Blood Ties (31 page)

“I didn’t choose for all that to happen.”

“Yes, you did.” He glared at me over the rim of his cup.

“I’ve never been crazy about you working in the private sector. If I had my way, the county commissioners would overturn that law. Almost every other county in the state has that particular confl ict of interest situation handled with specifi c legal parameters. Up until last week, I knew you hadn’t used your position in this offi ce to gather information for whatever cases you were investigating.”

“Up until last week?” I repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“I had two interesting calls yesterday. One from Ms.

Dobrowski, one from attorney Charles LaChance.”

He paused and watched my reaction. I gave him none.

“Seems Mr. LaChance’s client, Nancy James? Believes 329

you deliberately misrepresented yourself as an agent of this offi

ce when you and your partner accosted her in her home to question her about the past relationship with the suicide victim, Shelley Friel.” He blew a stream of air across his coff ee. “Is that true?”

I shrugged. Rage was pointless now. Nancy was covering her ass. In all honesty, I didn’t blame her. I blamed LaChance and his buddies. No doubt they were afraid I’d blow their sweet set-up. Charles had warned me not to mess with him. Wished I’d listened.

“So, Mr. LaChance informed me if you reveal anything of what she discussed with you in confi dence, he’ll fi le suit against this offi

ce for your false impersonation of

an offi

cer of the court.”

“But . . .”

His large hand stopped my objection. “You’ve done the one thing I warned you not to do. And, you leave me no choice.” He moved around to his chair and extracted a sheet of paper from the corner of his desk.

I took the missive, but didn’t bother looking at it. I knew what it was, what it said.

His voice was fi rm but held that same “you’ve-disappointed-me” tone I’d heard from my father my entire life. For a split second I almost believed it was Dad’s voice intoning, “You’re suspended indefi nitely, without pay, pending investigation.”

Blood rushed to my face. I swallowed, but said nothing 330

in return.

“Julie?” he prompted.

“You can’t do this.”

“I just did,” he said.

“No, you can’t.” I crumpled up the paper and threw it on his desk. “You can’t. Because I quit.”

Outside the sheriff’s office the cloudless blue sky mocked me. I’d wished for warm, bright, balmy weather all week. Now, as I seethed, the black maw of anger threatened to consume me. I longed for gray, black, and bleak; lightning storms, crashes of thunder, sheets of relentless, cold rain. Once again, what I ended up with was completely diff erent from what I wanted.

At loose ends, I went home and changed into jeans and a ratty Van Halen T-shirt. I didn’t march over to Leanne’s door to tell her off . With the week I’d had, the situation with the sheriff would’ve blown up in my face even if Leanne’s phone call hadn’t added to my woes. Besides, Social Services would visit her, without warning, guaranteed. Th

at thought off ered me little consolation.

I paced. I smoked. I stared longingly at the bottle of tequila, empty shot glasses and beer cans still cluttering 332

my coff ee table. True, it was only ten in the morning, but it was noon somewhere. I scowled at the clock. Dusty’s didn’t even open for another two hours.

So, what the hell was I supposed to do with myself?

Call Kevin and tell him my not-so-good news? He was probably ass-deep in alligators with Lilly. I didn’t want to contemplate how he’d handle it or how I’d react in the aftermath. No job, no best friend, no bar, no boyfriend.

What was a girl bent on destruction supposed to do?

I grabbed my bow and headed out to my dad’s ranch.

Th

e meandering drive through the county which usually soothed me, didn’t. Confrontation with Dad was inevitable; he loved to point out my shortcomings and right now, my life was spectacularly shitty.

With the chilly wind blowing my hair, the clean smell of spring wafting through the car, sunlight warming my forearm on the window frame, I calmed down. Th e dead

last place I wanted to be was with my father. After the way I’d seen family treat one another lately, I’d be better off with strangers. Th

e back end of my car fi shtailed on

the gravel road, kicking up a dust-devil when I whipped a U-turn and drove back into Rapid City.

Kevin’s car wasn’t on the street or in the lot near his offi

ce. I punched in the security code and entered the dark suite. Weird, being in his offi

ce alone. I shut and locked

the door behind me.

Th

e idea of playing the brooding PI, smoking and 333

considering my lost prospects appealed to me. I imagined a broad-shouldered hunk with a beefcake body showing up to off er me a case only I could solve. All I needed was a hip fl ask and Kevin’s gun shoved in an ankle holster, and my spectacle would be complete. Th

e tactic to deal with

disturbing events by drifting into fantasyland was better than the habit I’d picked up lately of drinking myself into a trance.

I’d barely propped my Timberland hikers on the desk when the phone rang.

I cocked my head and took another quick drag of my cigarette. Maybe it was my potential fantasy client. Maybe it was Kevin. I exhaled and picked up the phone.

“Wells

Investigations.”

A clipped tone demanded, “Is this the answering service?”

“No.

Th

is is Julie Collins. Who is this?”

His greasy chuckle jabbed every nerve in my body. I knew who he was before the words oozed from his forked tongue.

“Th

is is Charles LaChance. So, you really
do
work for Kevin?”

“Why are you surprised?”

“Th

ought he liked having gorgeous, blond, arm-candy hanging around, not that I blame him.”

“You didn’t call to slime me with compliments, LaChance. What do you want?”

334

“We need to talk.”

Th

e fi rst response dangling on the tip of my tongue was “fuck you.” But this was Kevin’s offi ce and I knew that

wasn’t his preferred method of message taking. I sighed.

With forced sweetness I said, “I’m sorry. Mr. Wells is un-available right now.”

“Th

at’s fi ne. You’re the one I wanted to talk to anyway.”

Hooray. So much for my stud fantasy. “About what?”

“I just passed Halley Park. I’ll be there in fi ve minutes to tell you in person.”

He hung up.

A niggling fear replaced the indignation; I wasn’t subject to the demands of one Charles LaChance, especially after he was responsible for getting me canned.

Why did he want to talk to me? To warn me his threats to the sheriff were real? Or confess he’d been responsible for all the recent deaths? A shudder worked loose. Smart move. I might’ve invited a killer into Kevin’s domain and I was here alone. Guess I failed Detective 101.

Still, I doubted Chuck would kill me here. He didn’t take chances. I didn’t either. I called Kevin’s home and cell numbers, left messages at both places, and called Jimmer.

I smoked, hoping my bout of nerves would subside. At this rate I’d be buying Mylanta by the gallon.

Two impatient raps. “Julie. I know you’re in there.”

“Hang on.” Th

rough the door I warned, “I’ve got a gun.”

“Not necessary. Look, I really need to talk to you.”

335

I

fl ipped the locks and opened the door.

LaChance hustled in and tried slamming the door behind him.

“Leave it open.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“No.”

He lifted his elfi n shoulder in a half-shrug and dropped into the new leather chair across from Kevin’s desk. Now, we’d defi nitely have to fumigate it. I stretched into Kevin’s usual position; mighty pleased LaChance looked insignifi cant and ill at ease sitting across from me.

“What do you want?”

Annoyance distorted his mouth. “David told me.”

“Told you what?”

“About your conversation the other day.”

“Oh.” I waved my cigarette indiff erently. “Th e one

where he let it slip you were the one who’d paid for our services? Kevin is very unhappy.”

“I imagine. But it’s diffi

cult to pay the rent with your

principles, isn’t it?”

I shrugged. “Not my call.”

“Let’s get something else straight.” He pressed forward, hands on knees. “I did not rape Shelley. Samantha was not my daughter.”

“So, I can assume you’ve reassured your son that he hadn’t been sleeping with his half-sister?”

“Of course. I can’t understand who put those ideas in his 336

head in the fi rst place.”

“Kind of like why I can’t understand why you’d secretly hire Kevin through your son.” I took a drag, blew smoke in his face, and waited.

He coughed, hand fl ailing through the gray cloud.

“Although it pains me to admit, Kevin is the best investigator in town. I knew he’d never work for me, no matter how noble the cause.”

“True. But you made contact with Samantha
before
she disappeared, before she got kicked out of her house.

So, we’re not exactly sure you didn’t have something to do with her disappearance. And then hired Kevin through David after the fact to cover up your tracks.”

He recovered his initial shock almost immediately.

His slick hand smoothed his tie; I was surprised he hadn’t left an oil stain.

“My, my, Ms. Collins. Seems Kevin has taught you well. Unfortunately, you are missing some facts. I had no reason to want Samantha dead, in spite of my feelings about her relationship with my son. I was trying to help her and her mother. Dead clients don’t pay.”

“And that’s what this was all about, wasn’t it? Money?”

Charles laughed. “And, if I tell you it wasn’t, would you believe me?”

I shook my head.

“I thought so. Regardless. When David told me the story about Shelley and Sam, I realized I’d been at the fair 337

that night. I also realized Shelley had probably known her attacker, most likely someone in her group. Maybe she’d even gotten a ride home with him. Th

at’s why she hadn’t

come forward.” His rapt expression didn’t hide the dollar signs in his beady eyes. “It’s statistically proven brutal rapes rarely go unreported. Th

at’s why I never believed it

was a gang rape.”

Because he knew the gang in question? No one believes someone close to them is capable of atrocities; I knew diff erently. My brow lifted in question but I let him continue.

“I approached Danny Christopherson at the rehab center and asked him for his professional interpretation of Shelley’s case. He agreed with the counselor. Shelley was withholding the identity of her attacker.”

“Did either counselor understand why?”

“No. Fear was no longer logical. If she’d have turned him in back then, no question he would’ve been locked up.”

I snorted. “Yeah. Ever heard of a man getting away with rape because the woman ‘asked for it’? Get real. She was scared shitless. Try again.”

He settled back in his chair. “Fine. She was frightened then, but when this came to light, years later, she had legal recourse . . .”

“Even I know there is a statute of limitations on rape . . .”

“Your knowledge of the law is impressive, Ms. Collins”

— his shark teeth gleamed briefl y — “but so is mine. Let 338

me fi nish. Th

ere is no limitation on proving paternity. Or, using that knowledge to get the fi nancial support Shelley and her daughter were due. Dick Friel planned on washing his hands of Shelley and Samantha. It seemed logical to take the matter to civil court.”

A chill settled in my bones. “With you representing her as her attorney.”

No

response.

“I don’t get it. Th

ere can’t have been much money in

this case. So, why would you be so anxious to take it on?” I had a light bulb moment; the fl ash exploded but my throat seemed to fi ll with crushed glass. “You weren’t in it for the money, after all, were you? It was for the publicity. You wanted to smear this guy’s reputation.”

“See?” He lifted his palms in supplication. “I’m not all about the cash. You have to agree this rapist, masquerad-ing as a normal guy, deserves some legal repercussions. My concern was: If Shelley couldn’t get justice from her horrible ordeal, she’d receive monetary compensation.”

“Th

en, you know who raped her.”

He nodded. “I’d narrowed it down. She fi nally told me the last time I saw her, but it’s a moot point.”

“Who?”

“Who

what?”

Man, we really weren’t going to spiral into the “Who’s on First” comedy routine, were we?

“Who

raped

her?”

339

Th

e drama built; I knew he used the same tactic in court.

“Why, Father Tim O’Reilly. Ironic isn’t it, the good Father didn’t even know he was a father?”

He locked his gleeful gaze to mine.

“We both know why it is a moot point now.”

Because Father Tim was dead.

Shelley was dead and Samantha was dead. Moot fucking point, indeed. My stomach turned. I leaned over to hide my face, now devoid of blood. I lit another cigarette and decided I’d keep him talking. He’d come here to gloat.

And, something still didn’t fi t.

“How did you fi nd out?”

Charles gave me smug.

“Shelley had a change of heart with you? She told me Monday morning she’d never tell anyone else.”

“I guessed,” he said. “She didn’t deny it. She accepted even though Tim was a priest, he killed Samantha.”

“But, how would he know?” I squeezed my eyes shut but the revulsion remained.
Anyone else
, Shelley’s words echoed. “My God, Shelley told Samantha that Father Tim was her biological father.”

“Afraid so. And, with Father Tim’s vocation, I doubted he wanted that information broadcast. Or, the manner in which he’d sired that child. His life was about to be ruined and no matter how the diocese would try to spin it, well, everyone would know, wouldn’t they? More fuel to the fi re, 340