Cavanaugh Cold Case (23 page)

Her voice cracked again, but she pushed on.

“God forgive me, I should have paid closer attention to the way he was behaving. He was so erratic, but I just thought he was acting out. That he was a bad seed. That happens sometimes, you know, someone goes bad no matter how good his life is, how well he's treated.”

“What did this babysitter look like?” Malloy asked her.

Caught off guard, Agnes stopped to think. “She was blond. About twenty-two. She had blue eyes. Why? Does it matter?” she asked, confused.

“It explains a lot,” Malloy told her.

Agnes shook her head, speaking more to herself than to them now as she lamented the events. “If I had paid attention, those girls would have been alive. They all would have been alive now,” she sobbed.

“Maybe Bruce would have been alive, too, instead of drinking himself to death like that because he thought that he'd driven Anson away somehow.”

Her shoulders appeared to be even more slumped beneath the weight of her confession. Agnes struggled to try to rise above what she had just told them. Pulling herself together, she raised her head and looked at Malloy.

“Are you going to arrest me, now, Detective? I'm tired, and I want this to be over with,” she told him. “I'm ready to pay for my crime.”

Heartsick for what the woman had been living with for the past twenty years, Kristin turned toward Malloy. She couldn't see what purpose would be served if the woman was arrested and taken to jail. Then again, they couldn't just ignore the law.

“Isn't this a case of self-defense?” she asked Malloy. “She was only defending herself.”

Malloy agreed with her, but there were rules to follow. After all, Agnes had had knowledge of several crimes and hadn't come forward.

“That's not up to me to decide,” he told Kristin, then went on to say, “But we've got an assistant DA and two judges in the family. One of them has to know the name of a good defense attorney who does pro bono work.” His last words were addressed to Agnes.

But the woman shook her head. “I appreciate what you're trying to do, Detective, but I've been in prison since the night I killed that boy. No amount of fancy words are going to set me free,” she told him. Offering the duo a smile, she said, “I'm just glad this is finally over. If you need any further proof,” she went on, “I wrote all this down and put it in a safety deposit box in the same bank where I have my checking account. I wrote down every detail—in case I was too much of a coward to confess during my lifetime,” she admitted. “The problem with a secret like this is that eventually there is nothing else
but
the secret. Keeping it is the only thing that matters. Life ceases to have any joy, any meaning. Any value.” She sighed. “And now it's out.

“Don't look like that,” she said, seeing the pity in their faces. “You've both done me a huge favor. And they
are
right in what they say.”

“How's that?” Malloy asked.

“Confession
is
good for the soul,” Agnes concluded, nodding her head. “Thank you for hearing mine—and for not judging me,” she added, her eyes once more glistening with tears. “It means a great deal,” she assured them. “A
great
deal.”

Chapter 22

B
ecause she had freely confessed that she was responsible for her nephew's death, even though it had been accidental, and because, in Malloy's judgment, Agnes Parker was not a flight risk, the woman was kept under house arrest. He told her that he would speak to the assistant district attorney about her case and that someone would get back to her.

“You do what you think is best, Detective,” Agnes told him. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Malloy lost no time in getting in contact with his cousin, alerting her to the surprise twist his cold case had taken.

“She's an old, sick woman, Janelle. I hope she's given some leniency in this case.”

“Let me see what I can do. I'll call you later,” Janelle said.

“Now what?” Kristin asked him when he terminated the call. They were still driving back to the precinct.

“Now I fill out a ton of paperwork—and we wait,” he said.

* * *

True to her word, Janelle reviewed all the available evidence, including the confession that Agnes had written and placed in her safety deposit box. Phone calls were made, strings were pulled and a couple of favors were called in. The results were that Agnes Parker was allowed to remain in her present living arrangements, technically under house arrest, until such time as her arraignment could be scheduled.

Janelle called both her cousin and the medical examiner into her office and gave them the news in person.

“I read her confession. Given Miss Parker's age, her rapidly failing health and the fact that there aren't any witnesses alive to dispute her version of the events, she might not go to prison. It will probably be ruled self-defense and she'll be allowed to live out the remainder of her life where she is.”

Janelle looked at Kristin. “The other victims still need to be identified, so technically, the case isn't closed yet. But Miss Parker's account of the events will help a lot of families experience closure, and I think at this point, that's what everyone is after.

“Let me know as soon as you can identify those victims,” she said to Kristin. “And I'll be in touch about the details regarding the legal side of this. It'll be just a matter of dotting the
i
's and crossing the
t
's,” she elaborated.

Malloy rose to his feet. He knew when it was time to leave. Kristin rose beside him. “Thanks, Janelle. I know how busy you are.”

“Never too busy for family,” Janelle assured him. They began to leave the office when she asked, “So, will I see you two at the next gathering?”

Rather than answer, Malloy glanced in Kristin's direction and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to respond.

The gathering. She'd almost forgotten that she'd agreed to go in exchange for his taking her with him to question Montoya.

“Sure,” Kristin answered automatically.

The moment they were in the hallway, walking to the elevator, she asked, “Is that still on?”

“The gathering?” Malloy pressed the down button for the elevator. “Sure. Nothing gets in the way of one of Uncle Andrew's gatherings.”

She shook her head. “No, I meant my attending.”

“Why wouldn't it be?” he asked. He leaned against the wall as he waited for the elevator to arrive. “We made a deal.”

She was well aware of that, but circumstances had changed. “I know, but that was before the case was solved.”

His eyebrows drew together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She was trying to word this as delicately as possible. She knew he'd be moving on. “Well, there's no more need for us to be working together.”

He laughed. “I'm a detective, and you're the department's medical examiner. I think it's far too optimistic to believe that there'll be no more dead bodies in my future. Besides,” he said more seriously, “I don't need a dead body as an excuse to see you. Do you?” he asked.

Why was he making her spell this out? “I just thought, you know, a fling has a limited life expectancy.”

The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. “Were you having a ‘fling' with me, Doc?” Malloy asked. There was nothing in his expression to hint at what he was thinking. “Was I just your boy toy?”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “No, you idiot, I meant you. You're the one who was having the fling.”

“With who?” he asked innocently, as if this was all news to him.

“With me,” she cried in frustration. Why was he putting her through this? They both knew he'd be moving on. She was surprised that he hadn't already done it.

Yet he seemed determined to continue with this charade.

“Why would I be doing that?”

Was he deliberately baiting her, or was he just trying to get her to lose her temper so he could point to a reason he was calling it quits? “Because that's what you always do.”

His eyes held hers and it was probably her imagination, but it seemed to Kristin that the humor was missing from his voice as he asked, “Says who?”

“Everyone,” she pointed out.

“Maybe,” he said seriously, “everyone's wrong.”

“Much as I'd like to believe that,” she confessed, “you have a reputation that definitely doesn't make you out to be a saint.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at the thought. “Full disclosure, I was never trying to go for sainthood,” he admitted.

“Well, congratulations,” she said, desperately trying to reconstruct at least part of the barriers she'd had in place when she'd first encountered him. Barriers that were supposed to keep her safe from feeling as if her insides had been hollowed out with a jagged, rusty spoon. “You didn't achieve it.” Still, she had to be completely fair to him. “Except, of course, you did try to find a way to help Agnes Parker avoid a jail sentence.”

They arrived on the first floor and the elevator doors eased open.

Rather than go down the hallway to the building's entrance, Malloy suddenly pulled her over to an out-of-the-way alcove. His body barring her exit, he placed his hand on the wall right above her head, creating a feeling of privacy within a building that stood for the exact opposite.

“Don't change the subject, Doc,” he told her. “This isn't about Agnes Parker, or the cold case. This is about you and me. About us continuing to see one another.”

She felt as if her breath was caught in her throat. She was infinitely aware of the heat generating from his body that was less than inches away from hers. “Consulting on other cases?”

Why did she keep coming back to that? “If that comes up, sure. But like I said, I don't need a dead body as an excuse. I want to go on seeing you, Kristin,” he said, growing serious. “I don't know what it is about you, but the idea of being able to see you makes me smile. Makes me feel like my whole day's in sync.”

He took a breath, and then confessed, “This never really happened to me before, and I don't know where it's going to go, but I know that I do want to find out. Now, if this isn't all right with you, let me know now.”

“And if it's not, you'll back off?” she asked incredulously. Could he just turn it off like that at will? How could he have any feelings for her if he could do it that easily?

“No, but at least I'll know what I'm up against—and that I'll have to work harder at making you want me to be part of your life.”

She already
did
want him to be part of her life, but she couldn't tell him that. The second she admitted that, she'd frighten him away and he'd be gone.

“Where's this headed, Malloy?” she asked him quietly. It felt as if everything was trembling inside of her, and she was struggling not to let him see.

“I don't know,” Malloy told her honestly. “But I do know that we owe it to ourselves to find out. I don't want to spend my life wondering ‘what if?'” He slipped his fingers into her hair, framing her face and tilting her head up to his. “Do you?”

Her eyes met his. “I guess I'm going to the chief's party.”

He smiled then, his smile reaching his eyes and lighting up his face. “Good to know.” He began to lower his mouth to hers and was surprised when she put up a finger, blocking contact.

“Are you
sure
you want me to bring my mother along?” she asked.

“Sure. You said you thought she needed companionship. She'll have a good time,” he promised her.

“I'm sure she will. But you should know that she will also start thinking of us as a couple,” Kristin warned. Given an inch, her mother would take the proverbial mile.

Malloy didn't take her warning the way she thought he would. She expected him to look like a man who was having second thoughts, a man who had suddenly realized the error of his calculations.

Instead, he said, “It's got to start somewhere.”

She wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. “What did you just say?”

“It's got to start somewhere,” he repeated. “Put your hands down, Kristin. I'm beginning to feel like I'm playing patty-cake with an octopus. And ‘patty-cake' isn't what I want to play,” he informed her, his mouth curving wickedly.

“What
do
you want to play?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“That's what I'm trying to find out. Now, stop talking, put your hands at your sides and kiss me,” he instructed.

“How am I going to put my arms around your neck if my hands are at my side?” she asked innocently.

“We'll work out something,” he promised. The next moment, to forestall another response from Kristin, he sealed his mouth to hers.

And effectively kept her quiet for a long while.

Epilogue

“W
e need to talk,” Malloy announced, walking into the morgue.

Surprised, Kristin looked up from the autopsy she was performing. She hadn't expected to see Malloy until later, after hours. He'd mentioned something about wanting to go out for dinner.

Since they usually took their meals together at her place, occasionally at his—with her handling the cooking in both cases if they weren't having takeout—Kristin had instantly known that something was up.

More than likely, a bad “something.”

Seeing Malloy suddenly making an appearance in the morgue had her thinking that she was right. Something
was
definitely up.

She braced herself, certain that it would be something she wasn't going to want to hear.

Things had been going well.

Too well.

And that had her concerned that an end was coming.

She did what she could to sound calm. “Right now?” she asked.

“Well, we're alone,” Malloy pointed out, thinking that there was no time like the present. He wanted to get this out before his nerve deserted him.

“Technically,” Kristin corrected, glancing at the body on the table.

Malloy followed her line of vision. “I don't think he's going to mind.”

She didn't want to fall apart at work, and if he said what she knew he was going to say, she would. “This can't wait?”

Malloy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not really.”

She took a breath, wishing her heart would stop thumping against her rib cage like that. “Does this have something to do with you taking me out to dinner later tonight?”

He seemed to be on the alert, she thought as he answered, “Yes.”

“I knew it,” she cried. Stripping off her gloves, she put the digital recorder she'd been using on pause, leaving it next to the body.

“You know?” He looked at her in surprise. “Who told you?”

She wasn't going to cause a scene, Kristin told herself. She'd been bracing herself for this ever since that first moment when butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach, fluttering whenever Malloy was around her. And now it was here.

“No one told me,” she retorted, then asked, “You don't think I'm bright enough to figure this out on my own?”

“Well, if you figured it out, you're brighter than I am, I'll give you that,” he told her, succeeding in thoroughly confusing her. “Because it didn't fully hit me until last night.”

Last night.

She'd been afraid of that.

After spending every evening for the past two months in each other's company, after having his family all but absorb her, and her mother practically adopt him, Malloy had opted for what amounted to a “guys night out” with a few of his friends.

His
single
friends.

When he'd showed up on her doorstep later that night, he'd been surprisingly quiet—which had led her to conclude that their days together were numbered. By going out with his friends, he'd been reminded of the life he'd previously enjoyed and had undoubtedly realized that he wanted it back.

That was what tonight was going to be about, she thought. A well-rehearsed speech containing the words, “It's not you, it's me,” or sentiments to that effect. And then that would be that.

She felt sick.

“Look, we don't have to go through this,” she told him resolutely. “I've got an autopsy to finish, and you, you've got whatever it is that you have to do.”

“This won't take long,” he promised.

“It's already taking too long,” she shot back. And if he remained here any longer, she knew she was going to break down and cry, no matter what she promised herself to the contrary. “Just go. Just—”

Words froze in her throat as she found herself looking down at a small black box that Malloy was holding in the palm of his hand.

“What's that?” she asked in a shaky whisper, the question barely making it out of her all-too-dry mouth.

“Something I was going to give you tonight, but I just couldn't wait. I guess it's burning a hole in my pocket,” he admitted. Since she continued staring at the box, he opened it for her.

Her eyes widened.

“It's a ring,” she whispered.

“That's what they usually put in ring boxes,” he agreed.

She raised her eyes to his. “Who's it for?” she asked in the same hushed whisper.

“Well, it sure as hell's not for the guy on the table. I was going to give it to you tonight, but I showed it to your mother after I picked it up, and I realized that she wasn't going to be able to keep this a secret. I wanted to give it to you before she spoiled the surprise, so I decided to bring it to you now.”

Stunned, Kristin continued looking at him.

Why wasn't she saying anything? “You're making me nervous, Kris. Are you going to make me beg?”

“I thought you were going to break up with me,” she finally confessed, her voice cracking.

“Break up with—” His voice almost evaporated, then came back in full force. “Why the hell would I do that?”

She took in a shaky breath. He deserved an explanation. “Because you got to see what you were missing out on last night, going out with your friends.”

He couldn't help laughing at how wrong her interpretation of last night was. “What I was missing out on was an empty life. Those guys are out there, looking for what I have right here.” He took her hand in his. “I love you, Kris, and I don't want to go back to that life. Marry me. Marry me, Kristin, so that I can go on having and living that full life. Marry me,” he said, lowering his voice, “or I'll sic your mother on you.”

She started to laugh then, with relief and with joy. “Good closing argument.”

He took her into his arms, bringing her body against his. “So it's yes?”

Her smile encompassed her entire being. “For a bright guy, you can be so dumb—it's been yes from the first time you kissed me.”

“Then I'll just have to keep on kissing you,” he said. And to prove it, he did.

* * * * *

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