Chasing Shadows Page 10

“I gotcha, Detective Smith. I know how it is. I played football—if you’re going into the big game you always want your best players on the field.”

  “Well…” she said, a little thrown off by the football analogy. “Okay. And that’s four or five “Detective Smiths” in a row. I’ll give you a break since this is your first dead body, but we agreed on Avery, remember?”

  The trace of a smile crossed his face, and he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She grimaced in response. Lord, save me from southern gentlemen.

  Avery turned and walked back to the body lying beneath the dogwood trees. She took several pictures of the ground around the area before kneeling back down beside the woman. She swept a gaze over the mangled flesh and blew out a long breath. “So what can you tell me about who did this to you?” One unblinking blue eye stared back up at her.

  Chapter Ten

  “Would you like some more coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” Cam shook her head, making her best attempt to return the smile of the woman standing in the doorway of the small, dank office Cam had been deposited in shortly after arriving at the Brooks County Sheriff’s Department. In the hour or so—she’d lost track of time—that she’d been there, Cam had already consumed two white Styrofoam cups full of the too-strong black brew. “I think I’ve already had too much. I’m getting a little jittery as it is.”

  Yeah, that’s why my hands are shaking. The coffee.

  “Well, if you do need anything, just let me know. My desk is right around the corner.”

  “Thank you…” Cam trailed off, raising her eyebrows to match that of her questioning tone.

  Dressed in a simple white blouse and black skirt, the woman looked strikingly out of place among the sea of police uniforms that Cam had passed on her way in. “Darlene,” she answered, her smile intensifying. “Darlene Lambert. I’m the executive assistant to the command staff here at the department.”

  Cam nodded, hoping to push away thoughts of what transpired at the Johnston house with bland conversation. “It’s nice to meet you, Darlene.”

  Darlene cast a quick glance over her shoulder before taking two steps inside the room. “You know,” she said, sidling up to the desk where Cam was sitting, “I just love your show.”

  Cam sighed. This was definitely not the conversation she wanted to have right now.

  “The episode where you went to the Old West ghost town and the saloon doors started swinging open on their own—well, I didn’t sleep a wink that night after seeing that.” Darlene shook her head. “I don’t know how you’re able to go to all those haunted places, seeing ghosts the way you do. Why, I’d just be a nervous wreck.”

  Cam pressed trembling hands against her legs, slowing wiping them from the top of her thighs to her knees and back again. An image of the semi-transparent woman staggering toward her flashed through Cam’s mind. There’s no such thing as ghosts, it can’t have been a ghost. “Yeah, well…”

  “Miss Darlene, I hate to interrupt y’all’s little discussion, but I have few questions for our guest.”

  The two women turned abruptly to face the man hovering just outside the doorway. Cam had interacted with him briefly at the Johnston house while all hell was breaking loose. Then he’d worn dark sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a matching black jacket. Now, he’d lost all three and was dressed in a tan polo similar to the one that she’d seen Avery wearing earlier in the day. His head was shaved, largely, Cam imagined based on the five o’clock shadow that ran midway across the side of his head, to hide the fact that he was balding.

  “Of course, Detective Bishop,” Darlene said, her smile never wavering. “I didn’t mean to hold you up. I just couldn’t pass up the chance to say hello to Barbie Blair.”

  Bishop was expressionless as he first stared at Darlene and then let his gaze fall on Cam. Finally, he sniffed and gave a curt nod. As he began to move fully into the room, a male voice called out his name. Bishop quickly turned and stepped back out into the hallway. Cam recognized the other man’s voice as belonging to the county sheriff, who had already popped in to introduce himself and say what a fan he was of her show. It wasn’t every day, she supposed, based on the staff’s reaction to her presence, that a celebrity dropped in at the Brooks County Sheriff’s Department. Even a minor one like herself.

  Straining to listen to the conversation in the hallway, Cam was taken off guard when Darlene suddenly leaned in close. “Now listen,” she whispered, “Detective Bishop thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.”

  Confused, Cam arched an eyebrow.

  “Let him do all the talking—’cause he will anyway—and don’t let him get you riled up.”

  “Umm…okay?”

  Darlene gave Cam a motherly pat on the shoulder and turned to leave, smiling as she passed Bishop in the doorway.

  Cam was still pondering the other woman’s words when Bishop took a seat across the desk from her. He placed a legal-sized notepad in front of him and made a production of searching the desk drawer for a working pen. Seemingly satisfied with his final selection, he twirled the pen between two fingers as he leaned back into the chair.

  “Is Barbie Blair your only alias, Ms. Reinhart?”

  Something in his tone pricked at her. Cam carefully considered her words before answering. “Barbie Blair is my stage name, Mr. Bishop. I don’t have any aliases.”

  “It’s Detective Bishop, Ms. Reinhart,” he replied sharply. “And is that a yes, then?”

  “I suppose.”

  He nodded and began writing on the notepad. Not looking up, he continued, “How did you come to be at the house at 417 Darlington Road?”

  “My real estate agent, Chuck Jackson, drove us there.”

  “And what is your relationship with Chuck Jackson?”

  Cam tucked a lock of red hair behind one ear and sat up straighter in the chair. “As I just stated, he’s my real estate agent.” She frowned. “Am I under some sort of investigation, Officer Bishop?”

  “Detective Bishop.” He glanced up from his notepad. “And I’m just trying to confirm some details about today’s…incident.” He ran a tongue over his tobacco-stained lips. “So, tell me, Ms. Reinhart, what puts someone from Hollywood in the market for a house in Bethel Springs, Alabama?”

  “Actually, I live in Santa Monica,” she replied in a tone that belied the aggravation that was steadily building up in her shoulders. “And I wasn’t there house hunting. Mr. Jackson was showing me the house as a potential site for my television show.” She tilted her head to one side. “How is Mr. Jackson, by the way? Have you heard anything?”

  Cam swallowed, feeling a shiver run down her spine as she thought about the events that unfolded earlier at the Johnston house. After they’d fled the house from the woman or—there is no such thing as ghosts, there is no such thing as ghosts—whatever had been in that upstairs bedroom, she’d been horrified to see Chuck grab at his chest and then collapse in the front yard.

  “I was just on the phone with the hospital before I came in here,” he said, nodding. “It looks like he’s going to be okay. It was a mild heart attack, and they’re going to keep him overnight for observation.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  “Mmhmm.” He fixed her with a stony stare. “And I also spoke with the patrol units dispatched to the scene. They searched the house and the woods surrounding it. There’s no sign of the woman you described seeing in the upstairs.”

  “None?”

  He shook his head. “It’s like she just disappeared into thin air.” Bishop tapped the end of the pen against his notepad. “Like one of your TV ghosts.”

  Cam raised her chin to stare back at him. “Ghosts are for TV shows and children’s stories, Deputy Bishop,” she said, wondering which of them she wanted to convince more of that. “There was someone upstairs in that house. I don’t know who she was or why she was there or where she went, but I saw her. If Chuck Jackson was here, he’d tell you the same thing.”

 
“Detective Bishop,” he drawled. “And Chuck isn’t here, is he?”

  She felt another flash of irritation at his words. “I feel like this bears repeating—am I under investigation for something here? Because it’s sure beginning to feel that way.”

  “Should you be?”

  The only thing she should be doing right about then was taking a hot shower and forgetting this day ever happened. Cam sighed and rubbed her left temple. “Can we just cut to the chase?”

  Bishop carefully placed the pen on the notepad. Hands clenched on the desk, he leaned forward, his expression hardening as he did so. “I’m going to be honest with you, Ms. Reinhart. I know something happened out there today at that house, something I feel that you’re trying to cover up. At a minimum, I’m guessing false report of a crime. At worst…”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “If you mean to intimidate me, Detective Bishop, you’re not doing a very good job at it. I make my living walking around spooky old houses in the dead of night. I don’t scare that easy.”

  ****

  Avery walked through the doorway of her office, flipping the light switch as she moved. The rectangular fluorescent light on the ceiling popped once and then flickered on, illuminating the room. Two desks sat on opposite ends of the office, a computer monitor on both. Avery crossed over to the desk on the right side of the room. She slipped the blue duffel bag off her shoulder and placed it on the edge of the desk.

  “Avery, did you want me to do the Form 22?”

  “No,” she answered, shucking off her jacket as she rounded the desk. She wrapped it around the back of the slightly stained, brown leather chair that sat behind it. Avery slid into the chair with a tired sigh. “I’ll take care of it, Hobbs.”

  “Okay.”

  Avery closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, one that she quickly wished she hadn’t. The cloying odor of death wafted up from her clothes, tickling at her nose, triggering the memory of the dead woman’s mutilated face. Her stomach turned in response.

  She shifted in the chair, shaking her head in an attempt to dispel the image. Avery tapped the keyboard of her computer, sparking the monitor to life. She keyed in her password and glanced up at Hobbs, who remained lingering by the door. “In or out, Hobbs,” she quipped before returning her attention back to the computer.

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, walking fully into the room, removing his own jacket before taking a seat behind the desk on the other side of the small office.

  Having found the file she’d been searching for on the computer desktop, Avery glanced across the room at Hobbs. He rocked back and forth in the desk chair while looking awkwardly around the room. The desk he sat at had belonged to Detective Marshall and was still as bare as it was the day he’d retired. She wasn’t sure if Hobbs knew he could spruce up his workspace or if he just didn’t have anything to decorate it with. Avery’s gaze fell to her own desk, sweeping over the few assorted mementoes that she kept there. A small succulent—a gift her last girlfriend had given her for Valentine’s Day two years ago—sat desiccating on the corner of the desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and file folders, the tallest of which was pinned down by the amethyst geode Avery had picked up as an impulse purchase after her first promotion with the APD. On the opposite side, a picture of Mildred and Jane that Avery had taken last summer, the pair looking quite comfortable sitting atop a Harley Davidson motorcycle that was nearly as tall as they were. Avery decided to pick something up for Hobbs’s desk the next time she went shopping.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked finally.

  With a nod, Avery reached inside the duffel and withdrew the digital camera. She tossed it across the room to Hobbs. “Download the pictures off of this. I’ll have a case number for us in just a minute.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said eagerly, catching the camera in mid-air and immediately beginning to work on removing its memory card.

  Avery shook her head, amused by his enthusiasm, and then opened a drawer in her desk. She flipped through and pulled out a manila file folder. She placed the folder in front of her and began typing on the keyboard. “Oh, and make sure you save a copy of the photos on the department mainframe and in a desktop file,” she said, her eyes trained to the monitor.

  “I’m on it!”

  Avery grinned as she picked up a pen from the desktop and began labeling the file folder.

  “Avery?”

  “Mmhmm?”

  “Do you think Detective Bishop is right about the victim?” he asked, sliding the memory card into a slot on the side of the computer. “Brooks told me that he thinks that she’s a meth head who overdosed.”

  Avery paused to let out a small sigh before continuing to write on the folder. “Detective Bishop is an idiot.”

  “I second that motion.”

  Startled, Avery glanced up to discover Darlene Lambert had entered the office unnoticed.

  “Miss Darlene,” Avery said, cheeks flushing that anyone other than Hobbs had heard her comment. “I didn’t hear you come in.” The expression on Hobbs’s face told her that he was just as surprised to see the command staff executive assistant. “Does the sheriff need an update on our case or something? If so, you could have just called rather than walk all the way down here.”

  “Oh no,” Darlene tutted. “Nothing like that. Sheriff Hancock has gone down to City Hall for a meeting, and I wasn’t sure who else to go to.”

  “Miss Darlene, what’s wrong?” Darlene wore the same, Botox-induced smile that she always did, but Avery could see worry in the older woman’s eyes.

  “Well…” She paused, seeming to second guess herself for a moment before continuing. “It’s about Detective Bishop. You know I normally wouldn’t get involved in police business, but…”

  “But?”

  “But he’s had that sweet Barbie Blair in the interrogation room for almost forty-five minutes now, and she hasn’t done a blessed thing.”

  “Barbie Blair?” Avery asked, frowning. Where have I heard that name before?

  “Mmhmm.” The older woman flipped her hair over her shoulder with a dramatic shake of the head and then crossed her arms. “I talked to Deputy Monroe who was out at the scene, and she told me all about it.”

  Avery exchanged a look with Hobbs. “Miss Darlene, I’m sorry but I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh.” Darlene gave a quick glance behind her as if to confirm no one was there before moving closer to Avery’s desk. “Earlier today Chuck Jackson—you know him, the real estate agent that has his face all over those obnoxious billboards you see everywhere—and Barbie Blair went out to the old Johnston house south of town. When they got there—“

  “Wait,” Avery interrupted, sitting up straight in her chair. “Barbie Blair—you mean Cameron Reinhart?”

  “I think that’s her real name,” Darlene nodded. “I watch her TV show all the time, so in my mind she’s Barbie Blair.”

  “Now, what happened?”

  “Well,” Darlene continued, “when they got there, someone had broken into the house. Detective Bishop and some of the patrol units were dispatched out. I don’t know all the details other than at some point Chuck keeled over with a heart attack.”

  “A heart attack?”

  “That’s right.” Darlene bobbed her head. “And now Detective Bishop has Barbie Blair in interrogation like she had something do with causing it. You know what a jackass Bishop is. Just because she’s on TV, he’s going to try to—”

  Avery had heard enough. “Hobbs,” she said, standing. “Here’s the file for our 10-89. The case number is written on the cover. Print out the scene photos after you’ve finished uploading them and then put them in the file. Keep watch on the fax machine—the lab is supposed to be sending up a copy of the victim’s ID once they’ve processed it.”

  “ID?” Darlene asked. “I thought I heard the Chief say there wasn’t any identification with the body?”

  “We didn’t thi
nk so at first,” Avery said, shaking her head. “But the coroner found a lanyard around the victim’s neck after he arrived, or at least what was left of one. There was an ID attached to it, but it was too covered in mud or blood or both to make out a name. We’ve got the lab cleaning it up and checking for fingerprints now.” She looked to Hobbs. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I think I better go see what Bishop is up to.” Turning back to Darlene, she made a waving motion with one hand. “Miss Darlene, I’ll let you lead the way.”

  Darlene didn’t have to be asked twice. She spun on the modest heel of her black pump and marched out of the office and in the direction of the interrogation rooms. Avery found that she had to keep up a near jog to match the pace the older woman was setting. Avery stopped Darlene at the door to the room. “I’ll take it from here, Miss Darlene.”

  “Thank you,” she said and then slowly retreated to her own office a few doors down the narrow hallway.

  Avery reached for the door handle, but stopped herself. After a moment of thought, she moved farther down the hallway, opening the door marked “Observation”. Relieved to find the room empty, she stepped up to the two-sided mirror that looked out onto the interrogation room where Bishop was questioning Cameron Reinhart.

  “What makes you think I’m trying to scare you, Ms. Reinhart?” Bishop was saying, a smug look on his face.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Cam drawled, a look of disdain coloring her face. “Maybe the threat of some trumped up charges?”

  “I don’t threaten, ma’am, and if I charge you with something, I guarantee that it won’t be trumped up.”

  Oh, good lord. Bishop sounded like he was auditioning for a bad made-for-television movie. And Cam… Avery found herself smiling at the obviously pissed-off redhead. An errant image of Cam’s lacy bra skittered through Avery’s mind. Flushing, she shook it off and focused on the pair sitting on the other side of the observation window.

  “False report of a crime? What crime are you alleging that I falsely reported, Detective Bishop? I called 911 after Mr. Jackson passed out in the front yard of the Johnston’s house. You yourself said they said at the hospital it was a heart attack, so how is that false reporting?”