Romantic Thriller: Only Time Will Tell – A Romantic Suspense and Romantic Mystery Book: (Thriller Romance, Suspense, Mystery Romance, Suspense Romance) (3 page)

“I’ll be there and I’ll bring Weston, he’s still with me.” She glanced shyly at him.

“Sure, he needs to learn how we operate. Thank you, Chelsea,” He hung up abruptly.

“That was Pierce and we’ve got to go, they’ve identified the victim and we have to go see her mother.”

“All right, I’ll go get my clothes and then we’ll go solve the case.”

As he left the room, she remembered what Cara had said about finding a man to cure her sleepless nights. Was this about to happen?

Chapter Three

Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets. ~ Arthur Miller

The roads were slightly more congested but since the address was within a five mile radius they did not take long to find the place. They pulled into a suburban neighborhood where Ashlee Thompson lived for her entire life. It was quiet and seemed to be family-oriented as there were strollers on some porches and swings in several yards.

The rain stopped for a moment as they pulled up at the Thompson residence. It was a modest bungalow compared to the rest, with a green lawn behind a white picket fence.

Chelsea had done some background check of the Thompsons. Alexis never had a real home until she met and married David and they had been together for nearly thirty years until he passed away four months ago. Then for her to lose her daughter was tragic. Now she was all alone.

As Chelsea eased out of the car, Dean asked, “How should we handle this? – I have never had to tell anyone that their child has been murdered.”

“Well, it is never easy talking to them, and we tend to word it so it does not seem as if their death was all that horrific. However, let’s take it gently and see how it goes. This woman has had so much loss in her life.”

They went up the walkway lined both sides with evenly cut shrubs. Apparently Mrs. Thompson was on the look-out for their arrival. She opened the door immediately. Her blue eyes were puffy and her cheeks slightly red. She appeared far from well and that could be easily understood. She had just lost her only daughter.

“Hello, Mrs. Thompson, I am Detective Chelsea Madden and this is Detective Dean Weston. May we come in?”

They stepped into an immaculately kept house with everything in its place. Mrs. Thompson motioned them toward two comfortable and stylish olive green arm chairs.

“We are sorry about the death of your daughter,” Chelsea said. She noticed how the old lady winced on hearing that.

She continued. “I can assure you that we are doing all we can to bring to justice the perpetrator of this crime. This is why we need to speak to you. Sorry we couldn’t wait until later…but time is of the essence.”

The old lady nodded.

“Right now we are not sure if your daughter knew her attacker or if he was a total stranger. So we are trying to get a list of all her friends and acquaintances. This is one of the reasons why we wanted to talk to you. Maybe your daughter said something to you or you might know something that can help us.” Chelsea finished and looked expectantly at Mrs. Thompson.

Mrs. Thompson struggled to maintain her composure. She looked at the laughing pictures of her daughter on the mantel piece and sighed heavily.

“Ashlee used to be so outgoing,” she began. “Very involved in the community as she believed in trying to make the world a better place. But after the passing of her father, she became more reserved. She would not talk to me about anything after that. We were not very close, although I tried to be there if she ever needed me. Then after she injured her ankle and the doctor told her she could no longer play soccer for the university, she seemed to become a workaholic.

She picked up extra hours at work, lengthened her volunteer hours and attended classes. She never seemed to be able to sit still and she barely came home, just to sleep and change her clothes, it would seem like,”

“What type of injury did you daughter have to keep her from playing football?”

“Multiple sprains and this last one had been a fracture to her fibula. It kept her in a cast for nearly two months and she just got out of it three weeks ago. I told her she should not be running, but she did not listen. I should have been paying more attention to her!”

“Mrs. Thompson this is not your fault and it is important for you to know that,” Chelsea said. She waited until Mrs. Thompson was a little calmer. “So your daughter was on a routine then? She always went on her runs at the same time each day?”

“More or less. She was so stubborn, just like her father. And now they’re both gone. I should have been more of a mother to her. I should have been watching my daughter better. Maybe if I had she would still be alive.” She started sobbing.

Chelsea handed her a tissue from a nearby box and waited for the tears to subside.

“Mrs. Thompson, believe me, you could not have prevented this. The person who killed your daughter, he is the one. Now was your daughter seeing anyone that you might know?”

Mrs. Thompson nodded. “A young man named Austin Rodriquez. They have been dating for a year or so now.”

“Did they ever fight?”

“God no! They seemed to get on very well. Her father approved of the relationship and gave them his blessing. He said he could never have chosen a better man for his daughter. They were planning to get married sometime soon. After her dad passed away they became even closer.”

“Do you know where we would be able to find him?”

“At work. He works as an EMT for the University Medical Center. I don’t know his hours. I don’t even know his address or phone number.”

“It is all right,” Chelsea assured her. “We have his name and that’s good enough. Now, do you know if Ashlee had any enemies? Someone who did not like her, maybe?”

“Not that I know of. Ashlee got on well with everyone. If she was having problems, she did not tell me.”

Pausing for a moment, Chelsea asked, “Would it be all right if we take a look at her room. There might be something in there that can help us.”

“If you think so,” she replied, getting up. She was unsteady at first, but managed to balance herself and led them down the hall.

The room was somewhat untidy, yet organized, with books and stacks of paper all about. A football jersey was hanging on the back of a chair, and clothes were protruding from a half-shut closet door. A picture of a young man was displayed prominently in her bed head. Obviously, this must be Austin. She studied him carefully. He looked harmless, but one never knew what went on in people’s minds. He was on their list for a visit.

Chelsea remembered her teenage years and wondered, if like her Ashlee knew how to hide things in plain sight. She began to observe things more closely. She wondered if Ashlee kept a diary, but if she did she certainly would not tell her mother. There was no sign of a computer anywhere. That was strange since Ashlee was a student.

“Does your daughter have a computer?” She asked.

Mrs. Thompson walked over to the bookshelf. There was a drawer that blended in perfectly and there was her laptop. “Would you mind if I looked at it?”

“Not at all.”

She powered it up and it brought her directly to her homepage. There was no request for a password, perhaps because she hid it so well. Chelsea saw nothing out of the ordinary when she opened up her browsing history. Then she noticed that she was still logged in to a popular social media site. A simple click revealed a list of her friends, places she would hang out, conversations and many pictures. Her entire life was right there for all to see.

Chelsea began to run through the messages. The majority came from her boyfriend and a few were from other friends. The conversations were simple enough, but then there was one that stood out. It was from Jeanine Groves and it was not friendly at all.

Chelsea turned towards Mrs. Thompson. “Do you know anyone named Jeanine Groves?”

“Yes I do. She was dating Austin before Ashlee came along and for quite some time after they broke up she kept on harassing Austin because she wanted him back. Do you think she might have something to do with Ashlee’s death?”

“That we’ll have to find out. And we’re going to take the computer with us. It might give us some more clues.”

“Fine. Take whatever will help you find my daughter’s killer.” She was on the verge of tears again.

“Hey, Chelsea, look at this,” Dean called from where he had been looking through the books and papers scattered about.

He was holding stack of papers which he handed to her.

Skimming the first one, she realized it was an unsigned love note. Was it written by her boyfriend or was there someone else? She decided to also take the note to the station. They could compare it with anything written by Austin.

“Well, I think we have everything we need for the moment, Mrs. Thompson.” Then her eye caught a picture of Ashlee and her father standing together. Ashlee as wearing a low cut blouse and there was a gold locket hanging around her neck. It looked like the part of the locket she had found at the murder scene.

“Did you daughter wear that locket every day?”

“Yes she did. It was a gift from her father several years back. Why do you ask?”

“Near to where we found her, there was a part of a locket looking just like the one in the picture and we were not sure if it belonged to her.”

“Then it’s hers alright. Please find whoever did this to my baby girl. They took her away too soon.” The tears ran down her face unchecked.

“We will, Mrs. Thompson,” Chelsea said, trying to reassure her in her grief. “We will do everything we possibly can to find that person and bring him to justice, I promise you.”

“Thank you,” she said between sobs.

On their way to the station, Chelsea let Dean drive while she mulled over all she had seen and Mrs. Thompson’s grief. She wondered if people realized how fragile life was and that you could be here today and gone tomorrow. The gift of life was so precious we should nurture it and not have it snuffed out wantonly.

She remembered how as a child she never thought she could lose her parents. She thought they were indestructible, that they would live on forever. But everything changed that morning when she found their bodies. She was wrong. Bad things did happen to good people and there seemed to be no explanation for that. To make matters worse, some of the bad people escaped every attempt to bring them to justice. To reduce the chances of this happening was why she decided to become a police officer so that fewer people would be left without answers, even as she was. She only hoped she could supply them with answers instead of their loved one’s death remaining shrouded in mystery and a source of constant torment.

Dean broke into her thoughts by commenting, “Things like these bring back memories of your own situation and it makes you more determined than ever to get justice.”

He was very perceptive, but she said nothing about that.

“I became a cop so I could help people,” she said evenly. “I never had answers for my parents’ death, but I tell myself that if I do my job well others will have them. Not knowing who did it and why consumes you and it can drive you crazy. Most persons who have had loved ones murdered always wonder if there was something they could have done differently to prevent it from happening. Sometimes the burden of guilt becomes almost unbearable.

“How come you have never asked anyone for help? I know you want answers just as much as anyone else does.”

They stopped at a red light and her eyes met his. “You certainly know how to ask probing questions. And I must say you have got me to say things I have kept locked up inside and never said to anyone before. I can’t help wondering why you are so curious. Is there some ulterior motive behind all this?

“Don’t worry. I am this way with everyone I work with so don’t think it is just you. Plus I’m a student of human nature. I like to know what makes people tick. When you understand others then your relationship with them will be better.”

As an afterthought he added, “Maybe if you were more open with other people you might find that it is not so bad after all.” He was smiling as he spoke.

This man had the knack of making her angry and at the same time drawing her out of her shell. “I just don’t like talking about myself or anything that has ever happened because I don’t want anyone’s pity. Plus, I don’t want to seem weak.”

“Keeping silent does not make you seem weak, rather when you put up walls it makes people wonder what you are hiding. Further-more, how are you supposed to have a relationship with anyone if you are afraid to do so?”

“Who said I was afraid?” she asked sharply.

“Don’t lie. I can bet you are afraid of getting too close to anyone in case you lose them. But we all have to go sometime, so we might as well enjoy the fleeting moments of happiness we get, rather than hold it at bay.”

She resorted to silence to end the analysis of her life. Dean’s comments were so true but she was not ready to admit it, least of all to him. Her initial anger was dissipating as she pondered what he had just said. It was so ironic that her job was based on knowing people - their intentions and motivation for doing the things they did. Yet here she was hiding from the realities of her own life and a past that still haunted her.

He was also right about her avoidance of intimate relationships because she was afraid of losing the persons she loved, even as she had lost her parents. Would she be able to get over that and learn to trust again? She glanced quickly across at Dean. Was he offering her a way out? Was this a chance to test herself and see if she could really escape her past? Yet she couldn’t help wondering where all this was leading. Obviously, he was attracted to her and she could say the same about him. But was she ready for any kind of personal involvement, and with someone from work?

Somewhere, deep within her lurked a feeling of unease or fear, maybe. She could not quite say what it was and why. Maybe, it was her cautious nature acting up as usual. Was she being paranoid or simply afraid? Perhaps, it was time to find out.

Taking a deep breath, she found herself saying, “You might have a point. However, it is going to take me a while learning how to share my thoughts and feelings with others.”

“Well, for starters, it is a small step in the right direction.”