Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

“Hannah was fabulous. She hung out with the residents, helped them with shopping, and Millie was a changed woman. She still had Alzheimer’s, of course, but she seemed brighter. Happier. The thing is, I liked Hannah. We went shopping together and out for lunch and I considered her a friend. There are not a lot of people my age-forty-five-in the area, so to have Hannah around was a perk.

“But then I saw her driving a new sporty car, and I started worrying that maybe this daughter was using her parents. When she took Millie to the doctor one day, I went to the house and talked to Bernard. Millie was senile, but Bernard was smart as a whip. Rarely spoke a word, but he was all there, you know? So I ask him if he’s okay, if Hannah was taking advantage of his generosity. If it was true, I was thinking I might talk to Hannah as a friend, not in a confrontation, you know? And you know what he says? That this woman wasn’t even Hannah. That one day Millie came home with her and thought she was Hannah. And Millie was so happy that Bernard didn’t want to hurt her. He said, ‘Millie doesn’t have many years left. I want her to have her daughter back.’ He said Hannah didn’t want money, only a place to live because she’d gone through a nasty divorce and needed time to get her life back together.”

“When you found this out, what did you do?” asked Megan.

“I checked up on her. I couldn’t believe anyone was that altruistic. Call me cynical, but though Bernard and Millie were okay financially, they had money in the bank and I thought this woman was a con artist.”

“So was Hannah stealing money from them?”

“I thought so, but Bernard said he was giving her a bit of spending money and had bought her the car. To me, that’s manipulative. Two elderly people who lost their daughter in a tragic car accident get suckered by a woman who doesn’t want to work and is happy to live off their savings. If Bernard had hired her, I wouldn’t have had as big a problem, but Hannah was playing up this martyr role to the hilt. So I confronted her when I found out that she had never been married, and therefore never been divorced. I had also found out she had been a physical therapist in New York and still had an apartment there.”

“Had you hired a private investigator?”

“My dad is a retired Miami cop. He knows people and found the information for me. I just wanted Hannah to leave the Rubins alone, but now I wish I hadn’t done anything.”

“Why’s that?”

“Millie got so depressed when Hannah took off, Bernard said it was as if their daughter had died again. They went into Sunny Day two months later.”

“What happened when you confronted Hannah?”

“I expected tears and an apology, something! I mean, we had been friends. But she simply said, ‘That’s fine, I was leaving anyway’ “

“She said that?”

“She was completely heartless. I said that maybe we could work something out, write up a more formal agreement between her and the Rubins, because I knew Millie was going to be heartbroken without her. But Hannah didn’t care. She didn’t bat an eye. Said she’d be out by that night. Then I find out that she’d had a huge fight with her boyfriend over God knows what. I thought maybe he’d found out too.”

“Her boyfriend, Kenneth Russo?”

“Yes. And then she was gone. And you know what happened to Kenny, right?”

“Yes.” Megan’s heart skipped. “That was a week after Hannah left, correct?”

“Yes. We don’t have crime here. We have a security patrol and gates and until Kenny was killed hardly anyone even locked their doors, everyone was comfortable walking at night. But now? My residents are scared. At night they barricade themselves in, and few people come to my evening events. Friday-night movies and Saturday-night dancing? Attendance dropped in half. It’s just started to grow again.” She stopped talking. Megan was about to thank her for her time, when Paula said, “So did Karin have something to do with Kenny’s murder?”

“We don’t know- Karin?”

“Yes. I told you I found out her real name, right? Karin Standler. A physical therapist from New York.”

Megan didn’t know whether she said thank-you or just hung up the phone. Officer Dodge said something, but Megan didn’t hear the question. Her face was clammy, her hands shaking, as she looked down at her Black-Berry screen to view the e-mail that had come in from the sketch artist in Texas.

Karin Standler had been Megan’s partner.

The woman who had shot her in the back twelve years ago stared at her from the BlackBerry screen.

Karin Standler was a sociopath.

Megan had come to the conclusion slowly, disbelieving. She’d ignored the signs because they were partners, friends, sisters. For three years they’d worked closely together, and Megan had learned so much from the senior agent. Karin was smart, sharp as a tack, and believed wholeheartedly in the job. “I love this job,” Karin said time and time again.

As it turned out, Megan realized, Karin loved it too much. She loved the badge, the power, the ability to scare people-criminals or not. True, she had clean cases, impeccable attention to detail, and her arrests had the highest rate of imprisonment through either confession or conviction.

Megan discounted Karin’s moodiness-Megan’s mother had been moody. Megan ignored Karin’s running commentary on the failings of the justice system, or the leniency of the courts. A lot of cops had a problem with a system that let violent criminals out early or let them plead to a lesser offense. Karin may have had extreme views of crime and punishment, but they weren’t any more extreme than the views of Megan’s own father, who, after drinking a bit too much on occasion, would lament a failing country he risked his life for. That he’d died defending the rights Americans hold dear wasn’t lost on Megan.

Karin slept around, but never had a steady boyfriend. She told Megan she was too independent and temperamental to live with someone. Megan felt like a prude around Karin.

But even with all of Karin s flamboyant acts, Megan saw the compassionate woman inside.

Or so she’d thought. After nearly three years, she’d realized it was an act. That Karin had been playing her all that time, and Megan had sucked it up because she wanted a big sister, a mentor, a friend.

It was two months before Karin shot her that Megan made the first turn toward suspecting that her partner was overzealous in her pursuit of criminals. They had been part of an annual drug raid in coordintion with the Washington, D.C., Police Department, DEA, and ATF. Megan and Karin were assigned to a periphery post and Karin was displeased with the position.

“They’re putting us here because we’re women,” Karin complained.

Megan had been nervous-this was only her third year in the Bureau, and she’d never worked the annual roundup. Last year, two cops had been shot, one seriously, even with all the vests and protection they wore.

At the time, Megan thought she was being a coward and perhaps Karin was right. After all, they had a lot of experience working the drug cases with the DEA.

As soon as Operation Wild Wild West-named for the location they were hitting that year in west D.C- began, Megan sensed they were in serious trouble. The cross streets they were assigned became the primary exit route of the criminals-mostly parolees who didn’t want to be caught with drugs or weapons and be sent immediately back to jail.

Megan had called for backup and Karin had a fit, but they didn’t have time to argue. Six gang members, notorious for trafficking drugs, ran down the alley toward a car parked half a block from Megan’s location. Karin immediately began pursuit, and Megan couldn’t let her partner go off without her, even though she felt it was too dangerous in this situation without having backup in place.