The Marine's Last Defence

The house was clear. His backup should be here in a few minutes. Time to get some information from his witness and get himself back on this case. He headed downstairs and Dallas greeted him halfway up. “So you got loose. Overanxious?”

He hooked his hand in the leash and spent a couple of minutes coaxing the pup to go with him.

“I need to ask you a couple of questions now.” He entered the kitchen, but his witness was no longer there. Gone, along with the coat and suitcase.

He’d fallen for her act, hook, line and sinker.

Chapter Four

“Dark hair, amethyst eyes, about five-three or -four. Looks a lot like the victim from the back. Nothing like her up close. Probably about twenty-five.” If Jake went into detail about the heart shape of her face, the petite bone structure or how he’d noticed the way her nose curved at the tip and had five distinct freckles, his partner would think him nuts. Or might believe Jake had let her go deliberately.

As it was, the razing hadn’t ceased since Detective Elton Owens had shown up to continue the investigation. More precisely, the murder investigation that didn’t involve Jake. Owens stood there, checking his notes, treating Jake like a suspect. Or worse, like a naive rookie.

“You say you saw her at the diner this morning? And you didn’t think to mention this when you returned with coffee?”

“Come on, Owens. There was no way to know she was the victim’s house sitter. You’d still be waiting on Missing Persons or the chip information about the dog if I hadn’t followed the kids here.” And Animal Control, if it hadn’t been for the kids. He knew he was acting defensively and was just tired enough not to care.

Owens ignored him and asked the crime scene investigator some questions.

Jake knew he’d been a good police officer over the past year. He’d accepted being the low man on the totem pole in Homicide, accepting the grunt work, not caring how many hours he worked without pay. He didn’t have a life outside of the job and didn’t want one. Working over Christmas had kept him from a face-to-face meeting with his parents, siblings and other relatives.

Being around his family made him uncomfortable. Being grilled by his partner was almost as bad.

His family had never asked if the accusations his ex-wife had made were true, but they’d also never said the words were lies. Maybe they interpreted his embarrassment for being blind to his wife’s indiscretions, somehow making him the guilty party. After a while, it just didn’t matter. It was easier to let sleeping dogs lie and avoid confrontations about his disastrous marriage. He was moving past his first wife and the war.

Thing about it—he was past his ex. And that was the hardest part for his parents to understand. Sad, but whatever had been there in the beginning of his marriage had slipped away after spending months and thousands of miles apart over the past six years.

When the position opened in Dallas—three hours from his hometown in east Texas—he jumped at it. He needed a new start and it was easier that way. A year later and he was working in Homicide. Exactly where he wanted to be.

Now his partner assumed he’d made mistakes instead of decisions. He’d like someone—anyone—to trust his judgment. No one really had since he’d left the corps. Well, he couldn’t actually blame them. He’d let the witness escape. Bree had turned on the waterworks and he’d been suckered in, big-time.

Bamboozled. That’s right, Craig, teased the devil sitting on his shoulder.

Owens removed the picture from the frame. “Definitely our victim. Looks like we need to find her parents to notify. The dog sitter, this Bree woman, you say she seemed more frightened that someone was in the house than that Mrs. Richardson had been murdered.”

“I didn’t say that, Owens. She was visibly upset about both instances.” I think.

“When you get back to the station, you can spend the day looking through mug shots. We’ll be taking a hard look at Richardson’s finances, see if we can find payment to this mysterious dog sitter. Right now, she’s our only lead.” He closed the notebook, returning it to his jacket pocket. “You sure she was a dog sitter?”

“Joey knew her and seemed to trust her.”

“No last name on the kid or any of the other kids?” he asked, but barely paused. “I’ll get a sketch artist to the diner and an officer moving house to house. Shouldn’t be too hard to locate this chick. Oh, and the captain wants to see you when you return.”

“I figured.”

Owens left the house, laughing as he stood on the porch talking to the first responding officer—as luck would have it—the same guy who had told him to set a good example for the kids at the park.

“It’ll get easier, you know,” Shirley, the crime scene analyst, interrupted his self-deprecation.

He stopped himself from asking what she referred to by compressing his lips together. He knew the answer, just didn’t want to have the conversation.

“The ribbing goes away. This is how they treat all the new guys.”

“Find anything?” He’d rather hear about the case—even if he wasn’t officially a part of the investigation.

“It will all be in my report. I’d rather not take wild guesses.”

“Hey, this is Jake Craig, the detective who’s not officially on the case. Can’t you give me the unofficial version? It won’t go any further. Promise.” He flashed her a smile, hoping it did the trick. Blatant flirting never hurt.

“Okay. It looks like she was killed at the park. Only a drop of blood in the kitchen and no real struggle other than in the living room.”

“Any fingerprints? The dog sitter said the victim kept things clean and lived alone.”

“The table does appear to have been shattered today. Very few of the pieces were ground deeply into the carpet. The prints left around the house are fresh and easy to find. We’ll rule out the victim’s easily enough.”

“So it was wiped clean?”

“I don’t think so. I agree with the missing dog sitter. I believe the victim did like things clean and took care of it almost daily.” His confusion must have appeared on his face since Shirley continued. “Look around you. The owner of this house had a black dog and white carpet. Either the dog didn’t live inside, or someone was meticulous about cleaning.”

“Got it. What about the footprints in the backyard?” he asked as the analyst gathered her gear. “Anything there?”

Jake stuck his hands in his pockets. He caught a glimpse of his tattered appearance in the mirror and pushed his shoulders back, standing tall. His mother had taught him he looked defeated when he slouched. He wouldn’t let this situation defeat him.

The marines corrected the high school self-consciousness of being six inches taller than everyone else around him. But his first week out of uniform, faced with a divorce, living with his parents and not having a future had his mother badgering him to stand up straight on more than one occasion.

“With the layer of snow and ice, it’s impossible to gather anything. Let’s just say the little bit of evidence I’ve collected won’t be the strongest lead for solving this homicide.” She slipped into her coat.

“Did you catch what the medical examiner surmised was the cause of death?” Definitely strangulation in his opinion. He’d seen the same bloodred eyes on a marine killed by a local militant.

“This isn’t official, mind you, but the M.E. noted the subconjunctival hemorrhages before they moved the body.” With the last of her winter wear in place, she lifted her cases and flashed him a smile. “In layman terms, she was strangled.”

He followed her to the front door and held the outer one open, lowering his voice. “Sounds premeditated if they made it look like it happened while walking her dog and then came back here to cook themselves breakfast.”

“Came back is right. They estimated her TOD sometime between eight and eleven last night.”

Premeditated and yet the death wasn’t violent like a lovers’ quarrel. The guy had probably strangled her while she was walking the dog.

Heartless? Had they left the pup to freeze or not killed the dog because they liked animals? Premeditation bugged him. It didn’t fit. The murderer seemed to be waiting around for something—or somebody—after the murder. Had the dog sitter taken them by surprise or had they been lying in wait?

Exactly who had she been running from when he drove up and why had she run when he was upstairs?

“Shirley?” He caught up with her on the front walk. “I need a favor.” Jake handed her his business card. “Can you send the results from the fingerprint search to me? Specifically the one you lifted from the kitchen drawer. That’s my cell.”

“Sure, but I thought Owens said—”

“Yeah, the favor is you’re not going to tell him I know.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem. So you think we’ll find a match.” Shirley stashed his card in her pocket.