Closer Than Blood

longer and agreed to keep the lines of communication open. He gave her copies of the Connelly autopsy and the police reports as a show of good faith for their promise to work together.

“Keep me in mind,” he said, “if anything shakes loose with the Reed case.”

Jason Reed’s death indicated a potential homicide and Alex Connelly’s was the clearest example of a homicide—a bullet in the head. They were years apart, miles away in time and space, but were connected by a woman named Tori Connelly. Josh Anderson noticed the Tacoma PD documents on Kendall’s desk later that day.

“Anything of interest there?” Kendall shook her head.

“Not really. I don’t know what I was hoping to find. Thought maybe there would be something in the tox screen that would indicate Alex had been drugged.” Josh sat down. He smelled of cigarette smoke, but Kendall didn’t say anything. If he was going to quit smoking, he’d have to do it on his own. She was a mother to Cody, but not to Josh Anderson. That was Mrs. Anderson’s substantial cross to bear.

“You’re thinking that a woman would have poisoned him.”

“Most do. Women rarely use a gun.” Josh flipped through the report.

“You’ve been reading up.”

“Like a crime junkie,” she said.

“Why are you assuming that she’s involved?” She bristled a little at the question.

“I’m not assuming anything. I want to know what happened to Jason more than I want to know what happened in Tacoma. I knew Jason. We all did. He was a good kid. Birdy thinks it is highly likely his hyoid was crushed intentionally, Josh.”

“I get that, but that’s not enough to do anything with. If she’d been charged with the Tacoma case, then you’d have the nexus to make your case that there is something worth piling on some resources. Remember, we are a little light on funding these days.”

“Don’t remind me. I could use a raise.” Josh continued to run through the pages of the printout.

“Tell me about it. My Bimmer is in need of a tune-up, big time, but it’ll cost me seven hundred. I might just go to Grease Monkey and get it done.” Kendall suppressed a smile. Josh had an uncanny knack for bringing his BMW into every conversation.

“So he had the snip,” he said.

“Just wanted the one kid. I did that, too. Sure regretted it. If I’d have had more than one, I’d have better shot of someone giving a shit about me when I’m ready for the rest home.” Kendall leaned forward and reached for the report.

“Hey, I’m still reading that,” he said.

“Sorry. You say he had a vasectomy?”

“Yeah, so?”

“There are plenty of other explanations, of course. But Lainie told Adam that there was a condom wrapper in the guest bedroom at the Connelly place.”

“So?”

“A couple of things, Josh. Think about it. Wouldn’t the Tacoma criminalist collect that?”

“LAPD missed OJ’s glove.”

“Okay. But why would there be a condom wrapper in the house? Alex Connelly had a vasectomy.”

“Maybe he had an STD.”

“Blood’s clean.”

“Maybe she did?” Kendall closed the folder.

“Doubt that,” she said.

“Lainie told Adam that Tori didn’t want to have kids because she didn’t want to ruin her body or something along those lines. Something typical for Tori.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tacoma

It was after four in the afternoon when Lainie heard the doorbell buzz. She waited for her sister—painful stitches in her thigh or not—to come down the staircase to answer it.

“Tori?” she called from the foyer. No answer. Tori had been holed up in her bedroom all afternoon Skyping, or e-mailing, or surfing the Web. Lainie wasn’t sure. It wasn’t funeral arrangements. No services, as far as Lainie could tell, were in the offing. They planned to go to lunch at the restaurant in the Hotel Murano before Lainie met with her lawyer that afternoon. She hadn’t been charged with a crime, but the rumblings were out there. Earlier that morning, Lainie heard Tori talking on the phone in her bedroom.

“Don’t you get it? What part of this don’t you understand? Is it the combination of ‘do’ and ‘not’?” Lainie hadn’t been sure if the call was to her lawyer or a confidant. It dawned on her as she moved past Tori’s bedroom door that she still knew next to nothing about the dead husband or Tori’s life after she left Port Orchard. Questions were not answered; they were brushed aside like crumbs on a dining table. Lainie saw the figure of a man through the leaded-glass sidelight and turned the knob. It was Eddie Kaminski.

“This spring’s colder than a witch’s—” he said, not finishing the line.

“You know, really cold.” She nodded as the unseasonably cold marine air from Commencement Bay scratched her face and neck.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” he said. Lainie had never seen this man before. This was one of those moments she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. The man on the front porch thought she was Tori.

“I’m Lainie,” she said.

“Tori’s my twin.” Kaminski shook his head.

“You really are a ringer. Gals at the hospital said you were, you know, coming to lend a hand.”

“Are you a friend of hers?” Lainie asked.

“Not exactly.” He pulled out his ID and showed it to her. Lainie’s eyes lingered on it longer than it took for her to read. She was thinking.

“I’m Detective Kaminski. I’m working your brother-in-law’s murder and your sister’s assault.”

“Tori’s upstairs, but she’s not feeling well. She’s tired.” Lainie started to close the door. The detective took a step forward.

“I’m not here to talk to her. I want to talk to you.” Lainie shrugged slightly and the space in the doorway tightened.

“I don’t know anything.” Kaminski ran his eyes along the vertical space that offered a glimpse of the young woman behind the door. She was slender, pretty. She wore dark blue jeans and a rust-colored sweater over a light cream blouse. As she gripped the door, he could see she wore no rings.

“Don’t you want to help your sister? Help her find out who killed her husband?”

“A stranger killed her husband. And of course I—we—want to help.”

“Really. Are you really sure?” Lainie didn’t like the detective’s accusatory tone.

“Please let go of the door now,” she said, pulling the door closed.

“Are you so sure?” She had one more shot.

“She told me so.” The words could not have been emptier, but Lainie found herself in an old, decidedly defensive mode. It was not an unheard-of place for her. In fact, when it came to her sister she’d been there many, many times.

“Ask her if she was having an affair, why don’t you?” Lainie shut the door and turned the deadbolt. She looked up, and Tori was standing at the top of the stairs.

“What did he want?” Tori asked.

“Didn’t you hear him? It seems to me you were always good at eavesdropping.” Tori started down the steps. She wore four-inch heels, a purple dress, and a coil of black pearls around her neck. She’d done her makeup with a heavier hand than a late lunch necessitated. She was beautiful. And she looked worried. Not in pain, as her injury seemed to take a backseat to the heels and the need to look good. Yet, there was no mistaking it. She was troubled.

“All right,” she said.

“You know I’ve never been perfect.”

“Were you cheating on Alex?”