by Mary Burton
Zack nodded. ‘Thanks for doing that.’
‘Next year it’s your turn.’
Zack grinned. ‘No, it’s Malcolm’s. He owes me.’ Malcolm, their brother, worked SWAT.
‘What did you do for him?’ she asked, smiling.
Zack grinned. ‘Let’s just say we had a bet and he lost.’
Tess’s laughter rumbled in her chest. ‘Should I ask?’
‘No,’ Zack said.
Jacob envied the easy camaraderie the brother and sister shared. He’d never known anything like that. His father had split before he was born and he had no siblings. His mother had been a drunk and an addict who had found child rearing a drag. When he was twelve he’d been taken in by a good guy, Pete Myers, who had given him a stable home. Last summer, Pete had turned out to be deeply troubled.
Shit. Jacob couldn’t have had a more fucked-up personal life if he’d set out to plan one.
Zack and Tess exchanged a few more words before she rolled up her window. The hearse drove off, and Tess followed in her van.
Zack rubbed his hands together, trying to stimulate circulation. ‘I’m headed back to the office.’
‘Right behind you. I just want to walk the scene one more time.’ Jacob was anxious to get back in his car and turn the heater on, but he just couldn’t let go of this place. Not yet.
Zack had driven off and Jacob had started back toward the river when he heard, ‘Who’s in charge here?’
The voice was deep, angry, and full of attitude.
Jacob turned, pulling fisted hands from the warmth of his pockets. Standing at the perimeter was a guy dressed in a dark business suit and a crisp overcoat. It didn’t take a Harvard education to know the suit and coat cost more than Jacob earned in a month. The guy wasn’t tall, maybe five seven or eight, and he had a full head of brown hair slicked back off his face. A gold ring winked on his left pinky.
The guy had ‘slick’ written all over him.
Jacob moved toward Slick, his strides long and deliberate. He was itching for a fight, anything to burn off the unease that plagued him. ‘Can I help you?’
Slick raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you in charge?’
Again, attitude seasoned the words. The hair on the back of Jacob’s neck rose. He didn’t mind questions but attitude pissed him off. ‘I’m Detective Jacob Warwick. I’m running this murder investigation.’
Slick’s features softened a fraction and he thrust out his hand. ‘My name is Adam Alderson.’ His breath puffed, freezing when it hit the cold air. ‘I own this land development project.’
Jacob had already guessed the answer to his question: Alderson’s survey crew chief had called him to complain about the delay. ‘What can I do for you?’
Alderson’s smile was impatient. ‘I saw the hearse leave. That means the body is gone.’
‘Correct.’
‘Great. When are the rest of you going to clear off my property? Right now I’m paying my crews to stand around and drink coffee.’
‘I was just about to talk to them one last time and then send them home. Forensics won’t release the scene today, so your men can’t work the area.’
Alderson twisted his pinky ring. ‘But the body is gone.’
‘There could be evidence in the area, so it needs to be contained until we can thoroughly search it.’ He kept emotion out of his voice.
Alderson’s eyes reflected his frustration. He didn’t like hearing no. ‘Tomorrow then?’
‘I can’t say. I’ve ordered the patrolmen to thoroughly comb the area. And then the autopsy might reveal something that would send us back. It could be days, or weeks, depending on what they find.’
Alderson shook his head. ‘Weeks! That is not acceptable, Detective. The surveying has to be complete by the end of January so the site plans can be finished. I need to break ground this summer if occupancy is going to happen next spring.’
Jacob didn’t flinch. ‘We’ll be done when we’re done. At this time I won’t commit to a date.’
A muscle in Alderson’s jaw tensed. ‘Do you have any idea how much revenue this development is going to bring into the county?’
Ah, money, it made the world go round. ‘A great deal, I’ll bet.’
‘A great deal doesn’t begin to cover it. I can assure you my development is worth a hell of a lot more than solving the murder of some woman.’
The casual dismissal pissed off Jacob. If he had his way, Alderson’s people would never set foot on this land until spring.
Alderson checked his watch and had the stones to look bored. ‘I need a release date, Detective.’
A woman was dead. She’d been held captive, could have been tortured, and this guy looked bored.
Jacob had the urge to toss this guy off the property. ‘Where were you last night?’
The question caught Alderson off guard. ‘Me? Why the hell should that matter?’
Jacob mentally dug in his heels. No one dictated policy to him at his crime scene. ‘It’s a simple question.’
Alderson rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, please.’
He’d stand there all day if that’s what it took. ‘She was found on your property.’
‘I had nothing to do with the woman’s death.’
Jacob stood a good six inches taller than the guy and he wasn’t above using his height to intimidate. ‘Then answer the question.’
Alderson’s lips flattened. ‘I was having dinner last night with my attorney, as a matter of fact.’ He looked smug. ‘We were going over contracts for another property I’m looking to buy.’ Alderson dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a business card. ‘Here’s his name and number. Feel free to call him.’
Jacob studied the name but didn’t recognize it. ‘I will. Your men report any strange people on the land in the last couple of days?’
He shoved out a breath. ‘You spoke to them. What did they tell you?’
‘Just tell me what they told you.’ People lied to the cops all the time. He was hoping Alderson’s men might have given him a different story.
‘No one has been on-site for days. The snow and ice storm has kept the job site closed since Friday. Today was our first day back on the job. Which is why we can’t afford any more delays.’
‘I passed a gate when I came in. Is it always locked?’
‘Yes. But you can see for yourself the fence doesn’t extend around the entire property. Anyone could have driven down the road and cut through the woods and walked around.’
A gust of wind blew off the river, slicing through Jacob’s leather jacket. He wondered if Alderson’s high-end coat was any match for the cold.
‘What about water access?’ Jacob ventured. ‘How navigable is the river in this area?’
‘Good, if you’ve got a flat-bottomed boat. The water is five or six feet deep.’
Jacob kept his gaze leveled on Alderson’s face. ‘Who’s Ruth?’
The guy didn’t flinch. ‘Ruth? I don’t know a Ruth. Is she the woman who was killed?’
‘Just a question.’
‘Then why ask?’
‘I’m going to be asking a lot of questions.’
‘What do you know at this point?’
Again with the attitude. What was it about rich guys who thought they could take charge of any situation? ‘Can’t say.’
‘You’re not being very helpful, Detective.’
‘No.’
Alderson narrowed his eyes. ‘Who’s your boss?’
He didn’t hesitate to answer. ‘Sergeant David Ayden. Would you like his number?’ Ayden wasn’t afraid to go to the mat for his detectives.
Alderson nodded. ‘Yes, I would.’
Jacob pulled out a piece of paper from a notebook he carried in his back pocket and scratched out Ayden’s name and number. He held it out. As Alderson reached for the paper, Jacob glanced at the man’s hands. Smooth, pristine, long fingers; buffed nails; and, most importantly, no sign of trauma. A woman being strangled might fight back and scratch
her attacker’s hands. But there was nothing on Alderson’s hands.
‘I’m going to have more questions for you,’ Jacob said as Alderson tucked the slip of paper in a pocket.
‘Frankly, Detective, I don’t like you. I’m only interested in dealing with your boss now.’
‘Suit yourself.’ He dropped his voice a notch. ‘But I can promise you, Sergeant Ayden won’t release this site until I give the all clear. And the more you slow me down, the longer it’s going to take.’
Alderson heard the underlying message behind Jacob’s words: I can be a badass too. The developer was still annoyed but he nodded curtly. ‘All right, I’ll play it your way now.’
‘I want to talk to Burrows one more time.’ He’d hoped the forced wait in the cold might have jogged a few details loose from the party chief’s mind.
Alderson raised his hand and called out, ‘Burrows!’
The surveyor lumbered over to them. ‘Yeah, boss?’
‘This is the lead detective on this case.’
Burrows nodded. ‘We already talked.’
‘Talk to him again.’
‘But you said …’
‘Forget what I said. Tell him what you know. And don’t hold back. I want this job site reopened as soon as possible.’
Burrows glanced at Jacob. ‘Sure.’
Jacob flipped open his notebook. ‘Tell me again what happened from the moment you found the victim to the moment you called nine-one-one.’
Burrows sniffed, glanced toward the yellow tape. He recapped what he’d already told Jacob.
‘Have you seen her around here before?’ Jacob asked.
‘What, that woman? Hell no. No women on the survey crew. And no one in their right mind would come out here in January unless it was for money.’ He glanced at his boss after realizing what he’d said.
‘Did you see anyone else lurking around the property?’
‘No one. It was a typical morning.’
‘No hunters? No cars? Tire tracks?’
Burrows shifted his stance and hesitated. ‘Well, there was one guy. We caught him trespassing about a week ago. He seemed harmless enough.’
Most likely he was, but the detail couldn’t be ignored. ‘What happened?’
‘It was before the storm. He was out here last Monday or Tuesday. Buzz, one of the surveyors, spotted him by the river. We told him it was private property. He said he used to hunt here with his dad when he was a kid. The place had special meaning to him. Anyway, we told him to hit the road and he did.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yep. I forgot all about him until today.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘Honestly, I didn’t give the guy much thought. Medium height. Wearing a thick parka, and a hat and gloves.’
Jacob shifted his gaze to Alderson. ‘Who owned the property before you?’
‘The entire tract is two hundred acres and was owned by about a dozen different families. I can get you a list.’
‘Good. The sooner the better.’
‘Sure.’
Kendall and her cameraman arrived at Alderson’s River Bend site just as the body removal team’s hearse and the county’s forensics van lumbered toward the main road. The rugged, pockmarked side street forced the van and hearse to move at a slow crawl. Seeing the hearse gave her pause. This was her first murder story since last summer. If the police had been half an hour later last July, she’d have been removed from the scene in a hearse.
Mike, her cameraman, stopped the van on the side of the road. He stood just under six feet and his weight hovered under two hundred. He looked fierce but he was one of the most even-tempered people she’d ever met. ‘I doubt I’ll be able to get the van down the road.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You okay?’ When Mike had visited her in the hospital last summer, the sight of her had brought tears to his eyes. She had been surprised he’d care so much. They’d barely known each other, having worked together for only a year.
During that visit and any other visit from friends, she’d been the upbeat one. She’d cracked jokes about bedpans and male nurses until she’d eliminated the unease and coaxed smiles. On some level she’d understood that if she made people feel good around her, they’d not abandon her. So, she’d become adept at telling everyone that she was fine.
Kendall cleared her throat. ‘Please. And I want lots of footage of the hearse.’
Mike tossed her a glance. Relief flashed in his eyes. ‘Will do.’
She realized he was worried about her doing her job, just as Brett was worried. This story was going to be make-or-break for her. She had to prove she was really back on the job.
Mike shoved the van in park and rolled out the driver’s door in one fluid movement. He opened the side door to a neatly organized mobile studio. He hefted his camera on his shoulder. The green light on the camera clicked on, signaling he was taping.
Kendall slipped off her heels and put on her hiking boots before grabbing her pad. She glanced out her window, saw the mud, and scooted toward the driver’s-side door. Her coat snagged on a torn piece of vinyl on the seat, forcing her to pause and tug it free. ‘Mike, when are you going to get this seat fixed?’
‘Talk to “the king.” ’ Annoyance dripped from his words every time he referenced Brett. ‘He’s Mr Budget Cut.’
Brett did whatever it took to get the story at the cheapest rate possible. He’d step over anyone or knife anyone in the back to get the scoop for Channel 10 or save a buck. Few liked Brett, but as long as ratings were high and the budget was in the black he was tolerated.
Mike stood in front of the van and raised the camera.
She scooted out the door and moved behind Mike, who was now shooting. The cold air whipped off the river and cut through her coat. ‘All go?’
‘Like clockwork.’
‘You’re sure? We’re the only TV crew here and I don’t want to mess this up.’
He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Chill. I always get the goods.’
That made her smile. ‘Mike, when have you ever known me to chill? I’m good because I’m such a domineering diva.’
He kept his gaze straight ahead. ‘I ain’t commenting.’
Mike rolled tape as the hearse reached the main road and pulled onto the hard-surface road. It quickly picked up speed and soon rounded the bend a half mile away and vanished from site. The forensics van followed. The driver, a woman, shot Kendall a stinging glance.
Mike clucked. ‘What’s with the look?’
‘Disdain is part of the job.’ She glanced at the police car blocking the entrance to the side road. ‘I’d love to get down to the river and see what the cops are up to.’
‘It won’t be by that road,’ Mike said. ‘The cops aren’t going to let us in.’
‘You think you could find another way down?’ she asked.
‘Maybe. Might mean some hiking.’
‘No problem.’
‘Hop in.’
They drove past the officer positioned by the development’s entrance. Mike signaled to the officer that they were going to turn around.
‘We’re going to have to hustle,’ Kendall said. ‘He’s going to expect to see us returning soon.’
‘Right.’
He drove down the rutted road another half mile. Kendall pressed her hand to the dash and planted her feet on the floor to keep from falling forward. When they reached the dead end, Mike turned the van around and shut off the engine.
‘There’s a path,’ Kendall said. ‘Looks like it leads to the river.’
‘Let’s go.’
Kendall peered ahead into the icy woods. She didn’t relish the thought of hoofing it through the woods, but stories rarely came to her. ‘Right.’
Mike grimaced. ‘I figured you’d change your mind once you saw the terrain.’
She tossed him a grin and climbed out of the van. ‘Faint heart never won fair maiden.’
He followed. ‘Yeah, whatever.’
It took fifteen minutes of steady walking before they rounded a final bend. The trees opened up into a snow-capped field that ran along the river. In the center of the field were five marked and one unmarked police cars, a survey truck, and a black SUV. Beyond the vehicles, yellow crime scene tape billowed in the wind near the icy James River.
Kendall scanned the crowd. She was good at summing up a setting quickly, picking shots and getting to the root of a story. Her blood pumped with a mixture of fear and excitement. She’d forgotten how much she really enjoyed covering hard news. These last few months she’d done her reporting from the news studio, and when she did get out, the stories were soft serve.
Now as she struggled to keep from sinking into the mud, she realized she’d grown lazy covering the soft stories. Not good. Comfort was the beginning of a slow decline.
‘The other news stations aren’t here yet.’ There was no hiding the excitement in her voice. ‘With luck, we can snag an interview before they do. Follow me.’
She knew all the homicide detectives in the department as well as a dozen others from other departments. It was safe to say none really liked her when she showed up at their crime scene, but there was a mutual respect. She hoped.
Kendall’s gaze settled on the broad shoulders of a very tall man. His back was to her but she recognized the scarred black leather jacket, faded jeans, and lean body. Jacob Warwick.
He stood next to the river’s edge staring into the distance. He flexed the fingers of his right hand as if they were stiff. She’d heard somewhere that he’d competed in a charity boxing match last weekend. He’d taken a beating but in the end had won the bout on points. He was a fierce fighter who never conceded.
Tenacity was something she would never fault this man for. It had saved her life last summer …
The Guardian serial killer had taken her to his basement slaughterhouse. He had shot her in the shoulder and she’d stumbled back and fallen to the hard cement ground. The pain had robbed the breath from her.
The Guardian had stood over her, his ax raised high as he’d readied himself to sever her hand from her body. Tears had welled in her eyes and she’d only been able to say, ‘Please, don’t.’