Everything was quiet. The house – always too new, too big – felt empty.
Her footsteps echoed as she made her way down the corridor to the sunlit kitchen. The gray, marble countertops were spotless. The dishwasher hummed. There was no sign of Pat.
When she backtracked to the living room, the TV flashed images without sound. The sofas were unoccupied.
On the wave of cool air, Harper smelled the sweet, cloying scent of cigar smoke. She turned on her heel, following the smoke around the foot of the stairs to where Smith’s study door stood ajar. It was the only room in the house where Pat allowed him to smoke.
For a second, she stood in the hallway, deciding how to handle this.
Then, she tapped her knuckles against the wood and pushed the door open.
‘Lieutenant?’
Smith’s study was all dark wood and leather furniture. A deer head was mounted above the door. Its glassy eyes surveyed walls holding framed photos of the lieutenant with various dignitaries – the chief of police, the mayor. There were a few black-and-white shots of a younger version of him in uniform at crime scenes, badge on his chest, standing over handcuffed men.
A picture of Pat and the boys grinning at the camera stood on his desk, next to his laptop, which he closed when he saw her.
His cigar waved her in.
‘Who won?’ he asked, as she perched on one of the leather chairs facing his desk.
‘Kyle.’ She shook her head ruefully. ‘That kid’s a ringer. Why didn’t you tell me he’d gone pro?’
There was pride in his smile. ‘He swore me to secrecy.’
They talked about the boys for a while. How Scott was doing in school. Kyle’s new cheerleader girlfriend.
They were laughing about something Scott had said at lunch, when Harper pounced.
‘Oh, hey,’ she said casually. ‘I was looking for you on Friday and couldn’t track you down. I wanted to talk to you about the Whitney case.’
Smith leaned forward to tap the ash off the stub of his smoke. When he glanced up again, his eyes were guarded.
‘Work talk isn’t allowed on Sunday,’ he reminded her.
‘I know.’
Leaning back in her chair, Harper adopted a look of apology.
‘The thing is, the case seemed to go quiet over the last few days. Is everything OK?’ Seeing the warning glint in his eyes, she added, ‘Come on, Lieutenant. This isn’t for attribution. I’m just curious.’
He examined his cigar. ‘“Just curious” gets people fired.’
With a shoulder tilt that said it was fine either way, Harper reached for a hunting magazine on the low table next to her chair, flipping through it without seeing it.
‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have brought it up, except Baxter’s after me to write a piece about how slow progress is on the case. You know how she is.’
Smith drew on the cigar, blowing out a puff of bittersweet smoke.
‘Emma Baxter needs to mind her own business,’ he growled.
‘Tell me about it,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve held her off for now, but when I’m back in the office on Tuesday …’
She made a helpless gesture.
‘Anyway, I thought I should warn you.’ She turned her attention back to the magazine, which bristled with weaponry. ‘Give you time to brace yourself. I think they’re planning an editorial.’
From the corner of her eye she saw Smith toying with that stub of cigar, his lips pursed.
‘Look,’ he said after a second, ‘I’m not going to deny this is a tough one. My guys don’t have much to work with. None of the neighbors saw a thing. No car was seen on the street outside. No sound of a struggle was heard.’ He paused. ‘Whoever did this – between you and me – he knew what he was doing. That scene was spotless.’
Harper put the magazine down.
‘What about the ex-husband?’ she asked, no longer disguising her eagerness. ‘Could it have been him? Is he smart enough?’
Smith studied her. There’d been a time when he loved telling her about the cases he was investigating. He’d give her all the background. Get her to guess who he thought did it.
Once she became the official police reporter, that ended. They’d had to find a middle ground between their affection for each other and pure professionalism and, up to now, they’d done that just fine. But this case was different.
Harper was involved in this case. She felt part of it.
And Smith knew it.
‘The father was at work,’ he told her after a second. ‘Rock-solid alibi. He was supposed to come in and pick up his daughter from school that day, but he got called in at the last minute.’
‘Was there a boyfriend?’ Harper persisted. ‘Someone she fought with?’
His lips tightening, Smith shook his head.
‘Come on, now. You know how much I’d love to discuss this case with you, but I simply can’t give you this information. I honestly wish I could.’
‘Lieutenant,’ she leaned towards him, ‘you have no suspects and yet you’re sure this case has nothing to do with my mother’s murder? Help me out here. I don’t understand.’
‘I didn’t tell you we had no suspects.’ A hint of steel entered his voice. ‘I told you the ex isn’t one of them.’
‘But how could the layout of the crime scenes be so identical?’ she asked, the words bursting out. ‘Are you seriously telling me that’s a coincidence? That both women happened to be naked, and killed in exactly the same way, in the same room, with the same MO?’
‘That is what I’m telling you,’ he said evenly. ‘I know it’s difficult to accept, but similar murders happen.’ Seeing the look on her face, he held up his hand. ‘But you are right – the similarities are striking and I have instructed Detective Blazer to keep both cases in mind in his investigation. Nonetheless, my gut tells me it’s not the same guy.’
It wasn’t much, but at least it was something. Harper had a feeling that was all she was going to get out of him.
‘Please, Lieutenant, if you find out anything about my mother’s case – you’ll tell me, won’t you?’
The silence that followed was heavy with shared memories of bloody floors and slippery hands. Of her real father’s failures and Smith’s decision to step into his shoes, and be there for her.
‘I promise,’ he assured her. ‘I’ll tell you all I can.’
Before she could say anything else, he glanced at the cigar butt in his hand and briskly stubbed it out in the heavy wooden ashtray on his desk, waving away the cloud of smoke that rose around him.
‘I better open a window. Pat’s going to kill me.’ He jumped up to lift the sash. ‘Look, give Blazer a call when you’re back in the office. I’ll tell him to brief you on the record.’
The moment was over.
Chapter Fifteen
On Tuesday, Harper had to race out to a fatal car accident at the edge of town early on, so it was after five when she dashed past a patrol car and ambulance parked outside the door of police headquarters, and hurried across the quiet lobby to the reception desk.
Darlene made a show of looking at her watch.
‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘Somebody’s late. I was about to go home.’
Grabbing the stack of police reports, Harper spoke without looking up.
‘Wreck on Veterans’ Highway with fatalities.’
‘Oh, lord,’ Darlene gave a slow headshake. ‘Why don’t people drive like they can die?’
‘That is a question I ask myself every day,’ Harper replied, still flipping through the files. ‘What’d I miss here? Anything new?’
‘Mm-hmm.’ Darlene glanced over her shoulder, then leaned forward across the desk. ‘Everybody around here’s up in arms.’
Holding her place in the file with her fingertips, Harper looked up.
‘Really? What’s going on?’
Darlene lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘It’s the Whitney case again. Mayor’s on the phone. Police chief’s yelling. Blazer
looks like he’s on his last heart attack.’
Forgetting about the police reports, Harper leaned against the counter.
‘What’s everyone so mad about?’
Darlene gave her a look.
‘You know. White lady gets killed in her own house in a safe neighborhood in the middle of the day and they don’t have a clue.’ Her eyebrows arched up nearly to her hairline. ‘Mayor’s about to fire everyone in this building. Sow the ground with salt.’
So Smith’s unworried demeanor on Sunday had been acting. The pressure was on.
Excitement flared in Harper’s chest. Maybe she could get somewhere with the case today after all.
‘Is Blazer in?’ she asked. ‘Smith wants me to talk to him.’
The receptionist shook her head. ‘He went out in an all-fire rush about thirty minutes ago. Said he’d come back by six.’ She lowered her voice again. ‘I heard him and the lieutenant had a shoutin’ match. Lieutenant told him to find a suspect or else.’
At that moment, the security door behind her buzzed and swung open. The two women both jumped.
Darlene turned her attention to her computer screen as if it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen in her life. Harper resumed flipping through the day’s police reports, although the information was a blur of burglaries, public sex acts, and alcohol consumption within a hundred yards of a school.
‘Hey, Harper!’ Grinning, a man in the green uniform of a paramedic emerged from the back offices, a clipboard in one hand. He was about her age, stocky, with short blond hair and guileless blue eyes.
Harper relaxed.
‘Hey, Toby. I haven’t seen you in ages. What’ve you been up to?’
His smile faded. ‘Got moved to day shift. I hate it. It’s so boring. Nothing but car wrecks and slip-and-falls all damn day.’
‘Bet Elaine’s happy about it, though.’ Harper nudged him with her elbow. ‘She gets to see you again.’
She’d met Toby Jennings at a shooting scene when he was fresh out of med school four years ago. He was young enough to be a great source of information, and fun enough to hang out with outside of work. His wife, Elaine, a doctor at the local hospital, was one of those women who took one look at Harper and started sending her home with leftovers.
‘Yeah,’ he conceded. ‘That part’s good, at least. I’m getting back on nights soon, though. I’ve already put in my request. How about you? Still chasing the detectives around?’
‘Same old, same old.’ She glanced at him hopefully. ‘Hey, you don’t know anything about the Whitney case do you?’
‘Oh, hell no, Harper.’ He laughed. ‘That’s about twenty levels above my pay grade. Besides, they don’t call paramedics for the dead ones.’
‘I was afraid of that.’ She shrugged. ‘Had to try.’
Glancing at his watch he said, ‘Look, I better go. I’ve got to turn the bus in for the next shift.’
Paramedics never use the word ‘ambulance’ for some reason.
‘Well, it was great seeing you,’ she said. ‘Give my love to Elaine.’
He took a step towards the door before pausing.
‘Actually, are you going to the party tonight?’
Harper and Darlene both looked at him.
‘What party?’ Harper asked.
‘I think you were at the last one at Riley’s place? The wild one where everyone started arresting each other? They’re doing it again tonight. You should come. I’m planning to drop in for a quick one. Leave before they burn the place down. Elaine might come, too.’
Harper did remember. Riley was a patrol cop who threw all-night parties. The last one had turned a bit messy, and Harper had slipped away when the cops started singing Frank Sinatra and building a bonfire in the backyard.
She hadn’t planned on doing anything tonight, but spending an hour or two at a cop party could be useful. They got a bit chatty after a few beers.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I might just do that. I don’t get off until midnight, though.’
‘No one does. Party doesn’t start until twelve.’ With a jaunty wave, he headed out. ‘Seizure later.’
Darlene waited until he was gone to pass judgment.
‘Those night-shift parties,’ she sniffed. ‘Are notorious.’
When Harper returned to the newspaper building, DJ was waiting with obvious impatience.
‘I’ve been trying to reach you.’ He spun his chair towards her. ‘Is your phone on?’
Before she could reply, Baxter stormed up to Harper’s desk in high dudgeon.
‘Where the hell have you been? The website is waiting on your wreck story, and we need an update on the Whitney case.’
Hastily, DJ wheeled himself out of the line of fire.
‘Sorry.’ Harper logged into her computer. ‘I got caught up at the station.’
Baxter was not in a forgiving mood. ‘The company provides that phone for you at great expense. You are required by your contract to answer it at least occasionally, if only to check that it still works.’
‘I didn’t hear it ring,’ Harper said, reaching for her bag.
‘I suspect that will be because you turned the ringer off again.’ Baxter sounded exasperated. ‘At least tell me you’ve got something new on the Whitney case. I’m holding the front.’
‘Not exactly.’ Seeing the look on her editor’s face, Harper added defensively, ‘I tried, but the lead detective wasn’t in.’
‘Dammit.’ Drumming her fingertips on her desk, Baxter looked away, thinking.
‘Work up a story that says the police are still investigating, looking for clues, the usual bullshit. Put some heat on them about why this is taking so long. Mention that cases not solved in the first twenty-four hours are unlikely to be solved at all. Get me a quote from the police or something new from the coroner’s office, call the family. Do what you have to do.’
Whirling, she strode back towards her desk, still talking.
‘I’ve got to have something, Harper. An empty front page is not an option.’
‘Man,’ Harper said under her breath. ‘Someone should slip her some decaf.’
Still, she knew when Baxter was serious – and this was one of those times. She had to find something.
DJ turned around to talk, but she shook her head at him.
‘I can’t now,’ she said, grabbing the phone. ‘Catch me later.’
Fingers flying, she dialed a number from memory. It rang only once.
‘Homicide.’ The voice that answered wasn’t familiar. It had a thick southern twang and sounded in a hurry. But detectives were always in a hurry.
‘This is Harper McClain from the Daily News,’ she began.
‘Uh-oh,’ the voice said cheerfully.
Instinctively, Harper added more country to her voice, to make herself familiar. Unthreatening.
‘Who’m I talking with?’
‘You’ve got Detective Al Davenport, ma’am. What can I do you for today?’
From the back of her mind, Harper summoned a hazy image of Davenport – scarecrow tall and Ichabod-thin, with a long, narrow face and a slow way of walking like nothing in the distance could be as interesting as what was right in front of him. He’d only been working Homicide a year or two, so she’d rarely encountered him so far. He’d worked mostly on case background.
‘I’m trying to track down Detective Blazer,’ she said. ‘Is he in?’
‘I hate to break your heart, Miss McClain, but he’s out at the moment.’
Harper paused, considering her next move.
‘Detective, I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to bother you,’ she said sweetly. ‘But I’m wondering if you can help me out?’
‘I’d be happy to help, if I can.’
The merest hint of caution had entered his voice. Harper eased up on the charm.
‘I’m looking for an update on the Marie Whitney case.’ Before he could argue she added, ‘Now, I know you can’t tell me much. But Lieutenant Smith did say I
should call today. Is there anything you can tell me?’
There was a long pause.
‘What kind of information are you looking for?’
There was no mistaking the reluctance in his tone but he hadn’t hung up on her, and that was something.
‘I’m writing a story on the progress in the case,’ she explained. ‘I need some very basic stuff. Has anyone been brought in for questioning at this time?’
Another long pause.
‘No, ma’am, not as far as I am aware.’ The smile had left his voice. ‘Miss McClain, I do not wish to be quoted on the record, as I am not heavily involved in this case.’
Ignoring the last bit, Harper prodded, ‘But there must be lines of inquiry that Detective Blazer is following? Can you give me some idea of those?’
‘I can’t say, at this time …’ There was a pause and then, with palpable relief, Davenport said, ‘The detective is walking into the office now. Can you hold on one minute?’
The phone went quiet.
Harper sat with the receiver in her hand, staring at the scarred wood of the desk. A long minute passed. She could imagine the squabbling going on in that room.
A click and then a whoosh, as if Blazer had teleported the phone to his mouth.
‘Blazer.’ His tone was ice cold.
‘This is Harper McClain.’ She removed all the smile from her voice. There’s no point in trying to charm a viper. ‘I’m calling for an update on the Whitney case.’
Silence.
She tried a direct question. ‘Could you give me an update on where the investigation stands at this time?’
‘I cannot. That information is confidential.’
Pressing her fingers against her forehead, Harper pushed her temper back.
‘Detective, I was assured by Lieutenant Smith that I could expect an update from you, today. Was he mistaken? I can call him and ask, if you’d like? As you know, I have his home number.’
Her tone was measured but cutting.
This time, when Blazer didn’t reply, she let the silence hang there.
He gave in first.
‘At the current time, we are pursuing all possible leads,’ he said flatly.
The Echo Killing Page 12