Trust No One (Devlin & Falco) Page 2

  Damn it.

  “Whatever you say, sir.” Might as well back away from the brick wall in front of her and get on with this new arrangement. Her only option at this point was to figure out the deal with Falco and how he’d reached the rank of detective in spite of his rocky record.

  Learn his secrets and gain some measure of leverage.

  As exasperating as it was to be stuck with the new guy, considering all she’d heard about him, she had rank over Falco, and she had every intention of using that seniority to see that he played by her rules. End of story.

  Brooks nodded. “You’ve always been a good team player, Devlin. Your flexibility is duly noted and appreciated.”

  Blah blah blah. She barely held her own eye roll in check.

  Not trusting herself to respond, she nodded and exited the LT’s office. She walked the length of the bullpen, hesitated before reaching the cubicle she and Boswell had shared. Making detective had been her goal from the day she’d decided she wanted to be a cop. Being assigned to Birmingham’s brand-new Major Investigations Division had been the icing on the cake. This division was the first of its kind, encompassing not only Birmingham proper but the communities that surrounded it, like Hoover, Mountain Brook, Vestavia, and half a dozen others. The cream-of-the-crop detectives from those same communities had been selected to serve alongside BPD’s finest. Crimes that rose to the level of crossing local jurisdictions fell under the purview of Major Investigations.

  Day one as partners she and Boswell had adjusted their small space so that their desks faced each other, their file cabinets were out of the way, and the shared case board was front and center. Now she was rethinking that arrangement. Separate work spaces would be far more tolerable under these new circumstances. Otherwise she would be stuck face to face with Falco, every hour of every day in the office.

  Thank God a good portion of their time would be in the field. Then again, partners spent a lot of hours cramped up in a vehicle together doing surveillance or tracking down leads.

  She heaved a big breath. This arrangement was going to be endlessly challenging and utterly irritating. Be that as it may, it was her duty to try and make it work. Good team player.

  “Hey, Devlin,” this new partner of hers said as she approached their shared work space. “How’d things go with the boss?”

  She stared at him. In light of the fact that he hadn’t been here when she’d gone into the LT’s office, he had obviously nosed around to learn her whereabouts. “My meeting with the boss was private, Falco. Do you grasp the concept of privacy?”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I got you, Devlin. I definitely didn’t mean to get all up in your business or anything.”

  She kept to herself the first snarky response that came to mind. Make the best of the situation. At some point today, they should discuss his wardrobe and appearance. Worn-out jeans, wrinkled shirts, and scuffed biker boots were not appropriate attire for a detective representing the Major Investigations Division. His beard-shadowed jaw and shaggy hair didn’t make the cut either. Giving him grace, she reminded herself he was new. It was her job to ensure he was properly oriented.

  “Unless you got some other private business”—Falco stood and reached for his vintage lightweight leather jacket—“we just landed our first case together. A homicide.”

  Wait. Wait. Wait. Kerri shook her head. “How did we land anything?”

  He shrugged into that beat-up jacket she decided wasn’t really vintage, just abused. “No clue,” he said. “Sergeant Gordon handed it off like two minutes ago.”

  “Sykes and Peterson are up.” She’d scarcely filed her final report on the Hayden case.

  “The story is,” Falco explained, “Sykes and Peterson got caught up in a robbery at their Starbucks stop this morning.”

  Great. She grabbed the keys on her desk and the large dark-roast black coffee she’d picked up at a drive-through and hadn’t yet had the chance to drink. “We’ll take my vehicle.”

  Falco’s reputation as a reckless driver preceded him. To date he had wrecked two official vehicles in his five-year career.

  “Suit yourself. Did I mention this is a two for one?”

  Two vics? Not good. “What’s the address?”

  Kerri headed for the stairwell exit. Whoever and whatever the circumstances, the double homicide had been handed off to MID. There would be a clear and undeniable reason. Cops were territorial. No one liked someone else bulldozing into their jurisdiction without justifiable cause.

  “Botanical Place in Mountain Brook.” He moved up beside her. “For the record, that’s why I was looking for you.”

  She paused at the stairwell door. “Good to know. I’d hate to think you were spying on me this early in our relationship.”

  “Relationship.” He winked. “I like the sound of that, Devlin.”

  God help her. She might have to kill this guy herself.

  Botanical Place, Mountain Brook

  There were mansions in Mountain Brook, and there were mansions. The Abbott home was a mansion. A stunning European-style estate nestled amid the majestic trees on one of the community’s most prestigious streets. The property was fenced and gated with a purportedly state-of-the-art security system. Yet somehow a killer had found his way inside and murdered two people, possibly three.

  Kerri grabbed shoe covers and gloves from the repurposed tissue box that sat next to her on the classic vehicle’s bench seat. She shoved them into the left pocket of her jacket along with her notebook. She kept her keys in her right. Her driver’s license and necessary plastic were in a thin credit card case in an interior pocket. She never bought jackets without sufficient pockets because she hated carrying handbags or anything else on the job that set her apart from the male detectives. Whatever else she needed was in her Wagoneer. Made life far less complicated.

  Kerri was all about uncomplicated, particularly these days.

  She hit the lock button and closed the driver’s-side door. Falco rounded the hood, and they crossed the strip of grass that separated the street from the sidewalk. Yellow crime scene tape draped across the front perimeter of the property, starting where the cobblestone driveway met the street. Kerri nodded at the uniform maintaining the perimeter and showed her credentials. She squinted to see his name tag. No matter that she was still four whole years from forty, her vision was already going downhill. The optometrist would say it was time to accommodate her astigmatism rather than ignore it, but it didn’t give her enough consistent trouble to bother with glasses or contacts just yet. Either one would be annoying. Maybe not as annoying as adjusting to a new partner, but then the partnership between detectives was a special bond. She glanced at Falco. Whatever her misgivings and concerns about him, he’d made the grade somehow. She should give him the benefit of the doubt. She tugged on her gloves. It was amazing what a large extrastrong black coffee could do for her attitude.

  “Morning, Detective Devlin.”

  The uni’s broad smile jogged her memory about the same time his name came into better focus. “Morning, Baker.”

  Baker had been first on the scene at Councilor Hayden’s homicide scene three weeks ago. She remembered thinking he’d likely been teased as a kid about being a baker or a cake maker. Not such a bad nickname either way. At least he hadn’t been called a devil. Sometimes Kerri wondered why she’d chosen to reclaim her maiden name after the divorce.

  Oh yeah, the bastard she’d married had cheated on her. She wanted no part of him attached to her—except their daughter, Victoria, of course. Tori was the only good thing to come of that doomed fourteen-year union.

  Why had it taken her so long to recognize what Nicholas Jackman was? Or maybe he was right in his accusation that she had driven him to cheat because she’d been too obsessed with work.

  Of course, it couldn’t possibly be his fault.

  Kerri ducked under the yellow tape and resisted the urge to groan as the thought of the divorce and her cheating ex trickled down to a more recent and pressing issue: their thirteen-year-old daughter had decided she wanted to spend the summer with Daddy in New York. Really, what young girl wouldn’t want to trade Birmingham, Alabama, for Manhattan? Especially since Daddy’s new firm had put him in an Upper East Side apartment with amazing views of the city.

  The shock Kerri had felt when Tori had broached the subject this morning reverberated through her now. Thankfully she had been so startled by the idea she’d said little, but she felt certain her daughter was aware they would be revisiting the subject very soon. No way was Tori spending the whole summer with her dad. Not in New York at his hip apartment and especially not with his beautiful young girlfriend with whom he had cheated.

  Not happening.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want her daughter to have quality time with her father. The trouble was the games Nick liked to play. He loved nothing more than using their daughter as a way to manipulate what he wanted. Kerri hadn’t figured out exactly what he was up to with this “summer” proposition, but there would be a self-serving motive. Whatever that motive turned out to be, she didn’t want Tori to be the one hurt by it. There had to be a workable compromise in the situation somewhere.

  Officer Baker and Kerri’s new partner were still chatting as she moved toward the home’s front entrance. The arched opening leading to the front door was covered in ivy, adding to that European ambiance. From the minimal but lush front lawn to the iron flower boxes on the windows, the exterior was beautifully appointed and expertly manicured. Another uniform waited at the door. Kerri recognized the officer immediately: Tanya Matthews. Kerri had worked with her numerous times. Very detail oriented. Kerri liked that about her. The young officer’s attention was focused on the notepad in her hand as Kerri approached.
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  “Morning, Officer Matthews.” Kerri showed her credentials out of respect. No matter that Matthews would recognize her as had Baker; it was SOP before entering a crime scene. “What do we have inside?”

  Matthews smiled in recognition. “Detective Devlin, good morning.” Her smile promptly faded. “The husband and his elderly mother-in-law were shot to death. The wife is missing. Most of the house has been ransacked to some degree. Can’t really tell if anything was taken. Crime Scene Unit is five minutes out. Medical examiner is on his way.”

  Damn. Kerri hated cases like this. No matter how many years she worked homicides, she would never understand how anyone could hurt a child or an elderly person. There was a special place in hell for those people. “Let’s have a look.”

  As they started in the door, Falco hustled up to join them. “What’s up, Tanya?”

  Matthews gave him a nod as she continued to go over the details of the scene. “The master suite is on the first level. I’m guessing the shooter hit there first.”

  The front door led into a spacious entry hall. The stairs were a sharp left from the door. There was a bench, a closet, and then a powder room before the hall on that side of the entry disappeared into the depths of the home’s east wing. To the right, the hall meandered toward the kitchen. The main living space or great room lay directly ahead. Kerri pulled on shoe covers as she mentally inventoried the rest of the layout visible from her position.

  Falco tugged on his protective gear as they moved on, hopping on one foot and then the other behind Kerri. Matthews led the way. The officer had not exaggerated when she’d stated the house appeared ransacked. Doors stood open. Shelves had been swiped clean, scattering the books, framed photos, and knickknacks over the floor; drawers were pulled out, as if the perp had been looking in every imaginable hiding place for anything of value.

  Or maybe for something specific.

  They passed a laundry room and a door that led to the garage before the hall ended at the entrance to the master suite on the west side of the enormous house. The metallic odor of blood trickled into Kerri’s nose as they reached those towering double doors. Her muscles tightened with that old familiar mixture of dread and anticipation.

  This room had been searched by the intruder or intruders as well. Closet door opened. Elegant dresser drawers dragged forward with their contents strewn over the floor.

  As they approached the king-size bed on the far side of the room, near the french doors, Matthews said, “Benjamin ‘Ben’ Abbott, forty. He’s some kind of software guru. Got megarich before he hit thirty. He started his company in San Francisco, but he’s originally from Birmingham. He moved back about a year ago. His father is the Daniel Abbott. He’s the principal reason MID has the case.”

  “Top of the food chain around these parts.” Kerri’s gaze met the other woman’s.

  “The very top.”

  Daniel Abbott’s ancestors were among Birmingham founders. Old money. Powerful. Something else to look forward to in this investigation—heavy media coverage and pressure from the department hierarchy. Not unlike last month’s homicide investigation of the councilor that turned out to be a suicide for hire. The councilor had hidden his mental illness his entire adult life. Not even his wife understood the demons he had fought far too often for far too long. Rather than continue suffering in silence, and not wanting his family to endure the fallout of taking his own life, Hayden had hired someone to kill him. Made for a better payout from the insurance company too.

  Ultimately things had gone exactly as he’d planned, except for his one mistake: never go cheap when hiring a hit man.

  Kerri considered the first victim in her new case. Ben Abbott was handsome. He looked younger than forty. Short dark hair. Fit and tanned. The hole in the center of his forehead left no question as to how he had died. His eyes were closed, his chest was bare. The sheet was folded back at his waist, as if he’d only just crawled into bed. He could be asleep if not for the damage to his forehead and the lividity along his back and the underside of his arms, which lay at his sides. No sign of a struggle.

  For the moment, Kerri ignored the blood on the other side of the bed. Boswell had taught her to focus on one element at a time, absorb all the details before moving on to the next element. His number one rule had been simple: the most important aspect of a homicide scene was the body or bodies; all else was secondary.

  Kerri crouched next to the bed. She manipulated the fingers of the vic’s right hand and moved the arm. Fingers were rigid, but no stiffening in the larger muscles. He’d been dead only a few hours.

  “Looks as if he was shot in his sleep.”

  Matthews nodded. “The old lady upstairs wasn’t so lucky.”

  Kerri grimaced, her mind immediately conjuring the images of a hard-fought struggle to stay alive. She picked up the framed photograph on Abbott’s nightstand. The woman in the photo had long black hair and wide gray eyes. Her smile was warm. She looked young, physically fit, and happy.

  “What about the wife?” Kerri stood and looked to Matthews. Presumably the blood on the other side of the bed belonged to the woman in the photograph.

  “Sela Rollins Abbott. Twenty-eight,” Matthews said. “According to the housekeeper, the couple started dating about a year and a half ago. Married a few weeks later. The wife has a ton of awards showcased in the husband’s home office for all the charity work she’s done since moving to Birmingham. It’s like a shrine to some saint or something.”

  Matthews shrugged as she went on. “We haven’t found her body yet, but she must have been in the house when the shooter came in.” She gestured to the other side of the bed, where blood had soaked into the linens. “Obviously that blood didn’t come from the husband. Her glasses and cell phone are on the bedside table, robe’s in the chair. And if you check the master bath, you’ll find her empty retainer case next to one of the sinks.”

  “How can you be sure it’s her retainer case? Could be the dead guy’s,” Falco piped up.

  Kerri resisted the urge to sigh at how he phrased the query. His question was a valid one even if it did raise doubts about the ability of a good cop to analyze a scene. She made a mental note to talk to him about communication skills. MID was under close scrutiny. It was important to be seen as team players all the way but particularly when working with the local cops in each jurisdiction.

  Matthews stared at him for a moment before answering. “It’s pink and has a sticker on it that says Wife.”

  Kerri bit back a smile. “You’re thinking the shooter took Mrs. Abbott with him.”

  “We haven’t found her body, which suggests as much. That said, unless the forensic guys spot something with luminol that I missed, I haven’t found a blood trail—not even a drop—to indicate a hemorrhaging victim was hauled out of here.”

  “He may have wrapped her in something.” Kerri looked around. “A throw or quilt.”

  When she moved away from the bed, Falco crouched next to the dead husband and had a closer look. “I’m betting it was a .22,” he announced. He stood and nodded toward the victim. “Hard-contact wound. Whoever did this pressed the muzzle against his skull. This was up close and personal, Devlin. By someone who knew what he was doing. He didn’t hesitate, or the vic would’ve woke up, opened his eyes.” Falco shook his head. “No hesitation at all. Our shooter walked up and tapped him without so much as a blink.”

  “Looks that way,” Kerri agreed, “but we’ll see what the crime scene folks and the ME have to say before we make any final conclusions.” Investigative procedures needed to be followed for a reason. Something else she’d learned from Boswell. Never conclude anything too quickly, and leave room for adjustments; otherwise you might miss an important detail that didn’t fit neatly into your initial conclusion.

  “Were the french doors open when you first arrived on the scene?” Falco asked, not put off by Kerri’s reminder of protocol.

  Matthews nodded. “They were. No sign of forced entry, though. No alarm triggered. I checked with the company monitoring the security system, and they said the system was disarmed at five this morning. Cameras were disabled weeks ago. No one had bothered to reactivate them.”

  Had the wife awakened that morning, disarmed the security system, and opened the french doors only to find an intruder? Or had the wife exited through those doors after murdering her husband and mother? Had the mother wounded her in their struggle? But then how had the blood gotten on the bed down here in the master suite?