The Detective And The D.A.
When he walked into lobby of the criminal division, Kelly stood next to her secretary’s desk.
“Good,” she sighed, “you’re here.” She didn’t wait on him but walked into her office.
“Is the detective here?” Ash heard someone ask Kelly.
“He is.” Kelly stood by her desk.
Seated in the chairs before her desk was an elderly couple. Introductions were quickly made to Catherine Reed’s parents, George and Nancy Procter.
“So when are you going to rearrest that killer?” Mrs. Procter asked. The elegantly dressed woman pinned Ash with a hard stare, which belied her soft tone. Her husband also watched Ash with cold regard.
Ash looked at Kelly. “There’s a lot of work to do, beginning the case, again. And it’s a cold trail, which makes things even harder.”
“Do you mean you’re not going to arrest that man today?” Mrs. Procter’s voice reminded Ash of a queen issuing an order to her servant. Ash had always resisted being pushed or bullied. It was a quirk he’d acquired in the first grade when an older third-grader had tried to bully him. After a week of taking it, Ash had punched the bully and ended the terror. He’d learned a valuable lesson, never to be victimized again.
Ash opened his mouth, but Kelly stepped forward. “We want to make sure nothing else will go wrong and that we can nail Steve Carlson.”
“And will you press for the death penalty?” George Procter questioned.
Well, it was certain that the Procters weren’t going to be happy unless Carlson fried. Apparently the genteel society folks were out for blood, not that he could blame them. But he had the feeling that the Procters were going to be breathing down his and Kelly’s necks.
Kelly leaned back against her desk. “I’ll have to talk to my boss about the disposition of the case.”
“I want that man to pay for what he did to our little girl,” the older man insisted, “and I don’t care what it takes to make him pay.”
It sounded as if George Procter was ready to take justice into his own hands.
“I’ll be sure to pass your feelings on to my boss,” Kelly told him.
“There’s no need. I’ll tell him myself,” George informed her. “Come, Nancy, let’s go.”
After the couple left, Kelly closed the door to her office. She leaned back against the door. “This is going to be a nightmare. I’ve already had five calls this morning about this case—from my boss, the newspapers, the victim’s husband—all demanding to know what I’m going to do.” Her gaze met his, and she silently asked if he had the answer.
“Have you looked at the file, Kelly?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I have.”
“So you see our problem.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I do. That’s why I wanted the case reinvestigated. I need more to tie Carlson to that crime. I want you to go over it again, Ash. Interview the people at the dinner party that night. Something’s wrong. I didn’t catch it before, but I’m not going to make that mistake a second time.”
“All right. I’ll start digging, but you realize, in the intervening five years, a lot of the people who could’ve helped might not be there. And the evidence from the crime scene, we need to reevaluate it.” He wanted to paint as dark a picture as he could.
“I know that, Ash. Remember who you’re talking to.”
As if he could forget it. He had tried for the past four years to avoid having to deal with Kelly Whalen. He’d been fairly successful in his quest. Until now.
But she had a point. Of all the people in the city, Kelly would know how hard it would be to investigate this murder.
“I know you know how difficult this is going to be. Tell everyone we’re going to have to go from square one and it’s going to take some time,” Ash replied.
She rubbed her neck. “What I need is a miracle. You got one?” Her eyes begged him to have an answer. That look sizzled down his spine, warning Ash that he was walking into trouble.
A loud rap on the door stopped Ash from answering Kelly. Immediately, the door opened and the D.A. walked into the room. Jake Thorpe, a tall man with a shock of white hair, had made his way up through the ranks. He had joined the D.A.’s office in the early seventies after he got out of the army and had gone to college and law school.
“Ah, good, you’re here, Ashcroft. That will make things easier.” He turned to Kelly. “I just got a visit from George and Nancy Procter. I must say they were very concerned about the disposition of this case.”
“I just bet they were,” Ash muttered.
Kelly glared at him.
Jake’s brow arched. “What we need to do is make sure you can refile this case. Are we going to be able to do that anytime soon?”
Kelly’s chin came up. “Ash was just enumerating the problems we’re going to have with the evidence and witnesses.”
Jake turned to Ash. “What problems?”
“As I started to explain to Kelly, the case rested on Carlson’s confession to the burglary, and fiber evidence on his clothes. With the clothes out, all we have is the jewelry. He could claim the necklaces were given to him. We need to connect him with the murder. Over the passage of time, witnesses have left the area and if we don’t have the evidence in storage, then I doubt we can uncover anything new.”
Jake studied Ash. “We all understand the problems, Detective. What we need is a new pair of eyes to view the evidence. But we also need you to do so quickly. I can only take so much heat.”
Ash understood. Jake was between a rock and a hard place, and he didn’t much care for it. He wasn’t the only one.
Ash leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He reviewed the file Kelly had given him.
“So you’ve been given my case.”
Ash glanced up into Lee’s hardened face. The scowl the older man wore was enough to frighten anyone with a lick of sense or guilt. At six foot, two-hundred-and-fifty pounds, Ralph Lee looked as if he could take down any suspect and beat him into a pulp with his ham-sized fists. It didn’t matter that the detective was fifty. He was still in top shape, with a steely gaze that had been known to bring more than one suspect to his knees.
“You through testifying in your case in Amarillo?” Ash asked.
“The man took the plea bargain the D.A.’s office offered.”
“I thought you were going to go on vacation,” Ash replied.
“I heard about the Carlson case and decided to come back. You’ve been assigned the case?”
“Yeah, Jenkins gave it to me.”
Lee’s expression hardened. “I’ll talk to him.” The older man marched into the captain’s office. Twenty minutes later, Lee walked out of the office. “I’m going to take my vacation. If you have any questions, you just run it by the captain. It seems he’s got all the answers.”
Ash glanced at the captain’s door. It was open and Ralph made sure he’d been heard.
Oh, things were going to hell in a handbasket.
Kelly settled down in her bed and tucked the blanket under her chin. It was an unusually chilly night in Houston, the damp cold seeping into her bones. Ash had always teased her about being a wimp when it came to cold. When he had been beside her in bed, she never had a problem with cold. It was like sleeping next to a furnace.
“What’s the matter with you, Whalen, thinking like that?” she grumbled out loud to the empty room.
It didn’t bode well for her if, in twenty-four hours of working with Ash, she was remembering how it felt to be in bed with him.
Not in her wildest dreams had she thought the cops would assign the case to Ash. He really must have made someone mad. She ought to check it out.
Who would have thought a week ago that she’d be facing this political hot potato and have to deal with her ex.
As she stared into the dark, she wondered if she would survive this case? There were wounds that had been inflicted that had never healed, issues that Kelly had never wanted to deal with. That was the trouble with issues—they always managed to crop up at the most inconvenient time. She didn’t think Ash was anxious to revisit the old wounds, either; nor did he seem pleased to be working this case. Well, if they came to an understanding to leave the past in the past, then maybe they could work together on this case.
That was a plan. She hoped Ash would go along with it. But then again, when had Ash ever made things easy?
Chapter 2
Ash glanced around Honey’s Hideout. The seedy bar, with the uneven floor, chipped tables and grimy walls probably had failed the last four or five health inspections. Of course, the clientele at the bar wasn’t interested in food or eating. The liquor this joint served would probably kill any germs.
Sunlight had a hard time penetrating the cloudy windows, but Ash spotted Steve Carlson at the end of the bar, nursing a beer. The man’s expression didn’t look like one of victory or enjoyment, but rather like a dog that had been kicked one too many times.
Ash had lucked out that Carlson was here at his old hangout. After five years in prison, Steve Carlson’s first trip out of his apartment, he had come to this dive—not the grocery store or a job placement office, but this dump. Some of HPD’s best business came from here.
Ash slid onto the stool next the man.
“I’m been looking for you, Carlson,” Ash began. He pulled out his badge and flashed it at Carlson.
The other man’s pinched features hardened. “What do you want?” he demanded. “I’ve been out of prison less than a week and done nothing wrong.” Carlson was a slight man, in his early thirties, five foot ten, thick glasses and thinning hair. He didn’t seem strong enough to have butchered Cathy Reed with a saber.
“You want to discuss this in front of an audience—” Ash glanced at the bartender “—or you want to talk in private?” Ash asked, his voice pitched low.
Carlson’s eyes went to the bartender, who eyed them, and around the nearly empty bar. “Private.”
Ash motioned to a table in the corner of the room. Once they were seated, Carlson demanded, “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about Catherine Reed’s murder.”
“Go away.”
Ash shrugged. “Hey, I thought you might want to help clear your name.”
Carlson’s harsh laugh bounced around the room. “Sure, that’s what cops do, try to prove the suspect innocent.” He took a swallow of his beer. “If you think I’m going to say anything to you after what you cops did to me, then you’re crazier than my last cell mate.”
Ash leaned forward. “Think about it, Carlson. There’s going to be another trial because of who the victim was. Both Catherine Reed’s husband and parents are powers in this city, in this state. They’re not going to let this go. They’ve already been yammering at the D.A. about the situation.” With each word, Ash watched the other man’s face close down.
“So?”
“So you want a repeat of the first trial?”
Carlson’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you talk to my lawyer?”
Ash leaned back in his chair. “Hey, I got no problem with that. I was just wondering why a pro like you would stoop to murder? I didn’t think guys with your talent would hack a women to death.”
“Too bad that thought didn’t occur to that woman D.A. at my first trial.”
“Well, your hands were torn up.”
“Changing a flat will do that.”
Ash bit back his irritation. “So you saying you didn’t do it?”
Carlson glared. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Ash sat back, considering him. “Makes sense to me.”
“Yeah, tell it to the D.A.” Carlson swallowed the rest of his beer.
“All right.”
Carlson went still, his eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”
The man responded to the lure Ash had put out. “Well, Catherine Reed is still dead and someone needs to be tried. I thought that maybe you’d be interested in helping me catch the real killer.”
Carlson laughed. “Who hit you in the head?”
Ash shrugged. “You’re right, Carlson. It is farfetched for me to believe that you want someone else to pay for that murder. Besides, I don’t believe you were ever charged on the burglary. I think the D.A. needs to do that immediately. We’re getting grief about you walking around. Of course if you help, those charges can go away. But if you don’t want to help…” Ash stood.
Carlson’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait.”
Pausing, Ash looked at Carlson.
“What do you want to say to me?” Carlson asked, fingering his glass.
Ash sat and leaned forward. “After reviewing the case, I don’t think you killed Catherine Reed.”
He nodded. “You’re damn straight.”
“My problem is, if you didn’t do it, I need to find out who did.”
“So find him.”
“That’s why I’m here. I want you to recount that night to me. Maybe you’ve got the key and don’t know it.”
Carlson stared at his empty glass. “I should have my lawyer here.”
“Fine.” Ash pushed away from the table. “We’re going to refile on this case soon and if I don’t have someone else, you’re it.”
Carlson knuckled his glass. “What the hell. I broke in the house to rob them. I saw her necklace the week before when I worked a society party, parking cars. I discovered who they were and where they lived. I worked the charity fund-raiser they were at that night. After I parked their car, I cut out and went to their house. She didn’t have the necklace in her jewelry box, so I looked for a safe. Found it in the library. I’m good with safes and it was a piece of cake to break into it. I took a couple of necklaces and a ring.”
A rush of excitement flooded Ash. “So no one was there when you broke into the house?”
“No. I heard them drive up. The party wasn’t supposed to be over until ten. It was nine when the car pulled into the driveway. I heard yelling and cut out. I steal, but don’t murder.”
Carlson’s reasoning sounded firm. Ash knew that thieves rarely changed their modus operandi. When they chose a victim, many professional thieves didn’t carry any sort of weapon with them.
Carlson shook his head. “But as I was leaving, I knocked over a plant in the library. I didn’t have time to set it upright. Someone else did that lady. It wasn’t me.”
“What about the murder weapon? Did you see it?”
Carlson’s eyes dropped to the table. “I’ve got a thing for weapons like that. I considered taking it. Took it down from the wall, but I noticed the engraving on the blade. I couldn’t fence anything like that, so I left it. But in my hurry, I didn’t hang it back on the wall.”
There was something about Carlson’s story that rang true. “Okay, I believe you.”
The look of surprise on Carlson’s face made Ash want to laugh.
“You do?”
“Houston PD isn’t after you, Carlson. We want who killed Mrs. Reed.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“I’ll want to keep in contact with you in case any other questions come up.” Ash handed Carlson his business card. “When you get a job, let me know where I can get in contact with you.”
Carlson nodded.
Ash stood and walked out of the bar. Carlson sounded innocent to him. But he had discovered that the Reeds were fighting when they returned home.
It was a new lead.
Kelly packed up the papers she needed to take home with her to review. This day had been a little better than the day the Texas Supreme Court overturned the Carlson conviction but not by much. She had a headache, her feet hurt from standing in court most of the day, and if she had to listen to one more complaint—one more society matron telling her what an injustice had been perpetrated on the state—she might run screaming from the room.
She’d had to get out of her office before anyone else could protest or ask her to do something or tell her what else had gone wrong.
Leaning down to grab her purse, she heard the door to her office open. “Rats,” she mumbled.
When Kelly stood up, Ash filled the doorway. His expression didn’t bode well for what he had to say. Her plans for escape vanished like smoke.
“I’m warning you,” Kelly quickly told him, holding up her right forefinger, “if you’re going to give me bad news, don’t.”
“Have a bad day?” He looked too good for her peace of mind. He had on jeans, a white shirt and an old sport coat that she’d bought him. Her heart jerked in reaction.
“You really don’t want to hear about it, Ash.” She shrugged her purse over her shoulder, grabbed her briefcase and started out of her office.
He followed her. “Then you’re certainly not going to want to hear about what I’ve come up with in the Carlson case.”
She stopped beside her secretary’s desk in the outer office, her head bowed. She didn’t want to hear the doom he was sure to deliver, but she couldn’t avoid it. That had always been Ash’s complaint—that she couldn’t ignore problems.
“I don’t want to know about it right now,” she muttered, surprising herself and no doubt her ex. She marched out of the office into the hall.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, following her.
His question surprised and annoyed her. She pushed the elevator button and glared at him. “I don’t know. Breakfast, maybe. Why?”
The doors to the elevator opened and they moved inside.
“Still not taking care of yourself?”
She glared at him.
“What you need, Ms. A.D.A., is a meal. You still like stuffed crabs?” His expression was smug, as if he knew a secret that no one else did. And he did. She was tempted not to answer, but her stomach growled. “Yes.”
“Then let’s go get some of Sal’s stuffed crabs and fettuccine Alfredo.”
If he had asked her to strip naked here in the elevator, she couldn’t have been more surprised. He knew the weakness that she had for Sal’s crabs. When they’d been married, dirt-poor, her a law student, him a beat cop, they would allow themselves a meal at Sal’s once a month. It had been the highlight of the month. Eating at Sal’s, a bottle of cheap wine and a walk in the park afterward. It had been heaven, and some of the best times of her life. They were certainly more enjoyable than ninety-nine percent of the official functions she had to attend as a D.A.
It was ridiculous that going to Sal’s would hit such an emotional note for her. She was hungry and the stuffed crabs sounded heavenly. If Kelly told him she didn’t want the memories Sal’s invoked, he might misinterpret it. She was tired, that was all. “All right. You’ve bribed me.”
He grinned, an expression of cocky arrogance. She didn’t want to add to that arrogance, but stuffed crabs—it would be a brief reprieve from the lousy day, she told herself. “You going to buy?”
“Will that get you to go?”
“Yup.”
“Then I’m buying.”
“After you buy me dinner, then you can tell me what ugly facts you’ve uncovered.”
“I will, but only after you’ve eaten.”
Sal’s was a little place, the last business in an old turn-of-the-century building with atmosphere that you could scrape off the walls. Ash was sure that, if he pulled the health records on this place, he wouldn’t be happy. But on this point, ignorance was bliss.
Sal smiled when he saw them walk into the restaurant. “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Ashcroft. It’s been too long since you’ve come to my fine establishment. Come, the table you like is empty. I will seat you.”
Ash winced inwardly. Hadn’t he been here since the divorce? He glanced at Kelly to see her reaction to Sal’s mistake. Her face drained of color. She followed the little man without a word of protest.
After they were seated, Sal asked, “Stuffed crabs and fettuccine Alfredo and a sauvignon blanc?”
Ash looked at Kelly. When she nodded, Ash agreed. “I’m surprised you remember what we like to order, Sal, with all the customers you’ve had over the years.”
Sal grinned and leaned down. “I’ll tell you a story, Mr. Ashcroft. When you and the missus used to come into my place, I’d tell my wife, look at those two lovers. There’s a passion there that is reserved for the few. Then I would grin at my Catherine and give her a good kiss and a pat. She enjoyed when you came into the restaurant.”
Ash couldn’t have been more surprised. Glancing at Kelly, he saw the wounded expression in her eyes. Her jaw clenched. Sal’s words had inflicted a serious wound.
“I’ll get the wine and turn in your order.” Sal hurried away.
Ash glanced at Kelly. “I’m sorry—”
She shook her head. “It’s okay.” But from her body posture, her shoulders hunched as if to protect herself, it wasn’t.
Taking a deep breath, she hid her emotions behind that cool lawyer mask of hers. It was one of the things that had always grated on his nerves.
Finally she shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “Well, it’s just too perfect an ending for today.”
Before Ash could respond, Sal returned with the wine and poured them each a glass.
He took a sip of wine. “I understand. It’s been one of those days for me, too, when you want to kick the hell out of your tires to vent some of the frustration.” He shook his head, noticing that he had her attention. “I was tempted, but decided I didn’t want broken toes in addition to all the other problems we’ve got. Besides, dealing with the city when you smash up your car is worse than dealing with the snotty rich kids in the Memorial area.”
Kelly’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m sure the city is grateful you didn’t take your frustration out on another municipal vehicle.”
His brow arched.
She shrugged. “A friend of mine in the department called today and commented on your trouble.” Carrie Nelson, a forensic psychiatrist with the PD, had also given Kelly sympathy about having to work with her ex, even if he was a good detective. “Tell me what you’ve discovered,” Kelly quickly asked.
He was more than ready to move on to another subject. He told her about the conversation he had had with Steve Carlson. “I’ve got to tell you, Kelly, I believe the man,” he told her as the waiter arrived with their dinner.
“Oh, come on, Ash.” Doubt and disbelief rang in her words. “I’ve seen you nail a dozen different guys who were all claiming to be innocent and you brought me the evidence to back up your hunch. What’s the problem now?”
He put down his fork. “The problem is the blood evidence. Why wasn’t there any found in Carlson’s apartment, considering how bloody the crime scene was?”
“That bothered me, too, when I looked over the file.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Why didn’t it bother you the first time, Kelly?”
“It did, but Lee assured me that Carlson could’ve gotten rid of the shirt. He had the jewelry.”
“Yeah, he ripped them off, admitted it, but he claimed he left when he heard the a car coming up the driveway.”
From her expression, she wasn’t convinced.
“Carlson admitted he was sloppy in his escape, leaving evidence of the burglary.”
“So.”
“So, if we believe Carlson, then we’ve missed the murderer completely. He’s been walking around for the past five years. Has he killed again?”
Her expression hardened. “Do you have another suspect in mind?”
Grinding his teeth, he pulled a hard rein on his anger. Kelly wasn’t the enemy. “I wish I did. I’ll interview all the neighbors to see if I can come up with anything new, and comb through the evidence we have. You want to call your people tomorrow and see if they can pull the evidence you’ve got stored?”
“I’ll do it.” She cocked her head. “As a matter of fact, we can go over it together.”
“Don’t trust me, huh?”
“No, that’s not it. Maybe your point of view will help me see things in a different light.”
What he needed was some time and distance away from this woman. But since that wasn’t going to happen, maybe he could make this as fast as possible. “All right. Call me when we can go over the evidence.”
“I will.”
Of that, he didn’t doubt.
Kelly pulled her car into the parking lot of the old warehouse where the evidence from tried court cases was stored. With the darkening shadows and unsavory atmosphere in this part of downtown, Kelly felt her body tense. She wished the D.A.’s office would store their evidence in a police facility. At least cops were there.