the dead girl (BREAKDOWN Book 1)

by Debra Webb

  Some enterprising soul, maybe the receptionist or the dispatcher, had decorated for fall. Plump pumpkins likely picked up at the farmers’ market sat on either side of the main entrance. Black cats and broomsticks along with pointy-hatted witches were taped in the windows. Rather than homey and friendly, the decorations seemed somber and out of place under the circumstances.

  Laney pushed the best smile she could into place. “Can I get you some water or coffee?”

  Mrs. Cole shook her head, her face buried in a handkerchief.

  Mr. Cole studied the framed accolades hanging on the wall behind Laney’s desk. “You worked homicide in Los Angeles.”

  It wasn’t a question. Cole was on the City Council. He had seen Laney’s resume. “Yes, sir. Seven years in the department, two as a homicide detective. Before becoming a police officer, I studied criminal justice at California State University.”

  “Your father was a cop, too. A homicide detective as well.” Cole’s gaze met hers then. “He died in the line of duty.”

  “That’s right.”

  His eyes searched Laney’s long enough to make her uneasy.

  “Do you recognize a killer—a monster—when you see one, Deputy Chief Holt?”

  His question should have surprised her but somehow it didn’t. Cole was the sort of man accustomed to controlling his universe. His daughter’s murder had sent that universe spiraling out of his control.

  “What do you think a monster looks like, Mr. Cole?” She watched his face, noted the surprise that she dared to answer his question with a question of her own.

  “I’m not sure I know anymore.” He looked away. “There was a time when I thought everything was black and white but I know now that isn’t true.”

  Feeling like a jerk for not simply answering his question, Laney offered, “There are monsters you recognize the moment you see them. The total nutjobs who can’t control their impulses. The super creepy ones who think they’re in control but you sense the evil emanating from them before they even move or open their mouths. But then, there are others.”

  His blue eyes narrowed. “Others?”

  “The ones who look just like you and me. The ones you never see coming.”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled a breath of sheer exhaustion. “Find him for me, Deputy Holt.” His gaze nailed hers once more. “You’re the one who can do it.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir. We all will.”

  He turned his attention to Mrs. Cole. “I’m taking my wife home now.”

  Mrs. Cole grabbed Laney’s arm before her husband could usher her from the office. “When can we have our baby back? We…” She cleared her throat. “We need to plan the funeral.”

  “Soon, hopefully,” Laney offered. “We’ll know more tomorrow about the coroner’s schedule. It’s very important that we allow him as much time as he needs. He can be a great help to our investigation.”

  Mrs. Cole blinked then nodded. “Thank you.”

  Laney touched her arm. “There are a lot of details to sort out. I would think you could go ahead and make all the necessary arrangements while leaving the date pending.”

  The woman nodded, her lips struggling to lift into a smile. “Thank you. Yes. There’s plenty I can do while we wait.”

  Laney showed the Coles out through the rear exit to where they had parked their car in the employee lot. She watched until they were out of view.

  One thing Mr. Cole could count on was that if anyone listening today had information the department would hear about it soon. A million dollars was a lot of money. The flipside to that was there would be no shortage of dead end calls as well.

  The cell phone at Laney’s waist vibrated. She pulled it free of its holster and checked the screen. McCabe.

  Meet me at The Rabbit Hole.

  The chief wanted her to meet him at his favorite pub. Laney sighed. She really wanted to go home. Take a nice long run, and then an extended shower to melt all the kinks in her muscles. She needed time to digest today’s events. Oh well, at least it was after five. McCabe had contained his own needs all day. She had to give him grace, it couldn’t have been easy. She typed in a response and hit send.

  On my way.

  ~

  The Rabbit Hole was off the town’s center square, just barely. The place lived up to its name. The sidewalk in front was covered with green turf; iron streetlamps had been painstakingly crafted to look like trees with crooked, bare limbs. There were no windows. The exterior was painted black, all of it, top to bottom except for the white rabbit painted next to the entrance, which was also black. Since Halloween was swiftly approaching creepy spider webs and massive spiders had been added around the entrance. The holiday décor did nothing to make the place more inviting in Laney’s opinion.

  As she stepped inside, she did have to admit that the chief was smart to suggest coming as soon as the press conference was over. It was only six and already the place was buzzing. Booths and tables were crowded with patrons. Inside the walls and floor were black. One wall featured a particularly creepy mural of a scene from Alice in Wonderland. The dim lighting allowed for a semblance of privacy, the beer was cold and the staff was cheery but the best part of The Rabbit Hole was the food. From wings to pork rind oyster snacks everything served at The Rabbit Hole was unexpectedly good and designed to be eaten with your fingers.

  No need to search for McCabe, he had his own booth in the farthest corner from the door, slightly beyond the west end of the bar. The chief didn’t have to worry about anyone bumping into him because the only people who passed his special spot were staff. He sat on the side of the booth that allowed him to keep an eye on the door. A good cop never wanted to sit with his or her back to the door.

  Laney slid into the other side, back to the door. She wasn’t too worried. Until today, no one ever ended up murdered in Shutter Lake. Besides, she felt confident McCabe had her back. Despite his relationship with alcohol, he was a good cop.

  “I ordered your usual.”

  A tall sweating glass of draft sat on the table along with a basket of sweet potato fries. The fries were a mainstay of her diet. The beer, not so much, unless she was keeping the chief company.

  “Thanks.” She dug into the fries first. Neither of them had taken time for lunch. Alcohol, even if only beer, was a bad thing on an empty stomach.

  “A million dollars.” McCabe shook his head. “Every lunatic in the tri-county area will be calling in. Hell, maybe in the tri-state area.”

  She reached for the beer. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and one of them really will have seen or heard something. And you never know, sometimes killers like to brag.”

  He downed the last of the beer in his glass. Considering there was another empty one sitting on the table, he was down two already. Laney sipped hers slowly. One of them would have to do the driving and odds were it wouldn’t be McCabe. She wondered again why the man felt compelled to drink himself into oblivion every night. Maybe one of these days he would share whatever part of his past haunted him. Not that she was in any hurry. Whenever people shared the ugliest parts of their histories, they inevitably expected a Kumbaya moment.

  Maybe another day.

  “Cole thinks you’re the only hope we’ve got of solving her murder.” McCabe’s brown eyes locked with Laney’s. “How do you feel about that, Holt?”

  This from the man who only hours earlier asked her to be lead on the investigation because she had the experience. “The best hope we have of finding the truth is working together. Drawing on every resource in the community. That’s how I feel. What about you, McCabe?”

  He smiled, motioned for the bartender to bring him another. “Good answer, but the truth is, I think he’s right. A smart man knows when he’s bested.”

  “We’ll need some temporary help to cover the hotline calls.” They had touched on this briefly before the press conference when Cole brought up the reward. The phone lines would be blazing twenty-four/seven.

  “I pulled in ou
r auxiliary officers.”

  Laney nodded “I didn’t think of that.” The only time they’d called in the auxiliary officers was when the Weatherly grandchild had wandered off. Only five, it was the boy’s first time staying with his grandparents without one or both his parents. After that nine-hour search, Laney doubted he would be visiting again anytime soon without a parent with him.

  “They’ll work twelve on, twelve off, rotating days. I think between the four of them they can handle the call lines with no problem.”

  “Their training should help with sorting the priority of the calls.” She picked up another fry. “Good move, Chief.”

  He held her gaze for a beat. “I want you to re-interview Sylvia’s staff. This time talk to them alone. I’m not so sure the women opened up in front of me the way they will if it’s just you.”

  Laney shrugged. “Sure. I can do that.”

  “Her mother’s making a list of the people Sylvia was closest to. Zion said he’d give me a list of business associates—ones her staff might not be aware of. Apparently she was doing some investing. We should have those lists first thing in the morning.”

  “Maybe all those stacks of cash are from her investments,” Laney speculated.

  McCabe grunted. “Most of us keep a little petty cash lying around. Who knows, when you’re from a family as rich as hers maybe that is petty cash.”

  Laney chuckled. “Maybe.”

  “I guess we should rule out drugs and prostitution.”

  Laney’s eyebrows reared up. “I’ve only lived in Shutter Lake for two years but I’m relatively certain we don’t have a rampant drug issue or an ongoing prostitution ring that would draw in that sort of cash.”

  He blew out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, I know. I’m grasping at straws here.”

  They both were. “On a more personal level, I’m surprised a young, beautiful woman like her didn’t seem to have any romantic entanglements.” Laney traced a bead of water down the side of her glass with her fingertip. “No matter how independent she was, she surely had needs.”

  Another couple of beats elapsed with McCabe staring at her. She didn’t have to look up from the sweating glass. She could feel his gaze probing long before he spoke. “What about you? You have needs, Holt?”

  Laney leaned back in her seat, downed a slug of beer, before looking at him. “None I can’t take care of myself.”

  He shook his head, laughed. “I guess I asked for that one.”

  The third beer went down the hatch. He ordered another.

  “Well, maybe Sylvia Cole took care of her own needs, too,” he said.

  The attentive bartender arrived with another beer for McCabe and grabbed the glasses he’d emptied. “Another for you, Laney?”

  “No thanks, Ray.” Laney flashed him a smile.

  Visibly disappointed, the bartender moved on.

  Ray Jones was not just a bartender. He owned and operated this popular establishment. He was about Laney’s age and far too easy on the eyes for comfort. Dark hair, even darker eyes, muscles testing the seams of his tight black tee and equally tight black jeans. But the man had trouble written all over his handsome body. His lady’s man reputation was one of the first rumors Laney heard when she settled in Shutter Lake.

  McCabe chuckled again. “You’re giving that guy a complex. He’s not used to being turned down by the ladies.”

  “He’ll get over it.” Laney turned up her beer again. She wondered if Sylvia Cole had gone down that particular rabbit hole. Or had she turned down the handsome bartender, too?

  Chapter Four

  Connie Bradshaw stood at the kitchen sink staring out the window at the darkness of the night. The café lights hanging from the pergola swayed in the wind, winking at her.

  Sylvia Cole was dead.

  Murdered.

  Good God, what had she done?

  Connie’s fingers tightened on the glass in her hand until a crack snapped her from the daze. Thank heavens it hadn’t shattered. She tossed the fractured glass into the trash bin and struggled to slow her pounding heart.

  She had told Vernon in no uncertain terms what she would do if he did not end his affair with that little bitch. She’d thought her troubles were over six months ago when she’d fired her cleaning service. But she’d been wrong.

  Fury tightened her lips.

  As much as she had despised the arrogant little bitch she hadn’t expected him to kill her!

  What would happen now? Would they lose everything? The pharmaceutical company. Their home. The nest egg they had been building since before Vinn, their son, was born—more money than that little whore could ever fathom.

  Connie was glad she was dead.

  She shook her head, tears burning her eyes. Surely Vernon wouldn’t have gone that far. She thought of all the times they had fought, at how angry Vernon would become. On more than one occasion she’d been certain he wanted to hit her.

  But he never had. Not once in their twenty-five years of marriage.

  She did everything in her power to stay attractive. Kept those infernal gray roots touched up. She went to yoga class three times a week, and body pump workouts at least twice a week. Most of the time she ate like a bird, depriving herself of her favorite foods and even decent quantities of the healthy stuff.

  How was it that her fifty-nine year old husband—a full four years older than her and bearing down on sixty—could stay lean and sexy without the slightest effort? It just wasn’t fair.

  No. Fury roared through her again. What wasn’t fair was some young, skinny bitch throwing herself at an older married man just because she could. Connie knew it was wrong. She should be sad that Sylvia had been murdered. But she wasn’t. She was glad the little bitch had gotten strangled to death. She would love to have wrapped her fingers around her long, graceful neck and personally choked the life out of her.

  But what if it was Vernon?

  As if her worries had summoned him, Vernon walked up onto the back deck, directly into her line of vision. He paused and tapped the ash from his favorite pipe. She blinked and busied herself with tucking the rest of the dinner dishes into the dishwasher.

  Her husband came into the house, placed his pipe on the counter and moved up behind her. “Dinner was wonderful. You outdid yourself, sweetheart.”

  His arms went around her waist and he leaned into her backside, pressing himself intimately against her. She barely contained a shudder at the disgusting feel of him, at the toxic smell of tobacco. She had long ago forced him to take his bad habit outside.

  Evidently her revulsion to his touch had given him the idea that taking his other habit outside their home was acceptable as well. Bastard.

  She stiffened. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Did you order the flowers for Zion and Yolanda?”

  Connie froze. “Yes.” It was a lie but he wouldn’t know the difference. The Coles would receive dozens upon dozens of cards and flower arrangements. What was he going to do, walk up to them and ask if they’d received the one from the Bradshaws?

  Hardly.

  Feeling her withdrawal, he moved away and leaned against the counter. For half a minute he didn’t say anything, just watched her. Then he asked, “Did you confront Sylvia the way you threatened?”

  Renewed anger ignited inside her and she barely restrained lashing out at him. Vinn was in the house somewhere. She never wanted him to know what his father had done. Turning seventeen was difficult enough without learning that his father was a lying, cheating, womanizing bastard.

  Connie took a deep breath and decided to be completely honest. She was sick to death of the secrets and the lies. “I did.” She reached for a towel and dried her hands. “I paid her another visit yesterday.” A hateful smile stretched across her lips. “I told her if she didn’t stay away from my husband I would go to her father and tell him what a little whore she was.” She tossed the towel back to the counter. “Believe it or not, she actually had the audacity to cry as if I’
d offended her. I hope she was still crying when whoever killed her watched her take her last breath.”

  Vernon’s face twisted in anger. “You loathsome bitch,” he snarled.

  Suddenly his body was pressing into hers again. He trapped her against the sink. She glared into his dark eyes and begged him with her own to raise his hand to her—to dare to slap her or worse. She would take him for all his damned billions. She would get half in any event.

  Sometimes she wondered if he had ever dreamed of killing her. Her lips tightened with a new wave of fury. Just let him try.

  “How dare you call me names when you’re the one who cheated!” Connie gasped, reminded herself that their son was in the house. Dear God, she needed to pull herself together. None of this mattered anymore. The issue was dead. Literally.

  And she was glad, by God. So damned glad.

  “You care for no one but yourself,” he growled, his usually calm and kind voice a low roar. “I told you I would handle it. I made my choice—our family over her. More importantly, what she and I shared meant nothing. It was purely physical.”

  Outrage pulled her lips into a sneer. She drew back as far from him as possible. “I suppose that’s why I saw you in your study crying after the press conference.”

  “What kind of person wouldn’t cry when a neighbor dies from such a shocking and violent death? She’s Yolanda and Zion’s daughter, for God’s sake. I’ve known her since she was a child. Of course I cried.”

  “Did you think of the sweet little girl she once was when you were screwing her?”

  Vernon recoiled as if she had slapped him. “You are heartless. Completely heartless.”

  “Why don’t we tell our son what you did and share with him what I said and see who he thinks is heartless?”

  “Leave Vinn out of this!”

  “Leave me out of what?”

  Vernon whirled toward the sound of their son’s voice. Horrified, Connie scooted away from him.