“You taking Juliet straight home?” Michael asked her.
“Not right away. We’ll detour by my house and let her clean up before the kids see her. Michael, will you stop by sometime? Maybe you can help jog her memory for clues.”
Michael nodded and glanced at his brother, watching for his usual bristling. “Sure, I’ll do whatever I can. Max, I’ll let you know if she remembers anything else.”
Max had the grace not to do the whole “stay out of our way and let us do our job” routine that he often did. Maybe Max was giving Michael grace because he was so close to this family.
“And hey, I could do some of the footwork you don’t have the manpower for,” Michael said.
“I think we can handle it. But let’s stay in touch.”
It was the best Michael could hope for.
CHAPTER 6
Juliet hadn’t realized she was freezing until Cathy brought the blanket. Her sister opened it and draped it around Juliet’s shoulders, cloaking her in warmth. “They said I could take you home,” Cathy said. “Come on, we’ll keep this around you so people won’t see the blood. Let’s go.”
Juliet stood and looked around, feeling as if she’d forgotten something. Her purse, where was it?
“They’ve got your stuff,” Cathy said. “We can get it on the way out.”
Juliet didn’t remember them taking her purse. She wondered how long she’d been here . . . how long since her husband died. The reality that Bob was dead bounced around in her brain, but she still couldn’t grasp it.
“Juliet, you okay?”
She shook out of her thoughts and looked up at Michael. “Michael, we can’t let him get away with this. This person . . . this monster . . .”
“We won’t,” Michael assured her. But how could he promise her anything? No one knew better than Michael that bad guys didn’t always get caught.
They led her out of the interview room. But she’d taken only a few steps when Max Hogan emerged from the stairwell. He’d been the one to corral her into the interview room when she’d arrived, and he’d recorded her statement, taking copious notes and asking questions.
“Juliet, I’m going to let you go,” he said, “but I’ll need to get back with you tomorrow. Call us if you think of anything else. We’ll keep you informed about the case.”
The case. Her husband—the love of her life—was now a case.
They escorted her out to Cathy’s car, and Juliet climbed into the passenger seat, hoping she didn’t get blood on Cathy’s leather seats. Michael left in his own car, hopefully to track down leads.
Juliet sat with the blanket wrapped tightly as the car jostled her. She looked out the window at the night sights flying by. If this hadn’t happened, where would they be now? They’d be back home with the boys, who would be begging for ice cream before bed. She’d be asking Abe and Zach if they had really brushed their teeth. Asking Bob if he wanted to sleep in tomorrow morning.
She would have herded the boys into the shower, folded a load of laundry, planned tomorrow’s lunch, gotten the kids to bed. Then she would have collapsed in bed next to her husband, his warmth making blankets unnecessary. Tomorrow they would have risen to another day in their perfect little oblivious lives.
“Juliet? Honey?”
Juliet drew her gaze from the glass to Cathy. “Hmmm?”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.” She couldn’t eat a thing. Her stomach felt like stormy ocean waves. “Where do you think they’ll take him?”
Cathy was quiet. “Let’s not think about that right now. He’s been moved. You don’t have to worry about him.”
The morgue, then. Juliet supposed she’d have to talk to the funeral home tomorrow to get him moved again. The thought exhausted her. So much to do.
She thought of Bob’s mother, living in an assisted-living apartment near his sister, two states away. She would have to call her and tell her what happened. Break her mother-in-law’s heart.
Her gaze drifted out the window again. Lights blurred by, red, green, black, blue . . . cars . . . vans . . . trucks. There! A white one. Not a Camaro. A Mustang.
Where was this murderer who’d gutted her family?
Cathy took her home and let her shower, which she did on autopilot. When she got out, wet, she wasn’t sure if she’d washed, but the blood wasn’t on her anymore. She dressed in Cathy’s clothes—a white blouse and black sweater, and jeans that mercifully fit.
There was no time to waste. She had to go to her sons. News traveled so fast in this digital age. She imagined Zach getting thoughtless texts from his friends. She hoped Jay had taken their phones.
What in the world would she say to them?
Dad’s dead . . .
No, she had to tread more softly.
God took Daddy home.
But that wasn’t less cruel.
An evil man had a gun . . .
She brought her cold hand to her mouth. She couldn’t do it. Maybe she could get Jay to do it. He’d had to break horrible news to his own five-year-old son. She’d watched through the window, just a few months ago, as he told Jackson that his mother was dead.
No, she couldn’t put it off on her brother. It was her job. She had to just say it and let them hurt. There were no Band-Aids for this. Nothing to clean and doctor their wounds. Nothing to make it hurt less.
They pulled into the driveway beside Jay’s car. She drew in a deep breath and prayed that God would minimize their torture and provide divine anesthesia.
And please help my legs hold me up.
The children wept when she told them their dad wouldn’t be coming home. When it was done, she had no memory of what she’d said. Her head felt like an echo chamber with unrehearsed snatches of conversation bouncing through it. Twelve-year-old Zach retreated to his room to deal with his agony alone. Abe, only nine, became her shadow, unable to leave her side. The whole family—Cathy, Holly, Jay, and his little boy, Jackson—quietly moved in for the night, unwilling to leave her alone with this tragedy.
It was after midnight before Abe fell asleep on her bed. She slowly extracted her arms from around him and slid off the mattress.
The house was quiet. Everyone seemed to be sleeping. Still dressed in the clothes she’d gotten at Cathy’s, she stepped into the hall. There was no light shining under Zach’s bedroom door, but she opened it and looked inside. Her son slept on top of his covers, still fully dressed down to his shoes. He lay stomach down, his pillow wadded under his face as though he’d cried himself to sleep.
She got a blanket from a chair by the window and covered him.
She slipped out of the room and walked quietly down the stairs. Someone had left a lamp on in the living room. She went to turn it off, then realized Cathy was sleeping on the couch. Her sister could have shared the guest room with Holly, but she’d probably waited up in case Juliet couldn’t sleep. She had already covered herself with the throw Juliet kept over the couch.
Juliet turned off the lamp. She went up the hall, into her husband’s study, and quietly closed the door behind her. She flipped on the light. The room looked recently used, as though Bob had just stepped out for a moment and would be right back. It was where he spent most of his time when he was home. He had a twenty-seven-inch monitor on the desk, connected to his laptop. Someone’s MRI image was up on the screen. Was that person scheduled for surgery next week? She would need to make sure someone notified them.
The thought made her sick.
She sat at Bob’s desk in his comfortable executive chair, the one she’d ordered for him. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she whispered. “I wish you hadn’t been mad at me on your last day.”
She longed to touch the bristle of whiskers on his jaw, to hear his breath beside her as he slept, to hear his voice. A box sat on his desk, the personal effects they had given her when she’d left the police station. Cathy must have set it here when they’d come home.
She pulled it toward her and looked inside. His car keys
, his cell phone, his wallet with his cash and credit cards. Why hadn’t the shooter taken it? What had he wanted?
She pulled out Bob’s phone and turned it on. There had been four calls from the same number, all before he was shot. She clicked on his voice mail and saw the list of old messages. The most recent was from the same number that had called four times this afternoon. She clicked on it and put the phone to her ear.
“Bob, we’re getting impatient with you.” The male voice was unfamiliar, deep, raspy. “You’re putting yourself in danger. But we won’t stop with you. We can make an example of your children too.”
Juliet caught her breath and stiffened.
“You’re making a lot of people very nervous,” the voice went on. “Nervous people can be cruel to children.”
Juliet dropped the phone as if it had stung her. She got up, unsteady, and stared down at it.
The door swung open. “Mom?”
Abe stood there, his hair mussed, shadows deepening the circles under his eyes. She crossed the room and grabbed him, pulled him closer. Her face felt suddenly hot, and the world seemed to tip again.
“Mom, what is it? You’re shaking.”
“Juliet?” Cathy’s voice came from the living room.
“Cathy!” Juliet tried to think. She had to let Cathy hear the message, but she didn’t want to scare Abe. Pulling Abe with her, she went back to the desk and clutched the phone again.
“What is it?” Cathy asked at the doorway.
“It’s him—you’ve got to listen.” Her hands shook as if she were moving through water. She punched the message again and handed it to her sister.
Cathy took the phone and listened, her face draining of color as the message played. She lowered the phone from her ear, glanced down at Abe, then back at Juliet. “I’m calling the police. This wasn’t just some random act. It was premeditated.”
“But . . . what do they want?”
Cathy opened a desk drawer and pulled out a pen. She wrote down the number that showed on the caller ID.
“Mom, what is it?”
Juliet didn’t know what to tell him. “Just . . . somebody calling your dad.”
“But what did he say?”
“It doesn’t matter. The police need to know.”
“Why doesn’t it matter?” Abe demanded. “I want to hear.”
“No, I need you to go back to bed. It’s two in the morning. You need to sleep.”
Abe started to cry. “But I want to be with you.”
Juliet had no idea what to do. She looked at her sister, feeling helpless.
Cathy took charge. “Okay, I’m calling the police, but after they come, we’re going to leave here. You can come to either my house or Jay’s, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay.”
Juliet nodded. Yes, that seemed right. With a threat against her children, she couldn’t stay. “We can make an example of your children too.”
What was this about?
Tears stung her raw eyes, but for Abe’s sake she tried to blink them back. “Honey, I need you to go up and pack a bag.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Yes. Aunt Cathy’s right. I don’t feel safe here.”
“But . . . do you think the killer is gonna come here?”
Terror rounded her son’s eyes, and she hated herself for it. “No, I’m sure he won’t. But we don’t know what’s going on, and we just want to be safe.”
“Safe from what?”
Why was she saying all the wrong things? She should have figured out some explanation that wouldn’t have frightened him. Her face twisted, and the vein in her forehead throbbed. She couldn’t stop the tears. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s just go upstairs and find you a bag.”
As she led her son upstairs, she heard Cathy already on the phone with Max. She went into Abe’s room and turned on the light, found a suitcase in his closet, and pulled it down. She zipped it open and laid it on the bed. “I think . . . you have some clean jeans in your drawer. I just hung some shirts up this morning. Grab them, and get some underwear and socks—”
“What are you doing?”
She turned. Zach stood in the darkness of the hallway, where she could barely see him. “I’m sorry we woke you.”
“We have to pack,” Abe said, wiping tears. “We have to leave so we’ll be safe.”
“What?”
“The police are coming,” Abe added.
Now Zach came into the room, and Cathy heard another door open. She supposed everyone was waking now. She knew Zach wouldn’t accept evasions any more than Abe would. She would have to be straight with them. “I have to talk to the police about a message someone left on Dad’s phone today,” she said. “I just found it. And because it makes me think that his shooting wasn’t . . . just some random act . . . I don’t feel safe staying here. I just think we need to go somewhere else for a little while.”
Zach was silent for a moment, taking it in. “I want to hear the message.”
Of course he did. “I’m sorry, honey, but we need to leave the phone alone until the police get here. Right now, I need you to stay with Abe and help him pack, and then go pack your own bag.”
“Where are we going?”
Her head throbbed so hard she could barely speak. “Uncle Jay’s house. But don’t tell anybody. No texting friends, no phone calls. We need to keep this quiet, okay?”
The kids both nodded.
She heard Cathy calling. “The police will be here soon. I have to go down. Help each other, okay?” She came out of the bedroom and saw Holly and Jay standing in the hallway. They’d clearly heard.
“I’ll help them get packed,” Holly said.
Jay hugged her. “You guys are welcome at my house as long as you want to stay. Jackson and I will love it. And bring Brody.”
Juliet hadn’t even considered the dog. “Okay, thanks.”
Jay and Holly both looked at her with questioning eyes, but they seemed to understand that she couldn’t explain anything right now. Cathy called from downstairs, and Juliet hurried down.
“I called Max and told him,” Cathy said. “I played it for him over the phone. He’s going to come by and question you some more, see if he can jog loose some memory. I also called Michael. He’s working on trying to find out who owns the phone that left the message. I already did a reverse lookup, but it’s not showing up. It’s probably a disposable cell phone.”
“Then how will he trace it?”
“Someone used a credit card to activate it. If we get lucky and they used their real name, he can get it. He can also get the billing address for the card.”
Juliet nodded. “So he’ll call as soon as he knows?”
“Of course.”
Juliet tried to think. “What . . . what do you think they wanted from Bob?”
“No idea. But we’re going to find out.”
“Why didn’t I think to get the Camaro’s tag number?”
“You were in shock. Besides, it was dark.”
Juliet’s soul felt crushed beneath the feet of an unseen enemy. An enemy who had murdered her husband and was threatening her children. But anger loomed greater than grief at the moment. She hoped it would get her through the night.
CHAPTER 7
Michael rarely slept when his friends were suffering. He’d gone days without sleep when Jay’s wife was murdered—until he and Jay’s sisters solved the crime—and now that Juliet was grieving her husband, he found that sleep eluded him again.
He especially hated seeing Cathy in pain. She had suffered enough when Joe was murdered. They had all suffered.
How strange that three of four of these siblings had lost their loved ones to murder. It was too much of a coincidence, but he couldn’t make the crimes fit together. His own brother Joe, who’d been engaged to Cathy, had been murdered by a drug dealer he’d been investigating. Leonard Miller had been acquitted by his jury, even though there were eyewitnesses.
Jay’s wife’
s murder had been completely unrelated to Joe’s. And Bob’s seemed unrelated to both of them. A guy driving up in a parking lot and gunning him down. A threat by telephone.
Michael’s training as a police detective had honed his instincts, but they weren’t guiding him now. He had to focus on facts. He just didn’t have enough of them.
He checked the clock: 2:30 a.m. Too late to call his friends, but he didn’t care. He had to narrow down this search. He looked through the contacts on his computer, found the name of his contact who worked for T-Mobile. When Michael was still on the force, he had solved the case of her uncle’s murder, and she’d told him if he ever needed a favor, she’d be glad to help. He hoped she’d meant it.
He called her cell phone and waited as it rang. If she let it go to voice mail, he’d have to wait until morning. But that would be too late. They needed this information now.
After three rings, someone picked up. “Hello?” It was a whispered greeting. He’d clearly wakened her.
“Hey, Bette, is that you? This is Detective Michael Hogan.”
He heard rustled linens, then her voice came louder. “Hey . . . what is it? It’s the middle of the night.”
“I’m very sorry to wake you. I just need some information fast.”
“What kind of information?”
He hated this. “Remember when you told me if I ever needed a favor I could call you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I need one now. I need for you to tell me who activated a T-Mobile prepaid phone. And I need a billing address.”
Her voice dropped again. “I’m not supposed to give that information out. Is this a police case?”
“Yes,” he said.
“But I thought you weren’t on the police force anymore.”
“I’m not, but my brother is working a homicide case. Happened tonight. I’m a PI, helping with the legwork. We need this information fast, because others have been threatened. The sooner we get him off the street, the better.”
“But I don’t have access to any of that at home. I don’t work until morning. Can you wait until then?”