Killer Love (56 page)

Puke once, bawl once. It was as if her system had a built in maximum on displays of emotional weakness in the line of duty. She’d met her quota on both.

One explanation for her emotional state would probably be today’s date. It was her and her ex’s anniversary. Not their wedding anniversary, but the anniversary of the day he walked out on her three years ago. After six years of marriage, suspicions of his infidelity, and never quite feeling like she lived up to his expectations, he’d confirmed that theory by telling her that she bored him and he couldn’t take it anymore. Then, he left. Before his motorcycle took him completely out of town, he cleaned out her bank account.

Hawkins emptied the cadaver’s stomach contents, then began itemizing what he found. “Looks like whatever she had for dinner was mostly digested. I’d put the time of death at my earlier assessment, just before midnight on Thursday.”

As the autopsy wound to a close, Sam asked, “Is there any indication of trauma, other than the head injury?”

Hawkins shook his head. “The cause of death was a cerebral hemorrhage due to head trauma. This would be consistent with the gavel found at the scene. I’d say that’s your murder weapon, Detectives.”

They’d discovered the gavel didn’t belong to Mona Morrison. The killer had brought it with him.

“Thanks, Doc,” Frank said. “You find anything else, you’ll let us know?”

“I should have my report done by the end of the week.”

Sam thanked him and followed Frank out the door of the morgue and into the fresh air, as anxious to escape the atmosphere of death as her partner.

****

Sam lived in a third floor apartment in downtown Cincinnati, convenient to the police department, which was where she spent most of her time. The apartment was a two-bedroom with a large living room that dwarfed her meager furniture—a plaid couch, matching recliner, and a 27-inch television.

The thing she loved most about living here was the view of the Ohio river and Great American Ball Park.

Her dad had retired last year after working in the front office of the Reds’ organization for forty years. As a kid, Sam had gone to most of the Reds’ games with him. Once in a while, her brother would come along, but not often. He didn’t care much for baseball and that drove their dad crazy. At fourteen, Samantha discovered boys and didn’t go as often after that. In retrospect, she should have stuck with baseball.

Sam shrugged off her blazer and put an Elvis Presley CD on the stereo, then grabbed a can of Diet Coke from the fridge and spread the case notes out on the table.

She studied the meager information they’d collected, wondering if the killer could be someone as unlikely as one of the litigants. It was insane. These court shows were on daily. At least three or four different judges were doing the same thing Mona Morrison had done. Surely Mona hadn’t made one of the litigants angry enough to commit murder.

Because Sam didn’t have anything else to go on, and because in this crazy world, anything was possible, she jotted down the names of the litigants in the episodes she’d watched at the station. There were the Brahern brothers, their friend, Avery, and the abusive husband with the domestic violence charge. She also added Mona Morrison’s boyfriend, Calvin Rollins. Sam would look up their addresses and go talk to them, unless she landed a miracle solid lead first thing in the morning.

The station manager was a person of interest, but Sam found that unlikely, too. He and the judge had been arguing for years, although the blow-up about the man who committed suicide had apparently been a doozie. Mona was his bread and butter. Sam couldn’t imagine him offing her over something like that.

She was going through her notes for the second time when her mother called.

“Just wanted you to know that Landon stopped by with the kids and we wish you were here. We miss you, you know.”

Ah, brother Landon and his dutiful Sunday visits. Her mother was
so
lucky to have a son like him.

“I know, Mom, I’m sorry. It’s been really crazy at work.”

“Sure it has, hon. You have a very important job and I wouldn’t want to take you away from it. I just wish I could see you a little more often. You wouldn’t believe the way your nieces and nephews have grown. Makes me realize how I’m not getting any younger. I’d hoped to have a few more grandchildren by now.”

Sam nearly groaned aloud. Over the years, her mother had systematically, with love and kindness, instilled a tremendous amount of guilt in her. Guilt that her only daughter was divorced and childless at thirty-three.

“Well, guess that wasn’t in the cards for me, Mom.”

“You know, it’s not too late, dear. Your biological clock is ticking away, I’ll admit, but there’s still time.”

Time, but not the opportunity and not the desire, Sam thought, but didn’t say it. It was easier to just agree. Go along to get along. “I know. Maybe I’ll meet someone soon.”

“You’re not seeing anyone right now?”

“No.” Rather than make excuses for her lack of a love life, Sam decided to end the call. “I’m kind of in the middle of something. It was great talking to you, Mom, love you. Give Landon and the kids and Dad my love, too.”

With her mother muttering a hasty, flustered goodbye, Sam hung up the phone. She opened the freezer, perusing the dozen frozen dinners neatly stacked with the label facing out so she could quickly choose between beef tips and noodles, cheese enchiladas, fettuccini alfredo, meatloaf, and so forth.

None of them appealed to her, but she chose the meatloaf and stuck it in the microwave.

Just as the timer dinged, the phone rang again. She didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID but picked it up anyway.

“Samantha? This is Dexter Hawkins.”

Hearing his voice was so unexpected, its timbre so warmly masculine, she felt a rush of heat tingle through her. She squeezed her thighs tightly together to make it go away. “Hello, Dr. Hawkins. What can I do for you?”

“The station gave me your number. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“You’re not,” she said, but he was. Just not in the way he meant.

Sam traded her Diet Coke for a Tecate and went to stare out the window, the phone pressed to her ear. Bright sparks of blues, whites, reds and greens lit the sky over the river. Fireworks were going off at the ballpark, which meant one of their guys had hit a homerun.

“I was calling to make sure you’re okay,” Dexter said. “You know, after today.”

“I’m fine, thanks. It’s always difficult, no matter how many times.”

“Tell me about it,” he agreed sympathetically.

She was touched by his empathy. Autopsies couldn’t possibly affect him the way they did her or he wouldn’t do it for a living, yet he was trying to make her feel like less of a weakling. She felt another warm rush, except this was one of gratitude, and something else she wasn’t willing to scrutinize too closely. After all, she didn’t like the guy, did she?

“Find out any more from the autopsy?” she asked for lack of anything else to say, and for fear of getting on a personal topic with him.

“Not yet. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks.”

Silence settled between them. Sam couldn’t think of anything to talk about, but was strangely reluctant to let him go.

Finally, she said, “I appreciate you calling to check on me. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Samantha.”

She hung up the phone, then took a long pull from the Tecate, trying to ignore the glow his call had left her with.

Sighing, she re-heated the frozen dinner, then sat at the dining table. As she ate, she went over the case files once more, making a supreme effort to concentrate on them instead of on the quagmire of her feelings for Dexter Hawkins.

Chapter Four

The next morning, Samantha went to the Greater Cincinnati Mall where Keith Brahern’s ex-wife worked at a cosmetics store.

Sam envied Krista Brahern’s flawless skin, but comforted herself by concluding it was most likely due to her expertly applied makeup. Muted blue eye shadow complemented her eye color, and bright coral lip gloss shimmered on her lips. She looked a little older than she had on television, and the breasts looked even larger.

Sam introduced herself and showed her badge. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about your ex.”

Krista’s impeccably arched brows lifted. “My ex? It
was
suicide, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Well, as far as I know. That’s not why I’m here. It’s about Mona Morrison.”

“I heard. That’s crazy. You think it had something to do with Keith?”

“We don’t know. We’re just following up on even the smallest lead. Your ex-husband took a beating in the courtroom. He and his witnesses seemed a little upset, especially his friend.”

Krista nodded. “Yes, but Eric’s just like that. He’s a hothead, likes to be the center of attention. Keith and Todd were upset, but not murderously so.” She smiled. “They were satisfied because Keith’s tax debt was taken care of and they were each paid to be on the show.”

“But your ex-husband committed suicide shortly after the program aired. Do you know why he killed himself?”

“Not exactly.” Her voice lowered, turned gloomy. “Keith was always a bit unstable. I told myself it had nothing to do with me since we’d been divorced for five years, but then again, I wonder. It was a messy, horrible divorce.” She took a tissue from a box on the counter and dabbed at her eyes, giving a wan smile. “Almost as messy and horrible as our marriage. I sometimes wonder if my taking him to court stirred up all those feelings again.”

A thin, middle-aged woman and a teenage girl with a nose ring and spiked hair came in then, and Krista excused herself to take care of her customers.

Sam waited patiently, watching as Krista opened a case of eye shadows and the young girl took a ridiculously long time to choose two ridiculously overpriced pallets.

Once they had conducted their business, they left and Krista came back over to Sam. “Sorry about that. We’ll probably start to get busy here in a few minutes. Was there more you wanted to ask?”

“Yes, but I’ll be brief so you can get back to work. Did your ex leave a suicide note?”

“I heard he did, but I can’t say for sure. His sister is the only one in his family who still talks to me, and we’re not exactly best friends. We’ve never spoken of the suicide. It’s just too painful for her.” She lifted one shoulder apologetically. “So, I really don’t know about a note.”

Sam nodded. “Did your ex-husband’s friend or his brother display any violent tendencies that you were aware of?”

Krista thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Like I said, Eric was hot-tempered, but it was more about yelling and getting red-faced. I never knew of him hurting anyone.”

Sam consulted her notes. “I think that’s all I have. I appreciate your cooperation.” She handed Krista a card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call at one of these numbers.”

Another customer, a lone woman this time, entered the store and Sam left, wondering why an innocuous incident such as the mild annoyance Keith Brahern exhibited on Judge Mona’s show gave her such a strong gut feeling it had something to do with her murder.

****

By noon the next day, no one had come running into the station to confess, and Sam still hadn’t been able to reach Calvin Rollins, so she went to see Todd Brahern while Frank checked out the list of merchants where gavels were sold.

The insurance office where Todd worked as a salesman was located in a business district in the north area of Cincinnati. Sam entered through the glass door where a twenty-something, very pregnant girl with friendly but homely features sat at the front desk.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist smiled, deepening the reddish freckles that were a few shades darker than her hair.

“I’m here to see Todd Brahern.” Sam lifted the detective shield hanging around her neck so the girl could read it.

“Is he expecting you?”

“No. I didn’t make an appointment.”

“Well, I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Hold on a sec.” She lifted the phone and hit a button. “Mr. Brahern, there’s a police detective out here to see you. Can I send her in?”

She hung up the phone, then beamed up at Sam. Placing her palms on the desk, she grunted and started to heave her bulky frame to a standing position. The girl would be plump, even without being pregnant, but now her protruding belly was so large and tight, she looked like she could pop any time. “Right this way.”

“Don’t get up,” Sam said, but the girl was already on her feet.

“It’s okay. I need to walk. I’m almost a week overdue and I’m hoping I can convince this little guy to show up soon.”

“A week overdue and you’re still working?” Sam asked in astonishment and admiration.

She nodded as she led Sam to a glass-encased office. “My husband and I need the money. Besides, I like my job. Mr. Brahern is a doll to work for.”

They stopped by a closed door, and she turned the knob, pushing inward. “Go right in.”

“Thanks,” Sam said. The receptionist gave her another smile before waddling back to her desk.

Todd Brahern stood to greet Samantha. He looked the same as he had on television, but his manner was much more pleasant.

He shook Sam’s hand after she introduced herself, then indicated the brown leather chair facing his desk. “Please, sit down.”

Sam took a seat, slipping her notepad from her jacket pocket. As she did, her fingers touched the other objects in the pocket and she sighed longingly. A lighter and one cigarette. She carried them as a talisman that she would solve the case soon. Each time she successfully closed an investigation, she would celebrate by smoking one, and only one, cigarette. Until two years ago, she’d smoked regularly. Now she only infrequently allowed herself the guilty pleasure.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Brahern. I know this will be difficult for you, but I have some questions I need to ask about your brother.”

A sadness entered his eyes and he nodded slowly. “Please, feel free. But I can’t imagine what you would need to know about my brother.”

“This is in reference to the Judge Mona murder investigation. I’m sure you’re aware she was found dead?”