“Who did, Devon?” Briggs asked.
“I don’t know. There was nobody in the house by the time I got there.”
“We need to go back to that house and look for that journal,” Chas said, standing up abruptly. He hated to rush Roxy at this point, given the news she’d just gotten, but he really had no choice.
“I agree. If this is all tied to that journal then maybe it will shed some light on who Myra was talking to before she died.” Briggs stood up too. “You’ll handle this and be in touch with me?”
“I’ve got it covered,” Chas assured him. He turned to Roxy, who was still seated at the table. She had stopped rubbing her temples and was staring at Devon intently.
“I don’t expect you to believe me,” Devon finally said, sniffling again. “That’s why I didn’t tell you before.”
“I do believe you,” she surprised everyone in the room by saying. “I wish I didn’t, but I do.” She looked up at Chas. “I want to go with you. To get that journal, I mean.”
“We’ll talk about it in the truck,” he promised her, mostly just to get her moving.
She turned back to Devon. “I know you have no reason to trust me. I know you hardly know me. But at one time we were close, Devon. I do care about you. I always have.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t remember much about you. I’m not trying to be mean, that’s just the way it is.”
A look of sadness crossed her face. She stood up slowly. “If you know where Dylan is, now would be a good time to tell us.”
Devon stood as a guard walked back into the room to escort him to his cell. “If he’s not at the junkyard, I really don’t know. Woody would have taken care of him for me. Is it really true that Tabitha’s missing?”
Chas could see the worry on Devon’s face. Clearly he and Tabitha were close in one way or another. “She’s been missing for two days now. She never made it home the other night.”
Devon’s face fell as he met Chas’s gaze. “You need to look at Flannigan. I swear I’m telling you the truth about him. He may have hurt her.”
“I’ll look into it,” Chas promised.
A few minutes later, the kid was back in his cell and Chas and Roxy were seated in his truck. He started up the engine, then glanced over at Roxy. She’d been silent the entire walk outside. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that.”
She shook her head. “Why? It’s obviously the truth. I had to find out some way.”
He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he sighed. “So what are you thinking about all this?”
She hesitated, then rubbed at her temples again. “I don’t know, Chas. None of it makes any sense in some ways. And in other ways it explains a lot. My father was very disconnected from me after my mother and my sister died—even before that at times. I always thought it was because we were girls and he was a man. We liked dolls and makeup and dresses. He liked football and hunting and poker.” She looked over at him sadly. “Maybe he was disconnected from us because we weren’t really his. Maybe somehow subconsciously he suspected it.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” He didn’t know what else to say to her. He couldn’t imagine finding out that the father he’d known his whole life wasn’t really his father.
“Yeah, me too. I’m having a hard time believing that my mother was a cheater. She always seemed so in love with my dad—with Hank.” Her voice cracked and she shook her head again. “None of this matters right now. We need to find that journal.” She met his gaze again. “Would it still be in the house?”
“It depends on where she left it. I know there was no journal bagged into evidence. I would have seen it myself.” He backed the truck up and headed for the freeway. “Trace and I will check out the house. If it’s there, we’ll find it.”
“I want to go with you.”
He’d been expecting her to say this. He made sure his answer was firm. “No.”
Surprised, she glared at him. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, you can’t come with us. The house is still a crime scene. Nobody gets in there but law enforcement until it’s cleared.”
“I have a right to enter that house, Chas. It’s technically mine now.”
“You have no right to do anything I don’t want you to do. I’m the detective in charge.” He knew the words were going to piss her off and he was right.
She swore vehemently. “She was my aunt. Those are her things you’re going to be digging through.”
“I understand that and I’m sorry. But I have a job to do. I’ve crossed too many lines as it is with you. I need to go by the book as far as the crime scene goes.”
“Is that right?”
“It sure as hell is.” He watched her seethe. He couldn’t really blame her for being frustrated. “Listen, you don’t want to go into that house right now anyway, Roxy. It’s exactly the way it was the night of the murder.” He saw her blanch and forced himself to remain stoic. “Until we release it, nothing can be cleaned up. It’s no place for any family member to be at this point.”
She slumped a little, the fight obviously leaving her.
“Hey.” He reached over and squeezed her knee. “What I will do, is promise to keep you in the loop as much as I can, okay?”
Her expression softened. “Do you promise not to hide anything from me? I mean if you find that journal? I need to know, Chas. I have a right to know.”
He put his hand back on the steering wheel. “Technically everything I find out is classified information, Roxy. If stuff about a crime scene gets leaked to the media or the public, things can get real messy. Sometimes mistakes like that can make or break a case.”
“Like I said, I’m talking about the journal, Chas. It’s my mother’s diary. I need to know what’s in it.”
He couldn’t blame her for that. “If I find the journal, you’ll be the first to know.”
NINETEEN
Chas stared down at his desk, his eyes so tired they were getting gritty. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days, not that he could blame some of that on anybody but himself.
Hours earlier, he had dropped Roxy off at his house and left Josh there to babysit her. Then he’d picked up Trace and together they had scoured Myra Tavish’s house. They had found no sign of any journal. They had found no further helpful evidence at all. That fact was frustrating.
Now Trace had gone out to grab them some fast food so they could pour over the evidence that had initially been collected from the crime scene again.
He leaned back in his chair and rested his eyes for a moment.
“Is this what you’re doing to figure out who killed my brother?”
Chas’s eyes snapped open and he found himself face to face with none other than Abbott Flannigan. Immediately his mood took a dive. He could tell that Abbott had consumed his normal amount of excessive alcohol for the day. This conversation was likely to go as well as the one Chas had had with Abbott the night before, when he’d notified him of Abel’s death.
Abbott Flannigan was about as appealing as both of his brothers. They were all large men—each at least fifty pounds overweight. Abel had been the tallest of the three, but they were each well over six feet. They ranged in age from thirty-six to forty-two, Abel having been the youngest.
Chas could tell Abbott was spoiling for a fight, which was really nothing unusual. The Flannigans were all mean drunks. Even their mother had been full of piss and vinegar before she’d died.
“Can I help you with something, Abbott?”
“You sure as hell can. You can get off your ass and tell me who killed my brother. And I want to know where the hell that little bitch of a stepdaughter of his is too.”
Chas frowned. “If you’re referring to Tabitha, she wasn’t his stepdaughter. He and Loretta weren’t married.”
“They may as well have been. Shit, they shacked up together. I want to know what you know so far.” Abbott leaned against the cubicle and scratched at his balding head.
“When I have any information for you, I’ll find you. Right now I have nothing further than what I told you and Albie last night.”
“You didn’t tell us shit last night. I’m telling you, that little bitch did something to Abel. She was threatening to kill him. I heard her with my own ears.”
Chas straightened. “Which little bitch?”
“Loretta’s little whore of a daughter!” he practically roared.
“Now why would Tabitha Kennings want to hurt your brother?”
Abbott scratched his chin as he tried to spin the wheels in his already overworked brain. “I got no idea. I only know that Abel told me she was a little tramp. She was always walking around the house in her undies and trying to provoke him.”
Chas wanted to punch Abbott in the face so badly that his hand started to itch. “Even if she did flaunt herself, that’s no crime, Abbott.”
“She was sleeping with him. She threatened him.”
“Now that’s a crime,” Chas said, eyeing Abbott seriously. “You know she’s only fourteen.”
Abbott’s face scrunched up as he thought that over. “What’s that got to do with it? She threw herself at him.”
“I have several sources who tell a different story. And even if she did throw herself at him, it’s still statutory rape.”
Abbott’s eyes grew wide and he stepped ominously toward Chas. “Are you trying to accuse my dead brother of rape when he ain’t even here to defend himself?”
Chas grimaced. He really didn’t want to get into a fight with the likes of Abbott Flannigan. He could hold his own, even with a brute like Abbott, but he wasn’t in the mood to get his hands dirty right now. Not after the week he’d just had. He stood up and glared at Abbott. “I’m not accusing him of anything. You are. Now I suggest you leave before you do something you’re going to regret. I’d hate to have to throw you in the drunk tank tonight.”
Abbott’s eyes darkened even more.
“Is there a problem in here?”
Chas looked over Abbott’s shoulder and saw Donovan Dewitt standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed as he looked from Chas to Abbott and then back again. Obviously their discussion had been loud enough to alert the mayor, whose office was right upstairs.
Chas turned back to Abbott. “No, there’s no problem. Is there Abbott?”
Abbott grunted and backed up slowly. “I’m not going to go away, McCall. Somebody killed my brother and I want justice for him. It’s only right.”
“I’m doing my job as we speak, Abbott. Maybe you should get the hell out of here and let me get back to it.”
“Yeah, maybe you should.” Trace joined the group and clearly he didn’t like the situation he’d walked into. He set a paper bag down on Chas’s desk and stood at his brother’s side.
Apparently seeing that he was outnumbered, Abbott swore, then turned on his heel and left.
“Dare I ask what all that was about?” Trace asked.
“He’s just upset about his brother,” Chas said, not really wanting to go into much detail in front of the mayor. He knew it was an election year and the last thing he needed was Donovan Dewitt making a campaign opportunity out of this. He was known for his dramatic flair.
“He seemed pretty upset,” Dewitt said, his brow furrowed. “He looked like he was about to punch you.”
Chas took the cheeseburger Trace offered him as he met the mayor’s interested gaze. “He wants answers and he’ll get them when we have them.”
“How’s the investigation coming?” Dewitt asked, stepping away from the doorway.
“It’s coming,” was all Chas would say. Trace remained silent.
“People are scared and nervous, McCall. Two murders in one week is a lot for a small community like ours to deal with. And what about Tabitha Kennings and Dylan Tavish? Are they still missing?”
“Yes, they’re still missing,” Chas confirmed. “We’re working on things day and night. Why do you think we’re still here at this hour?”
“Well if there’s anything we can do in my office to help things speed along, let me know. I realize you’re short-handed, what with budget cuts and all.”
“Thanks,” Chas said dryly. He knew that most of those budget cuts had been implemented by Donovan Dewitt himself, but he didn’t say so. At this point, he just wanted the mayor to leave so he and Trace could get back to work.
“Dick,” Trace muttered when the mayor had left.
“It’s an election year,” was all Chas said as he bit into his cheeseburger.
“So what was Abbott really pissed about? I can tell when you’re being evasive.”
Chas wiped his mouth. “He thinks that Tabitha was flaunting herself in front of Abel and that they were having an affair.”
Trace nearly choked on his soda. “Are you shitting me?”
“Nope. He told me he heard her threaten Abel himself.”
“Does he get that she’s only fourteen?”
“Not so much as I saw. He seems pretty confused about the laws regarding statutory rape.”
“Dumbass.”
“We haven’t seen the last of him, I’m sure.” Chas grimaced at the thought.
“He didn’t even like his brother when the bastard was alive,” Trace pointed out. “If he didn’t have a solid alibi, I’d have made him suspect number one in Abel’s murder.”
“Me too. But he does have an alibi. For once, being drunk and passed out at a bar is a good thing for someone.” Chas finished off his burger and threw the wrapper in the trash. “I think there’s one other thing we can count on for sure as well. If the person who killed Myra is Roxy’s biological father, then that eliminates Abel Flannigan from the table. He would have been ten years old at the time Roxy and Rachel were born.”
“At least we’ve eliminated one person for sure. We’ve got no journal. If we knew who Myra Tavish was talking to on the phone that day it would help. I’ll get someone working on pulling up her phone records first thing in the morning.” Trace took a long sip of soda. “How’s she taking it? Roxy, I mean.”
Chas shrugged. “She was pretty mellow about it the entire way back here from Spokane. She wants to see that journal, just like the rest of us do.” He reached for the file on Dinah and Rachel Tavish’s murders and dug through it again. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow the cases were connected.
“You think the same person who killed Myra Tavish killed Dinah and Rachel all those years ago?” Trace peered at the file from where he sat.
“I don’t know for sure. I have a gut feeling though and it’s saying yes. This is all just too coincidental. After Roxy being attacked at the motel and the man calling her Rose—after what Devon told us today—I just feel like this is all leading back to Dinah Tavish.”
“It does seem that way.”
For the next few hours, Chas and Trace dug through file after file. They looked through the logged evidence sheets from Myra’s murder and also the evidence sheets from the murders of Rachel and Dinah Tavish. No journal was mentioned in any of the cases.
Frustrated, Chas swore. It was after midnight and he was exhausted. Clearly Trace was too.
“We should cut out and get back to this in the morning. We’re not getting anywhere anyway,” Trace eventually said, rubbing his hands over his face wearily.
Chas knew his brother was right. They locked things up and said goodbye to the night clerk. Chas headed back to their house and Trace headed for the city where his girlfriend lived.
When Chas walked into the house, he found Josh dozing on the couch, the television on. After waking his brother and sending him on his way, he locked up and headed for his bedroom. It didn’t take him long to strip down to his boxers. He set his gun and cell phone on the nightstand and climbed under the covers.
Roxy, comfortably snuggled on the other side of the bed, stirred slightly when the mattress dipped. She turned toward him, her eyes only half open.
“Hey. I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said qu
ietly.
“Did you find it?”
He hated to tell her no, but he had no choice. “There was no journal in the house. It wasn’t logged in as evidence either.”
She looked disappointed.
“We’ll figure this out, baby. Just give us some time. We made a lot of headway today. That’s something.” He leaned over and rested his forehead against hers, his eyes searching hers solemnly. “We’ll figure it out.”
Apparently she accepted that because she nodded. Then she wrapped herself around him and buried her head in his chest. A few minutes later, her breathing leveled off and he knew that she was asleep. Only then did he shut his own eyes and follow her lead.
TWENTY
Roxy opened her eyes slowly, squinting at the moonlight pouring through the window of Chas’s bedroom. It was still dark out. She glanced at the clock next to the bed. It read 4:45 AM. She rolled to her left and noticed the light in the bathroom was on, just as she’d left it the night before.
Turning her head, she felt him before she saw him. Chas’s arm was thrown over her middle again. He was sleeping soundly on his stomach, his breathing soft. Clearly he was exhausted. She realized suddenly, that since she’d arrived, he really hadn’t been getting much sleep at all.
She stared at his silhouette in the darkness, for some reason unable to fall back to sleep. She felt uneasy, tense. She wasn’t sure where the sensation was coming from.
Suddenly the sound of his phone ringing interrupted the silence. She felt him stir immediately, groaning as he turned over.
Swearing, he grabbed the device, checking the caller ID. He flopped back on his pillow, letting her go as he answered the call. “What’s up?”
She couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but she watched as his face immediately tensed. “I’ll be there in a few.” He disconnected the call and sat up abruptly. “You need to get up and get dressed.”
Skeletons in the Mist (The McCall Twins) Page 15