Runaway Heart

by Saranne Dawson

  She laughed. “Are you telling me that you reached the age of thirty-six without knowing that? What have you been eating all this time?”

  “You forget that until recently, I lived in the city where you can get anything at any time. Plus, until Dad retired a year and a half ago and they moved to Florida, Mom used to come over regularly and leave things for me.”

  He must have seen her expression, because he put up a hand. “I know, I know. Spoiled rotten and all that. But part of it’s the kind of life a cop leads—especially in homicide. The hours aren’t exactly regular and…Well, you already know all about that.”

  She nodded. “That had a lot to do with my mother deciding to leave my father—too many ruined dinners, too many lonely evenings and weekends.”

  “It’s not an easy life,” he agreed.

  His words hung there between them as they sat down to eat. C.Z. didn’t know if he was issuing some kind of warning about what involvement with him would mean. Probably he was only making a general observation. But still, it was a warning, and one she would take seriously if only she could see past their current predicament.

  “Did your father ever talk to you about those cases?” he asked, gesturing to the files in the box.

  “I think he might have mentioned a few of them from time to time. Why?”

  “Do you recall if he mentioned any of them right before he died?”

  “No. But to be honest. I probably wouldn’t remember if he had. I was writing my dissertation at the time, and I was too wrapped up in that.”

  “Well, it’s obvious he was working on them right up to the end. I found notes he’d made about a couple of them, things that weren’t in the files at the department. In one case, it looked like he was developing an interesting lead.”

  “But nothing that would suggest Harvey Summers’s involvement.”

  He shook his head, then remained silent as they ate. She tried several conversation gambits, but his responses were minimal so she finally lapsed into silence, assuming that he was still trying to figure out what was missing.

  His brooding silence continued as he helped her clean up after dinner, and when they had finished, he suggested they climb up the hill behind the cabin, saying that she’d like the view.

  The difficulty of the climb prevented any conversation, but the view, when they finally reached the top, was worth the effort. The sun was poised just above the horizon, and the forest stretched in all directions, the trees ruddy in the glow of the dying sun with stands of evergreens providing a dark contrast.

  C.Z. sank onto the hard-packed dirt, aware of Zach’s gaze upon her but even more aware of his continued silence. How well do you have to know someone before you can distinguish between different kinds of silence? she wondered. His seemed to have a distinctly brooding quality that was beginning to make her nervous.

  She turned to him as he lowered himself beside her, and he met her gaze only briefly before looking away. There was something in his eyes, an uneasiness, she thought. When he said nothing, she asked if he’d been able to determine what cases might be missing.

  “Yeah. There’s one that definitely should have been there.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, annoyed that she seemed to be forced to drag the information from him. She wasn’t really expecting to know anything about the missing case. Her father had only occasionally mentioned various cases, and she’d been too distracted by her studies to pay that much attention.

  “The case we argued about the day I met you,” he replied.

  She turned to stare at him. Of course! She should have thought of that. It was the worst tragedy her father had ever worked on, and one that had continued to trouble him deeply.

  “The school bus accident,” Zach said, apparently misreading her shocked expression.

  “Yes. I was just surprised that I didn’t think of that myself.”

  She was silent, thinking of the possible implications. “Do you think Harvey Summers could have been involved—maybe with a cover-up? Or maybe he caused it?” She was horrified, but beneath the horror, her mind was busy. “It would make sense in a way, wouldn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, it was the type of thing that could have been him.” She stopped, trying to put her thoughts into words.

  “What I mean is, we know he couldn’t have committed just any crime. It would almost have to be something accidental, a mistake.”

  “It wasn’t accidental,” Zach stated harshly. “The bus driver was sure the driver of the truck was drunk. Maybe you see drunk driving accidents as being just that, but I don’t.”

  She was struck by how closely Zach’s words mirrored those spoken by her father about the incident.

  “I didn’t mean that,” she told him. “I’m not trying to absolve drunk drivers of responsibility for their actions.”

  “But a lot of people do,” he replied. “So in that sense, you’re right.”

  She nodded. “Dad told me that. He said it was likely someone knew who was driving that pickup, but they wouldn’t come forward because they considered it to be just a tragic accident.”

  “Yeah, except he also walked away from it instead of staying to help get those kids out.”

  C.Z. swallowed hard. She knew all the details. No one could forget something like that. The bus driver had swerved to avoid a collision with a pickup that was weaving all over the narrow road. He’d lost control, and the bus had rolled down an embankment, then caught fire. Eight children had died, and others were badly injured. It had made the national news.

  “But the truck,” she said. “Didn’t the bus driver get a good look at it? Dad would have known if Harvey Summers had such a truck.”

  “All the driver saw was an older model dark pickup and two men who were nothing more than shadows from where he was. Your father got a printout from Motor Vehicles of all older model pickups registered to people in the area and checked them all out. A lot of them didn’t exactly have ironclad alibis, but he didn’t have enough evidence to charge any of them.”

  “I remember his saying once that he was convinced it had to be someone from the area.”

  “Right. I agree. No one just passing through would have any reason to use that road. Ordinarily, the bus driver wouldn’t have used it, either. But the kids had been on a field trip to the city and they got caught in a traffic jam and were running late. He was worried that their parents would be upset, so he took a shortcut.”

  C.Z. thought about the anguish that driver must be living with. She knew he’d acted heroically to get as many kids out as he could, but still…

  “Was Harvey Summers on that list?” she asked.

  Zach shook his head. “No, I’d remember it if he was.”

  “So then it couldn’t have been him.”

  “I don’t know. I agree it doesn’t seem likely, but it’s still possible. That case obsessed me probably as much as it did your father. I guess in a way I wanted to solve it for him, too.

  “What I began to wonder was whether or not the truck might have been unregistered. There are hunting camps and cabins all over the area, and I know a lot of men keep old trucks and Jeeps just to run around in the woods. They don’t take them out on the highway.

  “I tried to get a list from Motor Vehicles of old pickups that hadn’t been reregistered, but by that time, the records had been purged from the computers. So, in my spare time, I was starting to visit the camps and cabins in the area to see if I could find one like it.”

  “So you’re saying that Harvey could have had an unregistered truck that he kept at his cabin?”

  “He could have. I hadn’t checked his place. But Colby knew I was nosing around.”

  “Still, if Harvey did have such a truck, why would he have been driving it on the road? Is his cabin in that area?”

  “Not exactly. It’s not far from my place, just off Route 427. But I’ve been thinking about where he lives in relation to his hunting camp. If he was going to take an unregistered vehicle onto the road, he m
ight have used that road to avoid being caught. It would have been out of his way, but he could be pretty sure he wouldn’t run into any cops on it.”

  “Does he have a drinking problem?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but I know that he and his buddies spend a lot of time at his camp, and I assume they do some drinking. But I know he’s never been arrested for drunk driving, because your father got a printout of all drunk driving arrests in the area, to cross-check them with the pickup registrations. Still, that doesn’t necessarily mean he hasn’t driven drunk.”

  “But surely Dad would have known about any time he was stopped even if he wasn’t arrested.”

  “Maybe not. Your dad was pretty much by the book, and if one of his men let Harvey go, he probably wouldn’t have told him about it.”

  “At Dad’s funeral, Harvey made it sound as though they were really good friends, and if that’s so, then Dad would have known if Harvey had an old pickup at his camp.”

  “Summers is one of those people who makes it sound as though he’s everyone’s good friend—except for me, that is. Besides, your dad belonged to a hunting camp, and as far as I know, he spent his free time there. I went there with him once.”

  C.Z. stared at him. She was beginning to realize he’d known her father better than she’d thought. In all likelihood, he’d spent far more time with him than she had in his final years.

  “So what can we do?” she asked, pushing those guilty thoughts away.

  “The first thing we need to do is to find out if Summers has an old pickup at his camp. Or more likely, if he had one. If it was him, I’m damned sure he would have gotten rid of it after the accident.”

  “Did the pickup actually hit the bus?” she asked. It was one detail she couldn’t remember.

  Zach nodded. “The truck clipped the bus at an angle as the bus was swerving. The driver’s memory wasn’t all that clear, but he thought there should be some damage to the fender on the driver’s side.”

  The sun was by now no more than a glow along the horizon, and C.Z. stood up, saying they’d better climb down the hill before it got dark.

  By the time they reached the A-frame, Zach had once again lapsed into that strange, brooding silence, and when she met his gaze, she saw again that troubled look. He went to light a fire against the growing chill of the evening while she went to the kitchen to make them some coffee.

  Zach’s brooding stirred up uneasy thoughts in her, as well, as though something was troubling her that hadn’t yet surfaced. She dismissed it as being merely a reaction to his mood, but as she carried the coffee to him, it struck her.

  Even if their speculation was right, why would Colby—or anyone else—want to steal that file from her father’s things? The only reason they would take such a chance would be if they thought her father was coming too close to the truth and might have left incriminating information behind.

  She handed Zach a mug, then set her own on the hearth, her mind working uneasily. And then, suddenly, she gasped. Zach turned to her sharply, and her words began to tumble out.

  “Colby must have broken in and taken that file because he knew or suspected there was something in there—something in Dad’s notes. That means they guessed that Dad might be getting close to the truth, and…”

  She faltered, unable to go on. She had only to stare into Zach’s eyes to know what had been troubling him. Still, she had to say it aloud.

  “Harvey Summers killed my father.”

  Chapter Five

  Having spoken the words, C.Z. could not believe them—and yet she did. What other explanation could there be for the missing file? Chills skittered through her.

  Zach stared at her in silence, then spoke in a quiet, reasoned voice. “We’re leaping to a lot of conclusions, C.Z. We don’t have anything concrete. One thing a detective learns early on is that you can’t make conclusions without good, solid evidence.”

  She was certain he, too, had reached just that conclusion some time ago and was playing devil’s advocate. “But how else can you explain the missing file? Why else would someone risk breaking into my house to steal it?”

  “We don’t know that it was stolen. Maybe it was never there in the first place. And if it was there and it did contain something that would have incriminated Summers, why wouldn’t he have taken it before, right after your father’s death?”

  But as she listened to him, as she wanted to believe him, a memory stirred. “Harvey came to Dad’s house that evening, after I’d gotten there. He said he came to offer his condolences, and he also offered to help me pack Dad’s things. In fact, he repeated that offer at the funeral. He said he knew it would be hard for me to deal with.”

  She clenched her fists as anger swarmed over her. “I thought he was being so kind. I might even have accepted his offer if Dad’s attorney hadn’t already said he would help me.”

  “Maybe that’s all it was, kindness. Harvey Summers has built a reputation on his kindness and generosity. He’s always helping people.”

  She glared at him. “Do you hear yourself, Zach? You’re defending a man who tried to kill you and then sent you to prison?”

  “I’m only repeating what anyone would tell you about him,” Zach replied in a neutral tone.

  “You aren’t anyone,” she retorted hotly. “You know what he is.”

  “No, I don’t—at least not yet. Other than the fact that he’s a liar, that is.”

  “A big-time liar! There’s a difference between telling a few little, harmless lies and lying to send someone to prison. Not to mention trying to kill someone.”

  “I know that. Maybe I’m not putting it right. What I’m saying is that we just can’t afford to leap to conclusions at this point.”

  “You’re not making any sense! You want me to believe that he tried to kill you, but you aren’t willing to believe that he actually did kill my father!”

  “That’s because I know he tried to kill me. I was there. But I don’t know that he killed your father.”

  “And you’re afraid I’ll confront him,” she said, calming down enough to begin to understand.

  “Yes. We can’t afford to do that, C.Z.—not yet.”

  She nodded. Her anger was mixing unpleasantly with a sense of hopelessness. How could they ever prove anything?

  “The thing is,” Zach said quietly, “if we’re right about him killing your father, then the proof must be out there somewhere. He had to have some reason to think your father was getting close to it.”

  She sank down in front of the fire and picked up her mug. She understood what he was saying. “But Dad had ways of getting evidence that we don’t have,” she pointed out bleakly. “After all, he wasn’t running from the law. He was the law.”

  Zach lowered himself beside her. “That’s true, but he had to be careful, too. He couldn’t afford to let people know he suspected Summers until he had the evidence to back up his suspicions. Not only is Summers well-liked, but he was your father’s boss.”

  “Still, Dad made a mistake somewhere,” she said bitterly. “Harvey obviously found out.”

  “Right, assuming that your father was in fact after him. But Summers would have known that he was still working the case. No doubt he asked for an update from time to time—a perfectly legitimate thing for him to have done. And then there was Colby, who would have been able to keep a close eye on it.”

  “Colby,” she echoed, having nearly forgotten him. “Do you think Colby was the other man there the night of the school bus accident?”

  “It’s certainly possible, even likely. The two of them have been friends all their lives. Everyone—including me—assumed that’s why Summers wanted Colby to have the chief’s job. But if you look at it from the perspective of our suspicions, having Colby as chief would have put an end to any investigation of the crash.

  “And it also explains why Summers wouldn’t have wanted an outsider for chief. Anyone local would never suspect Harvey Summers, but an objective outsider co
uld be dangerous. He even said that was his chief objection to me, that I was an outsider.”

  He paused and sipped his coffee. “You know, I remember telling the commissioners I was still carrying a few cases that I’d never solved and probably wasn’t going to solve but still couldn’t let go. It was true, and I said it as a way of explaining my dedication, but if we’re right, that would only have fueled Summers’s fears even more.”

  “I don’t know why it makes such a difference to me,” she said plaintively, her thoughts spiralling to her father. “Dad is gone and nothing will bring him back. It shouldn’t really matter whether he died in an accident or was…murdered.”

  She choked back a sob, and Zach reached out to take her hand. “It does matter. It matters because the desire for revenge is part of our nature. You just don’t want to accept that.”

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “I’ve often told clients not to waste their time seeking vengeance—to get on with their lives.”

  “Sometimes you just can’t get on with your life until you’ve gotten that vengeance. I’ve seen that a lot over the years. I’ve even gotten letters from families telling me that only after I’d arrested someone could they begin to grieve for the person they lost, let alone get on with their lives.”

  She used her free hand to brush away her tears. “I guess I never really understood that before. Dad used to say that he loved police work because he believed in justice. I always thought that maybe he was just a bit too self-righteous.”

  “He probably was. I am, too. But someone has to be the designated avenger.”

  She smiled, thinking Zach was helping her understand her father in a way she never had before.

  He was still holding her hand, and his thumb began to trace slow circles against her sensitive palm. When she glanced at him, he was staring into the fire, and she thought he was probably completely unaware of what he was doing—or the effect it was having on her.

  Not for the first time, she found herself caught between wanting to make love with this man and wanting to let her feelings grow more slowly. For the moment, at least, it seemed that her innate caution had gained the upper hand over desire. But it was, she knew, a very delicate balance that could be upset by something as simple as a glance or a casual touch.