Читать книгу: «The Precinct: Cold Case»

Chapter One

“Why did you kill that woman, Stephen?” Rosemary March asked, looking across the scarred-up table at her younger brother. “And don’t tell me it was to rob her for drug money. I know that isn’t who you are.”

Rosemary studied the twenty-eight-year-old man she’d done her best to raise after a small plane crash several years earlier had left them orphans. She tried to pretend there weren’t a dozen pairs of eyes on her, watching through the observation windows around them. It was easier than pretending the Missouri State Penitentiary’s tiny visitation room with its locked steel doors wasn’t making her claustrophobic.

But it was impossible to ignore the clinking of the chains and cuffs that bound Stephen March’s wrists and ankles together. “You ask me that every time you come to see me, Rosemary.”

“Because I’m not satisfied with the answers you’ve given me.” She ran her fingers beneath the collar of her floral-print blouse, telling herself it was the heat of the Missouri summer, and not any discomfiting leer from another prisoner or the unsettling mystery of why her brother would kill a woman he didn’t know, that made beads of perspiration gather against her skin. “I hate seeing you in here.”

“You need to let it go. This is where I deserve to be. Trust me, sis. I was never going to amount to much on the outside.”

“That’s not true. With your artistic talent you could have—”

“But I didn’t.” He drummed his scarred fingers together at the edge of the table. For as long as she’d known him, he’d been hyper like that—always moving, always full of energy. Their father had gotten him into running cross-country and track; their mother had put a drawing pencil in his hand. Ultimately, though, neither outlet could compete with the meth addiction that had sent his life spiraling out of control. “Losing Mom and Dad was no excuse for me going off the deep end and not helping out. Especially when your fiancé...” The drumming stopped abruptly. “Just know, I was really there for you when you needed me.”

“Needed you for what? If you had anything to do with Richard’s murder, please tell me. You know I’ll forgive you. We never used to keep secrets like this from each other. Please help me understand.”

“I kept you safe. That’s the one thing I got right, the one thing I’m proud of. Even the Colonel would have finally been proud of me,” he added, referring to their father.

“Dad loved you,” Rosemary insisted.

“Maybe. But he wasn’t real thrilled having a drug addict for a son, was he? But I took action. The way he would have.” His gaze darted around the room, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before his light brown eyes focused on her and he dropped his voice to a whisper. “For the last time, I killed that lady reporter to protect you.”

Understanding far more about tragedy and violence and not being able to protect herself and her loved ones more than she’d ever wanted to, Rosemary brushed aside the escaping wisps of her copper-red hair and leaned forward, pressing the argument. “Dad wouldn’t have wanted you to commit murder. I didn’t even know that woman. That’s what doesn’t make any sense. What kind of threat was she to me?”

Stephen groaned at her repeated demands for a straightforward explanation. He slumped back in his chair and nodded toward the family’s current attorney standing outside the window behind her. “Why did you bring him?”

Fine. She’d let him change the topic. Although it was good to see Stephen clean and sober, he looked exhausted. Her younger brother had aged considerably in the months since he’d pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and been incarcerated, and she didn’t want to add to his stress. She glanced over her shoulder to the brown-haired man in the suit and tie and returned his smile before facing her brother again. “Howard insisted on coming with me. He didn’t want me driving back to Kansas City at night by myself. It was a kind offer.”

The drumming started again. “He reminds me too much of his brother. Are you sure he’s treating you right?”

She flinched at the remembered shock of Richard Bratcher’s open hand across her mouth putting an end to an argument they’d had over a memorial scholarship she’d wanted to set up in her parents’ names. Seven years later, she could still taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth that reminded her she’d made a colossal mistake in inviting the attorney into their lives, falling in love with him, trusting him. Rosemary inhaled a quiet breath and lifted her chin. Richard was dead and she’d become a pro at setting aside those horrible memories and pasting a facade of cool serenity on her face.

“They may look alike, but Howard isn’t like his brother. Howard’s never laid a hand on me. In fact, I think he feels so guilty about how Richard treated us when I was engaged to him that he goes out of his way to be helpful.”

“He’s just keeping you close so you won’t sue his law firm.”

“Maybe.” Initially, she’d been leery of Howard’s offer to take over as the family’s attorney. But he knew more than anyone else about the wrongful death and injury suit Richard Bratcher had filed against the aerospace manufacturer that built the faulty plane her father had flown on that fateful trip, and she couldn’t stand to drag the suit out any longer than it had already lasted. Plus, he’d been nothing but a gentleman and rock-solid support through the continuing upheavals in her life. “Howard makes it easier to get in to see you. And he’s responsible for keeping you in the infirmary wing to do your rehab instead of you being sent back to general lockup with the other prisoners.”

“Don’t stick with him because of me. I can handle myself in here. I don’t trust him, sis.”

Rosemary’s smile became genuine. “You don’t trust anybody.”

Stephen sat up straight and reached for her. At the last second, he remembered the guard at door and raised both hands to show they were empty. Rosemary held up her hands, as well, and got a nod of approval before reaching over the battered tabletop to hold her brother’s hands. “I trust you. I’m okay being in here because I know you’re safe now. You are safe, right?”

Stephen’s grip tightened, as if somehow sensing that all was not well in her life. But Rosemary clenched her jaw and continued to smile. The last thing he needed was to worry about her on the outside, when he couldn’t do a thing about it. “I am.”

She was right now, at any rate.

The assurance seemed to ease his concern. He eased his grip but didn’t let go. “That bastard Richard is dead. But it’d kill me if I thought his brother or anyone else was hurting you.”

“I’m fine.” What were a few obscene phone calls, anyway, after all they’d been through? Her hope had been to find a few answers for herself, not raise doubts in her brother’s mind. “As much as we both wanted Richard out of our lives, I know you didn’t kill him.” Stephen had been in a rehab facility in the middle of a forty-eight-hour lockdown the morning she’d discovered her fiancé dead in bed at his condo, poisoned sometime during the night. She, however, had had no alibi and had spent several months as KCPD’s number one suspect until the trail of clues went cold and Richard Bratcher’s murder had been relegated to the cold-case files. Rosemary squeezed her brother’s hands. “Whoever poisoned him did us a favor. But if you’re protecting someone who wanted that reporter dead, or you’re taking the blame for her murder because you wished you’d been the one to kill Richard... Please, Stephen. Talk to me.”

His eyes darkened for a split second before he shook his head and pulled away. “I was using that night. I pulled the trigger. Now I’m done talking about it. You should be, too.”

“Why?”

“Rosemary—” He bit down on a curse and folded his hands together, his finger tracing the marks he’d left in his own skin back in the days when he’d been too stressed-out to cope or on a manic high.

“It’s okay, Stephen,” she quickly assured him, alarmed by the frantic, self-destructive habit he’d worked so hard to overcome. “I won’t mention it again.”

This visit, at any rate.

Reluctantly, she acquiesced to his demand and sat back in her chair. She knew there had to be more to Stephen’s motive for killing an innocent reporter than simply being high as a kite and not knowing what he was doing, as he’d stated in court. The monster in their own home had been the real threat, and, in her heart, she believed there was a connection between the two murders—a logical reason her brother was going to spend half his adult life in prison and she was going to be alone. But if Stephen wouldn’t talk, she wasn’t certain how else she could get to the truth about the two murders and finally put the nightmares of the past behind her.

Yet, until that revelation, Rosemary stuck to the role she’d learned to play so well, dutifully taking care of others. “Is there anything you need? I brought the books you asked for, and two cartons of cigarettes.” She curled her fingers into a fist, fighting the instinctive urge to reach for the neckline of her dress and the scars underneath. Instead, she arched an eyebrow in teasing reprimand. “I wish you’d give those up. You know they’re not good for you.”

That earned her half a grin from her brother. “Let me kick one addiction at a time, okay?”

“Okay.” A high sign from the guard warned her their time was nearly up. Rosemary blinked back the tears that made her eyes gritty and smiled for Stephen’s sake as he stood and waited for the guard to escort him back to his cell. “I wish I could give you a hug.”

“Me, too.” But that kind of contact wasn’t allowed. “I love you, sis. Stay strong.”

As if she had any choice. She fought to keep her smile fixed in place. “I love you. I’ll keep writing. And it wouldn’t hurt you to pick up a pencil every now and then, either. Be safe.”

He nodded as he shuffled to the door in front of the guard. “You, too.”

Rosemary was alone for only a few seconds before another guard came to the door to walk her out to the visitors’ desk. But it was long enough for the smile to fade, her shoulders to sag and her heart to grow heavy. How was one woman supposed to endure so much and still keep going on with her life? She followed the rules. She’d done everything that was expected of her and more. Why wasn’t it good enough? Why wasn’t she good enough?

“Ma’am?”

With a quick swipe at the hot moisture in her eyes, Rosemary nodded and got up to accompany the guard out that door into an antechamber and then out the next one into the visitors’ waiting area. She jumped at the slam of each heavy door behind her, which closed her off farther from the only family she had left. With every slam, her shoulders straightened, her heart locked up and she braced herself to meet the concern that etched frown lines beside Howard Bratcher’s eyes when he greeted her. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

While she waited in line to retrieve the purse she’d checked in at the front desk, Rosemary became aware of other eyes watching her. Not quite the lecherous leer she’d imagined tracking her from the shadows each night she got one of those creepy phone calls. Certainly not the solicitous concern in Howard’s hazel eyes.

When the holes boring into her back became too much to ignore, she turned.

“Rosemary?”

But she didn’t see Howard standing beside her. She looked beyond him to the rows of chairs near the far wall. The girlfriends, wives and mothers waiting to see their loved ones barely acknowledged her curiosity as her gaze swept down the line. There were a couple of men in T-shirts and jeans. A few more in dress slacks and polo shirts or wearing a jacket and tie like Howard. They were reading papers, chatting with their neighbors, using their phones.

But no one was watching.

No one was interested in her at all.

She was just a skittish, paranoid woman afraid of her own shadow these days.

Hating that any sense of self-confidence and security had once again been stolen from her, she turned back to the guard at the front desk and grabbed her purse. “Thank you.”

But when she fell into step beside Howard and headed toward the main doors, the hackles beneath her bun went on alert again. She was suddenly aware of the youngish man sitting at the end of the row against the wall. He wore a loose tie at the front of the linen jacket that remained curiously unwrinkled, and he was texting on his phone.

Was it that guy? Had he been following her movements with that more than casual curiosity she’d felt? Although it was hard to tell if he was making eye contact through the glasses he wore, he seemed to be holding his phone at an oddly upright angle, tapping the screen. He lifted his attention from his work and briefly smiled at her before returning to whatever he found so fascinating on the tiny screen.

Like an image of her?

“Rosemary?” She felt Howard’s touch at her elbow and quickly shifted her gaze back to the door he held open for her. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Stepping outside, the wall of heat and humidity momentarily robbed her of breath. But her suspicion lingered. “Did you see that guy?”

“What guy?”

They were halfway across the parking lot now. “The one who was staring at me?”

Howard glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. “They probably don’t see a lot of pretty women here.”

Pretty? Rosemary groaned inwardly at the sly compliment. She caught a few frizzy waves that curled against her neck and tucked them into the bun at the back of her head. After Richard’s abuse, the last thing she wanted was to attract a man’s attention. But the curiosity of that man in the waiting room had felt like something different. She shuddered in the heat as she waited for Howard to open the door of his car for her. “I think he took a picture of me with his phone.”

“So you don’t mean one of the prisoners?”

“No. He was one of the attorney-looking guys out in the waiting area.”

“Attorney-looking?” Howard laughed as he closed the door behind her and walked around to his side of the car. He shed his suit jacket and tossed it into the backseat before getting in. “So we’re a type?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything negative by that. I was just describing him. Suit. Tie. Maybe more on the ball than some of the others waiting to visit friends and family here. He looked like an educated professional.”

“No offense taken.” He pushed the button, and the engine of the luxury car hummed to life. “Could be a reporter, getting the scoop on Kansas City’s newest millionaire visiting the state penitentiary.”

Right, as if hearing her picture might be in the paper again was a whole lot better than thinking someone was spying on her. “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

He pushed another button to turn on the air-conditioning. “What do you want me to call it? Your brother’s in the state pen. It’s public record.”

“No. ‘Kansas City’s newest millionaire.’” She supposed the soap opera of her life made her recent wealth big news in a summer where most of the local stories seemed to be about the weather. “I’d give anything if that headline had never hit the papers. I hate being the center of attention.”

“Yet you handle it all with grace and decorum.” Howard reached for her hand across the seat, but Rosemary pulled away before he made contact, busying herself with buckling up and adjusting the air-conditioning vents. Even as the evening hour approached, the temperature across Missouri was still in the nineties. Seeking relief from the heat was as legitimate an excuse to avoid his touch as her innate aversion to letting a man who looked so much like his late younger brother—or maybe any man, at all—get that close to her again.

With a sigh he made no effort to mask, Howard settled back behind the wheel and pulled out onto the road leading away from the prison. “Hungry for an early dinner? My treat. Jefferson City’s got this great new restaurant on top of one of the hotels downtown. You can see the Capitol Building and almost all the riverfront. Day or night, it’s a spectacular view.”

The answering rumble in her stomach negated the easy excuse to say she wasn’t hungry. Instead, she opted for an honest compromise. “Dinner would be great. But, could we just drive through and eat it in the car? I need to get home and let the dogs out. And we still have a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Kansas City ahead of us.”

Howard had seen the wrongful death and manufacturer’s negligence lawsuit his brother had started for her through to its conclusion. And though she’d trade the 9.2-million-dollar settlement for her parents in a heartbeat, she was grateful to the Bratcher, Austin & Cole law firm that they’d gotten the company to admit its guilt in their construction of the faulty wing struts on the small airplane that had crashed, killing her parents instantly.

And though Howard’s interest might have as much to do with the generous percentage his firm had received from the settlement, Rosemary appreciated his attempts to be kind. However, her gratitude didn’t go so far as to want to encourage a more personal connection between them. She’d thought Richard Bratcher was her hero, rescuing her from the dutiful drudgery of her life, and she’d fallen hard and fast. Richard had been her first love...and her biggest mistake—one she never intended to make again. But her business relationship and friendship with his older brother, Howard, shouldn’t suffer because of it. She glanced across the seat and smiled. “Is that okay?”

Knowing her history with his brother, Howard was probably relieved she hadn’t given him a flat-out no. He nodded his agreement, willing, once again, to please her. “Fast food, it is.”

Almost three hours later, Howard pulled off the interstate and turned toward her home on the eastern edge of Kansas City. Although it was nearly eight o’clock, the sun was still a rosy orange ball in the western sky when he walked her up onto the front porch that ran clear across the front of her ninety-year-old bungalow.

From the moment the car doors had shut and she’d stepped out, she could hear the high and low pitches of her two dogs barking, and was eager to get inside to see them. She had her keys out and her purse looped over her shoulder when she realized Howard had followed her to the top of the stairs, waiting to take his leave or maybe hoping to be invited in for coffee.

What one woman might see as polite, Rosemary saw as suffocating, maybe even dangerous. As much as she loathed going out in public, she hated the idea of being trapped inside the house with a man even more. No way was she reliving that nightmare. With the dogs scratching at the other side of the door now, anxious for her arrival, Rosemary turned and lifted her gaze to Howard’s patient expression. “Thank you for going with me to Jefferson City.”

“My pleasure.”

“Do I owe you some gas money?”

He chuckled. “Not a penny.”

Finally getting the hint that this was goodbye, he leaned in to kiss her cheek. But Rosemary extended her hand instead, forcing some space between them. “Good night, Howard.”

He gently took her hand and raised it to his lips to kiss the back of her knuckles instead. “Good night. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” he asked, releasing her from the gallant gesture and pulling away.

Right. More papers to sign. “I can drive, you know.”

“But the drive will give me a chance to explain the trust fund and scholarship you’ll be setting up before you sign anything.” There’d already been plenty of explanation and she’d made her decisions.

“Howard—”

“That way you won’t have to spend any longer than a few minutes at the office.”

Now that was a selling point. Rosemary nodded her acquiescence. “I’ll be ready. See you then.”

She waited until he was backing out of the driveway and waved before turning around to unlock the door. She typed in the security code to release the alarm, but her hand stopped with her key in the lock. She wasn’t alone.

Was he watching her? Would there be another vile message waiting on her answering machine?

I see you, Rosemary. Thinking your money can buy you security. Thinking those dogs will keep you safe. One of these days it’ll be just you and me. I’ll show you how justice is done. I’ll take you apart piece by piece.

With her shaking hand still on the key, she glanced up and down the street at the peaceful normalcy of a summer evening in the older suburban neighborhood. There was an impromptu ball game in the Johannesens’ front yard across the street. Mrs. Keith was out trimming her shrubs while her husband washed the car in their driveway.

Squinting against the reflection of the sunset in her next-door neighbors’ living room window, Rosemary caught the shadowy silhouette of Otis or Arlene Dinkle. The brief ripple of alarm that had put her on guard a moment earlier eased. The Dinkles had lived next door for years, and had been friends with her parents long before Rosemary had moved back home to care for her teenage brother.

Unable to get a good look at which of the couple was eyeing her, Rosemary exhaled a sigh of relief and waved. They’d watched over her for a long time, including that night Richard had attacked her and she’d run to their house to call the police, fearing he’d come back after he’d stormed out. Her wave must have been all the reassurance the Dinkles needed to know she’d arrived home safely. The shadow disappeared and the blinds closed.

Breathing easier now, Rosemary unlocked the door and went inside. “Hey, ladies. Mama’s home.”

Her smile was genuine as she locked the door behind her and dropped to her knees to accept the enthusiastic greeting from the German shepherd with the excited whine and the miniature poodle leaping up and down around her.

“Hey, Duchess. Hey, Trixie. I missed you guys, too.” She spared a few moments to rub their tummies and accept some eager licks before rising to her feet and doing a quick walk through the house with the dogs trailing behind her.

She really should have no worries about an intruder, especially with the yappy apricot poodle and the former K-9 Corps dog who’d been dismissed from the program because of an eye injury on hand to guard the place. If the dogs weren’t alarmed, she shouldn’t be, either. Still, she checked all the rooms, including the guest suite upstairs, before she set her purse down beside the answering machine on the kitchen counter.

No blinking red light.

“Thank goodness.”

Her day had already been long and troubling enough without having to deal with another message from the unwanted admirer she’d picked up the night after news of her settlement being finalized had appeared in the Kansas City Journal. And she was certain the police department was tired of her calling in to report the disturbing calls. She knew she was tired of hearing the subtle changes in their tone once she identified herself. The officers were sympathetic when they saw her name in the system as a victim of domestic violence, but seemed to think she was some kind of crank caller when they read her abuser was dead and that she had once been a suspect in his murder. They probably thought she was some sort of paranoid crazy lady—or a woman desperately seeking attention when, in reality, she’d be far more content to fade into the woodwork.

The advice from the officer she’d finally been connected with had been to keep a log of the calls and let her know if she thought they were escalating into something more serious. If she’d known when Richard Bratcher’s controlling demands were going to escalate into violence, she might have been spared a split lip, a broken arm and... She ran her fingers beneath the collar of her blouse, resting her palm over the old scars there. Talk about a sudden and unexpected escalation. But when images from that horrific time tried to surface, Rosemary pulled her hand away and stooped down to busy her fingers and brain with the much more enjoyable task of petting the dogs and rubbing their bellies.

After a happy competition for her affection, Rosemary kicked off her sandals and relished the cool tile under her toes. With both dogs dancing around her, she unbolted the back door and opened the screen door to let them out into the fenced-in yard to run around.

The warm breeze wrapped her eyelet skirt around her knees and caught the wispy curls escaping from her bun and stuck them to the warm skin of her cheeks and neck. With the nubby concrete of the patio still warm beneath her feet, she glanced up at the sky and tried to gauge how long they had before nightfall. While Trixie sniffed the perimeter of the yard and the big German shepherd loped along behind her little buddy, Rosemary walked to the edge of her in-ground pool and dipped her toes into the water. As tempting as it might be to cool off in the pool, she hated to be out after dark. Besides, Duchess and Trixie had been on their own for most of the day and deserved a little one-on-one attention. A few games of fetch and tug-of-war before bedtime would do just as much to help her forget these restless urges to prod the truth from her brother, rail against the fear and loneliness that plagued nearly every waking moment and live her life like a normal person again.

Laughing as Duchess barked at a rabbit in the Dinkles’ backyard garden, startling Trixie with her deep woof and setting off a not-to-be-messed-with barking from the smaller dog, Rosemary opened the storage unit at the edge of the patio where she kept pool and outdoor pet supplies. One of the shelves was dedicated to a sack of birdseed, grooming brushes and a stash of dog toys.

She pulled out the tennis ball Duchess loved to chase and gave it a good toss, watching the dogs trip over each other in their eagerness to retrieve the faded yellow orb. Then she reached inside for one of Trixie’s squeaky toys and gasped.

The last rays of sunlight hitting the nape of her neck could have been shards of wintry ice as she snatched her hand away from the gruesome display inside.

“I don’t understand why this is happening,” she whispered through her tight throat.

But she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the tiny stuffed animal—tan and curly coated like her sweet little Trixie—hanging from a noose fashioned out of twine from the cabinet’s top shelf. Nor could she ignore the typed message pinned to the polyester material.

I know what you did.

You don’t deserve to be rewarded.

You can’t escape justice.

Who would...? Why would...?

Duchess dropped the slobbery ball at her feet, and the dogs buffeted her back and forth, eager for her to throw it again. When she didn’t immediately respond, the German shepherd rose up on her hind legs to help herself to another toy inside the cabinet, and Rosemary snapped out of her shock.

“Down, girl. Get down.” Rosemary pushed the black-and-tan dog aside and closed the cabinet doors. Then she latched onto Duchess’s collar and swung her gaze around the yard.

Was someone watching her right now? Was some sicko out there getting off on just how terrified he could make her feel?