Killer Amnesia: Faith In The Face 0f Crime

by Sherri Shackelford

  Time had a way of loosening people’s tongues. Relationships often broke down over the years, severing old alliances. Sometimes people simply tired of carrying the burden of a secret. Someone who may have clammed up twenty years ago might be itching to set the record straight.

  Bishop’s brother had been dating the victim, and Emma wanted to speak with the local historian about the murder. That kept things interesting. Too bad the sheriff wasn’t living in town around that time. Garner had a mind like a steel trap.

  Emma seemed to be concentrating, absorbing the information with equal focus. “You should be the town historian, Blanche, you know everyone.”

  “Not everyone. But you stick around one place long enough, you get to know people. That’s what I like about living in Redbird. I never feel like I’m alone. I’m always running into someone I know. Mind you, not everyone likes that part of living in a small town.” She cast a withering glance in Liam’s direction. “But you’re getting used to it, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” he reluctantly conceded. “I’m even starting to like the old place.”

  “It grows on you,” she said.

  “Like a wart,” he joked.

  The three of them laughed. Leave it to Mrs. Slattery to bring that up. For a guy accustomed to living in the shadows, the first few weeks in town had been a shock. As the days had turned into months, he’d come to see the benefits.

  There were situations where familiarity was an asset. Vice cops tended to be battering rams rather than peacemakers. His time in Redbird had revealed a skill set he hadn’t known he possessed. Most of his current job revolved around helping people, and he hadn’t expected the satisfaction that came from that sort of work.

  Though initially frustrated by the petty disputes of fences encroaching on property lines and phantom prowlers, he’d come to recognize the complex issues simmering beneath the surface. He had a previously untapped instinct for mediation. Disputes were often a symptom of a deeper problem, and he was learning to dig beneath the surface for the root of the animosity.

  Six months ago, he’d never have believed he’d be interested in the inner workings and history of a small town in Texas, but he was fascinated by the lesson. Emma appeared equally enthralled.

  “Hard to believe we were all young once, isn’t it?” Mrs. Slattery shook her head. “Some days I feel like I’m still in my thirties, and some days I feel like I’ve been old forever. I knew Sheriff Garner’s mother, Ruth. Salt of the earth, that woman. That’s why I always remember the day of Missy’s murder. It was Ruth’s sixtieth birthday. The sheriff’s older brother organized the party.”

  “Sheriff Garner has an older brother?”

  “Yes. The brothers didn’t get along. The sheriff didn’t even come to the party. Good thing, too. Those two were likely to brawl. Although I haven’t seen the brother in years. I think he moved to Tampa. Anyway, I was sorry when Ruth passed, but I’m glad Sheriff Garner came home. He took real good care of her before she died.” Blanche stood and opened a cupboard, then frowned. “Now that’s odd. Liam, did you move the sugar bowl?”

  “Nope.”

  “Humph.” She shrugged and started to close the cupboard door, then paused. “Here it is. Never mind. I must have moved it and forgot. Been doing that a lot lately. Getting old isn’t for sissies.”

  Liam added more names to his list of suspects. In Bishop’s last bid for the sheriff’s office, he’d bragged about being on the force for over twenty years. How involved had he been in Missy’s murder investigation? That must have been sticky, considering his brother’s involvement with the victim. The sheriff’s brother had been in town, as well. Any one of them might have a reason to hide evidence, but only Bishop had the opportunity.

  Emma seemed to be processing the information, as well. She studied her plate, her brow furrowed, her index finger tapping against the table.

  “What about Deputy Bishop’s brother?” Liam asked. “The one who was dating Missy. What happened to him?”

  Boyfriends and family members were always the first suspects. There must have been a reason Bishop’s brother was eliminated, which should be noted in the case file. Except small towns weren’t always known for meticulous record keeping. And there was always the chance someone close to the case had gotten to the files first.

  “Grant Bishop moved back to town about the same time as the sheriff did. He and his wife run an antiques shop in the town square. Their prices are too high, if you ask me, but Grant has a good eye for furniture.”

  The rush of starting a new case got Liam’s blood pumping. The first chance he got, he vowed to piece together a time line of the killing along with the people involved. He’d also need more information on Bishop’s brother. He’d check and see if Grant had shown up on any law enforcement radars over the years. He’d track down the sheriff’s brother while he was at it.

  Who knew what sorts of jealousies were simmering beneath the surface all those years ago?

  “For such a small town,” Emma said, “Redbird has its share of drama.”

  “I think most towns are like that,” Mrs. Slattery said. “Doesn’t matter how small. You put three people together, and there’s bound to be trouble sooner or later. That’s the nature of man.”

  On the surface, Redbird seemed like a run-of-the-mill community with a church on every corner and a smile on every face. It didn’t take too much digging to come up with secrets and lies.

  Mrs. Slattery stood and turned toward the sink. “Anyone want any coffee?”

  “I’ll take some,” Liam said. “Thank you.”

  He’d taken some aspirin for his bumps and bruises, but he’d spent a restless night tossing and turning. The few times he’d dozed off, he’d rolled onto his sore arm and woken himself up again.

  “None for me.” Emma rested her chin on her palm. “Do you think there’s any evidence left from the case?”

  Liam ran his hand down his face. He hadn’t been able to gauge her reaction this morning. She’d seemed tongue-tied, and he didn’t know if that was a good or a bad sign. As a teenager, he’d done his fair share of primping in front of a mirror. As an adult, he hadn’t given much thought to his looks. He chose his clothes and his facial hair to blend in. Glancing down, he brushed the front of his shirt. He’d been wearing basically the same thing for the past week. Maybe it was time to shake it up.

  “The case,” Emma prodded, her expression telling him she’d asked more than once while he pondered his lack of wardrobe. “Do you have access to the old case files?”

  “There should be something in storage.” He had a bad feeling they were going to come up empty. From what he’d seen over the past six months, file storage wasn’t a priority for the county sheriff’s office. “I’ll ask Rose to pull the files.”

  DNA evidence had overturned plenty of murders in recent years. There was always a chance the man convicted of killing Missy was telling the truth about his innocence. Either way, the case was worth a second look. Especially with Bishop’s family showing up in the mix.

  His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the number.

  Time slowed, and he fought to calm his pulse and keep his expression neutral.

  The US Marshals were making contact.

  The next instant, his temper flared. After six months of letting him dangle in the wind with no information, he was supposed to drop everything and do their bidding. He had a case; he had responsibilities. How was he going to explain his absence to Emma? Who did he trust to follow up the case?

  The irony was that six days ago, he’d have leaped at the chance to leave and never looked back.

  Turned out, dying was easy. Staying dead was the hard part.

  * * *

  With her memory almost fully intact, the business of living took precedence. Emma discovered that near-fatal car accidents were expensive and filled with paperwork.

>   Feeling lost without her electronic devices, she’d ordered a new laptop and she and Liam had replaced her phone. The moment the young polo-clad clerk at the store had connected her account with her new phone, a series of text messages had scrolled down the screen to a slot-machine cacophony of notifications.

  For over an hour she’d painstakingly replied to messages, calling the most frantic friends and apologizing for her slow response to others. With the people she phoned, she’d downplayed the seriousness of the accident, mentioning only that she’d had to replace her electronics.

  Explaining the same story over and over again while assuring people she was healthy and fine had left her oddly exhausted.

  “Life is far less complicated when you don’t remember anything.” She laughed. “I have nearly two hundred emails to sort through.”

  When she could no longer avoid the inevitable, she directed Liam to take her home. If he thought her reluctance odd, he kept his own counsel. Since seeing the pictures her attacker had taken of her leaving her house, she’d been reluctant to return alone. The place that should have been her haven no longer felt safe.

  Liam parked his SUV on a tree-lined boulevard and gestured. “Here we are.”

  Angling her head, she studied the two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch and cupola.

  She’d seen the property for sale online and had been drawn to the pictures immediately. The Realtor had done his best to show the house at an advantage, downplaying the peeling wallpaper and the stained linoleum in the kitchen. None of that had mattered. She’d done her research on the town. After a weekend visit, she’d decided to proceed.

  Her stepbrother had advised her against the purchase. He’d said the house was a money pit, and that she didn’t know anything about home renovation. He was right. She’d ordered an inspection anyway. The house had “solid bones,” the inspector had said, and the difficulties between her and Jordan had started long before she’d purchased the house anyway.

  She glanced around, hardly aware she was approaching the front door until Liam called for her to wait.

  He retrieved his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Something in his expression told her the call was important.

  “I have to take this,” he said.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” He held the phone to his ear and gestured. “This shouldn’t take long. Don’t go inside without me. I want to check out the house first.”

  “Okay.”

  He turned and strode a few paces down the sidewalk, his body language tense. She circled around the house and tested the locked back door to give him some privacy. Despite his protests, she sensed he was upset about the call.

  After making her way to the front of the house once more, she took the shallow porch stairs and tented her hand against the window, unable to see through the shuttered blinds. Pacing the distance, she caught sight of Liam, his back turned, one hand braced against the hood of his police vehicle.

  On impulse, she retrieved her keys from her pocket. While she appreciated his caution, she doubted there was any need to worry.

  She let herself inside and paused just over the threshold. Her hand automatically pressed against the light switch. There was no furniture in the front room, which left the partially stripped wood floors exposed. An electric sander, rags and a gallon of floor stain were neatly stacked in the corner. The can had been left open, stinging her nose with a pungent, chemical smell. She knew without a shadow of doubt that she’d never be that careless. Not to mention the house was freezing. The ancient thermostat on the wall just inside the entry was set to sixty degrees, the lowest the dial could be set. Another oddity.

  She shivered and rubbed her upper arms. The living room was overflowing with boxes and books, forming a short wall before the exposed brick fireplace. The kitchen was situated near the back of the house, down a hallway.

  Moving to the right, she entered the living room.

  Her pulse jerked. This was wrong. This was all wrong.

  The house was a disaster.

  She knelt and grasped a crumpled paper. Someone had ripped open every single box in the room and scattered the contents over the floor. She stared blankly at the disorder.

  Her whole body trembled. He’d been here. She was certain this was the work of her stalker. He’d rifled through her belongings.

  Slowly maneuvering around the debris, she made her way to the parlor. She planned on turning the space into her office and had already positioned her desk before the enormous windows looking out over the front lawn.

  A man’s shoe rested on the floor. She took a cautious step forward. There was no reason for a man’s shoe to be in her house.

  Scooting around the desk, she glanced down.

  Her mind went blank, and for a moment she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. Gasping, she backed away. Her world went dark around the edges, and she swayed.

  An older, heavyset man lay sprawled on the floor between the stack of boxes and the empty fireplace. He appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies, with wispy gray hair. His pale gray eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.

  Liam’s footsteps approached and his voice sounded behind her. “Why is it so cold in here—” He broke off, his attention snagged by the body. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “I haven’t.” She gestured vaguely. “The light switch. That was all.”

  “Are you all right?” His hands closed over her shoulders. “You’re shivering. Do you want to step outside? A lot of people are distraught by seeing a dead body. Don’t feel bad.”

  “I’m fine.” Her nerves were electrified, and her focus sharpened. She took in the layout of the room and the placement of the body. “The living are far more frightening to me than the dead.”

  She had a knack for analyzing crime scenes. She’d spent years of her life staring at the photos and looking for clues, although nothing had prepared her for the real thing. Swallowing back the bile churning in her stomach, she forced herself to analyze the details.

  “He was lured here,” she said.

  Discovering the surveillance photos of herself had nearly broken her. This was different. Murder was her life’s work. She was far more comfortable with analysis than she was with being a victim—even if the man’s unseeing eyes did give her the chills.

  “I don’t follow.” Liam’s expression was quizzical.

  “The doors were locked. I checked just now. He’s not a small man and he’s no spring chicken. He didn’t shimmy in through a window. He was invited in.”

  She took a halting step forward.

  Liam held up a restraining hand. “Hang on a second.” He snagged a wad of surgical gloves from the pouch at his waist. “Put these on, just in case.”

  She expertly donned the gloves, her muscle memory performing the act with neat precision. She’d handled evidence from cases in the past, though never this immediately. All those hours of piecing together the last moment of a victim’s life had given her certain insights and instincts.

  “The killer was probably standing a little to your right,” she said. “Where he wouldn’t be visible from the door. The victim walked in and was struck from behind.” Monitoring her breathing to keep calm, she examined the ceiling. “There’s blood spatter from the blow. No obvious sign of a murder weapon. The victim never saw what hit him. He may not have died right away, but he never regained consciousness. There’s no blood smears around the body.”

  Liam knelt and examined the area. “He’s not in rigor mortis. That means he’s been dead no longer than twelve, maybe twenty-four hours.”

  “Who is it? Do you recognize him?”

  “No. Let’s take a look.”

  A second later Liam straightened, a leather wallet in his hands.

  He retrieved the man’s identification, and his eyes wid
ened. “Artie Druckerman.”

  “Artie?” Unable to move the body without disturbing the evidence, she circled around for a better look at his face. “The poor man.”

  “If only we could tell how long he’s been here.”

  “The killer wanted the house cold to preserve the body. There’s an open can of floor stripper. He didn’t want the neighbors...”

  “Noticing the smell.” Liam gave a curt nod, and she sensed his admiration. “Anything to buy more time.”

  “He didn’t think I was coming home anytime soon.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Stay here. For real, this time. I doubt the killer is still in the house, but I have to check.”

  Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she waited impatiently for his return.

  His footsteps sounded on the second floor, and a few minutes later he reappeared again. “It’s clear. The sheriff isn’t going to be happy with this turn of events.”

  He made the necessary calls, rattling off the pertinent details of the crime scene.

  Liam stowed his phone and glanced around the room. “We don’t have much time. In a few minutes, this place is going to be overrun by the Redbird police. There’s the chief, the sergeant and four officers. My guess, they’re all going to show up to get a gander at a murder scene. If we’re going to save any evidence, we have to work fast. Whoever murdered Artie was looking for something. If we know what that is, it will help the investigation. Do you have a computer? A laptop or a tablet or something?”

  She snapped her fingers. “Yes! On the desk.”

  He circled around the body and searched. “There’s nothing here. I checked around the rest of the house and didn’t see anything. We have to get you out of here before the evidence team arrives. Take a good look now. See if there’s anything else missing.”

  “There are files missing.” She pointed to an open shelf. “There were books and files on that shelf, and they’re all gone.”