ToServeAndProtect (7 page)

“Ms. Porter is still a person of interest. Although at
this time, she hasn’t been named as a suspect.”

“And she won’t.” Dawn folded her arms across her perky
breasts. “Aren’t you supposed to turn on the bright lights? Sweat the truth out
of me.”

“Are you planning to lie?”

“No, maybe I just like to sweat.” She winked at him
then glanced around the tiny room with a video surveillance camera in the corner.
Metal folding chairs and a card table were the only furniture. “In the movies
the suspect is always offered a cigarette.”

“Clean Air Act.”

“Oh, well then, what about a glass of water?”

“You aren’t a suspect. I don’t exactly know why you’re
here.”

“Don’t be dense. I’m stepping forward as McKenna
Porter’s alibi.”

“Best friends don’t make good alibis.” He leaned
forward and whispered, “I know I’d lie for my best friend.”

“Then maybe you have one redeeming quality.” She took
lip-gloss from her purse and shined her smile.

“You don’t like cops?”
Who in the hell is this
woman
? Dustin was right. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and
opinionated seemed to be an understatement.

“Not particularly, but let’s not get off the subject.
I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

“Why come here at all if not to try to convince me of
your friend’s innocence? We’re conducting an investigation. This little act
doesn’t help.”

“I’m scared for Mickey. She didn’t kill her father.”

“We know that.”

“Then why in the hell are you prowling like a pack of
wolves looking for prey?”

“Elliot Porter was murdered in that house,” he said as
he moved around the table to stand in front of her. “And honey, I think your
friend killed him.”

“You aren’t making sense.”

“Elliot Porter wasn’t her father. Two DNA profiles
were found at the scene. One belonged to the good doctor, the other your
friend. Go back to the storyboard, Ms. Wilson. He wasn’t her father, but
perhaps her sugar daddy.”

“Oh, my god!” Dawn covered her mouth with her hand. “I
think I’m going to throw up.” Dawn visibly swallowed. “Does Mickey know?”

“Detective Pearce is with her now.”

“She’s going to be devastated.” She turned her worried
eyes to Tyson. “Detective Jones, don’t fuck this up! You don’t understand, but
she didn’t kill him.” She put her finger to his solid chest and poked him.
“Mickey has been through enough. Imagine how betrayed you’d feel if you found
out the man you believed was your father, the only family you had, wasn’t
family.” Tears filled her eyes. “Don’t get so confident that you don’t look for
who really murdered Elliot.” Dawn grabbed her purse. “Putting man hours into
trying to find evidence against Mickey is fucking it up! In case you didn’t
know.”

Tyson watched the door slam closed behind her. One
thing was clear; Dawn was lying. He’d bet a week’s wages Dawn was not with
McKenna Sunday night.

* * * * *

A few days later, McKenna pulled her vehicle into the
garage next to Elliot’s Cadillac. The nondescript classical standard edition
represented him perfectly. Or at least she had thought it had. Dizzied with the
truth that he wasn’t her father left her to speculate exactly who he was and
where was her biological father? More over, was Lauren really her mother? Had
she been adopted? If so, they’d have to have adopted her when she was an
infant. McKenna remembered her childhood, and she had photographs from when she
was a baby.

A deep breath calmed her thumping heart. Of course,
she was Lauren’s daughter. The resemblance was too acute to be anything but
biological. Now with Elliot’s death, she wondered if there was anyone who could
help her uncover the truth.

McKenna sat in her car and looked at the two white
commercial vans parked one behind the other. They had hoses leading into the
house, and loud engine noises coming from inside. She dialed Albert on her cell
phone. “Do I have you to thank for this?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I got permission from
Detective Pearce after we left the station. He recommended the company.”

While talking, McKenna slid out of the car. This was
her home, but the house didn’t offer comfort. Anxiety made her heart race. She
quickly walked through the garage. Her heels clicked on the cement flooring.
Before unlocking the backdoor, she pushed the button to close the garage door.
Once sealed inside, she let out a breath. “Albert, I’m not sure where I go from
here. My life is complete chaos.” She entered the house and paused in the
kitchen.

“You shouldn’t be alone. Meet me for dinner tonight.”

She sighed into the phone. “I appreciate the offer, but
I think I’ll try to get some sleep. I need to go back to work tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a good start to putting your life back
together. It’s time to live a normal life. Elliot—” He hesitated. “Elliot was a
hard man to figure out. I wish I could tell you more. In all the years I’ve
known him, I never understood why he shut you out.” He paused. “I guess we know
now. I’m so sorry, McKenna. If you need anything, call me. Detective Pearce
said he’ll keep me abreast of any developments in the investigation.”

“The five o’clock news will keep us informed. ‘Rich
Daughter Offs Father’ will be the headline.”

“It won’t come to that.”

“I hope you’re right. I better go. Thanks Albert, for
everything.” She ended the call.

The smell of disinfectant filled the air. The cleaning
crew had been busy. The fingerprint powder that had coated everything had been
wiped clean, as well as the bloody footprints throughout the house. McKenna
suspected anything covered with blood, not collected by the police, filled the
large, black trash bags lining the wall near the front door.

Stepping over a long hose stretching up the stairs,
she followed it into her father’s bedroom. The mattress and rug were gone. The
dismantled bed frame leaned against the wall next to the dresser. A man in a
pair of baggy jeans and a maroon shirt embroidered with his company’s logo
busily pushed and pulled an industrial strength carpet cleaner across the
floor. McKenna could almost imagine she hadn’t seen the room drenched in blood.
Almost.

“Don’t…uhh…touch the walls.”

Another man stepped out of the bathroom across the
hall. “We had to paint.” He nervously stuffed his hands into his pockets. “If
we missed something—” He stumbled on a polite way to discuss the condition of
the house. “You can call us. I left our magnet on the fridge. Has the number
and stuff.”

“Thank you.” She gave the men a smile and went to her
room to try to forget Sunday night and the horrible images of blood and the
heavy coppery scent of death. In her room, she lay on the bed, closed her eyes,
and imagined she was anywhere but home.

Knowing the news speculated on her possible
involvement, she understood the accusatory glances from the crew cleaning her
house and she hated what they might think. If they knew her, they’d realize she
couldn’t have killed her father. Public opinion always believed the worst.
Until the police discovered what really happened, she could expect more of the
same.

Best option for now was to avoid the public. So until
the cleaning crew left she stayed out of sight.

When the sound of the carpet cleaners ceased and she
hadn’t heard the echo of footfalls in the hall, McKenna sat up in bed. She
checked the clock. It had been a while since she had anything to eat and could
feel her blood sugar dropping. Maybe a bite to eat in the kitchen would settle
her stomach.

She opened her bedroom door and listened. The house
was quiet, too quiet. But then the house was always quiet, so McKenna didn’t
want to acknowledge what really made her jumpy.

She didn’t want to be alone.

Moving from one room to the next, she checked the
locks on the windows. Then she checked again. Intermittently, she peeked
between the drapes to see if any suspicious vehicles materialized in front of
her house.

Paranoia had set in.

Dawn had offered to come and stay, but McKenna
refused. Not tonight, she had a mission. Pizza Hut was coming in thirty
minutes, and she was going to do something that was completely forbidden.
Although her insides trembled, she reminded herself that Elliot was no longer
around. She was going to breach his office, his sanctuary. If there were
answers in there, she’d find them.

Chapter
Six

Dustin and Tyson sat at their adjacent desks looking
over the facts they had thus far collected.

“Shit.” Dustin leaned back and ran his hands through his
hair. “That’s what we’ve got. Something else bothers me.” He took the glossy
five by seven of the master bedroom. “Blood. That’s it. No unusual hairs, no
bone chips.” He flipped the picture in front of Tyson. “Is it too clean, or was
it a precision hit?”

Tyson looked at the picture from several angels. “My
gut tells me it’s the princess. First,” Tyson held up his pinky finger, “we’ve
established opportunity.” He held up his ring finger. “The dad note hints at a
motive. What the motive is,” he shrugged, “who knows, but it’s something.”
Lastly, he held up his middle finger making the okay sign with his hand. “Who
else? Her feisty little pal cinched it for me. She tossed insults with the same
enthusiasm that she tossed her hair. Lied right to my face without flinching.
If the friend is lying for the princess, the princess must have something to
hide.”

Dustin picked up the picture of McKenna taken in the
emergency room. “In my interview with Ms. Porter, her demeanor was just the
opposite. One minute she looked scared, then next she flirted.”

He dropped the photo, thinking back on the
conversation. She actually flirted with him. Coyly tilting her head, blushing
when their eyes met, she tried to play him like a high school boy. Dustin
leaned forward in his chair. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms, then
rubbed his thigh, deeply kneading the muscle.

“She might’ve been scared,” Dustin continued. “But she
was lying, too. She kept looking down and to the right.” Dustin easily
recognized the mannerisms of a downright liar. It wasn’t a simple play of
words, but a term used for an involuntary action. Someone lying tended to look
down and to the right.

Tyson stretched his hands over his head. “Like you
said, we’ve got shit. I also got a problem with something Dawn said.” Tyson
didn’t have to finish his thought.

“I know.” Unease churned in Dustin’s gut. He picked
the photo back up and looked hard at the young woman with hollow eyes. He
traced her form with his fingertip. “What if she didn’t do it?” He let out a
long sigh and picked up the photo of the bloody bedroom. “This is overkill.
Personal.”

“Dawn’s convinced the princess didn’t kill the doc,
and she tried damn hard to convince me of the same.” Tyson put the pictures and
papers back in the folder.

“I’ll have cadaver dogs in the hills above her house
first thing in the morning. She didn’t have much time to remove the body.” He
turned off the small green lamp on his desk. “If she is our perp.”

“If you find anything of the doc, it’ll only be parts.
No way did she carry a dead man out of that house whole.”

“It would explain all the blood.” Dustin grabbed his
keys. “You swing by the yoga studio tomorrow.” He looked at Tyson. “Ever try
yoga?”

“Hell, no,” he said disgusted. “I don’t do aerobic
classes either. Real men lift weights.”

Dustin laughed. “I’ll talk with the neighbors. Get the
gossip.”

“If the good doctor made a few enemies, the princess
might not be safe. That is
if
she’s telling the truth.” Tyson snorted.

“Don’t jump to any conclusions. Let the facts tell the
story.”

“Yeah, so if she isn’t involved, we’ve got a problem.
With nothing missing from the house and no vandalism, whoever did in
Dad
might not be satisfied.”

Dustin’s mind suddenly filled with the image of her
smile as she asked him about music. Smooth and classy. At certain points in the
interview she didn’t seem haughty, but rather elusive. Vulnerable and strong,
she was a contradiction to herself. Looking innocent, but more than likely,
guilty.

“Might be wise to keep an eye on her.” Plus he needed
to make the time to interview the men and women who worked with Dr. Porter and
follow up on the countless leads phoned into the station, although it wasn’t
likely any of the leads would get them any closer to knowing what happened. The
conscientious public was always eager to help in an investigation.

“You do that. I think I’ll pull on the best friend’s
chain. Shit,” he said long and drawn out. “She lied right to my face.” Tyson
followed Dustin out of the precinct. “First, I’ll bust her alibi and then I’ll
make her sweat. As I recall, that had been her challenge.”

Dustin chuckled. “You love trouble.”