Count on a Cop 49 - Julianna Morris Page 2

  “You and Viv don’t like Mayor Stone any more than I do.”

  “We may not have voted for him, but we did vote.”

  “I voted.”

  “In Los Angeles. How’s your mayor doing down there?”

  He sighed. “I have a better question—how long will it be before I’m accepted in Sand Point? I have a job to do, and I want to do it well. Despite what you heard me saying, I’m willing to give the place a chance.”

  Kelly put her hands on the desk and leaned forward, and Ben was reminded that her eyes had always done something to him. Big, blue, wistful…they’d confused the hell out of his younger self. Now they made him wary. What was going on behind the surface?

  “You’ll be accepted when you decide to be,” she said softly. “That won’t happen until you realize Sand Point is more than a good environment to raise Toby, and that people are usually better than their selfish side. Some are genuine heroes.”

  “Like your husband?” Ben winced as soon as the words left his mouth. He might believe she’d married Mitch Lawson for the financial security he offered, but she appeared devoted to his memory.

  Kelly straightened, her lips in a taut line. “Mitch was a wonderful man. Finer than you’ll ever know.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. But what’s wrong with leaving the city for the sake of my son?”

  “Nothing. Only how is Toby going to adjust if you don’t like it here?”

  Ben took his time before answering. He hadn’t told anyone that his ex-wife had hooked a wealthy husband with no interest in a ready-made family. Now Dawn didn’t want anything to do with her own child in case it jeopardized her cushy new life. Moving to Oregon would protect Toby from that knowledge for a while. As for adjusting, Toby was doing great with Gina and Henry doting on him. He had a few separation issues to work through, but it wasn’t serious.

  “My son is none of your business, and I’ve got two homicides to solve,” he said finally. “Not to mention I’m doing your job by taking that press conference.”

  “That isn’t how the mayor sees things.”

  “Probably because you talked him into seeing it that way.”

  Kelly’s level gaze didn’t change. “Or maybe he agrees that Sand Point needs to see you and be assured their new police chief can keep them safe.” Without another word she walked from the office. Viv hesitated, looking both curious and puzzled, then left, as well.

  Ben’s gut churned.

  Kelly was right. He’d done a few interviews with the press when he was a detective, though he’d avoided them whenever possible. Now people were scared and needed reassurance. Like it or not, that was his job as the police chief. At least this way he could deal with their questions about his qualifications directly, rather than letting the mayor do it. Mayor Stone sounded supportive, but there was something in the way he answered those inquiries that bothered Ben.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw as he focused on the latest status report from his detectives. He needed answers about the homicides. They didn’t make sense. Two murders within days of each other, in a place as quiet as Sand Point? He’d moved here because it was free of gang problems and had a low crime rate.

  Then something else occurred to Ben, temporarily pushing aside more pressing concerns. Kelly had talked about Toby as if she knew him, but he hadn’t brought his son to the station yet. Maybe she’d met him at Uncle Henry’s….

  All at once he let out a resigned laugh.

  His aunt and uncle had been taking Toby to church, and Toby was crazy about his Sunday school teacher— Miss Kelly. Ben had assumed Kelly was a last name, but he’d bet serious money that “Miss Kelly” was Kelly Lawson.

  KELLY FUMED AS SHE HEADED back to her office. To think she’d promised Gina to try being more open-minded when it came to her nephew. But Ben’s sardonic tone whenever he mentioned her husband was too much. He always thought the worst of people. She shouldn’t let it get to her, but it seemed so unfair that Ben Santoni was alive when Mitch wasn’t.

  She plopped down on her chair and regrouped.

  Nobody knew better than she did that life wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t that she wished Ben dead. She just wished things had turned out better for everyone.

  Kelly swallowed, trying to ease the hollow sensation in her stomach. She’d been a widow for three years. It added up to a lot of lonely days and nights…and a lot of tears. Things were different when Mitch had been there, loving her, having faith in their life together. But doubts crept in when she was alone and the nights got long. She couldn’t help thinking about her mother, a hard-living, unmarried cocktail waitress with poor taste in clothing and worse taste in men. There were so many “uncles” growing up that Kelly could never keep them straight.

  And yet Shanna’s last thoughts before the accident were about her daughter making a better life. Kelly had clung to that memory when she had nothing else.

  “Goodness,” said Viv from the door. “You and the new chief sure don’t like each other. How come? The rumor mill says you used to be an item.”

  “A long time ago for about five minutes.” Kelly saw that she’d been doodling on a notepad and shoved it away. “We were kids—it was the blinding influence of hormones overcoming good sense.”

  “Yeah, I remember what it was like to be young instead of a cranky, old lady.”

  “You aren’t old.”

  “I’m old,” Vivian said, sounding far from her usual wisecracking self. “And I got nobody, same as that poor bum who died. Folks are more upset about Harvey’s murder than a homeless guy getting himself killed, but I can’t stop thinking about it. He died alone, and no relations have come forward to claim his body.”

  Kelly shivered; she’d been haunted by the same thing. “I guess it’s closer to home with Harvey…a businessman with a family. You can put yourself in his shoes easier than with someone living on the streets.”

  “I’ll buy that, but what was Harv doing on that part of the docks at night? Why wasn’t he asleep in bed?”

  “I don’t know.” Kelly refused to repeat the talk she’d heard—about payoffs to the union or other unsavory dealings. Harvey’s wife and children were going through enough; they didn’t need wild rumors getting back to them. “I’m sure the police will figure it out.”

  “The mayor keeps hinting that it wouldn’t have happened if his brother was still the police chief.” Viv seemed troubled, though she usually didn’t worry what anyone else thought. “And I remember you were awful quiet when the hiring committee discussed Ben Santoni’s application. That seemed odd, since you’re tight with Henry and Gina.”

  “What was there to say?” Kelly asked carefully. “Henry thinks the world of Ben, and with the exception of the mayor and his brother, everyone agreed we were fortunate to have a candidate with his experience and credentials. End of story.”

  Yet it wasn’t the end, because she still wasn’t sure that Ben was right for the job. The police chief should be a community leader, something he didn’t seem to understand. And she hated how distrustful he was of people—maybe distrust came in handy for a homicide detective, but how could anyone live that way?

  “Mrs. Lawson!” Mayor Stone called from down the hall.

  Viv stuck out her tongue and pointed her left thumb downward. She’d disliked Phillip Stone since the day he’d suggested it was time for her to retire.

  “Yes?” Kelly called back.

  “May I speak with you?”

  He was in the “Media Center,” a small room with a computer, fax machine, photocopier and assorted other electronics. What it lacked was the internet. The mayor had cut it from the budget, claiming there was too much personal use by employees. Internet had been restored to the police station, though. Ben’s assertion it was an essential element of modern police work had convinced the City Council, so they’d overridden the mayor.

  At least Ben knew the tools he needed to be effective. If Mayor Stone had gotten his way, his smarmy brother would
have been permanently appointed police chief. While Ben might not be right for the job in some ways, he was better than Frank Stone.

  “How can I help you, Mayor?”

  He handed her a sheet of paper. “What do you think of it?”

  “It” was a poorly designed campaign flyer, with tired catch phrases and little substance. Kelly politely read half, then returned it to him. He was probably nervous after getting into office in a special midterm election.

  “I’m flattered you value my opinion, but I can’t comment as a city employee, the town charter prevents me from being involved in elections, the way it bans sitting candidates from using city equipment and supplies to support a campaign.” She glanced at the photocopier, lid up and ready for use.

  Phillip’s face became wooden, yet there was a hint of alarm in his brown eyes. The same color as Ben’s, Kelly mused idly, except Ben’s were nearly impossible to read.

  “We certainly can’t break the rules.” The mayor thrust the flyer in a pocket and then adjusted his tie and smoothed his silvered black hair. “I have to go. I have a press conference at three.”

  He was milking the situation for all it was worth, but he shouldn’t stand too close to his new police chief while doing it. Phillip Stone had a receding chin and sloped shoulders, while Ben was tall, handsome and authoritative. His dark Italian looks had received a great deal of attention from the women in Sand Point.

  From her, too, once.

  Kelly shook her head. Despite how Ben had hurt her when they were eighteen, she’d let him affect her marriage. Nothing dramatic, but sometimes when Mitch had walked out of the house rather than confront a problem, she’d remember the way Ben had never missed an opportunity to argue, and how exciting that was.

  It had happened the day Mitch was killed in the warehouse fire…she’d been upset about some silly thing and he had refused to discuss it with her, instead leaving early to report to the firehouse. Frustrated, she’d thought, Ben wouldn’t have done that.

  She’d felt guilty, of course. It was Mitch who’d been there after her mother died. Mitch who’d proven himself. Mitch who’d respected and loved her and would never have hurt her.

  Except he did hurt you, her heart whispered.

  He’d died, too.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT WAS PAST ELEVEN BEFORE Ben got through the final chapter of Deep Sea.

  The book was a good read—fast paced, with a modern, sexy twist on old-fashioned, hard-boiled detective fiction.

  The first novel, Deep Water, was nearly as good. He could see why the author was so popular; the guy knew how to put together a tidy suspense story.

  As for any similarities to the dock murders, the homeless victims shared physical characteristics, but that could be coincidence. The real homeless victim had slept in a local shelter once in a while, and the rest of the time presumably under a bridge or in deserted buildings on the docks—they still hadn’t determined exactly where. The fictional “homeless” victim was a wealthy man who’d walked away from his former life, paralyzed with guilt over his wife’s suicide. Both spent their days on the waterfront as acute observers of the flow of life about them, but in the book the murderer used an organic poison that mimicked death from natural causes, while Simon had been stabbed.

  It was the similarity to Harvey Bryant’s murder that intrigued Ben the most. The real and fictional businessmen were both found dead by an abandoned fish cannery, killed with a double-tap through the heart and a finishing shot behind the ear. Very neat and efficient.

  He suspected that whoever fired the real shots was a pro, and damned good at their work. Ben had worried about copycat crimes; now he thought the books might have already been used as a blueprint for murder. One of the details they hadn’t released to the public was that the actual crime scene had been staged; the evidence showed Harvey Bryant had been killed somewhere else and his body moved to the docks.

  But why?

  Was it connected to the strike against H. Bryant Industries? Labor strikes were never pretty, and this one was particularly ugly. There’d been accusations of unfair labor practices, safety issues and substandard pay and benefits. The strike might have been settled, but the workers and their families felt they’d gotten a raw deal. It could also explain the mayor’s death threats—Phillip Stone was a personal friend of the Bryants, but apparently he’d done little, if anything, to help mediate in either a public or private capacity.

  “Poppa?”

  Toby stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. Ben threw the blankets back and patted the bed. “Hey, why are you awake?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Toby crawled up on the mattress and Ben tucked the covers around him. After a long minute his son looked up. “Um…I miss Mommy.”

  Ben dreaded these moments. “I know, pal.”

  “Does Mommy miss me?”

  “I’m sure she does.” Ben hoped it wasn’t a lie. He hoped there was enough decency in the woman he’d married that she’d regret cutting off contact with her son.

  Toby seemed satisfied. He curled into a ball, his breathing slowing into the steady breaths of a sleeping child. Ben ached as he stared at his five-year-old son. Still innocent, still able to be comforted by his father. But innocence got lost early these days, and some parents were too busy to offer comfort.

  He didn’t want to be that kind of father, or to have his son grow up too fast. And he never wanted Toby to wonder if he was loved the way he himself had wondered.

  With a quiet groan Ben picked up Deep Sea and thumbed through the pages he’d marked as interesting. It was harder than he’d expected to stop being a detective. He’d have to apologize the next time he talked to his former captain. Captain Trujillo had frequently meddled in cases, much to the frustration of his officers. Now the shoe was on the other foot and Ben was fighting the same impulse.

  Perhaps he should call Kelly. She knew a lot about the goings-on in Sand Point. She might even have guessed who the author was, and there was no harm in ensuring he was okay. Griffin Bell was obviously a pseudonym, because no one had ever lived in Sand Point, Oregon, by that name. Ben had checked it out himself.

  Or maybe he ought to think about it for a while. The chance that Mr. Bell was in any danger was slim. Besides, calling Kelly was not the best idea…mostly because he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

  Actually, that was ridiculous.

  Kelly disliked him. She wasn’t going to get the wrong idea about anything he did.

  KELLY SAT CROSS-LEGGED on her bed, petting her cat as she watched the press conference from earlier in the day. Phillip Stone talked a lot, and Ben Santoni said as little as possible.

  He reminded her of an old police show, the one where the detective kept saying, “Just the facts, ma’am.”

  That was Ben on camera—just the facts, brief and to the point—except he was a whole lot sexier than that television detective. Kelly grinned reluctantly. She didn’t want to be seen as a love-starved widow, but she did miss sex. Sparks were rare with the men she’d dated since Mitch’s death.

  Or it might just be her.

  The man she’d dated the longest was Detective Chris Palmer, formerly of the Sand Point Police Department. Chris was a nice guy looking for a permanent relationship, but she couldn’t get past him being a cop. She’d already buried one man because of his work; she didn’t want to bury another.

  Life might not be exciting these days, but it was safe. Her heart couldn’t get torn apart again if she didn’t get close to anyone.

  Ben said a few more words, and then stepped back. He wasn’t a public relations man, but at least he tried to be reassuring.

  “Are you reassured, Frodo?” she asked the feline.

  Frodo closed his eyes, his whiskered face thoroughly smug; his world was very much the way he wanted it to be—he had a warm bed, plentiful food, catnip and someone to scratch his neck. Then the phone rang, disturbing his contentment.

>   “Marrooow,” he squalled as Kelly reached for the receiver, jostling him in the process.

  “That’s right, rude. Hello,” she said.

  “What’s rude?”

  Ordinarily Kelly would have been embarrassed at being overheard talking to her cat, but she didn’t care what Ben Santoni thought of her. “Calling so late. Don’t you know that country folk go to bed as soon as we feed the chickens?”

  “I just woke you up and you’re that quick with a comeback?”

  “You can never be sure.”

  “That’s true. Do you save them for me?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Santoni. You aren’t worth the effort.” She stroked her offended cat. Frodo responded with a soft purr and rolled over on his back, wrapping his paws around her wrist.

  “Don’t hold back, Kelly, tell me what you really think.”

  “Oh, I do. I can’t tell you how freeing it is. What do you want, Ben?”

  He was silent for a moment.

  “Ben? Speak up, we’re getting older by the minute. How did you get my number, anyway? I’m unlisted.”

  “The police chief is given the city employees’ home and cell phone numbers in case of emergency.”

  “This is an emergency?”

  “Near enough. I just read Deep Water and Deep Sea.”

  “So?” Kelly wished no one had ever heard of those two books, especially if it meant she had to take calls from Ben Santoni at eleven-thirty at night.

  “So, I wanted to know if you have any clue about the author’s identity. Griffin Bell is probably a pseudonym, but it could be an anagram of his name.”

  “The bio in the book says Sand Point is his home-town—he might not even live here any longer.”

  “And maybe he does. This is a small town, you’ve lived here all your life, you know everybody…. Surely someone has said something.”

  “You have screwy notions, you know that? Sand Point has a population of twenty thousand, with lots of stores, churches and space to avoid one another. Nobody knows everyone, with the possible exception of Henry.”