A Little Wicked (The Bewitching Hour Book #4)(22)

“Hey,” said someone behind him.

Derek and Parker both turned away from the bodies to see the two detectives who had probably been assigned the case originally.

“I’m Ryan Carlson.” The overweight and slightly balding guy reached out a hand to Derek. Derek met his handshake and Parker was not so subtly ignored, a reminder that gender equality wasn’t quite achieved in all parts of the force.

“This is Detective Angela Parker and I’m Derek Pierce,” said Derek, making a point to introduce Parker first.

“So I hear you’re taking the scene?” said Detective Carlson, the bitterness not quite hidden from his voice. The man probably had a desk full of cases to work on, but it was impossible to not feel protective over the jobs you were assigned for some reason.

“We just dealt with the murder of a Jackson Benedict,” said Parker without missing a beat. “We think this is related.”

“Benedict is a common name,” said Carlson.

“We’re looking down all possible connections,” she said coolly, not trying to prove herself.

“Why don’t you catch us up?” said Derek.

It was obvious Carlson was still sour about the case getting taken away, but after a few pained expressions, he gave the rundown. “Gunshots were heard by local tenants at around four o’clock in the morning. The 911 transcript has the exact time. When the ambulance got here, both vics were dead. No one saw anything. No one knows them. Both had wallets on hand. So we’ve got Erik Benedict.” He pointed to the Caucasian. “And Albert Bacco.” He pointed to the second victim. His phone chirped and he glanced down at it. “I have to take that. It’s about a case I still actually have,” he said with obvious bitterness as he walked away.

“You know,” said Parker when he was gone, “my super detective senses tell me that he doesn’t like us.”

“You’re a pro.” Derek spotted the shoe coverings. Once they were in place and he pulled on some gloves, he was able to approach the bodies. Little evidence cards signaled the locations of the bullet casings on the sidewalk. From what he could tell, they were .45s. Heavy stuff. Whoever did this wanted to make sure these guys stayed dead.

“What do you make of the bullet patterns?” asked Parker.

She had to be thinking the same thing he did. “Bullet to the head is execution.” Derek looked to Albert Bacco. The blood stains on his eggplant shirt under his suit jacket were large and now rust-colored with the drying blood that had almost overtaken the entire shirt. They were exit wounds.

“He must’ve been running,” said Parker, her mind working the same as his.

Albert had probably seen Erik Benedict get shot and taken off. But he hadn’t gotten far.

“If he was shot in the back, chances are he would’ve fallen belly down. So the killer rolled him over but didn’t take his watch. So he was looking for something, but what?” He wanted to look in the man’s jacket but couldn’t do anything until the photos had been collected. “Let’s find out where they are with processing.”

Parker nodded and they both stood up. But Derek had only taken a step before he saw something bone-chilling in the crowd of locals trying to get a look at the crime scene. While people stood on tiptoes and talked among themselves, a woman stood utterly still in the crowd and stared right at him.

Abigail Harris.

He looked to warn Parker, but she was off talking to one of the uniforms. Part of him wanted to call her in for backup. The other part knew that if Abigail Harris wanted him dead, he’d be in the ground already. He carefully approached; everyone around Abigail started to move away from her until there was a three-foot radius around her. Derek reluctantly stepped inside that radius. “What are you doing here?” He braced himself for any sign of attack.

“Same as you.” She smiled. “Investigating a murder.”

Okay, in the list of possible answers, that wasn’t one of them. “You knew Benedict?”

“He was at the party last night. I sent him out to run an errand for me and to my surprise, he never came back. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that? I hear you have a penchant for shooting people loyal to me in the forehead.”

He clenched his jaw. Part of him wanted to blame Claudia for that, but the other part knew that there was a real possibility he would’ve shot Heather even without Claudia forcing him to do it. So he didn’t defend himself on that count. “I was recovering from finding out my girlfriend’s mother has been taken over by an evil psychopath. And I don’t use a .45. I believe you know that from experience.”

She reached up to touch the side of her head where the exit wound had been yesterday. The one that had healed in seconds. “I don’t recall the bullet. A few too many distractions.”

“Why are you here?” he asked again. He had to treat this like an interview. He couldn’t let her lead the conversation or get him sidetracked.

“I want to know who killed Erik Benedict. If there’s anything you can tell me, I’d greatly appreciate it. I believe you still have Abigail’s number?”

He wasn’t going to answer any of her questions no matter how basic. “Why are you talking to me? Why not Sam?”

Abigail blinked a few times in surprise. “Derek, I thought you got it. I’m not Abigail Harris. I hold no special attachment to Samantha Harris. You’re the one who interests me.” She reached a hand out to him, toward his heart, but Derek stepped back before she could touch him, eliciting a smile from her. “You’re the one with darkness in his heart. I believe we could be friends.”