school.
Then she disappeared. When Stephen was sixteen and James just eleven, Gabrielle Matthews fell off the face of the earth, and no one had heard from her since.
Sonny closed her laptop and rose to her feet. She dressed with special care, focusing all of her energy on her outward appearance, because inside she was a mess. In an attempt to maintain a cool, professional facade, she opted for a sedate white blouse, black tailored trousers, and a matching jacket loose enough to hide her SIG.
By the time she arrived at James’ house, Paula DeGrassi and a team of CSIs were already there. Sonny felt nauseous. She wasn’t ready to face the monster who was her father again, even if he was stone cold dead, facedown on the bed.
She forced herself to study the man with detached interest, analyzing details like an automaton, unable to look Sergeant DeGrassi in the eye.
The corpse wasn’t the most gruesome sight she’d seen, not by a long shot. It was the most horrifying, however, because Arlen Matthews didn’t appear to have been strangled, shot, or stabbed. If anything, he’d been bludgeoned, and by her own hand.
She leaned forward, holding her breath against the smell of old booze and fresh death, trying to see if he’d sustained any other injuries. Had Arlen Matthews died in his sleep, minutes or hours after she bashed him over the head?
This was bad. Oh, so much worse than getting caught in bed with Ben.
“His son found the body,” DeGrassi said, referring to her notes. “Stephen Matthews. He sounded just like the kid who reported Lisette Bruebaker.”
Sonny cleared her throat. “Really?”
“Yeah. And this guy was a small vessel fisherman, so it fits. That’s why I contacted your special agent in charge.”
Of course. Sonny hadn’t been checking in, so Grant had no idea that Arlen was connected to the SoCal murders. Neither had DeGrassi, until now.
“I asked this kid, Stephen, about the phone call and he acted like he didn’t know what I meant. Then he said yes, he made the call.” She shrugged. “He’s got another brother, James Matthews, age seventeen, who lives here and has yet to be accounted for.”
Sonny’s mind raced with possibilities. If she didn’t come clean right now, James or Stephen could be implicated in Arlen’s death. Last night, she’d washed her drinking glass and worn gloves while searching for clues. Other than the broken lamp, which might go unnoticed in this heap, there would be no trace of her here.
Then again, James would surely tell everyone what she’d done when they found him. Sonny closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists, visualizing the dregs of her career swirling down the toilet.
“What’s that?” DeGrassi asked, nodding to one of the crime scene technicians.
A young man in a white jacket and latex gloves was lifting an expensive-looking bracelet from the top of an open magazine. He froze, letting the jewelry dangle from the tip of his forceps. “It’s been photographed.”
“Put it down. I want to look at it.”
Sonny couldn’t believe her eyes. That bracelet had not been here last night. Absolutely no way, not a chance. She’d searched every inch of the place.
DeGrassi stepped forward, adjusting her glasses and peering down at the pretty, custom-made piece. Sonny came up beside her to do the same.
It was a simple platinum disk on a delicate silver chain. On the surface of the disk, a handful of well-placed sparkles, aquamarine and diamonds by the looks of them, made the crest and swell of a tiny wave.
Sonny’s breath caught in her throat.
“Hmm,” DeGrassi said. “Turn it over.”
On the back, so small as to be almost indiscernible, there was a romantic dedication. The engraved words made a chill run down Sonny’s spine.
TO OLIVIA. LOVE, BEN. FOREVER.
Sonny had withheld a lot of information from DeGrassi, but as staff sergeant of the Homicide Division, she must have known Ben was a suspect in his wife’s murder, and that he was at the station being interrogated by Grant right now. “Give the techs a few minutes to see what else turns up, and you can take this to your S.A.C.”
Sonny managed a brusque nod.
DeGrassi’s sharp gaze narrowed on Sonny from over the tops of her reading glasses, but she didn’t say anything more. Instead, she gestured to the CSI, indicating that he continue collecting evidence, and bagged the item herself.
Needing a breath of fresh air, and a moment to recover her wits, Sonny walked out to the backyard. It was as cluttered with trash and debris as the rest of the house. She was amazed that James could show up anywhere looking clean; she felt dirty after only a few minutes inside the place.
Tapping the toe of her shoe against the concrete patio beneath her feet, she pondered the case, searching desperately for some answers. Unless Arlen had roused in the middle of the night and brought out the bracelet, or in her frantic state of mind she’d missed it, the piece of jewelry had been planted.
Perhaps Sonny hadn’t killed him after all. But who had? James, after she dropped him off at Stephen’s? Stephen, before he called to report the old man’s death? Or Ben, sometime between the orgasms he gave her last night and the awesome sex they’d had this morning?
Flushing at the memory, she shook her head in frustration. She couldn’t vouch for Stephen’s moral character, or blame James for wanting to knock his father off, but she knew in her heart that Ben wasn’t a murderer.
Arlen, on the other hand, had Lisette Bruebaker in his fishing net and Olivia Fortune’s bracelet on top of his dresser. He’d left at least one man dead in Florida. He also had a murky past that included abused women, tortured children, and a misplaced wife.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Sonny frowned down at the cement slab she was standing on. In one corner, using a boy’s irreverent scrawl, James had etched his name and a date.
She counted back the years to Gabrielle Matthews’ disappearance.
“No,” she said, feeling her stomach turn over once again. “Oh, no.”
CHAPTER 16
Ben was taken into the interrogation room against his will, handcuffed and belligerent, barely cooperating with walking. A uniformed officer removed his cuffs and he sat down across from Special Agent Grant, rubbing his wrists. “I did
“I’ll be doing most of the talking,” Grant said with a shrug. He was about ten years older than Ben, but no less intimidating for it. Steely-eyed and svelte, he radiated strength and authority.
Ben hated him with a passion. “I want my lawyer.”
Ignoring him, Grant pushed a few autopsy photos across the surface of the table.
Ben refused to look.
“She was such was a beautiful girl, before. Stayed over at your house a lot, I heard.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have three daughters myself. Some of those slumber parties can get pretty wild.”
Ben maintained his silence, knowing exactly where this was heading.
“Did Lisette and your daughter have pillow fights, Mr. Fortune? Did they tickle each other, play truth or dare, call boys on the phone? Did they sleep in their panties, side by side in the same bed?”
“Fuck you.”
“Carly’s a lovely young woman,” Grant said, switching tactics. “Takes after her mother, doesn’t she?”
Ben’s spine stiffened. “My daughter is here?”
“In interrogation room four, with my associate Special Agent Mitchell.”
Ben studied Grant’s face avidly, marking spots where he’d like to land a few blows. “What do you want?”
“I want you to answer a few questions.”
Ben glanced down at the autopsy photos, against his will. And saw nothing he ever wanted to see again. “Let me talk to Carly,” he said, swallowing his bile.
