Justice Betrayed

by Patricia Bradley

  “Thank you. What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?”

  “I haven’t dismissed the possibility that your father may have been the target, instead of you. So, I plan on meeting with him to get a list of cases where someone may have felt he made an unfair ruling.”

  As much as she hated to think someone had sent her ricin, she’d hate even more to think it was meant for the Judge. She walked with Boone to the front door. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

  “No problem. I don’t want your grandmothers after me.”

  If nothing else, she always had Nana and Gran in her corner. “Don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not used to someone helping me.”

  “No kidding.”

  Her face flushed, heating her cheeks. “And while I’m confessing, I want to apologize to you.”

  “About . . .”

  “Thinking the last six months that you were a male chauvinist.”

  “You actually thought that?”

  “Some of the time. Other times I thought you were a micromanager, but these last couple of days have made me realize that you just want the best from your officers.”

  He opened the door. “I thank you for that apology, and I’m sorry you thought otherwise. Maybe I need to make myself clearer, but Iraq wired me to act first and apologize later.”

  “You’ll have to tell me what happened over there someday.”

  For a second, it looked like he quit breathing and his brown eyes darkened to almost black, sending a shiver down her back.

  Then Boone tipped his head slightly. “We’ll see. Make sure you set your alarm.”

  After he closed the door, she listened for his truck to start, hoping he wouldn’t decide to spend the night in her drive. A minute later the motor turned over. He must not think anyone was lurking about now. Relief surprised her. Not that she was certain anyone was out there earlier.

  Even with a dull crime scene textbook from her reading pile, sleep came slowly, bringing dreams of storms and being lost. Rachel didn’t know what woke her, but she jerked upright, sending the book in her hands crashing to the floor.

  Too late for stealth now. She grabbed her pistol from the nightstand and jumped out of bed with her heart jackhammering in her chest. Why wasn’t her alarm screaming? She had set it, hadn’t she?

  She stood at her door, her mouth so dry she couldn’t swallow. Her ears strained for footsteps, movement, anything. Silence enveloped her like a fog. She felt a presence in the house. Rachel grabbed her phone, and her thumb hovered over Boone’s number.

  What if she’d just been dreaming? But something had awakened her. When she heard no other sound, she flung open her bedroom door and fumbled for the light switch in the hall.

  Empty. She crept toward the front door, flipping on lights in each room. She found nothing disturbed. Then she remembered the first months after Corey died, how she would wake up, thinking she’d heard him cough or rattle around in the kitchen.

  Thankful she hadn’t called Boone, she settled on one of the stools at the bar and rubbed her temples. Stress. It did funny things to the body. She needed a good workout. And tomorrow evening she would get it. With a sigh, she stood and checked the alarm. It was on. No one had been in the house. She retraced her steps to the bedroom, checking every door and window to make sure everything was locked down.

  In her spare bedroom, her breath caught. The window was not locked. Call Boone. No. She shook her head. Locked or unlocked, there was no evidence anyone had tried to break in other than her wild imagination.

  She had a fingerprint kit. Why not check the window for prints? Rachel retrieved the kit from her office and dusted the windowsill, feeling more than a little foolish when the sill only had her prints on it. And relieved, she’d have to admit. Still, first thing tomorrow morning she would check outside the window for footprints or other signs someone had been there.

  32

  IT HAD ALMOST BEEN A DONE DEAL. There would never be another opportunity like this one with the unlocked window. But abandoning the plan had been the only option when the light came on in the hallway.

  You are so stupid, you can’t do anything right. You should have waited for her to come into the bedroom and shot her.

  Her father’s voice filled her head.

  “Yeah—like she was coming into the bedroom without her gun. I know what I’m doing. Tomorrow. I’ll take care of her tomorrow.”

  If you don’t and she finds that necklace, prison waits for you.

  Prison. The thought took her breath.

  “I’m not going to prison. Now go away. Don’t bother me.” Of course the voice wouldn’t go away. It’d been a haunting companion for so long.

  He was right, though. So much rode on the necklace that Gabby had worn the night she was murdered. Where could Vic have hidden it after he left Blues & Such Friday night?

  Vic Vegas. This trouble was all because of him. Should have gotten rid of him years ago.

  You should never have let Vic get his hands on the necklace.

  “What was I supposed to do? Cause a scene at the place?” And then he showed it to Randy Culver, who probably was going to die if he hadn’t already. Again, Vic’s fault.

  Your fault. Your fault.

  She pressed her hands over her ears to block the voice. But her father’s voice echoed in her head, mocking her.

  It was not her fault. She closed her eyes. If they had only done what she told them to do. All Gabby had to do was back off from Harrison. And Harrison. She couldn’t let him go to the police. And Vic. If he had left Harrison’s murder alone . . . but after he figured out what happened, he had to die. Should she go see Randy tomorrow? Or take a chance he wouldn’t tell about the necklace? Maybe he wouldn’t remember it.

  She bit her lip. He was still in a coma. But it would look suspicious if she showed up and he died right after she left.

  Gabby’s daughter was the only one who could connect the necklace to her mother’s murder. Which would connect to Harrison. If Rachel thought the two cases were connected, she would not stop until she found every woman who’d ever had contact with Harrison.

  Why couldn’t Rachel just drop the case, like Shirley had asked? She’d done everything in her power to get her taken off the case. Now she had to kill her. But that was certainly preferable to going to prison.

  Boone Callahan made getting close to the detective difficult, but Shirley had a plan to fix it. She’d figured out all she had to do was make the police think the ricin was for the Judge all along. His letter should arrive tomorrow, pulling police attention away from Rachel. The note she’d put in it with the ricin should do the trick.

  Then she’d have the opportunity to get to the detective.

  Won’t do you any good. You’re still going to prison. You forgot about Erin.

  “What about Erin?” she whispered. She’d bumped into the girl in the restroom on Friday night, and Erin had noticed the guitar pendant and asked to see it. “I’m sorry, it’s too hard to get off and on,” Shirley had explained.

  “I saw you kissing Elvis.”

  Her heart had almost stopped when Erin said those words. No way she remembered her from years ago, not after she lost weight and changed her hair. But what Erin said next made Shirley realize the woman did remember her.

  “Oh, Harrison. Do you love me?”

  Shirley’s own voice came from Erin’s mouth. Somehow she’d recognized her voice. Thank goodness no one else had been around, and afterward she’d been so focused on getting rid of Rachel that the incident had slipped her mind. “No one will pay attention to anything Erin says.”

  What if they do?

  “Shut up.” Shirley felt like a juggler with too many plates in the air. One slip and everything could come crashing down. Think. There could be no more mistakes. She licked her lips. Maybe she could get Rachel and Erin together. Take care of both of them at the same time.

  33

  AFTER THE MORNING BRIEFING, Boone went back to his office to
set up a meeting with Judge Winslow. The Judge was on his way to court but agreed to meet on his lunch break at noon. Boone typed it on his phone calendar and set a reminder for eleven thirty. Then he checked with the computer tech who was combing through Vegas’s computer for any files related to Foxx’s death. Nothing there either. He looked up as Rachel stopped outside his door. She looked pale. “You okay?” he asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was eight thirty.

  She held up her hand. “Sorry I’m late, but I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Rachel didn’t have to tell him that. The dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes. “Anything in particular?”

  She blew out a breath. “I don’t know if it was bad dreams or a noise that woke me. I thought someone had broken in.”

  “What?” He should have parked outside her house.

  “It turned out to be nothing.” She wrinkled her nose. “When I checked, I discovered I’d left a window unlocked, but I got my fingerprint kit out and dusted the sill for prints. And checked this morning to make sure no one had been outside the window.”

  “Make sure you don’t leave a window unlocked again.”

  “Don’t worry. When I found I hadn’t locked it, that almost scared me as much as whatever woke me.”

  He remembered the sense that someone had been watching them last night. “You’re sure no one had been outside the window?”

  “As much as I could tell. It hasn’t rained, so the ground was hard. I think after everything that’s happened, I’m just on high alert.”

  So was he. “What do you have planned for today?”

  “I want to touch base with Brad Hollister about Harrison Foxx’s murder—see if he’s looked into it as a cold case—then visit Monica Carpenter. Other than that, maybe interview Jerome Winters again. He was evasive last night, said something about being stoned all the time seventeen years ago.”

  “Let’s start with Brad.” He grabbed the box of files to take with them.

  They found Sgt. Brad Hollister in his office. “Did you have any trouble finding the case on Harrison Foxx?” he asked.

  “No.” Boone handed him the original files that had been photocopied. “Have you looked at it at all?”

  “That’s one we haven’t gotten to yet.”

  “Did you know the investigating officers, Takenaka and Fields?”

  “Afraid not. That was before my time here.” He flipped through the papers and then leaned back in his chair. “You might talk to Harvey Warren. He was working Homicide seventeen years ago, and he’s pretty sharp. Might remember something that will help you.” He scrolled through his cell phone. “Here’s his phone number and address.”

  Brad’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me a minute. I need to take this.”

  When Brad stepped out of the room, Boone texted Warren’s phone number to Rachel. He wanted to talk to Brad without her present. “Why don’t you set up an appointment with Warren? We can interview him this afternoon.”

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t we split up? You have Randy Culver to check on, and didn’t you say you wanted to talk to the Judge? I really don’t want to be in on that one, so while you’re talking to my father, I’ll go see Monica. Then swing by and talk to Sergeant Warren. That way we’ll cover more territory.”

  His chest tightened, then he consciously loosened up. He had to trust her instincts. “Think you’ll be finished by three? We could compare notes over a cup of coffee at the shop around the corner.”

  “I should be,” she said and stood. At the door she turned back. “If I were a male detective, would you have hesitated?”

  Would he? He stared out the small window behind Brad’s desk; the smog was making everything hazy. A frontal system had stagnated over the city, resulting in an orange ozone alert.

  “That’s what I thought. You think I can’t handle the job.”

  “No! It’s not that at all. You’re more than capable.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Boone would have to search inside himself for that answer. He’d worked with female officers before and hadn’t felt this need to protect them. Footsteps neared the door. Brad was returning. “Can we discuss it later?”

  She leveled her hazel eyes at him. “I think we need to.”

  He hated it when life got complicated.

  “I’ll catch you later,” Rachel said to Brad as he came in from the side door.

  After she left, Brad asked, “How’s Rachel handling the ricin incident?”

  “Better than I am. It’s like she’s pushed it on a back burner and is getting on with this case.”

  “You think she can handle it?”

  “Sure. She’s a good detective.”

  Brad raised his eyebrows. “So then are you hovering because she’s a woman?”

  Boone tapped down his irritation. First Rachel, now Brad? “I hover over everyone. You know that. It’s a by-product of Iraq.”

  “You sure it’s not more than that?” The cold-case sergeant leaned back in his chair. “I noticed that you two had a connection when we worked on the case at the Pink Palace together.”

  “Yeah. Like crossing two hot wires and seeing the sparks shoot.”

  “Not what I meant.”

  “I know, but not much way to get around the fact that we’re in the same department, and she’s a detective and I’m a lieutenant. The brass wouldn’t be too happy about that.” Not to mention that boat had left the dock. “You know she beats me in the personal fitness test every time.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Brad said with a laugh. “So what else can I do for you?”

  “There was a burglary/murder seventeen years ago just a few days before Foxx’s murder. The victim was Gabrielle Winslow. I want to take a look at the file before I go see Judge Winslow.”

  “Winslow?” Brad said. “Was she his wife?”

  “Yeah. Also Rachel’s mother.”

  “You’re kidding. I didn’t know that.”

  “Mrs. Winslow knew Harrison Foxx, and her death during what looks like a burglary occurred just days before his. She also knew Vic Vegas, the victim in Saturday’s case. Those are coincidences I’m not comfortable with.”

  “So you think her death may be tied into Foxx’s?”

  “Maybe. And not just Foxx’s but Vegas’s and possibly the attempt on Randy Culver’s life.”

  Brad rose from behind the desk. “I’ll help you find it.”

  It didn’t take long to locate the box with the file, and they returned to Brad’s office to go through it.

  “I see Jason Lancaster was the investigating officer,” Brad said. “And he retired a couple of years ago.”

  “Do you know if he’s still around?”

  “Let me check with personnel, but if he’s deceased, Warren would be a good one to ask about this case too.”

  While Brad checked on Lancaster, Boone scanned the sergeant’s notes on the case. Unfortunately they were scanty. He’d run into two types of detectives. Those who wrote lengthy reports with their own opinion of a case and those who did not. Lancaster fell into the latter category.

  Brad returned the phone to its cradle. “He’s around and works as a security officer at the Med.” He pushed a piece of paper toward Boone. “Here’s his phone number.”

  “Perfect.” He punched in the number, and Lancaster answered on the second ring. Boone explained who he was and what he wanted. “You wouldn’t happen to be at the Med now, would you? I’d like to discuss the Winslow case with you.”

  “Sure am, but I’m not due for a break for another hour. Why don’t I meet you out front then?”

  “Great.” Boone hooked his phone on his belt and grabbed the files. “I need to go over this before I meet with him. Thanks for your help.”

  “Sure thing. Let me know if I can do anything else.”

  Boone assured him he would and took the files back to his office. When it was time to leave for the Med, he hadn’t found a connection between the two murders. So why
did his intuition say otherwise? Maybe Lancaster could give him some answers.

  His cell phone rang as he walked to the elevator. “Hello?”

  “This is Randy Culver’s nurse at the Med. I told you I’d call when he was awake, and while he’s still drowsy, I think he can talk to you.”

  “I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.” Finally, maybe he would get a few answers.

  34

  IN THE PARKING GARAGE, Rachel dialed Sergeant Warren’s number, explained what she wanted, and asked if she could drop by later in the morning. The retired detective acted eager to help. Then she backed her car out of the slot and exited the garage.

  Once Rachel turned on Poplar, she glanced in her rearview mirror, half expecting to see Boone tailing her. She appreciated his concern. To a point. She tried to think if the roles were reversed if she’d hover over him. No. She trusted him to be competent and aware of his surroundings. A shot of anger burned her. That meant he didn’t trust her even though he denied it.

  Or . . . something had happened in his past that made him overly cautious. He’d mentioned Iraq, and once, when Rachel complained to Brad Hollister that Boone was micromanaging her, Brad told her that Boone had lost someone under his command.

  Rachel would like to know a little more about that, but he always evaded any discussion about his time in Iraq. It must have been really hard for him. The memory of the heated gaze he’d given her yesterday at Nana’s tripped her heart. On second thought, maybe she didn’t need to know more about him.

  At the condo complex, she parked in the space beside Monica’s car. It was after nine, but once again the curtains were drawn. Surely she wasn’t sleeping. Rachel rang the doorbell and was poised to ring it again when Monica opened the door. No, not sleeping, as she was dressed in a coral shell and white pants. And the oversized glasses were in place, magnifying the fine lines around her eyes. She looked every bit her fifty-plus years.

  “What do you want now?”

  “I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”