Justice Buried

by Patricia Bradley

  She’d proven someone could access the building from the roof, so why not just leave? She would, but first she wanted to leave her card as proof to Mr. Rutherford that she’d been there. It wouldn’t take long.

  Everything seemed clear, and she crept down the metal steps to the first floor and the desk by the door. She placed the card in the middle of the desk, where it couldn’t be missed. With her job done, she returned the way she’d come.

  Halfway up the steps, a sound stopped her, sending an icy shiver down her spine. She cocked her head, listening.

  Music filtered through the walls, and she relaxed. It was only the band starting up again. Shaking her head, she hurried up the steps and ignored the feeling in her gut that all was not well.

  Once Kelsey climbed out the dormer window and down the rope, she inched across the roof to the drainpipe and swung her body over the side, her hands gripping the steel pipe that ran along the gutter. Good thing she’d used the chalk, making her grip more secure. Crossing hand over hand, she worked her way to the drainpipe. Shouldn’t take a minute to descend the pipe, and then she was home free. She’d almost reached the ground when a cold chill shivered down her back like a bad omen.

  “Need some help there?”

  She froze and looked over her shoulder. Brad Hollister. And he looked as though he was in full police mode. Kelsey released her hold on the pipe and jumped, landing softly on the ground. She dusted her hands. “Nope. I don’t need any help.”

  “Kelsey?” His voice cracked. “What are you doing?”

  “A better question might be what are you doing here?” She cocked her head and looked up at him, the soft glow from a nearby window offering barely enough light to see the glint in his eyes. “I thought I saw you drive away.”

  “I see you did,” he said. “I realized I hadn’t thanked your parents for inviting me to the benefit or said good night. When I circled the lot looking for a parking space, I saw someone running across the roof. So I investigated. And now if you don’t mind, what are you doing out here?”

  Kelsey opened her mouth to explain, and a blood-curdling scream came from inside the mansion.

  Brad jerked his head toward the sound. “Stay put,” he ordered, then jogged toward the entrance. Why was Kelsey breaking into the museum? It didn’t make sense.

  Inside, he found a distraught member of the cleaning crew rattling off a string of Spanish to the museum director. Even though Brad had a rudimentary knowledge of the language, she spoke too fast for him to follow. Except he caught something about a body. “I’m Sergeant Brad Hollister with the Memphis Police Department,” he said to the director. “What is she saying?”

  “Thank goodness you’re here. I’m Robert Tomlinson, the—”

  “Director of the museum. I know. What happened?”

  “She says there’s a man on the first floor. She thinks he may be dead.”

  “Has anyone called 911?” Brad asked.

  “Yes,” Tomlinson said. “A dispatcher said officers would arrive soon.”

  Brad turned to the cleaning lady. “Can you show me where the body is?”

  Her eyes widened and she stepped back, shaking her head. “No, no, no!”

  Robert Tomlinson spoke to her in Spanish, and she nodded slowly. “There,” she said in Spanish, pointing toward a door down the hallway. “He is there. Blood is”—she waved her hands—“everywhere!”

  This time Brad had no trouble understanding her.

  “I’ll show you where she’s talking about,” the director said. He turned and spoke to her again in Spanish and frowned when she answered him. “She says the door to the registrar’s office is opened, and she doesn’t think the man is alive.”

  Brad followed him to a locked door. “Does the cleaning crew have access to all the rooms?”

  “No. Only to the general offices. Certainly not to the registrar’s office where the safe is located.” He took out his phone and dialed a number. “That’s odd. Rutherford isn’t answering.”

  “Rutherford?”

  “He’s in charge of security. He would have let the cleaning crew into this area.”

  Brad heard footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder. Kelsey. She had pulled off the beanie, leaving her hair flat against her head. She looked like a pixie . . . or Peter Pan, with the green tights and pullover. “What happened?” Kelsey asked as Tomlinson keyed in a number on the door lock.

  “I told you to stay put.”

  “I didn’t think you meant it literally, just to not leave.”

  “The vault is this way,” Tomlinson said and opened the door.

  Brad looked from the director back to Kelsey. The man didn’t seem at all disturbed that she was here. Brad held his questions until he had a better idea of the crime. Then Ms. Allen had a few answers to come up with.

  They hurried down one hallway to another and finally through another door to a room with stairs to an overhead caged room on one side and a walk-in vault on the other. He followed Tomlinson into the vault, where a body lay on the floor in a puddle of blood.

  “Oh no,” Tomlinson said softly as Kelsey gasped.

  “Do you know him?” Brad felt for a pulse even though experience taught him he was looking at a corpse.

  “It’s Walter Rutherford,” she said.

  That Rutherford. Brad looked closer. “You’re talking about Rutherford Security?”

  “Yes,” Tomlinson said. “But how did he end up here?”

  “I don’t know, but it got him shot. Call and have your security team secure the area until my people get here.” He took out his phone as he stood. “We need to back out of here. And don’t touch anything.”

  Once they were out of the vault, he dialed his friend Reggie Lane. “Are you on call this weekend?” he asked when Reggie answered with sleep in his voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s a homicide at the Pink Palace.”

  “Already got it,” Reggie said. “I’m on my way.”

  “Call the Crime Scene Unit too.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Kelsey leaning over the desk by the door.

  “Looking for something?” he asked after he hung up. Either it was the fluorescent lighting or she was about to pass out. “You okay?”

  “Just a little woozy.”

  He understood that. It was probably her first murder scene to witness, and violent death was never pretty. For that matter, Mr. Tomlinson looked a little green as well. “Let’s get to the ballroom, where you two can sit down and get a glass of water.”

  Kelsey swayed.

  “Are you all right?” Brad asked.

  “I—” Kelsey crumpled to the floor.

  7

  HER BUSINESS CARD HADN’T BEEN ON THE DESK, and Kelsey had only a few seconds to search the floor after her faint, which was closer to being real than pretend. Mr. Rutherford is dead? The shock of seeing his body hadn’t worn off.

  She pushed aside her emotions and looked for anything white. The desk and the area around it was paper free. What happened to the Phantom Hawk card she’d left less than half an hour ago?

  Suddenly, she felt herself being gently lifted from the floor and cradled in Brad’s arms. What is he doing? “I can walk, so put me down,” she said.

  He looked down at her. “Are you sure?”

  No, she wasn’t. She felt safe, protected in his arms. Until he found that card. “Yes,” she said, and he set her feet on the floor. “I don’t know what happened to me.”

  “Don’t feel bad,” Tomlinson said. “I thought I was going to keel over too.”

  Wrapping her mind around the death of a good man who only wanted to help people was almost impossible. Who could have killed him? Had he already been dead when she was in the storage area? If she’d been there earlier, maybe she could have prevented his murder.

  She caught her breath. If Brad discovered she was the Phantom Hawk, she’d be his number one suspect. Might be anyway, given the circumstances. But at least Mr. Rutherford se
emed to have informed Tomlinson that she was working with security since he didn’t seem at all surprised to see her.

  Kelsey had to find that card, but where could it be? Or who could have taken it? Mentally she clicked through the possibilities and came up with four. The cleaning woman found it and threw it away. That one she dismissed. Cleaning personnel never touched anything on a desk. Or it could have been knocked to the floor, but if that were true, it would still be there.

  That left only two possibilities.

  Rutherford found it . . . or the man who killed him had seen her leave it and took it. She hoped it was Mr. Rutherford.

  If it was the murderer, he now knew it was the Phantom Hawk who had broken into the museum tonight and had been there about the time he killed Rutherford. Maybe he even thought she’d seen him. If it became public knowledge that Kelsey and the Phantom Hawk were the same person . . . The newscast flashed in her mind. Andi Hollister had reported the Phantom Hawk had broken into the Turner Accounting building. The person who’d fired at her Thursday night would know she was the one climbing the wall. It would be easy enough to track her down. She swayed as her knees buckled.

  Brad caught her before she fell. “That does it. I’m carrying you out.”

  Kelsey didn’t protest. She couldn’t make it under her own steam this time. Tomlinson held the door open, and Brad strode to the banquet room and settled her in a chair.

  “Be right back.”

  In less than a minute, he was back with a glass of water. “Drink this, and then we need to talk.”

  Her hand shook as she took the glass. She didn’t want to talk to him, not until she knew how much Rutherford had told Tomlinson. Her head swam. “Do you think you could find a Coke or something? I need a pick-me-up.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance. Maybe by the time he returned, the mansion would be full of police officers and he’d be otherwise engaged.

  “Do you have diabetes?”

  “It’s nothing like that, I’m just shaky. Please find something.”

  He pinned her with a stern look. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  Seriously? Did he think she’d run away? “Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you get back.”

  As soon as he was out of hearing range, she turned to the museum director. “What did Mr. Rutherford tell you about me?”

  Tomlinson rubbed his forehead. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  Neither could Kelsey, but she needed his answer before Brad returned. “Did he tell you I was working for him?”

  “He did and that the conservator job would be a cover. Your résumé is impressive.”

  If Rutherford had told the museum director she was the Phantom Hawk, it didn’t seem to matter. “Thank you,” she said to his reference to her résumé. “I noticed the cameras are newer ones. When were they installed?”

  “Just last week, and you’ve changed clothes since I last saw you in the ballroom,” Tomlinson said as a man in a navy sport coat approached them.

  “I was checking out the security system. I had intended to tell Rutherford the weaknesses I found on Monday.”

  The man who joined them directed his gaze at the director. “Do you know how the murderer accessed the inner offices?”

  Tomlinson turned to Kelsey. “This is my brother Mark. He’s the building manager and was working with Mr. Rutherford on some issues we’ve had with security. Mark, Kelsey Allen. Rutherford hired her this morning to investigate the missing artifacts.”

  Mark Tomlinson looked to be older than his brother Robert, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. She didn’t know if the scowl on his face was a permanent fixture or because he wasn’t pleased that she’d been hired.

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  Uh-oh. Appeared Mr. Mark Tomlinson might be a control freak.

  The museum director sighed. “I only found out late this afternoon. I’ll brief you tomorrow. Right now we have Rutherford’s death to deal with.” He turned to Kelsey and repeated his brother’s question about how the murderer accessed the rooms.

  “If Rutherford was already inside, the person could have simply walked in.”

  “You believe an employee killed him?”

  “I didn’t say that, but wouldn’t it take someone with knowledge of the codes to get into the rooms?” From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Brad returning. “Can we meet tomorrow afternoon and discuss this?”

  Tomlinson nodded.

  “I hope this makes you feel better,” Brad said as he handed her a soda.

  “Thanks.” She pulled the tab back and took a long sip of the drink. She hadn’t been lying about needing something to boost her. After a few sips, she began to feel better.

  “You really ought to get that checked out,” Brad said. “You were very pale earlier.”

  “It’s not often I see someone I know murdered. But thank you.” She looked past him as a man who could easily play tackle on an NFL team approached them. The gun and badge on his belt told her he was a cop. “I believe the cavalry has arrived. You better steer them in the right direction.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. “Hang around until I can get back here. All of you.”

  Brad dodged people as he trotted toward Reggie, who was standing in the arched doorway, scanning the room. “Over here,” Brad called, and the lieutenant turned toward him.

  “What do you have?” Reggie asked, his face pinched in a frown.

  “Walter Rutherford. Dead in the vault.” Brad checked his watch. Ten minutes. “How did you get here so fast? You sounded like you were asleep when I called.”

  “No, just tired. I live a few blocks away, and I had stopped by home to grab a bite to eat. The security guy is the one killed?”

  Brad nodded and led the way to the crime scene. “No one knows what he was doing in the vault. The director said he was supposed to be home. His crew is making sure no one leaves.”

  “Good.” Reggie tilted his head. “Looks like there are quite a few people here. I could use your help getting statements once we’re done here.”

  “Sure.” Reggie had been a year ahead of him at the academy and had just made lieutenant. It wouldn’t surprise Brad if the detective didn’t end up being director one day. “I’m not an official Cold Case investigator until Monday, anyway.”

  Reggie eyed him dryly. “I wish David Raines would keep his hands off Homicide. Every time he gets a little money, he steals one of our guys. First Will Kincade and now you.”

  “Maybe it’ll be you next time.”

  “Nah. I like my cases hot. Don’t have the patience to go digging in the past. Show me the body.”

  They wound around to the vault and, after slipping on booties at the door, entered the office with the vault.

  “Whose office is this?” Reggie asked.

  “The registrar’s. She’s been called and is on her way to identify any missing artifacts.” Brad stood back as Reggie stepped into the vault and stared at the body on the floor. They’d both dealt with Rutherford during different investigations and respected the man’s integrity.

  He shook his head. “Poor guy, just trying to do his job and this happens.”

  Brad nodded. While Rutherford wasn’t a cop, he was well respected among police officers. His murder drove home how dangerous protecting people and even property could be.

  Reggie took out his phone and snapped photos of the body and surrounding area. The CSI team would take plenty of pictures, but Reggie would want his own. Brad turned as the outside door opened, and the medical examiner stepped into the room with the forensic team filing in behind him.

  “Close quarters . . . and dim,” the ME said, nodding to the two detectives. “Let’s get some lights rigged up.”

  “We’ll be downstairs taking statements if you need us,” Reggie said.

  The ME glanced at Rutherford then back at Reggie. “I’m sure the first thing you’ll want to know is when he died. I should be able to give you an appro
ximate time directly. I’ll have a firm time after the autopsy.”

  Brad didn’t believe Kelsey had anything to do with Rutherford’s death, but if the man had been killed a couple of hours ago, it’d keep her out of the loop of suspicion altogether.

  Rutherford’s security team had settled the fundraiser guests in the banquet room where Brad and Kelsey had eaten less than two hours ago. He stepped into the room and looked for Tomlinson and Kelsey. She was sitting at a table surrounded by her family, but he didn’t see the director. Sam Allen broke away from the others and approached them.

  “Kelsey said Walter has been killed. What can you tell me?”

  “Afraid nothing at this point.” He turned to Reggie and made the introductions. “Mr. Allen is a trustee for the museum.”

  The two men shook hands, and Reggie took out a notepad. He handed it to Brad. “Why don’t you take statements from people on this side of the room, and I’ll cover the other.”

  Brad agreed and took the pad and pen, then turned to Sam. “What can you tell me about Walter Rutherford?”

  “We were together just this morning with Kelsey,” Sam said.

  “Did he hire her for something in particular?” If Rutherford had, it would explain a lot, like the clothes she had changed into. He glanced toward the table where Kelsey was studying him like he was a specimen under a microscope. Then Lily crawled up in her lap, and she focused on the child.

  Sam had turned to look at Kelsey as well. “Yes. Lately the museum has experienced the loss of a few artifacts, and Walter wanted to take advantage of my daughter’s . . . uh . . . talents.”

  He had Brad’s attention now. “What talents?”

  “Kelsey has a master’s degree in historic preservation. Walter wanted her to assume the temporary position of conservator of the museum while the current conservator is out on maternity leave.”

  “Why would the head of security hire her for that position?”

  Sam hesitated. “She also has a phenomenal ability with computers, and when funding dried up for her job at the museum in Jackson, she worked for the security division until there were more cutbacks.”