Drawing Fire

by Janice Cantore

“Which is wise,” Grace said. “I remember that day, the day we found out what happened. It was such a horrific crime. Now you hear about such brutality on a daily basis, it seems like, but then it seemed a rarity.”

  “I can’t imagine what it would have been like growing up, knowing your parents were murdered.” Luke fought the urge to grip Abby’s hand, knowing the gesture would be misinterpreted. “It was tough enough dealing with the loss of my uncle.”

  Abby held his gaze for a moment that Luke did not want to end.

  Grace cleared her throat. “How about we move to a lighter subject. Do you attend a local church?” she asked.

  Abby looked away. “Coast Christian Fellowship. My fiancé is the missions pastor there. He’s in Africa right now on a mission trip.”

  “Ethan Carver is your fiancé?” Luke stared.

  For her part, Abby looked surprised. “You know him?”

  “I’m a part-time youth pastor at Central Community Church. I’ve heard Ethan give his testimony and talk about his trips.”

  “He’s passionate about his work.”

  “He is.” Luke didn’t say more, but he thought about Ethan and wondered at the match. While he didn’t know either Ethan or Abby very well, he didn’t see them as a couple. Ethan was too serious, too dour. What did this vibrant, dedicated woman see in him?

  “How did you meet Ethan?” Grace asked.

  Luke looked down at his plate, sorry this subject had come up. Maddeningly, Abby didn’t seem to mind.

  Abby smiled. “I feel like I’ve always known him. My aunt Dede heads up the mission work for her church in Oregon. Ethan was a part of the group when I moved up there. He was just fifteen when I moved in with Dede. Over the years, we became good friends. Then after I moved down here, we reconnected when he came to church to speak about his work. About five years ago he accepted the job as head of the missions department here, and we started dating.”

  “When did you get engaged?”

  Luke felt like sticking his fingers in his ears and saying, “La, la, la, la, la.” He didn’t want her to belong to someone else, but she did.

  “About six months ago. When he gets back from this trip, we’re going to set a date and start planning.”

  “How exciting.” Grace beamed while Luke felt as though he were going to lose his dinner.

  DINNER TOOK HER BY SURPRISE.

  “You have a nice family,” Abby told Luke as she carried her Triple Seven book into his office.

  Once she’d shifted the conversation away from her life and gotten Luke’s parents to talk about their life, she was able to relax. Abby found she envied the warm, lively atmosphere around the table and in the household. It wasn’t that Dede was cold—no, not at all. Abby loved her aunt and was thankful for how she had been raised. But it was usually only the two of them, and Abby remembered always wishing for what had been: an intact family with a mom and a dad.

  “Thanks. I know that I’m blessed.”

  His office had obviously been converted from a garage. The space was masculine with a large desk, a couple of chairs and bookcases on one side, and assorted exercise equipment on the other. Abby noted the heavy bag, the weight set, and the elliptical machine and knew how Murphy stayed in such good shape.

  “This is heavy,” he said when he took the book from her and set it on his desk.

  “I’ve been working on it for fifteen years.”

  “Seriously?”

  “My aunt thinks I’m obsessed. I—” She stopped, realizing that the cozy family dinner had caused her to drop her guard.

  But Luke simply smiled and pointed to a large bulletin board set up on one side of the room with the time lines for the Triple Seven murders and investigation along with quotes on Post-it notes from those he’d interviewed. “Maybe I’m obsessed as well.”

  Abby stepped to the board and studied it, realizing just how much investigative work Murphy had done.

  “Do you think having this obsession means that we don’t trust God?” she asked without looking away from the board. She was fascinated by his attention to detail.

  “I think if the obsession causes us to sin or do things that are illegal or unethical, then it’s time to worry.”

  She faced him. His no-nonsense expression gave her pause. He’d understand. Swallowing, she shared something she’d never even told Ethan. “When I was in foster care, I fantasized about finding the people who killed my parents and killing them.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” Folding his arms, he sat on the edge of his desk. “You’d never do that. You’ll settle for arrest and trial. I know that.”

  Abby smiled. “You don’t really know me that well—you sure about that?”

  “Anyone who’d dive in front of a train to save a serial killer is not the type of person who would take justice into her own hands. Even if it was personal.”

  “Uh, let’s not talk about that train video.”

  He chuckled and watched her. His gaze had such warmth, Abby felt like she knew him, felt like he understood her in a way no one else ever had.

  “Have you forgiven them—the people who killed your uncle?”

  He rubbed his chin, and she knew what he was about to say came with effort. “I have to. I’ve been forgiven so much; I can’t hold back my forgiveness for them. It would eat me alive. And you?”

  “I try,” Abby said, suddenly needing a change of subject. Forgiveness was essential, she knew, but she also knew at times it was as elusive as fragrance whisked away by a breeze.

  She pointed to the upper left corner of his board. “You go all the way back to high school.” The pictures looked as though they were cut from high school yearbooks. Her parents’ youthful faces stared back at her.

  If Murphy was troubled by the abrupt subject change, he didn’t let on. He stood next to her. “I started with what I could get. Your mom, my mom, and my uncle graduated from Millikan High, while your dad and Rollins went to Jordan.”

  “I knew everyone was around the same age. Dede told me that my mom actually met Rollins first. He had money and a car, but she fell hard for my dad, who was his best friend. My dad was the reason my mom never moved to Oregon. I didn’t consider going that far back to be germane to the investigation.”

  “Maybe it’s not, but I was able to talk to a lot of people they went to high school with.” He pointed to some sticky notes with writing on them. “Like Betsy Turner—she’s in Arizona now.”

  “I see now why you feel like you’ve always known me. You know more about my parents than I do.”

  “I hope that’s not creepy for you.”

  “Not sure how I feel about it yet. Let me digest this.”

  She soaked in the new information, not certain how long she stood there before Murphy spoke again.

  “This is what I do in my spare time. Which lately hasn’t been much.”

  She turned and saw a charming smile playing on his lips. “I imagine that video of you taking down a human trafficker lit your phone up.”

  “It did. It was worth it. He needed to go to jail. Though I could have done without the video.”

  “You didn’t arrange that?” Abby wondered at how she’d read him so wrong. He seemed to have no trouble reading her.

  “No! On the contrary.” He shook his head. “I prefer doing my work quietly, using publicity only when I absolutely have to. The video was a double-edged sword. It brought me tips, but it also kept people from talking to me because—” he adopted a gangbanger pose and voice inflection—“‘Hey, you that private cop from YouTube.’”

  Abby fought to keep from giggling and getting off track. “I guess I can see that. And I understand it somewhat.”

  “You’re a YouTube star as well.”

  She threw her hands up.

  “Yeah, I think you get my dilemma now.”

  “I guess I do.”

  She looked back to the board, uncomfortable in his gaze. There were also interviews with most of the people the police talked to. “You
r board is amazing. I’d have to study it more to see if it provides any leads, but you’ve asked some important questions and gotten some fascinating answers.”

  “It’s important to me to find out who killed my uncle.” His expression turned hard and he focused on the board. “I idolized him when I was a kid. I was eight when he died, and it affected me.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from.”

  He looked at her. “Of course you do.”

  Abby felt warmth flooding through her. For a second neither said anything, and Abby felt a connection that almost made her shiver. She looked away first.

  “I’m especially interested in these comments from people who knew Rollins,” she said, folding her arms. “You noticed his reaction the other day.”

  “I did. It made me think that maybe he was the target twenty-seven years ago and not your parents.”

  “What?”

  “He was afraid. Maybe he fears your investigating the case will put him in danger.”

  “That wasn’t my thought at all. I was thinking Rollins’s reaction was one of a guilty man.”

  Murphy raised his eyebrows. “But he was cleared. His alibi was solid and never shaken.”

  “He profited in more ways than one from the deaths of my parents. He got the property; he got the notoriety that won him his first election.”

  “But the property and the insurance money he donated to the city for the park. And he’s been an honest politician, at least as much as is possible in politics. Do you really think that someone who could callously murder three people could be such a good actor for twenty-seven years?”

  “Woody said the same thing. I think that politicians are one step removed from actors. They learn to project an image—the best image, the one that will get them the most votes.”

  Murphy frowned and sat, motioning to Abby to do the same. She took a chair beside his desk.

  “I like to think I have a sense about people.”

  “You mean you think you can read people?”

  “It always served me well when I was in the Army, and it has helped in the PI business. Rollins doesn’t strike me as a killer.”

  “I’ve learned that killers are not always that easy to spot. I once handled a homicide where a seven-year-old killed his two-year-old brother. That’s extreme, but my point is, Rollins appears good, but we don’t know what’s in his heart.”

  “I’ll give you that. Only the Lord knows his heart.” He picked up a paper clip and began to bend it back and forth. “Do you think that telling people you were Abigail Morgan put you in danger?”

  “It does if the killer fears I’ll uncover something. If the killer is Rollins, maybe he’ll want to know exactly what I remember. Maybe he’ll think I could point the finger at Uncle Lobo.”

  Luke leaned back. “Uncle Lobo—is that what you called him? I knew Lobo was his nickname, but ‘uncle’?”

  “He was always around. I remember that. But other things . . .” She bit her bottom lip in frustration. “No. I think I liked him, but I do remember that he and my father argued a lot. At least I think they did. It’s all jumbled.”

  “If you remembered seeing him in the restaurant that day, that would be a big thing.”

  “I told you earlier what I think I remember of that day. But I’m not sure if it’s because people have told me things, or I’ve read speculation. I’d been asleep.” She opened her book, pulled out some pages. “I’ve added some notes, similar to what you have, based on things I learned after becoming a police officer. My father had a rep for being wild, but from what I’ve read, he and my mom worked hard to keep anything negative from affecting the restaurant. That place was their life.”

  She spread some papers out on the desk, and Luke leaned forward. Abby felt energized and relaxed at the same time. For so many years she’d been alone in the struggle to find her parents’ killers; to be able to share and discuss the situation with someone as invested as she was acted like a stimulant. They bounced clues and theories back and forth for a while.

  “There were three named suspects,” she said. “Piper Shea, Ed Hendricks, and Tucker Jordon.”

  “Hendricks and Jordon were the robbery team.”

  Abby pulled out some photos. “They were good for several liquor store robberies. There are several interviews with them in the file.”

  “They always denied.”

  “And they had solid alibis. Plus, it was a stretch to think that after a botched robbery they’d burn everything down, especially my parents’ house.”

  “What about Piper Shea?”

  “He was never questioned, which bothered me for a long time. Their reasons for naming him had to do with his arrest at the restaurant selling drugs a few months earlier. My mom called the cops on him.”

  “Does it still bother you?”

  “Yes and no. He was not violent like Hendricks and Jordon. And he never threatened my parents. Plus, what motive would he have to burn down our house? Your mother mentioned the viciousness of the crime. That strikes me as personal. Why would a two-bit drug dealer have such a personal grudge against my mom and dad?”

  “I agree that the crime was intensely personal. The other day it looked as though Rollins might have been the target, but the more I thought about it, that idea really makes no sense. All the anger was directed at your parents. Why was Shea never interviewed?”

  “From what I can tell, they never found him. In fact, a couple years ago I did a little search for Shea myself. No luck.”

  “You still can’t find him?”

  “He disappeared twenty-seven years ago. While I hate coincidences, I have to think that’s all it is. The people we’re looking for hated my mom and dad.”

  “And like me, you believe there was more than one person involved.”

  “Yeah, I do. There was too much destruction involved for one person.”

  For a minute there was silence as they studied the board and paperwork.

  “Go back with me to high school. Though they went to different schools,” Luke observed, “they all graduated the same year.”

  “Then they went different directions after graduation. Rollins to UC Berkeley, my dad to the Army.”

  “Even so, let me show you some yearbooks.” He pointed to the bookcase. “My uncle also graduated from Millikan—”

  There was a knock on the door, and they turned toward it at the same time. It was Madison with Bandit.

  “It’s my bedtime, Dad.”

  Abby and Luke both looked at the clock. It was 9:30.

  Abby stood. “I had no idea it was so late.” She held her arms out for Bandit, and Madison put him there.

  “Grandma let me stay up a little later because she thought you’d finish, but now I have to go to bed.”

  Luke came around the desk and tousled the girl’s hair. “Sorry about that, Maddie.” He turned to Abby. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “I should probably be going.”

  “Let’s check out the yearbooks and then call it a night.”

  Abby agreed. She really didn’t want to go. The connection she’d felt with Murphy while they pored over notes and interview transcripts was like nothing she had ever felt, and she didn’t want it to end.

  Madison said good night, and Luke left the room with his daughter.

  Setting Bandit on her chair, Abby stepped to the bookcase and saw yearbooks from both Millikan and Jordan. Abby remembered Grace saying at dinner that she’d gone to school with her mother, though she was two years behind and had never interacted with her then.

  Abby had few pictures of her parents. What hadn’t burned in the restaurant had burned in their house. What she did have, she got from Dede and they were mostly of her mother growing up. But the images that stuck in Abby’s mind when she thought of her parents were the photos from the old newspaper stories in the investigation files. The idea of seeing pictures she hadn’t seen before was intriguing.

  She found one of the proper
years and opened it on the desk, turning to the Ms. She found Buck Morgan and smiled when she saw his picture. Her dad had what Woody liked to call a “punch-me face”: a face with a ready smirk. And apparently a personality to match, with a propensity to start trouble and get in fights. Since this yearbook was from her dad’s junior year, there was also a picture of his older brother, her uncle Simon.

  All Abby knew about Simon was what his police record told her. At age thirty-one, two years before she was born, he’d been involved in a bar fight with a bouncer who tried to throw him out. The bouncer died from his injuries and Simon went to jail. But a three- to five-year term for manslaughter became a life sentence without possibility of parole when Simon joined a prison gang and was involved in a riot where a guard lost his life. He’d been interviewed by the Puffs, who wondered if Simon had a grievance with his brother. They found nothing and Simon was crossed off the suspect list. Abby had checked to see where he was when she promoted to homicide. At that time he was housed in a prison in the high desert. She saw no point in contacting him. He’d been in prison for thirty-four years; there was no information he could give her except about the latest trends in prison tattoos.

  Switching yearbooks, she flipped to H, where she located her mother and noticed how much Patricia Horn looked like Abby Hart. Her hair was fixed in the style of the year, and the smile was warm, not forced. Not liking the emotions the photos stirred up, Abby grabbed the Jordan yearbook again and turned to R and found Lowell Rollins. She frowned when she saw Louis Rollins right next to his brother. Louis was older by two years; why was he here?

  Murphy reentered the office, carrying two mugs of what her nose told her was coffee.

  “Sorry about that. I’d like to go for a little bit longer, if you’re able. I even brought a bribe with me.” He handed her a mug. “What’s wrong? Did you find something?”

  “Just a mystery.” She sipped her coffee and pointed to Louis. “I thought he was older. I remember Rollins saying so the other day.”

  “He was, but he was also developmentally disabled. At that time kids like him were often held back a year or two.”

  “So that’s why he’s here. He worked at the Triple Seven washing dishes and was interviewed after the fire but was no help.”