LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1) Read online

  If Jordan had an opinion about Ciamitaro’s state of undress, he didn’t voice it. “What’s his background?”

  “I had Amanda rush a check on him. His history came back clean besides a couple of speeding tickets in his youth. Turns out, he was with Char-Meck PD until he took a bullet to the left knee five years ago. He left the force and took the position with Balm Corp. He’s their head of security. Works the night-shift. He admitted to sleeping with Mrs. Gaidies, but said their relationship ended a few months ago.”

  “What’s his alibi for Mrs. Gaidies’ time of death?”

  “Slept all day, then left for work around ten. It takes around fifteen minutes to get to Balm Corp from his house.”

  “Can anyone vouch for him? His lady friend?”

  “Not until we find out who she is. But I checked with Balm Corp’s CEO and president, Clarence Roden, and both his records and staff indicate he arrived at work at ten-twenty.”

  “Time of death is nine-fifteen.”

  “That didn’t seem to rattle our ex-cop.”

  The chirp of a phone cut through her words. McKenna reached for hers.

  “It’s mine.” Jordan glanced at the screen and flipped it open. “Bening.” He listened. “Yeah. Got it. When did this happen?” A pause. “Any witnesses?” He looked in her direction. “We’ll be there in a few.” Then he hung up. His gaze collided with hers.

  “Don’t sugar coat it, Bening.”

  “You ready to deal with Rupert again?”

  McKenna’s stomach jumped into her throat. “Why?”

  “He’s blaming us for the death of his father.”

  Receiving bad news never got any easier.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  If the dead could talk, McKenna was sure Mr. Gaidies would have told a very different story than the one depicted by the bullet hole in his forehead and the gun lying beneath his limp fingers.

  He might have scraped the pieces of his brain and skull from the wall behind where he sat slumped in his chair, put himself back together and told them the real story. Offered them a cup of coffee. Chuckled about his premature death and how the killer wouldn’t get away this time.

  Scratch the chuckling and the coffee. The dead didn’t talk. But their lives, deaths and the evidence left behind told stories. McKenna wasn’t sure how long she’d been crouched before him, a hand-written suicide note sealed in an evidence bag in her right hand.

  How many victims had she logged in her career? She’d smelled the stench of released bowels, fresh blood and decaying flesh more times than she wanted to remember. The smell was something she expected, but tried not to dwell on. Desensitization to the scene occurred faster each time. The victim was part of the facts in a large puzzle that needed solving.

  Sometimes, that was the only way to keep moving forward, so that the families could to. One hot-headed move could set the investigation back days.

  Nothing seemed right tonight.

  She couldn’t grasp that same detached frame of mind. She didn’t see the blood stains on Peter Gaidies jacket and tie or the discoloration of the flesh near the missing portion of his head. All she saw was death. Unneeded.

  More tragedy for a family that already had its fair share.

  She resisted tugging on her Tyvek suit.

  Concentrate.

  “The gun’s too far from the body.” Jordan’s voice broke into her thoughts. He stood across from her, Mr. Gaidies tidy desk separating them. “You got something?”

  “Nah.” Her legs screamed in protest as she stood and the blood started to flow to her feet once again. A whiff of urine mixed with drying blood made her stomach jerk.

  “Not gonna lose your lunch on me, are you?”

  “Funny.” She tried to inhale a discreet breath of fresh air and handed him the bag. “Think it’s authentic?”

  He stared at her a moment longer before glancing at the note inside the bag. “The forensics lab will be able to tell for sure with a sample of Gaidies’ hand writing. Vincent Ciamitaro found him on a routine floor check when he came on shift at ten-thirty.”

  “I assume we’ve got surveillance tapes?”

  “Yeah. I took a look at them. Not one person walked into that office after Gaidies went in there, until Ciamitaro found him.” He nodded toward where Vincent Ciamitaro, Clarence Roden and two officers with CMPD stood outside the office. Roden looked pale, while Ciamitaro looked resigned, as if he’d seen this sight a million times working with CMPD.

  “Think someone tampered with the tapes?” McKenna opened a few drawers. Rifled through some papers.

  “Hard to say without a better look at the security time clock. From what I saw, Ciamtaro entered this office at ten-forty, which would jive with what he’s already told us, if he checked this floor last.” Jordan glanced toward the techs cataloging and preparing Gaidies’ body for transport. “Do you find it odd that no one heard the shot? It’s quiet, no one is around, no hum of the workday and yet no one hears anything.”

  “The main security ward is on the ground floor and we’re four levels up. The other guard on shift stays at the front desk per Balm Corp policy.”

  “Once we get an exact time of death, we’ll have a little more to go on and we can determine what we’re looking at. And we need to find out who Ciamitaro’s girlfriend is and make sure her story matches with his for Mrs. Gaidies’ time of death.”

  “I pulled him aside while you were dealing with security downstairs.” Gone was the cocky ex-cop she’d dealt with earlier in the day. “I think he’s taking this seriously now. He gave me his girlfriend’s address. Actually he referred to Kara Kimmel as his friend.”

  Jordan’s head snapped up. “Kara? Like the Kara we grew up with?” He didn’t move, but she could tell he was scanning the room. Then he lowered his voice. “Robinson’s girlfriend?”

  One and the same. “I’m starting to doubt the sanctity of commitment.”

  She watched Ciamitaro pick up the walkie-talkie from his belt and speak into it. His gaze collided with McKenna’s before he excused himself and walked down the hall.

  “CMPD’s having a ball downstairs, I bet. Rupert’s probably tearing them all a new one.”

  McKenna flexed her hand, then curled it into a fist. According to Rupert, they—no, she could have stopped his father’s death. That is, if she actually bothered to do her job once in a while, anyway. If she’d taken the time to listen to him.

  Maybe he was right.

  “You should have punched him, Slick.” Jordan’s jaw clenched.

  “You already took care of that today. I’ll cut him some slack. His dad is dead.”

  Jordan gave her a pointed look, almost as if he might ask if she was okay. “Ciamitaro claims to have called 9-1-1 the moment he found Gaidies.”

  She released a pent up breath. “Yeah. I had Nettles verify the call. It came in at ten-forty and twenty-seven seconds.”

  “How did Rupert beat the paramedics here?”

  One answer would free Rupert on all counts—if he’d only give them an explanation. The other would point the blame.

  “Mr. Roden’s impatient. Wants to know when we can wrap this up so he can have this place cleaned up before the start of the workday tomorrow. He doesn’t want his other employees spooked by this.”

  “Sympathetic, isn’t he.” McKenna spotted a business card with a bouquet of flowers logo in one corner. She picked it up. Flowers De Char Lynn. Okay, not totally odd. A lot of people bought flowers. Especially people who had lost a wife. McKenna flipped the card over. A man’s script flowed with $4519.90 in black pen.

  Jordan crossed his arms. “Find anything else?”

  She held up the Flowers De Char Lynn card. “Popular place?”

  Jordan grabbed it, read the back, then slipped the card into a specimen bag. His movements were controlled. He’d read Kelly’s report and seen the cost of the vase left at his mother’s grave.

  It should have made her angry, the way she knew him well enou
gh to know he wouldn’t say a word about his thoughts. That he definitely had formed some plan about how to proceed with that card. With the vase. It should have bothered her that he wouldn’t trust her with those details, but she wouldn’t push him. Not here. Not now.

  “Crime scene has all the photos they need and the paramedics are waiting to take Mr. Gaidies.” He removed his gloves. “Do you want to stop at your parent’s house and get a few things before we head over to question Kara?”

  McKenna took off her gloves as they walked out of Mr. Gaidies’ office. “We’re actually doing this, huh?”

  “Moving in together or questioning Kara?”

  “Both.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Her stomach took flight. “You’re acting like this is nothing new to you.”

  “It’s not.” A wide grin covered his mouth. “I’ve questioned persons-of-interest before.”

  “Okay, smart guy.”

  “Agent Moore, Agent Bening,” Mr. Roden called as they passed him. He extended his hand to them both. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Any more questions I can answer.”

  “We’ll be in touch.” Jordan handed Roden his card.

  He deposited it in his suit jacket pocket. “Look, I need to apologize for what I said earlier. I wasn’t thinking about how it would sound.” Roden glanced toward where they’d loaded Mr. Gaidies’ body on a stretcher, a zipped a black bag over him. “I knew he was taking his wife’s death hard, I just didn’t know he’d take his life over it. That is what happened, here, I assume?”

  “We’re looking into it,” Jordan said.

  Roden pressed the side of his fist to his lips for a moment, thumb and forefinger meeting the surface. “I should have seen the signs. I’ve always prided myself on being in-the-know when it comes to my employees and business partners. I try to read burnout and such before it happens.”

  “Would you say Mr. Gaidies and yourself were close?”

  Roden cleared his throat. “Peter kept to himself a lot, but this is a busy place.”

  “Can you remember anything abnormal about Mr. Gaidies? Anything unusual he said or did in the last month?”

  “Peter was always professional. He did what he had to do to keep his end of this place running, but we didn’t have drinks after work, if that’s what you’re asking. We never spoke of anything other than business.”

  “Can you recall anyone he might have confided in?”

  Roden shook his head. “He practically lived here. Every once in a while I’d see him talking with some of the night staff, but I don’t ever recall it seeming serious in nature.”

  “How long have you been business partners?” McKenna asked.

  The older man took a moment to answer. “Close to twenty years.”

  Interesting that they’d never spoke of their families. What type of business partners didn’t have an occasional chat about children or wives?

  “You’ll keep me updated on this situation?” Roden straightened his tie.

  “If we need more information, we know where to find you,” Jordan said.

  “Good.” Roden walked them down the hallway. He put a hand on McKenna’s shoulder. “Is Noah ready for the big day? Provided I don’t have my hands full around here, I plan to attend. I haven’t seen your parents since they retired.”

  McKenna avoided glancing in Jordan’s direction or pulling her body away from Roden’s touch, even though it made her skin crawl. “I’m sure they’d enjoy catching up with you.”

  “We’ll see you Friday evening then. Tell them I said hello.” Roden walked toward a set of large doors and disappeared inside.

  “What’s his story?” McKenna nodded in the direction Roden had gone.

  “He was at home with his wife when he got the call. Nettles went over to his house to verify the story. I don’t think we’re dealing with a suicide,” Jordan said in a low voice.

  “I agree. Let’s go over the tapes again at your house.” Their house. For the next week. Living with Jordan couldn’t be that hard. They’d be working more hours than not.

  She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Would he disappear when it was over? Leave a note and fly across the country for some unknown reason?

  McKenna glanced at their surroundings. At the security cameras in each corner and the art that decorated the walls. One picture caught her eye. It was black and white. A small, chubby hand gripping a large male one. The blurred park background contrasted perfectly.

  She’d seen it before. The gold plaque beneath it read, Courtesy of Bening Photography.

  “She used that picture a lot when she first started her business.” Jordan’s breath hit her neck and sent a trail of goose bumps down her torso.

  If she backed up one step, she’d be in his arms. Would they fold around her and pull her closer? “I think I remember seeing this shot in one of those mall kiosk stands.”

  “She gained a lot of business with that. One day she was taking only kids portraits and some freelance stuff, then the next she had a waiting list.” He paused. “This picture always reminded her of Matthew.”

  Silence filled the hallway around them. “I can’t remember the last time somebody said his name out loud. Or the last time you talked about either of them, before today.” McKenna waited for Jordan to change the subject.

  He seemed only mildly uncomfortable when he looked at her. “I know you and I never talked about it, but you and your parent’s didn’t discuss what happened?”

  “Honestly?” She wanted to tread carefully, choose her words right, but ask her questions fast.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is a sore subject. Forget I asked.” That quick, he closed up. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

  According to the justice system, Matthew killed Cassidy, and Jordan was the one sorry? They’d all dealt with the tragedy differently. Like Aunt Candace, McKenna never saw it coming. He’d been the down-to-earth uncle who encouraged her to pursue law enforcement as he had. He talked with her parents when they refused to let her take rifle lessons. The man looked out for Jordan and sent Cassidy money anonymously from time to time, even after they divorced.

  The uncle McKenna remembered protected everyone. He wasn’t the monster who shot Jordan’s mother in the stomach, then pushed her to her death.

  No, they’d never talked about it. It was time that changed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Blood.

  It was everywhere. On his hands. His shirt. Tracked into the house. A smudge near the window. Near the broken glass. A tattered piece of her shirt dangling from one of the sharp edges.

  He blocked the images from his mind and concentrated on Cassidy. Red stained her glorious blonde hair. It would never wash out.

  Someone shouted at him. He ignored it. Recalled his training. Fifteen breaths. Two more compressions. No time for idle chat. Stop the bleeding. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Two large hands clamped down on his shoulders. Pulled him away.

  He swung out. Vaguely heard a grunt of pain. Returned to saving her life. She had to live. Had to.

  His fault. All his fault.

  He heard voices—they were shouting at him now, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. Couldn’t piece the sentences together. Couldn’t see anything but the blood covering her beautiful face.

  He put in more compressions. Another two breaths. “Please, baby, breathe. I promise I’ll never hurt you again. Please.”

  “Gonna…take you…the station…questions.”

  Matthew Blaney’s eyes snapped open. The blood was gone. She was gone. A shaky hand rubbed the side of his face. He hoped no one in the Sussex II activity room noticed his labored breathing.

  He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.

  “You’re looking gray around the edges, Blaney,” Danny Philips said from across the table. They’d become friends in the early days of Matthew’s incarceration. Back when he’d still been the cop who killed his ex-wi
fe. Or just a cop, which was the blackest mark a person could have in prison. There were fights—he had the scars to prove they’d happened. One riot, where he’d saved a prison guard’s life, only to be blamed for the incident. A few days in solitary confinement. Small blips on his radar.

  Danny stared at the remaining black and white pieces on the chessboard in front of them, his eyes so dark, they were almost black. “That tooth bothering you again?”

  Matthew took a couple of deep breaths. His heart still raced. He wanted to rush out of the room, hit the bathroom and puke his guts out. “I saw the in-house dentist.” He couldn’t help running his tongue over the tooth. He brought back a bitter taste. What had the guy said about it before he’d scribbled some information into his notes? Infected wisdom tooth?

  “You gonna have it pulled?”

  Yeah, he’d skip right up to the warden and let him know he had a dental appointment beyond these gates. That’d go over well.

  “You’re a troublemaker, Blaney. I don’t like you.”

  The warden couldn’t stand the sight of him, because he saw what one wrong move could do to a man. The fear was there, in the warden’s his eyes. One misstep and a jury of his peers judging the evidence could take a mistake and make it lethal. The warden would look terrible in orange.

  Danny moved his black pawn a few spaces forward. “Rick had his tooth pulled last month. They took him to an oral surgeon in Chesapeake.”

  Matthew moved one of his pieces forward. Most of the time he and Danny played in silence. He preferred it that way. During chess, he could forget where he was. He could drown out everything and concentrate on a world where only the logic of the game existed.

  No dead wives. No kid who needed help with problems he couldn’t even begin to solve. No men who deserved to be where he sat. No nightmares.

  The true meaning of bliss. As close to oblivion as a person could get without alcohol or drugs.