Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  She trudged through the entryway, headed for the seclusion of her bedroom. The aroma of spices and lemons drifted from the kitchen. She passed the library door, and an audio book sounded from the CD player. “Maddie, I’m home.”

  The disc stopped with a click, and her legally blind aunt called her name. Sara turned back and stepped into the doorway.

  Maddie sat in an overstuffed leather chair near the fireplace. “I took two messages for you, one from Matthew Foley, and one from Lily. They both asked that you return their call.”

  The library had been Josh’s domain, and Sara changed nothing after his death. Honey-toned panels covered the interior walls and bookcases, giving the feel of an Old World gentlemen’s club. Smooth leather-bound books gleamed, their rich earth tones adding warmth to the room. A large mahogany desk sat in one corner, an antique left to Josh by his grandfather.

  Sara leaned against the doorframe, afraid if she came closer, her aunt would notice the hospital gown and smell the smoke that clung to her hair.

  “Thanks for taking the messages. How did Lily handle the news?”

  “About as well as you might expect. The detectives brought articles from the grave for her and Sam to identify.”

  “Poor Lily. How terrible for them both. I’ll call her later, after I’ve had a bath.”

  As Sara left the library, the CD player snapped back on.

  The grandfather clock struck six as she left the library. Sara’s stomach growled a reminder she’d missed lunch. She grabbed an apple from the kitchen and made her way upstairs to the bedroom.

  She dropped the wet clothing and hospital gowns down the laundry chute. When the tub filled, she lowered her abused body into the warm water. A large bruise had already formed on her right hip and thigh. Soon, heat from the tub’s power jets relaxed the tension and soreness from strained muscles. It took two shampoos to remove the oily water and smoke from her hair.

  The revelation about Penny pushed her own discomfort aside and crowded her thoughts. Her friend vanished more than twenty years ago. A loss branded into Sara’s mind since childhood. While she soaked, she visualized Penny’s face as she’d last seen the little girl. Buried memories, too painful to recall.

  Sara slipped down into the tub, water up to her chin. Her heart squeezed into a knot for Penny’s family. After their only child’s disappearance, they’d stayed close to Sara. What could she possibly say to help ease their pain?

  With a white terrycloth robe tied around her waist, she picked up the phone and dialed Lily’s number. No answer. Next, she punched in the number for the police station and asked for Matt. The desk sergeant said the chief had gone for the day.

  O-kay.

  The calls could wait.

  Matt Foley’s call piqued her curiosity. She gazed out the window into the darkness and bit her lip. He probably just wanted to grill her about the Global incident―something she knew nothing about.

  Global Optics

  After leaving Global, Matt drove to the city manager’s office, hoping to catch Doug Anderson before he left for the day. Matt had wanted to bring his boss up to date, but missed him. He left Doug a detailed voicemail on the morning’s activities, instead.

  Doug had no background in law enforcement, and he never interfered in police business. But he didn’t like surprises. Matt made it a point to keep him in the loop.

  A call to a friend in the hospital ER assured Matt that Sara Bradford had received only minor injuries and they’d released her.

  By the time he returned to Global, the bomb squad had cleared the buildings. A lone fire truck, two city vehicles, and a police cruiser remained in the parking lot. Matt pulled in behind the black and whites. All the warehouse doors and receiving bays hung open in an attempt to clear the air of the stench from the fire and wet boxes. Matt waved one of the uniformed officers over. “Have you seen Blake?”

  He tilted his head towards the back of the warehouse. “Blake’s in the office with Lucy, Cole, and the security guard.”

  Lucy Turner and Cole Allen were his other detective team, both new to the Twin Falls investigative bureau—both young and smart. He’d lured Lucy away from Oklahoma City’s

  Detective Bureau, and Cole from the Dallas Cold Case Section.

  At thirty, Lucy was attractive with beautiful hazel eyes and glossy auburn hair, if a little too full-bodied for her five-feet-four inch height to be fashionable. She was angry, argumentative, and wore a chip on her shoulder, but she was a talented investigator and worth the effort to smooth out her rough edges. Cole, two years her junior was cocky, afraid of nothing, and gave Lucy the misnomer of “Sweet Thang.”

  The police captain in Oklahoma had warned him Lucy Turner was a great detective but she wasn’t a team player. Matt got the impression the captain had a crush on her. He’d seemed reluctant to let her go, but gave his blessings, alluding to personal reasons she needed to leave the state. The man had been right on both counts. She had great investigative skills and she didn’t play well with others.

  Before heading back to the office area, Matt toured the warehouse. Narrow rows of shelving rose to the twenty-foot-high ceiling, filled with cartons of eyeglass frames and sunglasses. If the flames had reached that section it would have been an inferno.

  He moved on to the charred wreckage of the forklift that sat apart. How the woman escaped death or serious injury had been a miracle.

  In the office complex, his two detectives, Blake, and a man in uniform Matt assumed to be the security guard, stood in a circle in the middle of the room.

  “Hey, Matt,” Blake said. “Tompkins made coffee. Come join us.”

  The security guard stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “That would be me, Don Tompkins.” In his early sixties, Tompkins was a large, broad-shouldered man whose posture and neat, short hair suggested a military background. His firm-jawed face exuded the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to command.

  Matt gripped his hand but declined the coffee. He didn’t like to get too comfortable at a crime scene. “Have you been here since the explosion?”

  Tompkins shook his head. “I went to the hospital to check on Sara. Charles Edwards and I took her home, and I had to bring him back here to get his car.”

  “What do we know so far?” Matt asked.

  Blake picked up his clipboard and tapped it against his leg. “The Fort Hood people confirmed it was a bomb. They found explosive residue on the lift. So it’s your case, Matt. I’m outta here. I can still get home in time for dinner.”

  As Blake left, Matt caught Lucy’s gaze. She was lead detective on this one. “Are you up to speed on what happened?”

  “Hardly,” she said, and set her coffee cup on the waist-high counter nearby with a pugnacious gesture. “We arrived five minutes before you did.”

  Not for the first time, Matt wondered if he could live with her behavior until she realized he wasn’t the enemy. “It was a question, Detective, not an accusation.”

  He turned his attention back to Tompkins. “Why don’t you run down what happened?”

  “There’s a conference room around the corner. Let’s go have a seat. I’ve been on my feet most of the day.” He led the way down the hall and opened the door to a rectangular room with a six-foot conference table and eight chairs. Nothing fancy but functional with a wet-bar near the entrance. Probably served as a break room. The pictures on the wall were advertising flats from Global’s TV commercials. When everyone was seated, Tompkins started at the top.

  Lucy gave Cole an I’m-lead-I-don’t-take-notes glare. He dutifully removed his notebook from his jacket as Tompkins spoke.

  “I’ve told this story about ten times today.” He leaned back in the chair and ran through seeing the explosion on the monitors, and finding Sara in the warehouse. “I spent twenty years on the bomb squad in the city. It looked like a bomb to me.”

  “Did you mention this to anyone when the police interviewed you?” Matt asked.

  “Yeah, but fire marsha
ls and police officers are not always receptive to suggestions from security personnel. I spoke to one of the Fort Hood techs I knew. He said they found bomb residue inside the control panel. The perp wired a pressure-sensitive button under the platform. Rigged to explode whenever someone stepped aboard. Luckily, Sara tossed her handbag on the platform. That saved her life.”

  “Next question,” Matt said. “Sara Bradford is management. What was she doing near a forklift?”

  The security guard leaned forward and adopted the pose of instructor. “She always does a walkthrough the warehouse before she leaves. She calls it ‘management by walking about.’ Says you can spot bottlenecks and problems when everything stops moving.”

  “Is this walkabout common knowledge?” Matt asked.

  Tompkins rose and went to the wet bar to fill a cup with coffee. He held up the pot to see if anyone else wanted another cup. They declined. “I can’t speak for everyone, but it’s certainly no secret.”

  “Tell me about the security-camera discs. Where are they stored? How could someone walk in and take them without being noticed?”

  Tompkins drained his cup and stood. “Why don’t we go over to the lobby next door? I’ll show you the procedure.”

  On the way across the skywalk, Matt couldn’t help wondering why anyone would want Sara Bradford dead. Could it be connected to her husband’s murder? A jealous lover with access to Global? All possibilities.

  Tompkins led the small group into the home office complex, then to an impressive lobby. A wide expanse of marble floors led to a bank of elevators on the right and a large water feature in the center of the foyer. Exotic oriental rugs defined the seating areas. Above it all hung an enormous crystal chandelier, like something from Versailles.

  The guards’ station sat near the entrance surrounded by a marble-topped counter. Tompkins moved past the desk to a small office.

  The room measured about twelve by twelve, no outside window. A large one-way mirror looked out over the entrance and lobby. A Xerox machine and two files cabinets set in one corner. Someone’s empty lunch sack sat on the desk. Tompkins squeezed the sack into a ball, tossed it in the trashcan, and took a seat at the desk.

  Matt leaned against the doorframe. “With all the surveillance cameras you have, can you explain how someone might get inside the distribution center to plant a bomb?”

  “It wouldn’t be difficult for anyone who worked here. Security personnel only work the day shift. Management can enter any time, day or night. They have keys and a security code to enter the building after hours. The system tracks all entries after the alarms are set.”

  Tompkins hesitated, as though deciding whether to divulge additional information. “The entry list would be of little help to you right now. Since the announcement of the buyout, management has been coming and going at all hours. I pull the report off the computer every day and file it chronologically. I can give you copies, if you like.”

  “We’ll need those,” Matt said. “Is your code reflected on the report?”

  “Mine and my partner’s.”

  Lucy took one of the chairs along the wall. “Could anyone other than management have planted the explosives?”

  “It would have been pretty easy for hourly personnel working in that area doing maintenance on the machine. It isn’t slack security. We don’t expect anyone to bomb the place. We look for people who try to steal things. If someone who doesn’t work in the area fooled around near the forklifts during work hours, we would have noticed.

  “However, if the regular operators or a member of management messed with the lift, we wouldn’t have paid much attention.

  “My partner and I monitor the cameras during the work day. After the building closes, the motion-detection cameras kick in. We file the discs for three months, then we recycle them. My thoughts are that the bomb was probably planted after the crew left for the day. Those machines are in constant motion most of the time.”

  Tompkins’ brows drew together in a frown. “It would only take a few minutes to plant the bomb. A little longer to wire the platform.”

  “Did the bomb techs identify the kind of explosive used?” Lucy asked.

  Rubbing his chin for a moment, the guard shook his head. “They suspect a plastique explosive, but they’ll test it to make sure. Something small, designed to kill, maim, or frighten, not to destroy the building. Unless, of course, you have some nutcase who made it off Internet data and got it wrong.”

  Matt and Lucy exchanged a glance, and he said, “Let’s get back to the missing security data. How could that happen?”

  A flicker of hardness, almost bitter humor crossed, Tompkins’ face. “I know the discs are important.” He shook his head. “They apparently disappeared in all the excitement after the explosion. Only the Thursday and Friday discs are missing. They’re kept here in the office.” Tompkins pointed to the metal file cabinet in the corner. “This office is locked, but the cabinets aren’t.”

  Matt gazed at him for a long moment. “Convenient for someone. How many people have keys?”

  “My partner and I, the maintenance supervisor, as well as almost everyone on the executive staff. Management is anyone at the director level or above. They have master keys that open most doors, including this office.”

  A red flush crept up Tompkins’ face, probably embarrassed about the lax security. He pulled the after-hour entry list from the file, made copies, and handed one to Matt and one to Lucy.

  One name stood out. “Does Sam Pryor work here?”

  Tompkins nodded. “He’s in charge of MIS, management information systems.”

  “Anything else we should know about the list?” Matt asked.

  “Some of the names on there no longer work here.”

  “Does that mean ex-employees can enter the building after hours?”

  “As far as I know, the codes are active until they’re removed from the system. Terminated employees turn in their keycard when they leave, and we would know if an ex-employee entered. His or her code would show up on the report.”

  “Do you review the overnight information every day?” Matt asked.

  “Either me or Ben. My boss in Human Resources also receives a copy. I went over the printout today. No unauthorized personnel codes on Thursday or Friday.”

  “What is Ben’s last name?” Lucy asked.

  “Miller, Ben Miller,” Tompkins replied.

  “How old is he,” Lucy asked.

  “Twenty-three. Birthdays in March.” Tompkins knew what they were after.

  Cole wrote the information in his notebook. He would run a background check on both guards.

  Matt gave Tompkins a look that said what he thought of their security system. “It’s just a suggestion. But you might tell your boss security measures around here could use some tightening before somebody gets killed.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Lucy Turner left Global and followed Matt Foley to the station. She felt drained, upset, angry and friendless.

  She’d been out of line with Matt. How will you feel, Luc, when he busts you to patrol duty, she asked herself. It was her own fault, but sometimes she couldn’t hide her hostility. The Lord knew she couldn’t afford a demotion. Her salary barely covered living expenses now.

  The part-time security job she’d started in June, to buy school clothes for her two boys, left her on edge and tired. The long hours sapped her energy and left no time to spend with Charlie and Mack. She shook her head and heaved a long breath. Christmas was coming and she would still need the extra money.

  Stopped at a red light, she read the bumper sticker on the car in front her. Honk if you know someone who is alive only because you can’t afford a hit man. She thought of her ex-husband and gave the horn a long blast.

  Cole shot her a dirty look.

  Her animosity towards Matt Foley was irrational, she knew, but she resented him for his charmed life, his wealth, his good looks, and his intelligence. Just
the sound of his voice grated like an unspoken reprimand.

  It wasn’t his fault she’d married an abusive heel like Hank Turner and made a mess of her life. But Matt’s presence reminded her of the bad choices she’d made.

  Leaving Oklahoma had been her chance for a new beginning, but she hadn’t anticipated the financial strains and the desperate loneliness of living away from her family.

  Whenever Matt asked her a question, it was as if he challenged her competence. Would he have asked if she were a man? Fighting chauvinism had been part of the job since she’d decided to become a cop.

  Suck it up, Luc, if you want to keep this position, she told herself. Keep your mouth shut. Do the job.

  At the station, she stomped back to her desk and slammed her purse into the bottom drawer, then picked up the phone and called the bomb tech at Fort Hood.

  ****

  Matt headed down the hall to the break room. Detective Miles Davis stood at the bulletin board, coffee in hand. Matt tapped his shoulder. “When you finish here, find Hunter, then meet me upstairs in the conference room.”

  “He’s calling the church office to check on their old records,” Davis said. “I’ll get him. We’ll join you in five.”

  The conference room lay just off the homicide bureau. Matt took the first chair by the entrance and waited. He rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck. He’d leave the Global explosion with Lucy and Cole. For now, he had to focus on the Bay Harbor case.

  He hated opaque cases. No viable crime scene, no evidence, and few clues. Finding a killer after almost three decades added a dimension he didn’t even want to consider. And this one had huge political overtones.

  Thanks in part, to Dale McCulloch, and the state-of-the-art CSU facility, Twin Falls solved-cases stats ran over ninety percent. He’d lobbied hard for the crime lab but despite the fact that Twin Falls was an affluent town, the budget office turned him down. When Mary had offered to foot the bill for the extra space and equipment, the city council rolled over.