to that crime. I want you to go over it again, Ash. Interview the people at the dinner party that night. Something’s wrong. I didn’t catch it before, but I’m not going to make that mistake a second time.”
“All right. I’ll start digging, but you realize, in the intervening five years, a lot of the people who could’ve helped might not be there. And the evidence from the crime scene, we need to reevaluate it.” He wanted to paint as dark a picture as he could.
“I know that, Ash. Remember who you’re talking to.”
As if he could forget it. He had tried for the past four years to avoid having to deal with Kelly Whalen. He’d been fairly successful in his quest. Until now.
But she had a point. Of all the people in the city, Kelly would know how hard it would be to investigate this murder.
“I know you know how difficult this is going to be. Tell everyone we’re going to have to go from square one and it’s going to take some time,” Ash replied.
She rubbed her neck. “What I need is a miracle. You got one?” Her eyes begged him to have an answer. That look sizzled down his spine, warning Ash that he was walking into trouble.
A loud rap on the door stopped Ash from answering Kelly. Immediately, the door opened and the D.A. walked into the room. Jake Thorpe, a tall man with a shock of white hair, had made his way up through the ranks. He had joined the D.A.’s office in the early seventies after he got out of the army and had gone to college and law school.
“Ah, good, you’re here, Ashcroft. That will make things easier.” He turned to Kelly. “I just got a visit from George and Nancy Procter. I must say they were very concerned about the disposition of this case.”
“I just bet they were,” Ash muttered.
Kelly glared at him.
Jake’s brow arched. “What we need to do is make sure you can refile this case. Are we going to be able to do that anytime soon?”
Kelly’s chin came up. “Ash was just enumerating the problems we’re going to have with the evidence and witnesses.”
Jake turned to Ash. “What problems?”
“As I started to explain to Kelly, the case rested on Carlson’s confession to the burglary, and fiber evidence on his clothes. With the clothes out, all we have is the jewelry. He could claim the necklaces were given to him. We need to connect him with the murder. Over the passage of time, witnesses have left the area and if we don’t have the evidence in storage, then I doubt we can uncover anything new.”
Jake studied Ash. “We all understand the problems, Detective. What we need is a new pair of eyes to view the evidence. But we also need you to do so quickly. I can only take so much heat.”
Ash understood. Jake was between a rock and a hard place, and he didn’t much care for it. He wasn’t the only one.
Ash leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He reviewed the file Kelly had given him.
“So you’ve been given my case.”
Ash glanced up into Lee’s hardened face. The scowl the older man wore was enough to frighten anyone with a lick of sense or guilt. At six foot, two-hundred-and-fifty pounds, Ralph Lee looked as if he could take down any suspect and beat him into a pulp with his ham-sized fists. It didn’t matter that the detective was fifty. He was still in top shape, with a steely gaze that had been known to bring more than one suspect to his knees.
“You through testifying in your case in Amarillo?” Ash asked.
“The man took the plea bargain the D.A.’s office offered.”
“I thought you were going to go on vacation,” Ash replied.
“I heard about the Carlson case and decided to come back. You’ve been assigned the case?”
“Yeah, Jenkins gave it to me.”
Lee’s expression hardened. “I’ll talk to him.” The older man marched into the captain’s office. Twenty minutes later, Lee walked out of the office. “I’m going to take my vacation. If you have any questions, you just run it by the captain. It seems he’s got all the answers.”
Ash glanced at the captain’s door. It was open and Ralph made sure he’d been heard.
Oh, things were going to hell in a handbasket.
Kelly settled down in her bed and tucked the blanket under her chin. It was an unusually chilly night in Houston, the damp cold seeping into her bones. Ash had always teased her about being a wimp when it came to cold. When he had been beside her in bed, she never had a problem with cold. It was like sleeping next to a furnace.
“What’s the matter with you, Whalen, thinking like that?” she grumbled out loud to the empty room.
It didn’t bode well for her if, in twenty-four hours of working with Ash, she was remembering how it felt to be in bed with him.
Not in her wildest dreams had she thought the cops would assign the case to Ash. He really must have made someone mad. She ought to check it out.
Who would have thought a week ago that she’d be facing this political hot potato and have to deal with her ex.
As she stared into the dark, she wondered if she would survive this case? There were wounds that had been inflicted that had never healed, issues that Kelly had never wanted to deal with. That was the trouble with issues—they always managed to crop up at the most inconvenient time. She didn’t think Ash was anxious to revisit the old wounds, either; nor did he seem pleased to be working this case. Well, if they came to an understanding to leave the past in the past, then maybe they could work together on this case.
That was a plan. She hoped Ash would go along with it. But then again, when had Ash ever made things easy?
Chapter 2
Ash glanced around Honey’s Hideout. The seedy bar, with the uneven floor, chipped tables and grimy walls probably had failed the last four or five health inspections. Of course, the clientele at the bar wasn’t interested in food or eating. The liquor this joint served would probably kill any germs.
Sunlight had a hard time penetrating the cloudy windows, but Ash spotted Steve Carlson at the end of the bar, nursing a beer. The man’s expression didn’t look like one of victory or enjoyment, but rather like a dog that had been kicked one too many times.
Ash had lucked out that Carlson was here at his old hangout. After five years in prison, Steve Carlson’s first trip out of his apartment, he had come to this dive—not the grocery store or a job placement office, but this dump. Some of HPD’s best business came from here.
Ash slid onto the stool next the man.
“I’m been looking for you, Carlson,” Ash began. He pulled out his badge and flashed it at Carlson.
The other man’s pinched features hardened. “What do you want?” he demanded. “I’ve been out of prison less than a week and done nothing wrong.” Carlson was a slight man, in his early thirties, five foot ten, thick glasses and thinning hair.
