Dangerous Waters (26 page)

He felt Holly at his side but was too stubborn to acknowledge her.

“Rob Fitzgerald?” she called.

Finn gave a little shake of his head. She wasn’t even here for him. Must be Rob’s time for a roasting. He watched the young man he’d worked with for the last eighteen months turn toward Holly. Rob’s face drained of blood and he lunged toward her sidearm.

Sonofabitch
! Finn caught Rob’s hand, swung him around by it, and had him facedown in the grit, foot on the back of his neck, with Rob’s arm bent at what he knew to be an excruciating angle, in under a second.

Holly and the other officers were staring at him a little wide-eyed, as were his students.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded. Rob liked a good time, but had always been reliable and easy to work with.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t a killer,
his brain taunted.

Holly nodded to Messenger, who put handcuffs on Rob’s one wrist.

“We just need to talk to Mr. Fitzgerald,” Holly said calmly, still not looking him in the eye.

Finn handed over Rob’s other wrist for the steel band. “Why?” he demanded, getting in Holly’s face.
Why did you walk out last night? Why will you not talk to me?

She narrowed her eyes at him. But at least she finally connected.

“We’ve got some questions to ask him.” She looked beyond him into the dive shed. “I’d appreciate it if you’d find us some dry clothes for Mr. Fitzgerald so we can make his interview more comfortable.”

Suggesting they were going to question him for some time. Finn turned his gaze to Rob. The guy looked like he was about to open his mouth and start begging.

“If you had
anything
to do with Gina’s death you better hope they keep you locked up nice and safe.” Anyone who lunged for a gun had something to hide. Not even Finn had been that desperate—no, he’d just lied and manipulated his way into the investigation. Finn shook his head at himself as he walked into the dive shed, grabbed Rob’s bag, and stuffed in jeans and T-shirt that he knew belonged to his assistant. When he walked outside, Furlong, Messenger, and Rob were already heading back to the SUV.

He handed the bag to Holly. “And how are you this morning, Sergeant Rudd?”

She took it, head down, muttering, “If anyone finds out about last night, I’ll get suspended.”

“Who exactly am I gonna tell?”

“People will just
know
.” She shot him a sideways glance. “I can’t talk about it right now.”

He gave her a look that let her know he thought she was insane. “So that’s it?” He leaned closer. “That’s all you’ve got to say to me?”

“Right now it’s all I
can
say. I’m sorry.” She marched away with Rob Fitzgerald’s stuff under one arm. The car door slammed and they drove away.

His heart felt as if it had spent the night in the deep freeze and then been hit full whack with a sledgehammer. And in the blink of an eye he was once more the little kid who nobody wanted. Well, fuck that.

Rob Fitzgerald sat at the interview table with an insolent jut to his jaw. The charm had fallen away to reveal a surly, whiny individual with a sealed—until now—juvenile record for drug possession and theft.

“You knew about the shipwreck. didn’t you, Rob?”

His eyes hardened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the fact that you talked Len Milbank into going down there to look for treasure, and as soon as you got him there, you stuck a knife in his chest and then dumped the body.”

He pressed his lips together. “I didn’t do that.”

“So tell us what you did do,” Holly urged.

“I never killed Len.” He started chewing his lip, a sure sign of nerves.

“But you knew him.” Half an hour ago they’d gotten phone records, going way back, that showed a series of phone calls between the two men. The calls stopped when Rob started working at the marine lab, but Holly would bet a month’s pay they’d used a burner cell to communicate after that. “You were the inside guy for his smuggling operation.”

Rob started tapping his feet on the floor, making his knees bob rapidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on.” Holly paced, unable to settle in the chair beside a glowering Furlong. She’d do better without him here, could finesse Rob Fitzgerald with a few friendly smiles. But right now she didn’t feel like smiling. She felt dead inside. Blackened and charred as if a forest fire had swept through her heart. She’d told Finn from the beginning they had no future, nothing but some weird chemistry. But she’d hurt him. She’d seen it in his eyes and felt it reflected in her own feelings. She’d messed up. He must hate her now.

“We know you made a call about that knife,” she said.

Rob’s blue eyes met hers, and she read calculation in them, guile. “I made the call about the knife. I recognized it, but I didn’t want to just up and say anything in front of anybody. It was my boss’s knife.” He leaned forward over the desk, all boyish sincerity. “I
need
this job.”

“You made another call not long after that one.”

He frowned.

“That call was to Brent Carver. Someone told him there’d been a murder on Deerleap Road—”

“What?” His eyes went wide. “I didn’t make any calls to Brent Carver. That guy is not someone I’d be messing with.” He shook his head, then his eyes whipped forward. “You don’t think I killed Gina—”

“Did you?”

“No! I liked Gina.”

“But you didn’t like Len.”

He slumped back in his chair. “No one liked that motherfucker.”

“So why’d you work for him?”

He rubbed long-fingered hands over the back of his neck. “I never had a choice,” he admitted. “I managed to kick drugs after I got busted a few times. I went away, but as soon as I came home the scumbag got me hooked again.”

Did he force them down your throat or into your veins?
It was always someone else’s fault that users couldn’t resist temptation.

“He told me that if I moved down to Bamfield and just acted as the occasional go-between with a guy he knew from down the coast, he’d make sure my life was rosy.” He scanned the interview room and rolled his eyes. “Milbank always was a fucking liar.”

“So you killed him?”

Rob pulled his long hair out of his eyes, incredulous, or a damn good actor. “I worked for him because he scared the shit out of me. I didn’t kill him, for the same reason.”

“What about Gina?” Furlong spoke up. He slipped a photograph across the table.

Rob’s eyes bugged and he put his hand over his mouth. “Whoa. I never hurt Gina. I don’t need to attack ladies to get some, you know.” He shot Holly a god’s-gift-to-women smile and she wanted to slap him. But he’d assumed from Gina’s naked body that she’d been sexually assaulted, and as far as the coroner could tell, she hadn’t been. Or he was a hell of a liar. She pressed her lips together and studied him carefully.

“We have a witness that says you used the call box yesterday morning. There were only two calls made from that phone around that time. One was about the knife. The other was about Gina.”

His skin bleached and he shook his head. “I never touched her, or Milbank. Where’s my lawyer!” he started yelling and bumping the table with his legs.

“Tell me what happened with Milbank,” she asked when Furlong had gone out the room to “look” for the guy’s lawyer.

“Milbank was convinced he was being watched by the cops, though if that was true he probably wouldn’t have wound up dead.” He stopped moving. “Look, I’m not admitting anything. But it is possible Milbank gave a certain someone drugs destined for up north, which they might have swapped for money way out to sea. And a couple of days later, it’s possible that same someone met up with Milbank to give him his cash and then went quietly home with a small payment for services rendered, only to hear the ugly bastard had got himself killed and the cash was nowhere to be found.” The guy wiped his nose on his hand.

So he had been Milbank’s connection. “That someone is going to have to come up with a few names and times.”

“I’m not fessing to anything until I talk to my lawyer.” He shrugged a bony shoulder.

“Lawyer’s coming. Did you ever have sex with Gina?”

“She wasn’t my type. Too old. Although she was hot under those old granny blouses—who knew?” He whistled as if remembering Gina’s naked body from the photograph they’d shown him. Even if he didn’t kill her he was a sick puppy.

She hid her disgust. “Would you willingly provide us with a DNA sample to eliminate you from our inquiries?” They could get a warrant. They already had his prints. “It’ll go a long way to proving your innocence if we don’t find your DNA at Gina’s house. Or you could just come clean and tell us what really happened.” Her impatience leaked out, or maybe it was pure exhaustion. She didn’t remember the last time she’d slept.

He leaned back in his chair, considering her with a hard, calculating gaze. “You think you’re something special, don’t you?” He sneered. “Better than me? I don’t think so.”

“Pardon me?”

“I know what you did last night.” His eyes gleamed with a sly edge. “I saw you getting drilled by Finn last night. Cut me some slack.” He eyed the door. “And I won’t tell your boss.”

Numbness crept up around Holly’s heart. He was bluffing. He had to be bluffing.

His eyes started to dance as he read her reaction. “You don’t believe me? I went to see him last night, during the storm.”

Her nerves buzzed.

“Got quite an eyeful, Officer. Nice ass, by the way.”

She gritted her teeth. “You’re full of shit, Fitzgerald, and you are going down.”

His gaze slithered over her skin. “Unlike you guys, huh. Oh well, maybe next time?”

Her chest squeezed so tight she thought she was having a heart attack. The interview was being recorded, and he’d just fried her career with a few careless words. What was worse, he’d watched her and Finn making love. She felt violated. Dirty. Revulsion flooded every cell in her body.

Her legs wobbled as she got to her feet. She didn’t deserve this job. She’d never deserved this job. She picked up the case file and left the room. On the other side of the door, Furlong stood staring at her, openmouthed.

“I’m done. Someone else can take over as primary.” Her hands were shaking. “I’m not jeopardizing putting that asshole in prison.”

Furlong snapped his mouth shut, his eyes dark and troubled.

“Don’t worry,” she said bitterly, “
I’ll
call my father.”

“Finish your vacation.” He took the files out of her arms. “Lie low and don’t talk to anyone about this. I’ll handle things.”

“Handle things?”

“I’ll figure something out. Don’t tell
anyone
.” He stepped toward her and lowered his voice. “How could you be so
fucking
irresponsible?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit out of it.” She glared. “I don’t want you to
handle
anything. I’m going back to Bamfield to grab my gear and then I’m going to Victoria. I’ll call my dad. That little shit is not going to blackmail cops or wriggle out of everything he deserves.”

“Holly…” He touched her arm and grimaced. “I wish I could ignore this. But if he’s guilty, if he goes to trial, he could twist the evidence to make it look like a conspiracy theory to clear the name of the primary investigator’s lover’s brother.”

She closed her eyes. It was
so
goddamn sleazy. Drained from lack of sleep and plain, old-fashioned humiliation, she wanted to curl up on the floor and die. “I’m taking myself off the case. I never interviewed him until after his arrest. The case is rock solid. You’ll have to decide if I face disciplinary action or not, but…” Her throat felt like crushed glass as she swallowed. “Just give me a few hours to talk to my dad, OK?”

“I’ll handle it,” he repeated.

She marched away with her head high. How could she have thought she’d get away with such a massive error in judgment? She burst into the reception area, and there was Thomas Edgefield, waiting patiently on one of the chairs. Brent Carver was still being questioned.
Christ
. She ran her hands down her face. It was a nightmare.

“Holly! Sergeant Rudd.” He held up a flash drive. “I heard you were here and thought I’d take the opportunity to give you all the details from my wife’s murder investigation.”

She snatched it off him and sailed out the door. Her fingers curled over the small flat object. She may as well look at Edgefield’s case. Christ knew she had nothing better to do.

She hired a car to drive back to Bamfield. She could have asked Steffie or Messenger to ship her stuff to Victoria, but she’d be damned if she’d ask for any favors. And she wanted to face them. Apologize—rather than slink away like a rat. Trouble was, there was no one at the hotel, and she figured they must still be re-canvassing the locals in the wake of the second murder.

Was Rob Fitzgerald their killer? She hoped so. The sick voyeur could rot in prison, and people here could get on with their lives without living in fear.

She used Steffie and Messenger’s room to get changed out of her uniform and into plain clothes and made it back across the inlet to the bar where she’d left the rental car. She leaned against the hood. The thought of another two hours on that god-awful road just to get to Port Alberni brought her to a standstill. She couldn’t do it. Could not climb behind that wheel. She glanced up at the painted wooden structure of the motel at the back of the bar and walked inside the small reception area. A young girl, about sixteen, manned the desk.

“I need a room for the night.”

“You look like you’ve had a rough journey. That road’s a killer, huh?” The girl popped gum.

Holly blinked. The girl didn’t recognize her. Thank god for small favors. “It is.” She handed over her credit card and waited for the sky to fall in.

“Room seven.” The girl smiled, a small gap showing between her front teeth.

Holly blinked as she was handed a key. “Thank you.” She hefted her bag and headed back outside. Trod the sagging boards with their peeled white paint and unlocked the door of number seven. She braced herself and then walked into a room that, while it wasn’t anything special, was clean, warm, and thankfully quiet. She tossed the bag onto the chair, plugged her phone into the charger. She was thirsty, so she put the mini coffeepot on and brewed herself a mug.

The sun slanted in the window, so she closed the curtains and dragged her laptop onto her thighs as she lay propped up in bed.

She inserted the flash drive Edgefield had given her and pulled up the initial police reports. They’d put in a lot of man-hours interviewing people but, like her, they hadn’t gotten much info out of the locals. She recognized most of the names, and though there’d been some newcomers to the area, a lot of the townsfolk were the same.

Holly found it strange living somewhere so remote. The thought of facing that damn road every time she wanted to see civilization? No way. She liked the wilderness, but for visits, not for normal everyday living. Which reinforced the fact that she and Finn could never be anything except a casual hookup. So why was the desire to go find him and apologize digging into her mind with needle-sharp claws? Did she want a repeat of last night? Her body said hell yes while her mind said solidly no.

Did she want to hurt him, mess with him more than she’d already done? Not that he’d tried to chase after her last night or call her after their run-in today. Why would he? She’d treated him to a classic slam, bam, thank you…man.

And even though most guys wouldn’t care, she knew he did. They’d shared a closeness that she had ruined because she’d laid hands on him and he’d kissed her. Then they simply hadn’t been able to stop, and now she didn’t know who she was anymore.

Am I another mistake, Holly?

She squeezed her eyes shut because she could still feel the pleasure of his touch and still wanted him so badly, on so many levels, that her pulse revved. Why would he want her now? He wouldn’t. No one would. And that was fine. But it didn’t stop a raw ache from opening up inside her and filling her with a yawning gulf of emptiness.

He was done. History. And a damn sight better off without her screwing up his life.

She clicked on the crime scene photos from the Edgefield double murder. The images were black and white for the most part. Some color. The first images were of the forest, only a rifle shot away. The first close-up of the victim made her stomach clench.

It could have been her, lying there with her head smashed in. The next shot zoomed out to show the baby who’d also received a blow to the front of his tiny face. Holly wiped a hand over her eyes as her throat closed up. She pulled her coffee mug off the nightstand and took a drink to steady herself.

This was how Thomas had found his wife and son?

So the report said.

But why had the killer placed the baby so carefully in his mother’s arms, snug against her breast? Protected in death as he wasn’t in life? Bianca Edgefield hadn’t been sexually assaulted that the coroner could tell. Someone had simply smashed a hammer into her skull and left her to die. An up close and personal murder.

She flicked through more of the images, but they all showed the same thing. And no sign of the two-year-old girl. No blood. Just her little red jacket and what looked like drag marks. Holly squinted at a picture of the kid.

Shit, they could have been twins except for the massive smile on the girl’s face. Most of Holly’s early photographs showed her on the verge of crying. She hadn’t liked to sit still for long. She touched the plump cheek of the kid.

“What happened to you, Leah? Where did you go?”

She brought up the autopsy report. Bianca had been a young, healthy mother of two, still nursing, who’d died from blunt force trauma to the head. Autopsy on the baby proved inconclusive. Although, really, the crushed skull revealed more than any investigator could ever need.

She couldn’t find any DNA evidence. Then she realized DNA profiling hadn’t even been invented back then. Maybe Edgefield was right about reopening the case, although who knew what condition the evidence was in after all this time. She picked up the phone and called Cassy.

“Hey.” Cassy sounded miserable.

“What’s up?”

“The results of those DNA tests are back.”

Excitement stirred. “You’ve run them already? Seriously?”

“What can I tell ya, I’m good. I found two sets of DNA on that sheet. The vic’s and an UNSUB.”

“In the system?” Holly asked before she could stop herself.

“Not
ex
actly,” Cassy said slowly.

“Ugh. You shouldn’t be talking to me about this. I’m off the case.”

“What?”

“Cassy.” Holly cradled her head in her hands. “I screwed up.”

“How?”

Holly swallowed. She wasn’t going to lie about her mistakes. Not anymore. “I had sex with someone involved in the investigation.”

“No buckin’ way.”

“Oh, yes. I really did. And I had two, maybe three, orgasms to prove it. And the worst thing? I want to do it again. And I can’t. Ever. Go near. Him.”
Christ
. She hugged her knees as sweat beaded her brow.

“But,” Cassy spluttered, “you’re usually so staid…and boring!”

Holly blew out a soft laugh. “Thank you, so much. I appreciate it. Staid, boring, highly unethical, and borderline criminal. A winning combination for a cop.”

“Holy crap, Holly. You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious.” Inside she went cold again. Humiliation welled up. She had to tell her dad the same thing, and the thought was killing her.

“Oh, god…” Cassy sounded like she was going to faint.

“You OK?”

“I just…I just…” Holly could hear her friend taking deep, settling breaths. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“If it’s about that DNA, you need to call Furlong and fill him in.”

“You need to hear it first.”

“I’m off the case, Cass.” She paced the floor. She shouldn’t have started talking about sex because now she felt raw and edgy. She needed to get back on track. “I do have a question about old DNA though—”

“Holly—”

“What?” she said impatiently. Thinking about Finn, missing Finn, unsettled her. She needed to work.

“The DNA for the UNSUB on that bed sheet you sent me. I looked at the mitochondrial DNA in the skin cell samples—mitochondrial DNA is passed on
only
through the mother. I found a full maternal match with someone in the system.”

Anticipation burned along Holly’s nerves. She hoped it was Rob Fitzgerald, the smarmy little prick. “You have to tell Furlong, not me,” she insisted.

“Listen. I ran it through CODIS and against every DNA profile I have in the system just like you told me to, breaking probably more privacy laws than you need to worry about.”

Holly winced.

“Remember your last case when we had to take your DNA to eliminate it from the knife that bastard used to cut you?”

So they could separate her DNA from that of the wife he’d killed. “Yes.” They were getting way off course here… “What does that have to do with—”

“The match was with
you
, Holly. A full maternal match. So I compared nuclear DNA too, which wasn’t a full match. But enough to tell me you have a half brother out there, and I hope to God you didn’t just have life-altering sex with him because the victim sure as hell did.”

Holly dropped the phone and stared at it, frozen. When she picked it back up, Cassy was still there. Patient. Silent. A true friend. Holly’s voice quivered, “I don’t understand. Mom said she couldn’t have any more children. I told you that.” She was getting hysterical. She could feel it bubbling under the surface of her skin.

“I know, hon. That’s why I checked something else—”

“What? Who?” Holly snapped.

She heard a thick swallow. “Your father’s blood type is AB positive.”

“So?”

“You are type O negative, Holly.”

She didn’t understand.

“It’s simply not possible for the deputy commissioner to be your biological parent.”

Holly covered her mouth and sank down onto the bed, curled over. “There must be a mistake.”

“No mistake.”

Holly’s head started pounding. “You’re telling me my mom had an affair? My dad isn’t my dad? And she had another kid?” None of this made sense.

“That’s possible, I suppose.” Holly could hear the doubt in the other woman’s tone. “It’s also possible you were adopted.”

“But I have baby photographs!” Sweat streaked Holly’s face. It trickled down her temple, down her neck, corrosive as acid.

Cassy said nothing for a moment. “If you can get me some of your mom’s DNA, an old hairbrush or some clothes, I can do another comparison. But the easiest thing would be to just ask your dad.”

The thump of her heart was so loud she thought the other woman must hear it. She had no memory of her early childhood. It was like that part of her life was wiped clean. Or blocked? But how many people
did
remember their infancy? She pulled up the photograph of Leah Edgefield and stared at the little girl. Gray eyes. Like her. Like Thomas Edgefield. The man she’d looked down on since the moment she’d met him. The man she pitied.

Could he be her father? Could
she
be Leah Edgefield?

“Holly? Are you all right?”

God, she’d forgotten about Cass. “I’m OK. I need to call my dad…” Her tongue turned to dust. What should she say to him?
I slept with someone involved in the investigation and, by the way, am I adopted?

“Still want me to call it in to Furlong?”

God. This was too personal. More personal than some pervert watching her have sex
—
and that had been bad enough. The room swayed in and out of focus. But the thought of being adopted threatened her very identity, every belief she’d ever held about her worthiness as a person, as a cop. Without that heritage, she had nothing. Was nothing. Nausea rose up her throat, but she forced it back. “I just need a bit of time to process this.”

“I understand, sweetie. It’s a lot to handle, but…”

“What?”

“The guy you slept with. Could he possibly be the guy who slept with the dead woman?” And Holly’s brother?

“No.” She remembered what they’d done together and her insides spun.
Christ, if Finn was lying or mistaken
… “His name is Finn Carver, aged thirty-six—he was in the military, so his DNA
might
still be in the system if they haven’t already destroyed it. His brother, Brent Carver, thirty-nine, was just questioned in relation to Gina Swartz’s murder. I know he gave a voluntary sample to IFIS in Port Alberni. It’s not him, but would you…Could you…Just to make sure.”
Favors
. She had no right to ask for favors.

“Double-check his profile and compare it to yours? Sure. It won’t take long. I’ll call you back ASAP. You’re sure these two are full-blood brothers?”

She remembered how alike they were in looks—both blond and blue-eyed. Knew they’d grown up together. Couldn’t imagine that his mother had dumped them and run off to become the beautiful and caring woman who’d raised her with such love and grace. Her stomach somersaulted. “I’m as sure as I am about anything right now.” Then she dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom and vomited.