Power

by Debra Webb

  Jess hadn’t released the rendering of Simmons’s mysterious female friend to the press. Maybe this would earn her some points with Coleman. She dug out her cell and forwarded the image to the number she had for Coleman. “We believe this young woman knows something about DeShawn’s disappearance. If anyone recognizes her they should call the tip line.”

  Coleman checked her cell. Clearly surprised to get any kind of heads-up, she passed Jess a business card. “Let me know if I can be of assistance to your investigation.”

  As the reporter and her cameraman loaded up their van and drove away, Jess considered that she and Coleman didn’t have to be friends as long as they were working toward the same goal.

  Funny, as hard as Jess tried to keep the Chandler case off her mental plate, folks just kept shoving another serving her way.

  • • •

  Galleria Mall, 8:15 p.m.

  Jess couldn’t claim to have participated in any real covert investigations. A few times she’d ended up in the middle of an outburst and wound up in a struggle, but most of her professional battles had taken place over a desk or in a training facility. Her work as a profiler with the bureau had been conducted in formal interviews where those present understood the legal ramifications of any and all exchanges. She observed and analyzed. Before and after the interviews, she researched. The persons of interest, where they lived and worked, were extremely important to her final assessments of any case. Knowing how each individual involved acted and reacted in their daily lives was almost as telling as any physical evidence found at a crime scene.

  Each act was motivated by an emotional reaction or lack thereof to stimuli. If the motive was unearthed, all the rest fell into place. It was that simple and, at the same time, vastly complicated.

  The circus music accompanying the spinning of the mall’s carousel dragged her from her musings. Where the devil was Schrader? He’d said eight o’clock. Near the food court at the carousel.

  Jess had done her research on the cocky Dr. Harlan Schrader. He was in the final days of a forensic pathology fellowship program with the Jefferson County Coroner’s Office. He was a short-timer, which meant he had little to lose if he decided to spill about something he’d seen or heard. Hotshot Dr. Schrader was on his way to the Mayo Clinic in just a couple of weeks. He either wanted to have a little revenge against a colleague who had rubbed him the wrong way or he genuinely felt compelled to reveal whatever information he intended to pass along.

  If he ever got here.

  Another check of the time on her cell showed it was five minutes later than the last time she checked. After hours of interviewing friends of DeShawn Simmons and sitting in on an update with the search team commander, she was pretty much exhausted.

  She scanned the crowded mall. Who dragged their kids around in a public place at this hour? There were enough small children and bright colors to prompt flashbacks to Munchkin Land of the Wizard of Oz fame.

  Her attention landed on a black tee and jeans on the other side of one of the play areas. Dr. Too-Sexy-to-Be-Punctual leaned down and kissed a young woman. Surprised, Jess watched as he ruffled the hair of a small boy before heading in her direction.

  So the hotshot had a baby and the requisite baby-mama. Maybe he had a little more at stake than she’d gauged by his attitude and bio.

  He surveyed the crowd in both directions with just about every step he took. By the time he reached her he would likely be suffering from neck strain. The doctor was a wee bit nervous. How big could his news be?

  “Let’s sit so we’re less conspicuous.” He motioned to a bench that had just been vacated a few feet away.

  That he didn’t wait for her to sit first was no surprise. “What has you so upset, Dr. Schrader?”

  He stared at her as if she’d asked him to produce documentation that he was an actual American citizen. “I’m not upset. Who said I was upset?”

  Jess kept her lips bent into a smile. “I’m sorry. You just seem a little out of sorts, that’s all. And you mentioned on the phone that you were taking a risk. I just assumed that meant you were upset.”

  “I’m not upset,” he argued, still scanning the crowd. “I’m frustrated and offended.”

  “I see. Why don’t you explain the situation and perhaps I can help?”

  “He’s going to rule her death accidental.”

  The decision reached by Dr. Leeds, Jefferson County coroner, was not a total surprise. Since a complete autopsy wouldn’t be necessary in a case where no foul play was evident, the coroner’s decision would rely solely on the circumstances at the scene and the less invasive preliminary examination of the body, and, of course, a full toxicology screen. Considering the suspected cause of death, those procedures were sufficient to reveal the injuries consistent with a fall and any indications of a struggle that might have occurred prior to the fall. If the victim used one or more drugs that might have contributed to an impulsive act or the lack of balance in a woman with particularly good balance, those secrets would be discovered in a comprehensive toxicology report.

  “Her injuries were consistent with a fall from that height,” Jess guessed. “No signs of a struggle.”

  He performed another survey of the crowd. “Nothing irregular in toxicology. No drugs at all. Darcy Chandler was a very healthy thirty-eight-year-old female. The official cause of death is traumatic brain injury. The extent of the injury precluded any possibility of survival. She may have been conscious for moments or a minute, but death was imminent and inevitable. However, there were two inconsistencies in my opinion relative to the manner of death, and that’s where my concerns lie.”

  “Did you bring these inconsistencies to Dr. Leeds’s attention?”

  “Of course.” He swung his attention from the crowd long enough to glare at her. “He insisted those anomalies were not sufficient to warrant deeming her death anything other than accidental.”

  And Jess would just bet that given Chandler’s standing in the community and the lack of any good-bye note, suicide was off the table. “Why don’t you tell me about the inconsistencies that disturbed you?” The routine never changed. Someone came forward with information and inevitably she had to extract it.

  “There was a first-degree contusion on the outside of the lower left leg. This mild bruising was not consistent with the impact of falling fifteen feet or with any other object in her path as she fell. It would have been far more severe had it occurred in the final impact of the fall.”

  “Maybe she bumped into something that morning.” Unless he had more than this she would tend to agree with Leeds.

  “The injury was very recent, minutes before death,” he insisted. “And it was exactly the width of the upstairs handrail.”

  Now he had her attention. “You confirmed the width of the upstairs handrail?”

  He cut her a look that warned he suspected she knew the answer to that question. “I measured. The bruising is exactly the right width. As if she fell over the rail from an elevated position, striking her lower left leg as she pitched over.”

  “Like someone threw her over,” Jess offered.

  “But she wasn’t expecting the move, so she didn’t have time to react. There was no indication of a struggle with another person or an attempt to catch herself. Her fall was totally unforeseen and unprepared for, in my opinion.”

  Jess conjured the scene in her head. “She might have stumbled as she started to climb over the railing if suicide was her intent.” That one seemed highly unlikely.

  “Darcy Chandler was right-side dominant,” Schrader explained. “Her instinct would have been to put her right leg over first. And either way, there is no scenario where she would have bumped the top of the railing with the outside of her leg by lifting it from a normal standing position and going over the rail.”

  “Obviously you’ve considered the scenario at length.”

  “I went back to the house and proved my theory.”

  “How did you get back in the house?
” Had one of Black’s detectives escorted Schrader on a second review of the scene? Seemed the only feasible possibility.

  “Mrs. Chandler asked me to take a closer look.”

  Was he kidding? “Mrs. Chandler, as in the victim’s mother?”

  He shook his head. “Her grandmother. She and my grandmother are close friends. She’s convinced that Darcy was the victim of foul play.”

  And there it was. The proverbial hornet’s nest. No way was Jess kicking that one. “Dr. Schrader, you really need to share your thoughts with Chief Black. This is his case and he will decide what direction this investigation needs to take.”

  She was not getting dragged into this emotion-driven war.

  “I thought you would get it.” He shook his head. “I read up on you. I expected more.” He stood. “I guess I wasted your time and mine.”

  “Wait.” Not that she was going to change her mind, but he had said there were two things. “You didn’t tell me about the other anomaly.” They were both here, smack-dab in the middle of Munchkin Land. She might as well get the whole story.

  “There were traces of a material trapped between the fingers of her right hand.”

  Fabric from her assailant’s clothing? Not hair or he would have said as much. “What kind of material?”

  “Marabou. White in color.”

  “Marabou?” She didn’t have a clue. Given a few seconds she could Google it using her phone.

  The cocky expression reappeared on the handsome doctor’s face. “Small, soft, white turkey feathers. Commonly used in feather boas. Since the victim wasn’t wearing one, makes you wonder how she got her fingers entwined with one.”

  Jess knew exactly how.

  8

  Five Points, 9:45 p.m.

  Lori waited until her cell started to ring before answering the door.

  She opened it and Chet Harper looked up in surprise, his cell phone pressed to his ear as he listened to hers ring.

  “I figured you were out.” He lowered the phone, tucked it into the leather carrier at his waist.

  His hands were broad, long fingered, and skilled at bringing pleasure. He was damned good at what he did, on and off the job. The lean waist, the broad shoulders, the handsome face, the entire package was loaded with sensuality. Even the way he said her name turned her on.

  As long and hard as she had fought getting involved with him, she had lost the battle. After last week, she had no fight left in her to even stage a half-assed protest. She needed Chet Harper no matter that he so totally threatened her independence.

  That sick bastard Reed had stolen something from Lori during the forty-eight or so hours he had held her. The part of her that felt strong and assured was now weak and uncertain. She wasn’t sure if she would ever get that confidence back.

  “Why would I be out at this hour?” She stood in front of him, wearing short shorts and a skimpy tee, hands bracketing her hips. “Did you think maybe I had a date?”

  He was slow to answer, primarily because he was busy inventorying how many of her assets were on display in her skimpy outfit. Good. She wanted him distracted. She wanted to remind him what he would be missing if he played games with her. This relationship, and she used the term in its loosest definition, would not survive distrust. Every aspect of their lives had to be on the table. Complete honesty.

  And she needed him to know that he was as weak as she was… that she posed an equal threat to his autonomy.

  Otherwise she feared she would become her mother. As much as she loved and respected her mother, her entire life had revolved around her husband. He had been the breadwinner, the decision maker, the strong, solid, sole head of the household. When he died, her mother had been at a total loss. It had taken her years to become a whole person.

  Lori would not let that happen to her. She would be an equal in all aspects of any relationship.

  “Well?” she pressed. “Is that what you thought?”

  The shrug that lifted his shoulders was noncommittal, as if he feared giving the wrong answer.

  Good.

  “I thought maybe you had gone to your mother’s or maybe to a movie with your sister.”

  He sounded so exhausted and sincere she should be ashamed of herself for making him suffer like this, but he’d kept a damned big secret from her. That was not acceptable. He’d been injured in the line of duty and he hadn’t mentioned it when they talked last night.

  She turned and strode over to the sofa and plopped down on it. He waited just on the other side of the threshold for a moment before coming inside, closing and securing the door. He removed his jacket and hung it on the doorknob the way he always did.

  “If you want a beer or something, check the fridge.”

  Rather than going for a beer he joined her on the sofa. “How was your appointment this morning? I tried to call.”

  He had called four times. She had ignored each one. “She thinks I need another week or so off duty.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think if I don’t get back to work I might just explode. So I made a deal with her. She lets me come back to work on Monday and I see her once a week for two months.”

  “Great.” He loosened his tie. “We have our hands full with the Simmons case. Lieutenant Prescott has been moved over to the GTF for now. That happened this afternoon. Chief Harris is on fire to solve the Simmons case, but she’s a little distracted with the Chandler case.” He dragged the tie from around his neck. “We’re still finding our footing with this new unit, but we’ll get there.” He turned his face to hers and sent her a smile. “It’ll be good to have you back.”

  How sweet.

  “Why don’t you let me get you a beer?” She laid her hand on his leg, right about where there was no doubt a bandage over his healing gunshot wound. The one he’d gotten last night and failed to mention.

  He flinched.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  The weariness in his eyes gave way to regret. “I knew you had that appointment today. I didn’t want you stressing about anything else.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Harper, but I’m a grown woman. I can handle bad news. Or maybe you think I’m too fragile. Is that it?”

  He traced a path down her cheek with his fingertips. She shivered. “I couldn’t protect you from that bastard. He hurt you. I want you well again. Back on the team. This was just another worry you didn’t need.”

  “Is that all you want?”

  He shook his head. “I want all of you.”

  She took his hand and held it to her cheek. “He hurt me here.” She lowered his hand, palm down, to her throat. “Here.” She dragged his hand downward, between her breasts to her rib cage. “And here.” Misery darkened his eyes. “But he couldn’t touch me here.” She flattened his palm against her chest, over her heart. “Because I knew you would come for me. There was no doubt in my mind or in my heart that you and Jess would find me somehow. I trust you that much.”

  He cupped her cheek in his big, warm hand. “I would have traded places with you in a heartbeat.”

  “I know.” She pushed his hands away. “But you kept what happened last night from me. You can’t do that again.”

  He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Never again. You have my word.” He kissed her hair. “I swear.”

  “How’s Jess handling losing the Chandler case? She didn’t say much about it when I saw her today.”

  “There’s some inconsistencies,” Chet said. “She’s right about that, but Chief Black isn’t coming out with an acknowledgment of her analysis. Mostly, I think, to stand his ground.”

  “The truth should be priority, not his pride.”

  “You know Black. He’ll get around to the truth, even if it proves him wrong. He’s a good man. He just has his way and Jess has hers. The two don’t go together so well.”

  “I guess she was pissed that Burnett made the call in Black’s favor.” Lori understood the transition wa
s difficult for Jess. She had to find her place, and clashing with the long-standing regime was part of the process.

  “A little bit, I think.”

  Lori laughed. “A little bit like a dam bursting and a little bit of water slipping through.”

  “I don’t think she’ll be inviting him in if he shows up at her door tonight.”

  “Do you think she and Burnett will end up together? You know, really together?”

  “That’s a tough call. They’re both damned hardheaded.”

  “Set in their ways,” Lori agreed.

  “Neither one wants to give an inch.”

  “But I think they’ve loved each other since they were teenagers. Surely that makes a difference.”

  “Maybe.”

  She searched his face. “What about you and your ex-wife? Were you in love as teenagers?”

  Chet grinned. “We met after college. No lifelong romance there.”

  “You have a son together. Doesn’t that sometimes make you wish things could be the way they used to be between you?” Why on earth had she asked that question? They’d been skating around this relationship thing for months and not once had she let him see how much that aspect of his past troubled her.

  She hadn’t meant to now.

  “I wish I could say there was a time when we were really good together. That somehow things had gone wrong. But the truth is we were never good together. We always had different visions of our life together. I couldn’t live up to hers and she didn’t care if she lived up to mine. I guess we each thought that having a child would change things somehow. Mesh our differences. But it didn’t. Just made those differences more glaring.”

  “I don’t think our visions for the future are so different,” she offered. “But we have vastly different ideas on how we get there.”

  “We’ll find our way.” He kissed her nose. “As long as we don’t lose sight of where we’re going, it really doesn’t matter how we get there.”

  How this man made her want him even when she wanted to be stronger, to hang solidly on to her independence. She stood and offered him her hand. He accepted and allowed her to lead him to the bed. Her studio had no walls separating the bedroom from the living room, so the journey was quick and easy.