Echoes of Murder (Till Death do us Part Book 2) (4 page)

The chief entered the room using one of the side doors. He glanced around, waved over a few officers. A conversation ensued that included a fair amount of nodding and unnerved faces. Reagan had seen the same look many times before, and she knew what it meant. Something wasn’t right.

Reagan’s mother made a beeline for the chief, her voice booming. “I’m not some cockatoo you can squeeze until I start squackin’, I assure you. I want out of here. A mother has a right to be with her son, and right now, mine’s in need of his.”

The chief flattened his hand in front of him, as if the gesture was enough to keep Reagan’s mother at bay. “Ma’am, step back. I’ll deal with you when I’m finished here, and not before.”

“You’ll
deal
with me now. We all have a right to know how long we’re going to be here.”

Two of the officers gave a knowing nod to the chief and dipped outside. The chief’s fingers flipped up and down like he was a flight attendant giving pre-flight instructions. “Like I said, ma’am, we’ll be addressing everyone momentarily. Please sit down.”

“What’s happening out there?” Sallie demanded. “Those cops who just left, where are they going?”   

The chief sighed, his patience diminishing at an accelerated rate. “I won’t ask you again. Sit down.”

Sallie’s pointer finger jutted out, stabbing the chief in the chest repeatedly to the beat of the words that flowed from her mouth. “I … will …
not …
sit … down.”

The chief looked to his left, said, “Officer Jarrod, take this woman into custody.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Sallie said. “You can’t—”

“Ma’am, I warned you. Several times.”

A timid Officer Jarrod mumbled, “If you could place your hands behind your back,” like she was just going to comply with his request because he was polite about it. When she refused, instead of taking charge of the situation, the officer looked to the chief for support. The chief swore. It wasn’t loud, but it was audible enough for Reagan to hear.

Officer Jarrod looked new. Acted weak. He was in the wrong line of work.  

“I’m not placing my hands anywhere,” Sallie said.

“You’re under arrest,” the chief said. “Don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.”  

“Arrest? I don’t think so.” Sallie attempted to back up. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me!”

The chief seized her wrist, shot a dirty look at Officer Jarrod. “A little help here?”

After several minutes of sparring, a pair of zip ties were secured over Sallie’s wrists. The chief ordered the officer to place her inside the back of a squad car “for now.” As she was escorted out, she passed a familiar face.

A face she wasn’t happy to see.

Detective Dustin Waterhouse lined Reagan up in his sights, the grin on his face swelling with each lengthy stride in her direction. Reagan leaned back, pretended the moment wasn’t happening, that she wasn’t
really
seeing him, that he wasn’t almost standing right in front of her. Except he was.

The last time Reagan saw Dustin a few months earlier, she’d spent the evening trying to explain why they didn’t have a future together, a feeling he neither shared nor tried to comprehend. In fact, he hadn’t accepted her decision at all, instead pressing her for examples, proof, anything to justify her decision to break up with him. He was a logistics guy. She was a “gut instinct” girl. By the time they parted ways that evening, she had ended it, and while the break wasn’t as clean as she’d hoped, she felt the message had been received. It was over. But it was far from over for him, as she would eventually discover.  

Mirroring her height, their bodies lined up perfectly together when she stood to greet him. Dustin reached out, enveloping Reagan in a tight embrace. She responded with a couple of quick pats on the back, followed by a third when he wouldn’t let go. By the fourth pat, she’d managed to pry herself free.

“You get my messages?” he asked.

All seventy something of them? Yes.

She nodded.

“And yet, you couldn’t call me back? Not even one time?”

Reagan wasn’t sure how to answer, so she didn’t.

“What are
you
doing here?” he asked.

“I’m here … well … I
was
here for my brother’s wedding.”

Dustin cocked his head to the side, his shaggy, blond hair falling over one of his eyes. He brushed it away. “So he’s the one in the hospital, and it was his new bride who—”

“Was found dead this morning, yes.”

“And you—”

“Found her. Along with Nathan and her brother.” Reagan gestured to the side. “Dustin, this is Isla’s brother, Evan.”

Up to now, Reagan wasn’t sure whether Dustin had seen Evan’s hand on hers. Judging by the way Dustin changed his stance, she knew he had. Instead of jealousy, he looked relieved to learn who the man sitting next to her was. It was like he’d convinced himself that his ex-girlfriend, the one he still had feelings for, was comforting Nathan’s brother-in-law after his loss and nothing more. No harm there.

The two men acknowledged each other with a nod.

“What’s happening?” Reagan asked. “We’ve been held up in this room for over two hours.”

“I just got here. They’re searching one of the hotel rooms. They think they’ve found something.”

“Something like …?”

“I really can’t say, Reagan. You know that.”

His eyes bored into hers, the same pale, drab shade of gray she remembered. Almost colorless, like she was staring into a hollow abyss.

“Sure you could, you just don’t want to.”

“Might be nothing. Who knows?”

“You were called out for a reason. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Dustin just smiled, relishing the fact that he knew something she didn’t.

“Waterhouse, I need you,” the chief called.

Dustin shot Reagan a wink as he walked away. “You best get comfortable. Looks like it’s going to be a long day.”

The double doors opened again, and this time Reagan rubbernecked to catch a glimpse of the commotion outside. “There are a few cops and several others milling around one of the hotel rooms.”

“Can you see what they’re doing?” Evan replied.

Reagan stretched so far, she almost slid off the seat. This time the view changed, and she felt weak, like there had been a sudden dip in her heart rate.  

“What is it, Reagan? What’s wrong? Can you tell whose room it is?”

Her throat constricted, and all she managed to get out was a hoarse, pasty reply. “I can, Evan. It’s yours.” 

Footsteps, loud and heavy, approached from all directions. The chief was the first to speak. “Evan Everley, we need you to step outside.”

Evan stood, but he didn’t move. “What’s happening in my room?”

“We’ll explain everything in a minute.”

Evan walked toward the door. Reagan followed. Once Evan was outside, Reagan noticed three firearms had been raised, all pointing in his direction.

“We’re going to ask you to put your hands up now,” one of the officers said.

“Why?” Evan asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Hands up, now,” the officer continued.

Reagan spied her mother watching all the action just a few feet away from her seat in the squad car.

Evan raised his hands.

“Reagan, I need you to step away from him,” Dustin said.

“Not until you tell me why.”

Dustin sighed, shifted his focus back to Evan. “We need you to tell us about Dakota Jaynes.”

“Who?” Evan answered.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dustin said. “How do you know her?”

“I don’t know anyone by that name. I swear.”

“Then can you explain how she ended up in your room?”

“What do you mean
ended up in my room
?”

“Just answer the question.”

“How can I? I don’t even know who she is. Why don’t you ask her?”

“We would, but we can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“Dakota Jaynes is dead.”

Dakota Jaynes had been strangled to death by a weapon of opportunity. A cord from the missing lamp on Evan Everley’s nightstand had left two obvious ligature marks on the front of her neck. The lacerations crossed each other, like her attacker had loosened his grip on the cord for a short time to secure better positioning before yanking again, at which time, she met her death.

Detective Dustin Waterhouse knelt down, examined the area around the vic’s neck, noticing something else when he did. Fingerprint marks had left abrasions on the skin around the main wounds. They were dainty and minute. Too small to be a man’s, unless the man was petite.

The murder weapon and its accompanying cord, along with the body and a small handbag containing the vic’s identification, had been stuffed inside the closet in the same room. Aside from the marks on the body, there were no other obvious signs a struggle had taken place, even though he was certain there had been one. But the rest of the room was pristine. Perfect. Even Evan Everley’s toothbrush and toothpaste were aligned next to one another on the bathroom counter.   

Maybe lack of a sign of a struggle was actually a clue. Maybe everything was
too
perfect.

The ME arrived and Dustin shifted his attention back to the wedding guests. They were queried, a task which went nowhere at first. Everyone claimed they had no knowledge of a woman named Dakota Jaynes. Dustin tried something else, provided the weary, frustrated group with a physical description. He explained the vic had long, dark hair, was around five foot seven, and weighed about a hundred ten pounds.

Once again, his efforts yielded nothing.

It wasn’t until he revealed one last detail that the real chatter began. “The vic was found wearing a red dress.”

CeeCee perked up. “Can you describe the dress?”

“One-shoulder, dark, more of a wine than a cherry color. The dress went to her knees.”

“Was it made of chiffon?” another woman asked.

How the hell would I know?

“Something like that.”

This time the group talked over themselves to be heard, their stories blending together. Dakota had been at the wedding, and almost everyone remembered seeing her. As to why she was there, standing unaccompanied, away from the crowd, no one knew. And until now, no one had reason to be suspicious either. Isla’s guests thought Dakota had been invited by the groom’s family, and the same was assumed on the other side.  

While Dustin listened, taking a mental note of everyone’s comments, he couldn’t peel his eyes away from Reagan. She hovered half inside the room, half out, her eyes focused outside, on Evan. She looked angry, like she might cry, and she
never
cried.

Who was Evan to her besides the brother to Nathan’s wife?

A friend?

More?

Earlier he’d passed the guy off as an acquaintance she’d met because of the marriage between Reagan’s brother and Evan’s sister. Now he wasn’t so sure. She’d been holding his hand when he approached her, and she wasn’t a “hand-holding” type of girl. At least, she hadn’t been with him.  

He thought back to the last night they spent together, thought about the moment he fumbled inside his pocket for the black velvet box. Looking back now, he could admit the timing was off. It had been too soon. Not for him, but for her, only he’d realized it too late. Still, he had no regrets, even now. He loved her. And though their relationship hadn’t been long, and most of it had been long distance, he was certain she was the woman for him. 

When the moment arrived on the night of their break-up and he lowered himself on one knee, it was like she’d sensed it was coming, even before he left his chair. He’d never forgotten the look on her face, or the uncomfortable silence that came after he popped the question. He’d never forget the agonizing moments that ticked by while every patron in the restaurant looked on.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hoping she’d say yes.

In the end the only thing that came was a large dose of humiliation. 

Not only had she said no, she said it was over. He consoled his bruised ego by convincing himself that she was just afraid. Everything would be fine once she had time to think about it. She would realize they were right together, and somehow everything would be resolved. The hardest part had been admitting to himself that he was wrong.

He was wrong about it all.  

Questions swirled through Reagan’s mind.

Who was Dakota Jaynes?

And …
what kind of woman attends a wedding without an invitation?

The kind who’s up to no good.

The kind who gets herself killed.

Reagan watched one of the officers escort Evan into the back of a squad car knowing there was little she could do about it. They had probable cause, and she had nothing to prove his innocence. Except one thing. She
had
been in Evan’s room last night.

Several fingers wound around Reagan’s arm. She jerked back. “Let go of me.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dustin asked. “You know Evan’s room is sealed. You need authorization. You know that too.”

“So give it to me. I won’t touch anything. I just want to take a look.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Fine,” he said. “Maybe I can, but I won’t. Not even for you.”

“Why not just be honest about it—you won’t
because
it’s me.”

“Think whatever you want, Reagan. It won’t change anything.”

“Can I at least ask a few questions?”

“Depends,” he said.  

“On what?”  

“The questions.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Doing this to
you
? Oh, that’s rich, Reagan. You give me the cold shoulder for months, and you expect me to stand here and play nice now because you want something?”

He was right. Her intent was in the right place, but after she’d cut him out of her life without what he considered a “solid reason,” he owed her nothing.

Payback time, and he was relishing every last second of it.

She turned without saying another word. She’d find the answers she wanted, but it would have to be another way.

“Three,” he said. 

She stopped, glanced back. “What?”

“Three questions. Best get them asked before I change my mind.”

“Is the victim still here or has she been transported already?”

“She’s here, for a few more minutes. ME’s in there now.”

“Garner?”

Dustin nodded.

Garner was good. Meticulous. Smart. Smarter than she was, and he never, ever made a mistake. Not a single one.

“Has the time of death been established?”

“She’s in full rigor. We know the vic was last seen at the wedding, which started just after six and ended right before seven. Her body was discovered around eleven o’clock this morning.”

“That’s sixteen hours total.” Reagan calculated the numbers in her head. “Since she was in full rigor when she was discovered, time of death had to be between the hours of seven and eleven last night. So you’re looking at a four-hour window.”

“Yep.”

Reagan jogged her memory. Had she seen the lamp on the nightstand when she stopped by Evan’s room the night before? She had. She was sure of it. And that’s not all. The closet door had been open, not closed, the jacket he’d been wearing at the reception dangling on a wooden hanger. Was it possible he had moved things around prior to her arrival?

She considered the timeline. As far as she could recall, Evan remained at the reception the entire night except once when he excused himself for a few minutes. He wasn’t gone long. Ten to fifteen minutes tops.

Enough time to kill somebody.

She pushed the thought out of her mind. She didn’t want to believe it. But she couldn’t deny the possibility either.

When Evan had returned to the reception after his short absence, they danced, and he left again—this time angry with her for the things she’d said. Several minutes later, Nathan came in looking for Isla, and Reagan found herself in Evan’s hotel room.

“I was with Evan last night,” Reagan said. “At the reception, and then again that night, in his room.”

“What were you in his room for?” Dustin asked. “Are the two of you dating?” 

Figures that’s all he cares about at a time like this. 

“The point is, the lamp was still on the nightstand, the closet door was open, and I could see inside. There was no dead woman in there, I can assure you.”

“Maybe he put the lamp back before you came in, stowed the body in the bathroom.”

“He couldn’t have been more relaxed when I saw him,” she said. “If he’d just killed that girl, he’s the calmest murderer I’ve ever seen.”

“When cops pulled Ted Bundy over, he appeared relaxed too. Some sociopaths have that ability, you know?”

“The murders aren’t similar. Not even a little bit. We aren’t looking for a serial, Dustin.”

“You sure?”

She wasn’t
sure
of anything. All kinds of scenarios presented themselves, including one in which Isla killed Dakota, and then in a moment of regret, flung herself off the cliff. In Reagan’s mind, everyone was now a suspect. “When do you expect the autopsy results for Isla?”

“That’s four questions. I said three.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Are you sticking up for the guy because he’s your new boyfriend? You think you can provide an alibi, convince me he’s innocent, and I’ll let him off the hook?”

“I’d never lie for another person, no matter what the circumstances.” 

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“About whether he’s my boyfriend? That isn’t your concern, Dustin. If you’re still bent about what happened between us, I’m sorry. I never returned your calls because there was nothing I could have said to make things better. I’m as sure about my decision now as I was then. I’d like to say it would be nice to be friends, but you’ll always want more, and I can’t ever give you that.”