Quest For Justice. Kathleen Tailer
take you home,” Kennedy said softly.
She glanced up at him and their eyes connected. There was compassion there, yet still the determination and grit that she had always seen in him since he had first snapped the cuffs around her wrists six years ago. But, in this case, his determination was a good thing. If he was assigned to solve her father’s murder, then he wouldn’t give up until he had the culprit behind bars.
“Are you going to be working this case?”
“I am,” he confirmed.
A wave of satisfaction swept over her. “So am I,” she said vehemently. “One of those two goons in the alley probably pulled the trigger, but there has to be more to this. I’m going to find out who and why and make them pay.”
He put his hands up. “No, you’re not. You’re going to go home and stay out of the way while I do my job. I don’t need or want your help.”
“That’s not the way it works, Detective,” she said grimly. “He was my father. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, no matter what it takes.”
Bailey opened the office door, then bent under the crime scene tape and closed the door quickly behind her. She ignored the light switch and instead flipped on her small flashlight, seeking out her father’s desk. After her long night at the police station and the morgue, she’d tried to sleep at her apartment but hadn’t been able to keep her mind off her father’s murder. Once night had fallen again, she’d decided to start her investigation, which meant going back to her father’s office and looking for clues.
She continued her perusal of the desktop and noted that her father’s laptop was missing, but she didn’t know if the police had taken it as part of their investigation or if someone else had acted. It didn’t actually matter either way. Her father was a Luddite, tried and true, and kept meticulous paper files for every case. She looked around her father’s desktop for any notes or hints regarding the case he’d been working on when he’d texted her, but she found nothing. Either the notes had also been taken or he hadn’t written anything down.
Maybe she was missing something obvious—she couldn’t know for sure. She wasn’t the experienced investigator her father was. But Bailey’s computer skills were unparalleled, and she had been able to help her father close several cases during her short tenure by finding old emails and other items that the perpetrator had thought he’d deleted, or by tracking down trails on the internet that led to the party’s guilt. The internet was a gold mine of information if a person knew where to look. Nothing was ever really erased. Thankfully, she was a really good miner.
Thankfully. She thought about that word for a moment. Despite everything that was happening in her life, she always tried to recognize and appreciate the good things going on around her. Even with her father’s death shadowing her, she was still thankful that she was alive and both willing and able to pursue the case so the murderer would be brought to justice. She also had her health, a small savings account and she shouldn’t have any trouble finding another job once this investigation was over. That was a lot to be thankful for.
She made her way over to the filing cabinet, unlocked it and pulled out the first few files that were classified as Pending. The first file was a simple divorce and didn’t seem to have any unique issues, but the second caught her interest and she poured over the pages, lost in concentration.
She didn’t hear the man enter behind her, and when she finally did sense his presence, it was too late. The blow to her head caught her near her right ear, and she instantly saw black and passed out as her body slumped to the floor.
* * *
Franklin Kennedy eased his car around the corner, and then he slowed and stopped completely. What was going on in Cox’s office? He’d been driving by and had seen a light flicker in the window. He waited. There it was again. The yellow police tape was still blocking the door and the overhead lights were off, but he could see a flashlight moving behind the window. He parked and pulled out his own flashlight, as well as his service revolver. There shouldn’t be anyone in that office—especially with the crime tape still blocking the doorway. He approached the front door but noticed that the light inside had disappeared. He tried the door, but it was locked. He shone the light in the window but couldn’t see any movement or other signs of life. What had happened to the light he’d seen? He edged around the building, keeping his gun and flashlight pointed ahead of him, not sure what to expect.
Suddenly he heard footsteps, but they were running away from him. He felt his adrenaline spike and he moved faster toward the back of the building. He arrived around the corner just in time to hear tires squeal away. The flashlight illuminated a dark sedan, but it was too dark to make out the plate or even the make and model of the car. He moved cautiously to the back door of the building and tried the knob. The door opened in his hand.
He was fairly certain that he had scared off whoever had been in the office suite, but he needed to investigate nonetheless. The forensic team had already come and gone, but had law enforcement missed something? What was so important that someone felt the need to break in? The crime tapes usually stayed up until after all of the interviews were completed, just in case they had to return and look for more evidence as a result of new information gained through the interview process. So far his interviews had yielded zilch, which almost guaranteed he would be returning at some point, just in case he could discover a new clue. He turned on the light switch by the back door and stowed his flashlight.
The groan surprised him, and he instantly raised his gun. “Sheriff’s department. Show yourself. Now.”
No one answered and he advanced slowly, not sure what to expect. He stepped around an overturned table and a mess on the floor and then he spotted Bailey Cox, lying prone on the floor. He glanced around to make sure there wasn’t someone hiding in the shadows. Seeing no one, he holstered his gun and rushed to her side.
“Bailey? Are you okay?”
Bailey slowly opened her eyes and winced. Her hand went instantly to her wound. Franklin caught her hand and gently moved it away so he could get a better look at her injury.
“Kennedy?”
“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing in here? It was blocked off for a reason.” It was too soon for her to be in here. Any evidence they seized now would be tainted. He pushed the regulations out of his head and focused on Bailey. She obviously hadn’t been the only one here. Someone else thought there was something to find in this office as well and was trying to make sure Bailey and the police remained clueless. What had they missed?
Bailey squinted against the light and moaned again. There was a large bump forming over her right ear and a trickle of blood matted her hair. That seemed to be her only injury. He stood and looked around for a freezer containing some ice, but the office didn’t have one, so he headed to the bathroom and then returned with a cool, wet hand towel. As he returned, Bailey was trying to sit up, but he gently pushed her back down.
“Here, take this. It might help,” he said softly as he put the towel in her hand.
She pushed the towel away, suddenly agitated. “The files...where are they?”
“You’re bleeding.” He took the towel back and started carefully cleaning her wound. He was surprised that she allowed his ministrations, but her docility was probably due to the pain. A wound like that had to hurt. “Is that better?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t happen to have any aspirin, would you?”
“Not on me. Sorry. Did your dad keep any here in the office?”
“I don’t remember seeing any,” she said softly.
“Did you see who hit you?”
“No, I was reading a file...” She suddenly tried to sit up again and her eyes darted quickly around her.