Lethal Confessions

by V. K. Sykes

  Harrison made a circular motion with his hand, signaling whatever.

  “How long had you and your wife been married?”

  “About three years.”

  Might as well get right down to it. “Would you say your marriage was a happy one?”

  Harrison gave a little sigh. “That would be a stretch. We had our ups and downs. More downs than ups, I guess. But it was a little better lately.”

  “How lately?”

  “The last month or so, I guess. We were seeing a marriage counselor. The cops told us we had no choice if we wanted to avoid a domestic disturbance charge.”

  Amy scrawled a note to have someone follow up to see how many occasions the police had been called to their home. “You fought a lot before going to counseling?”

  He shrugged. “You could say that.”

  “Violently?”

  “Well, Megan liked to throw things.”

  And maybe you liked to throw punches .

  But at least the man was cooperating. “Was it known around the team that you and your wife had that kind of a relationship?”

  A deep frown creased Harrison’s gaunt face. “Why are you asking me these kinds of questions?”

  Normally, she wouldn’t respond to that kind of question, but he had a right to be curious, and a little truth might help elicit more information. “We’re exploring every angle, sir. Any and every detail that could possibly link the murders of Megan and these other young women.”

  He peered at her, then understanding opened his eyes wide. “All right, I get it. Actually, I think pretty much everybody knew we had problems. Megan freaked out at a party at the start of the season. She stormed out after telling everyone in shouting distance that she was done with me.”

  Amy made a note, then held out a copy of the composite of Jason Gardner. “Do you recognize this man?”

  Harrison held the composite at arm’s length. “He looks kind of familiar.”

  “Take your time,” Amy said.

  He grimaced, but then shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t place him.”

  “We have reason to believe this man is connected to a Florida State League team, though not yours. Could he perhaps have been at the party you just mentioned?”

  Harrison frowned again, his black eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. “I don’t know. There were a lot of people at that party.”

  “Who threw it?”

  “Bernie Abraham. You know. The car dealer. He’s a huge fan and team supporter. Every season he throws a kickoff party at his estate.”

  She nodded. Now for the tough part. “Did you or your wife have any affairs outside your marriage, sir?”

  Harrison gaped at her. “That’s some question to ask a man whose wife was just murdered.”

  “Yes, but I assure you, I only ask questions that are intended to help apprehend the murderer.”

  “Well, fuck, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” He gave her a nod. “Yeah, that’s mostly what we fought about. Guys get tempted, you know, especially when we’re on the road. Those girls, man, they’re just relentless.”

  Cry me a river, asshole . She struggled to keep her distaste from her expression, simply giving him an encouraging nod.

  “One time a girl tried to get back at me after I said I didn’t want to see her again. She forwarded Megan a copy of one of the emails I’d sent her. Well, Megan went fucking postal on me. She made life hell for a long time after that.” He sucked in a breath. “And I found out she screwed another guy in retaliation.”

  God, no wonder those two had needed therapy. Was there any marriage that wasn’t a total mess these days?

  Amy put away her notebook and rose. “Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I appreciate your time and your candor. I’ll get an evidence bag from my car and come back for the photo.”

  She retrieved gloves and a bag from the car and, after carefully sealing away the picture, she again expressed her condolences to Harrison and let herself out. She’d go back to HQ and turn the photo over to forensics, then fill in the squad on her conversation with Harrison. She was sure now that she’d finally found the link. All five victims—she included Rita Ramirez now—had something in common: troubled marriages to baseball players. As crazy as it seemed, her instincts told her that link must have everything to do with the killer’s motivation.

  Only one of the couples—Eddie and Rita Ramirez—even knew Gardner. But the killer could have been at Bernie Abraham’s, party and maybe at other team gatherings, where he might have seen one or more of the other couples together. Even if that wasn’t the case, with the way gossip travelled in the small world of the minor leagues it wouldn’t be hard to find out that kind of information.

  As she headed onto the interstate, she found herself hoping that Beckett would be long gone from HQ by the time she arrived. The thought of facing him, much less having to explain herself, made her clench her teeth. She still felt gutless, ashamed, and about six inches tall.

  It was a distraction she didn’t need. Not with Jason Gardner still on the loose.

  62

  * * *

  Friday, August 6

  2:30 p.m.

  Luke would be eternally grateful to Pushy for setting him straight about Robitaille. Her evident dismay about his plans to adopt Alicia had thrown him badly, and the lanky detective had immediately sensed something was wrong. As soon as Robitaille bolted from HQ, her partner had grabbed Luke and pulled him into an empty interview room for what he said was a man-to-man.

  Pushy’s reaction to Luke’s news about Alicia was instant and genuine. After delivering a congratulatory shot to the shoulder, he actually hugged him. But when Luke described Robitaille’s cold response, Pushy’s grin morphed into a tight line. “Man, you don’t get her, do you?” he said, shaking his head. “Robitaille would rather wrestle a fifteen-foot gator than admit her feelings. But it’s different with you, Luke. I think it’s getting serious.”

  “Hell, I doubt that,” Luke retorted. “It’s been like pulling teeth with her from the get-go.”

  Pushy’s gaze narrowed in warning. “Give her a break, man. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t think about her dead sister.”

  Luke gave him a reluctant nod. He liked that Pushy defended his partner so firmly. “I know exactly how that feels.”

  “Sure, and the fact that you’re ready to adopt a sick little girl makes it pretty damn clear that you’re not afraid of facing another loss. But Robitaille’s not there. Not yet, anyway.”

  Luke spent the next hour trying to work, but mostly he thought about those words because Pushy probably had it bang-on. As much as Kate’s murder had flipped his world upside down, Luke wasn’t afraid of opening himself up to other people. He’d already grappled with the odds against Alicia living a full life. It scared the crap out of him to even think about it, but what choice did he have? She needed him, and that made it worth whatever might be coming down the road. He would deal with whatever the future held because he’d have to. And because Alicia’s own special brand of courage deserved his loyalty and love.

  But he couldn’t really put himself in Robitaille’s shoes. While he’d lost a sister, he hadn’t lost a twin. And he’d been a grown man and a military veteran when Kate was murdered, not a seventeen year-old girl who took all the blame on herself.

  By the time Robitaille returned to the Floor, Luke had rehearsed an apology in his head. But she didn’t even look in his direction as she stopped beside Pushy’s desk. Her face was flushed and she looked hot, tired, and down. Her normally glossy hair had given up any semblance of order, and was now a crazy mass curling around her drawn features.

  He gave her thirty seconds before he moved across the room to join them.

  Pushy had his back to him, looking at an evidence bag that contained a small, mutilated photo.

  “Another one, huh?” Luke said.

  “Wallet-sized,” Pushy said. “Not that much left of it after he hacked it up.”

  Robitaille contin
ued to look straight at Pushy. “Harrison admitted that his marriage sucked for a long time, though it had been better for the last few weeks. You think every baseball player has a lousy marriage, Poushinsky? It kind of seems like it.” Her voice sounded tart. Edgy.

  Luke clamped down on a flare of irritation. She was exhausted and unnerved, so it wasn’t surprising she might lash out.

  “Maybe you’d better ask our baseball consultant,” Pushy joked.

  Robitaille sighed. “It was a rhetorical question, calice. But wouldn’t it be a hell of a coincidence for all five victims to have had marital problems? Problems big enough that apparently most everyone on the team knew about them?”

  She had a point. The majority of players Luke knew had been happily married for years. “You’re thinking the reason Gardner picked these women might have something to do with the state of their marriages?”

  Robitaille shifted only slightly in his direction. “He may have targeted them because they were a certain kind of woman,” she said to the air between him and Pushy. “The kind of woman Gardner hates, or is afraid of. Or both.”

  Pushy nodded. “Makes a lot of sense if you look at his background. Mom shoots Dad, then kills herself. There had to be major shit going down in that marriage, probably for a long time. No wonder the kid was screwed up.”

  Robitaille picked up the evidence bag. “Not to sound too much like a shrink, but maybe he’s killing his mother over and over again when he kills these women. We shouldn’t speculate, but it’s a pretty textbook scenario.”

  She finished their impromptu meeting by telling Pushy she’d be out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. Then she tried to escape by circling around Luke.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “Can we talk?”

  She gently brushed his hand away. “I’ve got to get this to forensics.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  She gave a tight nod and strode away. Luke lengthened his own stride, catching up as she hit the corridor leading to the lab. “I know you’re upset that I’m trying to adopt Alicia.”

  Robitaille didn’t slow, or even glance at him.

  Fuck. He tried again. “I’m sorry I dumped that on you. I shouldn’t have surprised you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.” She kept going. “You’re doing an admirable thing.”

  That sounded better, but he still couldn’t read her expression. “Come on. Something’s changed. Tell me what’s going on,” he said with a slight edge to his voice.

  She came to stop and sighed, dropping her gaze to the floor. “Beckett, I’m so sorry that I can’t be more enthusiastic about what you’re doing.”

  He gripped her forearm gently, and this time she didn’t shake him off. Her naked skin felt smooth and hot to his touch. “As much as anyone can understand what you’ve gone through, I think I do.”

  She briefly looked into his eyes, but then her gaze skated away. “You must think I’m heartless,” she said in a bleak voice.

  Luke wanted to fold her in his arms, right there in the station despite the uniformed officers and civilians passing by. “Not a chance, sweetheart. I get you,” he responded in a low, quiet voice.

  She blinked, her long eyelashes growing damp. “I’ve got to get out of here, Beckett. I can’t be bawling in the middle of HQ, calice.”

  He kept his grip on her arm, and she didn’t resist. “Please. I want you meet Alicia. This afternoon. You said you’d do it, and I think you need to. For your own sake, too.”

  She had to see that Alicia was real, a flesh and blood child and worth cherishing no matter what the risk.

  Robitaille locked her gaze on the evidence bag. “I’ve got to turn this in.” She pulled away from his grip and hurried off.

  This time he let her go.

  63

  * * *

  Friday, August 6

  3:30 p.m.

  The last time Amy walked through the door of the Fort Lauderdale Children’s Hospital, she’d met the man now walking by her side. It had only been about a week, but it felt like forever. As she and Beckett moved through the sliding doors, she glanced at the spot where they’d first talked.

  Talk about a game-changing moment .

  They hadn’t spoken much during the forty-minute ride down the coast to the hospital. Beckett had clearly sensed her inner turmoil and let her be. He was probably still in shock that she’d come back from Forensics, marched up to his desk, and agreed to go with him to see Alicia.

  Not that it had been an easy decision. As soon as she turned in the Harrison photo, she’d ducked into the nearest rest room and locked herself in a stall. It was the only place she could get a second of privacy in the bustling station. Every instinct had told her it would be nuts to agree to what Beckett wanted her to do, especially today. But her brain screamed coward at her. And if she thought she was a coward, what would he think?

  Not that he’d acted like he thought she was gutless. When he’d looked into her eyes with all that understanding and warmth…well, no wonder she’d almost burst into tears.

  After five minutes of self-inflicted mental torture, Amy had sucked it up and headed back out to the Floor. As she passed by Beckett’s cubicle, she’d choked out a few words and gestured him to follow to her car. When she motioned him inside, his smile had lit up her insides like a torch.

  God help her, she had it bad.

  Alicia’s sun-splashed fifth floor room might have been decorated by FAO Schwarz. The near-avalanche of stuffed animals would have made her nephew Cooper insane with jealousy. As Beckett knocked on the open door, Alicia looked up from a diary that lay open on her lap and gave him both a smile and a puzzled look.

  “Hi, honey.” He went straight to her bed and gave her a little kiss on top of the head. “I know it’s kind of weird for me to be back again today, but I brought you a surprise. This is Detective Amélie Robitaille. She’s the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office detective I told you about. Amélie, meet Alicia Trent.”

  “Hi, Alicia. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Amy said cheerfully.

  Not true. She was scared to death.

  The little girl, so thin it broke Amy’s heart, regarded her solemnly. Her curly brown hair was tied back in a soft ponytail, tendrils curling around her pale, clever face. “You have a beautiful name, Detective Robitaille,” Alicia replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard either of those names before, but I really like the way they sound together. Very musical.”

  Amy blinked, surprised by the girl’s almost adult manner of speech. “Ah, Alicia is a very pretty name, too. And you can call me Amélie. Or Amy.”

  Beckett’s eyes laughed at her. “Alicia swears she’s only seven—almost eight—but I think she’s really about eighteen, don’t you, Detective Robitaille? She’s just a little small for her age.”

  Alicia giggled as she hugged a big teddy bear. “This is my bear, Pudge.”

  “Hi there, Pudge.” Amy said, shaking the bear’s arm. Then she gave Beckett her best cop frown. “If you think Alicia’s faking her age, I suppose I could arrange a lie detector test for her when she gets out of here.”

  “Oh, now you two are just being silly,” Alicia huffed. But then she giggled again.

  “You got us,” Beckett said. His big hand swallowed her little one in a gentle grip, and Amy’s heart flipped over.

  Alicia’s gaze shifted to Amy’s hip. “That’s a really big gun.”

  Amy’s hand went instinctively to rest on the Glock. “Yes, it is. Unfortunately, the bad guys have big ones, too.”

  Alicia gave her an understanding nod. “Have you ever been shot?”

  Beckett gestured to Amy to sit down in the chair beside the bed. She did, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her thighs.

  “No, I haven’t been shot. But I’ve been shot at a few times. It can be really scary, but you kind of forget about it most of the time. Most police work is very routine and boring. It’s not like you see on T
V.”

  “Don’t let her fool you,” Beckett said. “Detective Robitaille is very brave. Right now, she’s hunting a really bad man, and she’s going to find him and arrest him very soon.”

  His voice rang with confidence, bringing a glow of pleasure to Amy’s cheeks.

  “Count on it,” Amy said. “But we can talk about police work as much as you want later, Alicia. I want to hear all about you. It must be awfully exciting that Luke’s going to try to adopt you.”

  And how lame did that sound?

  She glanced at Beckett. His smile told her that he didn’t think it was lame at all.

  Alicia gazed up at Beckett with adoring eyes. “I’m so lucky,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  Amy barely managed not to show her surprise. Lucky? Alicia might not live past the end of next week, but she could still call herself lucky?

  “I’m the lucky one, sweetheart,” Beckett said as he bent to kiss her forehead. “A girl as smart and sweet as you are doesn’t come along every day.”

  He looked happy, and he obviously meant every word.

  Amy had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Luke’s right. He’s the lucky one. You, on the other hand, are going to have a job on your hands to train this character.”

  Beckett clutched at his chest dramatically. “Me? Really?” When Alicia giggled, he gave a long-suffering sigh. “But I guess she might have a point there. We’re going to have to learn stuff together, kiddo.”

  “Amélie, will you come visit us sometime? After I go to live with Luke?”

  Right now, more than anything, Amy hoped that this child would live a long and happy life. “Sure, I’d be happy to. If Luke invites me, of course.”

  “I think that could be arranged.” Beckett gave Amy a smoky look and her throat went tight all over again.

  “Good,” Alicia said firmly. “Now, Amélie, I think you should tell me why I should grow up to be a detective like you.”