Best Kept Secrets Page 2

  “I know what the murder weapon was,” Morgan said.

  “A hammer.” Donnie completed her thought.

  “Just like Amy Dufresne.”

  Then he nodded. “It does remind me of Amy Dufresne.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Morgan wanted the confirmation. “It seems too farfetched, but the similarities can’t be coincidental, can they?”

  “And Sara Evans, too,” he said.

  Morgan exhaled. At last she had connected with Donnie on this. After ten years as a beat cop in downtown Indy, Donald James had received a promotion to detective in 2001. Several years later, he was assigned a murder case that made slasher films seem like a night at the symphony. Amy Dufresne was bludgeoned to death, but not by a hammer. Or at least forensics couldn’t prove what the murder weapon was. The Indianapolis woman was also left with mangled hands. She was so brutally beaten that her swollen features made her unrecognizable. Worse than that, she had remained alive for four days before succumbing to dehydration.

  Determined to help with the unsolved Amy Dufresne investigation, Morgan had transferred from Bloomington to Indianapolis Metro Homicide. She saw a loose connection between her friend Fay and Amy, but the killer didn’t leave a trace or a hammer in Amy’s apartment. The case went cold. Five years later, another victim was found with similar injuries.

  Sara Evans had sustained similar, life-ending blows to her face. A singer in a band, she worked late nights at downtown bars. Both her hands had been crushed during the attack. Because of the impact sites on her skin, and the size and depth of the blows, the murder weapon was determined to be a Stanley wooden-handled, twenty-four-ounce hammer. It too, was never found.

  Back then, Donnie had told Morgan that he believed Amy’s and Sara’s attackers were the same person. However, the DA had a strong case against the thug who was arrested for Sara’s murder and was sentenced for it. Morgan suspected he wasn’t the killer, but the man had a long rap sheet of rapes and violent behavior that played against him.

  “That case was closed, Morgan,” he reminded her. “Both cases are closed.”

  With Sara’s killer behind bars and no connection to Amy, no investigator in the state wanted to link the two cases. Morgan and Donnie were alone in their belief that the man found guilty was not the killer.

  Morgan faced Donnie and leaned back on the edge of her desk. “I know that hammers are used to kill people all the time. But in both those cases, not just any hammer was used. It was a Stanley twenty-four-ounce hammer.”

  Donnie toyed with a pen, rolling it between his fingers. “Every household has a hammer.”

  “Right.” Morgan looked down at her black, high-heeled shoes. “It’s an essential tool in every home. And yet—”

  “Yet there were no hammers on the site at Hallie Marks’s house,” Donnie said.

  On Morgan’s order, forensics searched every drawer, cabinet, and container in the house. “It was almost as if the missing hammer is a deliberate omission.”

  Donnie looked up from his cushioned, black-leather desk chair. “A clue,” he agreed. He set the pen down and spun it like a top. “It’s bugging you, isn’t it?”

  “God yes.”

  “I know. Me too.” Donnie touched his cell phone with the index finger of his right hand.

  “We scoured that house, Donnie. There wasn’t a scrap. I’ll bet the fingerprinting lab doesn’t have shit either.”

  “We’ll find that out tomorrow.”

  Morgan turned to the window. “Everything we know about this murderer is in the killing. That’s his process. For one thing, the victim is always a woman.”

  “It was a seduction.” Donnie leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  “A setup, that’s for sure,” she agreed.

  “And …”

  “It’s always the hands and face,” they said in unison.

  Morgan shook her head. “Specifically the hands. But why? Crushing someone’s hands isn’t meant to kill them.”

  Donnie explained. “I don’t know.”

  They’d had this conversation several times before. He didn’t want the cases to be linked because of the work involved. When Donnie took his promotion at the end of the year, he didn’t want to leave any loose ends. He was trying to make a clean transition between the two jobs. But Morgan couldn’t stand the idea of losing him. He was her mentor. He’d taught her most of what she knew.

  Donnie sat up, holding his cell phone, poised and ready. “Okay. My turn,” he said, and dialed.

  “You’re calling Rebecca?”

  Smiling, he said, “Yes, sweetie pie.”

  “Thank you.” Morgan put her hands together as if in prayer. They waited for the call to connect as Morgan whispered “thank you” again. For a moment, she basked in the pleasure of knowing that Donnie agreed with her. It had been months.

  Donnie shook his head. Voice mail picked up, and he started to leave a message. “Rebecca, I’m Detective James. We met briefly the other day. Detective Jewell and I need to discuss Ms. Marks with you. I can be reached at—”

  “Detective?”

  On hearing Rebecca’s voice, Morgan perked up.

  “Yes. Good afternoon.” Donnie put the call on speakerphone.

  “Oh, not really.” She sniffed.

  “I’m so sorry if I caught you at a bad time.” To Morgan, he mouthed, “She’s crying.”

  “Ha.” Rebecca gave a shrill half-laugh. Then they heard her blow her nose. “Please tell me you’ve found the killer.”

  “Not yet. We’re working on it,” Donnie explained.

  “I haven’t been home in weeks. And now … I can’t go back there.”

  “My partner and I have been trying to reach you. We need information about your fiancé to continue our investigation. Is there a time we can get together and talk, Rebecca? The sooner the better.” Donnie rolled a pen between his fingers.

  “I … can’t. I … This is too hard.”

  Donnie spoke to her in a soothing, deep, mellow tone. “You loved her. I understand. I’d like to help. This is an important case, Rebecca. May we come by this evening to talk in person?”

  A few seconds passed. Impatient, Morgan crossed her arms over her chest.

  Donnie rolled the pen, letting it hover over a notepad. “Rebecca?”

  “This has ruined my life, Detective. Ruined everything,” she cried.

  “We need to meet with you tonight,” Donnie stressed while nodding to Morgan.

  “You’ll find the person who did this?”

  “We will certainly try.”

  Between sobs, Rebecca finally agreed. “Okay.”

  “Thank you, Rebecca. Thank you,” he said.

  Rebecca gave him the address.

  CHAPTER 3

  MORGAN

  Homes on the near-north side of Indy were sturdy, handsome, and covered in ivy. Rebecca’s sister lived in a brick colonial with an ancient oak tree in the front yard and red fall mums blooming around the front stoop. On the way there, Morgan’s car engine made loud, knocking noises.

  The 1998 Toyota Corolla had clocked over five hundred thousand miles from road trips to her parents’ in Bloomington, Indiana. As Morgan pulled into the long driveway, the car ground to a halt, then sputtered and moaned.

  “Why did I let you drive?” Stuffed into the passenger seat with his arms clutched to his chest, Donnie swept his head from side to side.

  “You let me drive because your wife needed the SUV.”

  “I don’t know much about cars.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “But it may be time for a new one.”

  Morgan parked the vehicle. “Don’t say that. I’ll take it into the shop again.” As she turned off the engine, a small explosion jolted the car. Steam erupted from around the edges of the hood.

  Morgan leaped out. “No, no, no. No, Thomas. No.”

  Donnie had always driven because Morgan’s car was often in the shop. And he’d never heard her address Thomas by name. Donnie squeezed t
hrough the car door. “Did I hear that right? Did you actually give your car a name?”

  “Yes.” Morgan stood in front of the vehicle with her hands on her head. Too upset to be embarrassed about it, she explained, “His name is Thomas Toyota.” Soothing the car’s wounds with two hands, she air-patted Thomas like a dog, knowing it was too hot to touch. “Oh, Thomas,” she cried.

  Donnie chuckled. “Sometimes, Mo, you are such a kid.”

  “Don’t die, Thomas.” Morgan fanned the steam away from Thomas’s hood.

  Donnie shook his head and started up the walkway toward the house. “Just like you’re still in high school,” Donnie jested. “Come on. We’ll call a tow truck after the interview.”

  Concerned for her old friend, Morgan looked back at Thomas and then followed Donnie past bright red mums up to the house. “I got this car in high school.”

  “That was a long time ago.” From his heart, Donnie said, “You need a new car, Mo.”

  A paunchy, middle-aged man with graying hair at his temples answered the door. “Evening, Detectives,” he said in a hushed voice. He trundled outside, and furtively looking back inside the house, closed the door.

  Donnie thrust his hand toward the man. “Detective James.”

  He gave Donnie’s hand a limp, gratuitous shake. “Davis Hearst, no relationship to the famous Hearsts.” He said it as an automatic disclaimer and a part of his given name. “Look, Alex would kill me if she saw me talking to you.”

  “Alex?” Morgan asked.

  “My wife. Rebecca’s sister. She runs the show. With me, with her sister, she’s trying to keep this whole murder business quiet.”

  Morgan introduced herself, then asked, “Is Alex protecting Rebecca?”

  “Reba didn’t kill Hallie, if that’s what you’re here to find out. Reba doesn’t have a cruel bone in her body. She’s a basket case. We’re always taking care of her.”

  “Why’s that?” Donnie crossed his arms, towering over the man.

  “Reba’s in denial about that relationship. She and Hallie were always on-again, off-again. It was normal for Hallie to be out with friends when Reba returned from work trips. Sometimes Reba stayed here for weeks in a row.”

  “But she owns the house in Danville,” Morgan said.

  “She’d practically given it to Hallie. Alex and I don’t approve. She gave everything to that woman.” Davis slicked back the few hairs he had on top of his head.

  “Did Alex approve of their relationship?” Morgan asked.

  Davis turned toward her. “Of course she did. She’s her sister.”

  “Tell us about it,” Morgan encouraged him.

  Nervous, Davis looked back at the house. “I don’t tell secrets, Detectives, but I want this to end for the kids’ sake and for my family’s sake.”

  Donnie cocked his head to the side while fixing Davis with a pointed look. “Sure, sure, we get it,” he said.

  “What I’ve heard is that Hallie held this relationship over Reba—Rebecca—like it was her ticket to ride. She threatened Reba with it, used it against her. Told her repeatedly that she’d leave her for this other … person.”

  Morgan looked up at Donnie and elbowed him. “Was Hallie seeing another woman?” she asked Davis.

  “Of course she was. She didn’t take the relationship that seriously,” Davis said.

  Morgan stood taller. “Mr. Hearst, right now, we have a very short list of suspects. Do you know who Hallie was dating? Can you give us a name?”

  “Truthfully, I don’t know who Hallie’s latest conquest was. She flitted from bed to bed.”

  “Does Rebecca know?” Donnie asked.

  “She might.” Davis moved past them and opened the heavy oak door. In front of him, three children, two boys and a girl, stampeded down the stairs. The tallest boy yelled, “I’m first!”

  “Not if I get there first!”

  “No, me!”

  “It’s my game!”

  The man ignored the children as they pushed past him through the narrow hallway toward the back of the house. “Rebecca’s in the kitchen,” he said.

  A woman’s voice rose above the shouting. “Where are you going? Allen! Lexi! Aaron! Stop running!”

  Davis ushered them into the kitchen with an outstretched arm and then disappeared through another door. The kids talked all at once, each voicing a different complaint. Morgan and Donnie heard the fray before entering the low-lit kitchen.

  The children stood in a semicircle around a woman with long, light-brown hair, playing referee and mother. “Aaron goes first. It’s his turn. Yes, Lexi, you get a turn too. Allen, you’re in charge. Be fair. Play fair.”

  After grumbling, the children ran off again, the little girl following the two boys.

  Their mother introduced herself with an apology. “Sorry about the kids. I’m Alex, Rebecca’s sister.”

  Morgan shook her hand. Then she noticed Rebecca Harrington sitting at a wood-block table in the center of the underlit ultramodern kitchen. She looked up when Alex introduced herself. There were dark half-moons under her bloodshot eyes. Hunched over, she dragged out her stool, looking sleep-deprived and tortured. Though it had been a warm fall day, she wore a heavy, gray knee-length sweater wrapped around her square-shaped body. She clasped it tightly and asked Alex, “Is it okay if we talk in here?”

  “That’s fine. Whatever you need, sweetie.” Alex hugged Rebecca, then rested her hands on her shoulders. “Do you want me to stay?”

  “I’ll be okay, thanks.”

  Alex nodded and left the room.

  “Have a seat, please.” Rebecca waved at the table and sat down heavily. She’d lost her fight against gravity, and like a big, floppy pillow, she balanced on the stool.

  Donnie stayed near the doorway, giving Morgan the lead to question Rebecca. Morgan sat herself down on a rustic wooden stool close to Rebecca. “We need to discuss Hallie. Anything you can tell us will move the investigation along.”

  “I don’t think I can help you.” Rebecca stared into a coffee cup, slicking back her short brown hair with one hand.

  Sensitive to Rebecca’s emotional state, Morgan asked carefully, “Hallie had a secret life, didn’t she? Receipts from her wallet indicate that she’d been frequenting several bars in Indianapolis.”

  Rebecca nodded, biting her lip.

  Morgan looked down at Rebecca’s left hand. She wore a green malachite ring that matched the ring on Hallie’s pinky finger. Rebecca wore hers on the ring finger, like an engagement or wedding band. “Were you two engaged?” She asked.

  Rebecca’s mouth screwed up tight. She nodded.

  The question was hard to ask. “Are you aware of any relationships she may have had on the side?”

  Rebecca sniffed, but didn’t falter when she answered, “You know how relationships are, Detective. We loved each other. Some days, we were made for each other. Others, we went about our business like two strangers shopping at a Walmart. On those days, we’d pass in the aisle and barely acknowledge each other.”

  Never having been in a lasting relationship herself, Morgan wondered how they could have been engaged if that was the case. She placed her elbows on the counter, mirroring Rebecca.

  Donnie shifted his weight. “You’re a reporter, is that right?”

  “I’m a midwestern news correspondent for Channel 6 News in Indy. They send me to locations in the four-state region. In a good month, I’m home for two or three weeks. Lately, I’ve been working more than that.”

  “Tell us about Hallie.”

  Rebecca fingered the malachite ring with her right hand. “What do you want to know? She was an interior designer. She kept all her catalogues and samples at her office in Indianapolis. That’s where she made her magic happen. People from all over the state knew about her.”

  “What about her friends? Did she have a group she liked to hang out with?” Morgan kept her voice low. The noise of the kids playing a video game came from the other room. She watched Rebecca’s f
acial expressions.

  “No. She didn’t have a group of friends.” Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted, but her gaze remained on the ring. “She was always busy. Hallie was planning our wedding.”

  “When she went to these bars, did she go to meet someone there?” Morgan asked.

  “She met with her clients sometimes. Or I was with her. I don’t think she went out as much as you’re implying.”

  “When was the wedding going to be?”

  Rebecca’s cheeks reddened. “Next year. In June.” She buried her face in her hands.

  Morgan turned to make eye contact with Donnie. He nodded his okay, which meant Morgan had free rein to continue as she felt necessary. She took a breath before delving deeper. “First, where were you in the days before Hallie’s murder?”

  “Ohio. I have flight receipts.”

  “Hallie wasn’t as devoted to you as you were to her, was she, Rebecca? I see that it bothered you.”

  “I loved her,” Rebecca whimpered.

  “But you hated what she did to you. It hurt, didn’t it? Hallie screwed around and that angered you.”

  Rebecca peered over her fingertips at Morgan. “What?”

  “Did you really go on a trip? I think you could have been lurking around Danville and following Hallie. I think you could have been stalking her and when you found her with someone else, you killed her.”

  Color washed from Rebecca’s face.

  Donnie cleared his throat.

  “My crew walked me to my car in the airport parking lot on Friday night,” Rebecca said.

  Morgan leaned in. “Do you understand that, right now, you were the closest person to Hallie? We can’t find her killer unless you cooperate with us.”

  “I want you to find her killer.” Rebecca’s hands floated in front of her face. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “How can you think that I…”

  Alex poked her head into the room. “Reba, darling, you okay?”

  Rebecca shook her head.

  Alex rushed to Rebecca’s side, put a hand on her back, and massaged her sister’s shoulders. “This has been awful, just awful,” she said to Morgan. “Hallie’s family came into town this morning. They treated my sister so badly. They didn’t accept the relationship.”