Chapter 4
SHANE PULLED THE YELLOW sticky note off his computer screen that summoned him to the conference room. He gathered all the paperwork that had piled up on his desk over the last hour and a half and did his best to push his personal life to the back of his mind. As much as it warmed his heart to see his son so excited about going back to school, Shane had to find a way to put all those thoughts in a box for now and concentrate on the Cleary case.
“Everything go okay with Kevin and the doctor?” Jones asked as soon as Shane stepped into the conference room.
Shane nodded. He took the open seat next to Jones. “What did I miss?” The doctor was right about one thing, worrying about Kevin every second of every day didn’t do anything but make Shane nuts.
“A few more reports came in. I put copies in the folder. Not much new was added since you breezed past me in the parking lot earlier this morning.”
Shane tapped his finger on the folder in front of him. “I’ve skimmed the new ones.”
“I hope you have a handle on all this, because the captain should be back any minute and he’s not in a good mood.”
Shane opened the folder and leafed through to where he’d left off, and started reading, trying to mentally organize everything in his mind.
“How do you feel about Kara coming into town?” Jones only knew of Kara and Shane’s history because of one drunken night shortly after Shane’s wife had died. He’d been feeling like life didn’t want him to be in love and happy. He had no idea what he’d told Jones that night about Kara, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to know.
“My relationship with her was a long time ago.”
“She hot?”
“She was back then.” Shane had often thought of Kara in both good and bad ways. She’d broken his heart, and now that she was coming back he realized it had never completely healed over the years.
“If she’s still hot, mind?” Jones asked.
“You’re asking me if I mind if you hit on my ex-girlfriend?” Shane knew Jones was trying to lighten the mood, especially since Jones was in an on-again-off-again relationship, but still.
“Pretty much,” Jones said.
“Yeah. I mind.” Shane was a little surprised by how quickly and harshly he made that statement. Then again, who wasn’t sentimental about their first love? Their first everything.
“Are we up to speed?” Morrell asked as he appeared at the door.
“Getting there,” Shane said.
“Did you read about Cleary’s life as a District Attorney?” the captain asked. He moved to the front of the room and positioned himself behind the podium, where he sat down on a tall stool, just like he’d do if he were addressing the entire department.
“He was the D.A. when I first made detective. We’ve crossed paths a few times.” Shane flipped through the pages. “Why?”
“Near the end of his time at the D.A.’s office he prosecuted a case where a young man, barely eighteen, John Rodney, was accused of breaking and entering a neighbor’s house. The neighbor, Rick Haughton, caught the kid in the kitchen and called the cops. He said the boy had been harassing his teenage daughter, Lisa. Haughton demanded they do something about it. Cleary wasn’t going to take the case to trial, so it was negotiated down to a misdemeanor with probation, community service, and mandatory counseling.” The captain paused for a moment. “Case closed, until about six months later when Rodney breaks into the Haughton house again, strung-out on drugs, and rapes the daughter.”
“I remember that case.” Shane swapped a glance with Jones. They’d both just made detective and had been paired together. It wasn’t a homicide case, but he remembered the frustration of the lead officers who had fought to have Rodney face the maximum time in prison.
“Then you’ll remember that Haughton’s daughter killed herself a few months later. Days after her death Haughton shows up at a party, looking for Cleary who just resigned as D.A. and is now the good Congressman. Haughton was drunk and babbled all sorts of threats, one of which was to make sure that Cleary understood exactly what it was like to lose a child. To make him pay for his inability to put criminals behind bars. A restraining order was filed and that was the last time we know they crossed paths.”
“Did Cleary think to tell the officers in missing persons about Haughton?” Shane asked.
“No. But that was before the note,” Morrell said.
“What note?” Shane thumbed through the files in front of him, not finding anything about a note.
“When Cleary opened his newspaper this morning there was a note inside from Haughton,” Morrell said.
“When was the note found?” Jones asked. Obviously, this was news to him as well.
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“What did the note say?” Shane asked.
“‘How does it feel?’” Morrell responded.
“That’s it?” Jones questioned. “How do we know it was from Haughton?”
“Because he signed it,” the captain said. “Cleary called me this morning, flipping out, demanding an arrest.”
“I hope you mentioned that his little stunt with the press conference could have affected the case negatively.”
“I mentioned that,” Morrell said. “But I also told him we’d get a search warrant and bring Haughton in.” Morrell handed Shane some paperwork. “Bring him in,” he said. “We can hold him for 24 hours. Not sure if Special Agents Martin and Foster will meet you there, or here. But no push-back about the Feds being here. Got it, Jones?”
Jones nodded.
“Captain,” Shane said. “What about the eyes? If it’s Haughton, why would he remove the eyes?”
“I have no idea,” Morrell said. “But you better find out before Cleary does something really drastic.”
“Giving a press conference was drastic,” Shane mumbled.
“Well, then, let’s solve this case. If we don’t soon, it’s my ass on the line with the Chief. I don’t think you two want that shit storm.”
* * *
“Why’d you leave the note?” Shane shifted in the metal chair as he sat across the table from Haughton in the interrogation room. The florescent lights flickered in unison with Shane’s headache. They’d been at it for half an hour now and had gotten nothing of use out of Haughton.
And no word from Kara.
“I told you.” Haughton looked like an eighty-year-old, his face etched in deep lines, though he was only fifty-eight. “I’m glad he’s getting a dose of his own medicine. I’m glad he has to experience the agony that has been my life since my little girl died. I feel bad about his daughter’s death, I really do. But I don’t have any sympathy for what he’s going through.” Haughton narrowed his eyes, almost daring Shane to challenge his conflicting emotions. He carried a world of hurt behind his pale blue eyes.
“So, you killed his daughter to seek revenge,” Jones said. He’d positioned himself by the door, leaning casually against the wall, checking out his fingernails.
“No. I didn’t kill her. I don’t wish any child dead. But it’s hard not be a little glad that he now understands what I’ve been going through. To feel what it’s like to lose the most precious thing in your world. I will admit I wanted him to see things through a different set of eyes. I wished it. But I would never kill an innocent child. That’s the truth.”
“What do you mean,” Shane asked “‘through a different set of eyes’?” The first time through the questioning, Haughton never once mentioned anything about eyes.
Haughton slumped back in his chair. “Walk in my shoes for a minute.”
“Not a minute,” Jones said. “His daughter is dead. He’ll be walking in those shoes for the rest of his life. And you gave him those shoes when you abducted and murdered his little girl.”
“I didn’t kill his daughter. I would never do that.”
“But you’re glad she’s dead,” Shane said. “You even said so.”
“No…I said I’m glad he has to feel the pain…never did I say I was happy an innocent child had died.”
“To me, that has to mean you’re glad she’s dead,” Shane said. “How else could he feel that way?”
“I didn’t kill her.” Haughton closed his mouth tight.
“All right.” Shane decided to pull out a couple images of Emily’s body. As he slid two images across the table Haughton gasped, then dropped his head to his hands.
“I swear, I didn’t do that. I would never hurt a child. Never.” Haughton sobbed into his hands, avoiding the images. Shane tucked them back into the file. There had been no smirk pulled across Haughton’s lips. The groan seemed to come deep from the man’s gut. That said, many killers couldn’t view their victims, especially when they felt remorse.
“Where were you yesterday?” Jones asked
“At home, alone most of the day.”
“Can anyone verify that?” Jones asked.
Haughton shook his head. “I think I’ll ask for a lawyer now.”
“Just makes you look guilty,” Shane said.
“You’ve already decided I’m guilty,” Haughton replied. “I’ll need a public defender.”
“Suit yourself.” Jones jerked opened the door. It screeched across the hard floor. “We’ll call one right now.”
Shane rubbed his temples as he stepped from the interrogation room, shutting the door behind him. Whoever created florescent lights had to be into torture of some kind, because Shane had never been under one that didn’t flicker.
“What do you think?” Jones stood in the hallway, hands on his hips.
“I don’t know. The comment he made about the eyes and Cleary getting what he deserves is kind of hard to ignore, but I think I believe him when he says he didn’t kill her.”
Shane rolled everything Haughton had said in the interview around in his brain. It wasn’t so much Haughton’s denial over killing Emily that Shane believed, but the sheer honesty that shone from his eyes when he spoke of his disgust for Cleary. But when he briefly glanced at the pictures of Emily, Shane saw Haughton’s disgust turn to pure sadness and heartache. He’d seen that look on himself when Kevin had been diagnosed. And in his son’s eyes the moment Shane had to tell him his mother had died. But still, Haughton had motive. A strong one.
Jones ran his fingers down his long chin, a habit he developed when he’d taken two weeks’ vacation and grown a beard. “What he says is contradictory and he feels like Cleary might as well have raped and killed his own daughter. He wants Cleary to suffer. Readily admits it. But what about the kid, John Rodney, who actually raped Haughton’s daughter? I mean, Haughton doesn’t seem too concerned with him, you know? Doesn’t seem to be any payback for him.”
“He’s in prison. Maybe Haughton feels like he’s already paying?” To Shane, Haughton had nothing to lose… having already lost his daughter, then his wife to divorce. It made perfect sense on every level but one: Shane’s gut level.
But a gut feeling needed to be proven; even when at his best, his gut could be wrong.
“I don’t know,” Jones said. “Haughton thinks the rape could have, should have, been prevented, therefore he didn’t do his job. He holds Cleary personally responsible for his daughter’s suicide.”
“Yeah, but he denies killing the Cleary girl and owns up to everything else. Why would he do that?”
“To mess with us. To fuck with Cleary. Make him suffer more somehow.”
“Maybe.” Shane’s phone vibrated. He glanced at it. A text from Kara letting him know she’d be landing in ten minutes, which meant in approximately thirty minutes he’d be face to face with the woman who broke his heart at the ripe old age of twenty.
* * * * *
The moment the FBI jet skidded to a stop at the Greater Rochester International Airport, Kara started to fidget. Being nervous was not a feeling she welcomed.
“Jesus, it’s cold out here,” Foster said as they got into a Suburban that had been dropped off for them. “And what’s with all these piles of snow?”
“Welcome to Rottenchester,” Kara said, giving him the evil eye as he took the driver’s seat. Driving would give her something to focus on instead of the uncomfortable awkwardness she felt being in the same city as Shane, “where there are two seasons: Winter and Construction. We get two weeks of summer in July, if we’re lucky.”
“I see why you left this place behind. It’s like one giant dark cloud. Where to?”
“Why don’t you let me drive? I know the area, also I don’t trust that you can handle the snow.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” Foster said, getting out of the car and jogging around the front.
Kara just climbed over the armrest, her prim and proper days long gone. “I don’t have a boat to float.”
Foster laughed. “How about whatever makes the river flow.”
“Har har, funny guy.” She checked her watch, then her phone. “Shane and his partner already picked up the suspect and questioned him. Let’s head to the precinct.”
“How well do you know the detective?”
The roads were freshly plowed, with only a thin layer of snow, but as soon as she hit the gas the back end of the SUV skidded on black ice. Piles of the white stuff mixed with dirt and salt, at least five feet high, lined the streets. “We met in preschool and grew up together. We were best friends for years until we started dating. He took me to prom and then we spent two years at SUNY Albany before I transferred to Georgetown.” She used to love the winter here. She and Shane would jump into his old beat-up pick-up and fishtail the entire way to Bristol Mountain to spend the day skiing. It was mostly man-made snow and not the best skiing experience. But it was close. And she and Shane did it every chance they could.
“Why’d you break up?” Foster said.
“Long story.” She pulled the SUV into the 51st Precinct and parked, slamming the gear shift a little too hard into ‘Park’. Shaking her hands, she struggled to push the memories she’d been trying to forget for years. Some good. Some not so good. She pushed open the doors and inhaled a deep, long breath, then let it out slowly as she and Foster approached the main desk. She held her badge up, making sure she gripped it tightly to keep her hand from trembling. “Agents Martin and Foster to see Detective Shane Rogers.”
“Welcome,” the desk officer said. “Homicide is on the third floor. Let me take you to the conference room.”
The precinct was much like any other police station, with a long counter between the waiting room and main reception area. She stood at the door until she heard a loud buzz before it swung open, rattling slightly. Her heart hammered against her chest. Her palms were damp and clammy. Every case got to her on a physical level, but not every case had her ex-boyfriend as the lead detective.
“Follow me,” the desk officer said as he led them through a small corridor to the elevator.
The building smelled of coffee, and not good coffee. More like three-day-old coffee grounds someone decided to reuse. Men in suits and ties sat at various desks in the center of the main room. She didn’t see Shane, which only increased her pulse.
The desk officer opened the door to a conference room and let her and Foster pass. “The detectives will be with you shortly.”
“You’re being awfully quiet,” she said to Foster, who leaned against the wall near the door. “I’ve been waiting for a smart-ass remark.”
“I told you I could behave,” Foster said. “Figured since you know this detective and it’s your hometown, I probably shouldn’t antagonize anyone.”
“Thanks.” She sat down on one of the hard metal chairs, but then stood and started to pace. Her mind raced out of control. She held the case file in one hand while she tried to read the words on the page, but to no avail. She was about to come face to face with Shane Rogers. A man she’d once loved. A man she’d wanted to marry. Have children with. But he did that with someone else.
“You okay?” Foster asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Just tired.”
“You’re acting like you’re more wired than tired.”
Foster was right, she was completely wired. Worse, she was unfocused. She was about to excuse herself to the ladies’ room when Shane sauntered in, his hands casually in the pockets of his dark blue trousers. Her gaze caught his and she couldn’t breathe for a moment. She just stood there. Staring.
“I’m Shane,” he said, breaking eye contact with her and extending his hand to Foster. “And this is my partner, Jones,” he said, gesturing to the slightly shorter man with dark hair and blue eyes.
Letting the air out of her lungs as slowly as she could she stared at Shane, who looked almost exactly like the last time she’d seen him. He might have a few new wrinkles around his copper eyes, but other than that he had the same muscular build. The same sexy smile. His pants still hung on his trim waist and she bet his body was still ripped.
This train of thought was going to have to stop.
“Hello, Shane,” she said, in as strong of a voice as she could muster, holding out her hand.
“Long time no see.” Shane took her hand in a firm shake, holding it a little longer than appropriate.
An electric pulse soared through her body. He smiled, but it didn’t ease the awkwardness between them.
“Been thirteen years, I think.” Reluctantly she pulled her hand from his, immediately feeling the coldness of the room.
“About that,” Shane said. “You look good.”
“So, do you.”
“Before we go any further,” Foster said, “we’d like to make clear it we’re here because the higher-ups feel it will help prevent Cleary from going off half-cocked with the press like he did yesterday. We’re not here to take over or get in the way, but to help in any way we can.”
Kara noticed Jones cracked his knuckles at the same time Foster did. Not necessarily a good sign as the two men eyed each other.
“Good to know,” Jones said.
“We’ve questioned Haughton,” Shane said. “He admits to writing the note and leaving it at Cleary’s house. But he denies killing Emily. He’s lawyered up, but cooperating. Search warrant of his house has been granted and is being executed as we speak. Our second team is supervising. So far nothing.”
“Can we have the names of the detectives on the second team?” Kara asked.
“Detectives Pollock and Benster,” Shane said. “They will be backing us up until we’ve put the case to bed.”
“We just got the preliminary autopsy report.” Jones handed Kara a copy. “The M.E. believes her eyes were taken out before she died of strangulation.”
“That’s messed up,” Kara muttered.
“You can say that again.” Foster rubbed his eyes.
“M.E. said whoever cut out her eyes did so with a skilled hand and small blade. At first glance, it looked like a medical scalpel. Got forensics on that. Also waiting for the toxicology report. We’ve got a rush on it,” Jones said.
“How long are you planning on holding Haughton?” Foster asked.
“The full twenty-four, as we’re stretching out the search warrants,” Shane said. “But unless we find something we’re going to have to let him go by tomorrow at noon, and that’s going to make Cleary very unhappy.”
“I watched a tape of his press conference.” Kara sat down next to Foster as they thumbed through everything the detectives had given them. “You know we went to school with his wife, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “She’s in bad shape. I think she blames herself.”
“You think Haughton did this?” Kara turned to looked over her shoulder, staring up at Shane. He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, his fixed stare directly on her. “It’s possible.”
“Any other suspects?” Kara asked, swallowing the tension that engulfed the room.
“Nothing, but the ritualistic aspect has us digging into cold cases,” Shane said, then offered a slight smile.
“We’ve pulled three cold cases from New York that deal with mutilation. I brought copies for everyone,” Foster said. “I suggest you make yourselves familiar with those cases and see if there’s any pattern. We’ll also be checking the religious angle.”
Kara eyed Foster, letting him know his tone was antagonistic, before turning back to the files. “Our tech analyst is running the markings that were drawn on the body,” Kara said.
“We think it’s a butterfly,” Jones said.
“Do we know if the victim had a thing for butterflies?” Kara asked.
“We don’t,” Shane said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “But we do have permission to search and take things from Emily’s room.”
“Maybe Foster and I should do that,” Kara said. “Only because of Cleary’s aversion to his local police department. Any idea why that is?”
“As D.A., he was notorious for plea bargaining,” Jones said. “He plea bargained more cases than any other D.A. in the state of New York. He didn’t like going to trial and encouraged all his A.D.A.s to offer whatever they could to keep their record the best in the state. It often pissed us off and he, in general, butted heads with a lot of cops.”
The door squeaked open and a uniformed officer stepped in.
“Congressman Cleary is here,” the officer said. “He wants to have a word with the federal agents.”
“Speak of the devil,” Shane said. “Do you want to talk with him?”
“I’d like to have a little more time to go over everything before I sit down with him,” Kara admitted.
“You should know Cleary’s intoxicated,” the officer said. “He’s tossing insults and threats about having half of us fired if we stand in his way of talking with the FBI. Might be a good idea to placate him.”
“I’d have to agree,” Shane said. “Considering he’s the one who brought you here, blowing him off now could create a distraction in the case we just don’t need.”
“Wonderful.” Kara stood, brushing the front of her slacks before taking off her blazer and putting it on the chair. “We’re happy to speak to him.”
“Get a car ready to take him home,” Shane added. “And someone to drive his car back to his place. But be discreet.”
The officer nodded.
There was a long awkward silence as they waited. It was difficult for Kara not to continue to glance in Shane’s direction. He’d once been the center of her life. Looking at him now filled her heart with a world of regret.
Cleary finally entered the conference room. He was a tall man, about six-one, but the strong stench of whiskey was more notable than his haggard appearance.
“Congressman Cleary—”
Cleary interrupted Kara. “I heard Haughton is here. You better have arrested that son of a bitch.”
“He’s in our custody,” Shane said. “We’re still interrogating him.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Cleary stepped into Kara’s personal space. She didn’t back down, though she nearly gagged from the alcohol assaulting her nostrils. “I was asking her. You’re FBI, right?”
“Special Agent Kara Martin,” she said. “I haven’t had the chance—”
“Did the bastard confess?” Cleary inched a tad closer. His hands were on his hips, legs shoulder-width apart.
Kara cocked her head slightly backward, but held her stance.
“Not yet.” Shane stepped closer, standing perpendicular to her. “You know how this works.”
Kara knew she was going to have to give the man something to calm him down. “He’s confessed to putting the note in your newspaper, and search warrants are being executed.”
“By the locals?” Cleary yelled. “I can’t tell you how many cases I was forced to plea out because of lackadaisical police work. I don’t want them heading up this case.”
“We’re working together,” Kara said. “I’ve been informed you’ve given us permission to search Emily’s room. I’d like to do that sooner rather than later.”
“Fine,” Cleary said. “But only when my other children aren’t there.”
“We need to do it today,” Kara said. “We can only hold Haughton for twenty-four hours. Time is of the essence.”
“All right,” Cleary said. “In an hour?”
“How about we go back with you,” Kara said. “I promise it won’t take too long.”
“That’s fine.” Cleary’s demeanor appeared to calm down a tad. “But,” he pointed a finger at Shane, “that man had better not walk out of this station unless it’s in handcuffs to County to await trial.”
“We’re looking at all the evidence,” Jones said. “I understand you want—”
“You don’t understand shit,” Cleary hissed. “You’ve got the killer in your custody. That bastard murdered my baby girl!”
“Congressman,” Shane said in a stern, but caring, voice. “I can’t even pretend to understand what you’re going through right now. I have a son. He’s ten and he just recently had a heart transplant. I can’t wrap my brain around the idea of losing him, though I almost did. We’re doing everything we can. The FBI has brought us similar cases, and while we’re searching Haughton’s place for evidence we’re also going to check these other leads. You know we have to.”
Kara swallowed. She knew he’d moved on, but she hadn’t known his son had had a heart transplant.
Shane’s words seemed to pacify Clearly, but not his resolve. “I know he did it. I’ll give you the twenty- four hours, but let this be a warning that if you don’t make an arrest by then, there will be hell to pay.”
“Let us do our jobs,” Shane said in a calm and soothing voice, the timbre much like she remembered.
Cleary nodded.
“We’ll be by shortly to go through Emily’s room. Please tell your wife, in case she’s not there when we arrive, that Kara Martin says hello, and give her my condolences. We went to high school together.” Kara wanted the Congressman to know she had a personal stake in this case. She thought it might ease his mind, though Shane had been much more effective.
“You’re from around here?” Cleary asked. His bloodshot eyes looked dry as he blinked a few times.
“I grew up in Pittsford, a couple of streets from your wife,” Kara said.
“Martin?” Cleary rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Your parents were mur…”
“Yes,” Kara said. No need opening that wound any further. She held out her card. “Feel free to call me day or night. My partner and I will be in the area until this case is solved.”
Jones quickly ushered Cleary out.
“Go with him,” Kara said to Foster, who stepped out of the conference room.
“I’m going to make a radical suggestion,” Shane said.
“And what is that?” Kara asked.
“Let’s work in teams. One local. One Fed,” Shane said. “You and me. Foster and Jones.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea; Foster doesn’t always play nice in the sandbox.”
“I got that impression,” Shane said. “Neither does Jones, which is why I think it’s a good idea.”
Kara didn’t know if Shane wanted to spend time with her, or if he actually thought Jones and Foster teaming up was a good idea, but she did agree that working one local with one Fed was a good idea. “All right. We can give that a go, but if our partners go at it we need to change that up right quick.”
“Agreed,” Shane said. “We can go question Cleary’s assistant before we go to his house. Let Foster and Jones question Haughton and his lawyer.”
Kara laughed. “Those two, with the chest pounding antics, just might work in an interrogation.”
Shane smiled. “Jones is really good.”
Kara stood. Shane held the door open for her with one hand, files tucked under his arm.
“After you,” he said.
Always the gentleman. Some things never changed.