Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2)

by Catherine Finger

  But the freedom was worth the pain.

  Wasn’t it?

  My impromptu breakfast with Gino had edged out my barn time. Samantha and I had a visit scheduled for today that included lunch, and I didn’t want to miss a second with her. I scrolled through my contacts and called her social worker, William Greene. He was the reason I’d made it through the foster parent training program without bailing. He spotted my fear before I did—and was still helping me every time it cropped up by reminding me that no one’s prepared for parenthood—until they step into it.

  He answered in his soulful way. “Peace. What’s up?”

  “My girl, that’s what.” The thrill of a fast gallop on a cold morning flew through my belly.

  He was silent.

  “Today’s my day. Our day. I’m on my way.” I leaned over the steering wheel, closer to the Bluetooth microphone for emphasis.

  “Ah, Jo, I heard about your—about Del. I’m sorry.” His voice was too quiet.

  “Thank you.” Formality crept into my tone.

  “I’m guessing you haven’t received the court order forbidding you to visit her for the time being. I’ve heard some chatter on the matter. What I haven’t heard is a definitive answer.”

  He knew I’d been a suspect. Am I still a suspect?

  “That’s been cleared up.” That wasn’t true. I’d asked the amazing trio not to share my whereabouts beyond the three of them for as long as possible. They must’ve honored my request. Crap.

  “I’m sure it has. Still, let’s wait a while on scheduling a visit, get a little distance between these murders and our girl. Give the system time to push the information through the proper channels.” There was a firmness in his voice that would be too much work to fight.

  “Fine. Tell her I love her, okay? Tell her something came up, but I’ll see her in a coupla days. Thanks, pal.” I ended the call without waiting to hear anything else. It wasn’t his fault, but he was handy.

  I pulled into a gas station parking lot to regroup. Should I go ride Scooter in my newly freed up time? I called Mitch and asked her to set up a briefing on the murder with me and the two lead FBI agents in a few hours. The beauty of a small town cop shop. They needed all hands on deck, mine included.

  “Ah, Chief, you sure that’s a good idea?” Mitch wasn’t about to come any closer to the dynamite hanging in the air between us.

  “Yes. A hundred percent. Any minute now, one or both of us will get the call that clears me to the proverbial ‘T.’” I hope.

  “Sure, but…”

  “And when it does, why waste time pulling you together?” Prickly heat inched up under my chin.

  “Well, even when you’re cleared, and even in an understaffed, overworked little burg like Haversport, it might not be the best thing to have you working this case though, right?”

  Only Mitch had earned the right to speak this kind of truth to me.

  “So, you think there’s a better cop than me to work this case?” It was a stupid thing to say. My shirt was sticking to my back, my social worker wouldn’t let me see my little girl, my cheating ex was dead, and I was about to get a whole lot stupider.

  “Josie…” Mitch sighed.

  “I’m sorry. You’re the cop to work this case, and we have a dozen others. But I can’t stay out of this one. I don’t care what the ruling is. I can’t. I won’t.” I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, watching my veins plump up.

  “I get it. And I’m all for you putting in an appearance as more of a Chief, less of a suspect. But only if it’s going to help you, not hurt you, in the long run.”

  I sighed. “I appreciate you and your concern. I do. Set up the meeting so we’re good to go the minute we get the call.” My voice was crisper than I’d meant it to be. “Thanks, Mitch.”

  I hung up before she could reply and headed to the outskirts of town. Instead of riding my horse, I would stop by Riverside and visit my mother while waiting for the phone to ring.

  Riverside Place was built ten years ago as an “independent living center for active seniors” in unincorporated Haversport. The town had grown up enough to almost touch it, but it still had that ‘towne country feeling’ boasted about in its literature. Bluffs jutted up in the distance on three sides of the facility, giving the seniors excellent views from most balconies and patios. My mom had called this place home for the past four years.

  I parked in my usual spot and signed the guest register. A dull roar floating down the hallway on the right reminded me it was Friday Happy Hour. Oh, brother—I didn’t have it in me today to watch wheelchair-bound ninety-year-old studs flirt with half a dozen adoring fellow residents. Seemed like everyone had a partner—except for me.

  Shake it off, sister! I pushed through my melancholy and pulled myself down the hall. Dick Clark was up on a big screen, and there were streamers everywhere. Who knew what holiday was being commemorated here today. Certainly not Good Friday. It didn’t matter. Silver heads bobbed with simple glee, and I stopped to greet my mother’s friends and neighbors as I kept an eye out for her.

  A cane tapped the back of my leg. I turned to face a dignified gentleman, with sparkling blue eyes, in a wheelchair. “Chief! Have one on me.”

  Art Spenser held out a plastic cup of something questionable.

  I took the offering from his shaking hand and bent down to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Art. How are you? You’re looking great.”

  His fingers circled my wrist with practiced ease. “Your mother needs you. She don’t look so good.” His crepe paper voice crinkled with worry. “Look in on her?”

  “You know she hates these things. Though if you’re here, she usually is too.” Was she sick? Why hadn’t the staff brought her? Having another bad day?

  “Look in on her.” He squeezed my wrist and then let it go.

  “Thanks. I’m on my way. Go easy on the ladies.” I winked at him and gave him a quick one-armed hug.

  Clipping down the hall away from the excitement, my phone vibrated. I turned right and headed into the assisted living wing, tugging my phone out of my pocket. Frank McKinley, Paradise County Sherriff. This was the news I’d been waiting for. It had to be.

  “Mac. Thanks for calling.” I threw the words out without thinking. “What do you know?”

  “Afternoon, Josie. I hope you’re well. You know I want what’s best for you.” Mac’s deep voice poured over me. Good news? Bad news?

  “I know that.” I quieted my tone, tried to calm myself. Mac could not be rushed.

  “I know you’re going to want to work a case we both know you should not be working. I know that I’d be wanting to do the exact same thing. I’m not going to tell you you can work this case. I’m just going to tell you that you’ve been cleared to return to work by Dr. Stoklavich.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, raised my head to the ceiling, slow-counted to ten, released it. “Oh, thank God.”

  “Yes, thank God as I’m sure He’s got a hand in this, and I’m even surer that He’d want His best working the case.” Mac’s message was clear—even if he didn’t want to say it out loud. You never knew who could be listening in on conversations at the courthouse. “And you are the best, Chief Oliver. Just be wise about it. And lean on your right hand man.” He ended the call before I could squeak out my appreciation.

  I sent Mitch a quick text telling her I was cleared and back in the game while heading to my mother’s room. Just as I reached her door, Mitch responded.

  SHOWTIME IN THIRTY MINUTES. NEVER DOUBTED YOU.

  I tapped on the door as I pushed it open. The hum and whoosh of the oxygen machine greeted me. My mother was not in her little living room. I followed the oxygen hose to her bedroom and tip-toed inside. She was asleep, a peaceful smile lending her face a sweetness in the wan light. Her little bird’s body was swathed in a mound of home-spun blankets. I slipped to the side of the bed, touched her arm, and bowed my head.

  Dear God, thank you so much for my mother. Watch over her
, and please heal her from any physical issues she might be struggling with today. Please give her a strong sense of Your presence deep in her heart, in her spirit, even as she sleeps. I love you, Mighty God. Thank You.

  After watching her sleep and praying a moment longer, I left Riverside, going as fast as my municipal plates could take me.

  I pulled the squad car into the empty space next to Mitch’s cruiser near the front door of the station. From the looks of the parking lot, she’d gathered the A Team to greet me. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for this show of respect. Of course, it could also be the first subtle sign of impending mutiny. Hope for respect and be ready to settle for simple acquiescence.

  My hands gripped the cool leather of the steering wheel hard enough to send tremors through my arms all the way up to my shoulders. I sat still for several seconds, peering into the tinted glass doorway, as if I had the power to divine what may or may not be happening on the other side of the vestibule.

  The door pushed open and a diminutive blonde materialized in the bright sunlight. Even in a drab navy shirtdress, the woman commanded attention. Her cornflower blue eyes smiled as our glances met, and I climbed out of my car. She waited for me to join her on the landing.

  “Liz! Girl, you are a sight for sore eyes! What in the world are you doing out here? Waiting for me to arrive so you can give me a police escort?” As soon as the words flew out of my mouth, her darkening eyes confirmed it. My smile froze, and my throat went ice cold.

  Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

  Liz stood before me, clasping and unclasping her hands. I took a deep breath and squeezed her trembling forearm. It dropped to her side.

  “It’s okay, Liz. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. What’s going on?”

  “There’s been another murder.”

  My head whipped back. Electricity jolted through me.

  “A murder? Where? When? Who was the victim? And why are you out here telling me this on the station stairs? Why are we not inside with the boys sifting through the details?” My shoulders stiffened.

  “It’s not just that.” Her eyes dropped to the concrete.

  “Go on.”

  “The guys have been wondering out loud about you. About your absence. About the, well, the other thing…”

  “And what else have they been wondering about?” My temples throbbed.

  “About whether or not your fitness routine includes any sledgehammering.” Her eyes darted from the sidewalk to just over my right shoulder as she spoke.

  “The victim was murdered with a… sledgehammer?” I leaned against the railing, uttering the last word in a whisper. “Who was the vic, Liz?” The cold steel soothed my lower back.

  “The victim was also a perp. And honestly, to hear Mitch tell it, half the guys don’t even care who did it, and the other half want to track the killer down and give him—or her—a community service award.”

  “He was that bad?” The muscles in my face relaxed, and a gentle warmth washed over me.

  “Yes, he really was that bad. And you know him.”

  “I know him?” My brain wandered through a thick, black forest, as numbness seeped into me. What was she trying to say, without telling me?

  “You’ve arrested him on three different occasions. The last one was pretty recent. A few days before the, uh, the other thing.”

  I smiled at Liz’s inability to refer directly to the murder of Del and his girlfriend.

  But then I frowned. “Deter? Did somebody off Deter?” I pulled my head back, brows arched.

  “Yes. The victim is—was—Derrick Deter.” She looked me straight in the eye. There wasn’t a hint of a smile there.

  “Somebody killed Deter with a sledgehammer?” My first second back on the job, and my professional life just took a major turn off course.

  “Yes. But that’s not all.”

  “That’s not enough?” I snorted. The news of Deter’s demise was transforming me back into my scrappy self in a hurry. Things could not be any worse than this. Which was sort of like saying they’d get better—right?

  “It’s more than enough. But it’s not all. He was shot in the kneecap, drugged, and then beaten to death with a sledgehammer.”

  The weight of Liz’s worry pulled at my shoulders as we treaded the station hallway. Dark murmurings slipped from the bullpen around the corner. Half a dozen detectives circled the white board. Coffee cups littered desktops.

  Mitch was holding court.

  She plucked an unlit cigarette out of Garret’s mouth and stomped on it midsentence, just as the sound of Liz’s footsteps walking toward our offices announced my presence in the back of the room. All heads turned. Cold, hard stares interspersed with the occasional nod welcomed me back.

  I looked around the room, ready to butt heads. One guy in particular would push me to the mat today. Walt Schlichting, an angry, woman-hating cop who just happened to land on my force against my will. But that’s the way the cookie crumbles when a public board makes your department’s personnel decisions. And guess who had an uncle serving on that board? He’s missing. Good.

  I walked up to Mitch. She held the dry erase marker out to me and joined the guys. Should I have taken it from her? Maybe I should have just kept walking back to my office. The lines were blurred for all of us. Tension rushed through the room like a California wildfire.

  “Garret was just about to brief the team, Chief.” Mitch’s eyes were trained on the wall behind me.

  I nodded to Noah Garret, a newly-assigned detective. He’d put in for a transfer to our department about a year ago. Word on the street was he was running from some marital drama of his own. Mitch nudged him, and he started to talk.

  “I was just saying that the murder has the same M.O. as the, the uh…” His voice trailed off, and he looked at my feet.

  Forget it. I’m staying put. I will not be run out of my own bullpen.

  “The gruesome murder of my husband and his girlfriend?” My voice was a slab of steel.

  I would claim the respect of my guys during this murder investigation. Even if it killed me. Nausea threatened to overwhelm me. The tortured souls that were Del and his girlfriend swirled around my brain.

  “Yes.” He drew his gaze from my feet to my eyes.

  “Well go on, detective. Continue.” I gave him the dry erase marker and sat on the corner of the desk closest to the whiteboard.

  Garret straightened his shoulders and spoke again. “Derrick Deter. White male, forty-five years old. His jacket is, was, a mile long. None of the fun stuff, either. He was a first-class perp. Arrested for suspected child molestation in four states. Did some time in Nevada. Made his way to the land of Lincoln and set up shop about eight and a half years ago. Got a job as a school custodian. Under a different name.”

  Mitch slipped a fat folder into my hands. Deter’s arrest photos stuck to the inside cover. A summary of his arrests and behavior during his numerous overnights with us told the story of a man who danced around the flames of justice without ever getting burned. Garret’s voice droned on as I skimmed the monster’s history.

  We all knew this story. Most of the detectives around the board had worked on a case involving Deter during the past several years. None of them had been able to gather enough evidence to book him, though. Not even me. I knew it in my bones—he was guilty of everything we suspected him of and more. Probably much more. I was glad he was dead. And I kind of liked that he suffered in the end.

  What kind of a monster did that make me?

  “So, whadda we got?” I stood and faced my hostile team. No one spoke. Eyes flitted about in search of a safe place to land. Mitch was still looking slightly past me. I stared at her, shifting my body to coax her into an involuntary glance back at me. It worked.

  “So, the M.O. matches.” She lifted her eyes back over my shoulder. Just enough to look like she was respecting me publicly without aligning with me privately. Trying to tell me with her actions what she couldn’t tell me with
her words?

  Does she think I should stand down from this investigation?

  “What, are you a minimalist now?” I cocked my eyebrow and slanted my head in her direction.

  A few of the guys snickered. Mitch didn’t answer. I waited. Three seconds. No one spoke. Five seconds. She leaned back and crossed her arms. Ten seconds. I stared at her until she met my gaze. Fifteen seconds.

  “Yup. Welcome back, Chief.” She gave me the barest hint of a nod and uncrossed her arms.

  “Thanks, Mitch. And thanks to all of you for carrying on in light of all the craziness surrounding me right now. It’s good to be back. Now let’s go catch this creep before he kills again. Garret, pull up what we know so far about the unsub. Nano, get us what you’ve researched on similar crimes in the past ten years here and across the country. Let’s get mapping, team. We’re going to spend the next two hours going through every detail. At the end of our review, I want to see some solid leads on where this killer’s going to strike next. We gotta get ahead of his game. Now.”

  Heads nodded and the guys broke off in clusters, murmuring together. Mitch was talking with two veteran detectives, her back to me. I stepped over to her and tapped her shoulder blade.

  “Let’s go.” I turned and walked toward my office. Would she follow me?

  “Bring it to me when you chase it down. I’ll be with the Chief.” Mitch’s voice was clipped. Reluctant footsteps indicated she was with me, at least in body, if not in spirit. Liz’s eyes widened as we passed her desk on our way to my office, single file, in silence.

  “Would you like some—”

  “Yes, Liz, coffee would be a real life saver. The usual. For both of us, please.” My smile was for Liz alone. One more routine taken back in the fight to recapture my standing in my own station. I waited by the door as Mitch walked stiffly past me into my office, and then closed the door. She folded into one of the club chairs in front of my desk. I sat on the edge of my desk with my arms crossed, staring at her.