Mason unbuckled his seatbelt just as my cellphone started ringing. He didn’t even protest to practically being babysat. He asked, “Mom, they’re going to catch who killed that lady, right?”
The odds were looking slim but I said, “They’ll try their best.”
I kissed my son goodbye and watched my sister meet him at the door when I finally answered my phone.
Gemma said, “You want to know the truth about Frank Lowe?”
Everything went still. Why was Gemma Love calling me about Frank Lowe? “I do.”
“Meet me in ten minutes.” She gave me the address. “And come alone.”
Chapter Seventy-One
Gemma Love made me believe she’d found something that I needed to see. I didn’t know much beyond that, but the sound in her voice made me believe it was worth the risk.
Was it a break in the case to the murders haunting King? I hoped so, but it might just be another one of her and Walker’s traps to test my skills.
I exited the highway and turned my wheels into a mostly empty Wal-Mart parking lot. The bright blue and white signs illuminated the entrance as I circled around to the northwest corner where Gemma was parked. Pulling up next to her, she powered down her window.
“I need to make this quick,” Gemma said. “If Walter finds out I’m here—”
“What did you want to show me?” I asked, not feeling empathetic toward her.
“You were interested to know why Walter connected your article to Frank Lowe’s murders?”
My suspicions were high but I played along. “I am.”
“It’s all in here.” Gemma handed over a thick folder bound by a thread. “It’s not the first time Denver detectives got a case wrong.”
There it was. The reason Walker had attached my article to Frank Lowe’s murders. Hiding my excitement, I put my hand out my window and retrieved the heavy stack of papers. Flipping on the dome light, I opened it up and caught a few glimpses of what was inside before I asked, “How can I trust you?”
Gemma pursed her lips. “My word isn’t good enough for you?”
I gave her an arched look. I wasn’t amused. She’d given me about a dozen reasons not to trust her—Walker another dozen himself. One corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk before she handed me another damning piece of evidence.
“We’re not playing games with you, Samantha.”
Except they were. I took the flimsy postcard sized picture between my fingers and brought it into the light. Adrenaline pumped through me. It was a clear shot of Angelina lighting a small paper bag on fire on Erin’s front porch.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I said, looking Gemma in the eye. “For all I know, you could be working together.”
“Trust me.” Gemma’s eyes glimmered. “I wish we were. It would have made this investigation a hell of a lot easier on me.” Gemma put her car in gear and, just before she drove away, she said, “Go easy on Detective King. It won’t be easy for him to learn his father was a fraud.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Erin had barely touched her beer since I handed over the files Gemma gave to me not more than an hour ago. She left us with a heap of discovery to sift through and I still hadn’t made sense of all. But I was beginning to see why she seemed nervous to share it with me. If this report proved to be true, it was enough to knock this town off its axis.
Erin fingered the photo of Angelina lighting a paper bag on her front porch and said, “I’m going to kill her myself.” We locked eyes—the shared intensity buzzing in our ears. “She could have burned down my house.”
I didn’t disagree. “But why were they watching her? That’s what I want to know.”
Erin turned her palms to the ceiling. “If this is what Walker wanted us to investigate from the very beginning, why keep it a secret until now?”
I picked up a paper on Frank Lowe and held it out in front of me as I asked myself the same question I’d been mulling over since my ride here. My mind filed through the different cold cases Walker presented to us, and I reflected back on our first dinner meeting and how our involvement was about getting after some unspoken truth. Was this the truth they were after? It certainly seemed so.
“Something happened to make Gemma want to talk,” I said.
Erin was looking down at the paper when she asked, “Did you know about any of this before now?”
I knew Frank Lowe was convicted of a brutal crime in the late 1990s, and despite his DNA not matching evidence found at the crime scene, he was still convicted based on a theory that multiple people were involved in the crime. That arrest sealed Marshall King’s legacy. What I hadn’t known, and what Gemma’s report was suggesting, was that Frank Lowe was coerced and pressured by investigators, members of the Denver police department I assumed included Marshall King.
“This has to be why Walker is so interested,” I said, holding up the paper on Frank Lowe.
Erin pointed to a black strip over the text. “You think it could be Marshall King whose name is redacted?”
“It has to be,” I said. “Everything they’ve been showing us has been about Alex King. Why would this be any different?”
Erin read from the report. “Victims hands were swabbed for DNA but never tested?”
We locked eyes. “Strange, right?”
It was unclear why the evidence was never tested at the time, but then Erin said what we were both thinking. “I smell a cover-up of some sort.”
I gripped the table’s edge and pushed my shoulders back into the seat. “That is, if the report can be verified.”
“But it might also explain our killer’s motive.”
Which had me thinking the killer was someone inside the department. Someone who knew both Marshall King and Alex King’s past. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? That could also explain why Dawson said the image of Marty was given by someone from the top. They were trying to throw us off the mark. But what would this person do if they found out we were on to them? I didn’t want to know.
“The question then becomes,” Erin asked, “can you trust Gemma Love?”
I wasn’t sure I could, but what choice did I have? I caught sight of Susan making her way to the table when I said, “Only way to find out is to confront Angelina about why she left that note for King.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
After Susan introduced her friends, Hazel and Tristan, she asked, “Where’s Allison?”
Now that Susan was here, our group didn’t feel complete without her. I’d tried calling her, but wasn’t surprised she hadn’t answered—or messaged back—since we knew Marty was in custody. I just hoped Allison didn’t blame me for what happened to him, but my article made it hard not to.
“You haven’t heard?” Erin tipped forward. Susan shook her head no. “Her cousin was picked up by the cops for Avery’s murder.”
“That was him?” Susan flipped her gaze over to me. “Samantha, you got Allison’s cousin arrested?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said, hovering my hand over the folder Gemma gave me.
Tristan produced today’s newspaper and everyone started looking at it. All I could think about was a possible cover-up and how the image everyone was now talking about was likely provided by someone at the top of our local government. If this really was about King’s father, why remind Alex about his own shortcomings?
“Well, that’s not exactly true.” Erin gave me a sideways glance. “Allison did call to tell you her cousin was in the park last night.”
Hazel asked, “Commons Park?”
I nodded, not liking where this conversation was heading.
Tristan arched a brow at Susan. “Maybe now that the police have made an arrest the marathon has a chance to go on as planned?”
“It’s too late,” she said, letting us know that they were coming from the police station and Chief Watts had cancelled the marathon. “They broke the news to us less than an hour ago.”
“We were just there, too,” Erin
said.
“Really? Because of this?” Susan glanced to the newspaper.
I said, “Mason was in the park last night.”
Susan gasped. “Was he arrested?”
I shook my head, sharing that he was with friends playing basketball. “Only questioned. But he found Avery.”
“Oh my god,” Hazel said. “Did he see who did it?”
Susan asked, “Was it Marty?”
“No,” I said to Hazel. Then I rolled my eyes over to my friend. “Marty may have been in the park last night, but he didn’t murder Avery.”
Though my gut knew it to be true, it was still difficult to say. My ears were still burning from Marty’s verbal attack against my son. I didn’t understand what he was doing in the park or how he got blood on his shirt like Allison said. But he didn’t seem to be connected to King. Nor was he a free man when Peggy was killed—which certainly seemed linked to Avery’s murder.
“What are you saying, Sam? You know who did it?” Susan asked, telling everyone my special talent to solve high profile crimes.
I said, “We don’t know who is doing it—”
“—just that it’s someone who knows a lot about King,” Erin interrupted.
“Jesus.” Susan gaped as she tipped forward, lowering her voice. “Does King know this?”
I eyed Erin and gave her a look that said, loose lips sink ships. Then I told the group, “He was the first to connect these crimes to his past, but we really shouldn’t be talking about this here.”
I made the mistake of glancing to my hands. Next thing I knew, Susan managed to steal the folder out from under my fingers before I could stop it from happening.
“Frank Lowe? Who is he?” She fingered through the top sheets. “And why am I just learning about this now?”
Erin gave me a look before saying, “We’ll tell you, but first we’ll need your help.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
An hour later I was sitting in my car by myself reading over more of Frank Lowe’s report. I had been antsy to get out of the bar early and, now that I was parked outside of Angelina’s apartment, I started second guessing my decision to come tonight.
I swept my gaze up to her apartment window. The light was on and every couple of minutes a dark shadow crossed behind the drapes. She was home and appeared to be alone.
I wasn’t completely on board with Erin’s impromptu invitation to invite Susan into assisting with our investigation, but we were running out of time. If anyone had the ability to pull off some fast research, it was her.
Digging deeper into more of Frank Lowe’s case was going to be an uphill battle because, no matter who we contacted within in the department, no one was ever going to open up about a potential coverup that dated back to the 1990s.
The air was getting stuffy and I powered down my window to take the call from Heather.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Mason’s relaxed on the couch playing on my iPad.”
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, counting my blessings. “I’ll be working late.”
“It’s okay. He can sleep here tonight.”
The tension I was holding in my neck released and my body deepened into its own relaxation as I thought how I wouldn’t be half the woman I was if it weren’t for family and friends.
“The news is saying tomorrow’s marathon is canceled.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Sam, they made it official. Everyone knows a cop has been murdered.”
“I know.”
“But there’s more—” Heather paused, “—the police made an arrest.”
I opened my eyes.
“Someone captured it on their cellphone and posted the video online. Now the news can’t stop replaying it as if we needed to see this man get arrested again and again.” Heather described the video to me and I knew immediately it was of Marty Ray. “They’re saying it’s him. He may have murdered Avery.”
“Marty Ray.”
“Yeah. How did you know? Did Mason help identify him?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, shaking my head at the way TV journalism was making assumptions before learning the facts. Without asking, I knew it wasn’t the police who were saying this, but the evening news.
“They only got the story half right,” I said.
“And that’s why you’re working late.” Heather’s voice was light with revelation. “I get it now. You be careful, Sam. If someone is willing to murder a cop, there’s no reason to think they won’t want to kill you, too.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Heather had a way of reminding me of my mortality. I could feel the danger quaking in my bones. She was right. Whoever I was chasing was getting dangerously close to me and the man I loved. But I couldn’t stop until I knew King and my family were safe.
Was the person we were chasing part of Gemma’s report? I liked to believe it was, and I also wanted to believe that Gemma was onto something herself. But, more than that, I needed to slow down and make sure I got this right before I really messed things up between King and me.
I closed the folder on my lap but kept it on my thigh.
The truth was, I was afraid of confronting Angelina. One false accusation against someone who shared a deep and intimate past with King and his family could be detrimental to my own relationship with him—a relationship I cherished more than anything. Then again, so could letting this sit if what Gemma was saying was true.
I picked up a quarter from between the seats and flipped the coin in the air as I continued watching Angelina’s window.
I was indecisive. There was no easy approach. Angelina disliked me from the beginning, and it all started the night she took Avery’s spot at King’s dinner table. That night, Angelina made it clear she viewed me as a threat—a menace who needed to be put in my place.
The coin landed in my palm and I flipped it over. Tails.
Though my heart went out to her and her deceased mother, there was no denying how manipulative and cunning her message to King to burn in hell really was. That is, if it did in fact come from her.
I knew it had to be me to confront her on this. When I put the sequence of events together of how, and when, Angelina was brought into our lives, I couldn’t deny how much of a coincidence it really was. She had to have been behind the note—just like the photo suggested. Just as I went to open my car door, her apartment door opened.
Chapter Seventy-Six
My heart pounded in my ears, my eyes widening as I saw who stepped outside. With his hand still on the door handle, King glanced around as if not wanting to be caught.
I instinctively sank down further into my seat, my heartrate increasing with each passing second, wondering if maybe he had come for the same reason as I had.
Angelina reached for his hand and held on to it as King said something to her before walking away.
My palms pushed into the seat as I sat upright and I watched as he hustled down the steps and strode to his car. I was struggling to keep up with my racing thoughts when suddenly he stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
King’s instinct was as impressive as his intellect and I wasn’t surprised he turned to look in my direction.
With my cover blown, I exited my car and met him near the hood. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
Without saying a word, he closed his fingers around my arm and drew me close. He glanced back to Angelina’s apartment and I did the same. Her curtains were halfway drawn, the light still on—everything the same as before.
“What am I doing here?” King’s voice was a low growl. “What are you doing here?”
My eyes danced inside of his. I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t trust him or that I was following him so I quickly answered, “I came to ask her why she left that note on Erin’s door.”
King’s jaw cocked as he ran a hand over his mouth. “Don’t bother.”
My neck craned as I inched my mouth closer to his ear. “Don’t
bother?”
“No.” King’s squeeze around my arm softened. “That’s why I’m here, too.”
“Did she admit it?”
A door opened behind us. We both turned to look, our hearts racing. It wasn’t Angelina’s door that opened but her neighbor’s. King walked me to my car door. “We need to go somewhere to talk.”
“I’ll drive.”
“No,” King said. “I’ll follow you.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
The house was quiet and the lights were off when the Shadow Stalker arrived. He dropped his keys into the bowl near the front door and took today’s newspaper into the living room where he flipped on a light.
His mother sat quietly in the dark room, perched neatly in her recliner with a fleece blanket over her lap. He moved to her, dropped the paper on the end table next to her chair, and took the TV remote from her fingertips. The news flicked on and, once again, the Shadow Stalker was all they could talk about.
“A cop killer on the loose?” The scent of beer was on his breath. “You don’t say?” He smiled and looked to his mother. “But what is this new development? The police made an arrest?”
A clip of Marty Ray being taken into custody played on the screen. He looked over his shoulder to see if his mother had seen it too. A delighted chuckle rumbled deep in his gut.
“Gemma Love,” he turned his attention back to the screen, “you sneaky little devil. Did you do that on purpose?” A deep belly laugh rolled up his body.
Though satisfied by today’s events, he was feeling somewhat conflicted.
On one hand, he thought Gemma made the mistake in sharing the truth about Frank Lowe and, because of it, she should pay. But on the other, she did just as he hoped she would. In telling Inspector King the truth about Marshall, it was only a matter of time before the dominoes fell and the truth of the past would finally be revealed. But could he count on her to finish the job?
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