Too Close to Home (The Forensic Files)

by Tressa Messenger

  She smiled now, too. “How can I forget? But that was so long ago and I would hardly call it a real kiss.”

  “I’m offended,” he said, holding his chest.

  “Seriously, we were seventeen and both drunk.”

  He busted out laughing at the memory then turned to her again, his eyes boring into her. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers again, but as he was about to pull away, she grabbed the back of his neck.

  “Please, don’t stop. I’ve wanted this for so long,” she said and crushed her mouth on his, taking him in, needing him close to her.

  Mike’s kiss moved from her lips to her neck, while his hand moved the small strap from her shoulder so he could feel her warm bare skin on his lips. Carma moaned with delight, which excited Mike even more, causing him to stifle her moans with his lips. Reluctantly, he stood up and stripped off his shirt himself, then his pants. Carma stared up at him in awe. His naked body seemed to glow in the moonlight. She reached for him, beckoning him to come to her. With both hearts pounding in sync, they made love over and over again, first on the wicker loveseat under the moon and stars with the sound of the river below, then on her bed, leaving the back door wide open, sending them to ecstasy with all of nature to see. Sometime in the night, with both bodies intertwined and completely nude and satisfied, they fell asleep.

  Mike woke before the sun came up and quietly got dressed. He had never left Kristen home alone at night so he wanted to make it home before she woke. He kissed Carma’s tangled copper hair and silently slipped out of the cottage, leaving her to sleep happily for the first time in a long time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You really think he’ll show?”

  “Who knows? He might. He may want to observe his handy work close up. That’s what I’m hoping, anyway,” Carma said, getting out of the car.

  “Now you know that would be way too easy.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “It sure would take some balls to come here, that’s for sure.”

  Carma and Harold stood back, apart from the grieving family and friends in silence. Carma studied the faces and body language of all in attendance, looking for anyone acting out of the ordinary.

  “Quite a turnout,” Harold whispered.

  “No kidding. Seems like the whole county is here,” Carma said, spotting Rachel and what appeared to be her husband sitting in two chairs at the front of the crowd; both fully dressed in their chic black garb and open pain radiating from their red tear stained faces. She scanned the crowd some more and saw Karen from the post office all teary-eyed, as well as Henry, the owner of their local Piggly Wiggly, among other local business workers. She silently wondered if half the people there even knew Melissa and better yet, would all these same distraught people be attending Ronald Marks’ funeral, considering he was just some poor kid from Vandermere while Melissa Cooley, All-American girl, was from a well-to-do family? She guessed probably not.

  “And then some,” Harold finally said. “How are we going to figure out if the killer is here?”

  Carma was just thinking that herself. “I’m figuring he won’t be a mourner, maybe he’ll even act boastful or be watching the crowd intently for their reactions.”

  In the middle of the crowd, Carma spotted Robert Lee and Kristen, not liking how they were standing so close together with Kristen’s head bent and crying while Robert stared forward with his head held high like a statue. Carma smiled when she saw Mike standing beside his daughter, holding her hand in his like she were still a child.

  He looks so awkward, she thought to herself, referring to Mike.

  Carma stood up straighter and narrowed her eyes when she saw Robert put his arm around Kristen’s shoulder. At first it appeared friendly and caring, but the closer Carma looked, the more she could see that it was more of a possessive gesture. Robert sweetly wiped the fallen tears from her face and kissed the top of her head before glaring menacingly in Mike’s direction for a few long minutes, then returned his cold glare back at the minister beside the open grave, his face hard as stone once again.

  “Son of a bitch,” Carma muttered.

  “What is it?”

  “Look at Kristen with Robert Lee.”

  Harold looked through the crowd and spotted the pair. “So?”

  “So, apparently they are together now. Her best friend has just been murdered, whose funeral we’re at. Only yesterday she was boo-hooing about how guilty she felt for ‘hooking up’ with him while Melissa was still alive.”

  “Damn, that’s cold.”

  “No, stupid is what it is. They’re at Melissa’s funeral, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Should we be considering him a suspect?”

  “I didn't before, but he just jumped to the top of my list.”

  Carma glared at the couple for the rest of the funeral, unable to peel her eyes away from Robert’s cold exterior.

  Once the funeral was over, Carma wanted desperately to walk over to speak to Mike, but she was on the job right then so it would have to wait until later. Instead, Carma and Harold rushed to Mr. White’s side before he had a chance to slither away like a snake in the grass.

  “Hey, Mr. White. It was a lovely funeral, don’t you think?” Carma called out once she was within a few feet of him.

  He stopped and turned at the sound of his name, but turned right back around and continued walking once he saw who it was speaking to him. He spoke to them as he walked with his back to them. “As lovely as a funeral could be, I guess. How is the investigation going?”

  “It’s going,” Harold said.

  “That’s always nice to hear.”

  “We need a favor.”

  Mr. White stopped walking and turned around to face them, taking Carma by surprise, almost causing her to run right into him. He cocked a finely trimmed gray eyebrow at her as he waited for an explanation.

  “We need access to a locker,” she said in a rush.

  “Whose locker?”

  “Ronald Marks.”

  “And pray tell, why do you need to get into that poor kid’s locker?”

  “It has come to our attention that he had been kind of, I guess you can say, obsessed with Melissa Cooley. We were told he had been caught sneaking around taking pictures of her. We can’t seem to find those pictures anywhere.”

  “And you think he kept them in his locker?”

  “It’s the only place we have left to look.”

  “I guess it’s possible. Privacy is a major issue these days. We don’t go into a student’s personal locker without just cause, so he may have thought it was a good hiding spot.”

  Mr. White scratched his round balding head and looked around at the last of the people scattered about the cemetery.

  “Please, Mr. White. Someone hurt these kids and if there are any clues in those pictures, we have to find them before he hurts someone else,” Carma pleaded.

  “Alright, alright. I’ll meet you there tomorrow. Today is a day of peace and mourning, to reflect and grieve for the child that was lost.”

  At the end of the day, Carma went back home to her cottage and spent the rest of the beautiful Sunday lazing around. She stood against the wooden railing and stared off at the water, loving the way the sun looked as it descended in the sky casting dull pink, orange and purple tints into the atmosphere, causing them to bounce off the water’s usually blue surface. She closed her eyes, as if in a trance, listening to the evening settle in around her. In a flash, she kicked out high, feeling the body-bag rock under her leg before starting her assault with rapid punches and high kicks. Watching the blurry-eyed people at the funeral today had stirred up emotions in her she tried to keep down, but the pain from the crowd radiated and bounced right off her, breaking through her tough cop disguise.

  When all of her restless energy was spent and the sun finished its journey beyond the horizon and nightfall made its long awaited appearance, she stripped out of her clothes and let the cool water of the outdoor shower fall on
her naked body. She stood directly under the stream and closed her eyes, loving the feel of the stream as it massaged her tension away.

  Out of nowhere, a hand wrapped around her neck and squeezed tight like a python on a rat, holding her in place under the stream of water. She opened her eyes wide in shock, trying desperately to breathe, but instead her lungs and eyes filled with water. The only thing she could make out was a black form from top to bottom. No doubt her attacker was wearing a dark mask to cloak his identity. She tried to grab at his hand but her muscles were still too spent from her fight with the body-bag to pry his hand off her.

  She didn’t see it when it happened, but she felt the pain in her head right away as the man hit her repeatedly with something solid in his free hand. As her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the man let go, allowing her to fall to the wooden floor of the deck. As the water continued to pour down on her, she clung to the sight of the river below to keep her from the darkness of unconsciousness, but it was another fight she knew she would lose.

  Hours later, Carma’s eyes fluttered and the feeling of stinging cold water, like liquid glass pouring down on her naked body brought her to a semi-conscious level. Barely opening her eyes through the swollen pain, she moved her arms to drag herself inside the house. Thankfully, the man left her back door standing open in his rush. She drug herself along the hardwood floor, her body rigid and stiff from the cold, leaving a trail of water and blood behind her. Inch by inch she got closer to her coat that she had thrown over the back of a dining room chair when she got home earlier. She reached up and grabbed the edge of the coat, causing the chair to fall backwards and land on top of her. She covered her head just in time. She fished her cell phone out of a pocket and hit redial.

  “Help!” she croaked into the phone and passed out again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Carma’s eyes fluttered open every now and then through swollen slits. Sharp white lights blurred her vision when she did. Strangers hovered over her. Echoes of people talking nearby, sounding as if they were in a tunnel. Numb from the pain. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare.

  “How’s she doing?” she heard someone asking, sounding far away.

  “Look at her! Bastard beat her unconscious and left her to die. Seriously, look at her. Her damn face is swollen and covered in bloody bruises. Who knows what would have happened if she didn’t call me.”

  “All right, Green, settle down. From what the doctor said, it’s all superficial. We’ll find who did this.”

  “You’re damned right we will. Are there any leads yet, Sheriff Ron?”

  “Not a one. I went there myself and I think it’s safe to say it isn’t some random burglary.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He tore her house apart looking for something, but didn’t seem to take anything of value. Do you have any idea of what he could have been looking for?”

  “No, the only thing she’s working on right now is the Cooley/Marks homicide cases.”

  Sheriff Ron didn’t say anything as he rubbed his salt and pepper beard and pondered the information.

  Harold watched him through slanted eyes. “You think it’s connected?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s possible.”

  “Stop!”

  Sheriff Ron dropped his hand and they both stopped talking, frozen in mid-conversation as they looked at Carma, wondering if she had just spoken or if they were hearing things.

  Harold walked over to her side, looked down and leaned in closer to her beaten face for any sign of consciousness. “Carma, are you awake?”

  “Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” she whispered.

  “Damn, girl! It’s about time you woke up,” Harold said, smiling.

  “I hurt.”

  “I’m sure you do. I’ll go get a nurse to give you something,” Harold said, rushing out of the room.

  Carma took a shallow breath and tried to open her eyes. “Harold? I can’t see.”

  “That’s because your eyes are swollen shut.”

  “Sheriff Ron?”

  “Yeah, Jones, I’m right here.”

  “Bastard got the sneak on me in my own house,” she said and began to cry.

  Sheriff Ron slid a chair by her side and sat down and grabbed her hand and squeezed it for reassurance.

  “We’ll get him. You hear me? I promise you, we will get him.”

  Carma nodded her head, unable to speak through the burning emotions in her throat.

  Harold came back in the room with a nurse in tow. “Hey, sweetie, glad to see you awake again. Mr. Green said you feel pain?”

  Carma nodded her head “yes.”

  “Okay. I’m going to give you a little something for the pain.” Before sticking the syringe in the IV, she turned to Harold and Sheriff Ron. “This is going to knock her out again so you might want to go ahead and say your good-byes now.”

  “I have to get back to the department anyway. I love you, sweetie. Get better soon, okay?” Sheriff Ron said, bending down and giving her a fatherly kiss on the forehead. “Call me if you need anything at all.”

  “I will,” Carma promised.

  “Green, will you be coming in today?”

  “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay here.” Sheriff Ron looked between Harold and Carma.

  “Of course it is. Call me if you hear anything.”

  Once Sheriff Ron left, the nurse fed the pain killer in Carma’s IV then left the room. Harold sat beside her bed in the chair Sheriff Ron had pulled over.

  “Is that better?” Harold asked.

  “I’m woozy.”

  “That’s a good thing. You should be in la-la land soon.”

  “Scared to close my eyes,” she slurred.

  “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll be right here. I promise I won’t leave you.”

  Within seconds, he heard Carma’s breathing getting shallower as she gave in to the deep medicated slumber. Harold sat back in his chair and turned on the small wall-mounted television and groaned at the minimal channels that only seem to show nothing but a few God-awful daytime TV shows. Sleazy soap operas and cheesy talk shows littered the small screen.

  Sometime in the night, Carma opened her eyes as much as she could into swollen slits and looked around the small, dark unfamiliar room. The only light in the room to illuminate her surroundings was coming from the hallway from outside the room. She slowly turned her head and saw a small television mounted on the wall in front of the bed flickering quiet images from an infomercial, but the volume was too low to hear what it was they were trying to sell, probably the latest workout craze. Somewhere close to her, she heard snoring. Startled by the sound, she turned her head to the side and saw Harold asleep in a chair beside her bed, his head hanging off the back and his mouth wide open. Carma painfully smiled at the sight and made a mental note to give him crap about it later.

  “I would kick you if I could,” Carma said in a dry raspy voice.

  As if feeling her mental kick, Harold closed his mouth, but did not open his eyes.

  “Hey, Green,” she said, sounding more like a whisper.

  Harold's eyes shot open and he jerked his head up and looked around sleepily.

  “You snore like a hog,” she said.

  Harold looked at her and rubbed his neck. “Yeah well, you wore me out. The least you could have done is give me that bed after all I’ve been through. Just like a woman, only thinking of herself.”

  “Smart ass!”

  “See, no thanks.”

  She chuckled.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Still really sore, but I think I’ll live.”

  “That’s good to know. Do you need anything?”

  “Just answers, like how did I get here?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Not really, my head feels fuzzy.”

  “You called me last night asking for help. Nearly gave me a stroke. I rushed over to your house to find you naked and unco
nscious on your dining room floor, wet and bloody. I thought you were dead.”

  “Naked, really? Sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be. I’ve been imagining for weeks what was under all those pantsuits and attitude.”

  Carma laughed.

  “So, what do you remember?”

  “Not much really. I was taking a shower in the outside stall after my workout when someone grabbed me by the throat. He held me under the water so I couldn’t breathe or see him, not that it would have mattered much since he wore a mask. Last thing I remember is being hit repeatedly in the head and face with something hard and falling to the ground. I don’t even remember going into the house or calling you.” Carma took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling, not wanting to hear the answer to her next question. “I assume they ran a rape kit?”

  “Yeah, they did.”

  “And?”

  “And you are safe. Your future husband will be happy.”

  Carma’s muscles relaxed and she even laughed. “No, any husband in my future should know better than that.”

  Harold laughed a deep throaty laugh as well. “Girl, you are so bad!”

  Just then a nurse came in to check her vitals. “Well, hello, Miss Jones. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay, I think. When can I go home?”

  “The doctor will most likely release you in the morning. For now he wrote you an order for pain killers if you need them.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’m okay, just ready to get out of here.”

  “Well, you have been through a lot. I was on duty when you came in last night. You were a mess. You are lucky not to have any broken bones.”

  Carma stared at the nurse, nothing about her seemed familiar. Her long dark hair, pulled back in a tight pony tail, fell off her shoulder as she leaned in to check her pulse. Her pulse jumped as the words set in. She looked at Harold, confused. “Last night?”

  “Yeah, you have been asleep for most of today.”

  Carma’s eyes opened a little more on her red swollen face. “Shit, Harold! What are you doing here then? We have a double homicide to solve.”