Cold Case Cop (10 page)

Thursday, July 17, 10:00 a.m.

G
un drawn, Alex twisted the door handle. It was locked. He kicked open the cottage’s front door. “Mackey, stay outside.”

She stepped toward him. “I want to come in.”

“Stay
outside
.” He didn’t want to risk Tara’s life. Three months ago he’d learned firsthand how dangerous a simple visit could be when the doctor had drawn on and shot at Brady and him. “We don’t know who else is still here. Now stay put so you don’t get us both killed.”

She frowned but nodded. “Fine. But if you need me, call and I will come.”

Mackey didn’t have a gun but he knew she’d run into a fire to save him if he needed her. He offered a smile and then turned his focus to the cottage.

Every piece of furniture, every closet, every full-length curtain could hide a killer. He couldn’t take anything for granted. His gun pointed forward, he scanned the room with his gaze, going left first and then right.

The room was simply furnished with a couch, end tables, lamps and a braided rug. Alex swept his gaze right and noted two doors. Slowly, he moved closer to each. He opened the first. There was nothing behind it but boxes. His heart pounded as he moved to the second. He flipped open the door, his gun pointed and ready to fire. No one.

He canvassed the entire house, methodically going from room to room, looking for the killer. The thorough search revealed no one. The place was clear.

He holstered his weapon and went to the woman’s body. He squatted by her and gingerly reached down to press his fingers to her neck. There was no pulse. Her skin was cool but her limbs were stiff and rigid, as they would be if rigor mortis had set in. It hadn’t been long since she’d died.

The victim’s long dark hair covered her pale face. He gently brushed back her hair and for a long moment just stared. It was Kit. There was no mistaking the high cheekbones, full lips and aquiline nose.

He rose and moved to the front door. He didn’t want to contaminate the scene any more than he already had.

Tara waited by the front door. For the first time, she’d actually listened to him and stayed put. And then he saw the camera in her hand. She’d gone to the car to retrieve it. “There’s no one in the house.”

She stared through the open front door. “Is it Kit?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened with interest and shock. “I was
right.
”

“Yeah. You nailed this one.”

She raised her camera and started taking pictures. Alex placed his hand in front of her lens. “No pictures, Tara.”

“But this is
huge,
Kirkland. We can now prove that Kit didn’t die on her wedding day. She’s been living here for a year. We were the first to figure it out.”

“Apparently we weren’t the first.”

Her brows knotted. “How do we know the killer knew of her true identity?”

He shook his head as he pulled the cell from its cradle. He dialed the sheriff’s number. “Someone killed Frederick Robinson, the jeweler, yesterday. A gunshot wound to the head. His place was robbed.”

Mackey frowned as her mind turned over the possibilities. “This place hasn’t been robbed.”

“No.”

“Do you think I was set up?”

“What do you mean?”

“Set up to find Kit. Someone knew about her past and they gave me just enough information to find her so they could kill her.”

That thought didn’t please him. “You could be right.”

“I want to have a look around the house.”

“No. Stay here while I call this in.”

Tara had no intention of staying put. When Kirkland started talking to the state police on his cell phone and turned his back to her, she eased back around the corner of the house. She wanted to see where Kit had lived this past year.

She carefully picked her way through the weeds and briars as she moved around the house’s stone corner. One hundred yards ahead was a cliff that dropped to the sea. The roar of the ocean below mingled with the rush of the wind. And in the distance, a dark, angry sky loomed over the whitecaps dotting the choppy sea.

What a sad, lonely place this was. This island hilltop stood in sharp contrast to the cheeriness of Cadence, the glitter of high society and even the busy streets of New York. What had brought Kit here to this place that felt more like a prison than a refuge?

Tara found a narrow path that led to the edge of the cliff and she followed it halfway and then turned back toward the house. She snapped more pictures of the house and of the view of the ocean. Miriam was going to be blown away when Tara gave her a full report.

Tara continued down the path. Several times she had to stop as the briars caught her pant leg and snagged the fabric. When she reached the edge, her heart hammered in her chest.

She sucked in a deep breath and peered over the edge. Sea spray blew in her face. Fifty feet below, waves washed over jagged rocks. Gulls squealed.

Tara started to draw back when she caught sight of something on the rocks. It was the flutter of white fabric. She squinted and stared hard at the rocks. And then she slowly realized what she was looking at.

It was a dead body.

A man, dressed in a white shirt and black pants. Suddenly she remembered Borelli two days ago. He had been wearing a white shirt and dark pants.

Strong hands grabbed her. It was all it took to shatter her frayed nerves, and she screamed.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kirkland whipped her around and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

She’d never been so glad to see anyone as she was him. Without thinking, she hugged him. Automatically his arms came around her waist and he drew her to him.

His embrace felt warm.
Safe.

She swallowed and got control of her racing thoughts. “There is another body on the rocks below.”

Within an hour the local sheriff had secured the area and had called in the state police. Because of the victims’ identities, the state coroner had been flown in by helicopter to handle the bodies. A police boat had also been sent and officers below were now securing the dead man’s body.

Everyone was hurrying as fast as they could to gather as much evidence as possible because when the rains came, the evidence would be destroyed.

Tara had been relegated behind the yellow tape while Alex spoke to the local sheriff near the front entrance of Kit’s house. Tara had to lean forward and concentrate to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Have you seen anyone unusual coming and going on the island?” Alex asked.

The sheriff was in his late fifties, had a potbelly and liked to chew tobacco. His uniform was rumpled and his hat pushed back on his head. “Nope. Can’t say that I have.”

Tara was good at reading people. She could see that the sheriff was feeling intimidated by the arrival of a big-city cop and state officials. Alex too seemed to sense this, and was doing his best to put the officer at ease.

“The drawbridge road is the only way in and out of the island?” Alex asked.

“If you’re driving a car.”

“And if you’re not?” Alex said patiently.

“Well, then I guess you could moor in a dozen different spots on the peninsula.”

Tara couldn’t resist a question. “What’s the closest docking spot to this cottage?”

Alex frowned. He didn’t like anyone running his investigation either. But he nodded. “It’s a good question.”

The sheriff directed his answer to Tara. “Miller’s Cove is the closest. It’s about a half mile from here. But I’ll tell you, it’s not for the weak. Whoever came up that way would have to scale a big drop-off.”

“Any other spots?” Tara asked.

“Yep. I can think of two others off the bat.”

“I’ll need those names.”

The rainy mist was growing heavier and seeping into Tara’s shirt. The spray combined with the breeze from the ocean was chilling her to the bone. It was the middle of July and she was freezing. She could have escaped to the warmth of Alex’s car, but that would mean she’d miss out. And she’d rather freeze than miss anything.

“Better get an officer down to those docking spots soon,” the sheriff said. “When this storm comes, it’s gonna wash out whatever evidence there is.”

Alex frowned and then directed two state police officers to get with the sheriff and check out the coves. When the sheriff and the officers had left, Alex glanced toward Tara. “Go sit in my car. You’re going to freeze at the rate you’re going.”

She grinned. “No way.”

The radio on the sheriff’s hip squawked and he removed it from its clip. “Sheriff Profit, are you there?”

The sheriff pressed the walkie-talkie’s side button. “Ten four.”

“This is Sergeant Armstrong, state police. We have the male victim out of the water. Driver’s license names the victim as a Marco Borelli. He has a gunshot wound to the head. He also has a bag of gems in his pocket from Robinson’s Jewelers.”

Tara wiped the mist from her eyes. Hell would freeze over before she left this place.

The rainstorm started with a few fat rain droplets but in minutes the droplets turned to a heavy shower. Alex glanced back at Tara. She was shivering and her skin was paler than normal. At the rate she was going, she’d catch her death if she didn’t get out of the rain. As much as he wanted to let her into the house, he couldn’t have any more contamination of the crime scene.

“Tara, get in my car,” he shouted. “I’ll join you in ten minutes.”

Her red hair was plastered against her head and she was doing her best to protect her camera under her shirt. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You won’t. The drama is over for the moment. And I promise to fill you in.”

“Swear?” Her teeth chattered.

“I swear.”

She nodded and hurried to the car.

Alex slipped on paper booties and rubber gloves and went into the house. There he was met by the state police chief, a tall, thin man with dark hair and a dour expression. His name was Patterson. He was new to the job, but had gained a reputation as thorough and exacting.

Though Alex had called in the body, the investigation fell into the local sheriff’s and the Maine state police’s jurisdictions.

Patterson watched as the coroner zipped up the body bag and sealed it. The seal wouldn’t be broken until the body reached the state medical examiner’s office. The attendants lifted the bag onto a gurney and led it out of the house. “I’ll do an autopsy, but it looks like the gunshot wound to the head was the cause of death.” He scanned the barren room. “I remember the stories about her in the
Globe
last year. Everyone thought she was dead.”

Alex nodded. “That’s what she wanted us to believe.”

“How’d you find her?” Patterson asked.

“It wasn’t me. I was going on a reporter’s tip. I followed her here.”

The coroner glanced out the window. “That the redhead who looked like she was turning blue?”

Alex nodded. “She’s the one. Hopefully she had the sense to turn the heater on in my car.”

Patterson rested his hands on his hips. “It’s going to take my boys hours, if not days, to process this scene. We’ve got a few computers in a back bedroom that need analyzing, as well as prints and fibers.”

“Did anything catch your eye that tells you who might have done this?” Alex asked.

Patterson smiled. “You mean like a smoking gun?”

Alex shrugged. “Would be nice.”

“Not so far, but if we find anything I will let you know.”

“We had a murder in Boston yesterday—Frederick Robinson, a jeweler with a sordid past. He was shot with a .45.” Alex hit the highlights of Robinson’s sordid past.

Patterson nodded. “Does Robinson have anything to do with the gems found on Borelli?”

“I think they were from his shop.”

“Okay. When I have more, we’ll compare notes.”

“Thanks.”

Patterson shoved out a breath. “My guess is that Kit was planning to vanish for a good while. All that blood on the estate would have taken months to collect.”

Alex nodded. “She knew five pints splashed around the greenhouse would lead everyone to believe she was dead.” He thought about the picture of her from the New York PD. “The woman was a master at reinventing herself.”

“So why leave a billionaire for this godforsaken rock?”

“That’s the mystery.”

Tara was thrilled to see Kirkland emerge from the cottage. She’d been in the car ten minutes with the heat blasting, but she couldn’t shake the cold from her bones. And she was anxious to ask him questions.

Kirkland ducked under the yellow tape and came up to the car. He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it in the backseat and got in behind the wheel.

“So what’s going on?” she asked.

“There’s nothing more for us here now. It’s going to take the state police time to figure out what they have.”

“We’re just leaving?”

“It’s a Maine state police crime scene. Out of my jurisdiction.”

“You’re just giving up.”

“No. I’m turning it over to other professionals.”

“The Alex Kirkland I know would never walk away from a murder scene.”

He shook his head. “I’m not walking away from anything. I’ll be back as soon as this rain lets up.”

Teeth chattering, she nodded. Tara held her cold hands out toward the vent. The pit-pat of rain droplets on the roof grew stronger. “So what can you tell me?”

He turned sideways and draped his arm over the seat back. “Honestly, not much to tell yet. But I promise, as soon as I can release any information, you will be the first to know.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Now let’s get back to the motel.”

When he smiled, wrinkles formed at the edges of his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and she remembered the kiss they’d shared the other night. Strong sexual desire surged through her. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to touch him.

Tara shoved out a breath. “Sounds good.”