Severed Relations Page 6

  Cori looked around for her purse, found it, and swung it over her shoulder. It was the same one she had used for years: endearingly unfashionable, terribly worn, and just big enough to keep a few lethal things inside.

  "I'll be checking on the phone tomorrow. Hopefully, the lab will get to it fast and we can pull up some numbers." Finn took two steps to the door and held it open for Cori. "Let's the two of us handle as much as we can before Fowler puts his fingers in the porridge."

  "Agreed," Cori said.

  They walked through the corridors of Wilshire Division, stepping aside for those hurrying home and others coming on for the night. Cori went on about her eighteen-year-old daughter, Amber, who had fled home when the father of her baby took a powder. Finn listened but added nothing to the conversation for two reasons. First, something was niggling at the back of his brain. It was a little Tinker Bell of a brilliant thought that disappeared the minute he tried to split his attention between Cori and the niggle. Second, he did not engage Cori because he had learned long ago that when it came to talk of Amber all she wanted was an appreciative audience. The tune she was singing was made up of notes of resignation, rancor, and relief that she was still needed. Many women sang it, but Finn appreciated Cori's like no other because it always ended up being a love song. He turned to comment on her fine mothering just as they were passing Bob Fowler's office.

  Through the open door, Finn saw the man standing by his assistant's desk with the phone to his ear. Finn paused. When Cori realized he wasn't with her, she came back to stand beside him. She looked into the office and when Bob Fowler looked back he pointed at them and said:

  "See the woman. Fremont Place."

  CHAPTER 10

  DAY 1 – EVENING

  Finn and Cori rang Mercedes Coulter's bell seven minutes after the call came in. She opened the door before the last chime sounded, still wearing her morning clothes: a white sweater with crossed tennis racquets woven over her breasts, a short skirt that hugged her waist and flared at the top of her thighs, white tennis shoes and socks sporting blue pompoms at her Achilles' heel. She looked fresh as a daisy until you looked at her exotic face and saw that the day had taken its toll. She didn't bother with pleasantries.

  "Come. Come. Quickly. My husband's outside with Sam."

  "Is he all right?" Finn asked.

  "My husband?" Mercedes eyes went blank for an instant, and then she understood what Finn was asking. "Oh, no. How could you even think that Sam would hurt him? No, Sam's not dangerous. He's a mess. We just had no idea what to do, so we called you."

  She walked sideways, gesturing as she led Finn and Cori through the huge house that was almost as well appointed as the Barnett's. In the kitchen, a light had been turned on over a stove that looked like it belonged in a five star restaurant. Another fixture illuminated a kitchen table that was already set for morning breakfast complete with napkin rings and gold chargers. A bank of French doors opened up onto a manicured backyard that was lilac hued in the early evening dusk. Mercedes pulled out ahead of them. She put her hand against one of the doors and leaned her face close as she peered through the glass.

  "We got Elizabeth inside the guesthouse, but Sam wanted to stay here. There were still people outside, and he kept watching them, and we kept watching him and worrying that Elizabeth was alone."

  She turned her head as Finn came to her side.

  "I made a tray for him to take to Elizabeth – you know, something to distract him – but he forgot to take it when we finally convinced him to get away from the window."

  Cori now stood on her left and Mercedes turned her head.

  "I closed the drapes because I couldn't stand seeing what was going on. People were walking by and pointing at Elizabeth's house. They were running up to her place and putting their faces against the windows like they were hoping to see something horrible."

  Mercedes Coulter shivered. She turned her back to the French doors and hung her head.

  "Some of them were our neighbors. It was so ghoulish."

  "Take your time," Cori said. Mercedes nodded and collected herself.

  "Well, Sam, he went to the guesthouse and we thought everything was okay. After a while, my husband, Charlie, he went out to tell them goodnight because we were exhausted and were going upstairs. Anyway, he heard them fighting. Sam was screaming and Elizabeth raised her voice. Charlie came back here and after we decided to call you, Charlie went back out. I don't know if they're still arguing or what."

  Cori shifted ever so slightly. Her left knee went out, her hand tightened on the strap of her purse. This was her signature tick that flagged it was time to get serious. Finn pulled up a little taller and their eyes met over Mercedes Coulter's head. They had a situation and they could only hope that it would lead to something they could dig their teeth into. Before they said a word, before either of them moved, Mercedes Coulter grabbed their arms and asked an unanswerable question.

  "What could they have done to deserve this? What could anyone do to deserve this?"

  Dusk slid into home hard and it was dead dark in the Coulter stadium by the time Finn went to see what was what at the guesthouse. He left Cori behind to reassure Mrs. Coulter. The outdoor lights were solar powered and did little to illuminate the huge backyard, but it was enough for Finn to make his way to Charlie Coulter who was hunkered down near a big tree watching the small house nestled beneath a grove of trees. The man looked like a little boy playing hide-'n-seek, worried on one hand that he would be tagged and on the other that he might be left behind in the dark.

  "Mr. Coulter?"

  When the man made no move to rise, Finn got down beside him, balanced on the balls of his feet and let his arms rest on his knees.

  "I'm sorry to get you out here again." Charlie Coulter spoke quietly even though no one in either the small house in front of them or the big one behind them could hear. He turned his head slightly, but his eyes were glued to the guesthouse.

  "You did the right thing," Finn assured him.

  "It's been quiet since I came back out," Charlie said.

  "How long were you inside with your wife?"

  "Five minutes, maybe a little longer." Charlie Coulter sat back on his heels. "I really couldn't make out what they were saying. Elizabeth was yelling a lot and Sam raised his voice and I heard 'stop it' and 'you never' and then just garbled stuff. I think what freaked me out is that I have never heard them raise their voices. Ever. I mean, never since they moved in. Those two just don't fight."

  "Grief sounds different on everyone's lips," Finn assured him. "We want to make sure they're safe and then we can figure out what the shouting was about. Do you know if either of them have a weapon, a gun or such?"

  Charlie Coulter shook his head and he pulled a hand down his face, eyes to chin.

  "I don't think so unless there was one in Sam's suitcase. I don't have one, that's for sure. There is a kitchen in there." Charlie inclined his head toward the small house. "There are knives. You don't think… Oh my God…you think that's why it's quiet in there. You think…"

  "I'm not thinking anything, Mr. Coulter. We're grateful you called us and we'll take it from here."

  Finn stood up. Charlie did the same, but the man wasn't ready to let this go. He glanced over his shoulder, looked back at Finn, and then over his shoulder again.

  "You don't think one of them had something to do with this, do you? They weren't even in the country." The man dropped his head and shook it, shamed by what he was implying. "No, forget I said anything. I'm not thinking straight. Forget I said anything."

  Finn listened to Charlie Coulter argue with himself. While he did that, Finn could feel the ears of the neighborhood pricking as they strained to catch a word or two of what was being said here. They would one-up each other over lunch with a did you hear…and I believe they…and I always thought there was something strange… To speculate was human nature and none of Finn's concern at the moment. Eventually, he and Cori would cut through it all and fi
nd the truth. That was what he promised Charlie Coulter as he sent the man back to his wife with a request to send Detective Anderson out to assist him. Charlie delivered the message, closed the doors, and sat with his wife at the kitchen table to wait for the police to do whatever it was they were going to do.

  "What have we got?" Cori asked when she reached her partner.

  "A lot of quiet after a lot of noise," Finn answered.

  "Do tell," Cori drawled. "Want to do this John Wayne or Tarantino?"

  "John Wayne always," Finn answered. Guns at the ready were preferable to guns drawn.

  Together they walked across the lawn, admiring the little house with its glow of golden light. They couldn't see through the drawn drapes, not even a shadow that would help them determine where the Barnetts might be. Finn knocked at the door.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Barnett? It's Detectives O'Brien and Anderson come to see if we can be of assistance."

  When there was no answer, Finn put his hand on the doorknob. He and Cori locked eyes. He mouthed a count of three and turned the knob. It wasn't locked so he swung it open. Both detectives stepped inside: Finn to the left and Cori to the right.

  "Mr. Barnett! Mrs. Barnett!" Finn called again. "Detective's Anderson and O'Brien."

  Cori moved quickly to a half closed door and nudged it open. When nothing happened, she looked in.

  "Bedroom," she said. "Sheets are a mess."

  The kitchen/living room was empty. The Barnetts' suitcases were in the corner unopened. Finn walked over to Cori and stuck his head in the bedroom.

  "No blood. No signs of a struggle."

  He walked further in and looked into the small bathroom. It was empty, too. He walked back past Cori who followed him until they stood on the herringboned bricks outside the door.

  "The Coulters would have seen them if they went that way." Cori pointed toward the big house, the driveway, and the street beyond.

  "Then there's only one other way to go," Finn said.

  They headed toward the fence that separated the two houses, their eyes roaming over the trees and bushes, looking for anything that was amiss. They hadn't gone far when they heard Sam Barnett.

  CHAPTER 11

  Finn saw him first and it was a pitiful sight. His own father had been reduced to this when Alexander died. Sickened by half over what had happened to his child, their father still stood tall while he wept. Sam Barnett was on his knees, his arms wrapped around his middle, hunched over a puddle of his own vomit.

  "Mr. Barnett. It is Detectives O'Brien and Anderson. Sir, if you would sit back so we can see your hands."

  Finn stood a foot from the prostate man, setting his heavy boots in the soft lawn, his fisted hands by his side, his jacket unzipped so that his weapon was within easy reach. Cori kept one eye on Finn's back and the other looking for any sign of Elizabeth Barnett.

  Sam swung his head and cut his swollen eyes toward the detective standing over him. Though it was dark, Finn saw the hatred glinting there, hatred for Finn because he saw that Sam Barnett was not only grief stricken but cowardly. Slowly, very slowly, Sam put his hands flat on the ground. It took more time than Finn liked for him to push himself back. When he did, his hands wilted into his lap. Then he sighed deeply, raised an arm, and ran the sleeve of his expensive jacket across his mouth. He was used up. All the bits of the handsome, successful young lawyer were ground into the dust of the imperfect man. Still, Finn was not fooled. He had seen sadder men cause horrors.

  "Is your wife all right?"

  "No," Sam said, his voice raw.

  "Did you hurt her?"

  Sam pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. "Don't be stupid."

  Finn swept down and took the man by the shoulders. He needed no flippancy; he needed information because another life might be at stake.

  "Answer the question straight, sir. Did you hurt her?"

  "Get your hands off me." Sam pulled back, scrambled up, and moved away from the soiled ground. "Elizabeth's just being Elizabeth. She thought she saw someone in our house and she went inside to set things right because that's what she does. She sets things right in the house."

  "And you let her go in there alone?" Finn asked, disgusted by this man.

  "You can't stop her when she gets some crazy idea in her head. Do you hear what I'm saying? She imagined it."

  "She didn't imagine what happened to your children," Cori reminded him, and Sam Barnett shot her a hateful look. He pointed at the trees.

  "You can't even see our house from over here, but when I pointed that out she changed her story. She said she 'felt' someone was there." He looked from Cori to Finn and then shook his head. "For God's sake. It's just a fantasy of hers."

  "Then why didn't you go with her?" Finn asked.

  "Because I couldn't." Sam Barnett became more agitated the longer the detectives stayed silent. "You want me to say I'm a coward? Is that what you're waiting for? Fine. I'm a coward. I don't want to see those rooms. I don't want to watch my wife running around like a maniac."

  Finn thought Sam Barnett said all this proudly, as if he, at least, was rational in the face of the tragedy that had befallen his family. If that were true, then Elizabeth Barnett was not rational and that notion Finn could not abide. Before he could decide how to deal with the man, Cori stepped between them.

  "I'll go get her."

  Finn turned away from the husband and lowered his voice. "You stay. I don't want to go getting myself written up for knocking some sense into him."

  "Then watch your back," Cori said.

  "Always," he answered and he was off.

  Finn went past the well-tended flowerbeds to the very corner of the lot. Back this far the bushes were arranged in no particular pattern and the bare dirt hadn't been turned in a long while. He smelled tangerine and lemon. The fruit trees and bushes and vines could be hiding any number of things including someone not happy to see him coming. Still, Finn's step was sure and straight because he saw his path clearly; a path that led him to a tall, sturdy fence and a gate almost hidden by the trees and the scrub.

  The gate opened smoothly onto the back of the Barnett's property. Here the earth was hard-packed, too, and the air smelled of grass clippings, oiled tools, and manure. It was nearly pitch-black in the narrow space, so Finn used the garage wall as a guide. He reached the end of the structure only to find the yard unlit and looking like an alien landscape with plateaus and craters created by the faint moonlight and the hang of tall trees.

  His heart thudded. Finn drew his gun, hating the feel of it in his hand. His stomach went heavy. Unease sharpened the senses; fear, he knew, addled them and that did no one any good. But fear was a bullying sort and sometimes you couldn't sidestep its blows. In the next instant, fear landed a few of those blows on Finn as the yard exploded in white-hot light. His weapon went up, pointing at nothing as he retreated to the safety of the garage wall. He raised his eyes and saw motion detectors on the fixtures. Finn closed his eyes and shook his head. There was sweat on his brow and his hands trembled ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and then another, banishing the flashback of the night when those cops came at him. In that alley, in the spotlight of the liquor store's bare-bulb, Finn saw the pleasure those men took in their vicious attack. He saw his blood mingling with that of the homeless man he was protecting, shimmering bright red in that light. He remembered seeing the blood of the cop he shot.

  "Pull up your knickers, O'Brien," he whispered. It was time to attend to this night, not relive a past one.

  Clearing his lungs, he peered around the corner of the garage. The lights were still on but dimming. They would brighten again the minute he started to walk across the yard and that meant there would be no hiding from someone who might not have the best of intentions toward the law. Owning that knowledge, Finn stepped into the light. The three garage doors were closed, the Jaguar hadn't been moved, and the gate was still open.

  Finn went ahead, across the wide drive and onto the manicured lawn. His eyes were
on the backdoor when he caught a flash of movement at eleven o'clock. Dropping low, he raised his weapon but the butt of his gun slipped in his sweating palm. He took hold of it in both hands, hating the thing even as he prepared to use it, unable to deny his love of it either. It had been used to take a life and God would judge him for that. It had also been used to protect another life and God would also mark that down in his book. There was little time to wonder which would weigh heavier on God's scale because there it was again, moving fast, darting toward him.

  Nine o'clock now.

  Finn's arm swung.

  Seven o'clock.

  Finn's finger was on the trigger.

  Six o'clock.

  Suddenly it was on him and just as suddenly it was past him and Finn did not shoot. He could not shoot and he dropped ever lower until he was on both knees, his head bowed, listening to the pounding of his heart, trying to listen to his brain that told him to lower his damn gun and release his finger from the trigger. It was only a cat that he'd been fearing to shoot.

  A cat.

  He shook his head, and lowered his arms. With one hand he wiped the sweat from his forehead and then ran that hand over his shaved head. He had been six months recovering from his injuries and everyday he wondered what he would do should he need to point a gun and pull a trigger again. He still had no answer and he hoped he never would. To take another life might make him cold as the artic and unable to thaw; or it would leave him frightened as a church mouse, unable to work. He wanted neither, so there was only one thing to do. He would go on his way.

  Finn walked past the night-glimmered swimming pool, he crossed the patio where a table waited for a family that would never gather again. There was still a streamer of broken yellow tape attached to the railing on the stoop. Finn ripped it away and dropped it to the ground. But before he took those stairs, he stepped back to take a good look at the house.