All the Dirty Secrets by Marian Lanouette Book Tour and Giveaway :)
All
the Dirty Secrets
A
Jake Carrington Thriller #4
by
Marian Lanouette
Genre:
Mystery, Thriller
Pub
Date: 5/14/19
It’s
a shocking blast from the past when homicide detective Jake
Carrington finds himself investigating the last woman he’d suspect
of murder . . .
Recovering
from a stab wound to the gut, and dealing with the news that his
sister’s killer might beat the system, Lieutenant Jake Carrington
needs some downtime. But that’s cut short by a very sensitive case:
the murder of the police commissioner’s wife. The crime scene—a
dive hotel, complete with provocative, incriminating photos—suggests
the victim was having an affair. But Jake finds that hard to
believe—as hard to believe as the #1 suspect . . .
Jake
hasn’t seen his high school sweetheart, Melinda Mastrianni, since
the day his sister, Eva, died. He’d turned down Eva’s request for
a ride so he could go see Melinda, and the guilt has never left him.
Now Melinda’s a local photographer, mostly shooting weddings and
graduations. Definitely not the kind of pics that led him to her
doorstep. But when Melinda disappears, and more prominent women turn
up dead, Jake will have to navigate through a twisted blackmailing
scheme to find out if the girl he once knew is long gone—or if
she’s a killer’s next target . . .
“Tense
and authentic—a suspenseful page-turner!” --Leo J. Maloney on All
the Pretty Brides
Chapter 1
Sergeant Louie Romanelli donned a
second pair of gloves before he dared touch anything in the
rent-by-the-hour room. Squeaky beds and low moans from the adjoining
rooms bled through the walls, even on a Sunday morning. Someone was
getting it, but not him. He’d been called from home on his day off
as a special favor for Commissioner Todd Blake. Sophia hadn’t been
a happy camper when he told her he had to report in. His wife had
planned a family outing for the day and now he had ruined the whole
thing—yet again. The job is the job, he thought. No, instead he’d get to spend his day
in a diseased, bug-infested room, standing over the half-nude body of
the commissioner’s lovely wife splayed on the bed. He had seen her
only the night before, at a local charity ball she had organized. Her
brilliant blue eyes had been alive then, vibrant, but had now started
to fade as Callie Blake stared up at the ceiling with a vacant death
gaze. Not for the first time, he wondered why this classy lady had
been in this fleabag motel dressed like a hooker. Louie turned, then strolled toward the
door when a car screeched to a stop at the curb. The low murmur of
the crowd that had gathered outside the scene grew louder. A mixture
of pimps, hookers, and local residents with their cell phones at the
ready waited to learn what had happened in room 142. Not that it was
uncommon for a death to occur here. Most residents at the motel were
druggies and many had overdosed inside their rooms. He handed the evidence bag to the
uniform next to him. He’d recognized the captain’s car. Louie
waited for his passenger to step from the car. He swore under his
breath when Commissioner Todd Blake climbed out. Why the hell did
the captain bring him to the crime scene? Blake was a suspect,
for God’s sake. The media vultures hovered outside the police
lines, shouting questions at the captain and Blake. For pity’s
sake, it’s going to be all over the news tonight that the police
commissioner received special treatment. Blake ignored the screaming media as if
they weren’t there. Gwenn Langley, the reporter from Channel 5,
stood off to the side, away from the herd. Gwenn placed her hand on
Blake’s elbow and leaned close to whisper into his ear. From his
place in the doorway of the crime scene, Louie rushed toward the pair
to shelter Blake from her. “Step back or I’ll have you removed
from the scene. Gwenn, show a little respect. This isn’t the time
or the place to approach the commissioner,” Louie warned. “Louie, she’s fine, leave her
alone,” Blake said. Louie stared Langley down before
shifting his gaze to Captain Shamus McGuire, who shrugged at the
unasked question. Louie cleared his throat before he
spoke in a soft voice for Blake’s ears only. “Commissioner, I
can’t let you on the crime scene.” “That’s my wife in there, Sergeant.
I’m going in come hell or high water. Now get the hell out of my
way if you want to keep your job,” Todd shot back. The veins in his
temples looked as if they were about to burst from his skin. Louie was afraid the commissioner would
have a stroke and become his next causality. As if a pack of lions,
the media moved in closer, hoping for a sound bite for tonight’s
news. “Captain…” Louie turned to
Shamus, a plea in his eyes. Commissioner Blake was his boss, but he
couldn’t allow him to muddy up the evidence. If it came to trial,
Blake’s lawyers would have a field day. They’d almost be
guaranteed a dismissal based on compromised evidence. Shamus grasped Blake’s arm, and
whispered something to him. Louie leaned in, trying to hear, but
Blake pinned Louie with a glare. “Callie needs me, Shamus. I have to
go in,” Blake said. “I’ll walk you in…” Louie said,
conceding to his captain’s judgment, but was cut off before he
could finish his warning to Blake. He understood Blake’s need. He’d
want to see the body and crime scene if his wife, Sophia, lay dead in
there instead of Callie Blake. The thought frightened Louie, and he
blessed himself to banish it. Shamus said, “Louie, step aside.
Todd’s going in for a minute, but you have to promise, Todd,
afterward you’ll wait for me in the car.” “Shamus…” “Todd, I can’t compromise the
scene. If you don’t agree to not touch anything, I’ll have to
have an officer escort you from the scene.” Blake’s eyes narrowed as he stared
down Shamus. Louie watched McGuire count down the seconds before
Blake agreed. Shamus led Todd Blake from the curb, up
the path lined with the shouting media, to room 142. When Louie, his
captain, and the commissioner stepped into the crime scene, Louie’s
team stopped what they were doing and came to attention. Blake
approached his dead wife. Louie caught a few exchanging looks and
behind Blake’s back, he waved off the team. At least they have
the grace to drop their eyes, Louie thought. God, this is a
mess. It was painful to watch when Blake dropped to his knees by
Callie’s corpse. Sobs racked his body. “Who could do this to her?”
All
the Pretty Brides
A
Jake Carrington Thriller #3
Homicide
detective Jake Carrington has an engagement that can’t wait—with
a killer.
Haunted
by the murder of his sister, Lieutenant Jake Carrington struggles to
control his personal demons as he stands over the brutalized body of
a young woman found dead on the railroad tracks. The victim
disappeared on July 6th, the fifth woman in as many years to go
missing on that date. The fifth happy bride-to-be. The only one whose
body has turned up.
Soon
the killer is sending personal messages to Jake. They refer to an
unidentified brother he believes Jake hates as much as he does. With
his partner distracted by turmoil at home, Jake is on his own. Drawn
deeper and deeper into a murderous family feud, his mission is to
find out who the killer’s brother is—and stop him before another
innocent woman’s life is cut tragically short.
“Tense
and authentic—a suspenseful page-turner!”
—Leo
J. Maloney
Prologue
August
24
Another
disappointment—why does she continue to deny me? Not once has she
kept her promise. I’ve kept mine. She continues to refuse my terms.
How many times must I make the wedding preparations before there is a
wedding? This one’s like the rest of them. She cries all day and
all night long. What more could she possibly want? We have each
other. She
lies. Tells me she’s not my Ciara. I can see in her eyes that she’s
planning to run away again. Not this time, bitch. You made me a
promise. A promise you will keep one way or another. You will not
humiliate me again. We’re mated for life. That’s what marriage
means. If I can’t have you, no one else will. She
must die. It’s that simple. Though I’ve explained all this to her
time and time again, she doesn’t listen. Not one of them has kept
their promise. Don’t they understand when you commit, there’s no
turning back? Our wedding day has come and gone—five long years
alone. I thought she’d be back by now. Each time I find her, it
turns out to be a cheap copy. No marriage, no children. I’ll give
her one last chance. But deep down in my heart I understand it’s a
useless gesture. She’s not Ciara—Ciara would never cry. My
Ciara’s independent, wild, strong, and beautiful. I
will not…cannot live without her. I must end this charade with the
imposter downstairs and find Ciara. Exhausted,
he pushed himself from the chair and went down the stairs. On the
bottom step, he stopped, stood, listened, and shut down his emotions.
He studied her as he moved closer. For the first time in weeks the
differences glared out at him. A
weak copy of Ciara—how did I miss it? Oh, how she made a fool of
me. Not anymore—she’ll join the others. Calmer,
he walked over to her, unhooked the chains that bound her wrists and
legs. With no fight left in her, she was easy for him to handle. He
dragged her up off the basement floor, spun her around, and spooned
her to his body. He caressed the side of her face with his knife
before pressing the sharp blade to her throat and drawing a fine line
until a trickle of blood appeared. He licked the wound as he brought
his head up to rest on hers. Ciara’s fragrance wafted to him.
Though her hair had been washed in Ciara’s shampoo, her neck
drenched in Ciara’s perfume, this imposter was not his beloved
Ciara.
I’ve
searched for you, Ciara darling, for five long years. How did you
disappear off the face of the earth? Where are you? You bitch! You
humiliated me in front of our families and friends when you left me
stranded at the altar on our wedding day. I waited hours for you to
show up, to explain, but you never came. What an idiot I’d
been…worrying
something
bad had happened to you. God, how I wished it had. Not one word from
you, no explanation, no apology. Not a whisper or trace of you in all
these years.
Your
parents moved away—left me no forwarding address—but I got it
anyway. I’ve traced them through the Internet. It seems you don’t
live with them. My tracers on your social security number, your
credit cards haven’t turned up one clue. I thought I had you once.
You screwed up when your mother’s credit card was used in both her
state and a different state on the same day. I jumped on a plane,
searched the area where the purchases were made, but never sighted
you. Did I just miss you? You’re not working, or if you are, you’re
using a different social security number
and
name. I’ll find you though, you wait and see.
“What
is your real name?” he demanded of the limp woman in his arms.
*
* * *
“It’s…it’s
Nadia. I keep telling you. My name is Nadia,” she said hoarsely.
Broken, she almost couldn’t remember her own name. She hated the
woman named Ciara, a woman she had never even met. “It’s
not Ciara?” “No.”
Nadia knew this was the end. She
sent her prayers, her good-byes and love to Donny, her parents, and
her sister. “Say
good-bye, Nadia.” He ran the knife across her throat, left to
right. After
weeks of torture, she barely felt the final insult.
All
the Hidden Sins
A
Jake Carrington Thriller #2
When
it comes to crime, homicide detective Jake Carrington plays for high
stakes . . .
Assigned a missing
persons case, Lieutenant Jake Carrington investigates a local Mob
boss. The trail goes cold, but the Mafioso isn’t taking any
chances, and soon the heat turns up from another quarter. Turns out
there’s more than one dangerous suspect . . .
Kyra Russell is
drop-dead gorgeous and Jake is only human. But despite their mutual
attraction, Jake’s suspicion deepens when he learns about her
gambling problem—an addiction that cost her both husband and son.
Even more disturbing is Kyra’s day job. She runs a crematorium—and
it’s tied to the Mob. Now Jake will have to navigate a firestorm of
treachery to get to the truth . . .
Where
to begin, Kyra
mused. She sipped her coffee and ignored the burning sensation in her
gut. Her head spun with a dozen answers. “Joe Dillon’s my host at
the casino—I’m in debt way over my head—he made me an offer to
pay off my debt. It’s a chance for a fresh start,” she said, as
she looked deep into Phil’s shadowy eyes. Phil was impossible to
read and that bothered her. She
inhaled, and finished her story. Bile choked her. “Is
this out of the norm for you?” Of
course it is. “Yes.
He gave me two options. Neither appealed to me, both were out of the
question, but I don’t have a choice.” She dropped her head in
defeat. “Then
why are you here?” Her
head jerked up. “Excuse me?” “I
asked, why are you here? It’s a simple question.” His voice
hardened. “I
told you I have no choice.” “Who
said?” “I
understood I had no choice when Joe presented it to me.” “We
all have choices, Kyra. You can choose one of the options Joe
presented to you or walk away and never look back.” “Without
any trouble?” “I
don’t cause trouble for anyone.” A
lie I’m sure.
“Okay.” “I
understand you have a son. It must be hard to work full-time and be a
parent.” He smiled. Though he tried for benevolent, it missed its
mark. “I
don’t want to speak about my son.” Now
she was scared from her head to her toes. It was evident Phil liked
fear. Was that how he controlled people? “Most
times I can’t shut a mother up about her children.” “Trevor
doesn’t come into this, understand?” “Are
you threatening me, Kyra?” He smiled without mirth. “No,”
she whispered. “Good.
If I decide to use you, you’ll have no say in anything. Anything.
You got that?” “Yes.” “Good.
I don’t hurt children. I’m insulted that after spending less than
half an hour with me you believe I do.” Anger peppered his words. “Trevor’s
everything to me. I needed…I had to make sure.” Her voice
quavered. “I
understand. But you
understand,
if we move forward, I own you. Own
you,
Kyra.” She
lowered her head, sat in silence. Her hands trembled. She paused to
gather strength before she replied. “What you mean by ‘own me?’” “Exactly
that. Do you need a dictionary?” He raised his left brow, the
corner of his mouth twisted. “No.
I’m under the impression I’m here for a certain function. What
other things do you have in mind?” She raised her head, making eye
contact again. “You’re
here for a certain thing which might have to occur on more
than one occasion. Do you understand what I’m saying?” “Yes.” “What
are your reasons for accepting Joe’s deal?” She
contemplated before answering. “I want my son back, Phil. I’ll do
anything to get him back.” “How
did you lose him?” “Gambling.”
The flash of anger burned up her neck as her emotions, as always,
showed on her face. It was times like this she wished she was a
brunette. “I’m
sure it was a tough lesson. How did it get out of control?” “I—”
She stopped. I
don’t know isn’t acceptable here. “Well?” “I
let it take control of me. At the time I cared about nothing else.” She’d
never said it aloud. For the first time, she realized the simple
truth in her statement. Her heart—awash in shame—had to deal with
the fact she hadn’t put Trevor first. “You
didn’t care about your son?” A cruel man. He pushed her buttons. “From
the moment I became pregnant, I loved and cared for my son. I can’t
explain it to myself. How can I explain it to you?” “The
answer should be simple. You control your actions. I control mine.” Cruel,
yes.
“I’m aware I made the wrong decisions, harmful decisions,
decisions I have to live with, Phil, not you.” “You’re
annoyed. Good.” “Good?” “Yes,
good. Your answers are honest. Your anger is pointed at you, not at
anyone else. I like that, because that’s where it belongs.” His
words crushed her. Kyra waited for him to continue his attack against
her character. It baffled her when Phil got up and walked to his
desk. He pulled out his chair then sat. Next, he opened a drawer.
“Join me over here, Kyra.”
The
man’s devious. He must be through testing me. She
pushed off her chair, went to his desk. For some reason it hit
her—that was the longest yard of her life. “Why
are you smiling?” Startled. “Nothing.” He
tilted his head at her. His scary eyes stared her down. She
exhaled. “I didn’t realize I was smiling, because I don’t want
to.” Studying
him, she continued. “I have a habit of playing jokes in my head
when I’m under stress. It relaxes me. The walk from the chair to
the desk hit me as the longest yard.” She shrugged. “Do
you understand why you’re here tonight?” “Yes.
You’re assessing me, trying to figure out two things. One.” She
held up her right hand, extended her index finger, tapping it on her
left hand. “If
I’m up for the task. And two, if I’m intelligent enough to
understand what I’m committing to.” “Correct.”
He continued to stare. “What’s
your decision?” He
laughed, taking her off guard. “Why
are you laughing?” Hating herself for asking. “You.” Pain
shot up her arm as she dug her nails into her palm. Fighting for
control, she bit back the sarcastic quip on the tip of her tongue.
Kyra lifted her head and stared at him. Enough
of playing the frail and helpless female—I hate being played. She
needed his answer now. “Your
decision?” “Kyra,
let’s make it clear up front. I’m in charge. I’m always in
charge. I don’t put up with insolence. Understood?” “Yes.” “I
give people my answer when I’m ready to give my answer.
Understood?” “Yes.” He
tapped his pen on the desk. Kyra waited, watching it bounce up and
down. The man’s a
control freak. It’s obvious from the way he’s conducted this
interview. She wondered if he realized how much of himself
he gave away with his motions. He reminded her of her trustees at the
cemetery on one level, the only difference, Phil was a dangerous man. “I’ve
come to a decision. I can’t use you.” “May
I ask why?” “No.” She
squared her shoulders, stood, held out her hand. He took it. Held it. “Thank
you for your time, Phil.” “Aren’t
you the polite one? I like polite employees.” Her
head snapped up. “Excuse me?” He still held her hand. “I
am going to use you, Kyra, because it gives us both what we need. I
needed to see how you’d react when things didn’t go your way.” “I’m
not sure they did.” He
laughed. “Yep, honest.” Getting
down to business, he outlined how the undertaker would show up with a
legitimate cremation, and inside that coffin there’d be two bodies,
not one. The legal cremation’s paperwork covered both their asses
if someone asked any questions. She wasn’t allowed to take notes.
She’d memorize the information until she got home. Once there she’d
open a file on her computer and passcode for her eyes only. It took
Phil an hour to detail everything. She’d be paid the one hundred
thousand in large bills. The
first burn had to happen within days or the deal was off. Oh
my God, I agreed to dispose of a body for the freaking mob. I’m
going to hell for sure. He
seemed surprised that she hadn’t blink when he mentioned that the
same fee applied for each body. “Kyra,
you understand this isn’t a one-time deal?” “I
figured it out over dinner with Joe. Once in, there’s no getting
out,” she stated. “This
concludes our business for tonight.” He stood. “Thanks,
Phil.” She extended her hand again. He
took it, then seemed to make a personal decision. “Kyra, are you
free tomorrow night? I’d like to take you to dinner. It has nothing
to do with the deal.” “I
have a dinner date tomorrow night, but I can cancel it. It’s a
first date.” “No,
don’t cancel. We’ll make it some other time.” “I
don’t have plans for Saturday night if you want to go then instead
of Friday?” “Yes,
Saturday’s fine. I’ll call with the time. I prefer eating around
nine. It’s not too late for you, is it?” “No.” “I’ll
send a car.” “Where
are we going?” The
corner of his lip twitched up at her question. “There are some
great restaurants around here.” “I
live in Wilkesbury. Why don’t I drive up here? That way you don’t
have to worry about getting me home.” His
eyes twinkled. “Don’t plan on staying the night?” “No.” Laughing,
he said, “Fair enough.”
All
the Deadly Lies
A
Jake Carrington Thriller #1
Homicide
detective Jake Carrington takes murder personally…
The
victim was bludgeoned, stripped, and left for dead. Shanna Wagner
deserves justice—and there’s no better cop than Lieutenant Jake
Carrington to find her killer. The brutality of the crime reminds
Jake of his sister’s murder seventeen years ago, and the
remorseless man responsible, now up for parole.
Then
another woman is killed—and Jake goes dangerously close to the
edge. He’ll have to face his personal demons and focus his
formidable skills if he hopes to stop a vicious murderer from
striking again—and hold on to his career, and his life . . .
Chapter
1
“Sergeant,
in my office, please.” Captain Shamus McGuire stood at attention in
his doorway, all six-feet-four inches of him. His steel-gray hair cut
to military precision focused one’s attention on his matching gray
eyes. Homicide
Sergeant Jake Carrington of the Wilkesbury Police Department looked
across his joined desk to his partner, and lifelong friend Louie
Romanelli and shrugged. Louie threw him a questioning look as he
adjusted his tie and started to rise from his chair. “Just
Jake, Louie,” the captain said as he turned into his office. Jake
picked up their latest case file to update the captain and walked in
to join McGuire. “Take
a seat, Jake.” The captain pointed to one of the two
institutional-gray ones in front of his desk. He took off his glasses
and massaged his forehead. Though
Jake preferred to stand, he took the less beat-up seat on the right.
The room was a monument to the man, all spit and polish. Sparse
furnishing with a few awards and medals hung on the walls. Paperwork
in precise piles, a picture of his family, the standard computer and
phone were all he had on his desk. McGuire’s appearance and stance
spoke of his military background and warned his cops he took no crap
from them. It wasn’t like him to stall but that’s exactly what he
was doing at the moment.
McGuire
turned his smoky eyes on him. Jake went on alert. Something was up,
something big. “Captain?”
Instincts had Jake bracing for what came next. “Spaulding’s
coming up for parole again. And this time he’s requesting a DNA
test before he comes before the board.” Jake’s stomach curdled.
McGuire continued, “He’s also requesting the DNA samples from
your sister’s crime scene be tested against his sample.” “What
bullshit, Shamus.” Jake
jumped up, roamed the office. His mouth went dry. Deep down he was
afraid the old samples somehow wouldn’t match and would set Eva’s
killer free. This new development would split his attention. What
could Spaulding gain from this maneuver? To catch a killer, you had
to get inside his head. Did Spaulding assume the system would release
him if he got a new trial? He
looked out the window and studied the downtown area as he ran every
scenario through his mind. This was his town, though imperfect as it
was. He and Eva had been born here of immigrant parents. Its one
hundred thousand residents depended on him and those who had come
before him to protect it. Outside
of his tour of military duty overseas he didn’t venture far from
it, a good city, though down on its luck since all the manufacturing
jobs went overseas. Wilkesbury recently had the distinguished honor
to be named one of the top five saddest rust belt cities. And it’s
the one that was farthest south of the belt. In its glory days,
nothing could touch
Wilkesbury.
Most of the crime in the city came from the twenty percent of the
Wilkesburians living under the national poverty level. The city had
its mix of people, businesses, homeless, shoppers, and kids. More
kids claimed the downtown area since UConn had put a branch right
across the street from the station. Today some of the kids wore
shorts to celebrate the hot weather. Last week it was in the forties.
Today the temperatures hit the seventies. New
England, you gotta love it, he thought. Clearing
his mind, he focused on The Palace Marquee. Next month Johnny Mathis
would be here for two days. He thought it a monument to the citizens
of Wilkesbury when private citizens and businesses raised the money
to save the Palace. It had been closed for eighteen years. The last
performer had been Tony Bennett in 1987. Bennett had opened the newly
restored theater in 2004 and it was still going strong. Jake loved
the old theater. It brought back good memories from his childhood.
The grand old theater done in the tradition of the Met was a step
back in time. Since it had been refurbished it drew some big-name
performers and plays. It’s
about time we got something decent in the downtown area, he
thought. Murders were down in recent years but overall crime
continued. Eva’s death was the reason
he became a cop instead of going on to play pro ball after college. Turning
from the window, he walked back to stand in front of Shamus’s desk.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the last part,” Jake said. “The
sperm gathered at the time of the autopsy was preserved, and with new
technology he has the right to ask for the testing.” “When
will it happen? I want to be there through the whole process from
collection to testing to make sure there aren’t any switch-ups.”
What a way to start a
Monday. “It
hasn’t been granted yet. His lawyer is working on the request,”
McGuire stated. “When
will it happen?” Jake rubbed his temples where a headache was
forming.
“The
board acts in their own time. I’d say toward the end of the month.
I’m behind you, as is the entire department, Jake, to make sure Eva
gets justice.” Jake
paced the room. Seventeen years and it seemed like yesterday. “When
they took him out after the trial, Spaulding whispered to me he’d
done it and enjoyed every moment of it,” Jake said. It was a moment
in time he would never forget. There
were nights after the trial he dreamed up ways of killing Spaulding,
making him suffer as much, if not more, than Eva had. Even today,
when his moral code screamed there was no justification for taking a
life, he understood deep down in his soul that, if given the chance,
he’d remove George Spaulding from the face of this Earth and not
look back. Captain McGuire’s voice floated back into his head. Jake
felt shame standing in front of Shamus with thoughts of murder in his
head. If he did kill, what would separate him from the ones he hunted
every day of his life? “As
a cop, you and I both understand the evidence is what convicts, along
with a smart prosecutor. Spaulding’s lawyer has petitioned the
court. Even if the DNA isn’t a match, it wouldn’t get him an
immediate release. There was other evidence putting him at the crime
scene. And there was an eyewitness who saw him push Eva into his car.
All it will get him is a new trial. If I remember this right, all of
the evidence pointed to him. Have faith, Jake.” “Faith?
Is that what I should tell Eva? Oh wait. I can’t. Because she’s
dead!” The
captain ignored his outburst. “If he goes to trial I promise we’ll
reopen the case and work it along with our current files. But, you
can’t touch the file when we do.” “That’s
bullshit.” “No,
it’s not. If we want the chain of evidence to remain pure you can’t
touch it. I’ll respect and appoint whoever you want to work it,”
McGuire said. “Louie.” “It
can’t be him either.” McGuire held up his hands before Jake could
interrupt him. “He’s too close to you.” “What’s
not to say any of the men in my department aren’t too close to me?” “Whoever
you pick will have a state trooper working with him.” “You
don’t trust your own men?” Aggrieved, Jake threw up his hands. “Do
you want answers?” “Shamus,
I already got my answer. I’ve no doubt Spaulding is guilty,” Jake
said. “Then
this is the best way to handle it. When we catch the killer, it will
ensure a conviction,” Shamus said. Jake
pushed a hand through his hair. The air thinned, cutting off his next
breath. “I need to get out of here.” He
rushed from McGuire’s office. At his desk Jake grabbed his car keys
and ignored Louie’s questions. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
The pit of his stomach burned. What if the DNA didn’t match
Spaulding’s? Damn,
he wanted to punch something. No, not something. He wanted to punch
out Spaulding. I
swear if they release him—I’ll—I’ll kill him. “Jake,
wait up.” Louie Romanelli followed him out of the bullpen. “Not
now.” Jake kept walking. Louie
caught up to him and grabbed his arm as he would a suspect and
twirled him around. If he wanted to, Jake could’ve decked him. They
were evenly matched in height and weight. Instead, he stood rigid.
“Talk to me,” Louie said. “Give
me a couple of hours to pull myself together. We’ll meet at my
house later if you can. In the meantime, work the Wagner case. I’d
hate not to give the Wagners the answers they need.” He didn’t
bother to mention the case was similar to Eva’s that, he too needed
the closure. “Tell
me what’s wrong. Did McGuire fire you?” Louie’s olive
complexion whitened as he asked the question. His dark eyes searched
Jake’s face for an answer. Leave
it to Louie. For the first time in over a half hour, he laughed. “No,
I’m not fired. Spaulding’s up for parole again and has requested
new testing.” He
stared down his friend as Louie processed the information. If it
wasn’t for Louie and his family during the weeks and months that
followed Eva’s death, he wouldn’t be standing here today. How
different we are,
Jake thought. Louie, married for seventeen years to his grade-school
sweetheart, now had three kids. He, on the other hand, liked being
single. Side by side, though they matched each other in height, his
skin tone paled next to Louie’s dark Italian coloring. “Shit.” “Go
back to work. I’ll talk to you later.” Jake
walked away with his head down and his mind spinning out in every
direction. No matter what Shamus said, he owed it to Eva to find the
answers. It’s
my fault she died.
A
self-described tough blonde from Brooklyn, Marian Lanouette
grew up as one of 10 children. As far back as she can remember,
Marian loved to read. She was especially intrigued by the Daily
News crime reports. Tragically, someone she knew was murdered.
The killer was never found. Her Jake Carrington thrillers are
informed by her admiration for police work, her experience in running
a crematorium, and her desire to write books where good prevails,
even in the darkest times. Marian lives in New England with her
husband.
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