Closer Than Blood

The phone at the Kitsap County Sheriff’s Office had rung nonstop with calls from congregants of the Lord’s Grace Church. Most callers were exceedingly polite, offering prayers and volunteering to do whatever they could to help with the investigation. Although Josh was designated lead on the Mike Walsh homicide, both he and Kendall took turns fielding those who wanted to help in one way or another. Kendall told each they were in the middle of the investigation. She never offered specifics. She knew better from seeing other cops get burned when they made promises of solving a case. An obvious murder like Pastor Walsh’s, with bloody footprints and sadistic binding of the victims’ wrists, could languish until such time as the killer struck again. If, indeed, the killer was prone to do so. Josh was convinced it was payback for sexual abuse because of the repeated and unnecessary stabbing. Kendall was of another mind. There was a connection and a very real one with Jason Reed. One call from a prepaid cell phone, however, was nothing like the others. Kendall took the call. It was a woman’s voice.

“You really messed up on this one. We’ll never know what happened to Jason Reed now. Thanks for nothing.”

“Who is this?” Kendall asked, her adrenalin pumping.

“It doesn’t matter.

“It does to me.” The line went dead.

Under the green glow of her desk’s banker’s lamp, Kendall Stark spread out copies of the case file from the Connelly homicide investigation. She was on thin ice and she knew it. The material was given to her as a courtesy because of her reinvestigation of Jason Reed’s death and Tori’s connection with the cases. She’d already overstepped some boundaries by talking with the nurses at the hospital. She doubted Kaminski would appreciate her doing anything more—and she knew she’d resent any cop who’d insert him or herself into one of her active investigations. But this was different. It was personal. It was something she simply had to do. She found herself flipping back and forth between the reports made at the scene and the interview notes for both Darius Fulton and Tori Connelly. Tori claimed she’d been in bed when she heard the gunfire. She went downstairs and the masked intruder shot her as he ran out of the house. Darius claimed he knew nothing of that, of course. But his statement had one detail that seemed puzzling.

“. . . Mrs. Connelly arrived in a nightgown . . . bleeding ... her hair was wet.” Kendall poured herself a diet cola and returned her attention to the notation made by Kaminski: “. . . The master shower had been wet.” It was easy to surmise that Tori Connelly had taken a shower that evening. No crime there. What troubled Kendall was the idea of a woman going to bed with a sopping wet head. She never would have done that. In fact, Kendall, like many women, took her showers in the morning precisely so she could blow-dry her hair to perfection before work. Tori Connelly’s hair had been soaking wet. She looked at the photos of the master bedroom. The image showing the Rice bed revealed that while it had been turned down for the night, no one had been inside it. The duvet was smooth. There was no indentation where Tori Connelly’s head might have rested. And certainly, there was no indication that there was any dampness on the pillow. If Tori wasn’t in bed, as she had said, what was she doing? Kendall felt that the condom wrapper found in the guest room was also problematic. It hadn’t been seen by Kaminski or the others who’d processed the scene for the Tacoma Police Department. She conceded that the first floor of the house on Junett would have been the most crucial for processing. But the master bath, master bedroom, and the guest rooms upstairs were also relevant. Certainly what transpired May 5 was not a sex crime, so there would have been little reason to consider it of any evidentiary value. Yet, why was it there? It didn’t make sense. Something, she was sure, was amiss. Kendall left her office and found Josh Anderson behind his desk surfing Match.com. She lingered a moment, kind of happy to see that he was working out of his personal funk. She no longer saw Internet dating as pathetic, but necessary. Especially for Josh.

“Making a connection?” Her tone was kind, not snide. Flustered, Josh looked up and clicked his mouse to shut the window. His face went red.

“How did you—” Kendall pointed.

“Behind you. The glass on the watercolor reflects your screen.”

“Thanks. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said.

“What’s up,” he said.

“You’re obviously not here to critique the state of my love life.” Kendall smiled briefly.

“No, not this time,” she said, holding out the Tacoma Police report and pointing out what Lainie told her about the condom wrapper.

“She found the wrapper. Practically in plain sight.” He pushed the paperwork back.

“Two things,” he said.

“One, what does Kaminski say? And two, why in the F are you working their case when we have our own here?”

“He doesn’t say. He’s probably embarrassed that his tech missed it. I know I would be.” The muscles in Kendall’s neck tightened, like they always did when she felt backed into a corner.

“As for your second point, I can’t give a clear answer. I think—and it’s a gut feeling that I’m sure you’d dismiss as woman’s intuition or something of the like—that Tori is responsible for her husband’s murder. Not the sap they’ve arrested.”

“I won’t denigrate your intuition, Kendall. You know I don’t put much stock in things that aren’t black-and- white. And that’s the way I’ve lived my life and do my job.” Kendall held her tongue. She could have said something cruel back, something along the lines of how lousy his life had turned out, but she didn’t. Being overly defensive wouldn’t get her anywhere.

“Thanks. I just know that Tori killed Alex, Zach, and, yes, Jason.”

“Good luck with that, Kendall,” he said.

“You’re on dangerous ground.”

“Fine,” she said.

“Thanks for listening.” Kendall retreated to her office, angry at Josh, but knowing that her compulsion to figure things out was greater than any admonishment she’d get from her partner, her husband, or the sheriff. If it came to that. She called Darius Fulton’s lawyer Maddie Crane’s office. Her paralegal Chad told her that Ms. Crane was out to lunch.

“She doesn’t take calls during her lunchtime, but if you’re nearby, you can bug her in person. I don’t care.” Kendall knew where Maddie and all the lawyers congregated in Tacoma. Only two blocks from the Pierce County Courthouse, an Italian restaurant called Mama’s was the scene of more one-upmanship than a fight club in a dank warehouse downtown. Lawyers were showy competitors. That meant they liked to be seen.

“I’m going on an errand,” she said, barely stopping by Josh’s office as she made her way down the hallway —a place that had been remodeled too many times without consideration for function.

“Your mom?”

“Yes, Mama’s,” she said, relieved that it really wasn’t a lie. When her phone rang, it was Laura Connelly.

“I don’t want to say anything over the phone,” she said.

“I need to see you.”

“Are you all right? Can you tell me what it’s about?”

“Parker,” she said, her voice catching a little in her throat.

“It has to do with my son. Meet me at Shari’s on Union. I’ll be there at three.”

“Can you make it earlier? I’m planning on heading over to Tacoma around lunchtime.”

“All right. How about one-thirty?”

“Perfect.” She hung up, wondering what was up with Laura, though she had an idea.

Kendall Stark was greeted by a wave of garlic as she swung open the big brass doors of Mama’s Ristorante. Finding Maddie wouldn’t be hard. Everyone in the Northwest knew Maddie Crane. Kendall and the lawyer had actually met a time or two before. Maddie got around. Kendall passed through the restaurant and went into the dimly lit bar, where she immediately caught the attention of Maddie’s horde, two women and a man in dark, expensive suits and spray-on tans. She nodded at the defense lawyer. Maddie made a face and got up to greet her.

“You wouldn’t be unlucky enough just to stumble on this place,” she asked.

“What is it?” The place was warm, so the detective unbuttoned her jacket.

“It might not be anything,” she said.