Profile of Retribution: FBI Profiler Romantic Suspense (Profile Series #3) (11 page)

“Sorry, I can’t talk about an active investigation.”

“Well, that’s a pile of crap. I’m still the county commissioner.”

Cameron shrugged his apology. “Still can’t talk about it.”

Bradley scowled at him and then hurried to the front porch. Soon he disappeared inside the house.

“Tisha?” He called for her as he searched each of the rooms on the first level. Upstairs he heard water running, so he stood outside the bathroom door. “Tisha?”

“Go away.” His wife was in the shower, thinking that the running water would drown out the sound of her sobs. It didn’t. And it was all he could do to keep from breaking down the door.

Chapter Twenty-two

The Call

It was five in the morning, as Cameron sat at his work desk, thoroughly pissed off that no one had bothered to make fresh coffee, and that the jerk vandal had been at it again at the Lucas place the night before. One would think three deputies and four dispatchers could find it in their busy work lives to dump some fresh coffee grounds in the machine and push a button.

Ripping open three packets of sugar, he dumped them in what looked like sludge and shook his head in disgust. Desperate for some caffeine, he took a first sip and nearly spit the bitter brew all over his desk. Pushing the mug away, he started his computer and then opened a file drawer and pulled out the Gamers’ case file. Removing the crime scene photos on top, he pulled out the victim folders that contained contact information for the surviving families.

The first folder belonged to Destiny Cooke, former beauty queen and college graduate. She was the daughter of Anthony and Bobbie Cooke and fiancée to Justin Andrews. Destiny had the brightest of futures ahead of her, but that all ended at her wedding rehearsal when Evan and Devan Lucas abducted and later killed her. Her funeral was attended by most of Shawnee County. Cameron had tried to stick by Justin most of the day, because the state trooper was his friend and needed him. That day, and in the days to follow, Justin seemed broken, and there wasn’t a damn thing Cameron could do about it.

Did he think Anthony, Bobbie, and Justin were angry about the way Destiny died? Who wouldn’t be? Was their rage so fierce as to seek retribution? He didn’t know.

He jotted down the Cooke’s address and made a mental note to call Justin later. Most of the time, he loved his job. This was not one of those times.

Deputy Sawyer popped in his office at seven, holding a hot cup of fresh coffee and a newspaper.

“Good morning, Gail. Thanks for the coffee, but I’ve got no time to read the paper.”

She unfolded the newspaper on his desk in front of him. “Sir, I think you’ll want to see this.”

Taking a quick sip of coffee, he waited for her to explain, but she’d already left the room. Glancing down, he saw why she disappeared with such haste. The headline read:
Vandal sets
Lucas Mailbox on Fire.
Aw, shit. Where in the hell did they get their information? The article was short, but hinted that this was not the first act of vandalism to the Lucas property, and that the couple had been the targeted. Great. Just great. As if they didn’t have enough going on, the article had the potential to give every copycat nutcase wild ideas on how they could harm the Lucas couple and get the support of most of the county.

Cameron slammed his fist on the desk, and then reached for his phone. He dialed the editor’s number at the
Morel Journal
.

“Hello, Sgt. Chase. It didn’t take you long to call.” Jack Wyatt, the new editor, had proved himself to be an asshole and no friend to the Shawnee Sheriff’s Office. A small man, Jack was no more than five foot four. Carly once said he had a Napoleon complex; he compensated for his small size by being overly aggressive, even when the situation didn’t call for aggression in the first place. That summed up Jack Wyatt in a nutshell.

“Looks like you had a slow news day. Since when do vandalism articles become headline news?”

“I guess it depends on whose property the vandalism occurs.”

“It was a mailbox, Jack. It wasn’t their house and garage. We’re not talking a towering inferno.”

“This time…”

Cameron ignored his remark and continued, “How did you even know about it?”

“Got an anonymous call.”

The editor acted like he was a leading member of the press who’d just uncovered the scoop of the century. Cameron had the urge to shake him. It was just a fucking mailbox. Next he’d say he had to protect his sources.

“Who called you?”

“How do I know? I said it was anonymous.”

Cameron rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“I know this isn’t the first time the Lucas place was vandalized. The caller said something about a bloody rock?”

This got Cameron’s interest. The only one who’d know about the bloody rock was the guy who threw it. “Sorry, Jack, I’m not sure what he’s talking about. Did he say anything else?”

“He did, but he was mumbling and I couldn’t understand him.”

“Any chance I can get a hold of your phone records?”

“Not even a sliver of a chance.”

“Have you ever heard of the term ‘obstruction of justice’?”

“Hey, get a warrant. Go for it.”

Cameron shook his head. Did he expect anything less from Editor Jack Wyatt? He called Gail in so she could start the process to subpoena Jack’s business phone records. If they were lucky, they’d be able to identify their suspect by his telephone number. On the other hand, the chances were excellent that David109 used a burner cell. He’d been smart so far. Why deviate now?

Chapter Twenty-three

Bobbie and Anthony

It would have been hard to miss the Cooke house on Washington Street. It was the only Cape Cod home in town, painted a soft yellow with white trim. Two cars were in the drive, so Cameron was relatively certain he’d be able to talk to both Bobbie and Anthony and get it over with.

He’d received a text from Bryan before he left the office. Both notes had been examined, but no fingerprints or DNA. The blood coating the rock was not human. Not the best of news for someone who wanted to apprehend his suspect as soon as possible.

Bobbie Cooke answered the door and led him into a small living room where Anthony sat watching television.

“Hey, Cameron. It’s been a long time.” He flicked off the TV and swiveled in his chair. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I just made a pitcher of sweet tea,” said Bobbie. “I’ll get you a glass.”

As soon as his wife left the room, Anthony looked Cameron squarely in the eye. “Is your visit personal or professional?”

“I’m afraid it is professional.”

Bobbie returned, handed a glass of sweet tea to Cameron, and sat down in a chair near him.

Obviously not a man who favored chit-chat, Anthony asked, “What’s going on?”

“I’m investigating some vandalism at the Lucas place.”

“We saw the article in the paper this morning. What does that have to do with us?”

“Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Bradley and Tisha Lucas?”

Anthony stiffened. “That’s not what you want to know. You’re asking if
we
would want to hurt them.”

“Oh, Lord no.” Bobbie blinked and clenched her hands in her lap. “Those poor people. Someone tried to hurt them?”

“Poor people? Are you serious, woman? Those people raised the teenagers who killed our Destiny. How can you feel sorry for them?”

Her voice turned soft and low. “Anthony, if you don’t forgive, you can’t move on.”

Becoming agitated, Anthony waved his hands expressively as he talked. “I think I’ve heard about enough about your forgiveness campaign, Bobbie. I want no part of it.”

He turned to Cameron. “Unlike her mother, I cannot forgive Destiny’s killers. Bored, rich teenagers looking for their next thrill. No, I can’t forgive them, or the parents who brought them into the world. I know both Tisha and Bradley Lucas. Cold, self-centered and pompous, both of them. I sure don’t feel sorry that someone struck out at them. Not a bit.”

It was then that Cameron noticed Anthony’s hand was wrapped in white gauze. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, I burned it last night when I threw a match on some paper under kindling in the fireplace. Hurt like a bitch.”

Cameron heard the front door open and then shut. Justin Andrews, dressed in his state police uniform, entered the room. Bobbie jumped out of her chair to hug him.

Justin nodded at Cameron. “I saw your SUV outside. Good to see you.” He shook Cameron’s hand, while Bobbie rushed to the kitchen for another glass of sweet tea. Moving next to Anthony’s chair, he placed his hand affectionately on the older man’s shoulder. “So what’s going on?”

“Anthony was just telling me how he burned his hand when he lit his fireplace kindling last night.”

Taking an openly protective stance, Justin focused on Cameron. “So you think Anthony is the guy who torched the Lucas mailbox?”

“I didn’t say that. But I would like to know where Anthony was last night around midnight.”

Bobbie came back into the room and handed Justin a glass of sweet tea. “I can tell you where he was. He was lying next to me snoring to beat the band. I know the time because I rolled over to look at the clock and saw it was twelve-thirty. I pushed Anthony onto his side to stop the snoring and went back to sleep.”

Anthony’s face flushed with anger. “You got a lot of nerve coming here with your insinuations and questions. Where were you cops when those animals took my Destiny? Where were you when my daughter needed your protection?” He stopped to glance at Justin. “Not you, Justin. I didn’t mean you.”

Justin followed Cameron out to his vehicle.

“Don’t you want to ask me some questions, too? I’m certainly not a member of the Lucas family fan club.”

Hands in his pockets, Cameron leaned against his vehicle. This was one of those days he hated his job. He was just adding to their pain, with questions he was forced to ask to eliminate them as suspects. “How are you, Justin?”

“Are you asking as a friend or as a detective?”

“Friend. I already cleared you as a suspect. You were on duty last night.”

“Were you surprised it wasn’t me who vandalized the Lucas place? I have just as much motive as anyone else. Certainly, just as much as Anthony or Bobbie.”

“No. We’ve been friends for a long time. It just wasn’t your style.” Both men stared at their feet, not knowing what to say. Finally, Cameron cleared his throat and said, “I haven’t talked to you since the funeral. How are you?”

Justin shrugged his shoulders. “I have good days and bad days. Mostly bad. I can’t get Destiny out of my head. I can’t stop blaming myself for what happened. When I saw she hadn’t arrived at the church for rehearsal, I should have waited for her in my car in the parking lot. But I didn’t, and I lost the one woman I’ll ever love.” He swallowed hard as if biting off tears.

“I’m sorry, Justin. If there’s anything I can do…”

“If you can’t bring her back, then no, there’s nothing you can do.”

“If you ever need to talk, just call, we’ll meet for a beer or something.”

“I have someone to talk to. I’ve been seeing a counselor for three months. Not sure it’s helping. Not sure anything will.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Snowflake

The highway was engulfed in a thick white and gray soup. He’d already passed two accidents, one a head-on collision. But the dangers of driving in heavy fog wouldn’t stop him from where he needed to go, where he went every Friday.

When he reached his destination, he turned onto a two-lane dirt road and drove until he reached her gravestone. Easing out of the truck, he went to the back and pulled out a wooden bench. Carrying it, he walked past several graves until he came to the twenty-by-ten-inch granite marker that held her name, along with her date of birth and death. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could afford. He wasn’t rolling in money like the Lucas couple.

Placing the bench across from her grave marker under an oak tree, he returned to his truck for a bag of mulch. With his hands, he spread the organic material around and under the bench. Then he backed up a step to admire his work. He’d never been much of a wood worker but he’d found a plan for a bench, and had worked on it in the garage for the last two weeks, sawing, nailing, sanding, and staining. Proud of the finished product, he sat on it to test it out. The fog filled the air with moisture, and it clung to his hair and clothing, creating a cold, dewy sensation on his skin. Satisfied with the bench, he pulled out a rag from his back pocket and wiped the moisture from the gravestone.

“Good morning, Snowflake. It’s been a week since I visited, but you’re on my mind and in my heart every day. I hope you like the new bench. Made it myself, if you can believe it. I thought it’d be nice to sit a spell each Friday when I visit. Maybe others would like to use it, too. It’s nice out here if you can call a cemetery nice. The land is flat and surrounded by a corn field. Real peaceful here. It gives meaning to the phrase ‘rest in peace.’”

Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he checked his surroundings and was thankful for the fog. It kept the other mourners away and gave him privacy.