s engine and the rush of air, couldn’t smell anything but the revolting, thick fumes. She still tasted the man’s sweat, but once she concentrated there was more. Something bitter and aromatic in her mouth. Aftershave.

  Had she been right to be worried about Tad’s threats? Kira felt a small glimmer of pride. She had a new piece of information—albeit small and not much help to her yet—but she had controlled her emotions enough to find it. She reached out a little further with her awareness.

  She moved her arm and felt the rough carpet chafe her skin. Her right elbow had been scraped, either when she was pushed inside or during her vain attempts to get out again. She remembered the crime shows she’d seen when a victim was transported in a trunk. Detectives looked for fibers, blood, some proof the person had been there. Of course, those shows rarely ended with the victim being found alive, but she quickly pushed that thought away. It didn’t help her now, didn’t belong in her head. She rubbed her raw elbow on the floor of the trunk and plucked at the hem of her T-shirt until she pulled a few threads loose, letting them drop to the carpet. Yet another act that didn’t do her much good at the moment, but it was a tiny victory over her fear. She lay still for a few seconds, her breathing still rough and fast, but not as panic-stricken now.

  As she lay there, motionless yet hurtling through the darkness, the aching parts of her body slowly seeped into her awareness. Her heels stung where she’d pounded them on the metal—with more force than she had realized, since the pain was intense. Her core muscles, supposedly strengthened by all the Pilates she did, were weak and tight after a mere few moments of extreme anxiety and the effort of supporting her raised, kicking legs. Useless pain. She had exerted herself but hadn’t had any real chance of succeeding in her escape attempts. She couldn’t let that happen again, let her panic overwhelm her common sense. Abby’s imagined voice rang in her head again: Don’t get exhausted, but save your strength. Don’t let images of what might happen in the hours ahead keep your mind from observing and analyzing the present. Don’t let a real chance to escape slip by because you were too blinded by fear to see it.

  Good ideas, yes. Easy to follow? Not a chance. The car turned, and Kira helplessly rolled across the trunk until her neck was strained against the cold metal wall. She felt the vehicle slow down and come to a stop. Her breathing increased again, every fiber of her body wanted to scream No! The fog of despair was as blinding as the bag over her head—she couldn’t see past it to find reason or control. She felt feral. Inhuman. Only the thought of Julie kept her from completely losing her grip.

  She was dragged out of the trunk, briefly through the cooling evening, and into a building. She tried to stay lucid enough to pick up clues about where she was, but the short journey left her sore and disoriented. A scraped shin on the pavement, a kick in the ribs, a fisted hand grabbing her hair and shoving her, face first, onto the hard floor. Without her ability to see, the outside world seemed oddly distant. Sounds echoed as if coming to her from the far end of a long tunnel. All she really knew was pain and fear.

  Then, as suddenly as it had started, the chaos receded and time slowed to its normal pace. She was hefted off the floor and slammed into a chair.

  “Let’s get one thing straight.” Tad’s voice was clear and undisguised. “This never happened. You’ll never tell anyone it happened. You won’t even let yourself believe it happened.”

  He’s going to kill me. Kira was more certain of that fact than she had ever been about anything. He wasn’t even making an effort to hide his identity from her.

  “Because if you do, it’ll be your daughter next, sitting in this room with me, helpless and trembling while I decide what to do to her.”

  Worse. Kira would rather die than have Julie experience even one minute of this defenseless terror. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move more than an inch without feeling like the plastic ties on her wrists and ankles were about to sever her limbs. But she was able to nod her head.

  “Good. We understand each other.” Tad’s voice was harsh. Cruel. Kira had heard the meanness in it last week and though she had taken a few small steps to protect herself and her daughter, it hadn’t been enough. Why hadn’t she fully trusted her instincts? Why had she—God, yet again—made such a costly mistake? “Now, let’s have a chat about my property. You didn’t seem inclined to listen to me last Friday, but maybe you’re more in the mood to pay attention tonight. You had a busy week, but you’ve discovered that my property isn’t really as vital a part of Tacoma’s wetland corridor as you originally thought, right?”

  He’d really put her through this just to build a few damned houses? Kira trembled with rage at her own vulnerability and fury at his violation of her. He grabbed her hair again, pulling the cloth hood tightly against her nose, and roughly shook her head back and forth.

  “Answer me when I talk to you,” he said. He let go and she sucked in air with spasmodic breaths. “Well?”

  She shuddered and shook her head. She was beaten. Defeated. No, Abby’s imagined voice echoed in her head. She had to cede the battles she couldn’t win and wait—and hope—for one she could.

  “Nicely done. Let’s try another. The buffer restrictions you placed on my site are wrong, and you’ll be amending them in my favor Monday morning, won’t you?”

  Kira nodded. She hated him. Wanted to kill him. Maybe more so because he was right. She’d sacrifice the wetland to keep Julie safe. And, selfishly, to protect herself from his insanity.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. I think you and I are going to get along better than—What the hell are you doing here?”

  Kira had barely registered the sound of a door closing and someone entering the room. All her focus centered on this new arrival. Friend or foe? Someone who might help her, or someone to make the night even worse? She heard low murmurs of a voice, but the sound was too muffled by the cloth and her pounding heart for her to identify the person’s words, let alone their intent or even gender.

  Tad didn’t bother to lower his voice, and Kira tried to fill in the gaps left in the conversation.

  “I told you I’d take care of this…Don’t get involved…I make the decisions here, not you. Just walk away and count the money we’ll make once this little bitch is out of our way.”

  She heard the hiss of a forceful whisper, and then sensed Tad had returned to her side. His leg brushed against her thigh, and she cringed. He put a hand on the top of her head, not pulling her hair this time but instead almost caressing her with a gesture in between a pat and a too-rough squeeze. She felt the need to vomit again, and now she didn’t care that her mouth was sealed shut.

  “You can watch if you want to,” Tad said with a bark of a laugh. “But you can’t stop me.”

  A crack that made her ears ring. The shudder of Tad’s hand before it slipped off her head. The hot splatter of liquid on her arms. Kira pushed her mind to figure out the rapid fire of sensations. Was she hurt? No. Was she safe yet? She had no idea.

  The quiet after the gunshot was even more disconcerting. She remained as still as possible, as if she could make herself disappear from sight, while what she assumed was Tad’s blood dripped down her arm and off her fingers. The other person—the killer—was still there. Standing close but not touching. Neither hurting her nor letting her go. Kira held her breath, the need for air overridden by the need to know what was coming next.

  She heard footsteps, the swish of a door opening, and the click of it shutting again. And Kira was left alone.

  Chapter Eight

  Abby sat on her porch and watched the sunrise. She leaned back in the deck chair, stretching her legs out in front of her and breathing in
the cool morning air. She felt good. Her muscles had finally adapted to their new work, and her tall leather boots had lost their stiffness as well. She still had blisters and a few bruises, but she had thoroughly enjoyed the week. Legs had been a blast to ride, and Abby had finally let herself…well, just be. Not be in charge—she had let Cal lead the demonstration and Rachel lead the mounted team. She also hadn’t had to be a Hargrove. Legs had been the focus of everyone’s attention. Kids and adults had crowded around the horses, wanting to pet them and ask questions, and they had barely looked at Abby’s face, let alone her name tag. She could see why Rachel and the team enjoyed the PR side of their job. There had been an interesting mix of celebrity and anonymity as she had been at once the center of attention, yet merely the one holding the horse’s reins.

  The deep navy sky was rimmed with color now. Amber and garnet and burnt orange cast Mount Rainier into a silhouette of looming black. Abby took a sip of her coffee and sighed. Two weeks away from her normal life. Away from the department headquarters and away from the private work she did on behalf of those wronged by her family. The former was official leave time and the latter was a gift she was allowing herself. She’d feel guilty about it, of course, but guilt was a constant companion. Any extra would be outweighed by the short-term fun of actually being a part of the team she had envisioned and implemented.

  The sky lightened to a soft blue, and the warm tones of the sunrise turned to cooler pinks and peaches. Abby had bought her run-down Victorian for a steep price, even though it had needed a ridiculous amount of repairs. She had walked through the rooms with their water-stained ceilings and windowsills covered with dead flies without really noticing them. She had stepped out on the back porch and had seen the view of Commencement Bay and Old Town Tacoma—the real reason she had come to see the house. The sky had been overcast, but she knew where the mountain would be visible on rare clear days. She had paid the crazy amount of money—expected in this part of the city even for a crappy house—and had gotten the major and priority repairs done to the plumbing and electricity as soon as she was able to afford them. She had always planned to decorate and renovate the rooms, but most of her money went, in various forms, to the people she needed to help. People her family of cops should have helped, but hadn’t. So she lived one step up from a college student in a dorm room, with mismatched particleboard furniture she’d assembled herself. But she had this view, and the momentary peace it brought her every night and morning.

  And now, for a short time, she had the Puyallup Fair, with the mounted police horses and the chance of seeing Kira again. Abby set her University of Puget Sound coffee mug on the table next to her and crossed her arms behind her head. She felt a twinge in her delts as she arched her back and stretched her spine tall. Her feelings for Kira were risky. She was already willing to make allowances on her no dating anyone associated with police work policy. Would it be so bad if she bent her rigid rules just this once? She had made reparations for her brother’s misconduct the best way she could, by giving the horse she loved to Kira’s daughter. A symbol of acceptance and unconditional love, meant to bring joy to a battered family. Her self-imposed obligation to Kira was fulfilled.

  Abby sat up with a jerking motion. Was this how it had started with her grandfather’s actions and her dad’s complicit acceptance? Was this the direction in which her brother was heading? Make a small allowance—what could it hurt?—and then bigger and bigger ones? No, she was making an unfair comparison. She and Kira weren’t involved in any police business, not anymore. She wouldn’t be tempted to fix her parking tickets or steal pens for her from the department’s supply rooms. Ridiculous. So why should she worry that she’d follow their footsteps in more serious matters?

  Because she understood just how easy it would be to fall prey to temptation. And because she wasn’t convinced she could overcome heredity by sheer will alone. She had been careful to avoid any hint of misconduct at work. No favoritism, no favors. No friendships formed that would give her even the slightest chance to err. Why was Kira able to tempt her when no one else ever had? Would it be a sin to get to know her a little better, in the context of the fair and the horse show and not in association with the domestic violence call Rick had apparently mishandled?

  Her phone vibrated, and Abby checked the caller ID. No name, but the prefix was a departmental one.

  “Hargrove,” she said. She hoped it wasn’t something that would keep her from riding again today.

  “Lieutenant, this is Carter from Homicide. Do you know a Kira Lovell?”

  Abby knocked over the table next to her as she bolted to her feet. She left the shattered glass on the patio and was heading inside to get dressed even as she answered.

  “Yes, I do. What happened? Is she—”

  “She’s okay. I didn’t mean to worry you,” Detective Bryan Carter said quickly. “She’s a little shaken and bruised, but she’ll be fine.”

  “What happened?” Abby yanked a uniform out of her closet and dropped her robe on the bedroom floor.

  “She was abducted from her home last night, presumably by Tad Milford. He’s a real-estate developer.”

  “I’m familiar with the name,” Abby said through clenched teeth. Her brother’s business partner. Rick had been investing in Milford Corporation’s spec building projects for a few years now. Abby was certain there were some shady aspects to her brother’s side venture, but she hadn’t investigated them fully yet. She had so many other Hargrove wrongs to put right that she’d probably be playing cleanup until long after she retired from her real job. All she knew so far was that Tad had given her a bad feeling the one time she had met him. She had been spot-on, apparently. She was startled by her sudden desire to seriously hurt him for whatever he’d done to Kira.

  “He’s the victim. Shot dead.”

  Abby paused as she struggled to fasten the clasp of her bra while holding the phone. “Did Kira…is she a suspect?”

  “No. She was tied up next to him. We got a tip this morning to go to his office, and we found them both there. She asked for you.” Carter’s voice shifted from matter-of-fact cop to human being. “Abby, she was there next to him all night. She couldn’t see what was happening, but she might have some clue about who the killer is. I thought, since you’re friends, you might be able to help her remember some details.”

  Abby wasn’t sure if his tone or his use of her given name made her most uneasy. She had to get to Kira, help her in any way she could. She hung up and finished getting dressed in seconds. It wasn’t until she was in the car and speeding toward Milford’s downtown office that she realized she and Kira were now irrevocably and unquestionably connected by Abby’s police career. Abby would do her best to support Kira through the long day of questions ahead of her, but any relationship—friendship or otherwise—was now off-limits to her.

  *

  Abby stepped under the crime-scene tape strung across the door to the Milford Corporation and was immediately cornered by Detective Carter. He had brown hair and wide-set hazel eyes, a somewhat portly build and quiet demeanor. His nondescript appearance concealed a shrewd and intuitive detective, and Abby usually appreciated his calm and methodical approach. Today, however, she wanted to push him out of the way and get to Kira, who was huddled in a black leather desk chair in the corner of the room, her knees pulled tightly to her chest and a blanket draped over her shoulders. She looked young and exhausted, still wearing the capris and summery top from the night before, and Abby wanted to rush right to her side, especially when Kira looked up and saw her. Abby had seen enough victims of trauma to recognize the shades of pain and haunted memories clouding her expression. She didn’t let her impatience show, however, and kept her tone neutral as she talked to Carter.

  “What’s going on? How did Ms. Lovell get involved?”

  “We’re still fitting together the pieces of the puzzle, but so far her side of the story checks out.” He flipped open his notebook and checked what he had written. “Sh
e’s a wetland biologist and she was fighting some proposed building he was planning to do because the land is connected to the Snake Lake watershed. She said Milford approached her at the fair last Friday and threatened her if she didn’t back off, but she said she wouldn’t. She left Puyallup about nine last night, and he must have been waiting at her home. She claims he attacked her from behind, knocking her down and restraining her. Her mouth was covered with duct tape so she couldn’t call for help. She was then—”

  “Julie,” Abby said. She heard the sharp note of concern in her voice, but she didn’t care. “Where’s Julie?”

  “Who? Oh, the daughter? She’s fine. She stayed at a friend’s house last night, but the parents are bringing her over. She’ll be here soon.”

  Abby felt her shoulders drop as relief made her feel suddenly tired. “Good. That’s good. Um, go on, please.”

  Carter looked at her for a moment before he nodded. “Sure, Lieutenant. So, Ms. Lovell was transported here in the trunk of Milford’s car. He put her in that chair over there.” Carter pointed at a metal folding chair in the center of the room. Abby had seen it when she first walked in, but the sight made her feel queasy. There was blood spatter on the floor around it. Close, very close, to it. Kira had been right next to Tad when he was shot. And then left there by the killer? That didn’t make any sense.

  “He roughed her up a little,” Carter said. “Threatened to do the same to her daughter if she didn’t drop the whole wetland thing. She agreed to his terms, but then someone else came in the room. This is where it gets a little hazy. She can’t tell us anything about the killer. All she can say is that Milford was standing next to her, with his hand on the top of her head, when the unknown assailant shot him. The killer left, and several hours later, dispatch got a tip to come here.”