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“I just bet they were,” Ash muttered.
Kelly glared at him.
Jake’s brow arched. “What we need to do is make sure you can refile this case. Are we going to be able to do that anytime soon?”
Kelly’s chin came up. “Ash was just enumerating the problems we’re going to have with the evidence and witnesses.”
Jake turned to Ash. “What problems?”
“As I started to explain to Kelly, the case rested on Carlson’s confession to the burglary, and fiber evidence on his clothes. With the clothes out, all we have is the jewelry. He could claim the necklaces were given to him. We need to connect him with the murder. Over the passage of time, witnesses have left the area and if we don’t have the evidence in storage, then I doubt we can uncover anything new.”
Jake studied Ash. “We all understand the problems, Detective. What we need is a new pair of eyes to view the evidence. But we also need you to do so quickly. I can only take so much heat.”
Ash understood. Jake was between a rock and a hard place, and he didn’t much care for it. He wasn’t the only one.
Ash leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He reviewed the file Kelly had given him.
“So you’ve been given my case.”
Ash glanced up into Lee’s hardened face. The scowl the older man wore was enough to frighten anyone with a lick of sense or guilt. At six foot, two-hundred-and-fifty pounds, Ralph Lee looked as if he could take down any suspect and beat him into a pulp with his ham-sized fists. It didn’t matter that the detective was fifty. He was still in top shape, with a steely gaze that had been known to bring more than one suspect to his knees.
“You through testifying in your case in Amarillo?” Ash asked.
“The man took the plea bargain the D.A.’s office offered.”
“I thought you were going to go on vacation,” Ash replied.
“I heard about the Carlson case and decided to come back. You’ve been assigned the case?”
“Yeah, Jenkins gave it to me.”
Lee’s expression hardened. “I’ll talk to him.” The older man marched into the captain’s office. Twenty minutes later, Lee walked out of the office. “I’m going to take my vacation. If you have any questions, you just run it by the captain. It seems he’s got all the answers.”
Ash glanced at the captain’s door. It was open and Ralph made sure he’d been heard.
Oh, things were going to hell in a handbasket.
Kelly settled down in her bed and tucked the blanket under her chin. It was an unusually chilly night in Houston, the damp cold seeping into her bones. Ash had always teased her about being a wimp when it came to cold. When he had been beside her in bed, she never had a problem with cold. It was like sleeping next to a furnace.
“What’s the matter with you, Whalen, thinking like that?” she grumbled out loud to the empty room.
It didn’t bode well for her if, in twenty-four hours of working with Ash, she was remembering how it felt to be in bed with him.
Not in her wildest dreams had she thought the cops would assign the case to Ash. He really must have made someone mad. She ought to check it out.
Who would have thought a week ago that she’d be facing this political hot potato and have to deal with her ex.
As she stared into the dark, she wondered if she would survive this case? There were wounds that had been inflicted that had never healed, issues that Kelly had never wanted to deal with. That was the trouble with issues—they always managed to crop up at the most inconvenient time. She didn’t think Ash was anxious to revisit the old wounds, either; nor did he seem pleased to be working this case. Well, if they came to an understanding to leave the past in the past, then maybe they could work together on this case.
That was a plan. She hoped Ash would go along with it. But then again, when had Ash ever made things easy?
Chapter 2
Ash glanced around Honey’s Hideout. The seedy bar, with the uneven floor, chipped tables and grimy walls probably had failed the last four or five health inspections. Of course, the clientele at the bar wasn’t interested in food or eating. The liquor this joint served would probably kill any germs.
Sunlight had a hard time penetrating the cloudy windows, but Ash spotted Steve Carlson at the end of the bar, nursing a beer. The man’s expression didn’t look like one of victory or enjoyment, but rather like a dog that had been kicked one too many times.
Ash had lucked out that Carlson was here at his old hangout. After five years in prison, Steve Carlson’s first trip out of his apartment, he had come to this dive—not the grocery store or a job placement office, but this dump. Some of HPD’s best business came from here.
Ash slid onto the stool next the man.
“I’m been looking for you, Carlson,” Ash began. He pulled out his badge and flashed it at Carlson.
The other man’s pinched features hardened. “What do you want?” he demanded. “I’ve been out of prison less than a week and done nothing wrong.” Carlson was a slight man, in his early thirties, five foot ten, thick glasses and thinning hair. He didn’t seem strong enough to have butchered Cathy Reed with a saber.
“You want to discuss this in front of an audience—” Ash glanced at the bartender “—or you want to talk in private?” Ash asked, his voice pitched low.
Carlson’s eyes went to the bartender, who eyed them, and around the nearly empty bar. “Private.”
Ash motioned to a table in the corner of the room. Once they were seated, Carlson demanded, “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about Catherine Reed’s murder.”
“Go away.”
Ash shrugged. “Hey, I thought you might want to help clear your name.”
Carlson’s harsh laugh bounced around the room. “Sure, that’s what cops do, try to prove the suspect innocent.” He took a swallow of his beer. “If you think I’m going to say anything to you after what you cops did to me, then you’re crazier than my last cell mate.”
Ash leaned forward. “Think about it, Carlson. There’s going to be another trial because of who the victim was. Both Catherine Reed’s husband and parents are powers in this city, in this state. They’re not going to let this go. They’ve already been yammering at the D.A. about the situation.” With each word, Ash watched the other man’s face close down.
“So?”
“So you want a repeat of the first trial?”
Carlson’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you talk to my lawyer?”
Ash leaned back in his chair. “Hey, I got no problem with that. I was just wondering why a pro like you would stoop to murder? I didn’t think guys with your talent would hack a women to death.”
“Too bad that thought didn’t occur to that woman D.A. at my first trial.”
“Well, your hands were torn up.”
“Changing a flat will do that.”
Ash bit back his irritation. “So you saying you didn’t do it?”
Carlson glared. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Ash sat back, considering him. “Makes sense to me.”
“Yeah, tell it to the D.A.” Carlson swallowed the rest of his beer.
“All right.”
Carlson went still, his eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”
The man responded to the lure Ash had put out. “Well, Catherine Reed is still dead and someone needs to be tried. I thought that maybe you’d be interested in helping me catch the real killer.”
Carlson laughed. “Who hit you in the head?”
Ash shrugged. “You’re right, Carlson. It is farfetched for me to believe that you want someone else to pay for that murder. Besides, I don’t believe you were ever charged on the burglary. I think the D.A. needs to do that immediately. We’re getting grief about you walking around. Of course if you help, those charges can go away. But if you don’t want to help…” Ash stood.
Carlson’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait.”
Pausing, Ash looked at Carlson.
“What do you want to say to me?” Carlson asked, fingering his glass.
Ash sat and leaned forward. “After reviewing the case, I don’t think you killed Catherine Reed.”
He nodded. “You’re damn straight.”
“My problem is, if you didn’t do it, I need to find out who did.”
“So find him.”
“That’s why I’m here. I want you to recount that night to me. Maybe you’ve got the key and don’t know it.”
Carlson stared at his empty glass. “I should have my lawyer here.”
“Fine.” Ash pushed away from the table. “We’re going to refile on this case soon and if I don’t have someone else, you’re it.”
Carlson knuckled his glass. “What the hell. I broke in the house to rob them. I saw her necklace the week before when I worked a society party, parking cars. I discovered who they were and where they lived. I worked the charity fund-raiser they were at that night. After I parked their car, I cut out and went to their house. She didn’t have the necklace in her jewelry box, so I looked for a safe. Found it in the library. I’m good with safes and it was a piece of cake to break into it. I took a couple of necklaces and a ring.”
A rush of excitement flooded Ash. “So no one was there when you broke into the house?”
“No. I heard them drive up. The party wasn’t supposed to be over until ten. It was nine when the car pulled into the driveway. I heard yelling and cut out. I steal, but don’t murder.”
Carlson’s reasoning sounded firm. Ash knew that thieves rarely changed their modus operandi. When they chose a victim, many professional thieves didn’t carry any sort of weapon with them.
Carlson shook his head. “But as I was leaving, I knocked over a plant in the library. I didn’t have time to set it upright. Someone else did that lady. It wasn’t me.”
“What about the murder weapon? Did you see it?”
Carlson’s eyes dropped to the table. “I’ve got a thing for weapons like that. I considered taking it. Took it down from the wall, but I noticed the engraving on the blade. I couldn’t fence anything like that, so I left it. But in my hurry, I didn’t hang it back on the wall.”
There was something about Carlson’s story that rang true. “Okay, I believe you.”
The look of surprise on Carlson’s face made Ash want to laugh.
“You do?”
“Houston PD isn’t after you, Carlson. We want who killed Mrs. Reed.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“I’ll want to keep in contact with you in case any other questions come up.” Ash handed Carlson his business card. “When you get a job, let me know where I can get in contact with you.”
Carlson nodded.
Ash stood and walked out of the bar. Carlson sounded innocent to him. But he had discovered that the Reeds were fighting when they returned home.
It was a new lead.
Kelly packed up the papers she needed to take home with her to review. This day had been a little better than the day the Texas Supreme Court overturned the Carlson conviction but not by much. She had a headache, her feet hurt from standing in court most of the day, and if she had to listen to one more complaint—one more society matron telling her what an injustice had been perpetrated on the state—she might run screaming from the room.
She’d had to get out of her office before anyone else could protest or ask her to do something or tell her what else had gone wrong.
Leaning down to grab her purse, she heard the door to her office open. “Rats,” she mumbled.
When Kelly stood up, Ash filled the doorway. His expression didn’t bode well for what he had to say. Her plans for escape vanished like smoke.
“I’m warning you,” Kelly quickly told him, holding up her right forefinger, “if you’re going to give me bad news, don’t.”
“Have a bad day?” He looked too good for her peace of mind. He had on jeans, a white shirt and an old sport coat that she’d bought him. Her heart jerked in reaction.
“You really don’t want to hear about it, Ash.” She shrugged her purse over her shoulder, grabbed her briefcase and started out of her office.
He followed her. “Then you’re certainly not going to want to hear about what I’ve come up with in the Carlson case.”
She stopped beside her secretary’s desk in the outer office, her head bowed. She didn’t want to hear the doom he was sure to deliver, but she couldn’t avoid it. That had always been Ash’s complaint—that she couldn’t ignore problems.
“I don’t want to know about it right now,” she muttered, surprising herself and no doubt her ex. She marched out of the office into the hall.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, following her.
His question surprised and annoyed her. She pushed the elevator button and glared at him. “I don’t know. Breakfast, maybe. Why?”
The doors to the elevator opened and they moved inside.
“Still not taking care of yourself?”
She glared at him.
“What you need, Ms. A.D.A., is a meal. You still like stuffed crabs?” His expression was smug, as if he knew a secret that no one else did. And he did. She was tempted not to answer, but her stomach growled. “Yes.”
“Then let’s go get some of Sal’s stuffed crabs and fettuccine Alfredo.”
