The PI's Deadly Charade
Автор
Anna J. Stewart
Прочтений
15,2K
Глав
17
Chapter 1
“Kyla Bertrand?”
Distracted by winning her first trial argument, Kyla stopped just outside the Sacramento County courthouse. She turned, pushing her shoulder satchel behind her and watched a trim, middle-aged woman with a straight silver bob emerge from the other side of the glass doors. Kyla recognized her face, but couldn’t place her. “Yes?” Kyla’s gaze shifted to the shield the woman wore on the waistband of her practical black suit. Ah, now she remembered and shifted from guarded to welcoming.
“Detective Lorna Peterson.” The woman offered her own pleasant smile. “I was hoping to catch you in court, but you’d already left.”
“Yeah, sorry. I need to talk to my supervisor before she takes off for the day.” After almost ten years as Simone Armstrong-Sutton’s paralegal, Kyla got more than a little thrill from reporting to Simone in the capacity of a prosecuting attorney. “What can I do for you?”
“Why don’t we sit for a moment?” The sudden solemnity in Detective Peterson’s voice had Kyla on alert.
“What’s wrong? Is it my parents? Did something happen?” She instantly dug into her bag for her cell phone. Had her dad been cleaning the gutters again on that stupid ladder?
“No, it’s nothing like that. I apologize.” Detective Peterson let out a sigh, then turned longing eyes on the coffee cart nearby. “On second thought, I could really do with a jolt. It’s been a long night and even longer morning. I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”
“Okay.” Intrigued, Kyla joined the detective on the short walk across the gnarled mulberry tree laden courtyard. The high-back cement benches basking in the mid-fall prelunch sun provided an odd kind of maze throughout the area. October in Sacramento was one of Kyla’s favorite times of year and as she waited for her own nonfat mocha, she took a moment to enjoy the cool air that was such a relief after another brutal valley summer.
The look of bliss that crossed Detective Peterson’s face when she took her sip of coffee had Kyla grinning to herself as she retrieved her own order. The detective stuffed a paper-wrapped croissant into her suit pocket and gestured to one of the benches nearby. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to cut down on the caffeine, but my system’s fighting back.”
Kyla resisted the urge to check her watch. She’d already texted Simone to say she was on her way and she hated being late. “Do you need to talk to me about a case?”
“Yeah, right, sorry.” But the detective didn’t look quite as flustered as she sounded. She dug into her other pocket and pulled out an evidence bag. “We found this on the body of a murder victim early this morning. She didn’t have any other ID on her, so I’m at a bit of a loss. Lab’s backed up, so running her prints is taking longer than I’d like.”
Kyla accepted the plastic bag and looked at the card with worn and creased edges. She was uncertain what the detective thought she could offer as far as information until she saw her own name looking back at her. “It’s definitely my card, but it’s pretty old. I stopped handing these out two, maybe three, years ago?” She turned the bag over. Whatever had been scribbled on the back of the card was obscured with grime and age. “It’s my paralegal card. I’m an attorney now.”
“I thought you looked familiar. You’ve been with the DA for a while.”
“Nearly ten years.” Kyla smoothed a finger over the plastic covering her information, wishing she had an answer for the detective. “I started in the mail room when I was still in high school, then worked as a paralegal and assistant. Finally earned my prosecutor’s stripes.” She managed a quick, almost regretful smile. It seemed callous to be happy about her success when someone—someone she might have known—had recently lost their life. “I must have handed out hundreds of these cards.” She’d been so proud of the title of executive administrative assistant, but even more touched that Simone herself had given Kyla the business cards as a promotion gift. Knots of unease tightened in Kyla’s stomach. “This woman you found, do you have a picture of her?” At the detective’s hesitation, Kyla pressed harder. “I’m assuming since you didn’t lead with that, the victim’s in pretty bad shape.”
“Doesn’t get much worse if I’m honest,” Detective Peterson said. “It’s not an image I’d want stuck in anyone’s head, especially since I don’t think she’s identifiable. I knew the card was a long shot.”
“But you still tried.” And that, Kyla knew, was what had established Detective Lorna Peterson as one of the most dedicated detectives in the Sacramento Metro Police Department. She hadn’t become as jaded as a lot of other detectives had over her twenty-plus years on the force. “And you knew I’d ask.”
Detective Peterson’s lips twitched. “I had a hunch.” She pulled out her phone, tapped her screen, then handed the device to Kyla.
Kyla accepted the phone, but took a long, deep breath before she focused on the brutal image. Her years working as Simone’s assistant had honed her detachment skills. Simone’s propensity for taking on the toughest cases exposed Kyla to some of the most violent imagery and particulars that would make even the most experienced crime writers cringe. Boss, mentor and friend, Simone had wanted to make sure Kyla knew exactly what she was getting into by pursuing a career as a criminal prosecutor. All that preparation, however, didn’t stop Kyla from flinching as she examined the photo of the brutally beaten woman. Kyla’s blood went cold. This woman hadn’t just been beaten.
Someone had wanted her obliterated.
Anger coiled around Kyla’s disgust and snapped her back to reality.
“I won’t have a more detailed description until the coroner’s completed her exam,” Detective Peterson said. “All I feel safe in saying at this point is she’s Caucasian, brunette, brown eyes, five foot six, about a hundred fifty pounds. I can’t even guess her age.”
“She can’t be much older than me.” And yet this young woman’s life was over by twenty-eight. Why? Who was she? And why did she have Kyla’s business card from years before? “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
Detective Peterson hesitated. “Hers was one of two bodies found in an alley about a block away from Night Crawler—”
“The nightclub off K Street?”
Detective Peterson’s eyebrow arched. “You know it?”
“Hard not to.” Kyla shrugged and sipped her almost forgotten drink. “It’s not my scene, but I’ve come across it where some of our cases are involved. The owners aren’t exactly considered pillars of the community.” Both Vice and Narcotics had several investigations into various employees and customers over the years. Last she’d heard, the FBI wanted a piece of the action. All that said, Kyla couldn’t think of one acquaintance who frequented the club. “You said there were two bodies?”
Detective Peterson nodded. “We’ve identified the male as a Kevin Dowell, age twenty-two. He’s got a sheet—multiple arrests going back to before he could walk practically. Small-time stuff, nothing major. Drugs mostly. Been in and out of rehab a good part of his life. Name ring a bell?”
“No, I’m sorry.” Still, something about the card, about the age of it, niggled at Kyla’s mind. “There must be a reason the woman had my card.” Call it a sign, call it a coincidence, but Kyla wasn’t the type of person who could walk away from unanswered questions. Especially when it came to victims of violent crime. “Maybe seeing her in person would jar something loose. I could come down to the morgue.” She handed the bag and phone back to the detective, who looked as surprised as Kyla felt having made the offer.
“You sure you want to do that? That’s not an easy place to go.”
“I’ve been there before.” More times than she cared to count. It definitely wasn’t her favorite place, but if she could help figure out who this poor woman was... “No one deserves to die unnoticed.”
“On that we can agree.” Detective Peterson pushed the evidence into the pocket of her suit jacket. “I’ll arrange it with the coroner. Would three this afternoon work for you?”
Kyla was finally able to glance at her watch without feeling rude as they got to their feet. “That should be fine.” She ran a nervous hand down the waist-length flowered scarf she’d tied in her hair that morning. Color was her solution to the darkness, to the despair and the reality she potentially faced every day. Wearing the bright, tropical flowers and prints always gave her a little light to focus on when days got dark.
“I’ll make sure the coroner does what she can so this isn’t too difficult for you.” Detective Peterson glanced toward the street as traffic began to pick up for lunch. “You know where it is and where to go?”
“Yes. I’ll see you at three.”
“Great.” The detective gave her a quick flash of a smile. “Gives me time to head back and fill in my lieutenant. Appreciate your help, Ms. Bertrand.”
“Kyla, please.” Kyla cleared her suddenly tight throat. Her father always said that with the good often came the bad. It was, he told her, the universe’s way of balancing things out. Also the universe’s way of reminding her never to get too comfortable or complacent. As excited as she was about her future, she needed to remember there was a present to deal with.
And it was that thought she carried with her on her walk to the DA’s office.
After dropping her bag in her newish, windowless office, she headed back through the cubicles and hallways, clutching the fabric of her orange maxi-dress in one hand. She found her replacement, Penny Eddington—all five-foot-two power packed inches of her—spinning in her chair, cell phone glued to her ear beneath the tumble of black curls.
“Mom, I can’t ask about vacation time when I’ve only been here a few weeks.” Penny caught sight of Kyla. Her eyes went wide and she overcompensated. When her foot caught on the carpet, she pitched out of the chair and face planted on the floor. Her cell phone went flying and Kyla, unable to stop the laugh from bubbling free, set her cup down to help her up. “I’m sorry,” Penny whispered, hands covering her flaming cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry. That was unprofessional and rude and—do you hear voices?”
Kyla retrieved Penny’s phone and pushed it into her hand. “Tell your mother you’ll have a week off at Christmas and we’ll see about wrangling you a few days around Thanksgiving.” That was less than a month away. It should be enough to mollify even the most demanding of parents.
“Thank you,” Penny whispered and rubbed her nose. “Um, sorry about the chair thing.”
Kyla shrugged. “Why do you think I wanted one that spins? Is she in?” She gestured to Simone’s closed door. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed it open. “Hey, Simone. I’m sorry I’m late. I had a visit—what’s wrong?” She closed the door behind her and hurried to her friend who was standing at her window, looking down at the hustling traffic outside, a wadded up tissue in her hand. “Is it Vince?” Given Simone’s husband was an in demand private investigator, it was possible he’d been injured. “Was he hurt on a case? Is he...?”
Simone waved her hand and shook her head. “It’s nothing. Sorry. Vince is fine. I’m just having a bad moment.”
“You don’t have bad moments.” After almost a decade, Kyla knew how to manage her boss. Her surrogate big sister. Her friend. “What’s going on?” Kyla guided Simone over to the chair behind her glass desk. The office, much like the woman, was pristine, organized and classy. Amidst the awards, degrees and citations sat framed photos and mementos of her best friends and their families, a testament to a life fully led.
Sacramento’s own Avenging Angel, a nickname Simone had earned with countless won cases that had put dozens of criminals behind bars, didn’t only not have bad moments, she didn’t have bad days. And she definitely didn’t cry for no reason.
“I told you, it’s nothing.” Simone dabbed at her eyes.
“It must be something.” Kyla scooped up crumpled papers and dropped them into the trash can, where she saw something that had her bending down. She reached out and pulled out the plastic test stick. Tears pricked the back of Kyla’s eyes. “Oh, Simone.” Simone and her husband, Vince, had been trying for over a year to have a baby. There had been tests and schedules and doctors’ appointments and shots. Now there was a stick that showed none of it had worked. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s still early, I know. I mean, what’s a year of trying, right?” Simone flipped her long blond hair behind her shoulders and straightened her fuchsia and white spattered silk blouse. “I just thought for sure this time... I’m six weeks late. I mean, good heavens, we’ve been trying like crazy.” She swept her fingers under her eyes and gave a quick, albeit dim smile. “TMI, I know.”
“As if it’s a surprise you and Vince have sex.” Kyla dropped the disappointing test back into the trash and covered it with the papers. “That’s why we call you guys the window rattlers.”
Simone laughed, a real laugh this time, only to have her eyes fill again. “Allie called.”
“I thought she and Max were in Hawaii on vacation.”
“They are. Allie’s pregnant. She just found out and couldn’t wait to share her news.”
Ah. Kyla took a deep breath. There it was. Simone, Allie and Eden—three women tied at the hip, no, scratch that. The three friends had been tied at the heart since they’d met in kindergarten. Now, Eden and her husband Cole’s baby girl, Chloe Ann, was closing in on her first birthday and Allie was about to join the ranks of motherhood, leaving Simone, who Kyla knew had always longed for a family of her own, trailing behind.
“Maybe you and Vince are just trying too hard,” Kyla quipped.
Simone stopped and arched a brow.
Kyla rolled her eyes. “I mean maybe you’re just too focused on getting pregnant. You two should take a hint from Allie and get away, forget about doctors and tests and baby making, and just reconnect. Go somewhere and turn off. Something might present itself. Don’t you have like a million years of vacation saved up?” More than three weeks, if memory served and Kyla’s memory always served.
“I have to admit, the thought crossed my mind.” Simone blew her nose. “We haven’t had any real time away alone together in a while. That wouldn’t be giving up, right? Not trying for a while.” Hope sprang into Simone’s eyes and eased the weight around Kyla’s heart. “I mean, if it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen.”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe next weekend will work if he’s done with his case,” Simone mused. “Hey, how did your appearance go in Judge Madison’s court?”
And just like that they were back to business.
“Great. He denied the defense’s request for a change of venue, so I offered another plea deal. Not as favorable as the last one of course,” she added, making certain Simone knew she’d learned from her mentor’s example. “If they don’t take it—” and she really hoped they didn’t “—jury selection will begin a week from Monday.” Her first trial as first chair. The training wheels were off and she was on her way. Excitement and dread battled for control of her pulse.
“Excellent. A few more attention-grabbing cases like this carjacking and you’ll be well on your way to earning that level four qualification you want. We should celebrate. How about a late lunch?”
“Don’t you and Vince have lunch plans?” Kyla asked.
“Not today. If I’m going to convince him to take some time off, I need to let him work.”
“I can probably do dinner.” Kyla nibbled on her bottom lip. “Something’s come up I need to take care of this afternoon.” With everything else Simone had going on, Kyla didn’t want to worry or distract her with Kyla’s potentially futile trip to the morgue. Knowing Simone, she’d insist on going with Kyla.
“What’s going on? You have a hot date? Oh!” Simone beamed. “Did you meet someone?”
Kyla had to wonder if Simone and Mirabelle Bertrand, Kyla’s mother, were commiserating over Kyla’s love life again. Knowing Mirabelle, it wouldn’t surprise Kyla at all. “Considering you turned me into a workaholic, exactly when would I have had time to meet someone? So how about dinner?”
“Dinner’s out.” Simone’s face twisted. “I’m meeting with Ward. I think he’s going to tell me he plans to run for state attorney general.”
“You think he’ll try to get you to change your mind about running for DA again?”
“I have no doubt.” Once upon a time, Simone would have jumped at that chance. Now, her ambition had taken a backseat to her determination to focus on family and friends. They knew all too well how quick life could turn. “Rain check?”
“Of course. I still need to have you and Vince over for dinner. You haven’t seen my new place yet.” Kyla headed to the door. She needed to finish up with her notes for the day before heading to the morgue.
“Let’s aim for in a few weeks once things settle down,” Simone said, glancing at her calendar. “I’ll find a way to make it work for all of us.”
Jason Sutton stepped out of the Sacramento County morgue on Broadway just as the afternoon sun slipped behind a bank of clouds. The slight ease in warmth had him stopping, lifting his face to the sky and taking a deep breath.
Rarely did a day pass that he didn’t take a moment to appreciate the crisp breeze and the fall leaves as they dropped from thin-branched trees and scattered onto the sidewalk. As a former guest of the state prison system, there was a time not so long ago he wasn’t sure he’d ever breathe free air again.
The entire buzz of the coming holiday season lightened his mood. Halloween was around the corner. His favorite time of year. He’d already decorated not only his own second story apartment with creepy and comical jack-o’-lanterns but also his brother’s bar, The Brass Eagle. Cobwebs were strung across the doorways and windows, and new, mini pumpkin candles were flickering on the tables. He’d strung up a couple of ghosts on the ceiling so they hovered above the bar, flowing white gauze catching in the breeze whenever someone opened the front door.
If there was a pumpkin left in the valley, it wasn’t because he hadn’t tried to buy it. He’d even managed to persuade Vince to host a Halloween themed night, provided Jason oversaw the bar that evening. As excited as he was to implement some fun menu ideas and activities, all of Jason’s celebratory anticipation had taken a backseat when he’d started a missing person’s case last week.
He could have called the morgue, inquiring by phone to see if a body matching sixteen-year-old Bess Carmody’s description had been found, but he’d wanted to check in person. A life was worth far more than a phone call and besides, coming down for a face-to-face inquiry helped him to establish his own connections in the medical examiner’s office. He could only ride his big brother’s successful private investigator coattails for so long. If Jason was going to make it on his own in this business, he was going to have to step out of that large shadow Vince Sutton cast. Not an easy thing to do as an ex-felon.
The good news was Bess wasn’t here. The bad?
The more Jason learned about Bess Carmody, the more convinced he became she eventually would be. The girl wasn’t just a troublemaker. She was in trouble. The kind of trouble Jason himself was all too familiar with.
Jason needed to find her before it was too late.
How ironic that his first case had him searching for a kid with a string of juvenile offenses Jason had been guilty of himself well before sixteen. Breaking and entering, vandalism, possession of pot. Truancy. Resisting arrest. The last had earned her a three week stint in juvenile hall.
Once upon a time he could have matched Bess crime for crime, delinquency for delinquency, with one big difference.
Jason was eventually held accountable for his offenses while, even now, Bess’s parents continued to chalk up her bad behavior to growing pains and normal teenage rebellion. The Carmodys’ high-priced connections and seemingly bottomless finances had earned Bess probation with the juvenile courts, far from the years in prison that had finally kicked some sense into Jason.
Normally his first stop would have been Bess’s probation officer, but Bernice Yablonski, a twenty-plus year veteran of the department, was currently on extended family leave and not due back before next week. Until then, Jason was pretty much grasping at straws and hoping for a break that would get him the information he needed to bring Bess home.
The two years since he’d been released had been tough, but the support he’d found with his brother and sister-in-law, and by extension their friends, had helped him get his footing. But nothing would ever completely remove the stigma of his past.
Once a con, always a con. Something he was determined to prove wrong. All he needed was a chance and Bess’s case gave that to him.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Probably Vince checking in on him again. His brother seemed more anxious than Jason about this case. A case Vince hadn’t seemed particularly eager for Sutton Investigations to take. Understandable considering Vince’s history with missing kids. It had been Jason, after reading Bess’s file, who couldn’t say no.
That his brother agreed to let Jason accept this case for himself was something Jason did not take for granted. He knew Vince’s private investigation business had taken a hit when he’d made Jason a full-time employee. Having a convicted felon on the payroll didn’t exactly instill confidence. Being instrumental in helping track down a group of escaped prisoners as well as aiding in the rescue of an undercover FBI agent a few months ago had repaired a lot of the damage and earned them some loyalty from both the local PD and the Feds. Still, Jason wasn’t about to let his brother down after Vince had placed so much faith in him.
A familiar flash of bright color bolted around the corner toward the front door of the morgue.
Kyla.
Jason’s insides did that odd little dance whenever he spotted the pretty prosecuting attorney. As always, he slammed the door shut on any romantic possibility. Talk about pie in the sky dreams. She was so far out of his league they weren’t even in the same universe. Besides, no way would he burden Kyla—or any other woman—with the emotional and historical baggage that dragged behind him.
It couldn’t matter that the beautiful woman had captured his attention from the moment he’d met her, shortly after his release. Or that he found himself coming up with endless excuses to talk to her about...well, anything. They’d become friends. Flirty friends maybe, but that’s where he’d told himself it had to stop. Even as he worked to redeem himself and his reputation, there was no getting rid of the darkness that, at times, swirled to the surface. He tried hard to keep himself in check, but he’d be lying if he said there weren’t times his temper flared.
He’d grown up around explosions of anger. He didn’t want Kyla to see any of that kind of volatile unpredictability.
Kyla radiated everything that was good in the world. She was also his stark and constant reminder he’d spent a good portion of his life inhabiting the shadows of the world she fought to expose.
Nope.
He had no business even thinking about getting involved with Kyla.
And yet...
And yet she had an amazing, pulse-kicking, stomach tightening laugh that made him smile. But he wasn’t smiling now, not as he watched her move. Kyla’s normally fluid, graceful movements seemed stilted. Jerky even. Something wasn’t right.
“Kyla?” He left his car and headed back to the building, catching up to her as she pulled open the heavy glass door. His hand covered hers on the handle. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, Jason, hi.” That smile of hers broke through every dark cloud threatening to hover around his heart. “I, um.” She stepped back to let someone walk out. “I’m meeting Detective Peterson. I might be able to identify a body they found near Night Crawler early this morning.” Kyla tucked a springy black curl behind her ear and smoothed a hand over the narrow neon band that kept her hair back from her round face.
He’d heard about the bodies on the news. What did they have to do with Kyla? “Is this related to your carjacking case?”
“No. This is something...” She grimaced. “Different. I’m sorry. I’m already late. Can we talk about this when I’m done?”
“I can walk and talk.” He followed her into the reception area.
Kyla shook her head. “You don’t have to come with me. Really, this isn’t anything you want to...” She trailed off as Detective Lorna Peterson looked up from her cell phone. “Detective. Sorry I’m late. Traffic was, well, traffic was typical.” Kyla shifted her oversize turquoise bag on her shoulder. “Jason, I’m fine, really.”
“So am I.” Whatever was going on was definitely out of the norm for Kyla. He didn’t know all the requirements of her job, but he’d never heard of her needing to take a solo trip to the morgue. “What’s going on?” Detective Peterson gave him a long, dubious look. One he was all too familiar with. He held out his hand and kept his expression neutral. “Jason Sutton.”
“I know who you are.” Detective Peterson shook his hand after a brief hesitation. “You’re working for your brother these days, aren’t you? Keeping out of trouble?”
Would there ever come a time when the unspoken accusation and the in-your-face doubt didn’t hit him like a ton of bricks? It was the condescension he hated most. Like he was still a foolish adolescent trying to deal with the life he’d been dealt. “Yes, ma’am.” He’d found politeness went a long way to earning even a tidbit of respect, especially where law enforcement was concerned. Even if his words were tinged with the tiniest hint of sarcasm. “I thought I’d stick around for Kyla. Moral support.”
“I doubt you can help her identify a body.”
“No,” Jason said without missing a beat, or without missing the irritated gleam that sparked in Kyla’s dark brown eyes. Not at him, he realized and took the boost of confidence. She was annoyed with the detective. “I can wait here if you’d rather, Kyla. Or go with you.” He looked directly at Kyla. “Your choice.”
Knowing what he did about Kyla, he suspected she was having an argument with herself. She didn’t need anyone’s help, and she certainly didn’t need him holding her hand. But she also didn’t appreciate it when people looked down their noses at others because of their pasts. It was one of her best qualities. Even as a prosecutor, she looked at the evidence before she cast judgment.
“I’d actually be grateful if you’d come with me, Jason, thanks,” Kyla said. “Detective? Lead the way.”
“All right.” Detective Peterson angled him another look before leading them through the staff only door. They navigated the aisles of cubicles, through another pair of doors into a hallway. Jason kept his eyes on Kyla as they bypassed TV monitors displaying in-progress exams and autopsies. The smell always got to him. He’d never been able to adequately define or describe it, but there was nothing else like it. A combination of chemicals and decay covered by the oh so familiar aroma of disinfectant.
“Wait here a minute.” Detective Peterson instructed and left them alone in a locker room with long benches. She opened the door labeled autopsies, stuck her head in and called out to the attending coroner. “Okay, she’s ready for us. Kyla, you can change your mind. This is going above and beyond—”
“You can’t help this woman until you know who she is.” Kyla straightened as if stiffening her spine. “I want to identify her if I can.”
Jason’s admiration for Kyla took a giant leap into the stratosphere. It was evident by the pinched expression on her face that she didn’t want to do this; she felt she had to. She was going to do what was right, because that’s who she was. It’s who she’d always been. He doubted she’d ever made any decision, even when she was a kid, that would have derailed the future she’d focused on for herself.
“It shouldn’t take too long.” Detective Peterson opened the door and motioned for them to go inside.
Jason kept a hand close to Kyla’s elbow, uncertain of her previous experience when it came to visiting the morgue. He’d been here far too many times, beginning when he was eleven and a local patrol officer had tried to scare him straight. How Jason wished it had worked.
The blinding bright light of the overhead lamps almost made him think of his sunglasses. They weren’t led back to the cold storage where many identifications took place, but instead to a metal table where a scrubs-clad thirty-something woman waited for them.
“I’m Dr. McEwan.” The brunette with frizzy, untamed curls greeted them. “I’ve cleaned her up as best I can. Detective Peterson said you might be able to identify her.” Dr. McEwan stepped to the side and left Kyla and Jason to look down at the body, which was draped with a simple white sheet from shoulder to toe. The victim’s damp hair hung in wet ropes over the edge of the steel table. Her skin was the shade of death; not quite gray. Not quite white. The bruising on her face, neck and shoulders was extensive and had Jason wincing. He really hoped Kyla didn’t know this woman.
Kyla stepped forward. Jason forced himself to remain where he was—close enough to be there if she needed support, yet letting her do what she needed to do. She inclined her head, reached out a hand and brushed her fingers lightly over the woman’s cheek. When her shoulders straightened and she gasped, his hope vanished.
“Julia.” Kyla’s whisper scraped against his heart. She lifted her chin, eyes slightly panicked and dazed when she met first Jason’s and then Detective Peterson’s gaze. “I think this is Julia Summerton. We were roommates at Sac State. That must have been why she had my card.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Detective Peterson asked.
“Two, three years ago?” Kyla looked back at the woman on the table. “We had lunch. Reconnected. Then we lost touch again. Um.” She pressed her fingers into her temple before she recovered. “Julia has a tattoo, a dancing penguin, on her right hip.”
“Doctor McEwan?” Detective Peterson asked.
Dr. McEwan stepped forward and lifted the sheet to expose the tattoo. “I’m sorry.”
“She dropped out of school.” Kyla spoke as if no one else had. “There were family issues. Money was tight. She lost her grant. Government cutbacks. She moved out halfway through our junior year, but she was doing okay when we last spoke. I might have some pictures from back then. I never throw pictures away.”
“That would be a big help, Kyla. Thank you.” Detective Peterson moved to usher her and Jason out of the room, but Kyla reached out to stop Dr. McEwan from covering Julia back up.
“What’s that on her right arm?” Kyla pointed to the red band around the skin on Julia’s bicep.
“A welt.” Dr. McEwan moved around the table and lifted Julia’s arm into brighter light.
“A recent one,” Jason observed. Something niggled in the back of his mind. Something familiar he couldn’t quite snap in place. “It’s like someone’s ripped something off her arm.”
“How...” Kyla cleared her throat. “Was she beaten to death?”
“I can’t be certain until I complete my exam,” Dr. McEwan said. “But my preliminary findings tell me, given the number of broken bones in her face, there should be more bruising.”
“Meaning she was probably beaten after she was dead,” Jason said, grateful for small mercies.
“Then how did she die?” Kyla asked.
“I’m leaning toward an overdose,” Dr. McEwan said. “There’s some—”
“No.” Kyla shook her head, her voice defiant. “No, that’s not possible.”
“Kyla—” Jason touched her arm and nearly jumped when she turned on him.
“Julia would never have done drugs. Never. I knew her, Jason. There is no way.”
“You said you haven’t seen her in almost three years,” he reminded her before Detective Peterson could. “People change, Kyla. That’s a lot of life to live.” He should know. He’d lived multiple lifetimes in his almost three decades.
She wrenched her arm free from his hold. “It hasn’t been long enough that Julia would start doing drugs. I want to know what the lab tests say when they come in.” She swung on the doctor. “Can I know that?”
“I—” Dr. McEwan looked to the detective.
“I can let you know what they are when they come in,” Detective Peterson said. “In the meantime, let’s let Dr. McEwan get back to work.”
“She wasn’t an addict. She didn’t do drugs.” Kyla let herself be guided back into the hall where the monitors continued to run current exams. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s no way Julia died of an overdose.”
“The tests are going to say what they’re going to say.” Jason tried again. “I know how hard this is, Kyla. I’ve been there—”
“You have not been there,” she snapped. “Not where Julia’s concerned. If drugs killed her, she didn’t take them voluntarily. Someone must have given them to her. Shot her up. Overdosed her on purpose.”
Jason’s eyes widened and his disbelief had anger flashing like flint in Kyla’s gaze. “That’s a pretty big conclusion to come to without any evidence. Or is there evidence we don’t know about?” he asked the detective.
“I’ve told you everything I know,” Detective Peterson said. “Kyla, thank you for coming down. For giving her her name back. That’ll be a huge help. And so will any pictures you can find of her.”
“Her parents will have to be told.” Kyla was shaking now, and she drew her arms around her, hugged her elbows in. “Her father’s been ill for as long as I’ve known her. I’m not sure if they still live in the area—”
“I’ll take care of it,” Detective Peterson said. “Let me take care of her. I’ll find out what happened to your friend, Kyla. I promise.”
Kyla nodded, but there was an odd coolness in her expression. “Thank you.”
“Come on.” Jason gently steered her down the hall and back outside. “Kyla, I can only imagine what you must be feeling.”
“Anger,” Kyla spat as she stalked to the parking lot. Jason hurried after her, not entirely convinced she should be driving just yet. “A friend of mine is dead and she shouldn’t be.”
“I can see how upset you are. Kyla, hang on. Wait.” He grabbed her hand when she reached into her purse for her keys. “You need to stop a minute and catch your breath. I know she was your friend and I know you only want to...” She only wanted to what? He couldn’t read her mind, but he knew grief when he saw it. It cascaded off her in waves so thick it nearly drove him back a step.
“There is no chance that Julia was using drugs,” Kyla seethed. “Impossible. Her older brother died of an oxy overdose when she was sixteen. She was majoring in psychology so she could help kids like him. She wouldn’t even take aspirin, Jason. Beyond that, she wouldn’t do it to her parents.”
“All right.” He wasn’t going to argue with her. How could he when he didn’t know much more than what he’d heard in the last few minutes? “Let’s say that’s true. What can you do about it?”
“What do you think I’m going to do about it?” She ripped her keys out of her purse and clicked open the door. “I’m going to find out who murdered my friend.”
