She wanted to believe him, but he’d never let anything stand in the way of his career. She tried to think back to the night her mother had been buried. Was her father home all night? She couldn’t remember.
He leaned forward. “Are you going to the DA with this?”
Indecision must have shown on her face.
“If you do, it’ll ruin my nomination. Is that what you want to do? Ruin me?”
Did she? She stood and refilled her coffee cup.
“I thought we’d gotten past whatever problems we had after your mother died.”
She stared at him. “How could we? You never acknowledged that we had a problem. It was always, ‘Buck up, Rachel. Winslows don’t cry.’”
His shoulders sagged. “I was trying to make you stronger, but I realize now that was the wrong way to do it.”
The fragment of a memory broke free from the dark corners of her mind. “I need my dad! Let him move back home!” Mom, shaking her head. “I can’t, honey.” Then it was gone. “You should have been there that night! Were you with your girlfriend?”
She clapped her hand over her mouth. But it was too late. The words, trapped inside her for seventeen years, had spewed from her mouth like a volcano.
Her father jerked back as though she’d slapped him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Why would you think I had a girlfriend? I never, ever cheated on your mother. Yes, I worked long hours, and she once accused me of my career being my mistress, but there was never another woman.”
She faltered in her certainty. Was it possible she’d gotten it wrong? Her father wasn’t faking the shock that registered on his face. Or the sincerity in his voice. Her knees threatened to buckle. All these years, she’d believed a lie about him. There’d been no girlfriend. What else had she gotten wrong? “I . . . I’m really so sorry. I thought you were hiding something and that was the reason you avoided me.”
“It’s all right.” He exhaled a long breath. “I wasn’t there for you, and yeah, sometimes I even avoided you . . . but I felt so guilty for not being there.”
“I thought you blamed me for not being there.”
“Oh no, Rachel, I never blamed you. You were just a teenager—you couldn’t have done anything. I was glad you weren’t there. If I’d lost you too . . .” He shook his head. “Adults can be so stupid sometimes.”
He’d never blamed her? All these years she’d believed he had. Her heart pounded against her ribs.
“I should have come home anyway, even though Gabby said no.”
His words penetrated her thoughts.
She rubbed her forehead, remembering Mom and Dad talking backstage . . .
“I’ve changed, Gabby. No more long hours. We’ll take a trip, just the three of us, a month if you want it.”
“Lucien, I’m just not ready.”
“You know there’s no one else.”
Her mom nodded. “Just your work.”
And then her dad had left.
He had tried. Why had she not remembered that? Another memory hung on the edge of her consciousness, but she couldn’t pull it out. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted all these years,” she said.
“It wasn’t your fault. We should have had counseling. It’s not too late, you know.”
If she could find her mother’s killer, she wouldn’t need counseling. She stood. “We’ll see. In the meantime, I have a couple of murders to solve.”
“Of course.”
Their gazes collided, the unspoken question hanging between them.
The Judge straightened his shoulders. “If you want, I’ll tell Boone what happened that night with Harrison. Should’ve done it seventeen years ago and trusted God to make it turn out right.”
“That would have taken a lot of faith,” Rachel said. More than she possessed.
“More than I had at the time. When you don’t do the right thing, it always comes back to bite you.” His lips quirked in a rueful smile. “But the timing couldn’t have been worse then, or so I thought.”
He had a lot more to lose now. “Let me think about it.”
Her father stood and started to put his arm around her. Instead, he let his hand fall to his side. “I . . . I don’t tell you often enough, but I’m proud of you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them back. “Thanks.”
They stood in awkward silence. Impulsively, she slipped her arm around his waist and hugged him, and was surprised when he leaned into the hug.
“We don’t do that often enough, either,” he said, his voice husky.
“Must be the British in us.”
“Don’t blame a whole country for our incompetence. How about we go to dinner tomorrow night and celebrate your birthday?”
A smile curved her lips. “I’d love that—oh! Wait. I’m going to the candlelight vigil with Erin. Maybe Wednesday night?”
It would be a new start for them. Rachel hugged him again. She’d waited a long time for his approval. So why did a dark cloud still hang over her?
42
BOONE LOOKED UP as Rachel came into the conference room. He was concerned that she hadn’t gotten more information from Terri. Yeah, he’d said the chat was unofficial, but how hard had Rachel tried? Asking difficult questions could be a problem when a case involved friends and family. He was already second-guessing his decision to let her stay on the case. “How was your dad?”
An expression he couldn’t read crossed Rachel’s face as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Better. Getting used to a bodyguard.”
He nodded his understanding and tried Terri Morrow’s number for the third time. This time it went straight to voicemail, and he hung up. He’d left one message already. “Your friend Terri doesn’t answer.”
“Probably turned her phone off.”
“At eight thirty?”
“I told you she had a migraine.”
“And she didn’t tell you anything about her husband?”
“Not really. She didn’t know the ricin was inactive . . . but she did know that if it came from the cancer institute, it would have lost its potency.” Rachel massaged the back of her neck. “You don’t really think she had anything to do with sending the poison, do you?”
“She was there Saturday night and found the package. Maybe she didn’t ‘find’ it, but was the one who brought it.” Terri Morrow had means and opportunity to obtain the ricin. But why would she wait all these years to use it? “I’ve been thinking about motive for the ricin. I talked to Steve Lock earlier. If your dad is the target, it possibly could stem from the case he’s presiding over now . . . other than it, nothing else jumped out at him. I’m focusing on you being the target.”
“But why me?”
“That’s the million-dollar question. Been sitting here for the last hour, trying to put myself in this person’s head, and I keep coming back to one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“What if there’s something about this case that links all three murders? And what if it’s something only you would know? Maybe the person didn’t know ricin lost its potency or maybe they only wanted you off the case and thought a threat on your life would be enough.”
“Has that ever happened? Putting someone on leave because of a death threat?”
“Depends on how the threat affects an officer. If it compromises their ability to function, yeah, he or she would go on leave.”
She grinned at him. “So you thought I was stable enough to stay on the job.”
“I figured World War III would break out if I tried to take you off,” he shot back. “Maybe the killer thought it’d shake you up and you’d take yourself off. So what do you know that the killer is afraid of?”
Rachel shook her head. “I wish I knew.”
Boone’s cell phone rang, and he answered. It was Culver’s nurse at the Med.
“I told you I’d call if he improved enough for you to ask him questions,” she said. “And he said he
was willing to talk to you.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right there.” He pocketed his phone. “Culver can talk to us.”
Randy Culver was sitting in a chair when they walked into his room.
“You’re looking better than you were earlier,” Boone said.
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck. At least my head is a little clearer, but I still don’t remember much about the night I collapsed.” His gaze shifted to Rachel and he smiled. “I certainly remember you.”
Her mouth twitched, and Boone figured she was struggling not to say anything snarky as she took out a notepad.
“Do you know who sent the basket?” she asked.
“What basket?”
It was clear Culver would be no help in the case. “Someone brought you a basket with fancy bottled water in it contaminated with Humulin R U-500,” Boone said.
Culver swallowed hard. “That insulin is five times stronger than my normal medicine. Why . . . ?”
“That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me. And also how insulin five times stronger than your normal insulin got in your Lantus bottle.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have a clue, and since I’ve been using the vial I drew out of Saturday night, it didn’t come that way from the pharmaceutical company.” He bit his bottom lip, and then his shoulders slumped. “Someone really tried to kill me, didn’t they?”
“I’m afraid so. Do you know of any enemies you might have?”
“No, not unless it’s one of the other performers, and I just don’t see that happening. None of those guys would try to kill me. I really wish I could help you,” he said. His gaze slid past Boone. “I hope that coffee is for me.”
Boone turned. Monica Carpenter stood in the doorway.
“Goodness, I run up to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee, and you get all kinds of company,” she said brightly from the doorway. Tonight the oversized glasses dangled around her neck, but her hair was pulled back in the customary bun. “What do you wish you could help them with?”
Monica entered the room, nodding to him, and then shot an odd look at Rachel, who quickly looked away.
“I can’t remember anything about Saturday night and I don’t know anyone who wants me dead. Is that my coffee?” Culver asked, glancing toward the nurse’s station.
“No. I had you a cup, but”—she nodded toward the RN outside the room—“she confiscated it.”
Culver groaned.
“Sorry. It’s not that good, anyway.” Then she smiled. “But I have some good news for you. While I was downstairs, the head of the Supreme Elvis contest called. The committee approved for you to compete this weekend, if you’re able. Do you think you’ll be released by then?”
Culver’s face lit up. “You’re kidding. Doc said I ought to be out of here in a couple of days if I keep improving.”
While Monica and Culver discussed the contest, Boone noticed Rachel had grown quieter. Probably thinking they were wasting their time here and wanted to get back to the CJC. Well, so did he.
“We’re going to clear out of here,” Boone said. “If you start remembering anything, would you give us a call?”
Culver looked away from Monica. “Sure, but I asked the doc, and he didn’t think I’d remember anything more.”
“Thanks for trying,” Boone said and shook the singer’s hand. “I’ll check back with you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be here,” he said. “And I wish I could’ve helped. Vic was a nice guy.”
“Yeah, me too.” He turned to Rachel. “If you’re ready?”
“Sure.”
Rachel was wound tight as a drum. He could feel the tension radiating from her as she followed him out of the room.
“What do you think she wants from him?” she said when they were out of earshot.
“Why do you think she wants something?”
“That woman doesn’t do anything without a payback.”
“What happened when you went to visit her today?” he asked as they walked out the hospital doors.
Rachel stiffened. “Nothing.”
“You sure? Your attitude toward her has changed.”
Her shoulders drooped. “I’m just tired. And I’d hoped Culver would remember something. As soon as we get to the office, I want to check the video feed again. Maybe I’ll see something new.”
When they walked out of the hospital, a halo circled the full moon that rose over the city. The air was thick with humidity, making the ninety-degree temperature even stickier. He wished the cool front that had been promised would blast through, breaking the heat wave that gripped the area. Even more, he wished they’d get a break in this case.
“Ever regret becoming a cop?” he asked.
“Oh no. Never. How about you?”
“Nope. Even now, when nothing falls into place.” Boone took her arm to guide her around a raised crack in the sidewalk and looked down at her, expecting an I’ve-got-this expression but encountering an amused smile instead.
“You never did tell me why you left the army for the police department,” she said.
His heart skipped a beat. She had a way of catching him off guard. A car backfired, and for a second he was in Iraq again, pinned down by enemy gunfire as he cradled Cpl. Stacie Bragg in his arms.
Had to get her out of there. Another round of gunfire pinpointed the enemy’s location thirty yards ahead behind a brick fence. They’d walked right into their trap. Only one way out.
He handed the corporal off to the medic. “Give me cover,” he shouted to the three other soldiers behind him. When their guns burst to life, he ran forward as he pulled the pin on his grenade and tossed it over the fence. Then he dived for cover . . .
“Boone, are you okay?”
Rachel’s voice jerked him back to the present. He was standing on a sidewalk in Memphis, not in Mosul. Boone took in a ragged breath. “Uh, yeah.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” he said gruffly. “For a second I was back in Iraq.”
“Do you do that often?”
“Not so much anymore. What did you ask me?”
“I wanted to know why you became a policeman, but if it bothers you, forget it.”
“Thanks.” They walked another block in silence before he decided he owed her an explanation. “The war was awful, especially that last year. So many soldiers were lost to IEDs or snipers. I’d managed to keep my group together until . . .” He paused to take a breath. “One night we were in Mosul, evacuating a building under fire, and I didn’t listen to that inner voice. You get so used to danger that you question your judgment. I didn’t see the attack coming that killed one of my soldiers. It was at the end of my tour and I couldn’t take any more losses.”
“So you came home.”
He nodded. “But I was restless. I had all this training and a degree in criminal justice. I thought if I could catch the bad guys . . .”
“You could redeem your losses in Iraq,” she said.
The haunted look in her eyes stopped him. “Yeah. Like you’re trying to do with your mom.”
43
PAIN SHOT FROM RACHEL’S NECK to her shoulders. She paused the surveillance video from Friday night and looked away from the screen while she blinked moisture back into her eyes. There just had to be a frame that would give them a lead on Vic’s case.
She’d struck a nerve with Boone tonight, but at least now she knew what drove him. The same thing that drove her. Rachel hadn’t realized it until she saw it in him. They’d both survived when others hadn’t. And they both felt they could have done more.
She pushed the thought away as a dull throb started in the back of her head. Rachel checked her watch and massaged the knotted muscles in her neck. It was no wonder she was tense—she’d been hunched over her computer for over an hour.
“You okay?” Boone asked.
“Yeah. Just taking a break.” She stood and paced in front of the table. “There has to be something on these videos
that will break this case.”
Boone’s cell rang, and while he talked, she stretched her back.
“That was Monica Carpenter,” he said when he disconnected. “She was at the desk asking to see us. I told them to send her on up, that I’d meet her at the elevator.”
Rachel’s stomach flipped. “Monica?”
She could be here for only one reason. Rachel willed Monica to walk out the front door instead of taking the elevator to the eleventh floor. But that didn’t happen. In less than two minutes, Monica Carpenter walked through the conference room door with Boone.
“Have a seat,” Boone said as he leaned against the edge of the table.
“Is Randy Culver okay?” Rachel asked.
Monica took the seat Boone indicated. “He’s fine. I’m not here about him—I wanted to discuss what we talked about earlier today.”
No. Not now. Not in front of Boone.
“Go ahead,” he said with a sharp glance toward Rachel. “I’d be interested to know what you two talked about.”
“Did you ask your father about the argument with Harrison?” Monica adjusted the oversized glasses.
Rachel found it hard to breathe.
“What argument?” Boone turned to Rachel again and questioned her with his eyes.
Monica glanced at Boone, then back to Rachel. “You haven’t told him? I thought surely you had. I’m sorry.”
Rachel doubted that.
“What is she talking about?” Boone demanded.
Pressure built in her chest until Rachel thought it would explode. “We, ah . . .” She couldn’t get the words past her lips.
Boone turned to Monica. “Would you mind explaining?”
The older woman glanced toward Rachel and then shrugged. “After Gabby Winslow’s funeral, I overheard Harrison and Judge Winslow arguing. Harrison threatened to go to the police, said he had proof that the Judge killed his wife.”
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