2
Dawn had just started to lighten the horizon when Detective Nathaniel Quinn ducked under the crime scene tape. The crime scene unit and the first responding officers to the 911 call had already arrived on the scene that spread out beside the vacant strip mall. He’d used to love it when the carnival came to town. Every summer his parents would take him, letting him go on rides until his tickets ran out and he was so full of junk food he felt as if he were going to explode. But today the empty rides and deserted walkways felt eerie without the noise of excited children and the smell of popcorn and hotdogs. As if the apocalypse had come unannounced during the night.
He stepped onto the platform of the carousel where Detective Paige Morgan, his new partner, was already examining the body. They’d worked a number of cases together over the past four years he’d been in the department. She was focused and extremely good at what she did.
She was also a reminder of what had happened to his last partner.
“Sorry I’m late,” Nate said. “Traffic’s at a standstill on 35.”
Dallas’s traffic was the one thing that made him miss the small Oklahoma town he grew up in.
Paige stepped away from the body. “It’s good to have you back, Detective. You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be back on the job.”
Nate knew what she was thinking. But the last thing he wanted was extra attention, or sympathy for that matter. Everyone told him he was lucky to have made it out alive. But sometimes that was the hardest part. The Hyde Hotel bombing had killed eighteen: twelve civilians and six officers. And made the scars on the back of his hands and forearms a constant reminder. Still, he’d somehow managed to convince his psychologist—and himself—that he was ready to be back. He just had to keep convincing himself it was true. Because healing the scars people couldn’t see had proven to be a lot harder than healing the scars they could see.
“So how does it feel to be back?” Paige tightened the band holding her dark hair in a ponytail and caught his gaze.
Nate frowned at the question, wondering if he was going to have this conversation with everyone. It would be easier if people would just ignore that he’d been gone for three months and leave it at that. “We lost some of the best people I’ve ever worked with that day. It’s hard to forget.”
“It was a hard-hitting reminder for all of us,” she said.
An unfortunate risk of the job, his psychologist kept telling him. But while that might be true, it didn’t come close to erasing the grief.
“I know it must be tough,” she said. “I just want to be supportive.”
“I know, and I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I’m fine. And ready to put the last few months behind me.”
He’d done everything the department had required and had finally been approved for active duty again. But that didn’t mean he was back to normal yet. Or ever would be. He was still dealing with the nightmares and triggers.
Nate shifted his attention away from his new partner to the body lying slumped over the carousel bench. Appearing to be in his midthirties, the victim was wearing navy chinos and a striped collared shirt. A 9mm Colt Defender lay on the ground, inches from the man’s right hand.
“Preliminary glance shows no marks on him other than the gunshot wound to the head,” Paige said.
“Which makes it look like a suicide.” Nate stopped next to one of the carousel horses. “Though this seems like a strange place to end your life.”
“I agree. Then again, it’s pretty isolated, especially at night. Maybe he had some kind of clown fetish or a thing for carousels. I don’t know, but on top of that, he still had his wallet with credit cards and some cash, as well as his phone.”
“So we’re not looking at a robbery.” Nate glanced at one of the first responders. “Officer . . .”
“Bailey.” The uniformed officer stepped forward.
“Who is he?” Nate asked.
The officer glanced down at his notes. “According to his driver’s license, his name is Stephen Shaw. He’s thirty-two years old and lives about ten miles from here.”
Nate glanced back toward the exit. “What about a car?”
“Found it on the other side of the lot with a couple suitcases in the trunk. CSU is going through it right now.”
“Sounds like he might have been either on his way out of town or maybe on his way home from a trip,” Paige said.
“And he stops en route to kill himself?” Nate shook his head. The scenario didn’t make sense. They were missing something. “Who found the body?”
“The security guard.” Officer Bailey stepped onto the platform. “Said he found him about an hour ago. Realized the man was dead and called 911.”
“Wait a minute. Didn’t the guard see or hear anything?” Nate asked the officer. “I mean, this place is pretty spread out, but if nothing else, he should have heard the gunshot.”
“Says he didn’t hear anything.”
Nate turned back to the body. “So why would this guy show up at a traveling carnival in the middle of the night, with a trunk full of luggage, and then shoot himself?”
The lights from the carousel flashed above him. Music blared as the platform jolted forward. Nate grabbed on to the pole next to him. His heart rate escalated. Paige shouted for someone to turn the ride off. A row of sweat beaded on Nate’s forehead. Someone else shouted over the warped music. The department psychologist had worked with him to fight the negative thoughts. Thoughts that sometimes brought on panic attacks because he was afraid he couldn’t escape.
Even when there was nothing to escape from.
He grabbed the watch in his pocket and ran his finger across the bronze back to calm himself. They were lies. Those thoughts—that it was happening again. That he—and everyone around him—was in danger. He couldn’t pay attention to them. Instead he focused on his breathing. In, out. In, out. Focused to keep the panic off his face so no one knew what was going on inside his head.
But he wasn’t sure that was possible. And that’s what scared him the most.
The carousel slowed to a stop.
“Nate?” Paige stepped in front of him. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Did you find anything else?” he asked Bailey, diverting the conversation away from himself.
“There was a business card in his pocket.” Officer Bailey handed him the bagged card. “It’s for a psychologist named Grace Callahan. There’s a number handwritten on the back.”
“And according to his call log,” Paige said, “two of the last three calls he made were to her. He left a message just after eleven, then about an hour later tried to reach her again.”
“What time?”
“The second call was made just after midnight.”
“Grace Callahan.” Another memory surfaced, but this time minus the panic. “Strange, but I think I might know her.”
“Really?”
“If it’s the same person, I was good friends with her and her husband. I was in their wedding.” Nate pulled up the memory. “And she studied psychology in college. If Shaw did kill himself, it makes sense that he would call his shrink first. He’s about to step over the edge, calls her for some moral support—”
“But when he can’t get ahold of her, he ends it.”
“What about the third call?” Nate asked. “Any ID on that one?”
“We’ll have to run the number,” Paige said.
“Then we need to start with his psychologist,” Nate said, handing the evidence back to the officer.
“Are you still close?” Paige asked.
“Lost touch with her and her husband years ago. You know how it goes. They were married, I was single. We both stepped into demanding jobs. Life gets in the way.”
He’d heard they’d had a little girl a couple years after they got married, but that was it. He wasn’t exactly one to keep up on Facebook. They’d been married over a decade by now, so more than likely had at least one or two more kids.
Nate stood over the body, working to put the few pieces they had together. “So all we really know is that he decides to break into a traveling carnival, calls his shrink, plus another number, then ends up dead.”
“Maybe he was meeting someone here,” Paige said.
“Grace Callahan?” Nate asked.
“It’s possible. Or it makes sense that he was worried about whoever was meeting him here, and he called her for support.”
“Any signs of someone else being here?” Nate asked.
“That’s going to be pretty impossible to tell,” Paige said.
In the middle of a carnival where hundreds of people had been, finding a unique fingerprint or DNA was going to be impossible. But then why had Stephen Shaw come here?
“I’d like to talk to the security guard, then we need to pay Grace Callahan a visit,” Nate said.
Five minutes later, Nate and Paige found the lanky guard, with thinning red hair and a slight pudge around the middle, leaning against the trunk of his car. “Mr. Peters? I’m Detective Nate Quinn and this is my partner, Detective Paige Morgan. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No problem, I’m just ready to get out of here. I mean, finding a dead body . . . Let’s just say that isn’t exactly in my job description.”
“I’m sure that must have given you quite a scare,” Nate said.
“Tell me about it. I gave a statement to the other officers and told them everything I know. Which really isn’t anything. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“You’re the only guard here?” Paige asked.
“At night, yes. I look after the equipment. Make sure kids don’t break in and trash the place.”
“And yet you didn’t hear anything tonight? No gunshots?”
“No, I’m sorry. I must have been on the other side of the carnival when it happened.”
Nate frowned. While the man’s explanation was plausible, he was having a hard time buying that he didn’t hear the shot.
“Did you recognize the victim?” Nate asked, continuing with his line of questioning for the moment.
“No.”
“And you didn’t see anyone else around tonight?”
“Not tonight. We’ve had a few teens looking for trouble the last couple nights. But tonight was pretty quiet.”
And no doubt horribly boring.
Nate glanced up at the roller coaster towering beside them. Making the rounds in the dark in this deserted place every night wasn’t a job he’d place on his top-ten list.
“What can you tell me about the carnival?” Paige asked.
“It’s a family-owned business that’s been around since the nineties. They set up at fairs, festivals, and even private parties all over the state. I’ve worked for them for a couple years now.”
“What are your normal working hours?” Nate asked.
“I get here when the park closes at eleven and stay until seven when the staff starts arriving.”
“But you weren’t here all night, were you?” Nate asked, deciding to go out on a limb and test his theory.
“Of course I was.” The man reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Why would you say that?”
“According to your statement, you found the body around five thirty.”
“That’s right.”
“The medical examiner won’t be able to give us an accurate time of death until he does an autopsy, but we do know that by the time you found him, he had been dead several hours. So it seems to me if you’d been doing your rounds, you would’ve found the man much earlier. And on top of that, the man was shot. It’s hard to imagine you not hearing a gunshot. This place isn’t that big.”
“I—”
“He’s right. If you’re lying, you’re only going to make things worse,” Paige said. “Because, trust me, it will never work out in your favor.”
Peters combed his fingers through his hair. “Listen, if my boss even suspects I wasn’t here all night, he’ll fire me.”
Nate shot him a weak smile. “I sympathize with you, but a man is dead on your watch.”
Peters kicked at the gravel with the toe of his boot. “Fine. I left right before midnight, but just for a couple hours.”
“Where did you go?”
“I met a friend at this bar down the road. We had a few drinks.”
“So clearly you wouldn’t have heard a gunshot,” Nate said.
“And if I talk to the bartender, can he verify your whereabouts?”
“Yeah. I’m a regular.”
Nate handed the man his business card while Paige took a call. “We will check out your alibi, but in the meantime, if you think of anything else, please give us a call.”
Paige hung up and signaled Nate. “Sarge wants us to go see the psychologist. He’s sending in another detective to talk to management as soon as they show up.”
“They’re going to be in for a surprise.” Nate headed with her toward the parking lot.
“Do you mind if we take your car?” Paige asked, heading with him across the lot to where he’d parked his Ford. “I’ll grab mine on the way back to the precinct once we’re done interviewing Grace Callahan.”
“No problem.” Nate pulled out his keys and unlocked his car with the push of a button.
“You don’t mind if we stop for a coffee on the way, do you?” Paige asked as they slipped into his car. “There’s a drive-thru two blocks from here.”
“Coffee?” Nate headed across the parking lot toward the nearest cross street. “The last time I saw you, you said you were giving up caffeine because it made you too jittery.”
Paige let out a low laugh. “You can ask my last partner about that. Apparently not drinking it makes me even more jittery.”
Ashley had loved coffee too, and had started most of her days with a vanilla latte with low-fat milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon.
He shoved aside the unwanted memory of his former partner and tried to remember the other things he knew about Paige. She’d been top in her class at the academy, had led a special narcotics team before being promoted to homicide detective, and was married to an auto mechanic.
Five minutes later, he handed her a large caramel macchiato from the drive-thru window, then took the freeway toward Dr. Callahan’s home.
“You’re sure you didn’t want one?” she asked as she took a sip.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Cutting out caffeine and upping his exercise routine had lessened his PTSD symptoms. And for the moment, he had no plans of going back to his old routine caffeine-addictive habits.
“You said you might know this woman we’re going to see?” Paige took another sip of her drink. “What do you know about her?”
“If it is her, I haven’t seen her for almost a decade. We went to college together, and I was close to her husband back then.”
“There are a couple friends I had in college that I’ve thought about tracking down,” Paige said, then let out a low chuckle. “Most of them, though, I’m happy to forget I ever knew.”
“I have a few of those as well, though I’ve always wished Kevin and I didn’t lose track of each other. Last I heard they’d moved out east, but this is where they were both from.”
He could be wrong, but Grace Callahan wasn’t a common name, combined with the fact that she was a psychologist. If it was her, catching up might be nice after all these years, though not the reunion he would have liked.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up alongside the curb in an older neighborhood with a row of small two-story houses. A woman wearing loose yoga pants and a T-shirt stood next to a red minivan that was parked in the driveway. She held a wad of paper towels in her hand.
“It might have been a while since I saw her, but that’s definitely not her.” Nate turned off the engine, then climbed out of his car.
“Grace Callahan?” Paige held up her badge as they approached the van.
The woman turned toward them. “No . . . I’m her friend, Becca Long. Can I help you?”
“I’m Detective Paige Morgan, and this is my partner, Detective Nate Quinn.”
“Sorry about the mess.” The woman took a step back from the van filled with car seats, baby dolls, and fast-food wrappers. “I brought coffee for Grace, thinking it would help, and it dumped all over the back seat. Not that anyone would notice the spill.”
“Is Ms. Callahan here?” Paige asked.
“Yeah. She’s inside. I came over as soon as I found out what happened, but I’m so glad you’re here.” She slid the door shut, then spun around to face them, apparently leaving cleanup for later. “I’m still a bit freaked out. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry.” Nate’s brow rose. “You were expecting us?”
Becca dumped the soggy paper towels into a plastic sack. “The officer who took the initial 911 call told us they were going to send someone from the robbery unit as soon as they could.”
“Actually, we’re from homicide,” Paige said.
“Homicide?” The woman planted her hands on her hips, clearly confused. “Wait . . . then why are you here?”
“Why don’t you tell us what happened,” Nate said.
“She’s already given statements to the officers who responded. Someone broke into her house last night, and then the guy ended up chasing Grace down the street with a gun.”
Nate glanced at the house with the brick exterior and neat front yard, a part of him hoping that the Grace he knew wasn’t involved. “I think it’s time we spoke with her.”