Jan Coffey Suspense Box Set: Volume Two: Three Complete Novels: Road Kill, Puppet Master, Cross Wired

by Jan Coffey

  Another life had been lost. Perhaps it had not been caused directly as a result of her sister dying, but maybe it had.

  They reached the second floor and she found herself staring at the welcome mat of her sister’s apartment.

  “I can do this,” she whispered under her breath. Forcing her hand to stay steady, she pushed the key into the lock. She succeeded on the first try. A turn and a second key, and she pushed the door open.

  The stuffiness of a closed room greeted her. It was the smell of abandoned homes. It was the familiar scent of a dozen places that she’d lived in. From the threshold, she could see the kitchenette…and the vision of Terri greeting her.

  So what do you think? I’ve been living here two years and never turned on the oven.

  Lacey took a couple of steps inside and stared at the kitchen counter. A five by seven picture of the two of them sat next to a newly purchased silver frame. One of the guests at Jeannie Bond’s wedding had taken their picture. They’d worn the same dark green shirt and matching color skirt. Their hair had been the same style. Many had commented on how alike they looked. Lacey had given a copy of that photo to her sister just a few days before she died.

  This is my favorite picture ever. The Watkins sisters. Look at it. We’re together and both smiling. We’re happy. When was the last time that happened?

  Lacey leaned against the wall, overwhelmed with the rush of emotions. Her throat burned. She felt the touch of Gavin’s hand on her back.

  “Can you…can you give me…a few minutes?” she managed to ask without turning around.

  “I’ll be in the hallway,” he said softly. “I have to make some calls.”

  She heard him move away. The door thudded against the latch he’d thrown to keep it open, and only then did she allow the tears to break free.

  We’ve always been together. In our thoughts. In our hearts. And no matter what happens in the future, we will be there for each other.

  Terri’s face and words danced in Lacey’s head. Her sister’s presence was all around her, inside of her.

  You can do this. You’ll get through this. You have it in you. You just have to dig deep.

  Lacey pushed away from the wall and headed into the kitchen for the photograph. She stared at it through a thick sheen of tears.

  We’re the same, Lacey. We’ve been to hell and back. We’re strong. We’re survivors.

  “We’re survivors,” Lacey murmured and looked around. What was left in this place was only stuff. Things. Sorting it out wasn’t saying goodbye. Mourning her sister didn’t start or end here. This was just another step.

  The kitchen, a large living room, one bedroom, and three closets. She could do this. She could get through this.

  Lacey turned on the water in the sink and splashed her face with the cold water, again and again, until her cheeks felt numb. She only had to sort the things she was taking. She could pay someone else to come later and box up the donations.

  The kitchen counter was the best place to start stacking. Their photo and the frame was a start. On the bookcases in the living room, she spotted the family photos she’d seen before. She collected those, too, and stacked them on the counter. She should have brought an empty box with her.

  She checked the closet in the hall to see if her sister had stored any there. There were only winter coats and boots and a vacuum cleaner.

  “Suitcases,” Lacey headed for the bedroom.

  Neat. Efficient. Everything put away. The orderliness of this apartment had always reminded Lacey of a hotel room. As Terri had said, it was never a home, just a place to stay.

  Opening the bedroom closet’s double doors, she knew immediately that something was not right. To the left of the large space, clothes were off the hangers and were scattered on the floor, exposing a three-drawer metal file cabinet tucked behind them. Lacey recalled seeing smaller keys on Terri’s keychain. But the cabinet was unlocked. The top drawer was partially open.

  She looked inside.

  A three inch space in front, the size of a fat file, sat empty. Behind it were names and dates that might have had something to do with cases Terri had worked on. Lacey recalled the paperwork she’d handed to the New Haven police after Terri’s death. That was much thinner than what looked to be missing here. She was glad Gavin was only in the hallway outside. He could make sense of these things better than she could.

  She opened the second drawer. Copies of income tax returns and bank statements going back ten years, filed neatly by date—very much in Terri-fashion—filled the drawer. She closed this drawer, too, and crouched down, opening the bottom drawer.

  The file in front had no tags, but inside Lacey saw newspaper cuttings. She pushed it open farther and the pieces of paper fell to the side, exposing the first article’s headline.

  Couple Found Dead in Murder-Suicide.

  CHAPTER 32

  Nick Riley’s truck had ended up with a sizable dent in the front fender the same weekend that Terri Watkins had died in the hit-and-run incident.

  The thought had crossed his mind that there are no coincidences, but the way his luck was running these days, he hadn’t dared mentioning it to anyone. Stupidly, he hadn’t even filed an insurance claim or reported it to the police. Now, five weeks later, it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

  The two local cops who showed up at his house came under the pretense of only asking some questions. He’d gone to high school with Ned Schumer, one of the cops. They’d played football together. When Ned had started with the routine that I’m-going-to-pretend-there-is-no-history-between-us, Nick knew he was screwed.

  “So run that by us one more time? Tell me everything that happened on the weekend of September seventh.”

  Nick leaned a hip against the kitchen counter, nursing the same cup of coffee he’d poured for himself when these two had first arrived. The brew had turned ice cold.

  “I was doing some painting at the health club on Friday the sixth. A couple of the guys picked me up after work, and we went to the stag party.” He’d already given the names of people and places. Schumer knew them even though he wasn’t going to acknowledge it now.

  “Afterwards, the guys dropped me off here at home,” he explained. “I use my car on the weekends, so there was no reason to go back for the truck. I was doing more work at the club on Monday anyway.”

  “Was anybody else here with you, say, Saturday morning?” Ned’s partner asked.

  “No, it was a stag. I got pretty hammered. I spent the morning in bed and then just hung out, doing stuff around here.”

  “When was the first time you noticed the damage to your truck?”

  “Monday afternoon. When I was leaving the club.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I mentioned it to Donna at the club. I figured it had happened in their parking lot. She suggested taking it to Ron Marteka’s body shop to get an estimate.” Frustrated, Nick left the cup on the counter and ran a hand down the back of his neck. They were moving into the realm of “he said, she said” and “I don’t remember who the fuck said what”. He was no good at this game. “The truck has been sitting there for five weeks—supposedly waiting for parts.”

  “That night, where was the key and who had access to it?” Schumer asked.

  “I keep one on my keychain, an extra is always hanging by the door here at the house, and I keep a third one in a magnetic box on the underside of the truck chassis.”

  “Who knows about the box?”

  “In a town this small, probably everyone. I’m bad with forgetting my keys. I do the same thing with my car outside.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?” Schumer’s partner asked.

  “Why should I if the club is going to reimburse me for it.”

  “Did they agree to?”

  “Well, we haven’t talked the specifics, but that was the understanding. Ron and Donna were going to work the numbers.”

  Two accidents, with one of them totaling a car in t
he past three years. The insurance company would drop him like a sack of potatoes if he reported a new accident. Five weeks ago, Donna had tried to be nice by working things out…unofficially, as she’d called it. Now Nick would be putting her on the spot and she might just deny the whole thing.

  “Now look, Ned,” he said. “You know Terri Watkins was a friend of mine. I did plenty of work for her. There’s no way my truck was the only vehicle in town that ended up with a ding that weekend.”

  Ned Schumer motioned to his partner that it was time to go and pocketed the small notebook he was writing in. “The state police are towing your truck from Marteka’s garage this weekend to one of their sites. They’re going to do some forensic work on the vehicle. If there’s any kind of match…”

  The police officer let the unsaid words hang in the air between them.

  Nick felt sick. Shit, what the hell was happening?

  CHAPTER 33

  He’d failed her, Gavin thought. It was as simple, and as tragic, as that. A young life snuffed out.

  The call to the assistant chief confirmed that the body discovered in South Norwalk was Alisha Miller. John Trevor swore that he’d made the call immediately after he’d hung up with Gavin. By the time the Bridgeport cops had arrived, he said, there’d been no sign of the teenager.

  There was reason enough to suspect corruption on the New Haven police force—it existed in every small and large city in the country—and Terri had been well aware of it. That was the reason she’d given his cell number to Alisha as the back-up. And Gavin had failed his old partner, too. There was more he should have done. He could have gone down there and picked the teenager up himself…and gotten hold of whatever it was that she had for Terri.

  Trevor was clearly upset with this turn of events. He was quite vocal about it on the phone. He assured Gavin steps were being taken to find out what had gone wrong.

  After hanging up, Gavin made a second call to one of his contacts at the state police and found out that the assistant chief had bypassed New Haven’s Internal Affairs and requested a state police overview of NHPD department personnel. Trevor wanted someone from the outside to start digging into this.

  That was all Gavin could get, though. Favors only went so far.

  As he slipped his phone into his pocket, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Going to the end of the hallway, he saw the building manager coming up with a courier envelope in his hand.

  “Please tell the detective’s sister if she needs anything, I’m around,” he said, motioning with his head toward the apartment as he handed Gavin the envelope.

  Gavin looked at the return address. This was a benefits package. “Thanks.”

  He walked back to the apartment not really sure if Lacey needed more time to be alone or not. But he didn’t want to risk having her out of his sight for too long. He wouldn’t fail her. He couldn’t allow anything happen to her.

  The door was resting against the latch as he’d left it. He knocked once gently. “Lacey. Can I come in?”

  There was no answer.

  He’d been standing here the entire time with no one coming or going from the other apartments on the floor, but for a crazy moment worry sliced through him. He pushed the door open and went in.

  “Lacey?”

  A faint reply came from the bedroom. “I’m…coming.”

  Gavin locked and latched the door. He’d been here only a handful of times during the couple of years that Terri had lived here. Everything was the same as he remembered. He put the benefits envelope next to some pictures stacked on the kitchen counter. Taking his jacket off and tossing it onto a chair, he wondered about the best way to help.

  Lacey came out of the bedroom carrying some hanging folders.

  Her nose was red. Her eyes were almost swollen shut from crying. She tried to keep her head down and inadvertently tripped on the corner of an area rug. She caught herself, but the files fell and papers scattered all over the room.

  “Let me help you.” He crouched down to gather them and immediately realized what they were. Newspaper clippings, old photos, letters. Things obviously having to do with Lacey’s and Terri’s parents. He looked up and saw Lacey leaning against the wall, shaking as tears rushed down her face.

  “Hey, hey, Lacey…”

  Papers and files forgotten, he pulled her into his arms. She came willingly, her face pressed against his chest as wave after wave of sobs wracked her body.

  Gavin held her and uttered vague words of comfort, wishing that he could ease her pain. Never before had someone’s grief affected him as hers was, buffeting his heart and mind right now. Whatever had pushed him before to protect her, now swelled to a driving need to help her through this morass of grief.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He stroked her back, his lips pressed against the fevered skin of her forehead.

  When she stepped out of his arms, he felt a piece of him pull away.

  Lacey glanced around and spotted a box of tissues on an end table. After she blew her nose and used half of the box to wipe the tears, Gavin sat on the sofa and took her hand, pulling her down.

  “Come here. Talk to me.”

  She sat next to him, the box of tissues on her lap, her eyes fixed on the papers on the floor. He put an arm around her.

  “I never knew Terri had these,” she started. “Those files. Everything is there…about our parents. His birth certificate. Their marriage license. There’s a picture of my father in his uniform and my eighteen-year-old mother looking up at him like he’s a god. They eloped.” She shook her head, hiccups and tears breaking up her words. “I guess she could never imagine that beneath that veneer of good looks was a disturbed and abusive monster.”

  She blew her nose again.

  “There are articles on the murder-suicide. Letters…letters our mother wrote to Terri after…after I was shipped to Connecticut. I destroyed the ones she sent me. Never read them. I didn’t want to know why she’d betrayed me. But my sister kept hers.”

  He caressed her arm, holding her close, giving her a chance to let go of some of the pain.

  “There’s so much in there that I want to go through. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to. It’s so…so sad. I don’t think I want to…but I have to.”

  Gavin lifted her chin until he was looking into her eyes. He brushed a tear off the smooth skin with his thumb.

  “You don’t have to do everything in one day. There’s no reason to mourn everyone all at once. Let’s take those files back to Westbury and tuck them away. Go back to them in your own time. Do it in small doses.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, tasted the saltiness of her tears. “Don’t do this to yourself. I can’t take seeing you this sad.”

  She kissed him. A gentle brush of her lips against his. She pulled back, but his mouth followed, taking possession. The thought immediately ran through his mind that it was wrong. This wasn’t the time or place, regardless of how much he wanted her.

  But the two of them were locked in a contradiction of desire. Gavin backed away, but she came after him, deepening the kiss, until he was lost in her taste, in the erotic dance of their tongues. He pulled her tight against him. Her fingers were threaded into his hair, and he could feel the skin of her back hot under his hand. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman as much as he wanted Lacey right now.

  Even amid the blur of lust, though, he knew this was more than just physical need. Lacey meant second chances, healing, the prospect of proving to both of them that hope exists.

  But suddenly, she tore her mouth away, though her arms did remain around his neck and her words were a shy whisper in his ear.

  “Wait. Not here.”

  “Okay,” he replied, his voice little more than a low growl. There was no hiding how aroused he was physically. She was intoxicating. He wanted more. But Gavin wasn’t going to push her or do anything to make her afraid. “Give me a minute. I’ll try to behave.”

  He stood up and headed to the kitchen. In his entire lif
e, he’d never said that to a woman. Never had to.

  He took a glass off a shelf, packed it with ice, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it down, keeping the kitchen counter between them when he finally turned back to her. She was standing by the sofa, her arms crossed, staring at the papers and newspaper clippings that were scattered on the floor between them.

  He didn’t think she was ready to touch any of that again today. Without saying a word, he went to the pile and gathered all the loose pages, putting them back in the folder and placing them on the counter next to the other items she was planning to take.

  “Put me to work. Where can I start?” he asked, turning to her again.

  “I’m only packing some of Terri’s personal things. Photos and maybe some of her books and music CDs. But there’s a cabinet in the closet in the bedroom. There seem to be some work related files in the top drawer. You can start with those. Tell me what I should do with them.”

  Gavin motioned for her to show him the way. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. He wanted to be sure she knew that she was safe with him. And he needed to know she was safe.

  “Also, if you could get me the two suitcases from the top shelf of the closet, I can pack everything I’m taking in them.”

  He followed her into the bedroom and pulled down the suitcases for her. All the drawers of the file cabinet were partially open. She tugged the top drawer all the way out and right away he could tell what it was in it.

  “These are cases that she worked on.” He thumbed through some of the papers in the middle of the drawer. They were filed chronologically. “She took notes, hypothesized, liked to gather unofficial and off-the-record documents that would never be allowed in any court. She had her own system of doing things. I recognize some of the names. I was her partner on most of these cases.”