Edge of Black

by J. T. Ellison

  “And you get prettier.” He disengaged himself and set her gently on the floor. “Dr. Carly Skinner, meet Dr. Samantha Owens. Sam’s one of the best forensic pathologists in the country.”

  Xander was surprised when Sam simply nodded her head and said, “Hello.”

  The reticence Sam was showing was unusual. He’d never seen her be anything less than cordial to anyone before. Carly didn’t seem to notice, she just started prattling on about coming back to Dillon and marrying Reed and “Don’t you remember that time, Xander, when we all went skinny-dipping...” and Sam pulled into herself more and more.

  Xander didn’t quite know what to make of it, so he just nodded and smiled and tried to catch Sam’s eye, but she was assiduously avoiding his. He listened to Carly reminisce for a bit, reminded himself again that she was a total jaybird, then pulled her back to the matter at hand.

  “Sam wanted to talk to you about the cattle lost over at Gerhardt’s place. Were you able to get the records?”

  “Sure, I’ve got them, right here.” She patted her backpack. “That was a big ol’ mess, I’m telling you.”

  She turned to Sam. “I’m sorry to fawn all over him. I just haven’t seen Xander Moon in forever. We haven’t had a catch up in ages—what, was it when you got out of the Army? What’s that been, three years? You came home and we had dinner that night and you were gone again, lickety-split. Didn’t even give me a chance to sink in my claws. And I pined away so much Reed took pity on me and asked me to dinner, and I married him just because I couldn’t have you.”

  Xander was finally catching an inkling of what the problem was. Sam wasn’t enjoying hearing about this aspect of his past. It hit him like a ton of bricks. Oh. Oh!

  He stepped closer to Sam and put an arm around her, but the damage was done, she just stood there.

  “You are so full of it, Carly. You never had eyes for anyone but Reed.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You could have given him a run, Xander, if you hadn’t run off.”

  “Let’s talk about the cattle, shall we?”

  Carly nodded enthusiastically. “Sure thing. But I think we need to go somewhere a little more private for this. Don’t want to freak out half the town with the photos. It ain’t pretty.”

  “Let’s just head over to Reed’s office, then.”

  “Sounds good.” She punched him in the shoulder. “Tag. You’re it.”

  She took off at a jog and he damn near followed, reinstituting the game they’d played as children on the mountain. Sam’s gaze was mutinous though, so he offered her his hand in a peace gesture. She ignored it, watching the door where Carly had disappeared with a combination of anger and longing etched on her face.

  He realized he was in serious trouble. She was righteously pissed off.

  “Uh, sorry about that. Carly’s always been a little enthusiastic.”

  “No worries. Let’s just go ahead and get this over with.” She wouldn’t meet his eye, and all he could think was uh-oh.

  Uh-oh, and by God, she loves me.

  Chapter 41

  Washington, D.C.

  Detective Darren Fletcher

  With Glenn Temple identified as the man who was passing himself off as his boss in the D.C. underground sex scene, Fletcher felt the edges of the case start to come together. He sent Inez off to do a complete and thorough background on Temple, but she was back a few minutes later with a printout.

  “ViCAP results. Thought you’d want to see them.”

  “Let me guess. We have matches.”

  “Six of them. All from the tri-state area. It looks like whoever killed the girls in Indiana is killing here, too.”

  Fletcher whistled.

  “Still a very good setup to hang on the congressman. I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts the murders all coincide with times he’s in the city for session. Okay, Inez. Work quickly. We are going to have to find everything and anything on Glenn Temple. We’ll need DNA from him as well, so get creative. We don’t want to screw up, here. I need to brief Bianco, too, so I need details.”

  “Do you really think that he would set up his oldest friend to take the fall for his crimes?”

  Fletcher nodded. “Wait till you meet him. The man is cold as ice. Yes, I can totally see it. And what better way to clear yourself than hang the stink of suspicion on a public figure? Who has more to lose? If it is him, he probably planted the DNA—they got the sequence off a straw from a fast-food drink. That’s easily manipulated. Temple hasn’t returned my calls, so when you have everything, we’ll go at this from the other side. You can call the office and say it’s Gretchen Leighton for Mr. Temple. They had an intern on the phone last time I was there. They won’t know the difference.”

  “And then?”

  “We’re going to make every detail from our end seamless and airtight. Once we’re all set, I just want to establish his whereabouts, then we go in and grab him up. But we have to move quickly. The hookers aren’t exactly known for their discretion. Word will go around fast. So get going.”

  Inez scooted away.

  Fletcher chewed on a pencil, thinking. Could Temple be behind the Metro attack?

  The answer came to him disturbingly quickly. Yes, of course he could.

  The phone on his desk rang. He jumped; he’d never heard it before, and the ringer was set on ten. People half a world away had probably heard it. He hit the speaker.

  “Yes?”

  “Detective, a woman is here to see you. Her name is Loa Ledbetter.”

  “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and looked over at Inez. “Conference room still free?”

  “Should be. Bianco is caught at a meeting over at the FBI about the Moroccan. I hope she’s not in trouble.”

  I hope she is.

  “All right. I’m going to be in there. If the artist shows up with the Identi-Kit, let me know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He left her happily tapping away and went to meet Ledbetter’s daughter.

  Time to get some damn answers.

  * * *

  “I just can’t believe she’s gone. When I found out, I thought it was some sort of bad joke.”

  Loa Ledbetter was the spitting image of her mother in her photos from twenty years earlier. Fiery red hair barely tamed, milky skin, hazel eyes. She had an unaffected speech pattern, soft and sweet, with a touch of Southern, probably from the girls’ school she’d attended in rural Virginia, and hardly fit the bill as a scheming heir. She seemed rather calm, all things considered, but was certainly grieving—beneath her elegant makeup, Fletcher could see dark circles and puffy eyelids, a sure sign of extended crying.

  Losing a parent is always hard. To have one murdered was worse, and to be estranged from them? Either you were a heartless wretch and couldn’t care less, or there was remorse, or regret, and maybe even some self-loathing driving your every waking moment. Ledbetter seemed to be suffering from all three.

  Fletcher sat across from the girl and watched her carefully. Even the best investigator could be taken by a pretty face, but Ledbetter didn’t seem out to con him. She seemed genuinely upset, and willing to help. Well, he thought, let’s see just how willing she was.

  “Ms. Ledbetter—”

  “Loa, please.”

  “Loa. What can you tell me about your mother’s life? She was a big traveler, wasn’t she?”

  “She was. A different city every summer, and we’d park it in some weird hotel or silk-covered casbah or tent in the middle of the desert, and she’d spend all her time digging in the sand while I entertained myself. It was a hard way to grow up, but not too unpleasant. I saw a great many things, and experienced a great many cultures. But I’m a bit of a homebody. I avoid travel if I can. Anything more than a three-hour drive away gives me hives.”

 
“Was there ever anything strange about her trips?”

  Loa laughed. “There was never anything normal. We dined with heads of state and footmen alike. My mother was fascinated by people—everything about them turned her crank, from the littlest bit of perfume to their shoes and cars and horses and goats. She wanted to know everything. She was damn good at her job, which was basically to ask a few well-placed questions and let people spill their guts. Then she’d hurry us home so she could write everything up while it was still fresh in her head. I’m sure you already know she was the preeminent ethnographic researcher in the field. There wasn’t a soul who wouldn’t open up to her. Five minutes with someone and she’d know their lineage, their wives’ names, how many children they had, what sort of donkey they owned, whether they liked sweets, what their favorite dish was, whether they’d had an affair, or a miscarriage. She was astounding.”

  “And yet you two were on the outs. Why?”

  Her mouth formed a thin line. “I’d rather not get into that.”

  Fletcher leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands on his belly. Unassuming. Friendly.

  “Loa, please understand. All I’m trying to do here is find out who killed your mother.”

  Her eyes flashed. “She was on the Metro. She went through Foggy Bottom every day. Whoever set off the abrin killed her.”

  “We think it may be more than that. She taught one of the victims, Marc Conlon. He was a student of hers at American last semester. And we think she may have known the congressman who died, as well. Are you familiar with Peter Leighton?”

  “Well, yes. Of course. He’s been all over the news. It’s almost as if he was the only one who died. Every once in a while they’ll throw in a statistic, say three dead, but they never even mention their names.”

  As was often the case.

  “But did you know him before the attack? Was he friends with your mother?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. She was pretty apolitical. She had to be, to be able to get along with everyone.”

  Dead end. Either she was lying through her teeth, or there wasn’t an open connection there.

  “Do you know anyone that might want to hurt your mother?”

  “My mother and I hadn’t talked in quite some time, Detective. I am very, very sorry that she is dead, and that I will never be able to tell her how much I loved her, despite the fact that she made me crazy. But I was no longer a part of her life, so no, I really don’t.”

  A sad speech. He thought she was being genuine, too. A shame, really. He made a mental note to call his own mother; it had been too long since he’d spent time with her.

  “You inherit everything. Twenty million is a lot of money.”

  “Yes, it is. And I’ll be setting up a charitable organization in her name with that money, and making sure her company continues to run. I won’t be benefitting from it personally, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She had all the answers. Fletcher decided to rattle her cage. “All right. Tell me about your time in Colorado, with the Mountain Blue and Gray.”

  The change that came over her features was remarkable. One minute a soft, grieving child, the next a battle-scarred soldier. She stood up, looking like she was going to run from the room.

  “We’re finished here.”

  “Loa. Please. Sit down. We already know a great deal about your time there. That you had a boyfriend, and you ran away with him. That you were gone for two years. I just need to know how that pertains to your mother. I think you’ve already assessed that we don’t think this was merely an attack on the Metro, but a targeted assassination. We are drawing parallels between the three victims, and your mother is at the core of our investigation.”

  She didn’t sit, but she didn’t bolt, either.

  “Please, Loa, sit back down. I understand that it might be a difficult thing to relive. I promise that nothing you tell me will go any further than my investigative team. But if we’re going to find who murdered your mother, we need to know the whole truth about her life. And you were a very important part of her life.”

  “So important that she couldn’t even give me my own name. She had to give me hers.”

  The bitterness was finally coming out, along with a smattering of tears.

  “You have her name, which is heavy enough, but forevermore you’re going to be associated with her, mistaken for her. All because you share her name. So why don’t you tell me about that. I assume your running away was an attempt at some real autonomy? What were you, thirteen?”

  She sat back down at the table, but still looked like she was ready to bolt.

  “Nearly fourteen. Just shy of my birthday.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s a very silly thing to say, but I thought I was in love. And I was sadly mistaken.”

  Chapter 42

  Dillon, Colorado

  Dr. Samantha Owens

  Carly Skinner barely looked strong enough to lift a piece of paper, much less handle horses and cows. But Sam knew strength was easily disguised. And she figured Skinner’s small hands might come in handy when it came time for birthing. Animals, like human children, sometimes didn’t want to come into the world headfirst, and needed turning in the womb. It was a delicate process, and not one for arms like tree trunks.

  No, her size wasn’t the problem. The problem was, Xander and Carly clearly had some history.

  When they’d been reminiscing like a couple of school kids at their first reunion, Sam was annoyed to feel her blood begin to boil, because for a moment, she felt utterly invisible.

  Her internal radar was singing, and she fought hard against it. She had no claim on Xander. She especially had no claim on the years before she’d met him. She was acting like a child. She knew it, and yet something in her just wouldn’t quite let go.

  When Carly had cried, “Tag,” and taken off at a jog, Sam swore she saw Xander tense, as if he was about to sprint after her but then remembered that he had an anchor that would hold him back.

  Sam began to gather her things with exaggerated slowness. He grabbed his bag and said, “All right. Let’s go nail this down.”

  “You feel free to go on ahead. I’ll catch up. I wouldn’t want to hold you back or anything.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You look about ready to murder someone.”

  Sam hastily rearranged her features. Great, why don’t you just announce it to the world? Grow up, Sam. You don’t own him. You’ve never even officially defined your relationship.

  She was pouting. She could feel the waves of disapproval oozing off her body, and tried to pull it back in. Stop being silly, Sam.

  Xander took a step back and watched her carefully. Then a grin split his face, and he started to laugh.

  “You’re jealous, Owens.”

  How dare he laugh, like this was all a good joke? She turned her back and picked up her bag, then started to walk past him.

  “I’m not. I have no claim on you. You can talk to whomever you please.”

  Xander shook his head. “Oh, my dear, darling Sam.” He grabbed her wrist and turned her around so swiftly she felt dizzy, then pulled her close and kissed her, hard, right in front of everyone in the restaurant. It went on and on, and she was vaguely aware of a few good-natured snickers, but she didn’t care, it just felt so good to be in his arms, to have all of his considerable personal sunlight pouring down on her. She was jealous, damn it. The thought of him with another woman tore her into pieces.

  Damn. She cared for him even more than she thought.

  When he let her loose, he had a smug smile on his face. She wanted to hit him, to smack that grin right off, but part of her smiled back. He’d just laid claim to her in public, with a bunch of witnesses
. Old girlfriend aside, it was clear who he wanted to be with.

  He touched the back of her neck, then rubbed the pad of his thumb in circles on the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist.

  “Okay?” he asked, clearly needing to be forgiven.

  “Okay,” she answered.

  “I’m glad you care,” he whispered.

  “I care more than you know,” she answered softly, and he kissed her again, very briefly.

  “Let’s go deal with the bovine attack, so we can get on the track to finding this yahoo. Because once this case is put to rest, you and I have some things to talk about.”

  * * *

  They walked to the police station hand in hand, and Xander told her all about his relationship with the mercurial teenage Carly, who would be interested in him one day and not remember his name the next. She’d always wanted to be an actress, felt drama was her future. But she’d also been deep into science and managed to conquer acting school and a B.A. in molecular biology, then realized she missed Colorado, her life and her friends too much.

  “She’s a nice girl, but way too flighty for me. I like a woman with her head on her shoulders. We went on one date, when we were sixteen, and she spent the whole night talking about Reed. She’s always been in love with him. And he’s always had it bad for her. They are perfect together.”

  Sam was feeling much comforted, and they finished the quarter-mile walk from the restaurant to the station in companionable silence.

  By the time they arrived Carly had already spread her unique brand of pixie dust all over the station. Every man in the place was smiling, and Carly had her back to the door, pinning up rather grotesque pictures of cows in various stages of dissection on a wall-mounted corkboard.

  Xander leaned his head in close. “See? It’s not just me. She’s like this with everyone.”

  “What’s the divorce rate among your cohort?” she whispered back, and he started to laugh.

  “Oh, Sam, Xander Moon, there you are. You guys took forever getting here. Stop off for a quickie on the way?”