The Undertaker's Daughter Read online

  Chapter Four

  Tuesday, March 12, 1:30 p.m.

  Rowan couldn’t shake the unsettling dreams that had invaded her sleep last night. Hard as she tried pouring herself into work, the images and voices just wouldn’t let go.

  “Dr. DuPont?”

  Rowan pushed away the troubling thoughts and met the lieutenant’s gaze. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  April Jones set aside the interview reports the two of them had been reviewing. “Are you certain you’re all right? You don’t seem like yourself today. Usually you’re laser focused on whatever we’re working on, but it feels like you’re not even in the room.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m distracted.” Rowan reached for the next report, the one from the interview of Karen Ross’s mother. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “It’s the comment Bennett made, isn’t it?”

  Rowan could play off the question, but that would be futile if in fact this unsub chose another victim who looked like her and with whom she shared a similar background. Frankly, to continue ignoring the concept would not only be foolish it would be counterproductive.

  “Yes,” Rowan admitted. “I’m weighing the possibility that his suggestion carries more merit than perhaps I first believed. I wouldn’t want anyone else to lose their life because we hadn’t assessed all possible avenues.”

  Took you long enough to say the words out loud.

  “Your book may have tripped some degenerate’s trigger,” Jones suggested. “He may be trying to prove you’re not as brilliant as we all know you are. Or maybe he wants you to himself. Either way, the sooner we acknowledge it’s a possibility, the sooner we can properly protect you.”

  This was exactly what Rowan did not want. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Lieutenant. I carry pepper spray. At home I have the best security system currently available and I have a big dog. I am always careful. I don’t need a protection detail. It would be a waste of valuable resources. Resources that need to be focused elsewhere.”

  Jones raised her eyebrows. “We’ve gone over these interviews half a dozen times.” She gestured to the stack of papers. “We haven’t found anyone new in the victims’ lives. No enemies. No recent falling out with anyone. No trouble at work or at home. No financial issues. You hit the nail on the head with your conclusions about these women, Doctor. They’re not who our guy has his sights set on. They’re only foreplay for the big finale. I didn’t sleep last night either. My gut is telling me that he wants you to know he’s coming. You are the big finale and we need to be prepared for that move.”

  There it was—the conclusion Rowan could no longer deny. “I should take a break and check on my father. I need some fresh air anyway.”

  She stood. Jones didn’t look very happy that Rowan had backed out of the conversation at such a pivotal juncture.

  “I’ve already spoken to Captain Doyle,” the detective plunged onward before Rowan could escape. “He’s in agreement with the rest of us. We have to take this threat to you seriously, Dr. DuPont. We’ve danced all around it for days now. It’s time to stop pretending this isn’t about you. There are necessary steps that need to be taken.”

  Rowan wanted to be angry that Jones and, probably, Bennett had gone behind her back with this theory, but she wasn’t a fool. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll discuss the situation.”

  “Just make sure you go to the smokers’ cage,” Jones said, “otherwise, if you’re going outside, I should go with you.”

  With a resigned sigh, Rowan assured her, “I’ll be in the cage.”

  She couldn’t exit the room fast enough. Rowan’s chest felt exceedingly tight. Drawing in a breath was next to impossible. She needed five minutes out of this office—out of this building. Checking in on her father was a good excuse. Far too often, she found herself so caught up in a case that time slipped away. Her father—her only remaining family—was generally the one on the losing end of that scenario.

  Fortunately, the elevator was deserted. She reached the lobby and hurried toward the west corridor, purposely avoiding eye contact. She fisted her cell and pushed through the exit that led to the only place on city property where the smokers were allowed to indulge their habit. The cage. The small area was closed in with steel mesh on all sides, and there was a roof along with four overhead fans to help circulate the air. Rowan imagined the winters were rather unpleasant but at least this space prevented folks from having to loiter in the parking lot as was the case when smoking was first abolished in any of the buildings. The enclosure as well as the cameras, she instinctively glanced toward the two well-placed dark domes, provided a measure of security and some degree of protection from the elements.

  Luck was on her side once more—the cage was empty. Relieved, Rowan drew in a deep breath, her olfactory protesting the stench of stale cigarette butts in the receptacles made for their disposal. She could tolerate the unpleasant odor for a few minutes. God knew she had smelled far worse at the numerous crime scenes she’d studied over the past six years. Right now, she needed the trees and the sky and simply being outside the confining walls of her office and that damned conference room.

  Daddy’s coming soon.

  The last words Raven had said to her in one of last night’s fractured dreams shook her even now, in the glaring light of day. She should have called her father days ago. He had been the first thing on her mind this morning but she’d been running late. She didn’t call him often enough, certainly didn’t visit like a daughter should.

  She put through the call and the instant she heard his voice she relaxed the tiniest bit. “Hey, Daddy.”

  “Ro, sweetheart, what a pleasant surprise.”

  They chatted casually, playing catch up for a few minutes, before she moved to the heart of the matter. “Daddy, are you feeling okay? When was the last time you saw Dr. Lombardo?”

  “Had a complete physical last week. Doc says I’m as healthy as a horse. You don’t need to worry about me, little girl.”

  “That’s great.” Another flash of relief rushed through Rowan, making her knees weak. Her father had turned seventy his last birthday. She wanted to have him around for as long as possible even if she was far too negligent in her calls and visits.

  “Why do you ask? Is everything all right with you?”

  The note of worry in his voice made her feel even guiltier. In her thirty-nine years she’d given her father far more reason to worry than he would ever give her if he lived to be a thousand. She really had not been a very good daughter.

  Exiling the painful thoughts, she said, “I’m fine. Everything okay with the business? Busy as usual, I guess.”

  “Don’t you know it, little girl. If there’s one thing in this life we can count on it’s death. Won’t ever be a shortage of the dying.”

  Her father had used that cold, hard fact to try and persuade her to follow in his footsteps in the family business. You’ll never lack for job security. There’s something to be said for that, Ro. It’s a respectable, reliable way to earn a living. Choosing not to go into the family business was the other way she’d hurt her father. He’d been devastated for a time. So much so they hadn’t spoken for an entire year after she shared her decision. But that had been a very long time ago. Since that unbearable time she’d tried hard to make up for their lost year.

  “Can’t argue with that,” Rowan agreed with his assessment, more of that tight band of tension around her skull loosening, if only marginally.

  “I was thinking about you this morning,” he said. “I meant to call you on my lunch break.”

  She could picture her father peering down at whatever body he had stretched out on the prep table at present. One glove on, one off to answer the phone as blood and other bodily fluids drained away in preparation for being replaced by preserving chemicals.

  “I was thinking of you, too.” She smiled, decided not to mention why. He would not be happy to hear
that Raven still haunted her dreams twenty-six years after her death. Rowan had decided that some connections transcended death. She’d done extensive research on the bond between twins. She and her sister would be a part of each other as long as one of them continued breathing.

  “I wanted to call and tell you that a friend of yours from up there in the big city stopped by yesterday,” Edward announced. “Said he wanted to see the place where you grew up. I gave him the grand tour. He went on and on about what a big star you are with Metro.”

  Rowan frowned. She hoped it wasn’t some reporter digging for information to be used in a scathing article related to her book. Though she was grateful her book was doing so well, she had not anticipated the more unpleasant aspects of success. With the admiration and respect shown by most of her readers came hostility and condemnation from a few others.

  “Really? What was her name?”

  “It was a he, actually. Name was Tyler Ross. The way he went on, I thought for sure you’d been holding out on me. Especially since he’s an undertaker, too.”

  Her father kept talking but Rowan stuck on the name—Tyler Ross. Sandy Tyler…Karen Ross. It was a combination of surnames from the victims. The two victims who looked like her. Coincidence? Not even remotely possible.

  Which meant only one thing: the murders were undeniably connected to her.

  Worse, the killer had reached out to her father.

  North Avenue, 6:30 p.m.

  “I really appreciate you coming all this way to bring my dad.”

  Winchester Chief of Police Billy Brannigan was a cowboy, heart and soul. Like Rowan he’d grown up in Winchester. Unlike Rowan, Billy had been one of the most popular kids in school. A hometown hero during high school and college. The big football star who never failed to make time for fundraising rodeos in the summer. Folks swore Billy was born wearing a Stetson and cowboy boots. He was a year older than Rowan but he’d made it his mission to take her under his wing, so to speak, after Raven’s death. Though they had always been friends, he had gone above and beyond the call after that tragic summer. Rowan had been lost, Billy had watched over her, threatening to pound anyone who wasn’t nice to her.

  He was the sole reason she had survived high school.

  Tall, broad shouldered and impossibly charming, he grinned down at her before hauling her into another bear hug. “You know I would do anything for you and your daddy.”

  Yes, she did know this. He was a faithful friend. When he let her go, she stood back and assessed him from those well-worn boots to the top of his handsome head. “Well, I can tell you one thing, Billy Brannigan, forty definitely looks good on you.”

  He took off his Stetson and ran his fingers through his dark hair. A smile tugged at her lips as she considered how many times as a starry-eyed teenager she’d dreamed of running her fingers through his hair. He had dark brown eyes, a classic straight nose and a perfect square jaw, not to mention those movie star lips. She had fantasized about kissing those lips since she was fourteen years old. But she never had. Just foolish adolescent girl fantasies. She’d outgrown those years ago.

  Rowan and Billy were friends. Truth be told, he was her best friend even if they rarely laid eyes on one another. Back home he remained the most eligible bachelor in Franklin County. Like her, he’d never married or had kids. Rowan was well aware of her own reasons. She did not have the time to devote to that kind of relationship. As for kids, frankly, she didn’t quite trust herself to be completely responsible, twenty-four/seven, for another human. Work sucked her in like a junkie to her drug of choice. She wasn’t sure what kept Billy from the altar. Too many choices to choose only one, she imagined.

  “Well, now,” he said in that slow, easy drawl of his, “if we’re going down that road, look at you, Ro.” His gaze swept over her. “You look amazing, just like always.”

  She decided to enjoy the compliment instead of arguing the validity of it the way she generally did. “I hope you’ll stay for dinner.”

  He smiled and she felted more relaxed than she had in days. It was so good to see him—circumstances notwithstanding. “Since I almost never get to see you anymore, yes, ma’am, I can stay for a little while before I head back.”

  Little being the operative word. She understood completely. The return trip to Winchester was close to two hours. She took his hat. “Make yourself at home and I’ll round up Daddy.”

  “You got it.”

  She placed the Stetson on the sideboard in the entry hall and crossed the room. The first floor portion of her home was one expansive open space with only the staircase interrupting the flow. The entry hall flowed into the living room, which flowed into the dining room and around the staircase into the kitchen. A door from the kitchen led into a small hall where the powder room was on the left and the laundry room on the right. At the end of that small hall was the door to the two-car garage. A floor plan made for entertaining, not that she entertained often. Sometimes Julian joined her for dinner. Once in a great while she had April Jones over for lunch. Beyond the annual department Christmas party and the occasional birthday party, baby shower or wedding, that was about the extent of her entertainment calendar.

  Who had time for a social life anyway?

  Her father had taken Freud into the backyard. Rowan suspected he’d wanted to give her and Billy some alone time. Edward DuPont had always hoped she and Billy would become a couple. To her father’s way of thinking if they had Rowan would have stayed in Winchester and taken over the family business. He might have been able to retire by now and spend his days taking his grandsons fishing or his granddaughters to the ice cream parlor.

  Despite her father’s hopes and the occasional speculation among the Winchester gossip grapevine, Rowan and Billy had never been anything but friends and there would likely never be any DuPont grandchildren. A fleeting sense of sadness accompanied the realization. Generally her unmarried, childless state didn’t bother her. Maybe seeing Billy had resurrected those foolish adolescent daydreams.

  Well, you are only human, Rowan—though Bennett and some of the other detectives might debate that deduction.

  Outside, her father tossed a battered Frisbee into the darkness of the backyard. Freud dashed after it. “Daddy,” she called from the deck. “Come inside. Billy can’t stay long. We should have dinner before he heads back home.”

  Freud raced up onto the deck like a dog half his age. He’d turned eight this year. He’d spent the first three years of his life being abused by his drug trafficking owner. The thug had murdered at least four people but it took the SCU some time to prove it. When the animal’s owner was arrested Rowan seized the opportunity to rescue the dog. The two of them had been good for each other. She’d learned some measure of responsibility to something besides her work and Freud had gained a life without fear or pain.

  Edward DuPont climbed the final step and put an arm around her. “I sure am glad to see you, Ro, but I don’t think all this fuss is really necessary. You know your old man can take care of himself. Besides, that fella seemed completely harmless to me.”

  “Most people considered Ted Bundy quite charming and certainly harmless until they learned about his dark side.” His pained expression told her she’d made her point. “I’ll feel better with you here until we figure this out.”

  He didn’t argue any further so they walked inside where Billy waited, propped against the island like he owned the place. Unlike all the other kids in school, Billy had always been completely comfortable hanging around the funeral home. Not that he had done so that often—he was a popular guy, after all—but when he did, he had been as at home as Rowan. He was a good guy, then and now.

  What was wrong with the women back home?

  “I guess a little vacation is good for the soul.” Her father kissed her on the cheek. “But I can’t leave Herman for too long or he’ll start to believe he can run things just as well as me.”

  Herman Carter was her father’s longtime assistant director. Until
he retired two years ago, Herman had been with the family business for as long as Rowan could remember. After Herman retired, her father had hired Woody Holder to take his place. Even after two years of working together her father wouldn’t dare leave Woody in charge. As always, Herman was happy to step up to the plate. He and her father had been friends their whole lives.

  Rowan was grateful her father had a friend like Herman. Both loved playing cards about as much as they did breathing. Back home their weekly card games were legendary. Rowan remembered sneaking downstairs to watch her father and his friends drink whiskey, smoke cigars and play cards. It was the closest thing to a social life, besides church on Sunday, the man had. Many times she had wondered if her father had chosen to remain alone because of her. He’d poured his entire life into raising his only remaining child and running the funeral home.

  Then she’d deserted him.

  More of that guilt settled onto her chest, bearing down on her heart. He’d forgiven her, she knew this without doubt. Maybe it was time she forgave herself. Her gaze shifted from her father to Billy. Then again, perhaps her decision to leave her past behind had been a bigger misstep than she’d comprehended at the time.

  A lifetime ago. No point looking back now.

  With the dinner she’d had delivered warming in the microwave and filling the house with mouth-watering aromas, she and Billy set the table. He teased her about having a state-of-the-art kitchen she never used and she ribbed him about his longtime peanut butter sandwich fetish. When they’d gathered around the table, Billy caught her up on all the hometown gossip. Her dad put in his two cents worth now and then, making Rowan laugh more than she had in ages. The easy banter refreshed her soul. It had been a long time since so much laughter had filled her home. Most of her time at home was spent poring over transcripts or police reports and evidence photos from heinous crimes.