Burning Proof (4 page)

LUKE DROPPED WOODY
off at Abby’s house.

“Call me when you need a ride home,” he said as Woody stepped out of the truck.

“I will,” Woody said. “I don’t mind hanging out here for a while. Abby will need someone to talk to. Call before you come.”

Luke said he would, then headed home to his family, wondering how things had gone so right for him and Woody and so wrong for Abby and Bill. He got home in time for dinner and to catch a news report on the shooting. There were the usual inane comments by people and reporters asking why Abby didn’t just shoot the gun out of the man’s hand. The criticisms and second-guessing by people who’d never been in a life-and-death situation made Luke angry, and the outrage he heard in the voices of the anchor regarding a victim’s father being shot stoked the flames. There were even pictures of crowds forming in front of the police station to protest Abby. He had to retire to his office and throw a couple punches at the heavy bag to calm down.

In the end, it wasn’t the heavy bag that calmed him; it was the knowledge that Abby was a believer and that the foundation of her life shouldn’t rest on what reporters and onlookers had to say.

He called Woody after dinner, but Abby still hadn’t made it home.

“Don’t read anything into that,” Woody said. “The process after a shooting like this is long and involved. When I spoke to Bill a little while ago, he said Abby was talking to the department psychologist, which is a good thing.”

“I agree. I can’t imagine being in her shoes. I’ll head over after Maddie goes to bed.”

“Sounds good, and if you can stop and pick me up a burger or something, I’d appreciate it.”

“Will do.”

“Is your friend Abby in trouble?” Maddie asked as Luke sat down with his daughter for bedtime prayer. The question took him by surprise because he didn’t think she was paying attention to the news broadcast.

“No, she’s not in trouble, Mads, but she had to shoot someone today.”

“Did the person die?”

“Afraid so.”

“But Abby and Bill are okay.”

“Yes, they are.”

“I’m glad. But sometimes I wish there were no bad people in the world. Then people wouldn’t have to get shot.”

“I wish that too,” Luke said. He kissed her good night and then went to package up the dinner his mother had set aside for him to take to Woody. Luke had mentioned that Woody asked
for food, and Grace, who hated fast food, insisted that Luke take some of her casserole to him.

Luke and Woody were set to fly to Idaho tomorrow to fulfill the last wishes of Woody’s old patrol partner, Asa Foster. Coincidentally, Asa had also worked with Abby in the twilight years of his career. It was time to nail down the fine points of their itinerary. But Luke wondered if Woody would want to cancel the trip because of the shooting. When he considered how hard this must be for Abby, he knew he’d be fine with it if that was what Woody wanted to do. Luke called to let Woody know that he was on his way.

“She’s not home yet. I spoke to her on the phone a couple of hours ago. Maybe you should hang out with me as well. She didn’t sound too great.”

“It probably wouldn’t be a good thing for her to come home to an empty house on a day like this.” Luke worked to sound nonchalant, but he was happy Woody had asked him to hang out.

“You’re right. I never discharged my weapon on duty, but I know guys who have. It’s not easy, and in this case . . . well, it’s not so black-and-white.”

“Um, is
 
—is Ethan there?”

“No. I spoke to him as well. He said she told him not to come by, that she was tired. Just between you and me and the fence post, I don’t think everything is going too well with those two.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Luke said, wanting to pry but not wanting to pry. It was really none of his business. But his concern for Abby made him ask the next question. “Do you think she’d mind if I were there?”

“I’d kind of like your company. You and her speak the same God talk; you might be able to help her more than me. She’s taking this hard.”

That surprised Luke. He’d spent quite a bit of time with Woody recently. He knew Woody was not a Christian. Other than mentioning the man upstairs from time to time, and letting Luke pray now and then, Woody had never made a statement either positive or negative about Abby’s faith or faith in general.

“I’d love to try to help. You should be able to tell if I can help or if we should leave her alone. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Abby knew Woody’s car would not be in her driveway. He’d told her that Luke had dropped him off. But when she recognized the truck parked at the curb in front of her house, it gave her pause.

Luke Murphy’s truck.

She wanted to see Woody, and she wanted to hug her dog, Bandit, but she wasn’t sure about Murphy. The man always seemed to be able to see right through her. Right now she wasn’t certain she wanted to be transparent. Sighing, she parked in front of her garage and climbed out of the car.

Woody opened the front door and Abby could have kissed him. He let little Bandit run out and greet her. Picking up the wiggling fur ball and holding his squirming, licking body was a comforting normality on a totally abnormal day.

“Oh, sweetie,” Abby cooed to the dog. “It’s wonderful to see you.” She continued up to the front door. “You too, Woody. Thanks for taking care of Bandit.”

“My pleasure.”

He held the door open for her, and a wonderful aroma hit her as she stepped inside.

Luke smiled at her from the kitchen. “My mom sent me over with food for Woody. I figured you’d be hungry as well, so I brought extra. It’s her potato and ham casserole. I’m heating some up for you.”

Words fled. Abby was hungry; her stomach growled even as she inhaled the wonderful smell. She’d totally forgotten that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the fact that Luke and his mother so perfectly anticipated what she’d need touched her.

Swallowing, she set Bandit down. “I’m starved; thank you,” she said when she stood back up.

“It’s great stuff,” Woody said, rubbing his stomach.

Abby smiled, thankful for her friends and realizing that having them both here was helpful. “I’ll just go wash my hands.”

“Dinner will be served as soon as you’re back,” Luke said.

Feeling better as she sat down in front of a plate of steaming, creamy, wonderful-smelling food, Abby bowed her head for a blessing. When she finished and took a bite, she had to admit the meal was heavenly.

“Mmm, this is great. Please thank your mom for me.”

“Will do.” Luke sat across from Abby, next to Woody.

Abby ate while Luke and Woody discussed their trip to Idaho the next day. They planned to be gone for three days and hoped to wrap everything up quickly. Asa had left his house in trust, so the estate was not complicated. He’d also left detailed instructions about the dispersal of his personal belongings.

They both shared the story of their arrest in Riverside, Luke acting like a careless bungler, which she knew that he
wasn’t, and Woody puffed with pride about still being able to be sneaky. That she knew was true. He had taught her the art of being sneaky when you needed to get the drop on a bad guy.

“I wish all tips panned out that way,” Luke said after he finished.

“Amen to that,” Abby said, feeling full, tired, and somewhat better. “I hope you continue to get that lucky when you’re working with the feds.”

Woody preened. “It’s not all luck, you know. Haven’t I taught you that hard work and perseverance makes luck?”

“Of course.” Abby smiled and felt it. She didn’t miss Luke smothering a chuckle.

“What are you going to do with your time off this week?” Woody asked, referring to the mandatory three days off given to any officer involved in a shooting.

She could tell he was concerned. Woody had the best cop face when dealing with suspects, but Abby often saw through him.

She drained her glass of water before answering. “I have another appointment with the psychologist tomorrow. Coincidentally Ethan and I have a counseling appointment on Thursday.” She played with her glass. “Who knows? I may do a little goldbricking and try to take Friday off as well
 
—a six-day vacation.” A weak smile was all she could muster for the lame joke.

“You did your job,” Luke said, repeating what Bill had already told her. “Joiner made the wrong choice, not you.”

He’d read her again and knew she was struggling over her actions.
Clayton made the wrong choice, and I made the hard choice.
Abby just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

His gaze was so warm and filled with understanding, Abby almost wished it were just the two of them and she could rest her head on his broad, strong shoulder. Almost. Guilt niggled at her as she remembered Ethan’s sincere prayer; it was his shoulder she should be wanting.

Later, with Luke and Woody gone, she pulled down a package of Oreos and her Bible. The cookies went down easy, but the Bible didn’t hold her attention. So much swirled inside. Luke’s comfort, his concern, was somewhat bracing, even more so than Woody’s knowledge and his sage advice, and that surprised her. But it was something she didn’t want to add to her list of concerns at the moment.

She finished half a glass of milk and four cookies, then took a shower and went to bed. Sleep came, after a struggle with the image of Clayton Joiner lying on the lawn, bleeding, seemingly etched on her eyelids.

“I ONLY VISITED HIM
up here once, after he retired.”

Woody and Luke stopped at the curb, just in front of Asa Foster’s Idaho home. Luke waited for Woody, knowing that this was hard for him. Asa had been Woody’s patrol partner and his friend for many years. Even after Asa transferred to detectives, he and Woody had stayed close. Luke could feel the depressing finality in this visit, and he’d barely known the man. It must be doubly hard for Woody.

Woody had wanted to make the trip right after he officially retired, months ago. But between helping Luke close up his open cases and jumping through hoops for the federal hiring process, the trip had been delayed over and over. As soon as they finished the last bit of federal paperwork and both of their schedules jibed, they’d made arrangements to fly up together, hoping to beat the winter snowfall.

After Abby’s shooting, Luke thought Woody would want to reschedule. When he realized Woody didn’t want to do that, he’d almost considered bringing up the idea, asking Woody to reschedule, because he was worried about her. But reality sank
in hard, like a twenty-five-pound barbell dropped on his foot; Abby was engaged to another man. Luke chastised himself for even considering it was his place to worry about her.

He worked hard to put Abby out of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand. As he and Woody stood in front of Asa’s house, Luke knew Woody still struggled with the loss, even with the passage of time.

“We went fishing on a lake about half an hour away. Caught a lot of fish. He said then that it felt like heaven here.” Woody’s wistful tone made Luke sad, and he couldn’t help but remember the horrible way Asa had died.

The retired detective had wanted to force the California governor to come clean with what he believed was the truth about a twenty-seven-year-old cold case, the Triple Seven murders. Asa had heard the allegations made about the murders by George Sanders and had it in his mind that the governor and his chief of staff, Gavin Kent, were guilty of a triple homicide
 
—Abby’s parents and Luke’s uncle. Asa was right in one respect: Kent did partially confess, only to immediately kill himself and prevent further inquiry. But not before Asa himself died, cut down by the governor’s security man because Asa was a perceived threat to the governor.

Luke was there when Asa took his last breath, vainly tried to stop the bleeding. But the retired detective had been hit in an artery, and there was nothing Luke could do. Asa died while he watched helplessly. His last words were one of the reasons Luke and Woody were here now, at Asa’s home.

“There is proof.”

Later, after Luke told Woody, they decided that Asa meant proof pertaining to the cold case, to the murders of Buck and
Patricia Morgan and Luke Goddard, Luke’s uncle. Kent confessed to killing Patricia Morgan and to setting a fire to destroy evidence in the Triple Seven restaurant. But the entire story about what happened the day Patricia was slain, presumably with her husband and Goddard, had never been uncovered.

Did Asa have proof, here in his home, connecting the triple murder to the governor, a man who was rumored to soon be running for the US Senate as a shoo-in?

As soon as Woody was ready, Luke wanted to go inside and find out.

Finally Woody sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Luke followed him into the house.

It wasn’t a big house and it was obviously a bachelor pad
 
—neat, but sparsely furnished. A fifty-inch television dominated the small living room.

“Asa loved NASCAR, said the big screen made it feel as if he were there,” Woody commented. He had in his hand a letter Asa had left for him on the last day of his life. He’d guessed that violently confronting the governor would cost him his life. In the letter, Asa gave Woody directions to and a combination for his safe.

“Looks like the bedroom is back here.” Luke pointed to the left.

Woody nodded and headed that way. According to the note, the safe was in Asa’s bedroom, in the closet under a bunch of boxes. Woody found it straightaway. It was a square metal box, two feet by two feet, and Woody needed Luke’s help to pick it up and put it on Asa’s unmade bed.

“Asa wanted to be certain no one ever ran out of the house with this,” Woody said as he bent to work the combination.

Luke said nothing, but he held his breath. If there really was proof in here about who killed Abby Hart’s parents and his uncle, it would be the answer to a twenty-seven-year-long prayer.

The safe clicked open. On top was a gun; it looked like a .45 to Luke. Woody removed it and uncovered files.

“These are police files,” Woody said as he took them out. He opened the top one. “Simon Morgan.” Woody frowned. “I know that name. . . . He’s Abby’s uncle.”

“Abby’s uncle? He’s in prison, isn’t he?”

“Ahh.” Woody’s eyes skimmed the file. “Yeah. At least he was. It was a sore spot with Buck. He and his brother never got along, and when Simon went to prison, Buck wanted to forget him.”

“He’s in for murder if I remember right.”

Woody brought a hand to his chin. “Yeah, the incident is coming back to me. He went up for a minor felony but killed someone there and eventually drew a life sentence.”

“Why would Asa have his file?”

“I don’t know. He highlighted some names I don’t recognize.”

“What are the other files?”

Woody set the Simon Morgan file down. “There are a couple of accident reports
 
—hit-and-runs, old ones. This last folder is just notes, looks like Asa’s writing. Suppositions. . . . Hmm.”

“No smoking gun,” Luke interpreted, and the disappointment bit deep.

Woody looked at him. “Maybe not. Or maybe we just have some work ahead of us.”

They emptied the safe and found a bag to put everything in. The gun and a hunting rifle Asa owned were to go to a
neighbor, who also happened to be a retired cop. Woody was given all of Asa’s fishing gear. Asa told Woody he could go through everything in the house, take what he wanted. After Woody finished, he was to call the cleaning lady and tell her to contact Asa’s attorney. Asa had left her the house in trust because she reminded him of his deceased wife.

Luke and Woody had flown to Idaho hoping to tie everything up over the course of three days. Their new job in the cold case squad had been scheduled to start next week, though now that was iffy. Luke had a planned weekend away with his daughter set to begin Friday morning so they could spend some time together. He’d been so busy lately, they hadn’t been able to do it before she began fifth grade studies. As much as he hated to admit it, Luke had been anticipating this trip to Idaho with Woody more than the trip with Maddie.

Over the past few months the last words Asa had breathed about proof had stuck with Luke. It had permeated his mind that there was a possibility of more answers where his uncle’s murder was concerned. He tried to be settled about the crime, to follow the advice he had given Abby often, to trust God’s justice. As the hollow feeling of disappointment spread, he realized the hope of concrete evidence was nothing but smoke and what they’d found here would likely not change what they already knew.