She’d begged Jack to stay. She didn’t want to spend the holidays alone. He’d had nowhere that he had to be, and the request had seemed reasonable. He’d even thought he was doing Alec a favor by sticking around.
The first night they were alone in the house, she’d drunk too much wine and cried on his shoulder, telling him more than he’d wanted to know about his brother’s marriage.
Jack had known he should leave the next morning, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d taken his brother’s wife hiking through the snow. He’d taken her to dinner. And, because he was a man and she was an attractive woman, he’d wanted to take her to bed. But he hadn’t. Because he didn’t do that kind of thing.
When Alec returned unexpectedly that night, though, he’d found his wife and his brother sitting on the couch, Jill’s head resting on Jack’s shoulder—and he’d assumed the worst.
And obviously, he now assumed that if he turned his back for too long, Jack would make a play for Katie. In Jack’s book, it couldn’t get any rougher than that between brothers.
The waitress arrived at that moment to take their order. As soon as she left, Alec went back to the sports page, and Jack picked up the local section. Like two strangers stuck sitting together because there weren’t enough tables, they hid behind their papers.
There had been moments when Jack considered just having it out with Alec. But he wasn’t completely sure the relationship would survive. So he allowed things to continue as they had for several years now, with each of them pretending all was okay between them.
After a period of time, Alec lowered the paper. “Any progress with the contract negotiations?” Since there hadn’t been an open statement of war, there really couldn’t be a peace offering, and yet the simple question clearly was an attempt to pretend that the tense moments had never happened.
“Not really.” When Jack had been offered the job as Deep Water’s chief of police, he’d agreed to a two-year contract. The two years were up in less than a month, and he had yet to be presented with a new one.
Jack sipped his coffee. “I spent last Tuesday night justifying my job performance to the city council and the mayor.” It wasn’t an experience he’d particularly enjoyed. “The Dawson case hasn’t helped. Half the city council lives in that same neighborhood. Several of them have pointed out that if it was a random act of murder, one of them could have been the victim.”
“So they’re implying the department should have done more?”
“They’re implying that the department should have prevented it.”
Alec folded the newspaper in half. “You could always join me in the private sector.” After leaving the FBI, Alec had turned the experience and the security clearance he’d achieved while with the Bureau into a career. Today he was a much sought after security consultant, both nationally and internationally, and was occasionally even called on by police departments he’d worked with in the past for a profile.
“Thanks,” Jack said. “But I like police work.” He did like police work, but that wasn’t the reason he turned Alec down each time he asked. Jack wasn’t certain how comfortable he’d feel working for his brother. The friction of business might create additional stress in their relationship.
Alec nodded. “If you change your mind, there’s always a spot waiting.”
Their breakfast arrived at the very same time as the mayor. Harvey Sanderson was in his late thirties, had a long face and a set of recently planted brown hair plugs that reminded Jack of rows of dried cornstalks.
The mayor dragged a chair to the end of the booth and sat. “I was down at the Crab Shack last night, and the bartender was telling me how you were in there a while back.” Harvey leaned closer. “You came in alone, but left with Lexie Dawson.” He sat up straight. “Is that true?”
Jack exchanged a look with his brother that said being the chief of police got you noticed, even when you didn’t want to be.
“True enough,” Jack said simply as he added horseradish to the top of his over-easy eggs.
“You don’t see that as a problem? Your having a relationship with the main suspect in a murder investigation? Because I do.”
The mayor glanced from Alec to Jack and back. Following his brother’s lead, Alec had already added butter and pepper to his grits. “Nothing worse than cold eggs,” Alec commented, and dug in.
“First off,” Jack said to Harvey, “my personal life is none of your damn business.”
“It is if it’s the reason an arrest hasn’t been made.”
Jack laid down his fork. He didn’t like having his integrity impugned, and if they hadn’t been in a crowded restaurant…
“The reason an arrest hasn’t been made is that the detectives assigned to the case haven’t completed their investigation, nor have the autopsy report and tox screen come back.” Jack’s ability to curb his temper was getting a real workout this morning. “In police work you get your facts and substantiating evidence in order first, and then you make an arrest.” He pushed his uneaten breakfast away, his appetite suddenly gone. “Unless you want a false-arrest suit. Which can run into millions when you’re talking a murder charge.” He leaned toward the mayor. “I’m assuming the city doesn’t want that kind of trouble.”
Irritation creased the mayor’s brow. The man never liked to hear no, so it didn’t surprise Jack that he wasn’t taking it well. Jack would have liked to tell him to get his nose out of police business, but, having tried it more than once in the past, knew it would be a waste of time.
“We need to move on this one.” Harvey still pushed his agenda as he stood.
“As soon as the autopsy confirms that it isn’t suicide, and Fitz and Shepherd complete their investigation.”
“The sooner the better,” Harvey pressed.
“Sure,” agreed Jack. As Harvey made his way to the front door, he stopped to offer a handshake here, a quick slap on the shoulder there, working the diners as if there was an upcoming election.
When Jack turned back, Alec was watching him. A little too closely. “What is the relationship between you and the ex-wife?”
“There is none.”
“That’s not how it sounded.”
Jack tossed a ten on the table. “How things look and even how they sound isn’t always an indication of how they are, Alec.”
IT WAS STILL BEFORE NOON when Jack opened the Deep Water Police Department’s glass door. Having served on the larger police department in Atlanta, he couldn’t quite get used to how quiet the stationhouse could get on a Sunday afternoon. As if even those bent on crime were taking a day off.
Jack hadn’t planned to come in today, but Frank Shepherd, the lead detective on the Dawson investigation, had phoned, asking to meet. The request hadn’t particularly surprised Jack. During any homicide investigation, he met with the detectives periodically. Sometimes just to keep abreast of progress and sometimes because, having come from a city with one of the highest homicide rates in the nation, he’d just about seen it all and could offer some insights and suggestions to his men. He was always careful to let them run the investigation, though.
The complaints desk was being manned by two officers— Louise Saint and Dean Parker. Both were on the phone as Jack came in, but they made eye contact and nodded a greeting.
Jack grabbed a soft drink out of the vending machine and headed to the interview room.
Frank Shepherd looked up as Jack entered. “Sorry to cut into your Sunday, Chief.”
“No problem,” Jack said as he set his soda can on the table. As he’d entered, he felt a sudden spike of tension in the room. But it wasn’t so much what was in the air as what wasn’t on the table that tipped him off. Usually there’d be thick files with interview notes and lists of evidence. Photos taken at the scene would already be spread out for viewing and discussion. Today, there was a single closed folder on the table in front of Frank.
Instead of sitting across from his detective as he normally did, Jack chose a seat at the head of the
table. “Fitz running late?”
“He’s not part of this meeting.”
“Why?”
Frank folded his hands over the file. “You made me the lead detective on this case.”
“And I gave you a damn good partner to work it with you. He’s not here. I want to know why.” As he took a sip of the cola, Jack watched Frank over the edge of the can. “Does he even know we’re meeting?”
“Sure.”
Jack lowered the drink. What in the hell was going on? Fitz wasn’t the type of cop who would drop the ball during an investigation. He understood that the job came before family sometimes, that there were occasions when dinners were missed, when anniversaries or birthdays were celebrated days or weeks after the actual date.
Frank flipped open the file folder, revealing the typed affidavit. “We’re burning department time. We have enough to take to the State Attorney.”
“Everything you have is circumstantial.” Jack leaned toward the other man. “Why the hurry? The medical examiner hasn’t even ruled it a homicide yet. You might want to at least get the M.E. to sign off on it first.”
“And we both know what he’s going to say, don’t we, Jack?” Frank climbed to his feet. “And we know damn well who did it.”
“Well, if you do, then I’d say you missed one of the most important steps in a murder investigation—keeping an open mind.” As the other man paced, Jack settled back in his chair. “I’ll grant you that a suicide ruling is a long shot, but have you even considered what will happen if that’s how the M.E. calls it and you’ve already made an arrest? Well, I have. The department either ends up looking incompetent, or even worse, as if we were on some kind of witch hunt. Lexie Dawson gets herself an attorney and files a wrongful-arrest suit. The city loses a huge chunk of change. We all lose our jobs.”
“If it’s a suicide, where’s the suicide note? Why doesn’t even one person that I’ve talked to mention that the man was upset over anything enough to want to end his life? Most people think he was too ego-driven to have killed himself.”
“Maybe you just haven’t spoken to the right person yet. And that lack of a note isn’t unusual.”
Shepherd leaned across the table. “The evidence may be circumstantial, but there’s a load of it. Even the weapon is hers.”
“And as of now,” Jack said, “the only prints found on the weapon belong to the victim.”
“She’s in and out of hospitals every day, has easy access to latex gloves.” Frank held up a hand. “Before you say anything about the gunpowder residue test results—”
“You mean the ones that were consistent with her story of having shot a weapon earlier in the day?” Jack said. “And not within hours of when Martinez swabbed?”
Jack had never seen Shepherd so anxious to make an arrest. It almost seemed personal with him. As if he had a beef with Lexie. Or had some kind of run-in with her? Or perhaps it was something more physical than a run-in? There were women who went after cops. Groupies. As soon as the idea ran through Jack’s brain, he tossed it. He’d known his share of badge bunnies. Lexie didn’t fit the profile.
“Have you ever seen her handle a gun, Jack? It’s like second nature to her. At twenty-five yards, she can clean out the center of a target faster than any man on this force.” The detective pointed as if he had a gun in his hand. He pulled the invisible trigger. “And I’m not talking just with her right hand, but with her left, too.”
Jack looked up. “The shot that killed Dan Dawson wasn’t fired from twenty-five yards away.” He took a deep breath. “What’s your best guess, Frank, on distance for that shot? Somewhere between point-blank and three inches?” He didn’t wait for the detective to answer. “An eighty-year-old grandmother with cataracts couldn’t have missed at that range. Nor could someone who had never picked up a gun before. So I don’t think the fact that Lexie knows weapons means a whole helluva lot here.”
Frank jerked back the chair he’d been sitting in earlier and sat. “I’ve already called the State Attorney’s office.”
“Damn it, Frank, when’s the last time you ever had evidence this neat? This boxed-and-ready-to-go?” Jack leaned across the table. “Let me rephrase that. When’s the last time you had this damn much evidence going into an investigation where your main suspect made the 9-1-1 call and was willing to answer questions?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time that a perp realizes someone has seen her entering or leaving the crime scene and decides she can throw off the police by making the call. Then she sits there and answers questions, secretly thumbing her nose at all of us.”
“I saw no signs during the interview that she was being anything but truthful. Fitz didn’t either. But then he probably told you that, didn’t he? And that’s the reason he’s not here now. Because even he thinks you’re making a mistake.”
Frank glanced down at the open file folder, at the neatly typed forms, his expression grim.
“Did you even look at other suspects?” Jack asked. “Or did you, right from the start, close yourself off from the possibility that Lexie Dawson didn’t kill her ex-husband?” Jack got to his feet.
Shepherd remained seated, but threw up his hands. “Are you suggesting I haven’t done my job?”
“Well, have you? Did you check for patients who might have a beef with the doctor? The charts on the desk that night? Why were they there? What about the office staff? Did you question them?”
“Yes. Yes. And yes!”
“What about the relationship between the partners? Any problems there? You drove out to the clinic in Pierson and checked to be sure Whittemore was actually there seeing patients on Friday?”
“Damn it, yes!”
“What about when he left the clinic?”
“Everything checked out.”
“So you didn’t find anyone who had seen him between the time he left the bar and when he showed up at the Dawson house?”
“No. And it’s no wonder. His cabin is well hidden in the trees.”
“He spoke to his answering service twice during that time, though.”
“So?”
“So why didn’t he return Lexie Dawson’s call? Why did he claim that the reason he didn’t was because he was out of cell tower range and didn’t get the message until he was on his way back to Deep Water?” Jack straightened. “Maybe you should pull the records for his cell phone, determine where he was when he contacted his answering service that night?”
Shepherd looked down.
“We’re talking a man’s death here. And a woman’s life. Don’t you think we can spare both some time and the resources?”
Shepherd shoved the file off the table. “Oh, what the hell! Maybe a one-armed bandit did it.”
Jack leaned down so that they were face-to-face. “I’m going to let that last remark go. Pretend I didn’t hear it. You’re the best detective I have, and you know it. I’m just asking you to do your job! And not be in such a damn big hurry that you make a mistake that the whole department will end up paying for. Or an innocent woman.”
Shepherd eyed him for several seconds. “Maybe what I’ve been hearing is true.” The detective lifted his gaze. “That you got something going with Lexie Dawson.”
“Watch your step, Frank.” Jack headed for the door. “No arrest until after the autopsy tomorrow morning. And I want everything you have, every piece of paperwork you and Fitz have generated on this investigation, on my desk in the next hour.”
Chapter Five
Jack figured he had eighteen hours to find a killer.
Otherwise, Lexie was going to be arrested for a murder that he knew in his gut she hadn’t committed.
He opened the throttle on the motorcycle. The weather was still cool, hovering just above fifty, but cloudless, which, if you strapped on leather chaps and a leather jacket, made it a good day for a ride. His destination was the Ocala National Forest, a nearly four-hundred-thousand-acre parcel of land, bisected by several state highways and home to every
thing from black bears and bobcats to wild pigs and possibly, if rumor was to be believed, a few undiscovered, shallow graves.
Jack downshifted and swerved to avoid an alligator that had crawled out onto the road to sun itself, then opened her back up.
If it had been just the mayor pushing for an arrest, Jack wouldn’t have been worried, but it appeared that his lead detective may have also developed a case of tunnel vision. And tunnel vision was very dangerous when working with only circumstantial evidence. Focusing in on one suspect too soon left an investigator open to the possibility of error. And such mistakes meant that the true perp walked.
After reading over everything in the case file, Jack had decided that the best place to start was with the partner. Whittemore had been overspending for years and was in the kind of debt that most people would never be able to dig out of. At least not without some substantial help.
Shepherd had been aware of Whittemore’s financial situation, but hadn’t felt it was relevant, since there had been no recent significant changes in the doctor’s debt load. Jack wasn’t so inclined to go along with that assessment. At least not until he’d nailed down Whittemore’s movements on Friday night, and if he stood to gain financially in any way from his partner’s death.
The obstetrician had seen patients at the clinic in Pierson late in the afternoon, the last one sometime around five-thirty. From there he claimed to have stopped for a beer and burger at Clive’s Joint, a local hangout on Route 40, and then headed out to his cabin, located near the town of Lynne and close to Halfmoon Lake. When asked, Shepherd had claimed to check out the alibi, but there was nothing in any of the investigation notes to indicate that he had. Perhaps just an oversight when he was typing the report, or perhaps Shepherd wasn’t as thorough as Jack had believed him to be.
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