The Detective And The D.A.. Leann Harris
eyes widened.
“We’re working on a case, Mark,” Ash explained.
“Oh, is that what those vibes were I felt coming from here? Hey, maybe I should get into police work.”
This was the second time within a week that someone had commented on them being together. She stared down at her burger. Confusion rumbled around her head. What was going on?
“The point I’m trying to make, Kelly, is that Andrew’s neighbors said that within weeks of the murder, he had someone come in and redo the entire house. Nothing of Catherine remains.”
She took a bite of her burger and thought. “Still, Ash, it’s not that unusual a response to a death. A violent death.”
“Well, you wanted my gut reaction in this case. There it is. Also, this fiancée is the second one he’s had since his wife died. The society woman he was seeing while Catherine was alive expected to be the next Mrs. Reed. She was very shocked when Andrew dumped her.”
“Ash, I wish I could charge Andrew Reed with being a louse, but we generally don’t prosecute things like that. If we did, I’d have to charge over half the male population of the city with it.”
“When I interviewed the neighbors, I got a picture of a couple that fought frequently. Loud. Yelling and slamming of doors going in and out of their house. I also discovered Mr. Reed liked to spend money. And his business wasn’t doing well.”
Kelly lost her appetite. She pushed away her plate. “Why didn’t Ralph Lee come up with this evidence?”
“Because he conveniently had a suspect that had confessed.”
“You’re going to need to go back and talk to Steve Carlson, again.”
“You want to go with me?”
“Yes, that way no one can accuse you of being biased if I’m there to watch and record the interview.”
“Let’s do it now.”
There wasn’t a reason on earth they couldn’t do it tonight. Except it meant spending more time with Ash, at night, surrounded by darkness and breeding an air of intimacy. “All right, I’ll follow you to his apartment.”
“Don’t trust my driving, Kelly?”
“When the interview is finished, I can go home. It’s got nothing to do with your driving.”
And it had nothing to do with spending time in a car with him. Nothing at all.
When they arrived at the apartment building where Steve Carlson lived, they parked in the dimly lit lot. Several people stared at them as they walked up the outside stairs to the second-floor apartment. Ash knocked. There was no response.
“He’s there,” a little girl told them as she moved away from the door of her second-floor apartment.
Kelly smiled at the child. “How do you know?”
“I saw him let another man inside. Then they started to yell. Later, the man came out, but the other man didn’t.” She shrugged, then started to jump rope.
Ash looked at Kelly. “You think I’ve got reasonable doubt that something’s wrong?”
“I do. See if the door’s open.”
Ash drew his gun, then tried the knob. The door opened easily. They walked into the small apartment. There was no sign of anyone in the living room. The kitchen and dining area were empty. And neat. In the bedroom they found Steve Carlson, lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, a bullet hole in his right temple. A gun lay inches from his hand.
Ash looked at Kelly. “Why do I get the feeling this case has taken another ugly turn?”
“That’s because I doubt Steve Carlson killed himself.”
“Which means that someone wanted to shut him up.”
“Or, Ash, maybe someone wanted our investigation stopped. With Carlson’s death, that would be the logical assumption.”
“But you’re not going to quit, are you, Kelly?”
She looked back at the body, then at him. “Give me a reason to continue, Ash. Give me the evidence I need.”
“All right, I will.”
Chapter 4
Kelly stepped back against the kitchen counter and watched the police evidence team work the scene. Ash stood inside the bedroom door, carefully observing the activity. He glanced at her, and they both knew the trouble they were facing.
A commotion outside the front door drew Kelly’s attention, and she saw the news reporter.
“You can’t go in there,” Kelly heard the officer tell the woman.
“I want to interview someone in charge about this murder. It’s big news.” The young woman looked into the apartment. She caught a glimpse of Kelly. Unfortunately, Kelly knew her.
“Ms. Whalen, can you tell me what’s going on here? Isn’t this the man who was just released from prison, Steve Carlson? And why are you here?”
Kelly didn’t want to talk to the eager-beaver reporter, but had discovered the hard way the more you tried to dodge the press, the more they pursued you. She walked to the front door. “Hello, Amber. I accompanied one of the detectives here.” Kelly didn’t mention she and Ash were the ones who had found the body.
“Is Steve Carlson dead?” Amber shoved the microphone in Kelly’s face and the cameraman behind her started taping.
It was better for the situation if Kelly gave the reporter a minimum of information. Squinting because of the camera light, Kelly answered, “Yes, Steve Carlson was found dead in his apartment.”
“Was he murdered?”
“At this point, I don’t feel free to supply any more details. The police haven’t finished working the scene. Further details will be released later.”
Amber frowned. “Can you comment on the method of death?”
“You’ll get all the information you need from the police information officer,” Ash interjected, his tone hard and professional. He stood behind Kelly, a solid, welcome presence.
Amber ignored his silent warning. “Can you tell me anything more?”
“No.”
Any sensible person would have understood the danger in pressing her case. Apparently Amber didn’t fall into that category.
“But this is important for the public to know. What happened?”
Ash glared at young reporter and said nothing. He pushed his way through the reporter and her cameraman. Kelly followed.
“Damn press,” Ash grumbled as he walked down the stairs. He stopped by his car and glanced around the parking lot.
When the captain had mentioned that Ash was good at dealing with the press, Kelly had wondered what the man had been drinking. She felt fortunate that Ash had simply walked away from the confrontation instead of blistering the young woman for her stupidity. He had done so in the past with other reporters.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes I wonder where they dig up these little wonders.”
“I’ll give you brownie points for waiting until you were out of earshot to make your comment.”
His head came up and his eyes locked with hers. A hint of humor twinkled in his eyes. “Yeah, well even this old dog can learn a new trick.”
He didn’t look like an old dog. Instead, he looked like a strong presence that she could depend upon. She shied away from the thought. “You going to interview Carlson’s neighbors tonight?”
“Yes.