Accidental Eyewitness

by Michelle Karl

  However, when she stood and pulled back her hair, he saw the redness in her eyes and the way her hands shook as she held one out to him. Was it possible this wasn’t a ploy to draw him here after all?

  “Thank you for coming, Deputy. My name is—”

  “Dana Lang. I know who you are.”

  She gave him a gracious smile he was certain she used for fans of her show. He’d never said he was a fan.

  He nodded, deciding it was better not to draw attention to himself in case she hadn’t yet realized who he was. She couldn’t have known tonight was the night he’d finally conceded to his father’s urgings and decided to work. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  She nodded and took a deep breath, and as she began talking, he could see her hands quiver. She was shaken up. That couldn’t be faked. “I was returning to my room when I noticed the door open. When I entered, someone was in there going through my belongings. I said something and he turned to look at me, then pushed past me and ran down the hall into the stairwell. He knocked me down as he fled.” She motioned to her stained blouse. “That’s how I spilled iced coffee all over me.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  “No, and I didn’t get a good look at him. He was tall and thin, but his face was hidden by a ski mask. And when he ran toward me, I was too startled to really get a good look.”

  “What was missing from your room?”

  “Nothing.”

  “He didn’t take anything?” That surprised him. Most break-ins were burglaries. Had she interrupted him before he could find anything of value?

  “Not that I can tell. My belongings were scattered, but I don’t think anything was missing. I had my cell phone and wallet with me and I didn’t bring anything valuable, so there wasn’t much for him to take. But he did leave something. A threatening message spray-painted on the wall.”

  He jotted down notes, then asked her to follow him upstairs. Now that she had the benefit of time and someone else with her, perhaps she would notice something else that could help pinpoint who’d done this deed.

  She walked with him to the elevator, her arms curled over her chest and her head low, and stepped inside with hesitation.

  “No one’s going to hurt you,” he assured her. “I’m here with you.” He touched her elbow, trying to reassure her, but instantly regretted it as a spark raced up his hand. He had no business noticing how dainty and soft her arm was or breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. This woman could ruin his life with one story. He had to remain on his guard around her at all times.

  He cleared his throat as he tried to regain his composure and act professionally. “How long have you been in town?”

  “I arrived last night,” she told him.

  Welcome to West Bend, he thought, hating that this would forever be the image she’d take from his hometown.

  The elevator doors slid open and she hesitated a moment before getting out, then let him take the lead as they walked down the hall.

  He unlocked her door with the key Milo had given him and pushed it open. Clothes were scattered from a suitcase onto the bed. Drawers were open. Someone had been searching for something, and by the look of the room, he’d been here a while. If he hadn’t stolen anything, it was either because he hadn’t found anything of value, or else that wasn’t the reason he’d come.

  He turned and saw a display on the wall of photos and notes, along with the threatening graffiti Dana had mentioned. It looked like she was making an evidence board. He glanced at the date on an Associated Press article about a murder in his hometown and realized it was referencing the Renfield murders, a thirty-year-old cold case.

  “Is this all for an upcoming show?” he asked her.

  “Sort of. It’s a case that’s recently caught my interest. What do you know about the murders?”

  He let his gaze fall back to the wall of what seemed to him random information. Was it possible this was the reason she was in town and it had nothing to do with him? Please, God, please. “Just what I’ve heard throughout the years. Rumors, gossip, folklore, that’s all.”

  “Do you think he killed her? Paul Renfield? The article says he killed his wife and child. Do you think he did it?”

  He shrugged. “That’s what they say.”

  “Did they ever find him? I have the AP article that got picked up, but the local newspaper’s files aren’t online so I don’t really know what happened after the initial report. I had planned on spending this evening digging into the files at the sheriff’s office, but after this, I think I’ll stay in tonight instead.”

  He remembered hearing about this case when he was a kid. His grandfather had been the sheriff at the time of the murders and Quinn knew the murder of that mother and little girl had haunted him until his dying day. It was a case he’d never been able to solve. “It was a long time ago.”

  He wasn’t really in to having this conversation with her. All he wanted was to take her statement and get out before her radar zeroed in on him. It was too coincidental that she was in his town when Rizzo’s story was splashed all over the news. “It was before my time. I didn’t know any of these people so I can’t really say.”

  But as he scanned the wall again, his gaze landed on one of the handwritten notes and he realized he recognized that writing. He pulled it from the wall and read the short missive.

  Please take care of this child. She just became an orphan.

  “What is it?” she asked him, suddenly alert and beside him, her face anxious with curiosity.

  “It looks like my grandfather’s handwriting. He was the sheriff back when the murders happened, so it’s not odd to see his handwriting. I guess it caught me off guard.” He pinned the paper back to the wall.

  She stepped closer to him and glanced at the sheet of paper he’d held. “You recognize this handwriting as your grandfather’s? Are you certain? And your grandfather was the sheriff at the time of murders? Sheriff Bill Mackey?”

  “That’s right. Why?”

  “This note, the one with his handwriting, was left with a child at a church sixty miles from here just days after the murders took place. It was the only clue pointing to who left her, since the preacher didn’t tell the adoptive parents.”

  He frowned. What was she talking about? “I’ve never heard that.”

  “Few people have.” She locked eyes with him. They were now on fire with excitement. “I don’t think Alicia Renfield died that night at all. I think she was found alive and your grandfather not only knew it, he hid her away and faked her death.”

  She was crazy. Or was she so hungry for a story that she would resort to making up nonsense? He shook his head and backed away from her, anger biting at him. His grandfather had been a hero in this town and to him. His death two years ago had rocked Quinn. Her accusations were unthinkable. He grimaced and locked eyes with her, his body now on alert. “Watch what you say about my grandfather. He was a good man. He would never be involved in what you’re accusing him of.”

  “You said yourself the handwriting matched.”

  He grimaced, then tried to backtrack. “Maybe I was wrong. It could belong to anyone.” He shouldered past her and started to walk out, but he stopped. She was back in town to investigate this murder and it seemed as if she intended to drag his grandfather’s good name through the mud to get her story. “He was a good sheriff, and he was a good man.”

  “I’m trying to find out the truth about what happened that night.”

  “And you don’t care who you hurt in the process, do you?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise at his accusation. “I’m only trying to uncover the truth. My goal isn’t to harm anyone.”

  “It doesn’t matter that he’s not here to defend himself anymore?”

  She sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to say Sheriff Mackey committed the murders. I only want to fin
d out what he covered up and why. I have a letter from the preacher of the church that says whoever left the child with him believed she was in danger. He died six years ago, so I can’t question him. Besides, your grandfather may be dead, but someone obviously doesn’t want me looking into this.” She pointed at the graffiti on the wall to confirm her words.

  She was right. Someone had broken into her room. And this wasn’t a random burglary, either. Whoever it was hadn’t stolen anything, which meant they had either been interrupted before finding what they were looking for, or they just wanted to see what she was investigating and what evidence she had. And they’d come paint-in-hand to warn her off.

  She jutted out her chin stubbornly, but he could see the fear reflected in her brown eyes. “I’ll admit I was a little rattled by this, but I won’t be scared off so easily.”

  He shouldn’t be allowing her to get under his skin, but he found himself admiring the way she tried to show him a strong front when she was so obviously frightened of what had happened here tonight. It made him want to find who did this, but he knew that was unlikely. “I’ll make a report, but it’s doubtful we’ll catch them. It won’t do much good to run prints since this is a hotel room and we wouldn’t be able to exclude anyone.”

  “I understand.” She pulled at the collar of her shirt, a nervous gesture that belied the calm she was trying to show him. “Thank you for coming, Deputy...”

  “Dawson,” he said. “Quinn Dawson.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Any relation to Sheriff Dawson?”

  He nodded. She’d done her homework. “My father.”

  “I see. Law enforcement in this town must be a family matter.”

  “My brother, Rich, is also on the force full-time. I’m only a reserve deputy. I fill in whenever I’m in town.”

  “Oh, what do you do the rest of the time?”

  He grimaced. Why had he said that? He strived to be as vague as possible with his response. The last thing he wanted was to direct her radar his way if she really wasn’t on to him. “Private security.” He put away his notebook and handed her a card with the sheriff department’s information. “If you have any further issues or need any more information, call this number.”

  “Thank you. I’ve already spoken to Beverly in your records department. I’m hoping to get a look at the case file, but she assures me it’s an open case and the records aren’t available to the public. Any tips on getting her to change her mind?”

  “Beverly won’t release anything without my father’s approval.”

  “How cooperative do you think your father will be about releasing that information?”

  He knew. Zero cooperation. “I hope you have a plan B,” he told her before walking out.

  * * *

  The next morning, Dana was met with opposition at the sheriff’s office just as Quinn had predicted.

  “The Renfield murders are still technically an open case and we don’t comment to the press on open cases.” Sheriff John Dawson was sharp and clear in his tone. He apparently didn’t care for Dana sticking her nose into his town’s business and he wasn’t going to help her do it.

  She wondered if Quinn had told his father that she’d come to town to drag his grandfather’s—Sheriff Dawson’s father-in-law’s—name through the mud. That wasn’t her intention. She wished Quinn believed that, but then why did she care what he thought? The truth was she was touched by the way he’d stood up for his grandfather. He had a family here and he was looking out for them. She liked that. Her own family had disintegrated when her father was killed. Her mother had lost herself in her grief and work and had eventually sent Dana away to boarding school. They had never regained their connection before her mother’s death last month, but Dana still remembered the times when they’d been a family. When she’d broken up with her boyfriend, Jason, several months ago, she was left wondering if she would ever have family of her own again. She’d been looking forward to marriage and one day soon having children. Jason had shattered those dreams when he’d run off with his physical therapist, and her mother’s death had left her completely alone in the world.

  She sighed. No use swooning over the ruggedly handsome Quinn Dawson. She imagined he was looking forward to one day having a wife and four or five kids and living the small-town family dream. She wasn’t really suited for that kind of life. She glanced around the room at Rich Dawson. He’d already moved up in ranks and she figured he would one day follow in his father and grandfather’s footsteps and become sheriff. Did Quinn have those same ambitions? By his own admission, he’d taken a job outside of his family’s chosen profession. Was there some reason he hadn’t climbed on board the law enforcement career train?

  She felt herself flush. He was right about her. She was always questioning things. Asking too many questions and allowing her thought process to go off in a million different directions. But she was a reporter and that was her job.

  She locked eyes with Sheriff Dawson. “Is this case being actively investigated?”

  “Not at this time. It’s been a while since we’ve had any leads.”

  “Can you tell me when it was last actively investigated.”

  He stood, promptly ending the conversation. “I appreciate your position, but as I said, we don’t release information on open cases.”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten flak from local authorities not wanting to share their records, but she was a little surprised that she wasn’t able to convince Sheriff Dawson to change his mind. Her charm and notoriety almost always worked.

  “Sheriff, the case is thirty years old. Surely, you can make an exception given the age of the investigation. This may very well be a case where fresh eyes can make a difference.”

  “My father-in-law was the sheriff at the time of these murders. I was friends with Paul and Rene Renfield. This town was shaken to its core by this incident. Believe me, Miss Lang, the case has been thoroughly investigated. Two people died that night, a woman and child, but this entire town was affected by it.”

  She stood, too, realizing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. He wasn’t open to fresh eyes. But how would he feel if she presented him with evidence that Alicia Renfield didn’t die that night after all? Would he even believe the note had been written in his own father-in-law’s hand?

  She thanked him, then walked out of his office without mentioning the note. If Quinn wanted to tell him, then so be it, but she wasn’t going to share her information if they weren’t willing to do the same.

  * * *

  Quinn heard the commotion in his dad’s office when he entered the deputies’ bullpen. All eyes were on the scene going on inside that office. From the best he could see, Dana Lang was standing up to his father without fear or hesitation. It took a strong person not to be intimidated by his angry glare. John Dawson had certainly been elected as sheriff based on his name and family connections because his curt personality left something to be desired. Quinn turned his gaze to his brother. Rich would be a successful sheriff one day. He had both the investigative skills and the personality to win people over, as well as a wife and kids everyone in town loved. He also had good ideas for the department, but first he had to wait out his father’s retirement or election defeat by another opponent, neither of which seemed would happen anytime soon.

  The door opened and Dana walked out. Quinn set down his coffee as she headed his way, waving and flashing him a grateful smile. “Good morning. Well, you were right. He wouldn’t release them.”

  He gave an easy shrug, noticing how much more put together she seemed today. The coffee stains were gone and her hair and makeup were perfect, but he didn’t miss the puffiness that remained around her eyes—evidence of her ordeal. She was certainly beautiful but he liked her more relaxed look from last night. This morning, she could have just stepped out of the hair-and-makeup department of her television show. “Can�
�t say I’m surprised. How was everything last night? Any other incidents?”

  “None. Milo offered to transfer me to another room and I took him up on it. I don’t think I would have been able to sleep with those words glaring down on me all night.”

  “I’m glad Milo took care of you.”

  “How about you? Anything else exciting happen in town last night?”

  He gave a slow shake of his head. His shifts were usually free from a lot of drama, but last night had been a snooze fest after he’d left her. “Nope, nothing. Besides your incident, it was all quiet everywhere else, too.”

  “Good, that’s good. Well, it was nice to see you again, Quinn. I’d better be going. I have an appointment at the library with a microfiche machine.”

  “You take care, Miss Lang. And be careful. Whoever wrote that threat knows what case you’re working on and obviously doesn’t like it.”

  She gave him a smile, but he could see she didn’t need to be reminded that someone had targeted her. She’d probably spent most of the night unable to sleep from listening to noises outside and worrying that whoever had broken into her room would return with more than a paint can. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time someone has tried to convince me to stop investigating. I’ll be careful, though. And, please, call me Dana.”