That was the question that had plagued Kelly since Ash had left. “Why shouldn’t I?” she answered.
“Because the man’s a hunk.”
Great, just want Kelly needed to hear. She clenched her jaw and forced a neutral tone. “Ash could strip naked in this office and it wouldn’t affect me, except that I would call another cop to cite him for indecent exposure.”
Teresa’s expression said she didn’t believe a word of it. “If you say so.” She picked up the newspaper on the desk. The headline proclaimed Carlson’s release. “Isn’t this going to be a nightmare? My mom asked about double jeopardy.”
“If Carlson had been found innocent, that would be the case. This order throws out the original verdict and part of the evidence, so we have to start all over again. I need to refile on this case. Would you bring me the paperwork?”
“Sure.”
Once alone, Kelly stood and walked to the window. Downtown workers poured from the buildings, hurrying home. Home to their families and loved ones. Kelly didn’t have to worry about anyone waiting on her. She was her own woman. No one to tell her what to do. No one to tell how her day had gone. And she liked it that way.
When she reviewed the case days ago, after the court had ruled, she was distressed with the dangling ends left in the case. Also, although Carlson copped to the burglary, he vigorously denied murdering Catherine Reed. There was fiber evidence to prove he had been in the Reed house, but no blood evidence could be found to connect Carlson with the murder. And it had been a bloody scene.
She shook her head. Working with Ash wasn’t going to be a problem, she assured herself, even though their approach to the law was as different as night and day. He thought outside the box. She wanted all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed. Her miscarriage had intensified those differences, driven a wedge between her and Ash that had finally resulted in their divorce. He hadn’t understood—Kelly stopped her thoughts from going further.
Those were issues that weren’t involved in this case and she wouldn’t have to revisit them. They could work together on a professional level.
Yeah, and since when did the assistant D.A. start lying to herself? asked a voice in her head.
“Since the Carlson case got kicked into my lap,” she whispered.
Ash walked slowly into the building that housed the criminal division of the D.A.’s office. He’d spent the night reviewing the Carlson case. Reed claimed that he and his wife had gone to a society dinner. Then afterward, he had dropped his wife off at their house and gone out for cappuccino at a trendy coffee bar by their house. When he had came back home, he had found Catherine in their bedroom, hacked to death with the Civil War saber that had belonged to Catherine’s great-great grandfather. He’d immediately called the police. Afterward, it had been discovered that their safe had been robbed of two diamond necklaces.
All the pieces fit together into a clear picture—except that there wasn’t any blood evidence on Carlson or in his apartment. Fiber evidence, yes, but no blood. Of course, Carlson could’ve disposed of the shirt, but as bloody as the crime scene had been, it would’ve also gotten onto his pants, too, which had contained fibers.
Carlson’s hands had been cut and bruised, but he claimed it was from changing a tire on his car.
What didn’t make sense to Ash about this case was that Carlson was a burglar. He’d done time for theft. He didn’t have a history of violence, with the one exception of being arrested for hitting his ex-wife. The manner in which Catherine Reed had been killed indicated rage. Carlson’s history didn’t fit with the crime.
Ash wondered why Kelly hadn’t questioned this aspect of the crime the first time around. Then it hit him—the timing of the murder. Five years. Kelly had just miscarried their baby.
No wonder Kelly hadn’t questioned the little nagging doubts in the file. He didn’t doubt that some of the work he had done right after the miscarriage could have been called into question.
It sounded to Ash as if Steve Carlson had gotten the short end of the stick, and he didn’t have a decent lawyer to complain about it the first time around. Kelly wasn’t going to be too pleased with his observations.
When he walked into lobby of the criminal division, Kelly stood next to her secretary’s desk.
“Good,” she sighed, “you’re here.” She didn’t wait on him but walked into her office.
“Is the detective here?” Ash heard someone ask Kelly.
“He is.” Kelly stood by her desk.
Seated in the chairs before her desk was an elderly couple. Introductions were quickly made to Catherine Reed’s parents, George and Nancy Procter.
“So when are you going to rearrest that killer?” Mrs. Procter asked. The elegantly dressed woman pinned Ash with a hard stare, which belied her soft tone. Her husband also watched Ash with cold regard.
Ash looked at Kelly. “There’s a lot of work to do, beginning the case, again. And it’s a cold trail, which makes things even harder.”
“Do you mean you’re not going to arrest that man today?” Mrs. Procter’s voice reminded Ash of a queen issuing an order to her servant. Ash had always resisted being pushed or bullied. It was a quirk he’d acquired in the first grade when an older third-grader had tried to bully him. After a week of taking it, Ash had punched the bully and ended the terror. He’d learned a valuable lesson, never to be victimized again.
Ash opened his mouth, but Kelly stepped forward. “We want to make sure nothing else will go wrong and that we can nail Steve Carlson.”
“And will you press for the death penalty?” George Procter questioned.
Well, it was certain that the Procters weren’t going to be happy unless Carlson fried. Apparently the genteel society folks were out for blood, not that he could blame them. But he had the feeling that the Procters were going to be breathing down his and Kelly’s necks.
Kelly leaned back against her desk. “I’ll have to talk to my boss about the disposition of the case.”
“I want that man to pay for what he did to our little girl,” the older man insisted, “and I don’t care what it takes to make him pay.”
It sounded as if George Procter was ready to take justice into his own hands.
“I’ll be sure to pass your feelings on to my boss,” Kelly told him.
“There’s no need. I’ll tell him myself,” George informed her. “Come, Nancy, let’s go.”
After the couple left, Kelly closed the door to her office. She leaned back against the door. “This is going to be a nightmare. I’ve already had five calls this morning about this case—from my boss, the newspapers, the victim’s husband—all demanding to know what I’m going to do.” Her gaze met his, and she silently asked if he had the answer.
“Have you looked at the file, Kelly?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I have.”
“So you
