In This Town. Beth Andrews
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had followed the rules.
“Bertrand is from the state attorney general’s office,” Taylor said, linking his hands together on top of the desk. “He asked us to call you all together for this meeting.”
Asked. Demanded. Walker gave a mental shrug. As long as he got the result he wanted—a jump start on his investigation—he wouldn’t quibble with the chief’s word choice.
“Is that so?” Mrs. Mott asked, scrutinizing him as if there was more going on in her head than which skirt would best showcase that top-notch ass of hers. But then she blinked and her expression turned sultry again. “And why would a detective from such a grand and lofty state office be interested in the five of us?”
“Things like conflict of interest, mishandling of cases, corruption, misconduct and, of course, murder always interest the state.”
The blonde Sullivan slid to the edge of her seat, her knees pressed together. “What are you talking about?” She turned to Captain Sullivan. “What is he talking about?”
The captain opened her mouth but Taylor held up his hand.
“There have been several complaints made against Assistant Chief Sullivan and me,” Taylor said as calmly as if he was discussing the score of last night’s Red Sox game. Either he had that much confidence the charges were unfounded or he put up one hell of a front. “Bertrand is here to launch a formal investigation into those allegations.”
The blonde’s eyes widened and Walker wondered if they were going to pop out of her pretty head and roll across the floor. She leaped to her feet. Walker stood as well, his hand hovering over his gun.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sullivan said wearily, “that’s hardly necessary. Look at her—” She waved a hand in her sister’s direction. “Does she really look violent?”
“Don’t let the angel face fool you,” York told Walker. “If she ever gets her hands on a crowbar, you’d better watch out.”
“Not helping,” Nora Sullivan said as she dug into her purse. She pulled out a cell phone.
“What are you doing?” Captain Sullivan asked.
Nora pressed a button, held the phone to her ear. “Calling Uncle Kenny. You need legal representation in order to fight these charges.” She met Walker’s eyes, lifted her chin. “These bogus, inflammatory charges.”
That’s right. She was an attorney, worked for her uncle who had, at one point, been the county’s D.A. Tangled web and all that. Christ but this investigation was going to be a pain in his ass.
But at least he wouldn’t be bored.
“It’s an investigation,” Captain Sullivan said, taking the phone from her sister and shutting it off. “And Ross and I are scheduled to meet with an attorney from the union this afternoon.” She touched the blonde’s arm. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”
“You’re in trouble,” Nora said, her voice thick.
Walker hoped she didn’t let loose with the waterworks. Crying was one of the many ways women manipulated men. Growing up, his sisters often used tears to get what they wanted from their father and, later, him.
It was Walker’s own damn fault such a low-down, rotten, dirty trick still managed to work on him.
Captain Sullivan shook her head. “The truth will come out. Isn’t that what you always say?”
The blonde glanced over her shoulder at York, who tugged her back to her seat.
But not before Walker noticed how Nora blanched, the color leaking out of her face.
Seemed Tori Mott wasn’t the only Sullivan woman with secrets.
“Is that why you dragged me away from work?” Mrs. Mott asked. “So you could tell us you’re getting your hand slapped?”
“It’s more than a hand slap,” the blonde said heatedly. “This is serious, Tori.”
“Ah, but Tori’s never serious,” Captain Sullivan said. “Isn’t that right?”
Mrs. Mott studied her nails. “Why should I be? You’re serious enough for both of us.”
“We asked you here,” Taylor said, obviously having dealt with these three enough times to know when to intervene before things got out of hand, “because the toxicology reports on Dale York came back.”
Mrs. Mott frowned. “It’s been what…two months? The autopsy was done the day after he died.”
Taylor stood and rounded his desk, handing the report Walker had given him earlier to Nora. “Toxicology reports take anywhere from six to eight weeks to complete.”
“His heart gave out,” Mrs. Mott said. “It was fitting, though I’d sort of hoped he would suffer more before kicking it. Either way, it was no big loss to humanity.” She glanced at York, her mouth a thin line. “No offense.”
York flicked his green gaze at her. There was no love lost between them, that was for sure. Something to take into account.
Nora held the report out, her hand trembling. “This can’t be right.”
Taylor sat on the edge of his immaculate desk. “It’s right. The coroner was wrong. A heart attack wasn’t what killed Dale.”
“So what did?” the younger York asked.
“Cyanide.”
“Cyanide?” Mrs. Mott repeated, snatching the report from Nora. “That makes no sense.”
Walker crossed his arms, wished he could take off his suit jacket, loosen his tie. “It makes perfect sense. Mr. York was poisoned. Besides being here to look into the issues regarding the chief and assistant chief, I’m also in charge of Mr. York’s murder case.”
Letting that sink in, Walker let his gaze shift from one person to the next. “And I can’t help but wonder if the person who killed him is in this room.”
CHAPTER THREE
FEAR TURNED TORI’S blood to ice, tightened her throat. Through the roaring in her head she could barely make out Layne’s gruff—and no doubt, pithy—reaction to the detective’s words. Nora’s indignant cry. Bertrand’s rumbling response. Then they were all talking, Layne letting Bertrand know he couldn’t intimidate them, Nora threatening legal action, Griffin trying to calm Nora down. But it was all muted, as if Tori heard it through a filter. Only one thought filled her head, demanded her full attention.
Someone had murdered Dale.
The nightmare that had started at the beginning of summer when Ross’s niece drunkenly stumbled upon their mother’s remains wasn’t over. It was getting worse. With the news of the true cause of Dale’s death, talk about Tori’s family would only grow. Once again, the Sullivans would be the subject of rumors and speculation. Of suspicions and doubts.
She could handle it, she assured herself, as could Layne—hadn’t they endured it their entire lives? But Nora didn’t deserve to have her name dragged through the mud. And Brandon…God…her son was only twelve. Still so much a child despite a recent growth spurt and a bad attitude that rivaled any teenager’s. He shouldn’t have to be subjected to the nasty gossip, the whispered innuendos. She had to protect him. Had to get him out of Mystic Point.
The back of her neck prickled with unease and she raised her eyes to the man towering over her, his gaze discerning, his mouth unsmiling. Dale had been killed and this man—an outsider who knew nothing of them, of what they’d been through—wanted to pin the blame on one of them.
Anger, denial, flowed through her, caused the mask she wore as easily as a second skin to slip. Only for a moment, but she must’ve given her true thoughts away because in his eyes, she saw a flicker of triumph. As if he’d somehow won their silent battle