Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (8 page)

The letter sat on the table. She’d labored over it, starting, stopping, tearing up the paper into bits and starting fresh again.

It needed to be perfect.

Poignant but firm. And final. So final that there were no questions, no suspicions … no search. The problem was the date. It had to be exactly right, all contingencies considered, no possible mistakes allowed. The bus schedule was taken care of, the suitcase hidden, the other little details tidied and straight.

Or so she hoped. Make sure you aren’t forgetting anything, her mother had always told her.

But it was doubtful she was referring to murder.

*   *   *

Jason thought that
there was nothing worse than a cop funeral. It didn’t improve the situation that the skies had clouded over and a thin mist began to fall about noon, so that everything was wet and bleak and dismal.

Ranks of uniformed officers stood in lines and the various wreaths of flowers held glistening drops of moisture. It was just as well it was raining for that could account for the dampness on Danni Crawford’s face.

The instant that Chad was in the ground—the flags and the crying relatives aside—she would never see him again.

Not his face, she’d sobbed. Not his kind of quirky smile that turned up at one corner, and his hands would never again slide over her body …

She told him that, more personal than maybe Jason was comfortable with, but grief was an interesting emotion. Their relationship was, in a word, obliterated. Chad hadn’t passed on her. Hadn’t found her lacking, hadn’t disliked that her hips might be just a little too curvy and maybe could even be classified as fat, hadn’t decided to move on for any reason than someone had decided to just take him out.

They had loved each other.

Jason had let her talk. He wasn’t good at sympathy, but he did stand with her, and … listened. There was nothing he could do about what had happened, but at least he could listen.

Chad’s family stood in a small circle, his mother’s face as gray and drawn as the weeping skies. She’d cried quietly during the service and Danni had wept with her, spine straight, eyes ahead, and her grief put a knot in the pit of Jason’s stomach like a clenched fist.

Whoever had done this would pay.

It smelled like a contract hit, just like the killing the week before. Everyone in the department was talking about it and homicide was all over both cases, but the murders had been so clean and fast there was virtually no evidence. Even Fielding’s wife couldn’t give a description.

Fielding’s wife.

That had been an interesting interview, or so Danni had told Jason. Looking back, he now wondered if the woman’s shell-shocked statement had been just incoherent babbling as she’d thought at the time, or if it meant something.

She’d said over and over:
Garrison
.
He shouldn’t have called. He shouldn’t have called
.

Chad had wondered too, Danni had stated in a small, wavering voice. They’d talked about it later, about how both of them assumed at the time it was the name of her child, a mother’s frantic worry even though she’d been reassured time and again he was safe. Covered in blood spatter, understandably hysterical, she had been a useless witness.

But it wasn’t the name of Joanne Fielding’s son, Danni had found out.

The last message she had from Chad was that he thought he knew what it meant but he needed to check with the chief before he gave the information to the detectives assigned to the case.

And now he was dead.

Carl left the cemetery and turned his phone back on, seeing he had a text.

Missed you at the party
.
Lindsey
.

Call her back? He might have except Ellie called him even as he was contemplating the question. “Lieutenant, I’m going to be out of town for the weekend. Considering everything, I wanted to let you know. Family matter.”

The brusque, businesslike tone of her voice made him wonder just what had her so … maybe unsettled was the word.

In his opinion, she didn’t unsettle all that easily.

Carl had seen her at the funeral, serene outwardly anyway, standing in the rain with Grantham with a shared umbrella, and she’d briefly exchanged words with Santiago, but left quickly.

No one had really wanted to stay. Wet earth and dripping branches and tears.

He hadn’t stayed either.

“Cell on?” he asked.

“Pretty much always.”

“Not 24/7. Take some time for yourself.”

“Excuse me?” She sounded surprised.

“You have a job, Detective, but it isn’t everything. What I am saying is that if you need to take your weekend actually
off,
go ahead. We don’t have a handle on what is going on, but we will. If something comes up I’ll call you.”

When they hung up he sat and thought about what he knew.

Not a lot. Two officers dead. No real witnesses. No idea of motive either.

No suspects.

Maybe, like MacIntosh he should take some time for himself and call Lindsey back.

*   *   *

When his phone
beeped, Jason was taking a shower, always a mixed bag. The feel of the warm water helped the soreness in muscles that were healing in ways that tightened them with scar tissue. He also had two broken ribs from when he’d gone down after the second bullet pierced his chest, so the relief was appreciated. But doing something simple, like washing his hair, caused some interesting twinges.

So he gritted his teeth, rinsed out the shampoo, and reached for a towel.

The scars weren’t pretty either, he thought as he dried off, staring in the mirror. In theory women supposedly found them sexy. In truth, they were rubbery patches of red skin that marred his chest, and though he’d been assured they would whiten and fade, at the moment he still looked like a victim in a horror film.

Worth it, though, at the end of the day. They’d gotten the bastard, even if Jason had taken a few bullets in the process, and hey, he was still alive and the other guy was dead.

Speaking of which … MacIntosh had texted him. Surprising, actually. She’d come to the hospital a couple of times, but otherwise his partner hadn’t called before last night when she had visited with Grasso. He wasn’t bitter about it because it wasn’t like they were longtime friends or anything, but it would have been nice to have her visit.

This whole shooting had given him a somewhat adjusted view of his life.

It wasn’t like he was a stranger to having bouts of loneliness, but he wasn’t a slave to it either. He slipped on some boxers and a pair of jeans and ran a comb through his wet hair. Bare-chested, he wandered into the living room and contemplated her message.

You were riding along with Officer Crawford just for fun? Want to do something else with your free time?

What did that mean? The answer was hell yes, he was bored to tears, but he really didn’t have any idea what she was asking.

He texted back.
Like?

It won’t be exciting, but can you help me investigate old unsolved missing-person cases in Oneida County?

What?

He stared at the display on his phone. He could, but why would he? That wasn’t a lot better than watching reruns of
Gilligan
.

Except he really couldn’t imagine Ellie asking anything of him and that alone made him read it a second time.

Well … interesting
. Not what she wanted him to do; that would be tedious probably, but that she asked him for a favor. Twice now in as many days.

He hesitated, his phone in his hand, and then swiftly pushed a few keys.
Fuck yes
.

There was no question he liked messing with her. It was no secret she did not appreciate his colorful approach to the English language.

Very funny
.
Once I have a better idea of what we are looking for, I’ll let you know. Thanks
.

Last he knew, he thought, setting aside the phone on the counter and opening the refrigerator to peer in, she didn’t work for a county sheriff’s department any longer.

Cross-jurisdiction? Seemed unlikely, and asking for his help even more so, especially since he was still on leave.

He found he had two withered carrots and a quart of milk that had a date that made even his eyebrows elevate.

That was okay, he had the pizza place on speed dial and things were looking up.

Chapter 8

The diner did not go quiet as she walked in.

A good sign.

In fact it looked just the same, with the dishes stacked on shelves above the wash sink and the waitresses bustling behind the counter as usual. She picked a table and sat down, placing her pocketbook on the scratched surface.

“The usual?” Amy sauntered up and smiled, reaching over to turn her cup upright in the saucer.

It was almost difficult to nod because she was shaking. It was one thing, she was discovering, to commit murder, and another to get away with it. No one thought she looked different, was different, had burned blood-soaked clothing not all that long ago … buried a body …

The monster in their midst.

And none of the people sitting at the plain little tables, eating their eggs and pancakes drenched in syrup, and rashers of bacon, had any idea.

By the time her coffee arrived she was calm, smiling, and the tension between her shoulder blades had eased.

Outside cars cruised by … everything was perfectly normal. Her plate arrived and she picked up her fork and murmured her thanks and ate with relish for the first time since she’d made the decision.…

*   *   *

Ellie stirred, rolled
over, and encountered a warm, muscular male body, and she muttered a halfhearted objection when the man next to her pulled her close.

Very close.

Naked skin to naked skin … What time was it?

His hand smoothed her bare hip as she squinted at the clock and groaned. “It’s six o’clock.”

“Ellie, it’s Saturday.” Bryce kissed her neck and he did that very, very well. “You’re off duty today.”

It was tempting to pretend that she had the luxury of staying in bed—especially when his hands were doing some very interesting things to certain susceptible parts of her anatomy, but even if she
was
off, it was a little early for a romantic interlude and she’d promised herself she’d leave by seven at the latest.…

“Bryce.” She meant to protest, but it wasn’t sincere. She needed this. The connection. Someone was killing cops and there was a pile of bones in her grandfather’s backyard. Not to mention the unsigned lease for another six months for the condo on her computer in a file waiting to be downloaded while she tried to make up her mind.

“Hmm?” He licked a path along her collarbone, and then lower, pushing down the sheet. “Bryce yes, or Bryce no?”

“I have to leave by seven.”

“I have a whole hour … perfect.”

She laughed, but it was a little breathless and she knew he heard that slight catch. In direct contradiction to what she’d just said, she ran her fingers through his dark hair. “I need to shower.”

He adjusted their position in one smooth move, and his lips curved in a slow smile. “If we do this right, you certainly will.”

They had a few problems in their relationship, mostly due to her hesitation to commit, but none of them were in bed. She murmured against his mouth, “That sounds very promising.”

*   *   *

It was 7:18
when she pulled out of the driveway, but definitely worth the delay. Ellie slid a CD into the player and glanced over. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I like your grandfather.” Bryce picked up a travel cup and took a sip of coffee as they drove down the street. “I am not one hundred percent sure he likes me, but I do know we have one of those purely male understanding things going where if I never mention I am sleeping with his granddaughter—and this morning comes to mind—he and I will get along fine.”

She blew out a short breath. “That I can believe. He rarely fails to make his feelings clear.”

“True enough. Old Lutherans usually do.”

Taking the turn for the freeway, Ellie said dryly, “I hardly think that is unique to the Lutheran faith.”

“Okay, I’ll concede that men his age have usually decided they dislike tiptoeing around subjects that they worry will upset other people. So, have you thought of asking him what you should do?”

“About?”

Mildly, he expounded, “Does he think we should get married and have babies?”

Put that way, she was slightly shocked. Bryce was not usually so blunt. It was one of the things she liked about him.

Eventually, she found her voice. “We haven’t discussed it.”

“And if the subject comes up?”

She’d meant she and Bryce hadn’t discussed marriage, but she was more than willing to pretend they were talking about her grandfather. “Do you think for some reason it will?” She negotiated a turn toward the freeway exit. This time on a Saturday morning the roads were at least quiet.

“The single time I met him he did ask about my intentions.”

“Old-fashioned.” That sounded exactly like the pragmatic man she knew.

“Your father is gone. He’s protective. He feels it is his role.”

“This stupid male tendency toward—”

“Ellie,” Bryce interrupted on a low laugh, but his dark eyes held a serious glint. “You aren’t a homicide detective to him. You are his granddaughter and he cares. I suppose it might be best if I knew what to say.”

As much as she’d wanted and yet dreaded this conversation, she knew she was never going to feel the timing was exactly right. The ramp was clear and she gunned the car so they slid onto the freeway right at the speed limit. “What do you
want
to say?”

“To marriage or babies?”

“Come on, Bryce, have mercy. Let’s approach this one hurdle at a time.”

“Our role reversal never fails to astound me.” He flipped open his cup and then shut it without taking a drink. Then he looked her with disconcerting directness. “Fine. I’ll start with the foremost question on my mind. Small steps. What are you going to do about your lease? We aren’t talking about it. Why? Each time I want to bring it up, I feel like you just don’t want me to ask. If I’m not reading the signals correctly, tell me so.”