Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) (16 page)

Watching the ambulance race away, Brophy crushed out his cigarette on the sidewalk. Concerned about Kincaid’s condition, Cruz had accompanied a couple of other detectives, Logan and McGuire, down to the hospital.

Cruz gave her word she would not interfere with the investigation. More importantly, she assured him that she would relay any relevant information to him.

This killer had to be brought down.

The area had been barricaded by several police cars. Yellow crime-scene tape had been roped around the initial spot.

Uniformed cops were posted all around the museum. Guests to the gala had been turned away. The guests inside weren’t allowed out.

Damn! Damn! Damn!
 He had only been around the corner, sitting in his car…sitting in his fucking car while a young woman was shot dead and another wounded. 
Damn!

“Detective.”

“Got something?” Brophy growled, turning to the uniformed officer.

“Maybe.” The officer pointed to Museum Road. “Have a couple of witnesses who saw an old blue Buick with shaded windows drive off shortly after the shooting. Caught their eye because the car almost hit them coming out of its parking spot. Witness saw a man in a knit cap and sunglasses driving. Cut off a car getting onto Fenway.”

Brophy listened as another van from one of the local television stations rolled up. A local reporter and his cameraman spilled out of a white van.

“Thanks,” he acknowledged. “Ask them nicely to stay put. I’ll want to talk to them.” Then he pointed to the news reporters. “Make sure none of those vultures get in.”

“You got it.” The young cop took the order seriously, walking immediately over to where the van parked.

Brophy crossed back over to where the body lay in a puddle of blood. His gut clenched at the sight of the woman sprawled against the cold, hard asphalt, fallen where she was hit.

Jesus Christ, it was his fault. 
He had been the one to call out the killer. Challenged him. The killer had answered.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He had been so damn confident that once the new will had been exposed, the target would have been removed from Riley Ashcroft’s back.

Who was he dealing with? What killer changed his MO with each kill? It made no sense.

The ME, Thaddeus Szarek, had arrived and had proceeded to look over the victim. The scene was being processed—pictures taken, videos made.

Brophy was already well aware that there wasn’t going to be a lot of forensic evidence. From his initial observation, he had surmised the killer had used a high power rifle.

He looked back over his shoulder. There wasn’t a lot of places the shot could have come from, not from this angle…not the way the building was placed.

The entrance sat back, indented into the museum, most of the time used for large groups. With the way the parking garage was set, it made it impossible to take a shot from the Huntington Avenue side.

He stared across the street, toward Fenway. The shot had to come from there. He looked back at the body. “What do you think, Szarek?”

“At first glance, high power rifle. I will have to do a complete autopsy first, but the bullet went right through the heart. Poor thing hadn’t a chance,” Szarek stated, still kneeling by the body.

“We’ll have to find the bullet for ballistics. Going to be hard in the dark.” He moved over to where the victim lay. Standing like she must have been before the shot was fired, he stared back at the building. “But if I’m right about the projectile of the gun, it should be in the wall behind us.”

Szarek squinted and stood. “Not so sure about that. Where could the shooter get off a shot from at that angle without everyone seeing?”

“Do you think he could have got it off from a car?”

“Without being seen? Doubtful. The whole area was crowded with people.” Szarek shook his head and pointed to the building across the road. “My guess would be a shot from one of those windows.”

“Maybe, but do you remember the Beltway sniper?”

“The guy who killed random people down DC way?”

“Yeah. I’m wondering if maybe our killer used the same technique as the Beltway sniper, where they shot from their car,” Brophy suggested. “Have a witness say that they saw a car speed away in a suspicious manner. I’m thinking that the killer lay in wait over there on the street where he could get a clear shot.”

Looking skeptical, Szarek shrugged. “I guess. I’m not a detective, but wouldn’t that leave a lot of variables to chance?”

Brophy narrowed his eyes in the night. “That’s why I need all the help I can get here, Szarek. I have three different murders. Three different MOs. I know they are connected.”

“Then let me do my job. I’ll tell you how they died. If the murders were done by the same person, then you will have to find the link that connects them.”

Not saying anything else, Brophy set back to work. He had a lot to do before he set off to the hospital.

* * * *

The morning sun eased over the city’s skyline. The streets were empty and calm. Soon, the city would wake. A peaceful Sunday morning.

No one rising would ever imagine the turmoil of the night.

Brophy grimaced. Nothing more could be done at the scene. The last witness had been interviewed. The story seemed to be consistent.

Olivia Edmunds was angry at her cousin. The two had an encounter, which led to Riley Ashcroft leaving the party. Olivia followed and confronted her cousin one last time. The question became who was the shooter after—Olivia, Riley, or both?

From the initial observation, a high power rifle had been the murder weapon. Already the criminologists had combed the area once. One bullet had been found in the wall behind the victim. With the morning light, the team would continue the search for more evidence.

Looking over what the museum’s camera caught, the suspicious car had been the one where the fatal shot was fired. Tinted windows on a late model Buick. Stolen plates.

The driver had taken measures not to be recognized. Beard. Sunglasses. Knitted cap. No hair color. No height. No eye color. All that could be given was the man was Caucasian.

Brophy had spent the last hour going over every detail with Captain Centrello….his very angry captain. Captain Centrello had come down to the scene to inform Brophy that a joint task team was going to be formed, headed by the FBI.

Technically, the three murders were the department’s, but there was more going on besides the killings. At least, that was what the FBI had informed the captain, without sharing any information—which only served to irritated Centrello more.

The mayor wanted the murders solved. The home invasion murders were bad enough. Now, a sniper had killed a prominent member of the Ashcroft family. The high-profile case had all eyes on the department, with pressure to form a joint task force with the FBI.

The FBI hadn’t shared the particulars, but Brophy had his suspicions when he saw Matthew O’Keefe down at the scene. O’Keefe had been with the Organized Crime Unit for the last three years.

Centrello wanted the murders solved…yesterday. Brophy had his orders and had every intention of delivering.

It brought him over to Mass General. From the last report, Kincaid had gotten out of surgery an hour ago. Shot in the shoulder, Kincaid’s wound had not been life threatening, but now Brophy intended to talk to him and the girl.

As he walked down the corridor, he spotted Cruz outside a door. She motioned for him.

“I have Riley waiting for you in here. It is the only place I could arrange for you to talk to her in private. Logan and McGuire have already questioned her,” Cruz stated.

“It’s fine,” he said bluntly—a little too bluntly—as he turned the handle to the door.

“Kincaid is in recovery.”

Brophy nodded and went in.

Riley stood by the window, as if staring out into nothingness. She had changed from her evening apparel into a pair of blue scrubs that the nursing staff must have scrounged up for her.

She was visibly pale; her hair was disheveled. He doubted she had slept.

“Miss Ashcroft.”

Pressing her lips together, she took a moment before she answered. “Detective, I was told you wanted to talk to me. I don’t know what I could add to what I have already told the other detectives…”

Brophy gave her a forced smile and took out his pad and pen. “It won’t take long. I know you have been through a lot, but I’m trying to keep another incident from happening again.”

“And you believe I can stop it?”

“Can you?” he countered, his patience lost. He had no tolerance to be put off. “Enough is enough. Don’t play games with me. I want answers. I want them now.”

She tensed. “You forget that someone is trying to kill 
me
. Don’t you believe I want you to catch whoever it is?”

“I don’t know,” he answered with brutal honesty. He moved closer to her. She took a step back. He believed she would have bolted if he wasn’t blocking the exit.

He pressed on. “Let’s back up. Tell me who was at the party. Did you see anyone leave?”

She shook her head. “I was the one who left…I had to.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure you already know why. My cousin confronted me in the most embarrassing scene.” Hurt and pain resonated in her voice. “She was drunk and said awful…awful things…”

“From what I gather, she accused you of having an affair with her husband.”

Her eyes flared. He had hit a nerve.

“Olivia held on to the past. I made a mistake years ago, but it wasn’t an affair…it was never an affair. Olivia never forgave me.”

“Don’t you think that’s understandable?”

“Think what? That I’m not an innocent victim in all of this?” Her voice cracked. “That I deserve everything that has happened to me? I betrayed my family…betrayed Olivia… I deserve everything that has happened to me?

“It’s ironic, really… Dennis was my fiancé before he dumped me for my cousin. She stole him while I was away traveling with Nana. Three months I was gone… When I came back, they were married.”

“So it was revenge?”

Slowly, she shook her head and confessed in a tired, low voice, “No…no…I never meant to hurt anyone… It was on the anniversary of Daddy’s death. I didn’t want to be alone and it just happened…it was only once.

“I don’t even know how Olivia found out…but when she did, I left Charleston.” She sighed. “I have paid for my sin, Detective. During my time with Nana and Grandfather, I wasn’t allowed at family events if Olivia attended. I wasn’t allowed contact with Dennis in any form. If I didn’t keep to the strict rules in place, I would have been thrown into the streets, penniless.

“I was nothing more than a hired servant.”

Brophy studied her for a minute. Obviously, the girl was overwrought, but surely she realized that someone…or everyone…was stirring the pot with her relationship with her cousin.

Just as assuredly as he recognized that this information also gave Riley motive to cause dissention of her own.

“Why then was Olivia confronting you if what you say is true? I heard there were pictures.”

Closing her eyes, Riley rubbed her forehead as if her head throbbed. “They were nothing,” she assured him. “Dennis asked me to meet him yesterday. He told me that he had already started proceedings for a divorce. He wanted me to know.”

Brophy nodded. He had already seen the pictures…had already talked with the grieving husband. He agreed there wasn’t much to them, but they had served someone’s purpose—angering Olivia enough to cause the confrontation.

“How did you respond to Dennis’s news?”

“He wanted a chance to reconcile…I told him it was over a long time ago. I had moved on.”

“With Kincaid?”

She said nothing.

“Let’s change directions,” Brophy said. “Tell me. Is there any possible way for anyone to have known you would leave by the side entrance?”

“It wasn’t a secret that Nana used that entrance all the time. I did as well. I would imagine it would have been a logical deduction.”

He nodded again and wrote on his pad. A knock on the door disturbed their conversation.

A young, bright-eyed nurse popped her head in. “Miss Ashcroft, Mr. Kincaid is awake and asking for you.”

“I’ll be right there,” Riley assured her and turned back to Brophy. “Is there anything else?”

“Are you certain your uncles were in the room before you left the party?”

“No,” she answered brusquely. “I honestly wasn’t paying attention. I only wanted to leave.”

“You don’t have any idea who wants you dead?”

“Besides my entire family? No. Now, excuse me.”

Brophy stepped out of the way. He wasn’t done talking to her yet. He had more questions, but his main concern was keeping her alive until he could make sense of a senseless situation.

“Miss Ashcroft.” She turned back to him. “You have been assigned a detail. It is obvious your life is in danger. After you visit Kincaid, we can make arrangements for your safety.”