Her Last Word

by Mary Burton

  His gaze dropped to the dried pool of blood and a discarded gauze pad stained red. The blood was Kaitlin’s.

  Anger rolled through him as he thought about her lying here clinging to her life.

  When Adler had received the text from Novak about her stabbing, he’d driven directly to the hospital. His badge had gotten him onto her floor and access to her doctor, who’d told him the assailant’s knife had missed all the major organs but had nicked an artery. A few more minutes and she’d have bled out.

  The doctor’s assessment reminded him of conversations he’d had with Logan’s doctors after the explosion. They’d said because Adler had used his belt as a tourniquet to bind his partner’s left leg, he’d bought Logan the critical minutes that saved his life.

  Kaitlin and Logan were fighters, tenacious and driven. And although neither thought of themselves as defenseless, that’s what they were just now, and it was up to him to protect them both.

  The sound of footsteps on the front porch sent his hand to his weapon as he turned to see Quinn. She wore jeans, a white blouse, a tailored black jacket, and midheeled boots.

  He lowered his hand.

  “Adler,” Quinn said. “I heard you were headed this way. Thought you could use a second set of eyes.”

  “There’s not much to see.”

  She tugged on latex gloves, stepped around the pool of blood, and moved past the two-story foyer into the living room and the bank of French doors that overlooked woods. “Pretty nice home.”

  “Brad Crowley does well for himself. He’s a plastic surgeon who’s made a name doing nip and tucks.”

  “Does Erika work?” she asked.

  “She’s a homemaker.”

  Quinn moved back toward him and studied the bloodstain. “I talked to a buddy of mine in county police. The security cameras across the street recorded Kaitlin visiting Erika on Friday morning.”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “So she’s awake?”

  “As of an hour ago. I just came from the hospital.”

  “Can she identify her attacker?”

  “No. And she was wiped out when I left.”

  Quinn’s jaw tightened as she shook her head. “So, what’s the deal with her? Her name keeps coming up.”

  “She’s at the center of all this. Her podcast project was likely a trigger for someone who doesn’t want her digging up the past. If I had any doubts about Jennifer’s death being connected to Gina’s, I don’t anymore.”

  “I thought Hayward said he could lead you to Gina?” Quinn asked.

  “He says he will as soon as his attorney gets the plea agreement in writing. That should happen early next week.”

  “He couldn’t have killed Jennifer.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Could he have collaborated with someone? Maybe an accomplice knew what happened to Gina and was willing to kill to protect it. Maybe Jennifer wasn’t just an innocent victim?”

  “I’ve asked myself all these questions,” Adler said.

  “How about this one. Ever stop to wonder if Hayward is working with Kaitlin? Maybe he used her to broker the deal with you and Ricker.”

  “That’s possible.”

  Quinn rested her hands on her hips. “I hear a but.”

  “I think Hayward enjoys hurting Kaitlin, and when she contacted him at the jail, she gave him the perfect opening to do just that,” Adler said.

  “You think he’s lying about Gina and this is all a sick joke to him?” Quinn asked.

  “It’s a real possibility, but I think he does know where Gina is, and he wants Kaitlin to have a front-row seat at the big reveal,” Adler said.

  “Kaitlin broke up with Hayward, correct?” Quinn asked.

  “So she says.”

  “It’s been fourteen years.”

  “Maybe he still feels possessive toward her.”

  “Possessive goes hand in hand with anger. If he can’t have her, he’ll go out of his way to hurt her.”

  Adler nodded. “He must know whatever information he has will hurt her.”

  “Or, playing devil’s advocate, she still has a thing for him and she’s using you to plead his case. What’re the chances he’d have any kind of deal without her?”

  As tempted as Adler was to reject Quinn’s idea outright, he couldn’t. “She didn’t stab herself.”

  “Allegedly,” Quinn responded.

  Adler was silent. Quinn was asking all the right questions, but his gut told him Kaitlin was a victim. However, gut feelings weren’t proof. “Any word on Erika or Brad Crowley’s whereabouts?”

  “According to my buddy in county police, nowhere to be found. No activity on their credit cards or cells. GPS on Erika Crowley’s car led the county detective to a gas station parking lot on Route 1.”

  “That’s not the burbs. What was she doing there?” Adler asked.

  “Good question. Normally on Saturdays she takes a yoga class. But she didn’t show up to class yesterday. Seems for a couple of months Erika has been parking at the yoga studio but skipping the Saturday-morning class and heading across the street for coffee.”

  “Is she meeting someone?” Adler asked.

  “The studio owner didn’t know.”

  “We need to look at that car. And visit that coffee shop.”

  “Agreed,” Quinn said.

  “The county detectives are digging into the Crowleys’ financials?” he asked.

  “They’ve requested a warrant.”

  “What kind of car does Brad Crowley drive?” Adler asked.

  Pages in her notebook flipped. “Crowley drives a Lamborghini. And currently it’s parked at a hotel in the city. He’s registered there, but he isn’t on the premises now.”

  “Why’s he at a hotel?” Adler asked.

  “Apparently he spent a lot of time there in the last year. I spoke to his office, and he’s supposed to be attending a conference in northern Virginia for a few more days. He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Just because the car is in Richmond doesn’t mean he’s not at the conference.”

  “My buddy is trying to confirm that,” Quinn said.

  Adler stepped around the bloodstain and moved into the center room. His gaze was drawn to the vaulted ceiling, the stone fireplace, and the sleek leather furniture. The Crowleys lived well and had spared no expense. Status mattered to them.

  He moved to a grand piano sporting a collection of pictures featuring a beautiful blonde and a dark, muscled man. Most looked like they were taken at exotic locations.

  “Which neighbor said they heard the alarm and called it in?” Adler asked.

  Quinn nodded. “Across the street. Mrs. Nolan.”

  “Let’s pay her a visit.”

  He locked the door behind them and looked toward the yellow colonial. A woman was coming out her front door with a heavy purse slung over her shoulder. They moved across the street and met her at her mailbox.

  “Mrs. Nolan?” he asked.

  The woman stood a little straighter and looked side to side as if she weren’t sure about him.

  Adler held up his badge. “I’m Detective John Adler, and this is my partner, Detective Quinn. Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  “Uh, sure. I already spoke to the police.”

  Adler smiled. “Just a few more questions, Mrs. Nolan.”

  “Okay.”

  He jabbed his thumb toward the Crowley house. “Mrs. Nolan, I understand you’re the one who called 911.”

  “I am. I heard a loud alarm go off as I was walking past with my dog. Like I said, I already told all this to the detective.”

  “I’m with the city and working on a case that’s possibly related to this one. I appreciate your patience.”

  “Sure.” She shifted her stance.

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw that woman go inside. She had a rough edge about her and didn’t belong here, so Buster, my miniature dachshund, and I lingered.”

  “
How long was she inside the house before the alarm went off?”

  “A minute tops. Like I said, I stayed outside the house and watched because I wasn’t sure what she was up to. She came by the other day and visited with Erika, who did not look happy about it.”

  “And when you heard the alarm, you called the police?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes. I always carry a phone. You never know even in the good neighborhoods.”

  “Did you see anyone else coming or going from the house?”

  “I thought I saw a man run through the woods behind the house, but I didn’t get a good look.”

  “Can you tell me anything about him?”

  “Medium height and build. He had one of those hoodie things over his head. How is the woman doing? I understand she was stabbed.”

  “She’s going to be fine.”

  “Were they robbing the house? I mean, the neighbors have all been trying to guess what happened. The consensus is that it was robbers turning on each other.”

  “Nothing like that,” Adler said. “As soon as I can share something, we’ll let you know. Thanks again, Mrs. Nolan.”

  Adler waved to the woman as she drove off. “She saw a man headed into the woods.”

  “She thinks. My buddy in the county police walked through the woods and to the street behind it. No one saw a man.”

  “Right.”

  “How’s it going with the Gina Mason files?”

  “I’ve got Logan reviewing them.”

  “Logan? What? He’s on medical leave.”

  “He’s a hell of a detective.”

  “Shouldn’t he be resting and concentrating on getting better?”

  Adler dug his keys from his pocket. “If you were in his spot, would you be focusing on getting better?”

  She shook her head. “I’d be all over the case files.”

  “Exactly.”

  Adler pushed through the front door of his home and spotted the large knapsack tossed in the center of his living room. Beside it was a prosthetic leg designed for running and jumping.

  He loosened his tie. “Logan.”

  “I’m in the kitchen.”

  Adler found Logan sitting in a wheelchair in front of a hot plate poised on a makeshift plywood counter. He dropped a handful of pasta into a pot of boiling water. “Hungry?”

  “Always.”

  “Occupational therapist said cooking is a good activity to relieve stress.”

  “Smells good.”

  “It is. I had no idea you lived so well.”

  “Ever met a trust fund baby?” he said, smiling.

  “No shit, really?”

  “What can I say?”

  “Damn. If I’d known you were rich, I’d have made you pick up all the dinner tabs.”

  Adler shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair. “How’s rehab going?”

  “Slow but sure. Quinn called to check in. She told me Kaitlin Roe was stabbed. How is she?” Logan asked.

  “Lucky to be alive.”

  “Shit.” Logan lifted a cup of coffee to his lips. “One of the potential witnesses in the Gina Mason case is dead, the other missing, and another stabbed.”

  The pattern was there. Now it was a matter of figuring out who wanted the three women dead. “What are the odds?”

  “Low,” Logan said.

  “You had a chance to look at the file?” Adler asked.

  “I read it last night. It was hard to put down. Also listened to the Jennifer interview Kaitlin conducted.”

  “And.”

  “It all doesn’t add up, John.”

  “How so?”

  “In 2004 Jennifer reported to police that she and Erika left early and her sister, Ashley, took them home. When Ashley was interviewed she said the same. She picked the girls up and took them straight home. However, on Kaitlin’s interview tape, Jennifer said that her sister was arguing with someone. She wasn’t sure if there was another person in the car or not. I dug into the files and found Ashley’s phone records. No phone call was recorded about the time she picked up Jennifer.”

  “Ashley dated Derek Blackstone then. Maybe he was in the car. I’ll ask Ashley.”

  “Might explain why Blackstone is so willing to help out his old pal.”

  “Maybe.”

  Logan stirred the sauce. “It’s no wonder Jennifer didn’t remember much. She tested positive for Ecstasy. No telling what her blood alcohol was when she left the river. Kaitlin’s blood alcohol was point-zero-eight when it was measured at the hospital about one in the morning. And that’s at least one hour after she stopped drinking, so some of the booze had already metabolized out of her system. When Gina was taken, Kaitlin was hammered. Tack on the Ecstasy and I’m stunned she could get up the hill to Jack Hudson’s house.”

  “Adrenaline must really have kicked in that night. Were there attacks on young females similar to the one on Gina and Kaitlin?”

  “There were two. Detective North spoke to them both, but there aren’t a lot of details in the files.”

  “I’m going to try and see him this afternoon.”

  “Good.” Logan rubbed his leg. “What about last night’s attack? Does Kaitlin know who stabbed her?”

  “She says she doesn’t remember, but she also doesn’t trust cops.”

  Logan continued rubbing his thigh. “Getting stabbed is a good way to deflect attention from her as a suspect.”

  “Quinn said the same thing, but twenty stitches. Jesus, I can’t imagine cutting yourself like that,” Adler said.

  “Are you in Kaitlin’s corner?” Logan studied him closely.

  “I wouldn’t put it that way. I do think it’s too convenient to blame her.”

  “Do you want my armchair analysis of you?” Logan asked.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really. You both have survivor’s guilt. She made it out and her cousin didn’t. You made it out and I, well, not so much. You see yourself in her.”

  Adler’s guilt and pain crowded the air from his lungs. He didn’t trust his voice. “You survived.”

  “True. And I don’t blame you for the leg,” Logan said, holding up his hand. “I wanted to go into that building as much as you did. I wanted to catch that son of a bitch as much as you did. If you remember, I wanted to go in first, but you made me stay back.”

  “I should have expected a trap.”

  Annoyance flashed in Logan’s gaze. “Don’t give yourself so much credit.”

  “I made the decision to enter the building.”

  “If you hadn’t, I would have. Let it go. I have enough on my plate without worrying about your shit.”

  “You’re worried about me?”

  “Someone has to keep your rich-boy ass out of trouble. By the way the handicap rail arrived express, and I put it up.”

  That coaxed a smile. “How did it go?”

  “Looks great. I haven’t lost the touch when it comes to carpentry.”

  “Good to know. I’m not going to have the time to chase the contractors coming to the house for the next few weeks. Maybe you can.”

  “Chase?”

  “My bad.” He grinned.

  Logan smiled. “Just screwing with you.” His expression grew serious. “I got the house covered. Already saw a few places they need to redo.”

  “Thanks.”

  “John, just make sure you don’t associate yourself with Kaitlin Roe too much. For all you know, she engineered this recent attack.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “That’s not your big head doing the thinking, pal.” Logan shook his head. “John, you need facts not feelings. She’s a suspect until you, the cop, can prove otherwise.”

  INTERVIEW FILE #14

  THE THREE AMIGOS

  In the Saint Mathew’s 1993 yearbook, there is a picture of Mrs. Triton’s third grade class. In the back row stand three smiling boys: Randy Hayward, Brad Crowley, and Derek Blackstone. They are three fresh-faced boys, all grinnin
g broadly as if sharing a private joke. Like the other children in the classroom, the Three Amigos, as some called them, shared a similar background. Affluent homes. Doting parents. No history of violence in the homes. Talk to the former students in their class, and they all remember the trio. Thick as thieves. Pranksters. Shouter-outers. Boys being boys.

  In conversations with Mrs. Triton’s former students, hints of Randy’s darker traits emerge. Stolen money. Spying on girls in the restroom. The missing class gerbils. But all agreed Derek Blackstone, charming, well mannered, and attractive, was the leader and instigator of their little antics. He was always nearby when trouble began but never blamed for anything.

  But remember, this was third grade, and well, boys will be boys.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sunday, March 18, 2018; 3:00 p.m.

  Adler had called Kaitlin’s boss, Susan Saunders, and asked to meet. Ms. Saunders had agreed and requested he come to her university office.

  He left Logan poring over the Gina Mason case file and drove back into the city. He parked, entered the quiet lobby in the university communications building, and rode the elevator to the third floor. As he walked down the hallways, memories of his own college days at the University of Virginia returned.

  His major had been political science, but in his sophomore year he’d started picking up criminal justice courses. He was still dialed into law school, but after he’d passed the bar, he told his parents he wasn’t ready for a desk job. There was plenty of time for him to be a cop and then, later, a lawyer like his old man. His father hadn’t been happy but reasoned it wouldn’t take long for Adler to get this “cop thing” out of his system. That was seventeen years ago.

  He moved along the corridor, following the signs to the communications director’s office. He found the door ajar, the light on inside. He knocked.

  “Enter.” The voice carried a stern edge that sounded more practiced than natural.