“Well, welcome to the team. I guess we need to make a dash for it if we want to get upstairs. It doesn’t seem like the rain is going to let up soon.”
They both got out of the car and made a run for the building. They were totally drenched despite the short run. Climbing the stairs, she quickly put the key in the door and they both went inside. Once there, she dropped her bag and hurried into her room to change out of the wet clothes. It was only after she had changed into a new outfit that it occurred to her that Dean would also be soaking wet and would need to change his clothes too.
She found him dripping on the rug.
“Sorry, I forgot all about you. Let me see if I can find something for you to put on.”
She disappeared back into the bedroom to see what she could find. He was bigger than her as she could not help noticing his broad shoulders and the muscular bulge of his arms. It took her some time to find slightly over-sized sweatpants and large t-shirt. These would have to do until she could dry his clothes in the machine.
Returning to the living room a few minutes later, what she saw made her freeze in her tracks. Dean was reading the case file she had stolen from the office. She was planning to put it back in its hiding place on her return.
She marched across to him and grabbed the file out of his hands.
“How dare you? Don’t you respect other people’s privacy?”
He jumped at the vehemence of her action. “I’m sorry. I…I… I just thought it might be a case you brought home from the office… so my curiosity got the better of me… I’m really sorry.”
She held on to the file and tossed him the clothes she had found. He picked them up but did not know what to do.
“The bathroom is over there, you can change and then we’ll put your clothes in the dryer.”
Still seething, she watched him go. As she waited for him to return, she found herself thinking that maybe she was over-reacting, and the explanation he gave sounded plausible. Detectives were trained to take keen note of their surroundings. But was he always that snoopy? What had he read in the file that she didn’t want him to know? What was he thinking now? Maybe she should try and find out.
She didn’t hear him come back into the room until he spoke, asking, “Are these your boyfriends?” He meant the clothes.
She didn’t know if she should be angry or amused, but she forgot what she was about to say when she turned and noted how tightly the t-shirt was stretched over his muscular frame emphasizing his well-toned abs. She couldn’t deny that she found him attractive.
Realizing that she was staring, she got up quickly and said, “The dryer is just down the hall, the second door on the right.”
As he left the room, she took the opportunity to glance through the file before putting it back in its hiding place. The sight of the crime scene photographs showing the bodies of her parents from different angles clouded her eyes with tears. She quickly closed the file and put it away.
In an effort to gain control of her emotions, she went into the kitchen and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. They were bland, lacking in color, much like her present life. It hadn’t mattered, or so it seemed, until now when she had a visitor. She paused to wonder what he thought of her drab apartment. Before her mind could go any further in that direction, she heard him coming back down the hallway.
She handed him a cup of coffee, and hoping to avoid anything personal, she asked, “So what are you thinking about the case?”
“If it was a personal crime, he could have been stalking her for some time and knew her routine. She was in good physical shape and seemed to have been a regular jogger. If it was random, then we might have a serial killer on our hands.”
“Jesus, let’s hope not.” Chelsea was glad for the distraction, because her memories were threatening to overwhelm her.
Then quite unexpectedly, Dean asked, “So, what about the case in the file you stole?”
“It is not a stolen file,” she said fiercely. “It’s a copy and I have every right to it.”
“So you’re planning on finding the killers all by yourself?”
“It’s none of your business!”
He guessed as much, so he decided to take a different tack. “The loss of your parents at the same time and in such a horrible way must have been very traumatic for you. I’m sorry.”
He saw her wince and knew that the wound had not yet healed.
Chelsea was torn as she tried to decide whether to talk about her past or not. She had never really shared that experience with anyone but her therapist, and only then because it was mandated by her superiors. Dr. Moore kept on telling her that it would help if she talked to someone, sometime, even if it was a stranger. Right now she felt like not telling Dean anything, yet at the same time she wanted to let it all out. This was especially so, after that frightening phone call this morning which she had not yet had the time to process. Maybe, if she spoke to someone, she would feel better and release some of the tension.
“I see you’re not ready to tell me yet, but I can wait.”
“Forever?” she said as she turned back to face him. His brown eyes locked with hers, and she wondered why he was being so persistent and trying so hard to be helpful.
Dean changed the conversation somewhat when he asked, “I find you and Pierce an odd team. He’s always bearish and you are so reserved. How does that work?”
She felt a little safer talking about work. “Pierce seems like that on the outside, but deep down, he is a warm, caring person. As for me, I don’t like being in the limelight. But over time, you’ll get used to Pierce.”
“And what about you?””
“That’s not necessary.”
“I guess things are real different from the Drug Unit where you get close to the people you work with. Maybe because as an undercover cop, your life was always hanging in the balance.”
She wanted to be sure he understood Pierce a little better since they’d be working closely together.
“I think you should also know that Pierce is one of the best homicide cops we have, but right now, he is a bit exhausted because he has six-month old twins at home that keep him up at night.”
“Oh, so you’re saying you’re not a good cop? From what I see, you’re just as good at your job as he is. But you always avoid the spotlight. It seems like you are afraid of people.”
“I’m not afraid, I just grew up learning to be invisible. It was how I survived.”
There was a brief silence, then Dean almost casually said, “I noticed your name is not the same as your parents.”
Against her better judgment, Chelsea found herself explaining. “I changed it when I was eighteen. As far as I’m concerned, Chelsea Preston died then and I became a new person. I did not want to be known by that name any longer.”
“And then you decided to become a cop,” he said slowly. “Do they even know you have a record?”
“Of course they do. Look I was bounced around from one foster home to the other. After the—after my parents died, I never mattered to anyone. I did some wrong things as a juvenile and I don’t expect anyone to understand, and to be honest, I really don’t care. But somehow, I did not want that record following me, so I changed my name and I managed to keep that concealed, so I got onto the force.”
She had never told this to anyone before, but somehow it just spilled out and she was beginning to feel a sense of relief.
“From my childhood, I learned that the world is a very cruel place and that people can’t be trusted.”
“Not all people are bad, Chelsea.”
The gentleness in his voice was almost like a caress and brought fresh tears to her eyes, and she blinked to keep them back. Her wounds had never healed, but she tried to conceal them as best she could. Now her hurt was being exposed to someone she hardly knew.
She felt Dean’s eyes on her and the next thing she knew, he had crossed the distance between them and had plac
ed his arms around her in a comforting kind of way. Her first instinct was to step away, but somehow she stayed instead. She breathed deeply in an attempt to relax, even as her heart thudded away in her chest.
“I can help you in your search, if you like. You deserve some answers after all these years.” His voice was soft and soothing.
Chelsea replied, “Everyone deserves answers, but it doesn’t mean we’ll get them. It has been over a decade and no one knows anything. There was no evidence, no sign of forced entry into the house, nothing. Not a single damn clue. All I have is to wonder is why they left me alive. I lost an entire day and have always thought that if I remembered something I could figure out who did this and maybe understand why.”
The tears burst forth like water from a broken dam as she clung to Dean and wept. This was something she had not done in a very long time.
“I promise I’ll help you, if you’ll only let me,” Dean whispered in her ear.
She could only nod as a sign of her acceptance. While she was trying to figure out what was happening to her, the telephone rang. It was Pierce. Quickly disengaging herself from the circle of Dean’s arms, she picked up the phone.
“Got something for me about the case?” she asked.
She listened as he brought her up-to-date. The girl in the park was Ashlee Thompson, twenty-one years old. She was a student attending the University of Arizona in the RN program, and she also worked at the University Medical Center as a Nurse’s Assistant. He had managed to contact her mother and had arranged for Chelsea to pay her a visit. He gave her the name and address, and suggested that she get there within the hour.
“I’ll be there and I’ll bring Weston, he’s still with me.” She glanced shyly at him.
“Sure, he needs to learn how we operate. Thank you, Chelsea,” he said as he hung up abruptly.
“That was Pierce and we’ve got to go, they’ve identified the victim and we have to go see her mother.”
“All right, I’ll go get my clothes and then we’ll get busy solving the case.”
As he left the room, she remembered what Cara had said about finding a man to cure her sleepless nights. Was this about to happen?
Chapter 3
The roads were slightly more congested now, but since the address was within a five mile radius it didn’t take long to find the place. They pulled into a suburban neighborhood where Ashlee Thompson had lived for her entire life. It was quiet and seemed to be a family oriented area, as there were strollers on some porches and swings in several yards.
The rain stopped for a moment as they pulled up at the Thompson residence. It was a modest bungalow compared to the rest, with a green lawn behind a white picket fence.
Chelsea had done some background checking on the Thompsons. Alexis never had a real home until she met and married David. They had been together for nearly thirty years until he passed away four months ago. Now to lose her daughter, especially in such a terrible way, was just tragic. She was all alone.
As Chelsea eased out of the car, Dean asked, “How should we handle this? I’ve never had to tell anyone that their child has been murdered.”
“Well, Pierce already told her, so now that she has had a few minutes we’ll go talk to her and see if we can get any information. It is never easy talking to them, and we tend to try to word things carefully, choosing words that make it seem not so horrific, especially early on. Let’s take it gently and see how it goes. This woman has had so much loss in her life already, there is no telling how this will go.”
They went up the walkway, lined on both sides with evenly cut shrubs. Apparently Mrs. Thompson was on the lookout for their arrival. She opened the door immediately. Her blue eyes were puffy and her cheeks slightly red. She appeared far from well and that could easily be understood. She had just lost her only daughter.
“Hello, Mrs. Thompson, I am Detective Chelsea Madden and this is Detective Dean Weston. May we come in?”
They stepped into an immaculately kept house with everything in its place. Mrs. Thompson motioned them toward two comfortable and stylish olive green arm chairs.
“We are so sorry about the death of your daughter,” Chelsea said. She noticed how the old lady winced at hearing the words.
She continued. “I can assure you that we are doing all we can to bring the perpetrator of this crime to justice. This is why we need to speak to you. I’m so sorry we couldn’t wait until later…but time is of the essence.”
The old lady nodded.
“Right now we are not sure if your daughter knew her attacker or if he was a total stranger. So we are trying to get a list of all her friends and acquaintances. This is one of the reasons why we wanted to talk to you. Maybe your daughter said something to you or you might know something that can help us.” Chelsea finished and looked expectantly at Mrs. Thompson.
Mrs. Thompson struggled to maintain her composure. She looked at the laughing pictures of her daughter on the mantel piece and sighed heavily.
“Ashlee used to be so outgoing,” she began. “Very involved in the community, as she believed in trying to make the world a better place. But after the passing of her father, she became more reserved. She wouldn’t talk to me about anything after that. We were not very close, although I tried to be there if she ever needed me. Then after she injured her ankle and the doctor told her she could no longer play soccer for the university, she seemed to become a workaholic.
She picked up extra hours at work, lengthened her volunteer hours and attended classes. She never seemed to be able to sit still and she barely came home for more than just to sleep and change clothes, it would seem like.”
“What type of injury did your daughter have to keep her from playing soccer?”
“Multiple sprains, and this last one had been a fracture to her fibula. It kept her in a cast for nearly two months and she just got out of it three weeks ago. I told her she should not be running, but she didn’t listen. I should have been paying more attention to her!”
“Mrs. Thompson, this is not your fault. It is important for you to know that,” Chelsea said. She waited until the woman was a little calmer. “So your daughter was on a routine then? She always went on her runs at the same time each day?”
“More or less. She was so stubborn, just like her father. And now they’re both gone. I should have been more of a mother to her. I should have been watching my daughter better. Maybe if I had she would still be alive.” She started sobbing at that point. Chelsea handed her a tissue from a nearby box and waited for the tears to subside.
“Mrs. Thompson, believe me, you could not have prevented this. The person who killed your daughter, he is the one responsible. Now, was your daughter seeing anyone that you might know of?”
Mrs. Thompson nodded. “A young man named Austin Rodriquez. They have been dating for a year or so now.”
“Did they ever fight?”
“God no! They seemed to get on very well. Her father approved of the relationship and gave them his blessing. He said he could never have chosen a better man for his daughter. They were planning to get married sometime soon. After her dad passed away they became even closer.”
“Do you know where we would be able to find him?”
“At work. He works as an EMT for the University Medical Center. I don’t know his hours. I don’t even know his address or phone number.”
“It is all right,” Chelsea assured her. “We have his name and that’s good enough. Now, do you know if Ashlee had any enemies? Someone who did not like her, maybe? Or that she’d had some type of trouble with.”
“Not that I know of. Ashlee got on well with everyone. If she was having problems, she didn’t tell me.”
Pausing for a moment, Chelsea asked, “Would it be all right if we take a look at her room. There might be something there that can help us.”
“If you think so,” she replied, getting up. She was unsteady at first, but managed to balance herself and
led them down the hall.
The room was somewhat untidy, yet organized, with books and stacks of paper all about. A football jersey was hanging on the back of a chair, and clothes were protruding from a half-closed closet door. A picture of a young man was displayed prominently in her headboard. Obviously, this must be Austin. She studied him carefully. He looked harmless, but one never knew what went on in people’s minds. He was on their list for a visit.
Chelsea remembered her teenage years and wondered if, like her, Ashlee knew how to hide things in plain sight. She began to observe things more closely. She wondered if Ashlee kept a diary, but if she did she certainly would not tell her mother. There was no sign of a computer anywhere. That was strange since Ashlee was a student.
“Does your daughter have a computer?” she asked.
Mrs. Thompson walked over to the bookshelf. There was a drawer that blended in perfectly and there was her laptop. “Would you mind if I looked at it?”
“Not at all.”
She powered it up and it brought her directly to her homepage. There was no request for a password, perhaps because she hid it so well. Chelsea saw nothing out of the ordinary when she opened up her browsing history. Then she noticed that she was still logged in to a popular social media site. A simple click revealed a list of her friends, places she would hang out, conversations and many pictures. Her entire life was right there for all to see.
Chelsea began to run through the messages. The majority came from her boyfriend and a few were from other friends. The conversations were simple enough, but then there was one that stood out. It was from Jeanine Groves and it was not friendly at all.
Chelsea turned towards Mrs. Thompson. “Do you know anyone named Jeanine Groves?”
“Yes, I do. She was dating Austin before Ashlee came along and for quite some time after they broke up she kept on harassing Austin because she wanted him back. Do you think she might have had something to do with Ashlee’s death?”
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