Chapter 3
Alex Lanen
July
The final sentence of the Scriven case report was typed, and with a simple press of a key, submitted to the system.
Satisfaction washed over Alex as he leaned back in his chair and reached for his coffee mug.
He tilted it back to gulp down the remaining contents in a single motion, but the coffee had gone cold in the past hour, and his gag reflex kicked in the instant the bitter chill hit the back of his throat.
“Damn it,” Alex muttered after spitting the dark liquid back into the mug. He opened a side drawer, snatched out a napkin, and wiped his chin before setting the mug down in irritation.
He glared at Kinsley’s desk.
Their two workstations were pushed together, allowing them to face one another during shifts, but her chair had sat empty all day.
She’d left him to finish up the Scriven paperwork on his own, and while he understood that personal matters came first, he had absolutely no guilt about the vacation he had planned for the following week.
He tossed the used napkin into his trash bin and checked his phone. A quick tap of the display told him she hadn’t tried to reach him since their game of phone tag earlier that morning.
“Hey, it’s me.” Kinsley’s voice had sounded somewhat strained, even through the tinny speaker. “Something’s come up, and I need to take a personal day. Sorry to dump the Scriven paperwork on you. I’ll make it up to you. Call if you need anything.”
That had been the extent of it. No explanation, no details, just a brief message that left him with more questions than answers.
He’d tried calling back, but the line had gone straight to voicemail.
He’d briefly mentioned his impromptu fishing trip in the message he left, but they’d worked together long enough for him to know when to give her space.
A shift in the bullpen’s energy drew his attention to the other side of the room.
The station had been humming with the familiar afternoon rhythm of ringing phones, clicking keyboards, and the occasional murmur of conversation, but all that fell quiet as Captain Dale Thompson strolled down the center aisle between the rows of desks.
“Lanen, I need to speak with you.”
“No, no, no,” Alex called out, hoping to stop the captain in his tracks. “You already approved my PTO, Cap.”
The upcoming vacation had been a last-minute decision, prompted by some old college buddies’ invitation to join a deep-sea fishing expedition off the Gulf Coast. The captain hadn’t blinked at the request, and Alex wasn’t about to let his supervisor renege on it now.
A week away sounded like paradise, and he’d already mentally packed his gear, including his lucky fishing hat, for an early Sunday morning departure.
“And I’m already regretting it, but you have nothing to worry about, Lanen.”
Thompson’s broad shoulders and purposeful stride commanded attention without effort.
As he passed by the surrounding desks, the other detectives in the bullpen relaxed and got back to work.
Alex, on the other hand, tensed at the threat of losing his time off, regardless of the captain’s reassurance.
Thompson’s salt-and-pepper hair seemed a shade grayer than it had been last month, and the lines around his eyes had deepened. Budget meetings with the mayor and high-profile cases tended to have that effect. Alex figured whatever this impromptu meeting was about had to do with the latter.
“As long as the Scriven reports are turned in, you’ll get to go on your fishing trip.” Thompson came to a stop beside Alex’s desk, shifting his weight slightly as his gaze moved to Kinsley’s empty chair. “You talk to Aspen today?”
“Phone tag, mostly.”
Thompson nodded but made no move to leave.
Instead, he pulled over a chair from a neighboring empty desk and sat down, a clear signal that this wasn’t just a passing conversation.
The casual gesture did nothing to disguise the deliberateness of his movements.
Thompson wasn’t a man who rushed anything, preferring to gather his thoughts before speaking.
It was one of the qualities that made him an effective leader, though maddening to work for on days like this.
“Something’s come across my desk that needs attention. Not urgent, but interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
“Tell me, Lanen. What do you know about the Bells?”
Alex searched his memory for anything substantial about the Bell family. He picked up his pen and tapped it against the desk, the soft rhythm helping him concentrate as fragments of information began to surface.
“Richard Bell,” Alex finally offered, meeting Thompson’s expectant gaze. “The architect, right? Designed the high school football stadium about fifteen years ago. There was a big ceremony when they renamed it Bell Field.”
He paused, trying to recall more.
“Married. Can’t say I know much else about them, though. Old money, I think.”
Thompson nodded, seemingly satisfied with Alex’s limited knowledge.
“That’s the family. Richard and his wife, Eden, still live in Fallbrook, though they downsized a couple of years back. Their current residence is still twice the size of mine.” Thompson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Their son, Joey, runs Bell Landscaping.”
“Wait, didn’t they also have a daughter?” Alex asked, pointing his pen in the captain’s direction. “She was murdered by her boyfriend in the early nineties, right?”
“That’s right. Seventeen years old. Found at the bottom of the staircase in their home with a fractured skull.
” Thompson shook his head. “Jury found Grant Tatlock guilty of pushing Iris down a flight of stairs. He was a working-class kid from the south side, eighteen years old. The prosecution argued he killed her during an argument. They’d been dating against her parents’ wishes. ”
“Witnesses?”
“None. But the prosecution painted a compelling enough argument that the jury went along with it.”
“So much for reasonable doubt,” Alex said, connecting the dots. “I’m guessing the Bell family had some pull in town.”
“If we’re being honest, I don’t think they greased anyone’s pockets.
A cassette tape was presented as evidence that Tatlock had threatened her life.
Apparently, the girl had recorded an argument between them the day she was killed.
Tatlock died in prison about three years ago, stabbed during a mess hall fight. ”
Alex absorbed the information, mentally filing it away.
“Why is this coming up now, Cap? It’s been over thirty years.”
“Because yesterday, a crew working on a foreclosed property found something interesting in the attic.”
“Hold on, foreclosure?” Alex questioned, laying his pen down on the desk. “You just said the Bells downsized.”
“The current owner walked away about three months after the sale. Lost his job, and things went south from there.” Thompson reached into the front pocket of his uniform and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“This is the phone number of the foreman. One of his crew members discovered a tape recorder with some cassette tapes behind a false wall. Someone recorded some very interesting conversations involving people close to Iris. Given that she had a recorder on her the night she died, they’re probably hers. Twenty-seven cassette tapes in total.”
“I take it the crew listened to some of these recordings?”
“Enough to come up with a theory that Tatlock might not have killed Iris Bell,” Thompson replied, handing over the contact information. “Since the mayor is friends with the Bells, I want these rumors snuffed out before they take on a life of their own.”
“Why not give this to Sam and Shane? Aren’t they next up in rotation?”
“Shane’s been up at Terrapin Lake all day.
Something about an anonymous tip regarding a body in the water.
Divers have been searching since dawn, but last I heard, they hadn’t found anything.
” Thompson nodded toward the piece of paper in Alex’s hand.
“This will give Aspen something to work on while you’re off living my dream vacation. ”
“So, Kinsley will start the preliminary work, and I’ll join her when I get back?” Alex clarified, wanting to be certain he understood the assignment.
The corner of Thompson’s mouth twitched in response.
“Enjoy the time off, Lanen.”
Thompson made his way back through the bullpen, stopping briefly at another detective’s desk before disappearing into his office around the corner.
Alex reached for his phone and leaned back in his chair.
He accessed the second number on his speed dial list, the first being his mother, and pressed Kinsley’s name.
While it rang, he stared at the foreman's contact information on the foreclosure crew. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
He wasn’t too surprised when the call went straight to voicemail.
“Kin, we’re up next,” Alex stated before sighing in irritation. “More accurately, you’re up next while I’m breathing some salt air, downing beers, and casting lines. I don’t know if you got my earlier message, but I’m joining some buddies down in the Gulf. Call me for the details.”
He hesitated, wanting to say more but reconsidering at the last second. He pulled the phone away from his ear and disconnected the call.
Kinsley came from a big family, and he didn’t want to jump to conclusions about her personal life. They shared a strong bond, the kind that would prompt her to reach out if something was truly wrong. In the meantime, his lucky fishing hat was calling his name.