Leann Harris - The Detective And The D.A.

Ash looked at Kelly. “You think I’ve got reasonable doubt that something’s wrong?”

“I do. See if the door’s open.”

Ash drew his gun, then tried the knob. The door opened easily. They walked into the small apartment. There was no sign of anyone in the living room. The kitchen and dining area were empty. And neat. In the bedroom they found Steve Carlson, lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, a bullet hole in his right temple. A gun lay inches from his hand.

Ash looked at Kelly. “Why do I get the feeling this case has taken another ugly turn?”

“That’s because I doubt Steve Carlson killed himself.”

“Which means that someone wanted to shut him up.”

“Or, Ash, maybe someone wanted our investigation stopped. With Carlson’s death, that would be the logical assumption.”

“But you’re not going to quit, are you, Kelly?”

She looked back at the body, then at him. “Give me a reason to continue, Ash. Give me the evidence I need.”

“All right, I will.”

Kelly stepped back against the kitchen counter and watched the police evidence team work the scene. Ash stood inside the bedroom door, carefully observing the activity. He glanced at her, and they both knew the trouble they were facing.

A commotion outside the front door drew Kelly’s attention, and she saw the news reporter.

“You can’t go in there,” Kelly heard the officer tell the woman.

“I want to interview someone in charge about this murder. It’s big news.” The young woman looked into the apartment. She caught a glimpse of Kelly. Unfortunately, Kelly knew her.

“Ms. Whalen, can you tell me what’s going on here? Isn’t this the man who was just released from prison, Steve Carlson? And why are you here?”

Kelly didn’t want to talk to the eager-beaver reporter, but had discovered the hard way the more you tried to dodge the press, the more they pursued you. She walked to the front door. “Hello, Amber. I accompanied one of the detectives here.” Kelly didn’t mention she and Ash were the ones who had found the body.

“Is Steve Carlson dead?” Amber shoved the microphone in Kelly’s face and the cameraman behind her started taping.

It was better for the situation if Kelly gave the reporter a minimum of information. Squinting because of the camera light, Kelly answered, “Yes, Steve Carlson was found dead in his apartment.”

“Was he murdered?”

“At this point, I don’t feel free to supply any more details. The police haven’t finished working the scene. Further details will be released later.”

Amber frowned. “Can you comment on the method of death?”

“You’ll get all the information you need from the police information officer,” Ash interjected, his tone hard and professional. He stood behind Kelly, a solid, welcome presence.

Amber ignored his silent warning. “Can you tell me anything more?”

“No.”

Any sensible person would have understood the danger in pressing her case. Apparently Amber didn’t fall into that category.

“But this is important for the public to know. What happened?”

Ash glared at young reporter and said nothing. He pushed his way through the reporter and her cameraman. Kelly followed.

“Damn press,” Ash grumbled as he walked down the stairs. He stopped by his car and glanced around the parking lot.

When the captain had mentioned that Ash was good at dealing with the press, Kelly had wondered what the man had been drinking. She felt fortunate that Ash had simply walked away from the confrontation instead of blistering the young woman for her stupidity. He had done so in the past with other reporters.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes I wonder where they dig up these little wonders.”

“I’ll give you brownie points for waiting until you were out of earshot to make your comment.”

His head came up and his eyes locked with hers. A hint of humor twinkled in his eyes. “Yeah, well even this old dog can learn a new trick.”

He didn’t look like an old dog. Instead, he looked like a strong presence that she could depend upon. She shied away from the thought. “You going to interview Carlson’s neighbors tonight?”

“Yes. I’m waiting for my partner to help.”

“You have a new partner?” Of course he had. The last partner she knew about was now a lawyer with HPD, advising the department on legal matters. She purposely had not kept up with Ash’s career.

Suddenly two sedans pulled into the parking lot. From one car emerged a well-muscled man in his early forties with a steely-eyed gaze. A woman got out of the second car. Tall, shapely and very pretty, the woman’s blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Was this Ash’s partner? A stab of jealously knifed through Kelly.

The captain over Homicide nodded at them. “Ms. Whalen.”

“Captain Jenkins.”

“Ash, what do we have here?” Captain Jenkins asked. He wore a want-to-chew-nails expression.

“Kelly and I wanted to talk to Carlson. When he didn’t answer the door, a neighbor—” he glanced at Kelly to see if she would point out their witness was a little girl, but she remained quiet “—assured us that he was there, that she’d seen Carlson and another man enter the apartment, then heard them argue. The other man left. I felt the circumstances warranted entrance. We found Carlson dead on the floor of his bedroom.”

His expression hard, Captain Jenkins turned to Kelly. “Detective Ashcroft had your opinion on the exigent circumstances?” The good captain wanted the department’s rear covered.

“He did and the circumstances were urgent.”

Captain Jenkins nodded. “Show me where you found the body.”

Ash, Captain Jenkins and the woman turned and started back toward the building. Ash paused. “Kelly, are you coming?”

She wanted to go, to make sure everything was seen to, but she wouldn’t appreciate the cops trying to tell her how to try a case. “What’s happening is your job. I’m going home. I’ll let the D.A. know about Carlson.”

A gleam of admiration flickered in his eyes, then he nodded and turned. As she watched him go, Kelly knew things were going to get ugly if they continued the investigation into Catherine Reed’s murder. Everyone would expect the inquiry to stop with Carlson’s death, but neither she nor Ash wanted to let it go. It wasn’t finished. The case had just taken an unexpected turn.

Ash didn’t understand why he was here, parked in front of Kelly’s house—their home pre-divorce.

His skin prickled as the air of familiarity washed over him and a thousand memories assaulted him. What the hell was he doing here?

He came to fill Kelly in on what he’d discovered from the neighbors, he told himself. Share with her what the lab techs thought about Carlson’s death, and nothing else.

Liar, a voice in his head whispered. You could’ve done all that with a call tomorrow morning.

He didn’t have an argument against that truth. Instead, he walked to the front door. The color had changed. It was no longer a mud-ugly brown. Now a soft peach graced the wood.

He knocked and heard steps in the entranceway, then the door opened. Kelly stood there in a robe of some soft material that clung faithfully to every curve. He cursed under his breath.

You’re batting a thousand, Ashcroft.

“Ash, what are you doing here?” She held a cup of coffee.

“I thought I’d fill you in on what we discovered.” It sounded lame to his ears.

Her level of interest intensified. “Did you turn up something significant?”

“No.” He felt as if he was six years old and had stumbled in front of the entire school at the Christmas pageant. “It seems no one saw anything, but that didn’t sit right with me or my partner, Julie.”