Silent Witness (2 page)

The older man tilted his head. “Where’s Paul going?”

“He looked a little green around the edges. I sent him back to the office.”

“You baby him too much. Your father would’ve kicked his butt around the block. How else you gonna make a man out of him?”

Her father, Arthur Bradford, the former sheriff for over thirty years, controlled his town with an iron glove resulting in minimal crime activity and making Country Corners an ideal place to raise a family. But as much as she’d loved her father, she also knew he had bullied anyone different, creative or fragile. Liz had witnessed one too many times how officers like Tom and her father had toughened boys up. She wanted no part of it on her watch. She ignored Tom, adjusted her sunglasses and turned her attention to Detective Sal Rizzo, her right hand…and best friend.

“What have we got?”

“We’ve got a slaughter, that’s what we got.” Tom spoke before Sal had a chance to answer. He lifted his hat and raked a hand through his gray hair. “I worked for your daddy for almost thirty years, Sheriff, and we ain’t never seen the likes of this.” He lowered his voice and whispered in a protective, almost fatherly way, “Are you gonna be all right? Nobody would fault you none if you decide not to do a walk-through on this one. I can tell you what you’d see inside and you can get the rest from pictures.”

Ever since she’d stepped into her father’s shoes as sheriff, she’d been trying to prove her own worth and not be seen as Bradford’s kid. She knew her lithe figure, blond hair and blue eyes didn’t paint a picture of a tough, mean, legal machine, but she could hold her own and then some.

Liz peered over the top of her sunglasses and stared at the man eyeball to eyeball. At times like these, she was grateful for her five-foot-eleven-inch height. “I’m going to accept those remarks as well-meaning concern, Deputy Miller, and not that you question my ability to do my job.”

A flush rose on the officer’s neck. “Course not, Sheriff. You’re great at your job. Your daddy would be proud.”

Liz sighed. She knew that was the best she was going to get out of Miller. He was from the old school. It was difficult for him to see women as cops and more difficult to have one as his boss—particularly one he’d tripped over for years as she crawled and romped under her daddy’s feet.

Her radio crackled. “Bravo 24. Code 117—15 Briarcrest Road, Apartment seven.”

Code 117. Domestic dispute.

Danny Trent must have woken up with a hangover and decided to wipe the floor with his wife, Cathleen—again. This was turning out to be a busy morning.

“Tom, call it in. Since you’ve already had one run-in with Danny, you can have the pleasure of handling this one. Sal and I will finish processing the crime scene here.”

“Suits me. I saw enough of that mess in there to last me a lifetime.” The older man shuffled away, speaking into his mike as he went.

Sal escorted Liz the few remaining steps to the house, filling her in on the way. “The place has been ransacked top to bottom. Every drawer opened. Things tossed and smashed. But as far as I can see, it wasn’t a robbery.”

“How can you be sure?”

“The television and surround-sound system are still standing there large as life in the living room. The lady’s purse is lying on the kitchen floor with about fifty dollars’ cash still in it. A nice-size diamond ring was still on Mrs. Henderson’s left hand when we found her. Mr. Henderson’s wallet with cash and all his charge cards are still inside, too. If the family interrupted a burglar and it went bad, he would have at least scooped up that stuff before he took off.”

“Makes sense. Let’s take a look.”

Sal opened the front door and stood to the side.

Liz slipped her hair inside a net. She accepted the paper booties that Sal handed her and put them over her shoes. With the use of DNA results in court, combined with advances in forensic testing, it was more important than ever to keep a clean crime scene. She was thankful that when she’d been elected to office she’d put those procedures into play and her investigation team honored them, even if they did have to ship things to state labs because they couldn’t afford their own equipment.

“Where’s Darlene?”

“She’s inside placing the evidence placards and taking pictures.”

“Okay. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Then she stepped inside.

Liz didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until the ache in her chest reminded her that her lungs were about to explode. She coughed out the pent-up air and quickly inhaled, pulling in lifesaving oxygen, only to realize that it was tinted with the coppery scent of blood.

She paused for a moment in the foyer, so stunned by the chaos that she didn’t know where to look first. She found it difficult to absorb the total destruction. What hadn’t been tossed around looked like it had been shoved aside or turned over. Liz stepped to the bottom of the staircase and her eyes traced a path toward the top. She stared at the white chalk outline about halfway up.

“That’s where we found Kate Henderson,” Sal said. “Four gunshot wounds to the back.”

Liz couldn’t picture the singing-in-the-choir Kate with the outline sprawled on the stairs. A deep sadness came over her. She hadn’t known the woman well but no one should die like this.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

Liz turned toward the voice and saw Darlene standing by the kitchen. She held yellow placards in her gloved hands. Her pale complexion, framed by short carrot-colored curls, looked even paler than usual.

“I think it started in here.” Her deputy gestured behind her.

When Liz reached the kitchen doorway, her eyes widened but she fought hard not to let any other sign of emotional distress cross her face. The dozens of yellow evidence placards looked out of place—almost like a field of spring flowers planted in a valley of destruction. The kitchen, a place for happy family gatherings, was now a gruesome crime scene depicting violence and loss. It was one she wished she hadn’t had to witness and one she knew she wouldn’t soon forget.

“Darlene and I talked about it, boss.” Sal came up behind her. “Best we can figure, Mrs. Henderson came in the back door unexpectedly.”

“Yeah,” Darlene said, stress evident in her voice. “See…” She pointed to a woman’s purse and bags of spilled groceries strewn by the back entrance. “We think she surprised her husband and his assailant while they were in the middle of a fight. She got scared and dropped everything.”

“It looks like she tried to run past them. Almost made it, too.” Sal pointed to the stain on the door frame. “But the killer must have grabbed her. Looks like she slipped and hit her head against the doorjamb. But it didn’t knock her out.”

Darlene picked up the conversation. “Mr. Henderson probably jumped this guy from behind and tried to pull him off his wife. We figure that’s when she raced past them and headed up the stairs.”

The three of them retraced their steps and returned to the foyer. Sal pointed a finger at the chalk outline. “She made it halfway up before she was shot.”

They climbed the stairs and carefully skirted the chalk outline.

At the top of the stairs, there was a loft. At the end of a six-foot railing was a short hall that led to the bedrooms. The three of them stared down at the foyer below for a better view of the crime scene.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Sal’s puzzled expression twisted his lips in a frown and left deep parallel creases across his forehead.

“When does murder make sense?” Liz asked. “But killers always have a reason that makes sense to them—even if it’s illogical to us. Our job is to do our best to figure it out.”

Liz swept the area again with her gaze and offered up a silent prayer.

Dear Lord, please help me bring the person who did this to justice.

“Still…” Sal looked at Liz. “You’d think she would have tried to run out the front door. Why was she running upstairs?”

“Maybe this might have something to do with it.”

Darlene, standing in the hallway entrance, held up a large plastic bag filled with a white powdery substance. “I spotted the edge of this bag sticking out from between the box spring and the mattress in the master bedroom.”

Sal took the bag and opened it to examine the contents. “Cocaine. Looks like we have our motive. Drug deal gone wrong.”

Liz chewed on her lower lip. “The Hendersons? Drug dealers? I don’t know, Sal. It’s hard to believe the Hendersons were involved with drugs.”

“Just how well did you know these people, Sheriff?” Sal asked. “Didn’t they just move here this year?”

“I didn’t know them that well. I knew Kate from casual encounters at church. All of us have met Tom. He’s done some computer work for us at the station.”

“Isn’t he the guy who installed the new software and GPS system in our patrol cars?” Darlene asked. “He updated the software on our desk computers, too. He didn’t look like a druggie to me.”

“You know what all druggies look like?” Sal mocked. “I’ve been wasting my time. I should drive you around town and let you point out the possible druggies who may have killed that dealer behind Smitty’s bar last week.”

“Knock it off, Sal. There’s a time and place for teasing and this isn’t it,” Liz reprimanded.

Sal raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just saying, boss. These days drugs are everywhere.”

Liz sighed. Sal was right. Whether she liked the idea or not, drugs had crept into her quiet little community. But she also agreed with Darlene. It was difficult picturing the Hendersons as part of that seedy side of life.

Needing to get back to the station to begin organizing the investigation, Liz glanced at her watch and asked, “Who did you call to take Jeremy and how long ago did they leave?”

Sal and Darlene glanced at each other and then gave her a blank look.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheriff.” Sal shot her a hard stare. “Who’s Jeremy?”

A sense of dread raced up and down Liz’s spine. “Jeremy is their five-year-old son.”

“The Hendersons had a son?” Darlene asked.

“Yes. A special-needs child.”

“I checked the house myself, Sheriff. There’s nobody else here.”

“He has to be, Sal. Kate homeschools him. They don’t have any relatives living nearby that would be taking care of him.” Liz pushed past Darlene frantically. She raced from one bedroom to the next, checking the closets, looking under the beds. She came up short in the doorway of the master bedroom and looked hurriedly around the room. Trying to keep the panic out of her voice, she called his name.

“Jeremy.”

Silence.

Liz dropped to her knees beside the master bed and looked underneath. Nothing. She raced to the closets. Tom’s closet was filled with shirts, pants, sneakers and polished shoes all organized and in their proper place—but no Jeremy.

Her eyes made a quick sweep of Kate’s closet, skimming over the shoe racks and storage bins. Her hands brushed aside the dresses, blouses and slacks.

She raced to the bathroom and looked inside the shower stall, even opened the linen closet.

“Jeremy.”

“I told you, boss,” Sal called from the doorway. “There isn’t any kid.”

A sense of unease crept up her spine. She suddenly remembered something Kate had told her about Jeremy. He liked to burrow under things. She raced back to Kate’s closet.

“Jeremy?”

Her eyes searched the contents on the floor. The storage bins. The pile of folded blankets in the back corner.

Then she froze.

* * *

Dr. Adam Morgan’s tall, imposing presence and crisp stride made people move out of his way without the need to ask. He didn’t pause at the nurses’ station or pull a chart or even speak to anyone for directions. It wasn’t necessary. He could see the police officer sitting on a chair outside the corner room at the end of the hospital corridor and he didn’t waste any time getting there.

He flashed his identification badge and shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he waited for the officer to check his name against the list of people allowed access to the room. When he received the okay, he pushed open the door, strode into the room and then came to an abrupt stop.

Lizzie.

When he delivered his medical report to the sheriff’s department later today, he fully expected her to ask him to come in and answer some questions. Knowing her first impression of him after all these years would be important to what he hoped to achieve now that he’d moved back, he’d been trying to brace himself for it, trying to prepare how he’d act, what he’d say. But he hadn’t expected the encounter to be this soon.

Not here, sleeping in a chair beside the hospital bed with her arm outstretched protectively over the sedated child.

Not now.

His heart skipped.

Her features were exquisite—smooth skin, gently sloping nose, cheeks rosy with sleep. Her teenage lankiness had blossomed into softly rounded, female curves. The golden highlights in the loose bun tucked behind her neck caught the sunlight from the window. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

He didn’t think he had made a sound but her eyes shot open.

The electric shock of sky blue looking back at him pierced his heart and froze him in place. A slow, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she saw him. Happiness lit her eyes, basking him in sunshine. He had missed this so much over the years—and then she came fully awake. The smile faded. The brightness dimmed. Being a psychiatrist, Adam recognized the flash of pain and hurt that danced across her features before she masked her emotions with another one—anger.

“Adam.” He tried not to wince at the cold tone in her voice.

“Good morning, Lizzie.”

He knew it would be difficult seeing her again, but even years of studying human behavior hadn’t prepared him for the waves of shame and pain that engulfed him. After what had happened to her brother, Luke, Adam had believed he was doing what was best for Lizzie when he left. At the time, he’d convinced himself that he’d be the only one who would be hurt.

It took just a glance at her face to make him realize just how wrong he had been—about everything. He’d abandoned her when she’d needed him most. He had made a huge mistake and compounded it with more wrong choices. He’d failed her. After all these years, there was probably nothing he could do to fix it.