by Amy Vansant
Dennis glanced at the bill. “Aw, man, you don’t have to do that. To be honest, I’m a fan of Colin’s. I’m hoping he didn’t do it.”
“It’s my pleasure. I appreciate your help.”
Dennis looked around and then took the bill with a nod. “You want to hear something creepy?”
Sean leaned in.
“There was a doll next to her purse. A little cowgirl doll. Scared the crap out of me. Something about its face was off.”
“What?”
Dennis shrugged. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t really want to look at it. You know how dolls are, always lookin’ right back at you.”
“Huh. Thanks. If you hear anything else let me know. Number’s on the card.”
“You got it. Take care, man.”
“Will do. Get yourself a shower.”
Dennis chuckled and headed for his patrol car.
Sean strolled toward the ambulance. Work done, one of the techs stood balancing himself against the back of the vehicle, grunting as he struggled to rid himself of his dirty coveralls.
Sean caught his eye. “Hey, how you doing?”
“Better than her,” he grumbled as the coveralls finally released their grip on his ankle. He sat on the bumper of the ambulance and ran a hand through his sweaty hair.
“I don’t know that we’ve met before. I’m Sean Shaft from Parasol Pictures?” Sean felt himself cringe. He hated saying his full name aloud. When Luther found him on the Parasol Picture lot so many years ago, he’d been groggy and dazed from his time travel. Thanks to his brogue, Luther called him Sean, the most Irish name he knew. Unsure of his own name at the time, Sean claimed it. Pressed for a last name, he glanced up and noticed the movie poster for Shaft on Luther’s office wall.
Sean Shaft was born.
The crime technician shook his hand, seemingly unfazed by Sean’s alliterative moniker.
“Vin. I think I’ve heard of you.”
Sean smiled. “Is that a good thing?”
“Depends. You’re a fixer, right?”
“Supposed to be. Looks like I’m a little late on this one.”
“To cover it up?”
Sean frowned. “No. To stop it before it happened.”
Vin balled his coveralls and stuffed them in a bag. “Your boy have a temper?”
“Colin?” Sean thrust his hands into his pockets and thought on the question. Colin was a man’s man, not one to take guff, but not an unreasonable hot-head either. “No. Not that I know of. Are you saying she was beaten?”
“Hard to tell. She was pretty discolored at this point.”
“You saw something that implied violence, though?”
Vin took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. Sean recognized the action. It symbolized the moment when people didn’t know if they should share information, but they were so eager to talk, they knew they’d be unable to stop themselves.
Sean loved hearing that sigh. He remained quiet so Vin would feel the need to fill the silence.
“I’m not sure if violence is the word. I mean, it is, but...it’s pretty weird.”
“How so?”
“She had two cuts, here and here.” He put the first two fingers on his right hand on either side of his mouth and dragged them to his chin. “Thin, postmortem.”
“Any thoughts on the significance?”
“No. But definitely intentional. It didn’t happen dragging her under the house.”
“And that’s clearly not what killed her.”
“No. Someone hit her in the head with something sharp and strong, like a pickaxe. Poked a hole in her skull.”
Sean grimaced. “Not your everyday weapon, a pickaxe.”
“No, but that wasn’t even the weird part. Someone filled the hole in her head with some kind of foam filler.”
Sean opened his mouth to speak and then shut it. Vin continued. “That look on your face. That was me when I saw it. Why, right?”
Sean chewed on his lip, pondering the possibilities. “If the killer was trying to save her, he had to know pouring expanding filler into her cranial cavity wouldn’t be the way to do it.”
“You’d think. It’s like something a kid would do to cover up a mistake.”
“Desperation maybe?”
Vin shrugged. “Near as I can figure. Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. They’ll find out more at the autopsy.”
“Sure. Did you see a doll under there?”
Vin’s wandering attention snapped back to Sean. “How’d you know about the doll? Is it a thing?”
“No. Someone told me.”
Vin sighed and again dragged his split fingers from his mouth to his chin. “Same thing on the doll.”
“Cuts?”
“Pen or paint or something.”
Sean nodded. “Well, thanks Vin. I won’t hold you up.” Sean pulled a hundred dollar bill from his pocket and slipped it into Vin’s hand as they shook again.
Vin glanced down at the treasure in his palm, smirking. “That’s what I heard about you. That you’re like Santa Claus around good information.” He pushed the money into his pocket. “Thanks. Kid on the way. I could use it.”
Sean nodded and headed across the yard.
He wandered around the house grounds as best he could without drawing attention. Although many officers were happy to share information, he didn’t want to push his luck and bump into a hardnose.
He walked the perimeter of the neighborhood and stopped at the community’s security booth, knocking lightly to catch the guard’s attention. A paunchy, middle-aged man straightened from a crouching position inside, appearing sweaty and hassled.
Sean smiled. “Hi. I was wondering if you had video surveillance for the last week?”
The man wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. “I just finished copying it all to the thumb drive.” He thrust the drive through the window at Sean and then retracted the offer. “Wait. You’re not the police.”
“No. My name’s Sean. I work for Parasol Pictures. You are?”
“Jim. That’s the studio Colin works for? Parasol?”
Sean nodded and the man pressed the thumb drive against his chest. “This is for the police. They asked me for it.”
“Can you make another copy?”
Jim rolled his eyes. “I can. But it’s a pain. It takes forever.”
Sean reached into his pocket to retrieve another hundred. He held it where the man could see it. “But you could do it?”
Jim stared at the money, scratching at his jaw. “It’s awfully hot in here. Maybe if he had a friend or two...”
Hand in his pocket, Sean counted off two more bills and produced them.
Jim considered the new offer. “Maybe if they had two more friends.”
Sean frowned. “Come on, Jim. This is what I have.”
The guard sighed. “Fine.” He handed Sean the thumb drive and took the money. “I’ll make another for the police.”
“Thank you.”
Sean walked back to his car and replaced the few remaining bills in his wallet.
He stared at the thumb drive and then set it on the seat beside him. Lot of footage to roll through. It was going to be a long day.
For someone. Not me.
Might be time to introduce Broch to video-taped surveillance.
He grabbed his cell phone to call Catriona and share his news.
Chapter Twelve
Catriona stared at the door Broch had shut behind him, her hand still resting on a bloodied clump of cotton balls.
Marry me. That Highlander is crazy...
Her phone rang from its spot on the kitchen counter and she answered to hear Sean’s voice, happy for the distraction.
“You have a meeting with Colin Layne this morning?” he asked.
She gasped and looked at her watch, noting for the first time a smear of Broch’s blood on her arm. It was nine-fifty. No time for a shower. She licked her thumb and attempted to rub away the mess.
“In
ten minutes. I almost forgot—”
“Don’t bother.”
“No, I can do it. I just have to get changed. There’s blood—”
“Cat, he’s been arrested.”
“Who? Colin? Arrested for what?”
“The murder of Cari Clark.”
Catriona gasped and pictured Cari’s sister, Dr. Violet. The air escaped from her lungs in a slow steady stream as she lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the floor.
Damn.
She’d promised Dr. Violet she’d find Cari.
Now she felt like an ass twice over. Once for disappointing Broch and once for Violet, and it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet.
“I promised Cari’s sister I’d find her.”
She could hear Sean’s disapproval radiating through the phone line. “You shouldn’t promise things like that.”
“I know. I know. How did Colin supposedly kill her?”
“Looks like a blow to the head. Something sharp and heavy, like a pickaxe.”
“A pickaxe? Are you sure she wasn’t killed by an old-timey prospector?”
“The tech guessed pickaxe from the shape of the wound. I don’t know that he meant a pickaxe, literally. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”
Catriona puffed out her cheeks and let the air release with a pop. A pickaxe? Do they still make those things? Her mind couldn’t wrap around the idea. At least, she guessed, it had been a quick death.
“Why do they think Colin did it?”
“They found her under his house.”
“What?” Catriona threw her back against the wall with a loud thump. “I guess I can see why they think he’s responsible.”
“Yes. That’s a hard one to explain.”
“Do you think he did it?”
“I don’t know. It’s not looking good.”
“Was he at the house when they grabbed him?”
“They picked him up at a charity baseball game across town.”
“Ouch. Plenty of spectators. That explains the dings on my phone I haven’t had a chance to check. I’d assumed it was about Timmy. The word must be all over town by now.”
Catriona had an alert system that warned her when any of their assets appeared in the news or on social media. She’d tried to set the same system up for Sean, but the constant dinging had him ready to throw his phone in the pool within twenty-four hours. He’d disabled it.
“Are they sure it’s Cari Clark?” she asked.
“They found a purse with the body.”
Catriona rested her elbow on her knee and plopped her face into her palm. “This doesn’t make sense. Colin can’t have killed a girl and stuffed her under his house. He’s not a killer and he’s not that stupid.”
“Did you two date? Am I remembering that right?”
Arg. She’d been hoping Sean didn’t remember that. Catriona felt her face flush with embarrassment and made a series of warbling noises trying to find the right words to explain away her past star-struck stupidity.
“I wouldn’t call it dating. We had a flirtation. Way back when I was an impressionable youth.”
“Right. Way back then.”
“Shush. I can tell you he didn’t try to kill me though, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Did you happen to notice if he owned a pickaxe?”
“No. He didn’t have an antique weapon collection either.”
She heard Sean scratching at his scruffy beard.
“Any more news on Timmy?” he asked.
“No, but I haven’t had a second to check. I had to patch up Broch. He grabbed Timmy, but the little guy fought like a tiger to get away.”
“How’s Broch?”
“He’s fine. All the struggling started his wound bleeding but the stitches look like they held.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just said—”
“No, I can hear it in your voice. Something else.”
Catriona groaned. At the mention of Broch, she’d heard the energy leave her voice. Sean must have detected it as well. The last thing she wanted to do was moan about her love life, or lack thereof, when they had a murder and a dance judge blitzkrieg to fix.
“Nothing’s wrong. Broch and I had a misunderstanding. You don’t want to know any more, believe me.”
Catriona knew Sean would want to offer fatherly advice, but he was still adjusting to the idea of his real son traveling through time to potentially date his adopted daughter. She hoped her warning would scare him away from the topic.
“Okay. Well, I’ll talk to you.”
Mission accomplished. Sean suddenly sounded very uncomfortable.
Catriona had a last thought and interrupted his attempt to end the conversation. “Hey, let me ask you. You came from another time. How did you grow up here?”
“I was an adult when I arrived.”
“No, I mean, how did you adjust to the modern world? Lose your archaic thoughts and habits?”
“Could you be a little more specific?”
“You know, like old-fashioned values. Like thinking women can be swapped for cows.”
Sean laughed. “Cows?”
“Okay, forget the cows. Just regular old women’s lib. How did you warm up to it?”
There was a pause and then Sean answered. “You.”
“Me?”
“Yep. How could I not think of women as equals with someone as strong, independent and beautiful as you for a daughter?”
Catriona’s face grew warm. She couldn’t stop smiling. “Awww... Okay. Now you’re embarrassing me.”
He chuckled. “Good. Distract yourself with work. Find out about Timmy and I’ll keep on Colin for now.”
“Will do.”
Catriona dropped the phone to her lap and closed her eyes, head pressed against the wall. She had a terrible sense of dread, and it took her a moment to place it.
Dr. Violet. She owed the woman...something.
She remained cross-legged on the floor for a few more minutes while Sean’s bad news percolated in her mind. She knew there was nothing she could have done to save Cari. From Sean’s report, it had sounded as if the girl had been dead before she’d even met Dr. Violet.
If only I hadn’t promised to help. I should know better.
It was a rookie mistake. Sean never would have found himself in this position. She hated that five years into the job, she still had so much to learn.
Catriona stood and stared at the mess of bloody swabs on her counter.
Nope. I cannot deal with that right now.
She had no time to clean and no time to think about her conversation with Broch. The whole practice of exchanging livestock for women was barbaric, but it was the time he grew up in. He didn’t know any better.
She chuckled to herself, musing on the livestock dowry. It was a bit like being famous—a woman would never know if her suitor really loved her or was just after her father’s cows.
She sniffed.
I am losing it.
She knew she’d rather think about cows than face poor, shattered Dr. Violet.
Catriona took a quick shower, pleased to find Broch had left a drop of hot water in the building. The apartments didn’t hold enough hot water for a man making up for a lifetime of icy eighteenth-century river baths.
Catriona threw on some jeans and chose a pair of sneakers over less comfortable footwear. The way her day was going, she felt she needed comfort over fashion to survive.
Once dressed, she left the apartment and stood in the hall, staring at Broch’s door.
No. He didn’t need to come to Violet’s. Though she suspected she might miss the shoulder to cry on for the ride back. She needed to do this on her own.
Outside, she slipped behind the wheel of her Jeep and headed for Dr. Violet’s. She called Timmy Grey’s sister for an update, reckoning his twin would be standing vigil. She’d guessed well. Talia Grey told her the doctors still had her brother sedated while they tested his blood for what might have
caused his violent outburst.
So far, his actions hadn’t been upgraded to deadly outburst. The dancer he’d attacked still breathed. During her vigil, Talia was clearly keeping almost as close a watch on the victim as her brother.
Next she called Dr. Pete “No-See-Um” Roseum, to lambaste him for teasing Broch.
“Aw, it was just a joke,” he said when she reached him, but he could barely stop laughing.
“Broch’s not from...here,” she said, avoiding sharing all Broch’s truths.
Pete scoffed. “He’s got a freakin’ baby’s arm down there. What about my feelings? You think seeing that didn’t ruin my day?”
Catriona began to giggle. “Be nice, Pete. He’s just finding his feet.”
“Then they must be smaller than the rest of him, because you can’t miss his—”
“Goodbye, Pete.”
“Good day to you.”
Still laughing, Catriona hung up. For a moment she’d almost forgotten the grim task ahead of her. She could always count on Pete to make her laugh.
Catriona reached Violet’s house, pulling to the curb just as the doctor closed her front door and began walking to her car.
Violet took a moment to glare at Catriona through the passenger window of the Jeep. Catriona could tell the police had already made contact. Her eyes were puffy from crying.
Catriona caught up to Violet as she opened the door of her car.
“Dr. Clark—”
Violet whirled to point a finger in her face. “You said you’d find her for me. You said you’d bring her home safe.”
Catriona’s heart broke. She wrung her hands, finding it hard to formulate the words to describe how terrible she felt. “I’m so sorry. She—” Catriona cut short and stared at her own toes, knowing nothing she said would make Violet feel any better. She wanted to offer her support, but she didn’t want to tell the grieving woman where they found the body or how long her little sister had been dead. The more she talked, the more likely the doctor would begin to ask questions. The last thing Catriona wanted to do was mention the pickaxe-shaped wound.
Steeling herself, she looked up to meet the woman’s pained gaze. She set her jaw, determined to push through her own feeling of discomfort. No amount of embarrassment or shame could come close to equaling the pain Violet had to be feeling.