Deadly Obsessions (Kensington-Gerard Detective series Book 3)

by K. T. Roberts

  “Zach, he was doing his job. You took it personal. He would have done the same thing to me or anyone else on that stand.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” Zach looked out the window. “I guess it was the backlash in the newspapers and the news that really got me. They made such a big deal out of the fact that he was the one to question me. And then when they asked if he really believed his son and that law enforcement in general was crooked, he said, “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

  “Well, I think you’re being silly. No matter what our parents do or say, they’re still our parents, and deep down, we love them.”

  “I never said I didn’t love him.” Jessie reached out for his hand. “He hurt me.”

  “I know.”

  He pushed back in his chair and stood up, fixing the crease in his pants. “I’ll check to see if Reamer’s in his office.”

  “Alright, and I’ll start my calls,” she said heading back to her desk when she noticed Morgan heading over toward Zach. A jealous twinge swirled in her stomach and had her wondering what Morgan wanted with him. Yeah, she knew what she wanted. Jessie moved her eyes away, turning in her seat in the opposite direction, every so often glancing to see what their reaction was with one another. They both had wide grins on their faces. Zach actually glanced in her direction, but she turned her head away. She could feel resentment building inside her chest.

  “Cripes,” shot out of her mouth. She was beginning to act just like Harlan Hawkins. For all she knew, Morgan was asking him a question about a procedure, even though there were lots of other people she could have asked. Morgan had singled him out because she could. Jessie pushed the thought from her mind and decided to get to work. When Zach returned, she didn’t say anything.

  “The captain isn’t back yet.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m halfway through the calls on my list. With the Connecticut Police Department on alert, I think things will be okay for now. Warren Stoney, Morton’s former Navy commander, doesn’t think he needs any protection.”

  Zach nodded. “I can understand a former SEAL refusing protection. He knows there isn’t another person who could protect him better than he himself…or another SEAL.” He started making his calls.

  The next time Jessie came up for air, she was surprised to see it was six o’clock. She stretched her arms over her head. “It’s time for home.” She took her belongings and began to walk away. Gerard stopped her.

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “About what?”

  “My father?”

  “I think you should call him and find out what he wants. Maybe he wants your approval for this woman. Who knows, but whatever it is, you need to find out. The fact that he called is a huge step for him.”

  Zach nodded and released a sigh. “Have a good night.”

  “You too. If you do decide to call him and want to talk afterward, I’ll be home.”

  “Thanks,” he said in a low voice, “I might just do that.” Jessie waved and left the building without telling him she had her first appointment with the shrink in a few days.

  On the way home, Zach stopped at Lizzie’s to pick up a take-out order he’d called in earlier. Just as he was about to exit, his cell phone rang. It was his father’s number. A queasy feeling fluttered in his stomach. It was hard to imagine the man got to him the way he did. He contemplated whether or not to answer when Jessie’s advice came to mind. He wasn’t sure what to do. There was a lot of bad blood between them and he wasn’t sure he could let it go. Now was not the time to respond. He let the call go to voicemail and exited the car. While he was walking up the steps, his mother came to mind. The anniversary date of her death was fast approaching. Could that have been what his father was calling about? Or maybe he wanted to apologize. Zach snorted. “Yeah right,” he mumbled. That would be the day. The Alan Gerard he knew never apologized for anything. He probably wanted to start a new argument. Zach looked skyward and mentally apologized to his mother. Ever since the day she died, he’d had a perpetual order of flowers delivered to her at the mausoleum where she lay in peace. Her favorite flowers were lilacs but they weren’t available during the winter months, so he’d settled on the next best thing: roses. They were a symbol of love. God, how he missed her.

  Brushing the thoughts aside, he stepped back holding the door to allow customers to exit first before entering. The hostess had his take-out order ready for him. He inhaled the smell of tomato sauce from a waitress’s tray as she passed by on her way to a table. Lizzie’s line cooks didn’t quite know how to make the sauce like his favorite Italian restaurant, but he was hungry enough that anything would taste good. He paid the tab and returned to his car, the wind kicking up and chilling his body. He rushed inside, locked the door and started the engine, turning the blower up full force. He’d only been in the diner for a few minutes, so it shouldn’t have taken long to warm up. He was right, and relaxed to enjoy the warmth of the heat blowing against his chest. He pulled the gear in place and headed for home.

  It seemed like a short drive from the diner to home. He parked on the street in front. Grabbing his bag of food, he unlocked his front door and walked inside his bungalow. He could tell the cleaning woman had been there because the house smelled fresh and clean. He flipped on the table lamp and ambled over to the kitchen counter to set the bag down, unzipped his jacket and flung it onto a chair, then made his way over to get silverware, anxious to dig into his fried chicken. The house phone rang. He checked the number and was surprised to see it was his father again.

  Reaching inside the fridge, he grabbed a beer, twisted off the top and tossed it on the counter, then took a swig. Shutting the refrigerator door with his hip, he sat down on the barstool and opened the Styrofoam container, inhaled the smell of the fried chicken and dug in. Lizzie’s always made the best-fried chicken, but it could never compare to his mother’s.

  From where he sat, he could see his mother staring back at him from the photograph on the end table. He swallowed hard. Was she talking to him from her grave? He wiped his hands on his napkin, grabbed the remote from the counter and turned on the television to force his mind onto something else. The news flashed on photographs of his crime scene, and Guardino’s. He was surprised that the commentator was talking about the Velma Vincent killing and her missing son when neither he nor Guardino had released any of the information for fear it would heighten panic and send everyone into a tailspin. The scene switched to Velma Vincent’s mother being interviewed. Zach sat mesmerized wondering how the media had been able to obtain so much of the information about the two cases. The screen then switched over to Ryan Keenan being interviewed. The commentator was making comparisons between the serial killer, Red Reaper, and this latest spree of killings, implying that he was on the loose again. Zach called Guardino.

  “Do you have the news on?” he asked. “I thought you weren’t going to release anything about the Reaper?”

  “I didn’t release the information.” His cool response confirmed he was not amused. “Between the Vincent mother and Ryan Keenan, this investigative reporter had a field day and she’s the one who compared the cases to the Reaper.” Zach could hear Guardino blow out a frustrated breath. “Have to go,” Guardino said, “My other phone is ringing. It’s probably my chief, and boy is he going to be pissed. I’ll call you later.”

  The phone went dead and Zach finished his dinner. The broadcast was the last thing they needed. It was important for them to be able to sneak up on Morton—if he was in fact the killer. Now their job was going to be more difficult.

  His phone rang again. Angry, he clicked on without checking the caller ID. “What?”

  “Zach?” his father’s voice echoed through the receiver. “Are you okay?”

  Zach’s body stiffened. He remained silent for a few seconds before responding. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. Why have you been calling?” he asked curtly. “To tell me you’ll be representing another one of my criminals so you can d
o a rerun of trying to make me look like a bad cop on the witness stand? Or was it to tell me I have a new mother?”

  “No, Zach. None of those. I really need to see you. We have to talk.”

  “About what?” he fired back.

  “With the anniversary date of your mother’s death, I think it’s about time we bury the hatchet and start over.”

  “This is a first for you, isn’t it? You’re groveling, sir.” He couldn’t bring himself to call his father, dad.

  “Yes, I am and if that’s what it takes to make amends, then dammit, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “How interesting. This new woman is giving you a lesson in humility, huh?”

  “Zach, please. I know you’re hurt. We both said things we regret. I was upset about a lot of things, and it wasn’t just your mother. Please can we get together?”

  Zach’s phone hummed letting him know he had another call. “I have to go. I have an important call coming in.” He disconnected without saying goodbye. It was Jessie.

  “Have you seen the news?” she asked the minute he answered.

  “Yes, dammit, yes.”

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, recognizing the irritation in his voice.

  “I just got off a call with my father.”

  “Want me to come over?”

  “No, Jessie. I can’t take another rejection tonight. My cup runneth over. Thanks, but I have to go.” He cut her short. Sitting down in front of the television, he tried not to think about either of them until he found himself picking up his mother’s photograph and holding it against his heart. He sobbed like a baby.

  15

  RIDDLED WITH GUILT Zach sat very still and contemplated calling his father back. The man had already called three times. What exactly did he want him to do? Get on his knees and beg forgiveness? He pursed his lips; ‘not a bad idea’ rushed through his mind. No, he couldn’t do that, but something was telling him to call. His mother’s picture fell from his lap and crashed to the floor, shattering the glass in the frame. He took that as a sign and dialed his father’s number. Alan answered it on the first ring. When he heard his father’s voice, he tried to call him dad, but the words got caught in his throat.

  “Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to cut you short. I’m working on a big case and it was an important call.”

  “That’s okay, son, you called back. That’s all that matters.” Zach was surprised he called him ‘son’. He hadn’t heard that in a long time and despite the anxiety of talking to the man, he had to admit it did touch his heart. If his father knew how much he missed him, they would have made up a long time ago.

  “What did you want to talk about?” he asked.

  “Us—my life—your mother. You know, the anniversary of her death is coming up in a week and I thought we could do something together.”

  “Like what?”

  “Can we meet?”

  “If you want to, but…” He hesitated because he didn’t want to go to his father’s house.

  Sensing his unease, Alan made it easy for him. “We don’t have to meet here if that’s why you’re hesitating. Want to meet at the diner in City Island?”

  “Why did you choose City Island?”

  “That’s where you live, isn’t it?”

  “It is. But how do you know that?”

  “Because I’ve been paying attention to what my son has been doing.”

  “That’s a surprise to me.”

  “I know, Zach. A lot of things would be a surprise to you, but please let’s meet and we’ll talk.”

  “The only problem is I’ll be going out of town for a few days.”

  “Are you leaving tonight?”

  “No, maybe in the morning.”

  “Then how about tonight. It’s still early.”

  “Alright. See you at eight o’clock?”

  “Looking forward to seeing you, son.” Zach didn’t respond.

  Zach walked back to the living room with a dustpan and cleaned up the mess. Although her picture had gotten torn in the process, he knew she was responsible for his father’s call.

  Driving over to the diner, Zach’s stomach tightened in knots, unsure of what to expect. It had been a long time since he and his father sat and talked. Too much time and too many hurtful things had transpired between them over the years. Could they erase it and get beyond the anger, or would it be like a dark cloud hovering over their heads ready to burst into a massive storm? He told himself that no matter what happened tonight, he was doing this for his mother and would give it all he had. At least he hoped he could. Believing that his mother was responsible for the meeting calmed him. He parked in the lot beside the diner and walked inside. The diner was fairly empty tonight, but that wasn’t unusual for a weeknight. Most of the time, the evening diners were high school students who’d pile in after their dates to meet with their buddies.

  He ordered his coffee and sat back looking around the familiar old diner. It was a small place, maybe twenty tables at most, but it was the décor that gave him a comfortable feeling. It was like being inside a train depot. Grey walls, only one bench for patrons to sit and wait for a table, but what really caught his attention was the suspended train track that went the length of the diner with a train that circled around and tooted its horn to signal each waitress when her order was ready. It wasn’t long before Alan entered carrying two huge binders. Zach immediately stood and walked over to help him, taking one of the binders.

  “Good to see you, son.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “When exactly did I become, ‘sir’ instead of ‘dad’?”

  Zach shot him a look. “I think you know very well.”

  Alan’s faced tensed. “We’re not going to start our talk off like this, are we?”

  Zach sucked in a breath and held up his hand in surrender. Alan placed the book he carried down on the table and set it on top of the other, removed his coat and hung it on the rack at the end of the seat. “That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about,” he said sitting down. “Can we just pretend we’re two friends tonight having an adult conversation and listen to what each other has to say?”

  “Okay.” The waitress came to the table. “Want something to eat?” Zach asked him.

  “Yes. I need a stack of pancakes with crisp bacon on the side.”

  “What about you,” the woman asked Zach.

  “I’ll have a piece of that homemade cherry pie, heated please, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.” The woman walked away and returned a few minutes later with water and a pot of coffee, filling each cup to the brim.

  “I see you still have your mother’s sweet tooth,” Alan said. Zach nodded in agreement. Alan pushed one of the albums toward Zach and opened up the book. “I want you to see something I’ve been doing for the last twelve years.” As Zach flipped through the pages, he was flabbergasted to see his father had a full account of his career with every article ever printed about him from his rookie days to the present. When Zach finished, he sat back, unable to say anything.

  “Do you believe me now that I’ve always been proud of you and your accomplishments? That I tell everyone about you?”

  “Then why did you try to make me look bad?”

  “Zach, for chrissake. My case was falling apart. You’ve seen me in action before; how was I going to win my case if I wasn’t tough on you?”

  “But the interviews after the trial.” Zach’s voice increased in volume. “Not once did you say anything nice about me. You treated me as though I was dirt under your feet.”

  “Please lower your voice. Regardless of what you think of me, I’m still your father. There’s no need to be rude.” Zach sucked in his lips to stop his penchant for vocalizing his true feeling—the same way he did as a young boy. He hadn’t meant to let his temper get the best of him, regardless of how he felt. Taking in a deep calming breath, he blew it out without making it obvious. “When did you become so sensitive?”

  Zach cocked
his head to the side and simply stared at Alan. “If I’d gone easy on you as a witness, or during those media interviews, it would have looked like I was intentionally trying to throw the case because you were my son. When I’m questioning a witness, it doesn’t matter. The only person I’m seeing in that box is a face with no name. I can’t let my emotions get in the way. I’m there to seek justice for my client, and if I can sway the jury into seeing another side that hasn’t been brought out during the trial, that’s what I’m going to do, regardless of who I’m questioning—family or otherwise. I approach my job the same as you do. To be the best at whatever you do. To tell yourself at the end of the day, you’ve done the best you could. I’m being paid to get my client off. And honestly, I’m damn proud to know that I instilled that in you when you were a young boy. I take that as having done my job.” He cleared his throat and paused briefly to catch his breath. “Did I like my client? Not in the least.” He leaned forward and whispered. “And I’m damn glad he lost. Sawyer deserved what he got.” Zach smiled hearing him admit it.

  The food arrived. Zach focused on his pie instead of looking directly into his father’s eyes. After the waitress walked away, Alan called out to him.

  “Zach, please listen to me. I’m very sorry if your ego was shattered, but I thought you would understand. Christ, how many cases did you watch me prepare for and practice in the basement? I thought you’d understand that I meant no harm.” Zach sipped his coffee. “So what do you say, can we put the past behind us? Can we shake on it?” He extended his hand across the table waiting for Zach to extend his, but he never did.

  “Not quite. We have a lot more things that have been bothering me that I need to get off my chest before we can call this a family reunion.”

  “Fair enough. Okay, say your piece.” Alan pushed his empty plate aside and leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.

  “I want to know why you tried to run my life. Why you thought Nancy Jamison should be my wife when you knew I disliked her and her family.”