“We’ve got a team on Cameron Wilde,” Chief Quarrel said as he strode into Bennett’s office. “Just like you asked. Hell, I figured it couldn’t be a bad thing. The guy should even thank us. I mean, the killer stole his car. Could mean he’s next on the victim list.”
“Our killer was just supposed to like women with dark hair,” Bennett said as he tried to reason out this damn case. “If he’s a true serial…hunting to quench some desire that he feels…or a rage that’s directed at a woman who physically looks that way…then why the hell is the councilman dead? Shouldn’t the killer have hesitated a bit? I mean, if he only goes after women, then he seriously changed up his pattern.”
“Not if it was just a crime of opportunity,” the chief argued. “That’s what he pretty much told you when he called Ivy, right? That the councilman got in his way…”
And I can’t help but wonder…has anyone else ever gotten in the killer’s way? Bennett’s fingers flew over the keyboard. And finally—finally—he got access to the records that he needed. His gaze scanned over the notes from the first officer on scene.
“Uh, Detective Morgan?”
“He was the one who found the body,” Bennett said as he quickly scanned the material on the screen.
“Excuse me?” The chief advanced and the floor creaked beneath his feet.
Bennett didn’t spare him a glance. “According to this report, when Senator DuLane committed suicide, two other people were in the house—his son Hugh and Hugh’s best friend, Cameron Wilde.”
He put a gun in his mouth. Cameron had said those words so coldly.
“The way he talked when I had him in interrogation, I suspected that Cameron had found the body, and he did.” It was right there in the report. Hugh had gone out for a swim. And Cameron had been the one inside the house. He’d been the one to rush into the Senator’s bedroom and find him sprawled on the ground.
“The senator’s case?” Now the chief was leaning over him to stare at the screen, too. “Why are you digging that back up now? Is it because of what Hugh said last night?”
“Not Hugh.” He was outside. “Cameron Wilde.” He clicked the mouse and opened photos taken from the scene of the senator’s death. “Look, he had blood on his clothes…” He saw the clothes right there. Pictures of them. They’d been bagged and tagged for evidence. His eyes narrowed as he read about that analysis.
“Well, yes, of course there was blood on him.” The chief sounded aggrieved now. “He tried to revive the guy at first. That’s what he told the officers. You think I don’t remember this case? It’s not every day a man like DuLane eats his gun.”
Did he eat it?
“Although why the hell Cameron tried to revive him is beyond me,” Chief Quarrel said gruffly. “The senator was missing half of his damn head.”
That picture was there, too. Horrifying. Gory. A picture of the senator…with the gun still cradled in his hand.
Only…Is that right? If he’d fired the gun, wouldn’t it have fallen from his fingers when the bullet slammed into his head? At impact, he should have lost control of his hand, not continued gripping the weapon, even in death.
At the very least, when the senator fell to the floor, the gun should have flown from his hand. Not still been held so conveniently there.
Bennett tapped on the keyboard again and went right back to reading the report about Cameron’s blood stained clothes and—“Gunshot residue.”
“Dammit, man, focus on this case!” The chief snarled, his patience obviously gone. “We don’t need to waste time in the past just because some—”
Bennett whirled his chair toward him. “Ivy said that sometimes cold cases just need a fresh pair of eyes.”
“That sounds like her,” the chief muttered.
Bennett pulled up the picture of the senator’s body. “The gun shouldn’t still be in his hand.” The odds of that—too low. “And why was gunshot residue on Cameron’s shirt?”
“He…he might have just brushed against the weapon. Or against the senator’s hand or—”
“Or maybe he fired the weapon.”
The chief stepped back. “You’re saying Cameron Wilde killed the senator?”
Bennett surged to his feet. “It was the way he acted in interrogation. All wrong. Just…too cold. He didn’t even flinch when he saw the picture of Shelly’s body.”
“Having a strong stomach doesn’t make a man a killer!”
No, but having gunshot residue on his clothes…being in the same house with the senator…being—
“Everyone knew the senator was spiraling out of control.” Chief Quarrel’s voice was even rougher now. “His suicide was no surprise. I would think you, of all people, would have been glad that justice was served.”
It hadn’t been justice. Not even close. “Everyone thought he killed himself…so no one looked deep enough into the case.”
Not even Ivy? Or her grandfather? But maybe…maybe her father’s death had hurt her too much. His life and his death. So she had worked other cases, but never his.