The Ex Who Hid a Deadly Past

by Sally Berneathy

  Jerrilee hadn’t dated Jake, but she had knowledge...claimed to have knowledge...of his dating activities.

  Her work sheet had given her employer as the City of Dallas.

  “She works for the police department,” Amanda guessed. “She works with Jake.”

  Dawson closed his eyes but said nothing.

  If she worked for the Dallas Police Department, she would have knowledge of any reprimands Jake had received.

  Amanda’s heart sank straight down to her toes.

  Was it true? Was Jake a player? Had he been written up by Internal Affairs for his activities with women?

  She forced herself to continue. “Is she a cop?”

  Dawson didn’t respond for a few seconds. Then he shook his head.

  This was getting ridiculous. She sat back and threw her hands in the air. “What kind of promise did you make? How many clauses and addendums does it have? Is it a written contract, signed and notarized?”

  Dawson looked up at her sarcastic tone. The only other time she’d seen him this sad was when his brother had been kidnapped.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” She had meant to, of course, but she felt guilty for doing it. “Okay, let’s talk about any information you did not promise to keep secret. What does Jerrilee look like?”

  Dawson bit his lip then apparently decided information about her appearance didn’t fall under the terms of his ubiquitous promise. “She’s beautiful. She has this amazing blond hair and...” He cleared his throat and blushed. “She...her body...she’s like a goddess.”

  “Are you trying to say she has big boobs?”

  He turned a darker shade of red.

  Big boobs and blond hair. And Dawson was smitten.

  Charley appeared. “I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find a recorder.” He frowned. “What did you say to make Dawson blush?”

  Bad timing. She did not want Charley to hear Jerrilee’s accusations against Jake. He would be delighted and obnoxious.

  She stood. “Thank you for taking down that video, Dawson.”

  He stood too. “You won’t tell Jake what Jerrilee said about him, will you?”

  Charley narrowed his eyes.

  “Of course not,” Amanda said. Shut up, Dawson! Stop talking about this in front of Charley!

  “She doesn’t want to lose her job or get in trouble.” Dawson was not using his mind-reading app. He never seemed to be doing it when she was trying to transmit.

  “I understand.”

  Charley grabbed her arm. More specifically, he grabbed through her arm. “Let’s go look for that recording device.”

  “You already did that,” she said.

  Dawson’s eyes widened. “I already did what?”

  “I didn’t mean you. I meant...never mind. Forget it. Let’s get back to work.”

  “Good idea,” Charley said.

  That was odd. She’d expected Charley to be nosy and inquisitive about anything concerning Jake, but he seemed eager to avoid the subject.

  ***

  Amanda tried to focus on work but after having to redo a simple task twice, she gave up. “Hungry?” she asked Dawson. “It’s almost noon.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll go get some lunch. Burgers and fries?”

  “Sounds great.”

  She got on her cycle, a little surprised that Charley wasn’t there. Usually he insisted on riding on the back. Usually he accompanied her to any restaurant or fast food place and sniffed the food. Sometimes he dove into it, claiming he could almost taste it at those times. That action always resulted in cold food.

  Where was he now?

  Why had he suggested they look for a recording device when he’d already said he’d looked everywhere?

  Why was she wasting time thinking about him when she had plenty of other problems to think about?

  ***

  Amanda arrived back at the shop with two Jalapeno and Cheese Whataburgers, two orders of fries, and two containers of Creamy Pepper Dipping sauce.

  Dawson was not in the main area. “Food’s here!” she called.

  A crash accompanied by a short shriek came from the back.

  Amanda dropped the bag and ran toward that area.

  Dawson, glasses askew, sprawled on the bathroom floor with the metal cabinet on top of him. Rolls of paper towels and toilet paper along with small containers of liquid hand soap that once lived on the shelves of that cabinet were spread around him.

  “Are you all right? What happened?”

  He pushed the cabinet up and blushed. Deep crimson.

  She shoved the light-weight cabinet the rest of the way erect and extended a hand to him. “It’s all right. You’re not the first person to take a fall.”

  He ignored her hand, scrambled to his feet, pushed his glasses up and began putting the objects back on the cabinet shelves in no particular order. “I’m okay. You said you have the burgers?”

  How had Dawson fallen and brought the cabinet down on top of him when the cabinet was less than five feet tall?

  And why was he putting things back in a chaotic manner? Surely his OCD need for order would keep him awake all night with such a disorderly arrangement.

  She picked up a roll of paper towels and set it on a shelf. “Relax. It’s okay. No harm done.”

  “I made this mess,” Dawson said. “I’ll clean it up.” He shoved the last of the items onto a shelf and ran from the room.

  Charley appeared beside her. “What was that all about?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She looked around the small bathroom. A bottle of aspirin had fallen into the pedestal sink next to the metal shelves. She retrieved it and set it back where it belonged.

  The toilet stool lid was closed. Dawson always did that. Good manners and OCD.

  “That looks like a footprint on the lid,” Charley said. “Maybe Dawson was standing there and fell on the cabinet.”

  “Why would Dawson be standing on the toilet stool?”

  The smudge on the lid did vaguely resemble a footprint.

  There were usually no smudges on the toilet seat. No water spots on the sink. No dust on the shelves. Dawson kept everything immaculate.

  Yet there was a smudge on the toilet lid.

  Charley floated up to the maze of pipes, wires, and cables that decorated the bathroom ceiling. “There’s some dust up here. Maybe Dawson was trying to clean.”

  “That sounds a little over the top even for him.”

  “Amanda,” Dawson called, “your food is getting cold.”

  “Coming!”

  Getting some nutritious food into her system would surely calm some of her stress and enable her to think more clearly.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After devouring her meal, Amanda felt stuffed but no less stressed and no smarter.

  Jake had said he would come by after the office Halloween party so they could finish their talk. She would tell him what Dawson’s girlfriend had said about him. She would ask him about his relationship with Jerrilee. Get this all out in the open.

  Discuss Jerrilee and Charley.

  That should be a fun conversation.

  Her phone rang. Private number.

  Probably a sales call.

  She could ignore it or take out some of her stress on the caller by messing with him.

  She tapped the accept icon. “Dallas Police Department,” she said in her most professional voice.

  Silence.

  Gotcha! “Would you like to speak with a police officer?” That always made the scammers hang up immediately.

  “Is this Amanda Caulfield?” a male voice asked.

  “It depends on who’s calling.”

  “This is Officer Gerald Edwards with the Dallas Police Department.”

  Yeah, sure.

  “My last three speeding tickets are the only donation you’re going to get to your stupid fund.”

  Take that!

  “I’m working on
the Leonard Martin murder.”

  “Oh!”

  “I understand you own a .38 revolver. We’d like to run ballistics to compare bullets from your gun with the bullet that killed Mr. Martin.”

  “My...revolver? You want my gun?”

  “We can get a warrant, if necessary, but Detective Daggett said he thinks you’d be willing to voluntarily bring in the gun and sign a search waiver.”

  “A...warrant?”

  “Do we need a warrant?”

  Her gun had not been used to kill Lenny. She was certain of that. This was a good thing. It would prove her innocence. “I’ll bring it in voluntarily.”

  “That would be great. When can you come in?”

  “This afternoon?”

  “Please be sure the weapon is unloaded when you bring it.”

  “I will do that.”

  “I’ll tell our front desk to expect you.”

  “Great.” Amanda ended the call.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about if you’re innocent,” Charley said.

  “Of course I’m innocent!”

  Across the room Dawson looked up from his task. “I know that.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “Thinking out loud. That was the cop who’s handling Lenny’s murder since Jake recused himself. He wants me to bring in my gun to do a ballistics check.”

  “You have to go to the station?”

  “Yes.”

  Dawson dropped his gaze. “I could do it for you,” he mumbled.

  “Probably not since I have to sign something. But thanks for the offer.” The offer he made while refusing to look at her.

  Jerrilee worked with Jake.

  Was Dawson worried she would meet Jerrilee? That Jerrilee might say something to her? That Jerrilee and Jake might be...what could they be doing at the police station?

  “Dawson, I need you to promise me you will not contact Jerrilee to let her know I’m coming over there.”

  He looked up. Licked his lips. Finally nodded. “I promise.”

  Did he know ways to get around that promise? “No contact in any way. Not even a telepathic message.”

  “I won’t. I wouldn’t. I promise.”

  Great. If Jerrilee and Jake were doing something she didn’t want to see, she might be able to catch them.

  Actually, that didn’t sound great at all.

  Amanda headed upstairs to her apartment to get her revolver.

  Charley was with her every step of the way. “I don’t think you should take your gun to those people.”

  The Smith & Wesson still lay on her nightstand, inert, a tool to be used to protect herself if necessary. She’d fired it at the range a few weeks ago, cleaned and reloaded. She hadn’t checked it since then, had taken for granted the gun had five live rounds...that the gun had not been fired while she was out of town with Jake.

  “Are you seriously planning to hand that over to the cops?” Charley asked.

  She picked up the gun, hefted the reassuring weight in one hand then the other.

  It had been in her nightstand drawer when Lenny was shot.

  And she had been in her bed that night, not at Bikes and Brews. But evidence suggested that was not true.

  If she checked, would she find that one of the bullets in her gun had been fired?

  She bit her lower lip.

  “What are you doing?” Charley asked. “Put the gun away and let’s see if there are any early trick-or-treaters around. I can pretend to be a ghost and scare them.”

  Amanda barely registered his words. She held her breath as she opened the revolver. Five rounds. She rotated the cylinder slowly, checking each cartridge carefully to see if it had a dimple in the primer, an indication it had been struck by the firing pin.

  None had a dimple.

  She ejected the rounds.

  They were all intact.

  She exhaled a long, relieved sigh, tucked the gun into her handbag and went to the closet to retrieve her riding gear.

  Charley appeared two inches in front of her face. “Are you listening to me?”

  “No.” She went around him.

  ***

  When Amanda entered the station, the reception room was deserted.

  “Nobody’s here,” Charley said. “Let’s go.”

  The door behind the front desk opened and the woman who had greeted her the last time she’d been there, the blonde whose breasts Charley had ogled, emerged. “Can I help you?” She took her seat behind the desk.

  Charley gasped and disappeared.

  Dawson was dating a beautiful, well-endowed blonde who worked with Jake.

  “Can I help you?” the beautiful, well-endowed blonde repeated.

  Was this woman Jerrilee? “Uh, yeah. I...uh...I’m here to see Officer Edwards.” She leaned forward and squinted, trying to read the name on the woman’s badge. It was almost hidden in her cleavage. Was that a J? Maybe. Or it could be half an L with a serif.

  “Your name?”

  “Amanda. Caulfield. Amanda Caulfield.”

  “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Amanda stepped backward. Away from the woman. Away from the anger she felt emanating through the bullet-proof plexiglass.

  She didn’t really feel anger emanating from the woman who wasn’t even looking at her, was quietly, professionally doing her job.

  A uniformed officer emerged from the same door Ross had come through two days ago. “Miss Caulfield?”

  “Yes. Miss Caulfield. Amanda Caulfield. That’s me.” The officer looked like a nice man. Kind eyes. All he was going to do was take her gun. No reason for her to be nervous.

  “I’m Officer Edwards.” He gestured with a clipboard toward one side of the room, an area where four chairs were grouped around a coffee table. “Would you like to have a seat?”

  “Sure.” Amanda crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs.

  Officer Edwards sat across from her.

  She had hated having Charley with her when she’d come in to give her DNA. She was glad he wasn’t with her now, taunting her, trying to scare her. She could get through this alone. She wasn’t the least little bit concerned or anxious.

  It was typical of Charley to be gone when she might have needed him.

  Officer Edwards laid the clipboard and a small cardboard box on the table. “Do you have the gun with you?” he asked.

  She gasped. “What? The gun?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The gun you said you’d bring in so we could test it.”

  “Oh. Yes. That gun. Yes. I have it.” Why was she perspiring? The room had been cool when she entered.

  “Is it unloaded?”

  She had taken out all the bullets and examined each one. There was no way one of them could have sneaked back into the gun. “Yes.” She gulped. Why was she worried it would be loaded? She was having a meltdown for no reason.

  “Using your thumb and one finger, could you please take out the gun and lay it on the table?”

  Amanda reached into the side pocket of her bag and withdrew her .38. It was heavier than she realized. That was the only reason her fingers would be shaking. She laid it on the table. To her immense relief, the gun lay there still and quiet.

  Edwards donned plastic gloves, picked up the firearm, and checked the cylinder to verify it was unloaded.

  It was.

  Of course it was.

  “So,” she said, “since you want to run a ballistics check on my .38 revolver, does that mean the murder weapon was a .38 revolver?”

  He gave her a quick glance. “I’m sorry. I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that before.”

  He opened the box and put the firearm inside, secured it with ties then closed it.

  Her S&W .38 had disappeared from sight, had been taken from her.

  It was only a piece of metal. She had her little .380 Colt Mustang at home. She was not without protection. But this revolver had been with her through some tough ti
mes. She felt oddly bereft.

  Edwards took a marker from his shirt pocket, looked at a paper on the clipboard, wrote numbers on the box, then sealed it with tape. He removed his gloves, took a printed form from the clipboard, a regular pen from his pocket, and slid both across the table toward her. “Would you please sign this search waiver? It simply states that you voluntarily brought this item to us and that you consent to our retaining and testing this item.”

  “Will you give it back?”

  “If the ballistics tests do not reveal that the weapon was used to commit a crime, we will return it to you.”

  “It wasn’t.” Amanda was almost certain of that. She scribbled her name on the form and slid it to him.

  Edwards scribbled on another form. “Here is your receipt for this item.” He stood with a smile and extended a hand. “Thank you for doing this. Makes our job easier.”

  She rose, shook his hand and bared her teeth in an attempt to return his smile.

  Edwards retrieved the box and the clipboard. “Thank you again for coming in and helping.”

  He left through the door across the room from which he’d entered.

  That was it?

  Other than giving her favorite gun into the hands of a stranger, it hadn’t been too bad.

  She slid her gaze to the side, trying to be unobtrusive as she checked to see if the blond woman was watching her.

  The woman’s head was lowered as if she were absorbed in her work.

  Amanda hadn’t learned if this was Jerrilee or not.

  She hadn’t caught Jake doing anything that would upset her.

  It was time to go home.

  “Amanda!”

  She turned at the sound of the familiar voice. “Jake?”

  He strode toward her. He was smiling, but it was a weak, tentative smile.

  Had they already run the ballistics tests and found that her gun was a match for the murder weapon?

  He reached her side and extended a handful of mini-size candy bars. “We’ve got a few leftovers from having the neighborhood trick-or-treaters.”

  Amanda accepted his offering with a mental sigh of relief. Much better than an arrest warrant. “Did you have a lot of kids?”

  “Quite a few, and we all got to act like kids for a while. I think everybody enjoyed it, and maybe the kids will stay home and eat the candy we gave them instead of going out and maybe getting in trouble tonight.” He ran a hand through his already-tousled hair. “But I’ve got bad news. A couple of the guys are out with the flu, and we need all the help we can get on the streets since it’s Halloween and a full moon. I may not be able to make it over tonight.”