Family Ties (Flesh & Blood Trilogy Book 2) (22 page)
Read Family Ties (Flesh & Blood Trilogy Book 2) Online
Authors: Christina Morgan
“We’ll talk later,” I told her with a sincere smile, so she didn’t think I was upset with her. Harper and I had never had a disagreement, and although I could definitely understand her hesitance, I didn’t want to have our first battle right in front of my very volatile brother.
Harper nodded, turned on her heel, and headed upstairs toward the office.
“Are you going to be okay for a little while?” I asked, turning my attention back to Brian. He had already picked up my copy of Stephen King’s 11/22/63 and was reading the first page. “That’s an excellent choice. His best work, in my opinion. But you’ll be up all night reading.” It was an attempt at humor that fell flat at my feet. Brian either wasn’t in the mood for witty banter, or it just wasn’t his style. Either way, he seemed content, and that was the best I could hope for, for the time being. “All right, then. I’m going to head upstairs. You try to get some rest. If you need anything, just let me know. Bathroom’s down the hall to the left. You going to be okay?”
“Hm?” Brian looked up from the book. “Oh, yes. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sit here and read for a little bit and then I’m going to sleep. I’m very tired.”
“Good night, Brian,” I said as I turned on the lamp near the couch and pulled the light cord hanging from the ceiling fan. “I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe I’ll make pancakes.”
“I love pancakes,” he said with a smile.
I smiled back and then turned and left him alone in the living room. As I headed up the stairs toward the office, I began to question my decision. Was I doing the right thing? I was breaking the law, after all. By now, Web had probably convinced the other detectives that Brian was the real I-75 Strangler and they were probably hunting him and his red truck at that very moment. I was probably harboring a fugitive. I had broken the oath I had sworn as a private detective, to uphold and never hinder the process of the law, and I was probably breaking at least a few laws myself. Not to mention the fact that I now knew Brian to be a man capable of killing women in cold blood.
I must be insane
, I thought.
But at the end of the day, I knew I was doing the right thing. Maybe not ethically, or even legally, but morally. I had turned my back on my father for twenty years and ignored his many pleas for forgiveness. Now I knew that not only was he innocent, but he was a martyr. Willing to sacrifice his freedom to protect a son he had never even known. I wasn’t about to make that mistake again. If there was any way to help Brian and make sure he was treated fairly and that he received the medical treatment he so desperately needed, even though he was guilty, I was going to do it. He was my brother and it was my duty.
When I made it to the top of the stairs, Harper was standing there, waiting for me with her arms crossed over her chest. “What in the world are you thinking?” she whisper-shouted at me.
“Harper, don’t start,” I said as I walked past her into the office. “He’s my brother. I couldn’t just let him be hunted down like a wild animal. He’s not well. He needs help.”
“You should at least call Web and tell him Brian’s here. You trust him, don’t you?”
“Sure, I trust him. But he’s a cop first and foremost. He’ll insist on picking him up or he’ll try to talk me into bringing him in myself. That might be the best thing for him in the end, but for tonight, I just want to rest and think about our options. I’m going to find him an attorney tomorrow and we’ll go from there.”
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing. He’s killed ten people—that we know of!”
“But I’m his sister. He won’t hurt me. I just know it. And he won’t hurt you, either, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can’t explain it, but I just have this feeling in my gut that there’s more to this than we can see right now.”
“I’m locking my door,” Harper said as she stepped into the office. “Sorry about the mess. I was going to pick it all up tonight anyway.” She gestured to the investigative file we’d gotten from B. Cecil Hayes that was strewn about the office floor as Harper was in the middle of organizing it.
“Let’s just finish it now,” I said. “I’m not tired enough for bed yet. Help me out?”
Harper and I set about the task of stacking the documents. I bent down to pick up a stack of papers which were completely unorganized. When I stood up, intent on taking them to my desk to begin sorting them by date, one page fell from the bottom of the stack and flittered to the ground. I set the stack on the desk and returned to pick up the lone document. I squatted down, picked it up, and scanned the top of the page. It was an autopsy report for Bambi Williams, the second to last victim. I had never gotten around to reading all of the autopsy reports in detail yet and I read it with curiosity. The first thing I noticed was the cause of death—manual strangulation—the same as all the others. No surprise there. She was found splayed out in a ravine about thirty yards from the interstate near Exit 87, near Berea. Very sad.
Just as I was about to lay the report on top of the stack on my desk, something caught my eye and I looked back down at the page. The coroner’s estimated date and time of death was approximately eleven p.m. on July 20, 1995. Something was wrong. At that moment, I didn’t know what it was, but something at the back of my mind was pulling, nagging, telling me something was very wrong. I stumbled over my own two feet until I made it to my desk. I frantically began searching through the stacks and stacks of documents and files, until I found the one I was looking for. It was the computer printout which showed Brian’s criminal history and periods of confinement.
My hand began to tremble, the autopsy report in my hand was shaking. My mouth was gaping and my eyes must have looked like they were about to pop out of my head. Harper must have noticed me staring wide-eyed at the documents, because she stood up straight and said, “Libby, what’s wrong?”
I slowly turned and held the documents out in front of me for her to see.
“Libby, what is it? You’re making me nervous.”
I opened my mouth but it took a second for the words to tumble out. “Brian was in an institution when Bambi Williams was murdered.”
“Okay…” Harper said, looking at me quizzically. “And that means…?”
“It means, Harper, that Brian couldn’t have killed her. It means Brian is innocent, too.”
THE END
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Acknowledgements
As always, to my loving little nuclear family: Grace, Maddie, and Wes, for allowing me to take up the living room with my writing and giving me the time and space needed to work on this book. To my beloved extended family, Mom, Dad, Lauren (and crew), Granny, Sono, Josh, and Jena for making me who I am today and always being there for me. To my in-laws, Mike, Donna, and Brett (and crew) for encouraging me.
In Loving Memory–James Tyree Covey
About the Author
Christina Morgan was raised in suburban Central Kentucky in a family full of right-brainers. With a photographer/artist for a grandfather and an author/illustrator for a mother, she was bound to turn out on the creative side of the spectrum. She honed her writing skills in school, winning awards for her essays and short stories. Christina tried her hand at about every sport imaginable, which only went to prove that her efforts were better spent in other creative outlets such as art, singing, and writing. But it was writing that really stuck with her and she spent the next several years trying her hand at writing fiction novels, just for the fun of it.
She took a break for a while and focused on putting herself through paralegal school while raising two amazing Irish twin girls. She quickly learned that being a certified paralegal was the best career choice she could have made. On top of all of the cool cases she has worked on over the years, she was able to write original legal documents autonomously. When a national magazine for attorneys approached her in 2013 to write a short story for them about the life of a paralegal, she jumped on the chance. When the article was published and garnered her some amazing feedback, she realized how much she missed writing for leisure. She sat down and wrote her very first full-length fiction novel that year and hasn’t stopped writing since.
She loves reading (all genres except sci-fi), folk music, caramel macchiatos, puppies, thunderstorms, antique jewelry, dragonflies, the color purple (not the movie), and enjoys a large sweet tea from McDonald’s every single day.
Christina Morgan lives in Nicholasville, Kentucky with her husband and two teenage daughters, three dogs (one of which is blind and has only three legs), and two cats (one of which is still relatively feral.)