Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) (5 page)

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here was mud on the floor and blood on the chair and the carpet,” Candace explained. “Phillip hates things to be messy and . . .”

Angel groaned and rubbed her forehead. It wouldn’t be the first time a person had cleaned up a crime scene. And this was obviously a crime scene. The man had been murdered. “You may have destroyed vital evidence.”

“Evidence? I don’t understand. He killed himself. Why do you need evidence?”

“Come on.” Angel led Candace out of the kitchen and back to the porch. “I need to call the authorities.”

“I know. I suppose I should have called them instead of waiting for you, but I couldn’t. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I understand.” But she didn’t, not really. Why had Candace called her mother’s place asking for her? To give her more time to clean things up? For moral support? Angel put her shoes back on and joined Candace on the porch. Pulling the cell phone out of her pocket, she dialed 911 and reported the death.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Candace when she’d finished making the call. While she wanted to believe the woman’s story, she couldn’t quite dismiss Candace as the killer. Destroying evidence and failing to call the police provided more than enough reason for suspicion.

Angel glanced at the still-open van door. “Where are the children?” Her mind jumped in with more scenarios. Had Phillip injured or killed the children? Had Candace come to the end of her rope? Had she gone psychotic and killed them all?

“They’re in the barn. I told them to feed the animals.”

Thank God
. Angel released the breath she’d been holding.

“Mommy?” One of the children stood in the barn’s yawning dark doorway. “Can we come in the house now? We’re cold.”

Candace turned toward the child. “Not yet.”

“Do they know about Phillip?” Angel asked quietly.

“No. I came in with some of the groceries and asked them to bring some in too. When I saw him, I sent them to the barn. I don’t know how I can tell them. They loved their dad. He was good to them when . . .”

When he wasn’t drinking
. She’d heard the line a hundred times before.

Candace frowned. “I should put the rest of the groceries away.”

“No, just leave them where they are. It’s fine.” Candace had done too much already.

The woman didn’t argue. She assumed the same position she’d been in when Angel had first pulled into the driveway, straight backed and staring at some spot on the cloud-scattered horizon.

Angel watched the sky as well. Another storm system was approaching. Her morning patch of sunshine had already become a distant memory.

Angel looked over to the barn. The children stood just inside the doorway, apparently reluctant to disobey their mother’s orders. “Mom!” one called out. “We’re hungry.”

Candace lifted her gaze to Angel. “Can I get them a snack? I have some cheese and crackers and fruit in the van.”

“Sure. I’ll come with you.”

They were heading down the porch steps when Nick Caldwell pulled up in an unmarked car and whipped into a parking spot beside her Corvette. Being a friend of her brothers, Nick had practically lived at the Delaney house while they were growing up. Angel loved him like a brother and had a lot of respect for him as a fellow officer.

“Hey, Angel, what are you doing out here?” Nick was six years her senior, tall and slim but muscular. He’d been her oldest brother, Luke’s, best friend.

Angel left Candace at the van and hurried over to talk to Nick, relieved to be handing the problem over to the authorities. After a quick hug she filled him in. “Mrs. Jenkins asked me to come out. I thought maybe he’d beaten her up, but . . .” She nodded toward the house. “He’s dead.”

Nick groaned, his feelings apparently echoing her own. The last thing they needed in the small coastal town was another murder.

“It gets worse.” Angel ran a hand through her thick curls still damp from the earlier downpour. “She cleaned the place up.”

“That’s just great.” He rubbed his neck. “Did she shoot him?”

Angel shrugged. “I don’t know. Says she didn’t. She claims she went shopping and picked her kids up from school, then came home and found him. She seems to think he killed himself—at least that’s the story she told me.”

“You don’t agree?”

Angel shook her head. “He was stretched out in a recliner, watching a baseball game.”

Another vehicle pulled in, Bo Williams, a sheriff’s deputy. Behind him came an ambulance, Dr. Bennett, the medical examiner, and two people in a white SUV. The place was beginning to look like a used car lot. Bo and Nick began setting up the crime scene, roping off the house with yellow tape. A man and a woman stepped out of the SUV. The OSP insignia blazoned on their navy blue caps and coveralls indicated they were from the Oregon State Police crime lab. They were wearing black boots and carried their evidence-gathering equipment in aluminum cases.

“You must be Angel Delaney.” The woman stretched out her right hand as they fell into step beside Angel. “I’m Jill Stafford, and this is Terry Bartlett.”

“Hi.” Angel shook the extended hands in the order they were offered.

“Detective Riley has been telling us about you.” Terry winked. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Thanks. It’s nice to meet you too. What has Riley been telling you?” She grinned. “On second thought, I don’t think I want to know.”

Jill chuckled. “It wasn’t what he said so much as the way he looked when he said it. You’ve made quite an impression on him.”

Callen had made quite an impression on Angel as well, but she didn’t say so. She walked as far as the door and debated whether or not to stay with Candace to lend moral support.

Nick took over as lead and asked Bo to keep an eye on Candace until he could question her. “Angel,” he said, putting an arm across her shoulder, “I’d like you to come in with us. I need you to go over things with me again. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Sure.” Relieved not to have to stay with the widow, she put on the shoe coverings he handed her then followed him inside. The lab techs had already begun processing the crime scene, with Terry taking photos and Jill making preliminary assessments.

While watching the medical examiner check out the body, she told Nick again what had happened, then added, “I just don’t think Phillip Jenkins would kill himself. Not just because he was watching a game. He was too . . . arrogant and self-assured. That night I came out on the domestic violence call, he didn’t seem the least bit repentant. He was more upset about our being there and interfering than he was about hurting his wife.” She glanced at the television screen that was still turned to a sports channel. “Look at the food and beer and the recliner. He was all set up to enjoy the game, not to kill himself.”

“Was he here alone?” Nick asked.

“Candace didn’t mention anyone else being here. You’ll have to ask her.”

“What do you know about the family?” Nick hunkered down beside the medical examiner to get a closer look at the head wound.

Angel told him about the domestic violence call, when she’d first met Phillip and Candace and their three children. “One of the kids called us. The oldest one, I think. By the time I got here, things were under control. Candace refused to press charges. She did go to the shelter for a while though, then went back to him.” Angel chewed on her lower lip.

“Maybe if she had followed through and left him, he’d still be alive.” Nick straightened and met her gaze.

Angel didn’t answer. It was far too soon to be making allegations against Candace, but she couldn’t fault Nick for doing the same thing she’d done herself.

“Where are the kids now?” Nick glanced over at her, hands resting on his hips.

“The two younger ones are in the barn. I don’t know about the oldest.”

Angel watched Jill Stafford pick up something off the floor with tweezers and tuck it into an evidence bag.

“You’re right about one thing, Angel,” Dr. Bennett said. “The guy didn’t commit suicide.”

“How can you tell—other than the fact that it doesn’t make sense?”

“His wound indicates that he was shot from about four to five feet away.”

“So someone did kill him.” Though Angel had no authority here, she couldn’t help thinking about motive. Candace certainly had that, but somehow Angel couldn’t see the woman as a killer. Candace had other options and knew it. She could have gotten a restraining order or gone back to the shelter. And hadn’t Candace told her that Phillip had been doing better, that he hadn’t hurt her lately? Of course, she could have been lying.

Angel hung around until Nick and the ME placed Jenkins in a body bag and onto a stretcher. Once they removed the body, she breathed a little easier. Terry photographed the empty and stained recliner. A remote control unit lay on its side against the right arm of the chair. That and the fact Jenkins had placed his snacks and drink to his right indicated that he might be right-handed. If that was true, why had the gun been placed in his left hand? If Candace had killed him, wouldn’t she have known to place it in his right hand? Maybe she was too frightened or distracted. Of course, it could mean nothing at all, since a lot of left-handed people are ambidextrous, and his food may have been on his right because that’s where the end table was located. Still, she made a mental note to ask Candace and to mention it to Nick later.

Angel took another look around the tidy living room. Photos on the mantle depicted a happy family. One showed them posing together on a beach. They were all tan, with sun-bleached hair. There were other photos leaning against the wall, some professional, some from school, some not.

No dust. The meticulous environment niggled at her. Had Candace and the children been forced to keep the house perfect for Jenkins? Had Candace snapped, unable or unwilling to accommodate him anymore? Had he pushed her too far?

“You might as well go home, Angel.” Nick settled a hand on her shoulder. “We can take it from here.”

Angel almost wished she was still working so she’d have a reason to be there other than curiosity and concern for the family. She didn’t want to go—didn’t want to be left out of the loop. Nick was right, she should leave, but his suggestion annoyed her.

There’s nothing more you can do
, she told herself. Nick and the others would gather and sort through the evidence. The medical examiner would perform an autopsy. They’d put all the pieces together and hopefully come up with a suspect.

Angel made her way outside. Bo stood near his car, talking into his cell phone and looking toward the barn.

“They’re going to need a place to stay while we’re processing the scene.” Jill came up behind Angel. “We won’t be able to let them in here for a day or two.”

“I can take care of that,” Angel said, relieved she’d be able to hang around a bit longer.

Jill nodded. “I’ll tell Nick. We’ll need to go over her car as well. If she shot him, it would have been before she left to pick up the kids—there may be evidence. So maybe you can drive them into town.”

“Sure. I’ll get them into a hotel—or maybe the shelter.” Angel glanced at the wicker sofa where Candace had been sitting. It was empty.

“She’s in the barn, with her kids,” Jill offered. “Said she needed to get them a snack and tell them about their dad.”

“Thanks.” Angel removed the shoe coverings and placed them in a box by the door.

Candace was sitting on a bale of hay just inside the double doors, her gaze directed toward the house. Her youngest child, a girl about five, huddled beside her. The second child, a boy, glanced over at Angel. He stood on a gate looking into a stall and jumped down when Angel entered the barn and joined his mother. Standing behind Candace, he placed what looked like a protective hand on her shoulder. Did they know yet? With his father gone, had he already slipped into the protector mode? Protector? Maybe the poor kid had been in that mode for a long time.

Angel hunkered down in front of Candace. “How are you holding up?”

Candace turned to look at her then, her eyes unfocused and confused. “Is he . . . is his body still in the house? The kids are getting hungry. I need to start dinner.”

“He’s gone, but you can’t go in there for a while. The police are still gathering evidence. You’ll need a place to stay tonight. Do you have any family or friends you could stay with?”

She stared off toward the house again. “No. No one. Our families are in California. We haven’t really made any friends—not people I could ask. We haven’t lived here very long, and we live so far out.”

Isolation. Another pattern of abuse. Angel thought about the soup in her mother’s inviting kitchen. “We’ll figure out something. In the meantime, you can come to my parents’ place for dinner.”

“Oh, we couldn’t.”

“Yes, you can. We have a huge pot of soup on the stove. My mom would be very unhappy if I didn’t bring you over.” Angel took out her cell phone and dialed her parents’ number. When Anna answered, Angel explained the situation.

“Of course. Bring them, and tell Candace she and the children are welcome to spend the night.”

“Uh, Ma, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Nonsense. They need a place to stay, and we have plenty of room.”

“All right. We’ll see how things go.”

After hanging up Angel relayed the message.

“Your mother is so sweet. But we couldn’t stay. I wouldn’t want to put her out.”

“Like she says, they have plenty of room. Besides, she’ll be upset with me if I don’t bring you.”

“I don’t know. We have sleeping bags and camping equipment. We could sleep in the barn.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Angel glanced at Bo, who had moved from his car to the porch and was having a conversation with Nick. Both officers looked their way.

“The police are going to need to question all of you. You’ll need someone to watch the children when they do.”
They may even arrest you
.

Candace stared at the hay-scattered floor and soothed her little girl’s golden curls. “Are you sure she won’t mind?”