He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not (24 page)

“It’s reasonable doubt,” Logan said, thumping the table to emphasize each word.

“I disagree.” Pierce crossed his arms over his chest.

They were at an impasse. Logan’s lead detective and an FBI agent were 100 percent convinced they had the killer, that it was Frank Branson. So why wasn’t
he
convinced?

Was he really too close to the case to see what they were seeing?

“I still don’t like it,” he said. “But do what you have to do to build a case. We’ll hold him on the stalking for now, up the charge to murder if we can get enough evidence to convince a district attorney.”

“What about the rest of the investigation?” Riley asked.

“We keep working on the other leads as if Branson weren’t in the picture. I’m not willing to let anything drop just because we have a suspect in custody.”

“That will take more manpower than we have,” Riley complained.

“I can take most of the Branson research under the FBI budget, bring in more resources,” Pierce said. “Logan, if you’ll give me Riley to coordinate efforts with a couple of your detectives, you can have the rest of them for the other leads.”

“Is that what you want, Riley?” Logan asked.

Riley shrugged. “I believe Branson is the murderer. I’d like to work with Pierce on that. But if you need me on something else, I’ll do it.”

Logan drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Riley was his best detective and he didn’t have a large team to draw upon. Could his feelings for Amanda be making him paranoid? Unable to believe it was that easy, that Branson was the one?

Was he willing to risk being wrong again? What if Branson really was the killer and he went free because Logan persuaded his men Branson was innocent? He looked up at the line of pictures marching across the top of the whiteboard. But instead of seeing those women, instead he saw the shadowy faces of the women who might have been murdered by the killer he’d already let go. How many were there? Six, eight, more?

He shuddered and scrubbed his hand across his face. No, he couldn’t risk it. He had to assume, for now, that Pierce and Riley were right. But he also had to pursue other leads, just in case they were wrong.

“I’ll keep two detectives working on the other evidence. You two can take the rest and work the Branson angle, but make sure the stalking charge sticks regardless of where else your investigation leads. I don’t want him terrorizing Amanda again.”

Pierce nodded, his relief obvious. “Thanks, Logan. I appreciate you keeping an open mind.”

“I don’t know how open it is, but I trust you and Riley enough not to strangle-hold the investigation. I hope to God you’re right and we’ve got the killer.”

Logan headed for the conference room door but before he reached it, the door flew open and crashed back against the wall. Mayor Montgomery stood in the opening, his rotund body stuffed into a suit so tight the buttons looked ready to pop. His close-set eyes zeroed in on Pierce and Riley before looking to his right where Logan was doing his best to blend in with the wood paneling.

“Chief, what’s this I hear about an arrest in the Red Rose Ripper case?”

Logan flinched at the grotesque name the press had dubbed Carolyn O’Donnell’s murderer. “We’ve arrested Frank Branson for stalking.”

“Stalking? Who cares about stalking? The press is hounding me night and day about the O’Donnell case. Why haven’t you charged this Branson fellow for that?”

“Just a little thing called evidence,” Logan mumbled.

Pierce coughed behind his hand and the mayor’s hawk-like gaze turned to him. “What’s the FBI’s position on this? Do you think Branson is the killer?”

Pierce shot Logan an apologetic glance. “Everything points to Branson. If I had to give an opinion, then yes, I believe he’s the killer. But,” he held up a hand to stop the flood of words the mayor looked ready to spew, “I agree with Logan that there’s not enough evidence to arrest him for murder. Yet.”

The mayor frowned, not pleased with that answer. “What about you, detective?” he said, addressing Riley, who was slouching down in his chair and looked like he might slide underneath the table any minute. “Is Branson our man?”

Riley straightened and shrugged. “I don’t have the experience that Logan and Pierce have, so I don’t know that my opinion makes any difference.”

“Drop the bullshit, detective,” the mayor said. “Do we have the right man or not?”

Logan watched the expressions crossing Riley’s face and knew before he spoke that they were in trouble. Riley honestly believed Branson was guilty, but he didn’t know politics, didn’t realize the mayor was looking for the slightest excuse to divert attention from his office. If that meant branding an innocent man a murderer in the eyes of the press, Logan knew the mayor wouldn’t hesitate. Not because he was a bad person. He was just weak, too weak to withstand the daily calls from concerned parents and the kind of pressure he was under.

Especially with an election coming up.

“Well? Guilty or not?” the mayor demanded, his face turning a florid color as he waited impatiently for Riley to respond.

“I think we’ve got the right man, sir,” Riley said. He lowered his eyes to the table as if the wood grain pattern was suddenly fascinating.

The mayor clapped his hands together, a smug smile on his face. “I’ll set up a press conference immediately. Shouldn’t be hard to do since the bastards are camped out on my doorstep every freaking day.” He glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes? Is that enough time for you three to join me on the front steps?”

Logan shoved away from the wall. “Riley and Pierce can make up their own minds on this, but I won’t be there. I’m not going to mark a man a murderer without proof.”

The mayor sputtered, his eyes widening as Logan headed toward the door. “How am I supposed to announce we have a suspect without you there? You’re the chief of police, for God’s sake. You have to be there.”

“No, I don’t. If you’re going to call a press conference, you’re doing it without me.”

Logan left the room and headed for his office. He understood the mayor’s position. All of the evidence they had, what little there was, did point to Branson. But no matter how many times he tried to picture him as the killer, he couldn’t see it.

After grabbing his jacket and some files from his desk, Logan turned to leave. His cell phone buzzed, so he stopped and took a look at the caller ID. When he saw it was from his sister, Madison, he sighed and dropped the files onto his desk and plopped down in his chair.

His baby sister had lost her husband in a tragic accident in New York a year ago. Ever since, she’d been traveling around the world, running from her pain. One day she would realize she had to face her problems to put them behind her, but in the meantime she would call him or their mother every few months and announce she was still alive.

He flipped open his cell phone. “Hey, trouble. Where are you this time? Rome? London?”

Thirty minutes later he hung up the phone with a rueful grin. Leave it to Madison to trick him into revealing more than he’d meant to about Amanda. He’d purposely not told her anything about the serial killer or the case because he didn’t want to worry her, but he’d admitted he had Amanda in protective custody.

From that statement his sister had leaped to the conclusion he and Amanda were a couple. She wanted to come to Shadow Falls to meet her but he was adamant that she not, assuring her that he and Amanda were not a couple and that he was working an important case and couldn’t afford any distractions right now.

His sister was astute. His protestations about his feelings for Amanda not being serious didn’t fool her. Thankfully she was three states away, vacationing in Louisiana. He was safe from her prying and her avowed role as matchmaker in his life.

After the call with his sister, he hurried out of his office and down the elevator, but paused as he opened the front door of the building. The mayor was standing behind a podium set up on the landing at the top of the steps. Flanking his sides were Riley and Pierce.

Logan exited to his left, taking care to stay close to the building and avoid drawing anyone’s attention as he hurried toward the parking lot.

Riley looked miserable. He was sweating profusely and kept shoving his hair out of his eyes. Pierce looked bored, resigned.

As the mayor rapped a gavel on the podium to signal the start of the press conference, Logan hurried down the last steps.

His car was parked in the slot marked “Chief of Police.” A man in an oil-stained, tan jumpsuit leaned against the brick side of the building. Logan didn’t know him, but he recognized the uniform as the type worn by the mechanics who maintained the police cruisers. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from the man’s lips. A baseball cap was pulled down low over the right side of his face and he wore his hair shaggy, shoulder-length. Logan nodded in answer to the man’s wave, then put his briefcase in the Mustang and started the engine.

He backed out of his space and put the car in drive, but instead of pulling out onto the street, he stopped. The smoking area for employees was in the back of the building, not the side. And something about the man put him on edge. Logan looked back toward the building, but the mechanic was gone.

The shrill sound of a microphone brought his attention to the front steps. The press conference was starting. One of the reporters glanced his way and excitedly gestured to the cameraman beside him. Logan pressed the gas and sped away.

Chapter Fourteen

W
hen Logan arrived at home, he climbed the stairs to the back deck and found Karen and Amanda sitting at one of the umbrella-topped round tables, hunched over a board game.

Amanda’s back was facing him and she didn’t hear his approach. Karen glanced up, but Logan shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for her not to let Amanda know he was there.

She smiled and looked back down at the game board. Logan was carrying a basket and he set it beside the French doors before stepping behind Amanda’s chair.

Curious to see what had her so engrossed, he peered over her shoulder. Scrabble. Karen must have brought the game with her, because the only games he had at his house involved cards, poker chips, and when a woman was playing, as little clothing as possible.

The thought of playing strip poker with Amanda was a tantalizing one, but not something he wanted to think about with Karen sitting three feet away.

He leaned down next to Amanda’s ear. “Honey, I’m home.”

Startled, she jumped half out of her chair, bumping the table and sending her tiles flying.

Karen laughed, shaking her head as she set the Scrabble box on top of the table and started to rake the tiles off the board into the drawstring bag.

Amanda scooted her chair back from the table and stood next to Logan with her hands on her hips. “I could have won if you hadn’t done that.”

“Really?” he asked as he looked at the score pad. “Did you have an eighty-three-point word you were about to put on the board?”

She smirked and shoved him out of her way. Logan’s breath caught as he watched her crawl under the table to retrieve the tiles that had dropped to the deck, her shorts tightening around her shapely rear.

The sound of a throat clearing had him jerking his gaze back to Karen. She gave him a wink. “I’ll leave the game here, Amanda. I’ll see you two later.”

“Oh, okay,” Amanda called out from under the table. “Maybe I’ll have better luck tomorrow. Thanks for playing.”

“Good night, Logan,” Karen said as she struggled unsuccessfully to suppress a grin.

Logan gave her his sternest glare but she only rolled her eyes, chuckling as she walked across the deck to her car.

“Got you, you slippery little devil.” Amanda crawled out from under the table, triumphantly holding up a wooden tile.

Clearing his suddenly-dry throat as her gaping tank top revealed far more than she probably realized, Logan forced himself to meet her gaze. “If you’re through crawling around on your hands and knees, I thought you might like to get out of here for the evening.” He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet.

She dusted off her knees then pitched the tile into the Scrabble box. “What do you mean,
get out of here
? Go into town?”