A Blood Thing Read online

  “Yup,” he said a little proudly. “That’s all I’ll admit.”

  They didn’t think he was stupid any longer. They’d even said so. He knew he should quit while he was ahead. “It’s time for me to go home. I definitely want to go home now. Can you take me home? Like you promised.”

  The cop with the hair on his face said, “Sure, Tyler. My partner here just has to type something up real quick, then make a phone call. After that, we’ll hit the road.”

  The short cop stood, picked up the notepad he’d been writing on the whole time, and left the room. The other cop turned off the recorder that had been running while they talked. Tyler had forgotten about it. “Want me to grab you a Coke from the machine down the hall?” the cop asked.

  “No, thanks. I just wanna go home now.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was a little early to get too worried, Henry thought. Tyler had his issues, no doubt, but he was a big boy. A grown man, in fact. He went out when he wanted to and came home when he was ready. He could get around on his electric bike. He knew enough to eat at mealtimes, to stay out of the rain, to sleep in his own bed at night. He was responsible enough to keep track of his schedule at the animal shelter. And so if he decided to go for a walk, that wasn’t a big deal. He’d done that before. Sometimes he’d end up at the park, sometimes the video game store, sometimes the high school, where he’d watch the football team practice.

  “He always takes his phone with him,” Molly reminded Henry, as if reading his thoughts.

  They were sitting in what their mother used to call the drawing room. The upholstered chairs were Victorian and uncomfortable, but because their mother had loved them, they would never have considered getting rid of them. Henry had chosen the sofa, which, to him, was slightly less uncomfortable than the chairs. But only slightly.

  “Maybe he forgot it, Molly.”

  “Maybe. But it would be the first time I know of.”

  “I’ll drive around again for a while longer. If I don’t find him, I’ll make a few calls—my headquarters, the local PD. You wait here in case he shows up.”

  He had almost reached the front door when it opened and Tyler walked into the foyer. He closed the door behind him, then turned and smiled when he saw Henry.

  “Hey, Tyler,” Henry said. “Where you been? You told Molly you were going out for a ride on your motorcycle, but it’s still in the garage.”

  “Um, yeah . . . well, I was gonna go for a ride. I wasn’t lying, I swear . . . but then, um, the police came and said they needed my help.”

  “The police? What police?”

  “They didn’t have uniforms on, just regular clothes, like you wear to work, but I knew they were real cops because they showed me their badges. I made them show me. And the badges were real. I could tell because I’ve seen yours.”

  Questions shot through Henry’s mind. What cops had been here? What had they wanted with Tyler? Did they know his brother was in law enforcement? If so, why—

  Molly joined them in the foyer and said, “There you are. We were getting worried, Tyler.”

  Tyler studied the tops of his shoes for a moment. “I just wanted to help the police.”

  “Police? What are you—”

  “It’s okay,” Henry said, cutting her off. He threw her a quick look that said, Let’s keep calm. “We’re not mad at you. We were just a bit concerned, that’s all.”

  He stepped over to a window and saw a black sedan parked on the street near the end of their driveway. The windows were dark, but he thought he detected movement in the front seat.

  “Right,” Molly said in a steadier voice. “Of course. We just want to know what happened, that’s all. We want to know what this is all about.”

  The car outside rumbled to life, then pulled in to the driveway. When it stopped near the house, the doors opened, and two men stepped out. One of them was a bit short in stature. The other held some papers in his hand.

  “We’re about to find out,” Henry said.

  He pulled the door open before the bell even rang. Two state police detectives, guys Henry recognized but whose names he couldn’t recall, were standing on the porch with their badges out. The taller one, with the Indiana Jones stubble, said, “I’m Detective Ramsey. This is Detective Novak. We’re with the State Police Major Crime Unit. We have a warrant to search the premises.”

  Henry knew how it must have gone down. It was common practice. Bring a guy in for questioning. Convince him he’s there voluntarily. Tell him he can leave anytime, but that if he answers a few questions, they might be able to wrap things up without a lot of fuss. Then get him to admit to something, anything, on which they could hang a search warrant. Call your favorite judge, day or night, then knock on his door with the application in hand and watch while he signs it in his bathrobe and slippers. The application in Novak’s hand had probably been signed on their way here from the police station. Henry wondered why the detectives hadn’t escorted Tyler to the door, but perhaps they’d wanted to discuss something in private before serving the warrant. Of course, it was also remotely possible that they had decided to allow Tyler and his family a moment alone together before bringing the hammer down on all their lives, but Henry was betting on Door Number One.

  The warrant meant that Tyler must have said something incriminating.

  But what?

  “I know who you are, Detectives,” Henry said. “You know who I am?”

  “We do, Lieutenant Kane. We know who your brother is, too. And we assume you realize that we aren’t in the most comfortable position right now. That we’re just doing our jobs. And we also assume you realize that, given the situation, we’re going to have to follow the book on this as though it’s the Bible itself and God is watching.”

  The guy was almost convincing. He nearly managed to look and sound as though this was a regrettable situation from which he was deriving no pleasure. But Henry could only imagine the satisfaction he was feeling, knowing that he might get to arrest the brother of Governor Andrew Kane—the same governor who had recently trimmed the budget of the state police in order to shift funds to public welfare initiatives he was pushing. The governor who had campaigned on the promise to rid Vermont of the corruption that had grown under his predecessor’s tenure like black mold in several of the state’s offices and agencies, including the Vermont State Police. After former Governor John “Jackpot” Barker suffered an embarrassing defeat in the election and Andrew took office, he began to make good on his promises. He’d brought in the FBI to investigate the department, and eventually, two members of the VSP had been punished for engaging in illegal conduct—a detective in Special Investigations had been arrested, while his captain, the Special Investigations commander, had been fired. Only two bad apples found among hundreds of good ones, yet the public’s confidence in the state police had taken a punch in the face, and when the dust settled, not many state troopers were enamored with Andrew Kane. So Henry would have been surprised if Detectives Ramsey and Novak weren’t feeling a little warm and fuzzy about having drawn this case.

  It probably didn’t hurt, either, from their perspective, that Tyler’s other brother was in the state police Internal Affairs Unit. In fact, Henry was the IAU. He knew, of course, that the naked contempt that TV and movie cops had for Internal Affairs was more of a TV trope than a reflection of reality. Though no one liked being the subject of an IA investigation, most people in law enforcement accepted the need for the unit, understanding that there had to be checks on police power. No honest cop or trooper wanted his or her department tarnished by the behavior of coworkers who used excessive force, trampled civil rights, took bribes, or colluded with suspects. Still, even though people on the job acknowledged the need for Internal Affairs, IA detectives were almost never the most popular people in the room. Another reason that Ramsey and Novak likely weren’t as uncomfortable in this situation as they were trying to make it seem. But Henry played along.

  “Is there a crime here,
Detective?” he asked.

  “There is.”

  “What is it?”

  “The murder of Sally Graham.”

  Behind him, Molly sucked in a sharp breath. Henry almost did, too. He hadn’t expected that. Not murder. Not Tyler. He looked back at his brother, whose eyebrows were knitted in confusion. Henry tried to imagine what was going through his mind. The name Sally Graham had been in the news the past few days. Murder was far from a common occurrence in Vermont, which had one of the lowest homicide rates in the country—often less than one per month across the entire state—so the young woman’s death, and the level of violence involved, had made a lot of headlines. The news reports had stopped short of labeling the victim a prostitute, but the implication wasn’t hard to find written between the lines of the stories. Could Tyler have personally known Sally Graham? Could he have . . . engaged her services? Would he even know how to do that? It was hard for Henry to imagine his innocent brother—

  Novak handed the search warrant to Henry, who reluctantly stepped aside, allowing the detectives into the house. He quickly scanned the warrant. On its surface, it looked valid. But that didn’t mean it would hold up in court.

  “You obviously know that Tyler’s not your average guy,” Henry said.

  Ramsey nodded. “We know. Your point?”

  “My point is that I don’t know what you got him to say, but this warrant will never stand.”

  “Recorded the whole thing, audio and video. And it was textbook. It’ll stand. Now, is there anyone else in the house?”

  Henry drew in a long, slow breath, then let it out. “Just us.”

  “Okay. This is a big place, Lieutenant Kane. Some Manchester Police officers will be joining us shortly to help execute the warrant. Is there somewhere you three would like to wait while we do our jobs?”

  “There’s a drawing room at the front of the house,” Henry replied. “Okay with you?” Ramsey looked at his copy of the search warrant for a moment, then nodded. Henry said to Molly and Tyler, “Go on in. I’ll be right there.”

  When they were gone, Ramsey looked at Henry. “I assume you want to say something to me.”

  “What’s the basis for the warrant?”

  Ramsey shook his head. “We’ll be filing it in the clerk’s office Monday morning, along with supporting docs and the return inventory. You can find out then.”

  “Exactly, Ramsey. I’ll find out Monday anyway. What’s it gonna hurt to tell me now?”

  The detective seemed to consider that for a moment, then said, “Okay, yeah, what’s it gonna hurt? I can tell you one thing, Kane . . . this is legit.”

  “How so?”

  “Coworker at the animal shelter where your brother volunteers saw him get into the passenger seat of the victim’s car hours before she was killed. And your brother confirmed that for us.”

  “That all?”

  “Nope. Also got a call from a neighbor of the victim. Says he saw a man leave the scene around the time of the murder riding what appeared to be an electric bicycle.”

  “Any chance the neighbor gave his name?”

  “It was an anonymous tip,” Ramsey said with a dismissive shrug.

  Henry scoffed. “So you mean you got an anonymous call from someone claiming to be a neighbor, and claiming he saw—”

  “Whatever, Kane. His description fit your brother like a glove. That was enough for the judge.”

  Henry nodded. He probably should have thanked Ramsey for his small breach of protocol, his tiny display of professional courtesy, but he wasn’t in a grateful mood. He turned away and headed into the drawing room. Thankfully, his brother and sister had left the sofa for him. After all, this would take hours.

  Molly turned to Tyler. “Do you have any idea what they’re—”

  Henry interrupted. “Better not to say anything at all right now.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tyler said. “I answered their questions. I helped them with their case. Why are they here?”

  “Please don’t say anything else. Okay? Let’s not talk. It’s important.”

  Tyler nodded. A moment later, he asked, “Can I go play Smilin’ Jack?”

  “Sorry, buddy. No video games. We all have to wait here. And not talk for a while. Okay?”

  “I guess.”

  “You could read the Egypt book,” Molly said. “I bet they’d let you do that.”

  “Ummm . . . I’ll just sit here.”

  Out in the hall, Ramsey walked past. He was wearing latex gloves now and carrying empty clear-plastic evidence bags.

  Henry figured the detectives’ bare-bones working theory was that Tyler had met the woman at the shelter, spent time with her in her car, and then, after she dropped him back off at the shelter, followed her to her apartment on his e-bike, where he killed her later that night.

  Which was patently ridiculous. His bike couldn’t possibly have kept up with her car. More important, Tyler wasn’t a killer. He was the gentlest of souls. The only violence he ever exhibited occurred during his video games.

  Ramsey walked past the doorway again. This time, as if on cue, one of the evidence bags was no longer empty; inside, Henry saw several war-themed video games, including one Henry had bought for his brother. And he saw clearly how they could be used to portray his gentle brother as a dim-witted, impressionable man who so enjoyed fantasy killing that he was eventually driven to commit real live murder. If that was the most damning thing they found, there was little to worry about.

  Several local cops in uniform arrived, and Henry could see them huddling with Novak, receiving copies of the warrant along with verbal instructions before dispersing with evidence bags of their own.

  Henry glanced at Tyler. He couldn’t read his brother’s face.

  What did you say to them, buddy? What are they going to find?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Andrew Kane chewed on a bite of medium-rare filet mignon with burgundy mushroom sauce and chuckled politely at something the lieutenant governor of New Jersey said, not because it was funny but because everyone else at the table had chuckled. Andrew had no idea if it had been funny because he hadn’t been listening.

  He was trying, though. He’d been fully present for much of the dinner he and his wife, Rebecca, were hosting in the elegant eighteenth-century Colonial they were calling home while Andrew served as governor. Vermont was one of the handful of states that did not have a governor’s mansion, so unlike newly minted governors in many other states who moved into swanky residences vacated by their predecessors, Andrew and Rebecca had to hit the classifieds to find a suitable residence near his office. And because Vermont did not provide its governors a housing allowance, either, they had to pay the rent on the 4,800-square-foot Colonial themselves. That was fine with Andrew, though, as the house was just two miles from the Pavilion, which put it over fifty miles closer than their own house in Norwich.

  Though Andrew had played the good host through cocktails and appetizers, he was starting to become preoccupied. He had expected to hear from Henry or Molly by now, letting him know that Tyler had turned up safe and sound. At first, he hadn’t been overly concerned. But as the evening had worn on . . .

  His eyes met Rebecca’s across the table. Those hazel eyes—sometimes green, sometimes brown, always striking—locked onto his, and when they were sure they had his attention, widened ever so slightly. It was unlikely that anyone else would have noticed, even if they had been looking directly at her, but Andrew noticed and knew what her expression meant: What the hell, Andrew?

  She was right, of course. He was being rude, even if their guests weren’t aware of it, which he hoped they weren’t. He hadn’t told Rebecca about Tyler. First of all, there hadn’t been much to tell. He’d figured his brother would show up soon. Second, Rebecca doted on Tyler—he was her clear favorite among Andrew’s siblings—and Andrew hadn’t seen the need to worry her. At least not yet.

  He had just resolved to engage more fully when his personal cell phone v
ibrated in his pocket. Rebecca didn’t like him bringing it to the table, and she would have been horrified to know he had done so when they were entertaining, so he didn’t dare answer it at that moment. But he had to learn who was calling.

  “Please excuse me,” he said as he stood. “I’ll be right back.” He folded his napkin and placed it on his chair. “My apologies.”

  He avoided his wife’s lovely eyes as he left the room. As soon as he was out of sight of the dining room, he pulled the phone from his pocket, even though it had stopped vibrating a moment ago. He was about to check the smartphone’s call log when a notification popped up on the screen informing him that he had a voice mail. It was from Henry.

  “I hope you’re sitting down for this. Tyler was questioned by the state police today. About a murder. That woman killed this week. They’re searching the house right now. Can’t imagine what they could possibly find here, but who knows? The mystery phone that guy gave you this morning? You might want to keep it handy. I’ll call you again later.”

  Andrew mechanically backed up a step, bumped into a wooden chair behind him, and sat down. He’d never sat in the chair before, not once in the three years they’d lived there. Neither had Rebecca, at least not that he was aware of. It was old, probably an antique, and oddly positioned in the middle of a hallway beside an antique table they didn’t use, either. But it was a good thing the chair was there now, or the governor of Vermont would have been sitting on his ass on the floor.

  Tyler? Was it possible that he was going to be arrested—for murder, no less—as the man who had given Andrew the black cell phone now seemed to have been suggesting? Where had the stranger gotten that inside information?

  This is ludicrous, he thought. Tyler couldn’t intentionally harm anyone, much less kill someone.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat like that, head down, phone in hand, before Rebecca appeared in the hallway. It took just a glance. “What’s wrong, Andy?”

  He told her.

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”