CHAPTER 8
At noon the next day Sean pulled his pickup into a parking space beside Callie’s SUV. She got out and jumped into his passenger seat.
She looked him over. “You’re dressed up.” He was in the dark suit he always wore in court. “How was Samantha’s funeral?”
“Depressing.” Sean hated funerals, but sometimes they came with the job.
Callie handed over a file folder, and Sean opened it in his lap as he loosened his tie. The plan was to go over some background info before they approached the target at his workplace.
Sean skimmed the phone records, focusing on the three highlighted calls from Jared Doppler. “Interesting timing.”
“I thought so, too. Late enough to be a booty call.” Sean glanced up, and Callie’s expression turned slightly defensive. “Why else would he call her at one in the morning?”
“Drug buy?”
“Okay, good point.” Her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t think of that.”
Sean smiled and tucked his tie into his pocket.
“Why was the funeral depressing? Besides the obvious.”
“It was small. Who’s this number here?”
“The registrar’s office at her university. Mind if I have some coffee?”
“Sure.” Sean finished with the phone records and then flipped through to Jared’s rap sheet.
“Eww! It’s stone cold.”
He glanced up. “What’d you expect? I bought it at seven this morning.”
Sean had spent an hour at the doughnut shop, but no sign of the kid. Or Brooke. He’d been on the lookout for both of them, but had completely struck out.
Callie put the coffee back in the cup holder. “How small is ‘small’?”
“Eight people, including the priest.”
“Yikes.”
“Couple people from her job and an AA friend who sat with Amy. Plus her foster mom and a social worker.”
“Any suspects?”
“With the exception of her boss and the priest, it was all women.”
“What’s the story with the foster mom and the social worker?”
“I don’t know yet. After we finish here, I plan to find out.” Sean handed back the paperwork. “Okay, I’m good. You ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
They got out of the truck and approached the hardware store, which was part of a local chain. Not as big as Home Depot, but sizable enough to attract a decent crowd on a Saturday afternoon.
Sean looked at Callie, who was in her typical detective outfit—black slacks, plus a blazer to conceal her firearm. Her shiny gold detective’s shield was clipped at her hip.
“You take the lead,” Sean said. “If my instincts are right about this guy, you’re going to get under his skin.”
She shot him a look as he held open the door.
The store smelled like fresh paint. They started at the customer-service counter, where they asked for Jared Doppler. He appeared a few minutes later with a scowl on his face, and Callie held up her police ID. After some tense words with a manager, Doppler led Callie and Sean outside. He went around the corner of the building and turned to face them, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You trying to get me shit-canned?”
Callie shook her head. “Not at all, Jared. We just have a few questions for you. If you don’t want to talk here, we can always do it at the station.”
Doppler dug a pack of smokes from his shirt pocket. “What questions?”
“How do you know Samantha Bonner?” Callie asked.
“I don’t.” He lit a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke.
Sean flipped open his notebook. “Never met her?”
“Nope.”
He jotted that down as Doppler eyed him with suspicion.
“Never talked to her?”
“Sure, I talked to her once or twice.” He gave a shrug. “But I don’t know her or anything. She was friends with my wife, not me.”
“Don’t you mean ex-wife?”
Doppler looked at Callie.
“We have that you two divorced—what was it, Detective Byrne? Five months ago?”
“Six.”
Doppler sucked in a drag and squinted. “Whatever.” He blew out the smoke. “She was Amy’s friend.”
“And you never actually met her face-to-face,” Callie stated.
“That’s right.”
“Okay, what do you know about her?”
“She was an alcoholic, same as Amy. She filled Amy’s head with a bunch of mumbo jumbo about getting in touch with her higher power, or some such shit.”
Callie glanced at Sean, then back to Doppler. “According to Samantha’s phone records, Jared, you called her three separate times just ten days before she died.”
He sucked in a drag, but didn’t respond.
“All on the night of November fifth.” Callie glanced at the notebook. “You called at one sixteen, one eighteen, and one twenty-two in the morning. The last call lasted twelve minutes.”
“So?”
“So, you want to tell us what you talked about?”
He stared at Callie for a moment. Then he looked at Sean. “I told her to butt out. To stop calling my wife and mind her own business.”
“Ex-wife.”
Jared glared at Callie.
“It didn’t take twelve minutes to tell her that,” Sean said. “What else did you talk about?”
“Nothing. I just told her to butt out of our business.”
Callie lifted an eyebrow. “And if she didn’t? What’d you plan to do then?”
“What the hell is this? Did Amy say I threatened that bitch?” Doppler pointed his cigarette at Callie. “Because I didn’t.”
Sean was starting to get pissed off, but Callie smiled calmly.
“I guess we’ll never know, will we, Jared? Because ‘that bitch’ is dead.”
“Where were you at eight forty-five Wednesday night?” Sean asked.
Doppler didn’t look surprised by the question. “I was with someone.”
“Really? Who?” The note of disbelief in Callie’s voice made Sean smile.
“Her name’s Jenny Landry.” Doppler tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and pulled out his cell phone. “I texted her at eight forty. I’ve got it right here.” He showed his phone to Sean. “I headed over to her place at eight forty-five.”
“We need her address,” Sean said.
“Hyde Creek Apartments. She’s in unit twelve.”
“And when did you leave there?”
“Nine thirty.”
Callie whistled. “You’re fast.”
“Back to the phone calls with Samantha,” Sean said. “Had you been drinking when you talked to her?”
Of all the questions, this one seemed to make Doppler the most defensive. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“I’d maybe had a few beers.”
“Two? Three? Six?”
“I don’t know. A few.”
“Any chance you have a drinking problem?” Sean asked.
“Did Amy tell you that?”
“Your rap sheet told us,” Callie said. “You’ve got a pair of DWIs.”
“I don’t have a drinking problem. Or any other kind of problem unless I get fired from my job.” He glared at Sean. “Are we done here?”
“I don’t know. Detective McLean, are we done?” Sean looked at Callie.
“We’re done for now, but we’ll be checking your alibi, Jared.”
“Have at it.”
“And I’m going to need you to stay available.”
• • •
Sean and Callie stared after him as he stormed off.
“Can’t imagine why he’s divorced,” Callie said.
They started across the parking lot to their cars.
“What’d you think of his alibi?” Sean asked.
“Lines up perfectly.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“We’ll see if his girlfriend can back it up.”
“He wouldn’t have given us her name otherwise.”
Callie glanced at Sean. “You’re saying he knew we were coming?”
“Probably. Guy’s an ex-con and he recently communicated with a murder victim.”
“I’ll talk to this girlfriend of his, see if she’ll corroborate his timeline,” Callie said. “Unless you want to do it?”
“She’s all yours.”
“Speaking of girlfriends, how’s it going with Brooke?”
“It’s not.”
“Why not? Did you ask her out yet?”
“She says she’s taking a break from men.” Sean popped the locks on his truck. The sooner he ended this conversation, the better.
“And?”
“And what?”
Callie laughed. “And don’t you want to know why?”
“Hell yeah. I’m working on it.”
“Ask her out again. See if she’ll open up to you. Maybe she’s on the rebound and you can be her shoulder to cry on.”
Something told him Brooke didn’t want a shoulder. Something also told him that the hard-sell approach wasn’t going to work with her. He had to be subtle. And patient.
The opposite of how he’d been last night when he’d practically begged her to come home with him.
A text landed on Sean’s phone as he slid into his truck. “Hey, here’s something from Jasper.” He read the message. “Someone found a knife near Samantha Bonner’s house.”
“Are you serious? What kind?”
“He doesn’t say. There’s no blood on it, though.”
“Who found it?”
“Mrs. Morton’s dog came across it when they were walking near the train tracks.”
Callie looked at Sean. “You think it’s the murder weapon?”
“Might be.”
“That would be huge.”
“Yep.”
“Why aren’t you excited?”
“I don’t get excited this early. It could be a steak knife, for all we know. We need to get it to Delphi for testing.” He checked the time. “Damn it. I can’t go right now. I’ve got an interview in ten minutes.”
“I can run it over there.”
“You mind?”
“Not at all. What else do I have to do this afternoon? It’s not like I’ve got some hot date to get ready for.”
“I can do it after my interview.”
“No, let me. You’ve got enough on your plate. I can take the lead on this one.”
Sean started up his truck. “Thanks. Let me know what you hear.”
“I will. And good luck.”
“With what?”
She rolled her eyes. “With Brooke. It’s only Saturday. The weekend is young.”
• • •
Farrah Saunders had changed out of her funeral clothes, and Sean almost didn’t recognize the social worker when she walked into Java House. She wore a camo-print jacket with jeans, and her curly blond hair was pulled back in a loose bun.
Sean stood up as she took a chair at the little table. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you.” She checked her watch. “I have to be on a fishing boat in an hour, so I need to make this quick.”
“That case, thanks for making the time, Ms. Saunders.”
Her expression told him she caught the sarcasm. “Call me Farrah. And it’s no problem.”
Sean watched her body language as she glanced around the coffee shop.
“Did you know Sam worked here?” he asked.
“She mentioned it once. She was a barista?”
“She’d been promoted to shift manager.”
Sean had picked this location as a sort of test. He wanted to get a read on how much this woman knew about Sam’s current life.
“I saw you at the funeral talking to Sam’s foster mom.” Sean flipped open his notebook. “Diane Jacobs. So, Sam went by the name of her birth mother, I’m guessing?”
“That’s right.”
“Were her birth parents married?”
Farrah watched him warily, but didn’t respond.
“This is public record. I can find all this out, but it would be a lot faster if you told me.”
Farrah started to respond, but the scream of a coffee grinder cut her off. She waited until the noise stopped. “Her birth mother was single. She never married.”
“Any other kids?”
“No. At least not that I’m aware of.”
“And when did Sam move in with the Jacobs family?”
“When she was fourteen.”
“Before that, did she always live with her birth mom?”
“No.”
“So . . . she lived with a relative? Another foster family?”
“She lived with her aunt for several years, but it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
Farrah watched him for a long moment. Then she leaned forward. “Look, Detective. An important part of my job is protecting my clients’ privacy.”
“I understand. But your client is dead now, and it’s my job to figure out who killed her.”
Farrah shook her head. “Sam’s records are confidential. If you need to see them, you can file a request—”
“That could take ten business days to process, I know.” He looked at her. “This is a murder case, Farrah. That means we’re on a ticking clock here. Every day that goes by without a suspect makes it more and more likely that whoever killed Sam will get away with it. And that means an extremely violent person is out there roaming the streets.” He paused to let that sink in. “This isn’t just about Samantha Bonner. I have a duty to this community. So do you.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “You’re good at this. A little thick on the guilt, but it’s effective.”
He held her gaze but didn’t say anything.
“Fine.” She huffed out a breath. “I can give you some basics. But if you want detailed specifics, you’re going to need to file that request.”
“Okay, then.” Sean wrapped his hand around his coffee cup. “Tell me the basics.”
“How about you tell me what you’re looking for? It might be quicker for everybody.”
“I’m sure you saw some of the details of Sam’s murder on the news.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know it was brutal. We think the killer knew Sam personally. The thing is, none of the friends or coworkers we’ve interviewed have been able to tell us about a boyfriend or any men in her life.”
“I don’t know about all that.” Farrah shook her head. “It’s not like we were friends, really.”
“You were one of eight people at her funeral.”
She unfolded her arms and rested her hands on the table. “Sam was special. She’d managed to beat the odds. Or at least, I thought she had. She dropped me notes from time to time to let me know how she was doing.”
“And how was she doing?”
“Very well.” Farrah glanced down. “I thought so, at least. She was holding down a job. She’d started college part-time. Did you know she was studying social work?”
“I heard that.” He watched her, trying to read her expression. “What was Sam’s life like growing up?”
Farrah looked uneasy. “Hard. I can’t get into specifics . . . but I can tell you many of my cases are children who have to be removed from their homes because of drug or alcohol addiction. They go into the foster system, which—as we all know—is far from perfect. Despite our best efforts, sometimes the kids end up in homes where they’re even more at risk than in their original setting.”
“ ‘At risk,’ as in sexual abuse?”
“Yes.”
Sean watched Farrah’s eyes, trying to pick up every little clue. “This was when Sam lived with her aunt and . . . I’m guessing her uncle?”
Farrah nodded. “I can tell you want a name, but it won’t help. Her uncle’s been dead for years. Since shortly after Sam moved out of his home, actually.”
So much for a viable lead. But at least Sean had got Samantha’s caseworker talking. “What about the next home? The Jacobs place?”
Farrah’s face brightened. “Sam thrived there. She really did. That’s why she stayed in touch with her foster mom, I think.”
“Did they have other kids?”
“It was just Diane, and, yes, she had several other foster kids. All girls. Sam seemed to do well there. She started making good grades. She joined the choir. She graduated high school with honors over in Burr County.”
“And then?”
“And then what?”
“And then sometime after graduating with honors she ended up in a twelve-step program. Sounds like she had some setbacks.”
Farrah tilted her head to the side. “Do you know how many of my kids end up with drug and alcohol problems in adulthood? It’s amazingly common. The unusual thing about Sam was that she caught it early and decided to get help. I don’t see that as a setback.”
Sean sighed. Between the incomplete answers and the generalizations, they were talking in circles. Farrah glanced at her watch, and Sean felt a surge of impatience.
“Let me be straight with you, Farrah. I need names.”
“And as I told you—”
“Off the record. I’m not asking you to testify in court here. I’m asking for a lead. Can you think of anyone in Sam’s life—past or present—who might have been a problem for her?”
Farrah looked blank.
“Or not a problem. Maybe just a man in her life who was in the background?”
Sean was grasping at straws now. But much of Samantha Bonner’s life was a mystery to him, and her caseworker was one of the few people who had any real information.
“There’s no one I can think of offhand. I could look back through her case file. But like I alluded to before, the person who abused her as a child is dead now.”
“What about recently? Was she having trouble with a boss or a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know about that. We really just exchanged notes from time to time.” Farrah looked at her watch again. “Listen, I’m sorry, Detective, but I have to go.”
“Do me a favor and check that file for me.” Sean took out a business card. “If you find anything—”
“I’ll let you know.”
• • •
Brooke left the lab feeling drained. And totally uninspired by the mountain of laundry she had waiting for her. She’d meant to tackle it that afternoon, but between the doughnut shop and the Delphi Center, she’d barely been home.
She eyed the clock. Seven thirty already. She hadn’t heard from Sean all day. She decided to check in, and he answered on the first ring.
“I wanted to see if you went by the doughnut place today,” she said.
“I was there this morning. No sign of him. You?”
“I went by twice this morning and once this afternoon. No one fit the description.” She paused, suddenly feeling awkward about calling. The last time she’d seen him, he’d kissed her breathless. “So . . . I’m on my way home. Anything new with the case?”
“A lot. We got our first suspect.”
“Really?”
“It’s not panning out, though. His girlfriend came in for an interview, and his alibi holds.”
“Damn.”
“I know.”
“I take it you’re at work, then?” she asked.
“Nah, I’m headed to Gino’s to get a pizza. Want to join me?”
“Oh. I don’t know.”
“Well, are you hungry?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“You could meet me there. Or I could pick you up.”
She didn’t say anything, and the quiet stretched out.
“It’s just pizza, Brooke.”
He sounded amused by her reluctance. And he was so laid-back about it, why was she hesitating? She’d called him. It wasn’t like he was pressuring her.
“You don’t mind driving?” she asked.
“No problem. I’ll be by in a few.”
By the time Brooke pulled onto her street, she was having second thoughts.
She shouldn’t get into something with him. She needed a break from relationships and sex and all the twisty dynamics that went along with everything. She needed to stand on her own. She’d made a promise to herself when she broke up with Matt that she’d take some time to get her footing back. So what the hell was she doing with Sean?
Just pizza. Last night had been just beer, and look where that had gotten her. All day she’d been thinking about kissing him. She was thinking about it now, too, as she swung into her driveway and spotted his headlights turning onto her street. So much for dashing inside to change clothes or do her hair or maybe put on some makeup—which was for the better.
Sean glided to a stop in front of her house, and she went around to the passenger side and climbed in.
“Whoa.” She looked him over. “What’s with the suit?”
“Funeral.” He pulled away from the curb.
“Already? That seems fast.”
“It was. Think they were trying to dodge the media.”
Brooke glanced around. She’d never been in Sean’s truck before. It was toasty warm and filled with guy clutter. She noticed the muddy work boots in back, the gym bag, the skateboard.
“It’s my nephew’s,” he said, noticing her noticing. “Although I do know how to skate, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” She smiled at him, all GQ-looking in his dark suit, and she couldn’t picture him on a skateboard.
He glanced at her. “You’re one of those girls, huh? I bet you stayed away from skaters. We were the troublemakers.”
“I think it’s more accurate to say skaters stayed away from me. I was a science geek.”
“Yeah, I bet you were.” He smiled. “In a good way.”
“Hmm . . . I don’t know if it was ‘good’ for my social life. I didn’t go to a single dance in high school.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
Why had she just told him that? She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She glanced over, and he was grinning.
“Those guys must be kicking themselves now.”
“Yes, I’m sure not a day goes by.”
“Seriously, look at you. You’re beautiful and successful. You’ve got a cool job at a world-famous crime lab.”
She darted a glance at him.
“What?”
“You’re so full of it.”
“I’m just stating the obvious.”
She shook her head and looked away as he pulled into Gino’s parking lot. They got out, and Sean took a moment to shrug out of his suit jacket and stash it in the back of the cab. Meanwhile, Brooke skimmed the parking lot for Matt’s oversize pickup.
When she glanced back at Sean, he was watching her. He stepped closer, looking concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
They walked to the restaurant in silence, and Sean held the door for a family going in ahead of them. It was a little thing, but she definitely noticed. So many guys didn’t bother with manners.
Gino’s smelled like roasted garlic, and Brooke’s mouth started to water as she read the menu board posted above the counter.
“I’m thinking we need a large,” Sean said. “What kind do you want?”
She almost told him to choose what he wanted, but caught herself. “Mushroom and extra pepperoni. Thick crust.”
Sean placed the order and took a plastic number, and Brooke didn’t fight him when he got out his wallet. She insisted on paying for their beers, though.
Several cozy booths were available, but Brooke led him to a tall table in a lively corner of the restaurant beside a pair of dartboards.
“You play?” Sean set down their bottles.
“Yes, but I’d hate to embarrass you.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Trash talk, huh? I’ll be right back.”
She watched him as he walked over to the bar. Being near him again brought their kiss back in vivid detail. The way his mouth had fit over hers, his taste, the snug press of his body . . . Every cell inside her had been screaming, This. Finally. It had felt so completely right, like every kiss before it had been a weak imitation of what a kiss should be.
Brooke sipped her beer as Sean returned to the table with a handful of darts.
“You want to play a game or just throw until the food comes?” he asked.
“How about first to one hundred?”
He leaned his elbow on the table and watched her, and she tried not to get distracted by how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up and a day’s worth of stubble darkening his jaw. Other women were noticing him, but his gaze stayed fixed on her—so firmly she felt butterflies in her stomach as she tried to concentrate on the dartboard.
She hit an eighteen.
“Not bad.”
She shot him a look. Her next throw hit a twenty. The third dart bounced, so she stopped for a beer break.
“So, how many nephews do you have?” she asked.
“Eight.”
“Get out. Eight nephews?”
“And three nieces.” The pride in his voice told her he was totally serious.
“How many siblings are in your family?” She plucked her darts from the board and handed them over.
“Four sisters and a brother. I’m the youngest of six.”
“Aha. No wonder you’re a charmer. I bet you got away with all kinds of stuff growing up.”
“Guilty.”
Brooke tried to imagine being in a family that large. She couldn’t picture it. “What do they all do?”
He narrowed his gaze for a moment, focusing on the board. He hit a fifteen and turned to look at her. “Let’s see, we’ve got a nurse, a cop, two teachers, and a firefighter.” He swigged his beer.
“Jeez. You sound like a Richard Scarry book. Your sister’s a cop, too?”
“That’s my brother. My sister’s the firefighter.”
“Really? That’s so cool.”
“You’d like her. She’s an ass-kicker like you.”
“Right.”
“You don’t think you’re an ass-kicker?”
“Um, no.”
“I’ve seen you at crime scenes bossing around cops twice your size. You scare the hell out of people.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do. Everyone’s terrified to touch anything.”
“They should be. We can’t have people tromping around destroying evidence.”
He smiled, and she felt a warm pull. The attraction was right there, simmering between them every time she got near him. It wasn’t just his looks. As good as he looked, that was only a small part of it. It was the way he moved, the way he talked, and—most important—the way he looked at her. He seemed interested, maybe even intrigued, as though he wanted to hear what she had to say.
He was looking at her that way now, so of course her mind went blank.
Brooke wrapped her hand around the cold beer bottle. “So. How’d your sister decide to become a firefighter?”
“I don’t know.” Sean threw a nineteen. “She’s always kind of marched to her own drum.”
“Good for her.”
He threw a bull’s-eye as if it were no big deal and jotted their scores on the nearby chalkboard.
“What about your family?” He handed over the darts.
“We’re pretty small. Just my mom, my dad, and my brother. He’s six years older, so we weren’t exactly close growing up.”
“And now?”
“Not really. I mean, they are, I guess. Everyone’s a doctor but me.”
“The medical kind?”
“PhDs. Chemistry, physics, and electrical engineering.”
“Wow.” Sean folded his arms over his chest and somehow managed to look even sexier. “You’re all scientists.”
“I’m not like them, though. I’m not in academia.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve seen your business card. You’ve got some pretty impressive letters after your name.”
She hadn’t realized he knew about her master’s in forensic science. But she should have known. He paid attention to details. Including details about her, apparently.
She turned her attention to the board and threw a ten, which didn’t count.
“What’s wrong with not being in academia?”
“Nothing, really. But I don’t discuss my work with my family.”
“How come?”
“I deal with rape kits and shell casings and blood spatter all day. It’s too . . . I don’t know . . . raw, I guess you’d say.”
He watched her over his beer as he took a sip.
How had they gotten on this topic? Siblings and parents and family dynamics? She hadn’t intended to venture into personal territory tonight. She was trying to keep this friendly, not flirty, but his comments weren’t helping. You’re beautiful. It was such a line, but still it put a sweet tingle in the pit of her stomach.
“Speaking of work,” she said, “you said a lot happened with the case today.”
He nodded. “I told you about our maybe suspect, although I’m skeptical. We also found a potential murder weapon.”
“The knife? Where was it?”
“I don’t know if it’s the knife. Callie took it to Delphi for testing. We’ll see what we get.”
“We have it already? I didn’t see it come in.”
“I think it’s in the DNA lab right now.”
“I’ll check in with them tomorrow.”
He glanced at her, and she realized she’d revealed that she planned to spend her Sunday at work.
Sean didn’t comment, maybe because he was as bad as she was.
Brooke shifted her attention to the board. She finished her turn with no points to show.
Sean retrieved the darts and lined up his next shot. “So, I have a question for you.”
The warm tone of his voice made Brooke’s nerves flutter.
“About this break you’re taking from men.” He looked at her.
“What about it?”
He threw a dart.
“Bull’s-eye for the win,” she said. “I must be getting rusty.”
He plucked the dart from the board and returned to the table.
“I’m wondering, is it like a brief hiatus? Or more of a long-term ban?”
“I don’t know. It’s as long as I need.”
He held her gaze, and she felt her heart thudding. His look was so intent, as though he had a lot riding on her answer.
“Sounds like there’s a story there. You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
He nodded. “Your call.”
Your call. Two words Matt never said to her.
Sean gazed down at her, and the warm pull was back. He hadn’t touched her at all tonight. Not once, only with his eyes. But something about them was magnetic, and she couldn’t look away.
A server appeared with a giant pizza, and Brooke jumped on the distraction.
“Mushroom double pepperoni?”
“That’s us.”