Two Parts Bloody Murder

by Jen J. Danna

  Tucker’s lips twisted. “You take all the joy out of the reveal, Abbott. What I found is that the photo’s been tampered with on about every level possible. And not well done, either. When you get to the analysis stage, errors and inconsistencies abound.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the time stamp was right, which was a blessing or else tracking this down would likely have been a whole lot more work on my part. But the image was different. And intact. Run that same frame through the software and the picture is pristine. We’ve got the original.”

  “Who was the perp talking to?”

  “And that’s where we hit a snag.” He pulled a large black and white photo from the envelope and handed it to Leigh.

  The photo was identical to the one she’d received, except for the man facing the camera in the place where her father had been. The fur-trimmed hood of his parka was pulled up over his head, throwing his face into shadow. Only his chin and the edge of his lower lip were dimly lit by the flickering neon sign over his head.

  Matt leaned over, studying the picture in Leigh’s hand. “Looks like a man to me. From both the style of the coat and the mental eminence.”

  Leigh pulled back a few inches, staring at him in confusion. “The mental what?”

  “Mental eminence.” He tapped a forefinger gently against her chin. “Right here.” Picking up her hand, he pressed her fingers against her chin, rubbing up and down. “Feel how flat that is? That it’s nearly a vertical line from your teeth to the lower edge of your mandible? That’s typical of females.” He moved her fingers to his chin and repeated the motion. “Now, feel how my chin projects forward? That protuberance is typical of males.” He released her hand to tap the photo. “It’s in no way a sure thing from one grainy, dimly lit photo and a single data point, but that looks like a man to me.”

  “So we think it might be a man, but other than that, it’s yet another dead end.” Leigh tossed the photo onto the coffee table in disgust.

  “You know, the number of dead ends in this case has to make you wonder,” Tucker said. “Everything seems to lead nowhere. We have untraceable numbers, dead convicts, and unidentifiable suspects. Everything that is, until we get to the third delivery.”

  Leigh’s gaze flicked up to meet Tucker’s. The look on his face sent a shiver racing through her—caution mixed with … was that fear? Whatever he’s got, it’s bad. She took a deep breath and sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders. Get it on the table. We can’t deal with what’s in the dark, only with what we bring out into the light. “What about the third delivery?”

  “At first glance, everything seems consistent. It really is a series of drug busts. As I’m sure you could tell from the files themselves, those are the public access records of the cases. Names of the victims and any personal information have been redacted. But the investigating officers are there. So I looked closer. Two of the three files are exactly what they seem.”

  “Which two?” Matt asked.

  “The Palmer case and the students from Salem U.”

  “Which leaves the case with the dead child,” Matt said. “What’s not right there?”

  “Well, the paper copy looks good. It matches the file as it exists in the state police database. The problem is—it doesn’t match the case reports from your father’s hard drive.”

  Leigh froze. “You pulled data off the drive?”

  “Yes. Some of it was a bit of a challenge. A lot of the files had been deleted and some I only recovered pieces of; it’s an old drive. But the file containing this particular report I recovered in its entirety.” Tucker picked up the fat file. “This case was supervised by your father as the unit sergeant. The officer assigned to the case was the late Trooper Robert Mercer.”

  “And we’re back to the dead ends,” Matt said.

  “You would think. It’s certainly what the official record shows.”

  “But …” Leigh pressed.

  “But that’s not what your father has in his report.” Tucker paused and swallowed. And then met her gaze full-on, his eyes shadowed and serious, all hint of humor gone. “Leigh, you need to be prepared for this. For what it might mean.”

  More than his warning, it was Tucker’s use of her given name that made the breath freeze in her lungs. How can you be prepared when you don’t how far the fall will be? She gathered herself. Whatever he throws at you, you can handle it. “I am.” The words were supposed to come out strong, but even she could hear the tremor in them.

  Matt sidled closer, taking both her hands in his. He nodded at Tucker. “Go.”

  “The official record has been changed. I’m not sure when, and I can’t swear by who, although you can read between the lines. The report on your father’s hard drive identifies a different investigating officer.” He paused for a second before plowing on quickly, as if needing to unburden himself. “The case was investigated by Trooper First Class Daniel Kepler.”

  For a moment, Leigh only heard whistling in her ears as her whole body went numb. Matt’s grip could have broken her fingers and she’d never have noticed. “Kepler?” she croaked.

  “Kepler.” Tucker threw himself back in the chair, his face a palette of conflicted emotions. “For God’s sake, Abbott, our sergeant could be the one responsible for all this.”

  Trooper First Class Daniel Kepler. The man who had donned the mantle of Sergeant Nate Abbott following his death. The man who was her direct supervisor.

  Yanking her hands free, Leigh surged to her feet, striding away to stand in front of the painting above the mantel, fighting for serenity as her thoughts tumbled over each other.

  Her father, murdered in his prime. Kepler as the investigating officer on scene, ordering other officers to keep her away. Kepler who could have doctored evidence or suppressed it to cover his own guilt, and none of them would have been the wiser. Kepler who took her father’s place as the unit’s sergeant. Kepler, welcoming her to the unit when she joined the following year. Your father would be so proud. Kepler, whose orders could mean the difference between life and death on any given day.

  Stop!

  Leigh let her head drop and gave herself a moment to push everything out of her whirling brain. No more panic. Think it through logically. Her eyes rose back up to the painting, but instead of finding the laughing girl or the puppy frolicking through the surf, her gaze landed on her mother’s signature in the corner. She focused on that signature until her heart stopped racing and it was no longer such an effort to breathe.

  “This doesn’t feel like Kepler to me,” Leigh finally said, her back still to the men. “He’s a hard-ass, but he’s an honorable man. If he has a problem with you, he doesn’t whisper it behind your back; he bellows it in your face. This kind of skulking isn’t Kepler’s style.”

  “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.” It was Tucker’s voice, his words slightly muffled as if he was curled inwards and talking into his chest. “You think that secret deliveries aren’t his style, but we have no idea what the endgame might be in all this. Whoever is playing this game isn’t playing it for kicks. He’s playing to win. And using a method that’s not his normal M.O. could further obscure his identity.”

  “He’s right, Leigh.” Matt spoke from behind her and she latched onto the quiet logic in his tone. There lies sanity. “This is a deep game started years ago. Maybe it doesn’t strike you as his style now, but maybe it was then and he’s being forced to follow through on it.”

  “Could Kepler have had a hand in your father’s death?” Tucker asked. “He certainly benefited from it since he was immediately promoted into your father’s position.”

  Leigh had to hold herself back from snapping out a response. Her gut was telling her it was all wrong. “Someone had to step into that role, but there wouldn’t have been any guarantees that he’d get it. Killing a commanding officer in hopes of taking over his position in the unit is nothing short of insane.”

  She turned back to face them. Tuc
ker was folded up in the chair, his feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table, his shoulders hunched up around his ears and a miserable expression on his face. Matt sat exactly where she’d left him, but he was swiveled on the couch with one arm thrown over the back facing her. Keeping his distance and letting her settle, but still keeping watch.

  She moved to stand behind the couch, slipping her hand into his and squeezing in silent thanks.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Been better.” She blew out a breath. “Honestly, I need time to think this through. My gut says it’s not Kepler, but maybe that’s years of him training me to see something that isn’t there. I can’t depend on anything he’s ever told me now. I have to look at him like a suspect. But I have to do it while he’s still my commanding officer and has the power to send me into a situation that could erase me if I get too close.” She looked up at Tucker. “You’re safer than I am, but you need to keep your head down. Don’t take any more chances. We don’t know how he might react if he’s orchestrating this and finds out we’re onto him.”

  “I can be careful, Abbott. But we need to know more. If he’s really responsible for this …”

  “I know. But I won’t have your life on my hands. You have to be beyond careful, Tucker. You’re on record with the tinfoil-hat guy as wanting information. The moment you try to pursue which cops wanted which tapes, you could get flagged in a big way. It’s a whole new ball game now.”

  “Don’t I know it,” he muttered.

  Leigh’s gaze fell on the fat file in Tucker’s lap. They needed answers and they needed them now. And they had to find a way around the dead ends and the dead witnesses. Someone had to know something.

  They just needed to figure out who.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: LOW WINES

  * * *

  Low wines: the liquid produced by the first pot still in the distillation process. The low wines flow into a second still where they are redistilled to produce colorless, high alcohol spirits.

  Tuesday, 5:34 p.m.

  McDermott Residence

  Lynn, Massachusetts

  Leigh took a seat on the overstuffed floral couch. “I appreciate you all taking the time to meet with us again.”

  “No trouble at all.” Barb slipped past Matt with surprising agility and settled beside Leigh, sitting so close that Leigh shifted closer to the armrest to ease the pressure against her side.

  Matt struggled to keep his grin from showing as he chose the armchair across from them. Ethel, David, Craig, his wife, Muriel, Connor, Heidi, and Eric all filed in and took seats. Leigh looked incredibly uncomfortable as she unsuccessfully tried to maintain a little professional space and distance from the woman who was clearly basking in the novelty of being involved in a police investigation.

  Matt settled back in his chair, adopting a casual pose as he scanned the room. He had his marching orders as outlined earlier by Leigh, and was ready to act on them.

  “I want you to come with me to the Kains this evening.”

  Matt shrugged out of his lab coat and hung it up. “I can do that. Do you need something in particular?”

  “Actually, yes. I’m hiding the real reason for the visit behind the pretense of breaking the news of Santino Cabrera’s innocence. But what I really want to find out about are the cuff links. And while everyone is watching me, I want you watching them. Between the two of us, we should be able to keep an eye on the whole room.”

  “Because you think one of them has to know about the cuff links.”

  “And be responsible for Peter Holt’s death, yes. Samuel Kain must have found them after his wife’s death, but we know he wasn’t capable of carrying out Holt’s murder and then moving his body. So the question is—who acted for him? Who killed Holt and then planted the cuff links as a message to Evelyn?”

  “This does have an ‘all in the family’ kind of feel, doesn’t it?”

  “It does. So we need to figure out who’s responsible. Exclude no one.” When he started to speak, she lifted a hand to stop him. “I know what you’re thinking. We’re moderately safe in it not being Ethel because of her age and frailty, or Barb because she’s not in physical shape to lug around a body. But any of the men could have managed it.”

  “So could any of the younger people. Heidi’s not that robust, but remember the body was in a rug. She could have dragged it.”

  “Good point. And keep a particular eye on Eric. I don’t like his attitude. There’s something about him that’s … unsettling.”

  “Barely banked violence. Yeah, I picked up on it too.”

  “Watch them all carefully, but keep him in mind in particular.”

  “You don’t think he’s too obvious?”

  “Sometimes the obvious ones are that for a reason.”

  “We wanted to stop by to see you all personally,” Leigh said, bringing Matt back into the present.

  “You have more news about the body you found in the speakeasy?” Barb asked, leaning in even closer in her eagerness.

  “We’ve progressed nicely in that case, but actually, I need to speak with you about Anna Kain.”

  Barb drew back several inches in surprise, and relief at the additional space flashed across Leigh’s face for a fraction of a second before she recovered and smoothed her features. “Grandmother?” Barb asked. “What news could you have there?”

  Matt followed Leigh’s gaze across to Ethel. The older woman sat across the room in a high-backed armchair, her face pale and one trembling hand spread over her sternum.

  “We’ve recently discovered there was a terrible miscarriage of justice done in nineteen-eighty,” Leigh said gently, ignoring everyone else in the room to speak directly to Anna’s only surviving child. “The man arrested for your mother’s murder, Santino Cabrera, was not guilty of the crime.”

  The room exploded into pandemonium. David shot to his feet, his face flushed, shouting that they’d made a mistake. Both Craig and Connor asked questions over each other while the women chattered anxiously among themselves. Eric mouthed a single crude epithet, his dark eyes narrowed on Leigh. Only Ethel remained silent.

  Leigh pushed to her feet and held out both hands. “Please, everyone calm down, I can answer all your questions.”

  The furor finally died down until David’s was the only voice. “How could this have happened? I was there. There was a trial. There was definitive evidence and Cabrera was convicted. It didn’t even take the jury long to make the decision. It was a convincing case.”

  “It might have appeared to be convincing, but the truth of the matter is that the fingerprint evidence was what convicted him, and that analysis was incorrect. Cabrera was never in the house. He’s innocent.”

  “You’re sure?” Heidi asked.

  “Absolutely. It’s been verified by one of our top fingerprint experts.”

  “So that man … He’s been in jail for over thirty years for nothing?”

  Matt recognized the horror in her tone; he’d felt the scrape of it over his skin himself. So many irreplaceable years lost …

  “Yes. We can’t fix the fact that he’s lost three decades of his life, but we can get him out of there as fast as possible so he doesn’t lose any more.”

  “Then who is responsible?” Ethel asked. “Who killed my mother?”

  “We actually have a few leads on who that might be.” Her gaze flicked to Matt and he gathered himself, knowing that she was about to drop the bomb.

  “Like what?” Connor asked.

  “Does anyone recognize these?” Leigh pulled a small evidence bag from her pocket and held it up. Inside, the antique gold glowed dully.

  Barb leaned forward. “What’s that?”

  “They’re cuff links. They were found at the scene of your grandmother’s murder.”

  Matt quickly scanned the family spread around the room. Most of them sat forward in their chairs, squinting at the small bag Leigh held. Only Eric gave it a quick glance, and then his gaze darted away to
study Leigh instead of the evidence.

  “I don’t understand,” David said. “You don’t see it so much today, but back in the seventies, men still wore cuff links. Finding a pair of Samuel’s doesn’t tell us anything.”

  “But they’re not Samuel’s.” Leigh moved to stand in front of him, extended the bag so that he could see them better. “Do you recognize them?”

  He shook his head. “But men often don’t notice stuff like this.”

  “True, but most women do.” Leigh turned back to Barb. “Have you seen these before?”

  “May I?” Barb took the bag, studying them closely. “No, never. Mom?” She passed the bag to Ethel.

  Ethel angled them toward the light, running the pad of her thumb over the inset blue stones. “They’re lovely. And quite old, I think, from the style. But I’ve never seen them before.”

  Leigh waited as the small evidence bag was passed around the room.

  Matt studied each person as they accepted the cuff links. Some were openly curious and took time to study them, like Craig, who commented on the local jeweler. Some were dismissive, like Eric, who glanced at them, shrugged noncommittally, and handed them off immediately.

  “Have you shown these to Great-Grandpa?” Connor asked. “I’m not sure showing them to us is that useful. If anyone could shed light on them, it would be him.”

  “Only if you caught him on a really good day,” Barb muttered.

  “It’s true, we could ask him, since they were found in his bedroom. But since he couldn’t have been involved with Peter Holt, I thought I’d ask this group instead.”

  “Peter Holt? Isn’t that the man who was found murdered last week?” David asked. “I saw something about it in the paper.”

  “Yes, his body was found downtown.” Leigh held up the bag. “These were in his pocket.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, before Craig finally spoke. “Are you suggesting there’s a connection between Grandmother’s death and the death of this Holt fellow? We don’t even know the man. How can there be a connection?”