He walked her to the door, took her key, opened the lock, then followed her inside.
She paused, watching as he closed the door behind him. “What are you doing?”
“Go upstairs and get into dry clothes. I’ll check the doors and windows. I’m going to wake Pete, ask him to sleep here tonight. Tomorrow you’ll need to see about getting some protection.”
“What kind of protection?”
Matt stopped and looked down at her. “A gun, pepper spray, a bodyguard, or all of the above.”
“Don’t wake Pete...”
“Don’t argue. The decision’s made. Deal with it. Does Pete have a gun?”
Her teeth chattered. “I...t-think so.”
“Where’s your bedroom?”
“Upstairs...first door on the r-right.”
He turned her towards the stairs. “Go change into something warm. I’ll come up later to check the locks on your windows.”
Her knees weak and unsteady, she moved up the stairs and made her way to the bedroom. In the shower, she turned on the water as hot as she could stand it, letting the heat evaporate the deep-seated chill and wash away the fishy smell. She grabbed a pair of flannel pajamas and a robe, then climbed into bed. Before she settled in, someone knocked on the door. Maddie rushed forward, followed by Beatrice and Matt.
Maddie sat on the bedside. “Matthew told us what happened. Are you all right?”
Sara nodded, and blinked back the moisture that welled in her eyes. She had become such a wimp. She hated it.
Beatrice pressed a cup of hot lemon tea into her hand. “Pobre niña. Esta bebida, lo hará mejor.”
Sara forgot her own discomfort as she watched Matt check the windows. He still wore his wet clothes. He held a steaming mug, but he must be near frozen.
Matt turned to faced them. “Those French doors need bolts at the top and bottom. Ask Pete to take care of it tomorrow.” He grabbed the doorknobs and shook them, then stepped away. “I didn’t see a security system. I suggest you get one as soon as possible. That’s an extra layer of protection.” He nodded and left the room.
Sara sneezed, then caught Beatrice’s attention. “There’s a thermal sweat suit and jacket in the closet that belonged to Josh. Make sure the chief changes into them before he leaves.”
Beatrice nodded, took the clothes from the closet, she marched down the hallway. A woman on a mission.
Sara slid down in the bed, resting her head against the pillows. It was probably unfair to set Beatrice on Matt in his weakened state. But it needed to be done. He could be so stubborn and he wouldn’t change otherwise. It would be interesting to be a fly on the wall for that confrontation.
The immoveable object and the irresistible force, set on a collision course.
She pulled the comforter up under her chin and closed her eyes. A shiver ran up her spine. Matt had been right, she should have gone to the hospital. They would have given her medicine to make her sleep. Now she faced the long night, reliving her life and death struggle in the lake.
CHAPTER 13
Matt Foley’s Home
On the way home, Matt called to check on the APB that went out on the sketchy truck details Sara provided. Nothing had turned up yet. It probably landed in a chop shop somewhere in Dallas an hour after the incident.
The house stood dark when he pulled into the driveway. No surprise there. Stella, his housekeeper, usually left before nine.
He entered the kitchen through the garage, and Rowdy greeted him at the door with his happy face. Thankfully, without any dead bird offertory he’d dragged in the doggie door.
Stella left a dinner of grilled pork chops and a baked sweet potato in the microwave. She was a jewel, but he’d grabbed a sandwich earlier in the evening. She’d also made a peach cobbler. He finished off a bowl of his favorite dessert and a glass of milk before heading off to bed.
Double doors led into the bedroom he’d shared with Mary. The space was large, decorated with her impeccable taste. She’d avoided a feminine environment with a cornice board over the king-size bed, and had selected a forest green and tan color scheme in bold stripes and plaids.
He undressed and threw the clothes Beatrice forced on him into the laundry basket. The jogging suit must have belonged to Josh Bradford. Too big for Pete. It felt strange wearing a dead man’s clothes, but he’d had no choice. Beatrice threatened to undress him if he didn’t do it himself. From her stubborn frown, he didn’t doubt she would have tried. She’d been right. The dry clothes had made him feel better.
After a hot shower, he crawled between the warm flannel sheets and tried to unwind. Sleep lurked, just beyond his reach. The old brain refused to shut down, replaying the night’s events in endless, vivid color. The horror of watching someone almost drown, the fierce cold of the water, the shock to discover the victim was Sara Bradford, left him with a bone numbing weariness. Rowdy seemed to sense his angst, and snuggled in beside him.
As always, his thoughts turned to his wife. They had shared something rare. She’d been his first love. His only love. They’d planned a future, filled with children. A lifetime to grow old together.
Man plans. God laughs.
The scene outside Sara’s home made him uneasy. His attempt to comfort her, feeble as it had been, disturbed him. Compassion overwhelmed him. He’d wanted to pull her close, smooth her damp hair with his hand, to reassure her that he was there. She was safe. But he hadn’t.
Unbidden, Sara’s poem eased into his thoughts. It amazed him how accurately the words described Mary. His throat tightened as he realized for the first time, he and Sara shared an invisible bond. They’d both loved the same woman, in different ways.
He turned over and punched his pillow. One thing he knew for certain, he could never care for anyone that intensely again.
Another thing he knew for sure. Tonight’s incident erased any doubts he might have had. Someone wanted Sara Bradford dead. But who? And why? Could he have misjudged Sara? Had someone else killed her husband? It seemed a stretch, but it was possible Josh Bradford’s hit-and-run was somehow connected to Penny Pryor’s death. All questions that needed answers soon. Before another attempt was made on Sara’s life.
He weighed the evidence against Sara’s culpability in her husband’s death. Even though he no longer wanted to believe it, the motive was almost overwhelming. Josh Bradford’s death had been too convenient. She’d gotten rid of an unfaithful husband and inherited a bundle.
People had killed for much less.
****
Sore muscles and lack of rest convinced Matt to sleep in. Foul weather had kept him from his morning run for more than a week. He hated to jog in the rain. Despite the blue skies, this wasn’t the day to resume his habit. He and Rowdy would get into shape tomorrow.
He filled the Yorkie’s food and water bowls, made a large mug of coffee in the Keurig, and took it out to the deck.
He’d only placed one restraint on Mary using her money after they married. He insisted they live in the home he bought. In that, he’d been fortunate. Acting as his own contractor and with Joe Wilson’s help, he’d built a two-story, redwood and glass structure, with five thousand square feet of living space. It sat on a twenty-acre tract of land, left to him by his grandfather.
Matt took his coffee out to the multilevel deck that flowed down to the large backyard. Heavy wooden outdoor furniture formed a conversation pit near a rock open-air fireplace. The morning air was chill and clear, but bright sunlight filtered through the fifty-foot pines to warm his face, and abate the nip in the breeze. Rowdy finished his breakfast and lay at his master’s feet, eyeing a doe and her fawn, munching corn from the feeder, just beyond the tree line.
The serenity could almost make him forgot the evil out there.
Almost.
His iPhone blared the William Tell Overture. That would be Chuck, the station desk sergeant. Matt slid his thumb across the screen. “Foley.”
“Just a heads-up, Chief. The Terror has been
by twice doing his Chicken Little impersonation. Muttering that some people keep banker’s hours.”
The Terror was Councilman Terence Hall. The perfect way to end the start of a good day. “Thanks, Chuck. I’ll be in for the nine-thirty meeting.”
He finished his coffee, then went upstairs to shower, shave, and dress for work.
Twin Falls Police Station
With a wave at the desk sergeant, Matt turned right into the break room for another caffeine fix. He snatched a large foam cup from the counter, filled it with the dark brew, then took the stairs to the detective bureau to meet Davis and Hunter.
Upstairs, Matt started fresh coffee in the conference room, then checked his cell phone messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait.
At nine-thirty, Hunter and Davis sauntered in and stashed two wet, folded umbrellas against the wall.
“Raining again?” Matt asked.
Hunter shook his head. “Nope. It’s Hal. We tried to outsmart him with the umbrellas. One problem—the sprinkler system shoots up. We were half successful.”
Obvious point. Only the bottom half of their pant legs were wet. “I thought the engineer fixed that.”
“So did he. He was standing in the lobby when we came in.” Davis slid into a chair. “The old guy threw a shop towel on the floor, and stalked off.”
Matt spread his hands in a sorry-about-that gesture. “I’ll tell him to just shut the thing down until he solves the problem.”
Hunter went to the conference room coffee station, filled a cup half-full of creamer, added four packets of sugar, then filled it with coffee.
“He likes a little caffeine with his cream and sugar.” Davis shook his head.
His partner shrugged and took a seat at the conference table.
From his inside jacket pocket, Davis retrieved a small black notebook. “We received the list from Sam Pryor, five people he could remember who once lived in the neighborhood and still live in town.”
Davis turned a page and found his list. “Probably a few others they aren’t aware of, but we’ll start with these guys and add any new possible wits that come up later. We ran the names through NCIS and CCH.”
The National Criminal Information System and Computerized Criminal History.
“None had a rap sheet,” Davis continued. “We plan to interview old neighbors who still live in the Pryor subdivision.”
Hunter picked up the dialogue. “Two guys, Charles Edwards and Donald Tompkins, work for Global. Edwards is a retail vice president. We confirmed with the Pryors that Edwards drove a white panel truck back then. He and his wife owned a dry-cleaning establishment. However, he was in the military at the time. Tompkins is a security guard for Global and former Dallas police officer. They think he drove the police van home in those days. Also something curious about Tompkins. He lives in a neighborhood pretty upscale for an ex-cop/security guard. We’ll try to check his finances without getting a warrant.”
Davis added, “Seth Davidson was the family’s pastor. Adam Elliot is in business, somewhere in Dallas, and was in high school at the time the Pryor kid vanished. He’s a former employee of Global, and both were former neighbors of the Pryors.”
Hunter took the last gulp of coffee. “The final guy on the list is Jacob Jamison. He’s deceased, but his widow, Maddie Jamison, still lives here. They separated years ago, but never divorced. He left her a chunk of change when he died. Neither Davidson, Elliot, nor Jamison owned a white van, of any kind, to the Pryor’s knowledge. We’ll interview as many of them as we can locate today.”
Matt nodded at Davis. “I’ll take Seth Davidson. He’s my pastor and knows most of the people in town in one way or another. He might be able to help.”
“We’ll cross him off our list,” Davis said removing a pen from his pocket. “Hunter also spoke to the church secretary at the old retreat about the stored records. They still have the retreat schedule back to the date Penny disappeared. The secretary didn’t volunteer to pull the dates we need, but said we were welcome to look through the files.”
Back in his office, Matt stared out the window, processing the information the two detectives presented. He pulled a yellow legal pad from his desk drawer and made two columns, listing people who lived in the Pryor neighborhood and also worked at Global. All but two made both lists.
The fact the Global security guard had been one of the Pryor’s neighbors and had been at the explosion Friday was significant, as well as Adam Elliot’s access to the building, despite the fact he no long worked there. The list Tompkins gave him had Elliot’s name with an active access code.
Granted, Global was a major employer in Twin Falls, but he wanted to pay particular attention to those on both lists.
He reached for his phone and paged Miles.
Moments later, his phone rang. “You wanted me, Chief?”
“Stop by my office when you get a chance. I have—” Matt’s office door opened and Councilman Hall stepped inside. Matt ignored him and finished the call. “As I was saying, stop by when you have a chance. I have something I want you to see.”
Matt replaced the receiver and turned his chair around to face Hall. “Something I can help you with, Terry?”
Hall stood in front of Matt’s desk, his feet apart. “As a matter of fact, there is. I’d like an update on the Pryor case.”
Matt turned his yellow pad face down, and looked up at Hall. “I report to the city manager, Terry. And I give him a daily update. You need to see Doug. If he wants to share that information, fine.”
The councilman shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. “Do you have a suspect? What are your plans to find the killer?”
“The case is twenty-five years old, and the body was discovered Thursday. It’s going to take more than three days to clear the file.”
Hall’s face flushed red. “It won’t get solved if you don’t stay on top of your people. I was by your office at nine o’clock and you weren’t even in yet.”
Matt leaned back in his chair and looked into Hall’s eyes. “My work hours are not your responsibility, Terry.”
Hall planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward into Matt’s personal space. “This is the most important case this city has ever covered. I won’t be embarrassed by a sloppy performance by the police department. I don’t want excuses, Foley. I want this investigation to run in a flawless, professional manner. If you’re not up to this job, the city can find someone who is.”
Matt stood and shoved his chair against the wall, his hands gripped into tight fists.
The councilman stepped back and his red face deepened to the shade of a ripe tomato.
Matt said nothing. He walked to the door, held it open, and pointed the way out.
“Wait a minute,” Hall shouted. “We’re not finished here.”
“Yes, we are.” Matt flexed his fingers to keep them from balling into fists again. “I’ve never needed your assistance to do my job, and I don’t need it now. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take your complaint to the city manager.”
Matt waited until Hall stepped into the hallway. “And, Terry, don’t ever walk into my office again without knocking.”
Hall stormed down the corridor, leaving smoke in his wake.
Davis poked his head around the door. “Is it safe to come in?”
After five deep breaths to get his blood pressure under control, Matt waved Davis in. Matt ripped the notes he’d made from the scratch pad. “Take a look at this and get with Lucy. She and Cole are working the Global explosion.”
Davis glanced at his partner and rolled his eyes. “Do I have to? She’s as prickly as a cactus.”
“The cases you guys have may be connected.”
“Possibly,” Davis said. “By the way, Chief, I think you should have shot The Terror. Justifiable homicide in my book.”
The detective left, and Matt returned to his desk. Before he was seated, his phone rang.
Dale McCulloch’s voice sounded in his ear. �
�Can you come down to the lab for a minute? A few things I need to fill you in on.”
The CSU Chief had been with Matt since McCulloch graduated college. The best hiring decision of Matt’s career. He pushed his chair back and stood. “I’m on my way.”
Mac met him at the door. Counter surfaces were immaculate, like the starched white lab coat McCulloch wore. His muscular body was packed into a six-foot frame, his dark auburn hair swept off his brow. Unlike most redheads, he had an olive complexion, hazel eyes, and was considered the resident hunk by the ladies at the station.
A kind of energy flowed in the lab, along with the faint smell of chemicals. Energy, generated by McCulloch, no doubt. Matt had never seen the man sit back with a cup of coffee or for that matter, he never saw him in the break room. Not his style.
Mac plopped into his chair and kicked out a stool for Matt. “I contacted a friend at the FBI lab. They’re swamped, but he moved my sample on the sleeping bag to the top when I told him the victim was the governor’s niece.” He pointed to the red fabric swatch. “This particular bag was an exclusive, as in expensive, model. Lightweight, thermal insulated and waterproof. The manufacturer only made about two thousand, most of which were sold locally in one exclusive sporting goods store, then went out of business.”
“Trying to track down the buyer is probably a dead end,” Matt said. “Most retailers don’t keep sales receipts for more than seven years.”
The lab man beamed at him. “But here is something I think you’ll like.” He turned his computer monitor towards Matt. The screen showed a lab tech in front of a large machine. Mac tapped the image with his pen. “That’s a VMD chamber. It can remove fingerprints from fabric. Not sure it will work on material this old, but it’s worth a try.”
Matt leaned forward. “You’re telling me it’s possible to lift the fingerprints of Penny Pryor’s killer off her clothing?”
A wide grin spread over McCulloch’s face, and he nodded. “Not lifted, exactly, they’re photographed. It’s called vacuum metal deposition and uses gold and zinc to recover the prints. The science has been around since the 70s. However, its latest use has created a lot of excitement among fingerprint experts because it can raise prints from cloth. One of the best fabrics is polyester, and Penny Pryor’s jumpsuit is a polyester blend. The VMD can even raise prints on items that have been immersed in water. How cool is that?”
Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense Page 35