For You (The 'Burg #1)(83)

“Doc, this could be tied to a murder investigation. You know something, you aren’t doin’ right not sharin’.”

Now Doc was surprised. “What murder investigation?”

“We’re guessin’, and it’s a good guess, that Denny Lowe killed his wife, Feb’s ex, Pete Hollister, Angie Maroni and a man named Butch Miller.”

“Hoo,” Doc’s shock was audible; it came out of him like someone punched him in the gut.

Colt ignored the noise and thought about Amy.

Amy would go to Doc. Doc would have done her pregnancy test. He likely arranged for her care and even the adoption. Doc was a pillar of that community and he was for a reason. He wasn’t just a doctor, he was much more.

“You know somethin’ about Amy and Denny, we gotta know,” Colt told him.

“Knew Marie, heard ‘bout her this mornin’. Cryin’ shame, she was a nice woman,” Doc noted then asked, “Denny?”

“Evidence is pointing to him.”

“Hard to believe, son.”

“You don’t know what I know,” Colt told him. “You got somethin’ for me?”

“No, Colt, I don’t. Not on Denny and I would tell you, you know I would. Amy, I’m just sayin’, you best leave that alone. She’s a good girl.”

“She connected to Denny?”

“Not that I know of, would shock me deep I heard she was.”

“Then why would you need to tell me she’s a good girl?”

“Because, no matter what, it’s plain old true.”

The old man was hiding something.

“Doc.”

“All I’m gonna say.”

“Doc –”

“Colt,” Doc said firmly, quietly and in a way that made the cold inch tighter, “let it alone. Hear me, son?”

“I can’t. I’ll take it as read you’ll keep this between you and me but this shit with Denny is tied to me, it’s tied to Feb and we’re not talkin’ in good ways. You seen a lot of sick in your life but I’ll bet you your pension you haven’t seen sick like this,” he heard Doc take in a sharp hiss of breath but talked through it, “Feb’s in danger and I am too. If Amy’s in danger, she needs protection and she needs it now. Hell, Doc, she needed it last week and it’s my job to see that she has it.”

“I’ll tell you, Colt, far’s I know, Denny Lowe ain’t tied to Amy. God’s honest truth.”

That meant whatever he was hiding, and he was hiding something, might be tied to Colt or Feb and he wasn’t saying. Which meant it was.

“Doc, no matter how deep you bury that skeleton in your closet, somethin’ always happens to make it rattle.”

“You hear those bones rattlin’, son, take my advice. You close the closet door.”

Then Doc hung up. Another dead end.

“Fucking shit,” Colt cursed as he put down his phone.

“Looks like your day’s turnin’ out good as mine,” Sully noted as he walked up.

Colt knew what Sully was talking about. Colleagues, neighbors and friends of Lowe were being interviewed everywhere. All they got was a few “We always thought he was a bit quiet,” but nothing else. It was a shock even to his Mom and Dad, who still lived in town. Denny’s mother was so cut up she’d had to be sedated by paramedics. No one had heard from him or seen him since the day Puck died, which the coroner told them was also the day he reckoned Marie died. They were coming up zero which meant the only thing they had left was waiting for him to kill again.

He had no chance to reply to Sully, the phone on his desk rang again. He pulled it out of the receiver and put it to his ear.

“Lieutenant Colton,” he answered.

“She’s dead.”

Colt knew the voice, even if it was a whisper. Julie McCall.

Fuck.

“What?”

“She’s dead, Lieutenant. I’m standin’ in her house and she’s dead.”

“Who?” Colt asked but he knew.

“Amy,” she whispered and it surprised him, coming from that woman, but he heard tears in that one word.

“Exit the house immediately, Ms. McCall. Don’t touch anything. Officers will be there shortly and I’ll meet you out front.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t touch anything,” he repeated.

“I won’t.”

He hit a button on the phone and then hit the extension for dispatch. “Connie, get a unit out to Amy Harris’s house, one six eight Rosemary Street. We got a four one nine.”

“Four one nine,” Connie repeated. “Sure thing, Colt,” she finished and disconnected.

Sully was close when Colt put the phone down and grabbed his blazer off the back of his chair.

“Why you sendin’ a unit to Amy Harris’s house on a four one nine?”

Colt didn’t look at him when he answered. He was on the move.

“Because she’s dead.”

* * * * *

Colt stood in Amy Harris’s bedroom watching the boys cut her dead body down from the ceiling fan.

Hanged. Apparent suicide. No bruising. No marks. Hair tidy. Clothing tidy. House tidy, like she was preparing for company.