Broken Places (4 page)
“He said the Taylors have a dog,” Brandon said. “You think it was in the house?”
“No idea,” Tom said. “If it’s still alive, it might be scared and hiding. Why don’t you walk around in the woods and see if you can find it?”
Before the fire truck with an onboard water tank arrived, the remains of the roof had smothered most of the flames. The six volunteer firefighters climbed down from the truck and stood with Tom, watching the glowing embers. In the back yard pen the goats bleated and bawled, probably more hungry than scared now. Brandon returned, without the dog.
“Fire’s dying out by itself,” said the crew’s captain, a middle-aged man with a day’s growth of stubble. “But we’ll douse it so you can get in there and look for a body.”
While the firefighters emptied their water tank on the wreckage, Tom found a bag of goat feed in the shed next to their pen and fed the animals. If Lindsay had lost both parents in one day, he thought, how the hell would he find the words to tell her?
By the time the site had cooled, the county fire chief had shown up to take charge. Tom and the chief used a couple of two-by-fours they found in the shed to lift sections of the melted roof. The nauseating odor of seared flesh grew stronger as they peeled away layers of wreckage. In the area that had been the kitchen, where charred appliances and a wood-burning iron stove still stood, they found what they were looking for.
Her hair was gone, all of her skin and much of her flesh had burned away, and the body had contracted into a fetal position as the fire desiccated the muscles. But the overall size of the remains told Tom this was the corpse of a woman.
Crunching debris underfoot, he moved in for a closer look. The front of the skull, the cheekbones, the jaw had been smashed to fragments.
“The fire didn’t do this,” Tom said. “She was murdered before the fire started.”
Tom sucked in a deep breath and lifted the receiver of his desk phone. He stared at it a moment, imagining Lindsay’s reaction to his gut-wrenching news. How the hell could he drop a bomb like this over the phone? He lowered the receiver back into its cradle.
She had to be told, and quickly. In the time it would take him to drive to Roanoke to talk to her in person, some coworker at the western regional headquarters of the Virginia Crime Lab would make sure she heard that two bodies with her last name were coming in from her home county.
Maybe he wasn’t the best person to break the news to her, though, considering their history. He wasn’t sure how she felt about him now, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she were still angry and resentful. After the accident that killed most of his family, Tom had quit his job as a homicide detective with the Richmond Police Department and moved back to Mason County to be near his nephew Simon, expecting his fiancée to marry him and come with him. Instead, she’d broken off their engagement—and created an opening for Lindsay to step back into his life. He’d been lonely and grieving, and Lindsay loved him and wanted him. He thought she had changed, matured, but eventually her jealousy and insecurity resurfaced. He’d put up with it as long as he could. Their breakup had been a nightmare.
He picked up the plastic evidence bag he’d brought back from the fire. It contained a gold band etched with a leaf design. Meredith’s wedding ring. Neither Tom nor Dr. Lauter wanted Lindsay to see her mother’s body, and they’d agreed that seeing the ring would help her accept the reality of what had happened. Tom had pulled it off Meredith’s finger himself, working it over the blackened skin, ripping off a fingernail in his hurry to be done.
The odor of charred flesh still clung to the back of his nose and throat like a bad taste that couldn’t be washed away with any amount of water or coffee.
“Ah, Christ,” he groaned, rubbing at his smoke-reddened eyes. He couldn’t put it off any longer, and he couldn’t dump the job on anybody else. This was his responsibility.
He snatched up the phone and punched in Lindsay’s private cell number.
In seconds, he had her on the line. “Well, hey there, stranger,” she said, her tone familiar and teasing. “What’s up?”
Her friendly tone threw him for a second. She was happy he’d called, reading something personal into it, probably thinking he’d come to his senses and was ready to revive their relationship. He could picture her flipping her long blond hair off one shoulder, flashing her mischievous grin.
Get on with it.
“Sorry to interrupt your work.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’d much rather talk to you than examine a bunch of carpet fibers.”
“Look, Lindsay—There’s no easy way to say this. I’ve got bad news.”
A brief silence at the other end. Then, “My mom or my dad?”
“I’m afraid it’s both
.
”
Tom heard Lindsay’s sharp exhalation of breath, as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Okay,” she said, her voice a tremulous whisper. “How bad?”
“As bad as it can be.”
Coward. Why can’t you just say it?
“But—What—
Both
of them? Are you telling me they’re both
dead
?”
“Yes.” Knowing how weak the words were, Tom added, “I’m sorry, Lin.”
When she spoke again, her voice gained strength, fueled by anger. “What happened? Was Dad speeding, did he—”
“No. It wasn’t a car accident.” Tom scribbled meaningless shapes on a notepad, circles and triangles and jagged lines. “They both died this morning, but separately. They weren’t together when it happened.”
“What? Tommy, that doesn’t make any sense.”
He couldn’t do anything to soften this blow. “Your father was shot to death. Away from home, out on Pogue Hill Road. A while later, your mother—The house burned down, and she was inside at the time. But we believe she was killed before the fire started. We haven’t made an arrest yet.”
Tom waited for that to sink in. He heard Lindsay breathing, fast and shallow, on the other end of the line. Outside his office door, he heard footsteps and male voices growing louder then fading as people passed in the hall.
“All right,” Lindsay said, sounding like her normal, resolute self. “I’ll pick up a few things at my apartment and drive down there.”
“I don’t think you should be driving right now. I’ll send a deputy to pick you up.”
“That’ll take twice as long. I can drive, Tommy. Don’t worry about me.”
He didn’t argue. He knew Lindsay could take care of herself. She had flaws, major ones that drove him crazy, but at her core she was tough.
“Be careful, don’t rush,” Tom said. She would probably pass the funeral home hearse that had just set off for the crime lab with her parents’ bodies inside. He hoped she wouldn’t make the connection and turn around to follow it to Roanoke.
He hung up as a knock sounded on the door.
Dennis Murray stuck his head in. “We’ve got a witness. The guys brought her in. She’s waiting to talk to you.”
***
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Tom whispered after he glanced into the conference room and saw who the witness was. He stood in the hallway with Dennis. “Did she actually
see
something, or does she just have a
feeling
about what happened?”
“She says she saw Taylor and Hern together on the road,” Dennis whispered back. “Arguing. She’s the only witness we’ve turned up.”
Tom sighed and squared his shoulders. “All right. I guess she’ll have to do. I just hope she doesn’t confuse the issue with a lot of psychic mumbo-jumbo.”
He put on a neutral expression before he entered the conference room. The tall, angular black woman turned from the window, where she’d been gazing out at the sun-baked parking lot. Silver threads woven into her flowing red caftan shimmered as she moved.
“Captain Bridger,” she said, with a nod and a slight smile. Her hair, coiled on her head in braids, was a mixture of gray and black. “We seem destined to meet under unfortunate circumstances. How are you, now that the turmoil of the winter and spring are long past?”
“Fine, thanks.” A gruesome murder case had brought him and Lily Barker together earlier in the year. He pulled a chair out from the conference table and gestured for her to take a seat. “How have you been, Mrs. Barker?”
“I’ve been quite well, thank you.” She settled into the chair and sat stiff-backed, her hands folded over her purse in her lap.
“Glad to hear it.”
She added, “Until today.”
Tom drew a cup of water from the cooler, placed it on the table in front of her, then sat across from her and pulled his notebook out of his shirt pocket. “Tell me what you saw, and where.”
Mrs. Barker pursed her full lips and seemed to gather her thoughts. “I was returning home from Mountainview on Pogue Hill Road. On the stretch adjacent to the Miller farm I came upon Cameron Taylor, whom I know personally, and a tall, handsome man with black hair.”
“You can’t identify the second man? The
handsome
one?” Tom heard the sarcasm in his voice and wanted to kick himself for it. He hated the petty feelings that Hern—and his long friendship with Rachel—stirred up in him.
Mrs. Barker regarded him with a tilted head and narrowed eyes, giving him the creepy feeling that she could read his mind. Amusement tugged at the corners of her mouth. “He was indeed handsome. Exotic looks. I have never met him, but I have seen his photograph, and I believe he was Benicio Hernandez, the artist, who recently moved here from New York City.”
“He calls himself Ben Hern,” Tom said. “He’s a cartoonist. He draws a comic strip and children’s books.”
“Oh, the cartoons and all the associated merchandise and television programs and so forth may be the source of his fortune, but under his real name Mr. Hernandez is a serious artist, quite highly regarded.”
“You keep up with the art world?” Tom asked. He shouldn’t be surprised. Since the day he’d met her, he’d been amazed again and again by the wide range of this working class woman’s knowledge and interests.
“To the degree that I’m able to, yes. I’m a bit of an artist myself. Strictly amateur, of course.”
“To get back to what you saw,” Tom said, “what kind of car was the second man driving?”
She sipped from her water cup before she answered. “He was driving a black Jaguar, which he had parked on the side of the road.”
Gotcha,
Tom thought. He’d like to hear Hern’s reason for neglecting to mention this encounter. The Miller farm was only a couple of miles from the woods where Taylor was shot. “Describe what you saw—where the men were, how they were acting.”
“They were both standing in the road, blocking my progress. They were engaged in a furious argument—”
“How do you know that?” Tom interrupted.
“Even from a distance, I had no difficulty discerning the nature of their exchange,” Mrs. Barker said. “There was a great deal of gesturing, arm-waving, and at one point Mr. Taylor gave Mr. Hern what I believe is commonly called a one-finger salute.”
Tom couldn’t stop a short laugh from escaping, but he quickly hid his amusement behind a serious expression. He cleared his throat and asked, “Did you hear what they were saying?”
Smiling a little, pleased that she’d made him laugh, Mrs. Barker went on, “Only a bit. They seemed unaware of my presence, and I knew I had to call attention to myself if I were going to be allowed to pass. I rolled down my window to speak to them, and in that moment I clearly heard Mr. Taylor say to Mr. Hernandez,
You self-satisfied bastard, I could ruin you with what I know. You’re going to see the whole story on the front page of the paper.
And then—”
“Whoa, whoa.” Tom held up a hand. “You’re sure that’s what Taylor said?”
“Positive, Captain.”
Tom scribbled in the notebook, his mind already racing through possibilities. A threat? Blackmail? He looked up. “What did Hern say to that?”
“He replied—and you’ll have to excuse my language, I’m simply repeating what I overheard—he replied,
Fuck you
.
You’re not getting a cent out of me. If you ever come near me again, I’ll break your fucking neck.”
“How did Taylor react?”
“Actually, I decided that would be an excellent time to toot my horn and interrupt their discussion. They both appeared startled to see me there. Mr. Hernandez, or Mr. Hern, if indeed he was Ben Hern, rushed to his vehicle and drove away.”
“What direction?” Tom asked.
“He continued north, the direction he and Mr. Taylor had been driving in.”
North toward the woods where Taylor had died. But the timing was crucial. “Did Taylor drive off then?”
“Not immediately. He wanted to know how much I had heard. I felt it was wisest to let him believe I’d heard nothing.”
“How long was it between the time Hern left and the time Taylor did?”
“Oh…” She considered, furrowing her brow. “Four minutes, five minutes? You see, I deliberately delayed him a bit with inconsequential chatter, because I felt it would be good to prevent him from racing off after the other man. I insisted on telling him in detail about the next organic gardening column I wanted to write for the newspaper if he were able to put out another edition. He was quite impatient with me.”
She’d given Hern time to park his car out of sight and get ready to stop Taylor when he came along. In trying to prevent a fight, she might have enabled a murder.
“Captain?” Mrs. Barker leaned forward, her strong-boned face etched with a deep concern that bordered on fear. “I know you have no faith in my…sensitivities, but I would like to say—”
Tom pulled back. “I know you believe you have special insight or perception, but I have to deal with the facts. What you saw, what you heard.”
“Yes, of course.” She straightened her back, her eyes telling him she was, once more, disappointed by his limitations. “I simply want to warn you that an evil cloud surrounds these people. You will be making a dangerous mistake if you take anything at face value.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you heard Taylor threaten Hern?” Tom dropped the transcript of Rachel’s full statement on the table in front of her. She’d given the statement to Dennis Murray, but Tom had brought the typed copy to her in the conference room. “Didn’t you think I’d want to know about that?”
“I was upset at the murder scene,” Rachel said.
“I honestly didn’t remember Cam saying that until later
.
I don’t think it’s important, anyway. He’d been ranting about Ben giving money to animal shelters and not doing enough for poor kids. Do you think he meant something else?”
“Never mind,” Tom said. “Just don’t hold things back from me. Let me decide what’s important. This is ready for you to sign.”
Rachel hated the feeling that something was going on she didn’t know about, something that made Ben look guilty of murder in Tom’s eyes. Trying to get information out of Tom was useless and would only irritate him. She gripped a pen and reminded herself that she’d told the simple truth when she described what happened at Ben’s house. She thought she’d made Ben’s behavior sound reasonable and normal, but she doubted Tom would see it that way. She wasn’t sure
she
saw it that way. Why did Ben pursue Taylor? What happened on the road? Where was Ben when Taylor was shot?
Rachel sighed, signed the statement, and pushed back her chair. “Is Holly finished too?”
“Yeah, she’s out front waiting for you. But hold on a minute.” As Rachel stood, Tom took her by the shoulders so that she had to look at him. “You know I’m going to be fair, don’t you? I’m not trying to railroad this guy.”
“Of course I know that,” Rachel said. She trusted Tom, didn’t she? In the last few months he’d become the most important person in her life. Why would she start doubting his integrity now? “It’s just…It’s obvious you haven’t liked Ben from the minute you met.”
Tom let go of her and raked his fingers through his hair, something he did when he was annoyed, impatient, or uncomfortable. Rachel had noticed that his hair got quite a workout every time the subject of Ben Hern came up. “We’re too different, I guess. Different worlds. You can’t expect us to be buddies.” Tom paused before adding, “He doesn’t seem like the kind of person you’d warm up to either, to tell you the truth.”
“You don’t know him,” Rachel protested. “You don’t know what he’s really like.”
“So tell me. What is Ben Hern really like?”
Tom was interrogating her now, Rachel realized, collecting information about a suspect. She didn’t have to lie. The truth would be enough. “He’s a lot like me, actually.”
Tom laughed and shook his head. “Not that I’ve noticed.”
“It’s true. Even my mother thought so, and she was a psychologist. Ben and I grew up in the same neighborhood in McLean, we’re the same age, we went to school together. Both of us have always loved animals. We were both introverts when we were kids, we felt more comfortable with animals than with people. And we both grew up without fathers. We could talk to each other when we didn’t think anybody else would understand. Ben was the only real friend I had when I was growing up. I haven’t seen much of him the last few years, and I’ve missed him.”
Tom nodded, noncommittal. “Like I told you, I’ll be fair-minded. But I’m sure you realize this isn’t the time for me to strike up a friendship with the guy.”
“No, of course not. You have to keep a professional distance during the investigation. I’d better get out of here and let you work. Is a witness permitted to kiss the chief deputy goodbye?”
“I think we can allow that.” Tom pulled her tightly against him.
Rachel circled Tom’s waist with her arms, and he kissed her, a deep, lingering kiss that neither of them wanted to end.
“I guess I won’t be seeing you tonight after all,” she said with a sigh.
He groaned, one hand stroking her back. “Afraid not. This damned case—”
“We’ll make up for it.” Rachel kissed the hollow of his neck, then raised her lips to his again.
She was beginning to wonder if they could lock the conference room door for a few minutes when she glanced past his shoulder and out the window to the parking lot. A couple of deputies leaned against a patrol car twenty feet from the window, watching the Tom and Rachel show with broad grins. “Uh oh,” Rachel said. “We’re on display.”
Tom shot a look out the window and swore under his breath. They parted reluctantly. “You’d better get out of here,” he said, “before we really give them something to talk about.” He caressed the back of her neck and didn’t drop his hand until they were in the hallway.
Rachel found Holly huddled on the bench in the lobby, her arms wrapped around her waist, her eyes red from fresh tears.
“Come on, kid,” Rachel said, “let’s blow this joint.”
That brought a trace of a smile as Holly stood up.
Rachel was reaching for the door when it swung open and a young woman rushed in. Rachel and Holly quickly stepped aside to avoid being mowed down.
The woman ignored them, her attention fixed on Tom. She looked almost like a teenager in jeans and a tee shirt, with long straight hair the color of a canary’s feathers. “Tommy!” she cried. She flung herself forward and threw her arms around his neck.
What was going on here? Rachel wondered. Who was this?
Tom peeled the woman’s arms off him and took a step away from her. “Lindsay, this is Rachel Goddard and Holly Turner. Rachel, Holly, this is Lindsay Taylor, Cam and Meredith’s daughter.”
Rachel had never let herself speculate about Tom’s former girlfriend, had never tried to find a photo, but she realized now that she’d formed a mental image of Lindsay and the woman standing before her didn’t fit it. She wasn’t tall and athletic and outdoorsy. She was shorter than Rachel, much shorter than Tom, and had a delicate bone structure that combined with her loose yellow hair to give a first impression of youth. On closer inspection she looked Tom’s age, over thirty.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Rachel,” Lindsay said. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She sounded cordial and wore a slight smile, but her cool, frank gaze raked over Rachel as if assessing every attribute and flaw. She ignored Holly.
“Excuse me,” Holly said in a tiny voice. “I’m goin’ on out to the car.”
Rachel wanted to believe Lindsay’s rudeness hadn’t been deliberate.
Make allowances,
she told herself.
She’s had a terrible shock.
She held out a hand to Lindsay. “I wish we didn’t have to meet under these circumstances. I’m so sorry about your parents.”
Lindsay gave Rachel’s hand a quick touch that barely qualified as a shake. “Thank you,” she said, her voice falling to a near-whisper.
Lindsay’s huge blue eyes swam with unshed tears, but Rachel thought she detected a glint of malice, the kind of look some dogs had when waiting for a victim to come within biting range.
Okay,
Rachel told herself,
I can’t expect her to like me.
“I have to be going. It was nice to meet you.”
Tom reached around Rachel and held the door open for her. “Before you go, I meant to ask you—I won’t be able to take Simon out to Joanna’s place tomorrow for our ride, and I hate to make him miss it. Would you mind picking him up?”
“I’d love to,” Rachel said. “I’ll give Darla a call when I get home.” Simon was Tom’s seven-year-old nephew, who’d lived with his maternal grandparents since Tom’s brother and sister-in-law had died in an auto accident. He was a great kid and Rachel enjoyed spending time with him.
“Thanks a lot.” Tom dropped his voice. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
Lindsay’s gaze had never left her, but Rachel refused to betray the uneasiness the woman’s stare churned up inside her. She couldn’t wait to get out of there. “Lindsay,” she said with careful courtesy, “I hope we’ll see each other again.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will.”
***
When the door swung shut after Rachel, Lindsay said, “She’s pretty. Hell, she’s beautiful. And she’s
here.
That’s what I get for being geographically undesirable.”
“Lindsay—” Tom shook his head. At a time like this, he couldn’t very well say,
Where you live has nothing to do with it.
“Never mind. Let’s talk in my office.”
He led her down the hall. Inside his office, he shut the door while she dropped into a chair. It didn’t seem right to put his desk between them, so he took the other visitor’s chair next to her.
“Rachel was the one who found your dad’s car sitting empty on the road,” he said. “That’s what led us to him.”
“Really?” Lindsay twisted in her chair to lean closer. “Did she see the shooter?”
“No, she didn’t see anything except your father’s car.”
“Oh.” Lindsay slumped back in her chair. “So you don’t know any more than you did when you called me?”
“Not really. But I’ve got crime scene people from the state police out there taking a look, and a couple more at the house, along with a fire investigator. If there’s anything to find, they’ll find it.”
Tears welled in Lindsay’s eyes. “I forget for a minute,” she said, “then it hits me all over again.” She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her jeans and mopped her eyes.
Her distress made Tom want to comfort her, but if he touched her she might take it as an invitation to another embrace.
She stuffed the handkerchief back in her pocket. “Where are Mom and Dad? I want to see them.”
“They’re on their way to Roanoke for autopsy. I signed off on the ID myself. I wanted to get moving as fast as possible.” Reaching across his desk, he grabbed the evidence bag that held Meredith’s ring. “This is your mother’s. I can’t let you keep it yet, but I wanted you to see it, for…well, for closure, I guess.”
Lindsay fingered the ring through the plastic. “I passed a hearse from Maguire’s on my way here. That was them, right? I should’ve realized.” She dropped the bag on his desk and gave him an ironic little smile. “So here we are, Tommy, a couple of orphans.”
“I’m sorry, Lin. This is a hell of a thing, both of them at the same time.”
Tom’s parents had died at the same time, along with his brother and sister-in-law. But his family hadn’t been murdered. They’d died in a stupid accident that Tom still blamed himself for.
Tears puddled in Lindsay’s eyes again. “Holy crap, Tommy, who would do something like this?” She sniffled, blinked away her tears, and tried to smile, but didn’t quite bring it off. Laying a hand along his cheek, she said, “I can always depend on you.”
That wasn’t true, and hearing her say it made him uncomfortable enough to stand up and break contact. “Have you thought about where you’ll stay while you’re here?”
“I called Joanna from the road, and she said I can stay with her.” Lindsay glanced up, met Tom’s eyes briefly.
Aw, Christ.
Lindsay must have known Rachel was living on Joanna’s horse farm. Did she have the presence of mind, after receiving the worst news of her life, to plan a way to put herself in Rachel’s path? He didn’t have to think about the answer: Of course she did.
“Okay,” he said. Maybe Lindsay and Rachel wouldn’t run into each other. He might enlist Joanna’s help to keep them apart. “I need to ask you some questions, but we can do it later if you don’t feel up to it now.”
Lindsay shook her head, strands of bright hair brushing her cheeks. Her fair skin seemed paler than usual, and with no makeup except a trace of lipstick she looked young and vulnerable. “Ask your questions,” she said. “I know you have to get moving on this. Could I have a cup of coffee, though?”
“Sure.” Tom ran a cup from the coffee-maker on a corner table. Black, the way she liked it. When he delivered it to her, she brushed his hand with her fingers. Back behind his desk, he opened his notebook to a blank page and held his pen at the ready. He intended to maintain a professional perspective, treat her like any other relative of murder victims, regardless of how often she tried to cross the line. “Have your parents been having trouble with anybody in particular the last few weeks? Or months? Did they tell you about any unusual incidents?”
“I don’t—didn’t talk to them on the phone all that much.” Lindsay gripped her coffee mug and stared into it. “Actually, I never talked to Dad. It was always Mom. And she’d been so down since her father died that I got depressed every time I talked to her, so…Now I wish I’d tried harder to help her.”
“Your grandfather died almost a year ago,” Tom said. “She never got over it?”
“It wasn’t just that he died—she wasn’t exactly devoted to him. I think she’d been trying all her life to impress him and make him proud of her. She wanted to write the great American novel, you know? Get it published, get on the bestseller list, have everybody raving about it. It was never going to happen, but she couldn’t let go of the dream.” Lindsay shook her head. “Then the old bastard died.”
“And suddenly there was no chance she would ever get his approval.”
“Right,” Lindsay said. “Then her Aunt Julia died last winter, and that threw her for a loop too. Julia was the only one in the Abbott family who gave a damn about Mom.”
“She was the one who lived on a commune when she was young, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, right. She was a hippie before anybody knew what hippies were, but she ended up married to a New York investment broker. Well, anyway, Mom was dragging bottom, with her father and Aunt Julia both dying in the same year, and I just couldn’t deal with her depression. I never knew what to say or do. The last time I talked to her was about a month ago.”