Detective Daddy Page 2

  She had no control over which cases she reran. She merely delivered on her assignments. Her position was cut-and-dried. She couldn’t do favors for anyone if she wanted to.

  Ash’s accusation that she would have done that kind of favor for Tim Meeks was preposterous. Insulting even.

  As if she’d jeopardize her job for the scrawny, preppy A.D.A. She’d gone out with him a time or two after Ash had done what every female in the department had warned her that he would do—wooed her, won her and made her fall in love with him, then dumped her.

  The women were right about his legendary charm, too. He’d eased away so cleanly and smoothly that it had hardly hurt—at first.

  “So what was that about?” Vanessa asked, twirling her chair around. “I’ve never seen Ash lose his cool like that. What did you do to him, girl?”

  Rachel arched her neck and massaged a knotted muscle there. Then she shook her head and chose her words carefully. “He’s upset about a case. He had some questions about the DNA.” She hoped the hint that she and Ash were discussing technical DNA questions would quash Vanessa’s interest. She was right.

  “Oh, okay. I thought you might have managed to make our local Casanova angry. So far Ashanova is batting a thousand. He’s the only man I’ve ever dated that I still like, even after he broke up with me.”

  Rachel regarded Vanessa. She was dark-haired, pretty and had a fair share of men hanging around. But Ash was in his early thirties while Vanessa couldn’t be more than twenty-five. What had he seen in her? Okay, besides the obvious. “How’d he break up with you?”

  Vanessa studied her nails. “You know, I’m not sure I can explain it. It just sort of happened.”

  Rachel nodded. It had just sort of happened with her, too. And Vanessa was right. It was impossible to explain. Somehow, he’d gone from sexy heat to casual cool, and she’d emerged without a scratch—well, except for the baby.

  She ran her palm across her tiny baby bump, unable to keep a smile from her face. She was absolutely thrilled about the baby. She was fine with raising it alone. Women did that all the time, and her mother had already been saying for years that she’d be chief babysitter for her future grandkids. And Rachel wasn’t worried about providing for her child because she had an extremely well-paying job.

  Speaking of which—she needed to get back to it. She moved her mouse to wake her computer. But instead of picking up where she’d left off the day before with a case involving three suspects, all of whom had left their DNA at the crime scene, she went to the search function and pulled up the Christmas Eve Murders case. She paged down to the summary report.

  She’d heard of the case, of course. Everyone had. The Kendalls had been prominent on the social and business scenes in St Louis. The tragic story of their murders was embedded into the history of the city.

  She skimmed the summary. Now a captain, Charles Hammond had been the lead investigator on the case. Her “uncle” Charlie had been her dad’s best friend and fishing buddy until her father was killed in the line of duty.

  She continued reading. An ex-con named Richard Campbell had been arrested skulking around the upscale neighborhood of Hortense Place where the Kendalls lived, on that Christmas Eve twenty years before.

  In a statement to the press, then-Detective Hammond had reported that Campbell had two previous convictions for burglary. He’d been out on bail when the murders occurred. Based on Campbell’s rap sheet and the preliminary investigation, Hammond said the murders appeared to be impulsive rather than premeditated, perhaps a robbery gone bad.

  An eyewitness placed Campbell close to the Kendall estate that evening, carrying jewelry and rare coins, later found to be from nearby houses he’d broken into.

  Rachel read another couple of paragraphs but the only additional bit of evidence mentioned was that Campbell had scratches on his right arm and Marie Kendall had tissue and blood under her fingernails.

  Of course Campbell swore he was innocent and also that the scratches had happened as he had crawled out the window of the last house he’d burglarized.

  “Didn’t anyone check the window for blood?” she muttered. She’d need to pull the case file to check on that, and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be granted access to it, not now.

  She took another tiny bite of cracker as she double-checked the date of the murders. She shook her head. Twenty years ago DNA profiling was in its infancy—newborn in fact. The vast storehouse of specific identification information that Rachel took for granted hadn’t even been dreamed of when the Kendalls were killed.

  But damning circumstantial evidence plus public outrage over the cold-blooded murder of a prominent St. Louis couple had resulted in a quick conviction. Campbell had received two consecutive life sentences.

  Dear God. Rachel sat back in her chair, her hand over her mouth. Now, DNA had exonerated Rick Campbell. Twenty years ago, not one but two families had been destroyed—the Kendalls and the Campbells. Now, one family, the Campbells, was healed—scarred but healed, while the other, Ash’s family, was being destroyed all over again.

  “What?” Vanessa said, turning toward her.

  Rachel started. Had she spoken aloud? “What? Oh, nothing. Sorry. Talking to myself.”

  Vanessa looked at her oddly. “Okay,” she said, and turned back to her computer.

  Rachel leaned her elbows on her desk and covered her face with her hands. What was she going to do? She thought about the report she’d sent to the police commissioner, especially her conclusions. The last line of her conclusion appeared emblazoned on her eyelids, as she reviewed the last paragraph in her mind.

  The DNA analysis of Sample 90-12-335 yields a 99.9935% probability that the tissue, blood and hair samples found at the scene belong to the same individual. These samples, compared to the submitted sample, 11-09-125, yield only a 0.0000003% match. Conclusion: The samples found at the crime scene and the submitted sample do not match. The two sets of DNA are distinctive and belong to two different people.

  I’m so sorry, Ash, she said silently. So very sorry. How was she ever going to face him again? She was already carrying one secret that would change his life forever. Now she had a second. Within days, he and his family would know that Rick Campbell, who’d served twenty years for the murder of Joseph and Marie Kendall, was irrefutably innocent. The real murderer was walking around free.

  Chapter Two

  Late that afternoon, Rachel stood in the living room of Ash’s two-bedroom house for the first time in two months, trying not to cry. She was still devastated about the DNA analysis, and hyperemotional anyway, because of her pregnancy. Then, just as she’d been about to leave for the day, Ash had stopped by her desk and told her—no, ordered her—to pick up the last of her things from his house, and leave the key he’d given her.

  So here she was, where some of the best times of her life had taken place. Ash was the sexiest, funniest, sweetest and most charming man she’d ever known. The passion between them had flared like a supernova and had never dimmed. At least hers hadn’t.

  Her friends at work had warned her about him. Behind his back they called him Ashanova and joked that his motto was love ’em and leave ’em—happy.

  She’d of course thought she was different. And she was—at least in one way. As far as she knew, none of the other women he’d dated had ended up pregnant.

  Her hand drifted to her tummy and she smiled through the tears that streamed down her cheeks. This little baby was an accident, although Rachel would never tell him or her. Sadly, on her part, this baby had been conceived in love. Too bad the father had just been having fun.

  She brushed away the tears from her cheeks and surveyed Ash’s normally neat house. It was a mess. Half a pizza sat congealing on the coffee table, along with a couple of empty beer cans. She glanced into his bedroom. The covers were piled on the floor and two empty glasses sat on the nightstand. A pile of dirty clothes lay in the doorway to the bathroom.

  He hadn’t slept a wink the night
before. If she hadn’t already confirmed it by the circles under his eyes, she knew it now. Looking at his rumpled bed, she could picture him tossing and turning as he tried to shut out visions of his slaughtered parents.

  And she couldn’t even blame him for his anger. His whole life—and the lives of his family—had just been toppled like Humpty Dumpty. He’d gone through the horror of losing his parents twenty years ago. Now, he had to face a new horror, an even more devastating one. Whoever had killed his parents was still out there—free.

  But even if she’d known whose DNA she was comparing, it wouldn’t have made a difference. She had an obligation to the victims, to the department, and yes, even to the suspects, to not only uncover the truth, but to keep the information confidential.

  She debated for a second whether to make his bed and straighten up, then immediately thought better of it. He’d probably think she was trying to get back in his good graces. Her best bet was to pick up her things and get out before he got home.

  Her things. What had she left here anyway? She hadn’t moved in with him, so anything she’d left had been accidental. Sort of.

  She shook her head in frustration as she looked in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and found a soft-bristle toothbrush and a hair clip. In the nightstand she discovered her favorite watch, and on his dresser was a gold hoop earring she’d been sure she’d lost.

  Had she subconsciously left these things here in hopes of reminding him of their passionate nights and the weekends they’d spent making love, sleeping, eating, watching a ball game or a movie and then making love some more? She couldn’t really deny it.

  She stowed the few belongings in her purse and headed toward the front door. As soon as she crossed the threshold into the living room, the smell of the leftover pizza sent nausea crawling up her throat again. Holding her breath, she hurried into the kitchen and ran a glass of cold water from the refrigerator door dispenser and leaned against the counter, sipping it.

  The cold liquid cooled her throat and lessened the nausea a little bit. But when she straightened, stars danced in front of her eyes and her head felt woozy. She knew the signs. Ever since she was little, those stars had preceded light-headedness and, if she didn’t sit or lie down immediately, fainting. She hoped she wasn’t going to see stars her entire pregnancy.

  She took the water over to the kitchen table and sat down. She rolled the cold plastic against her forehead, hoping to clear her head and stop the dizziness. But the stars got brighter. So she rested her forehead on her folded arms—just for a minute, until the queasiness dissipated. Then she had to get out of here.

  It wouldn’t be a good idea to be here when Ash got home.

  ASH HAD JUST COME OUT of the grocery store when his phone rang.

  “Hey,” a familiar voice said.

  “Thaddeus, little brother. Thank God. I figured I wouldn’t hear from you for a week—or a month.”

  “Well, the words family emergency sort of cut through the usual red tape. What’s going on? Is everyone all right?”

  “Red tape? Are you embedded with the troops somewhere?” Thad was a photojournalist with a renowned news magazine, not a special agent. How much red tape could there be?

  There was a brief pause, then Thad spoke. “Figure of speech,” he said. “So what’s the emergency? Is everybody okay?”

  “Everybody’s okay, but I’ve got some bad news.”

  “What?” Thad’s voice sharpened.

  “The new D.A. here accepted the Campbell family’s petition to have Campbell’s DNA run against the blood and tissue they found under Mom’s fingernails.”

  “The DNA?” Thad repeated. After a short pause he asked, “Well, it’s Campbell’s, right? I mean, it has to be.”

  “I haven’t seen the results. I’m not even supposed to know about it.”

  “Your girlfriend, the criminalist, tell you?” Thad knew about Rachel. Whenever he and Ash talked, he always asked who the new flame was and, feeling sorry for his brother, so far away from home and stuck taking pictures of death and devastation in one war-torn country or another, Ash always told him. But they hadn’t talked since he’d broken up with her.

  “Ex-girlfriend, and she’s the one who ran the analysis,” Ash said bitterly as he tossed the grocery bags in the backseat of his car and got in the driver’s seat.

  “Damn. That stings. Still, she’s the criminalist, right? So it’s her job. Have you told everybody? Or are you waiting for the results?”

  Not for the first time, Ash questioned his judgment in letting his aunt and uncle, his brothers and his baby sister know about the petition. Should he have waited for the results to come back? “I told ’em. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

  “How’d they take it? How’s Natalie?”

  “Terrified. What would you expect?”

  “Did the news trigger anything? Did she remember something?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it didn’t. She doesn’t seem to remember finding Mom and Dad at all. All she knows is what she’s been told about that morning.”

  “Still—I guess she was pretty shaken up?”

  “Yeah. I told her that she ought to see the shrink at Kendall Communications, but she still refuses.”

  “I can’t blame her. I’m not so sure it would be a good idea for her to remember what she saw. I wish I didn’t have that picture in my head, and I was five years older than Nat. What about the others? Devin?”

  “He’s sure the DNA will come back as Campbell’s, just like I am. Aunt Angie is just worried about all of us, but man—you should have seen Uncle Craig. I thought he was going to have a stroke, right there. I nearly had to wrestle him to the ground to keep him from calling the D.A.”

  “Well, Dad was his brother.”

  “Yeah, but his reaction was way over-the-top. His face turned purple and he had trouble breathing. Seriously, I thought he was going to stroke out on me.”

  “But he’s okay?”

  “Yeah. For now.”

  “Ash, what if the DNA doesn’t match?” Thad asked.

  Ash winced as if dodging a bullet that had struck too close for comfort. “It’ll match,” he said starkly.

  “Right. But what if it doesn’t?”

  Ash’s shoulders hunched against the question. “I don’t know. Hell, it’s been twenty years. I can’t even imagine that it won’t.”

  He heard Thad sigh through the phone. “I know. But I don’t like what my gut’s telling me. Listen. I think I can break away. I’ll let you know when I can be there.”

  “You don’t have to do that. There’s nothing you can do to change anything. I just thought you ought to know what’s going on.”

  “Nope. I’ve decided. I’m due some time off. I’ll just need to clear it and then find a plane to hitch a ride on. That could take a while. I might end up having to ride with cargo. But I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

  “Great. It’ll be good to see you.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Thad said. “You’re not getting away that easy. If Rachel’s status is now ex—big surprise—then who’s the latest flame?”

  Ash grimaced. “There’s not one at the moment.”

  “Not one? You’ve got to be kidding me. What? Did you two break up yesterday?”

  “No. Two months ago.”

  “Okay. First, I’m seriously impressed that you remember how long it’s been, and second—two months! That’s got to be a record. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Maybe I’m taking a break,” Ash said wryly.

  “Maybe.” Thad’s voice had changed. Ash would swear his younger brother was grinning. “And maybe you’re still hung up on her.”

  Ash winced. “No. I don’t get hung up.”

  “There’s always a first time, even for Ashton Kendall, confirmed ladies’ man.”

  “Say goodbye, Thad,” Ash muttered.

  “Goodbye, Thad.”

  Ash hung up and headed for his house, frowning as he replayed his and Thad’
s conversation in his head. Thad had always been able to read him. There was some truth to what he’d said. Ash hadn’t dated anyone since he had broken up with Rachel. He considered his brother’s comment and his own response. Of course he didn’t get hung up. But Rachel was the singularly most irritating woman he’d ever dated. Irritating and interesting.

  He shook off those thoughts and concentrated on Thad’s other irritating quality—his ability to drill down to the heart of any situation. Thad’s other question replayed in his mind, the same question that had bothered him ever since he’d heard the news.

  The question no one else in the family had asked—not Devin, not Aunt Angie or Uncle Craig and not Natalie.

  What if the DNA didn’t match? What if Rick Campbell was innocent?

  AS ASH TURNED ONTO HIS street, he saw Rachel’s car in his driveway. He looked at his watch. Six-thirty. Damn it. She got off at five. She’d had plenty of time to get here, clear out her stuff and leave.

  It wasn’t like he wasn’t already haunted by the ghost of her presence in his home, in his bed—a new experience for him. One he didn’t like. Did she think seeing her in his house would land them back in the sack? At that thought, his body tightened in immediate sexual response.

  No! No way. He had let her down gently and moved on, same as always. He loved women, but he wasn’t interested in settling down. Ever.

  He’d heard the talk. He knew what people—and by people he meant women—said about him.

  Love ’em and leave ’em—happy. It was true. The phrase summed up his attitude toward women in a nutshell. But since Rachel, he hadn’t found anyone he was interested in enough to ask out.

  For a split second he considered turning around and leaving. Give her plenty of time to clear out. He could run over to the mansion, not to see his aunt and uncle, but to check on Natalie, who had moved into the roomy guest cottage a couple of years ago. He wanted to make sure she was doing okay.