by Debra Webb
She walked him to the door, her arms tight around her body. “Thanks for being so thorough, Chief. The thought of someone hurting Momma is nearly more than I can bear. I...I hope it was just an accident.”
“I hope so, too.”
But it was too late to hold out any real hope. The evidence was pretty damn clear. Someone had slammed Geneva Phillips in the back of the head with something like a baseball bat, and then he’d left her to die naked and alone in her bathroom.
When Billy found the bastard, he would pay.
* * *
City hall was just off the courthouse square on the south side. Billy parked in his designated slot and got out of his truck. He surveyed the folks walking along the sidewalk and the shops open for business. The downtown had gone through some tough times, but a major revitalization the past couple of years had turned things around. Local artists and craftsmen had opened up the closed shops. The state of Tennessee had provided the city with the funding to revamp the whole area.
Things were good...except for the fact that Julian Addington was still on the loose, which meant Rowan wasn’t safe no matter how she pretended not to worry. Billy was a member of the joint task force based in Nashville overseeing the investigation of the Addington case. Though he suspected the only reason he’d been asked to be a part of the task force was because Rowan was here—in his jurisdiction. Special Agent Josh Dressler and the others always started the daily briefings off with a How’s Dr. DuPont?
She was at the center of this case, no matter that she was as innocent as any of the victims who had died by Addington’s hand. She had been drugged just like the others in Nashville, only the bastard hadn’t given her a lethal dose. His reasoning was clear. The son of a bitch still had plans for Rowan.
Fury blazed hot in Billy’s gut. Dressler needn’t remind him to keep a close eye on her, yet he did at the end of every single briefing. Billy had every intention of keeping her safe. The others hoped she would be the reason Addington surfaced again. If he showed up in Billy’s jurisdiction, he wouldn’t walk away so easily.
With the investigation expanding with each passing day, he damned sure didn’t need another two unsolved murders hanging over his head—particularly one that had gone cold so long ago. He’d just been through this. Back in February, human remains had been discovered buried in the basement of the Winchester Gazette. As it turned out, twenty-four years prior, Mary Jo Anderson had killed a man in self-defense and then buried him in the basement of her husband’s newspaper building. Since the man had been affiliated with organized crime out of Chicago, no one had reported him missing or come looking for him. It wasn’t until a broken water main had required the digging up of the newspaper’s basement that the remains had been discovered.
Now Billy had another decades-old mystery on his hands. With a weary sigh, he climbed the steps and entered the building. He placed his sidearm and badge as well as the keys and the change in his pocket in the tray and passed through the metal detector.
“Afternoon, Chief,” Officer James Wiley said.
“Wiley.” Billy gave him a nod as he gathered his belongings, reholstered his weapon and put the rest away.
There had been a time when an officer of the law wouldn’t have had to go through the screening procedures, but now it was a necessary evil for every person who walked through the doors. When Billy had taken the highest position in the Winchester Police Department, he had been told he wasn’t required to remove his weapon like everyone else. But Billy wasn’t about to do anything different than any other officer in his department.
He walked down the corridor, bypassed the bull pen most of his officers and detectives called home, and went on to his office. As soon as he reached the small lobby, Cindy Farris, his assistant, perked up.
“Afternoon, Chief.” She thrust a wad of messages at him. “Detective Lincoln needs to see you ASAP.”
“Thanks, Cindy. Send him my way.”
In his office, he tossed the dozen or so messages onto this desk and hung his hat on the tree in the corner. He’d no more than sat down when Cindy walked in with a steaming cup of coffee.
“Thought you might need a little pick-me-up.” She placed the black brew on his desk and flashed him a smile.
“You are an angel, Cindy.” He returned her smile and reached for the mug.
Cindy and his momma were best friends, had been for most of their lives. Cindy would turn seventy next month, but she refused to retire. Billy had a feeling the lady wouldn’t retire until she had no choice. She liked being active and productive. He teased her that she mostly liked being able to keep tabs on him for his momma. Either way, he didn’t mind. She was a damned good assistant and had the details on everyone in town, and she baked him a chocolate cake at least twice a month.
Cindy walked out, and Detective Clarence Lincoln walked in. His shirt was wrinkled and there was a speck of what looked like mustard on his tie. The man had likely been hunkered over his computer or a file cabinet since Billy called him about looking for any unresolved missing person cases over the past three decades. He’d probably eaten his lunch while doing the same.
Lincoln collapsed into a chair in front of Billy’s desk. “I finally found her.”
Billy dropped his head back and groaned. Not at all what he’d wanted to hear. “We have an unsolved missing person case?”
He, like the chief before him and the one before that, prided himself on keeping a clear record on cases. They all got solved or his people kept investigating. Winchester was a small town with a reasonably low crime rate, so they were lucky to have that ability. He couldn’t believe a case had fallen through the cracks.
What the hell was he saying? He had watched the removal of those bones from the basement of the newspaper building back in February. It happened. Granted, that was a crime no one knew had been committed. A department couldn’t investigate criminal activity it didn’t know about.
Still, it had been a doozy of a surprise to discover.
“Technically—” the detective pushed his glasses up his nose “—we don’t have a missing person. This girl was from Los Angeles—as in California. After finding out from one of the girl’s friends that she’d taken a bus to Winchester, her mother called looking for her, and Chief Holcomb opened a file.”
Luther Holcomb was the former chief of police. Billy had known him his entire life. He’d recruited Billy into the force all those years ago and then he’d urged him to accept his position when he retired.
“The mother,” Lincoln went on, “faxed Holcomb a photo. He made some calls, questioned some folks. A couple of people had seen her around, but none knew her or had any idea what happened to her. She seemed to show up and then disappear in a matter of a few days. End of story. Closed file.”
“How old was she, and what was she doing in Winchester without her parents’ permission?”
Lincoln glanced at the file in his hand. “Seventeen. Lived in Los Angeles with her mother until she disappeared. Ran away in late June of that year. She had a pen pal here in Winchester, so her mother thought her cross-country trip came as a result of that relationship. A detective called and followed up with Holcomb. According to his report, Holcomb told the detective that a girl matching her description had been spotted in the Winchester area but that no one had seen her since the initial sightings. One person mentioned seeing her at the old bus station that used to be right off the boulevard. I guess Holcomb figured she left town. There was no further activity on the file and it was closed that same year.”
Billy scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Call Los Angeles PD and see if the girl was ever found.”
“Already done. She is still listed as missing. No updates since the call to Holcomb twenty-seven years ago.”
Damn. “Well, then we’re going to need a copy of her dental records.”
“I’ll make the request now. Oh, and Nor
ton Cates, a tech at the lab, sent me this.” He passed Billy his cell, a photo on the screen. “That necklace was found with the remains.”
Billy studied the silver necklace with its sun and moon pendant. “Okay. Touch base with Holcomb. See if he remembers anything relevant that’s not in his report. Find out if that detective in LA can confirm the necklace belonged to the missing girl.”
“Will do.”
Well, damn. Bones were popping up all over the place. He hoped this wasn’t an indication of things to come.
“Wait.” Billy frowned. “What’s the missing girl’s name?” Lincoln hadn’t mentioned her name. If he had, Billy had missed it entirely.
His detective grimaced. “I was going to tell you that part after we did the identification with the dental records.” He shrugged. “Just to be sure. No need to get everyone all out of sorts until we know.”
Another of those bad feelings knotted in Billy’s gut. “The name, please.”
“Alisha Addington.” Lincoln expelled a big breath. “Seventeen-year-old daughter of Anna and Julian Addington.”
Billy sagged back in his chair. “Oh hell.”
Four
By five o’clock, Ronald Whitt’s body had been properly arranged in his casket and transported from the basement refrigeration unit via the elevator to the viewing room designated as Parlor Three on the first floor. Since the family had wanted a full casket view, Rowan had tucked him carefully into position, ensuring his facial expression was pleasant enough, the buttons of his shirt, the collar and the tie were just so and even the hem of his trousers and his socks were smooth and perfectly in place. She’d polished the leather uppers and checked the bottoms of the shoes the family had dropped off and ended up adding a layer of black paint so that the dark soles appeared pristine.
The flowers had been arranged tastefully around the casket. The registration podium stood ready just outside the door with the guest book. Music selected by the family, a classic track of uplifting hymns, played softly in the background. The family had arrived and was gathered around Mr. Whitt. For the next hour they would spend private time with their lost loved one. From six to eight thirty, visitors would pay their respects. Rowan had spoken with the deceased’s wife and son to see if there was anything they needed. From now until the last family member departed she would be standing by.
Her cell phone vibrated with an incoming call, and Rowan stepped into the corridor outside the parlor. She reached into the pocket of her dove-gray suit jacket and checked the screen. Billy. Moving toward the lobby so as not to disturb the mourners, she answered. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
She smiled, thankful for the reprieve of a friendly voice. Grief was immensely draining. Growing up, her father had always warned her to maintain a certain mental distance, but she had always found doing so difficult. Her education in psychiatry as well as her residency in the field and a two-year fellowship in forensic psychiatry had helped her to develop those emotional boundaries of which her father had spoken. Unfortunately, recent events had caused an undeniable crack in her carefully constructed facade and a noticeable failure in her hard-earned confidence. She still felt off balance.
But she was determined to find her footing once more. It would take time, but she refused to play the part of victim to Julian Addington. Not anymore, at least. She dismissed the thought and said, “I hope your day has gone more smoothly than mine.”
Rowan had been at full speed since he and Burt left the funeral home today. Though she had her doubts as to whether his afternoon could have gone any better than hers, considering he had two unsolved potential murder cases staring him in the face. Never a good place to be.
“I wish,” he said with a weary chuckle. “Look, I was wondering if maybe you’d have some time after the Whitt viewing. I can help you close up. Maybe we can have a beer and talk, like old times.”
Closing up entailed readying Mr. Whitt to go back into refrigeration and putting away his flowers. “Sure.” She could use the company. After so many years away, she’d forgotten how lonely this old house could be at the end of the day. “Is there some news on the remains or about Mrs. Phillips?”
“We’re still processing the Phillips home and gathering information on the remains. Mainly, I just wanted to talk.”
Rowan had known Billy Brannigan her whole life. She recognized every nuance of his deep voice. He wasn’t being entirely honest with her right now. The front entrance opened and a cluster of well-dressed visitors entered the lobby, reminding her she needed to get back to work.
“I have to go now,” she said, wishing she had a few more moments to explore what she’d heard in his voice. “I’ll see you at nine.”
“I’ll be there.”
Rowan put her phone away and smiled for the newcomers. “Good evening. Are you here for the Whitt family?”
Heads bobbed and a flurry of positive responses rumbled through the group. His church friends, she decided. Rowan could always tell the ones who attended church with the deceased. They dressed for the visitation as if they were heading to a regularly scheduled church service.
“This way.” Rowan gestured to the corridor and then led the way to Parlor Three. “If you’d like to sign the guest register,” she suggested, “I’m sure the family will appreciate it.”
A few moments were required for the seven new arrivals to sign in and wander into the parlor. Rowan stood by, smile plastered in place. When the final guest, a woman, had penned her signature, she hesitated before joining the others.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
The woman looked vaguely familiar. Tall, brunette, brown eyes. Thin, with the muscle tone of a woman dedicated to working out. Her sleeveless black sheath hit a few inches above her knees and showed off her nicely sculpted arms and legs. She looked to be about Rowan’s age.
“I’m afraid I don’t. Did we attend school together?”
“No, I went to Huntland.” She tucked her clutch under her arm and extended her hand. “Sherry Lusk. I remember you because you’re the reason Billy Brannigan dropped me like a rock.”
Surprised and more than a little puzzled, Rowan gave her hand a quick shake and released it. Now she remembered. Sherry was the one Billy had bemoaned the night he’d had to stay over at Rowan’s house.
“Yes, of course, Sherry. I remember the name.”
Actually, Rowan hadn’t really known Sherry at all. She’d only heard Billy mention her now and then. Usually because the two were fighting or had broken up again. As far as Rowan could recall, all the couple ever did was fight.
“He was always infatuated with you.” Sherry shook her head as if she didn’t understand the appeal. “No other woman had a shred of hope. Even after you left, he never really looked at anyone else seriously.”
A tight laugh burst out of Rowan. “I’m afraid you must have me confused with someone else. Billy and I were never anything but friends. We’re still friends.”
Sherry smirked as if she knew something Rowan didn’t. “Maybe from your perspective, but trust me, you were all he ever talked about. Ro this and Ro that.” She rolled her eyes. “I imagine now that you’re back, he’ll try to make sure you don’t get away again.”
Somehow Rowan kept her smile in place. The thing about working with the public was that sometimes you just had to let the most ridiculous comments go. Having your say just wasn’t worth the bad press.
Sherry started toward the parlor but then hesitated. “I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a true pillar of this community. I can’t tell you how helpful he was to Mother and me when my father died. He’ll be greatly missed.”
Rowan thanked her and watched as she disappeared into the small crowd gathered around Mr. Whitt’s casket.
She didn’t doubt the woman’s comments about her father. Kind and helpful was his way. As for the other, it neve
r ceased to amaze her how folks twisted things around and created their own versions of the truth.
The very idea. Rowan shook her head. When she was a kid, she’d had a secret crush on Billy, that was true, but neither he nor anyone else ever knew. It was Rowan’s secret and she intended to keep it that way for the rest of her days.
Billy deserved someone with far less baggage than the heavy load she carried. Besides, they were friends. She didn’t want to risk losing or damaging that relationship.
The lobby door opened once more and a straggler arrived. Rowan didn’t recognize him at first. He was tall and distinguished looking and wore an elegant suit that wouldn’t be found on the rack in a typical department store. He turned and his profile pinged a memory. Jared Knowles. Dr. Jared Knowles. He was the same age as Billy. Like his father before him, Knowles had gone to medical school. He and his father had the only orthopedic practice in the area.
“Rowan.” Jared smiled, diverted his set path to the viewing room and started her way instead. He gave her one of those quick hugs that really wasn’t a hug—didn’t really mean anything on an emotional level. “I apologize for not being at your father’s funeral. I had an emergency at the hospital, and by the time I was finished, the service was over.” He sighed. “He was an amazing man. I’ve been meaning to drop by, but you know how time gets away.”
Rowan forced her smile to stay in place as she nodded. “Thank you. How are you? You look well.” He did look great, though she suspected he’d had a touch of work done around the eyes and mouth. No one who’d passed the forty-year mark had skin that smooth and flawless.
“I’m great.” One of those fake smiles she recognized from those who considered themselves superior to the person to whom they were speaking appeared on his unlined face. “The practice is thriving, and when I’m not working I travel. Life couldn’t be better.”
Oh yes, she remembered Jared Knowles. An arrogant braggart, that was what he had always been. His father had been the town’s only orthopedist until Jared followed in his footsteps.