Angels (A Detective Pierce Novel Book 3) Read online

  Since the man was worth several million dollars, Amy could have settled for him. Their first meeting went well and he seemed interested, but she noticed that he spent much of their meal staring at their twenty-something waitress.

  The man never called again after they had sex that night. Days later, while out on a theater date with a septuagenarian, Amy saw the banker exit a limo with the waitress on his arm. When she managed to catch the man’s eye, he looked right through her. That was when she knew that she had been just another blonde to warm his bed.

  Days of depression followed that event. Since it was early summer, Amy had no classes to teach, and she wallowed in bed while grieving her lost youth. From time to time, she would look at the magazine that had the photo spread of Pierce’s home. There was also a picture of Pierce, and Amy smiled when she thought back to what he was like as a young man.

  Pierce had doted on her. He had loved her and would have done anything to please her. She had tossed him aside when she learned that his family’s farm was about to be foreclosed on. Ricardo Pierce was a nice boy and she had loved him, but as her mother had always told her, a girl needed more than love in this world.

  That was when Amy realized that her professor had a thing for her, her rich professor, who also had an English pedigree and an estate back in the UK.

  But Arthur Lowe was what the Texans call, “All hat, no cattle.” Yes, there was an estate in England, and the damn thing was mortgaged to the hilt, while the land surrounding it had been sold off a piece at a time. In addition to that, Lowe’s father, who Lowe had always claimed was at death’s door, clung to life for more than a decade after their marriage.

  After the death of the elder Lowe back in England, Amy traveled there with her husband and learned the truth about Lowe’s inheritance. There was no inheritance, and on top of everything, they had to pay to bury Lowe’s father. She flew back from England alone, and she and Lowe soon divorced. Deep in debt because of her expensive tastes, she filed bankruptcy, lost her home, and was forced to rent a townhouse.

  What followed were years of unfulfilling relationships with men who were wealthy, but unwilling to commit to marriage. Meanwhile, Amy turned forty, and suddenly, it was as if there were a sign around her neck telling men that they could do better.

  ***

  As the Fourth of July approached, Amy dragged herself out of bed, showered, and headed on foot to the nearby park.

  She felt that if she had any chance of attracting a quality man that she had to stay in shape. Lying in bed for a week had sapped her endurance, and after running only two miles, she stopped at a bench to rest.

  Men walked by her, but they were either with someone or too old. In any event, she could tell by their clothes and jewelry that they had no money to speak of.

  She was wondering if there were still men out there who would find her irresistible, when a voice came from behind her.

  “Hi.”

  Amy turned around to find a tall blond boy smiling at her. His face said that he was a boy, but he had the body of a man. He was dressed in running shorts, was shirtless and sweaty, and his muscles rippled with every movement he made.

  “You probably don’t remember me, but we ran into each other a few weeks ago,” the boy said.

  Amy squinted to get a better look at him, and then wondered if it meant she was at the age where she needed glasses.

  “You do look familiar. Where do I know you from?”

  “I pulled over and asked you if you had broken down. You were by a wooden fence and looking at the farmhouse that belongs to some friends of mine.”

  Amy smiled.

  “Right, I remember now, and you were with a cute redheaded girl.”

  Matt smiled.

  “That’s my girlfriend, Christy.”

  Amy let her eyes roam over Matt’s muscular torso.

  “Christy is a lucky girl.”

  Matt blushed a deep shade of red, and Amy had to stop herself from laughing.

  “Um, well, it was nice seeing you again,” Matt said.

  “I’m Amy. What is your name?”

  “I’m Matt.”

  What came out of Amy’s mouth next surprised her.

  While she had slept with her younger male students for years, they had all been men, if very young men, and she had never crossed the line into pedophilia. However, the last few weeks had left her feeling vulnerable and less desirable. Matt was a boy and a virgin. Amy knew that much the moment he blushed from her admiring gaze. To be that young again, that innocent, Amy craved it. And if she couldn’t have it herself, she would experience it through the eyes of the boy standing before her.

  “Can you give me a ride home, Matt?”

  “What?”

  “A ride, my townhouse is just a short distance from here. I would walk, but my ankle seems sore.”

  Matt swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Sure, I can drop you off at home.”

  ***

  Amy seduced Matt that day. Although, seduction was less in play than biology. Matt was a fifteen-year-old virgin and, although much older, Amy Lowe was a beautiful woman.

  Once Amy had offered herself to him, Matt falling into her bed was as predictable as rain falling from the sky.

  Matt caressed her body with a reverent expression on his face. Amy looked into his eyes and saw something she hadn’t seen since she and a teenaged Ricardo Pierce lost their virginity to each other. She was wanted, truly desired and cherished, and her young lover fulfilled her as much as she pleased him.

  CHAPTER 4

  On the Monday after The Fourth of July, Pierce stepped around a large tree limb and stared down at the body of Oscar Carlson, which was lying beneath it.

  There had been a storm the night before that had brought heavy rain and high winds into the area. It caused a number of tree branches and roof shingles to break loose and go sailing along in the breeze.

  Pierce had to drive around three garbage cans that littered the roadway while on his way to the station that morning. The wind had also loosened a rain gutter on his home.

  Still, how likely was it that a man would be out in a storm and wind up in the exact right spot for a falling tree limb to kill him?

  It happens. Yes, accidents do happen, but so do murders.

  Pierce’s partner, Jake Collins, walked over after taking the statement of the woman who had discovered Oscar Carlson’s body.

  Carlson had been forty, on the short side, and had a pleasant face. The man was dead, and still Pierce sensed that Carlson had been the friendly sort. He seldom got impressions like that from corpses, but when he did, they had always proven to be correct.

  Years ago, while still in uniform, Pierce came across a fatality in a car wreck. One look at the man’s bearded face and Pierce just knew that he wouldn’t have liked the man. He later discovered that the dead man had been a wife beater and a con artist who was wanted in California for bilking the elderly in some sort of insurance scam.

  Jake Collins read from his notebook.

  “Mrs. Lana King there says that she was in her yard around nine a.m. when her dog came across the DB and started barking.” Collins pointed to his right. “That’s her house over there, while only one other person was at home in the other nearby houses. Mrs. King lives with her husband, Conner King. Her little girl was with her when she discovered the body.”

  “Really? Did the kid see anything?”

  “Yeah, but she’s only two; she asked her mother why the man was sleeping outside.”

  “Did Mrs. King recognize Carlson?”

  “Yeah, she said that he lives just on the other side of the woods to the north there, and uses them as a shortcut to get to work in town.”

  “What sort of work?”

  “Mrs. King didn’t know, but the other neighbor came over to look at the body before we arrived. That neighbor is a nineteen-year-old college kid home for the summer. He told me that Oscar Carlson owned a hobby shop in town.”

  “De
tectives!”

  Both Collins and Pierce craned their necks to look up at the crime scene tech who had called to them. Her name was Angela. She was a young African-American woman filled with energy who had been recently promoted to head the forensic department. Despite her new status, Angela was still a hands-on type. She had donned a safety harness and climbed a ladder to take pictures of the section of the tree where the limb broke free.

  “What did you find up there, Angela?” Pierce asked.

  “It’s definitely a break and not a cut, but it looks days old to me. I also see marks on lower branches. I think that tree limb broke off during that earlier storm we had last week and was just sitting loose atop some branches.”

  Pierce examined the limb again, and yes, the leaves did appear to be a bit wilted. He then remembered the other storm Angela mentioned. That storm hadn’t been nearly as windy as the one that occurred the night before, but it was likely when the branch first broke free.

  “Thank you, Angela, and please take lots of pictures at different angles,” Pierce said.

  “I’m on it, Rick,” Angela said.

  Jake lowered himself beside the body as if he were about to do a push-up. He then studied the wound to Oscar Carlson’s skull with a critical eye.

  “It’s a nasty wound, but it looks consistent with the scene to me. I guess we’ll see what the coroner says.”

  Pierce looked over at the row of houses that bordered the woods he was in. The homes were all new and part of a development. Other than their color and the fact that some had attached garages, the houses all looked alike but were separated by tall rows of hedges that offered privacy.

  It occurred to Pierce that anyone standing at an upper rear window in one of the nearby homes would be able to see the spot where he was standing, although, at night, it would have been shrouded in darkness. Pierce pointed at the ground.

  “There is a trail here, so maybe Carlson isn’t the only one who uses it as a shortcut. Let’s go talk to his neighbors when we’re done here.”

  ***

  After the coroner came and went away with the body, Pierce and Jake learned from the officers on the scene that they had gone up and down the entire block and that most of the homes were empty with no cars in the driveways. The only person they’d found at home, other than Mrs. King and the college student Jake had spoken with, was a guy who had been asleep. The man had returned home early that morning after working the night shift. He had seen nothing and his house was on the other side of the street.

  With no one else to interview near the scene, Pierce and Jake followed the trail through the woods north until they came to the street where the dead man, Oscar Carlson, had lived. They both stopped walking at the same time as they beheld an odd sight.

  The street was a dead end. There were only two homes, and they both sat at the end of the block facing out. Sitting between them was a cinder block wall that was eight feet high.

  Pierce and Jake walked over and took a closer look. The wall was painted a stark white on the right side, while the left side was a soothing blue and had a mural of children playing with various toys.

  The house on the side of the wall that was painted white appeared older than its neighbor and was a dull gray. There were no flowers in the yard, just a row of overgrown hedges.

  The house on the right, Oscar Carlson’s home, was a vibrant green with white trim. A flower garden grew in a circular section on the front lawn, and there were also rose bushes.

  The front door opened on the house that had the white side of the wall. When a woman stepped out holding a shotgun, Pierce and Jake drew their weapons.

  “Police! Put that weapon down!” Pierce shouted.

  The woman sent them an apologetic smile and lowered the shotgun. While bending over at the waist, she set the weapon on the porch.

  “Sorry officers. It’s just that I live alone and you can’t be too careful these days.”

  Pierce and Jake lowered their weapons and told the woman to walk over to them. She was in her forties with a slim figure and an unpleasant face. She wasn’t bad looking, but had deep scowl lines around her mouth that detracted from her looks. Her sandy-blond hair was cut short and her blue eyes were darting about.

  Once she was standing in front of them, both detectives put away their guns.

  “I’m Detective Pierce and this is my partner, Detective Collins. What is your name, ma’am?”

  “I’m Reba Miller and that’s my house I just came out of. What’s going on?”

  “Do you know Oscar Carlson?” Pierce asked.

  Reba Miller’s lips curved into a smirk.

  “Yeah, he’s my neighbor. What did he do? I hope it was bad enough that he gets life in prison.”

  “He actually received death,” Jake said, and then he explained what seemingly had happened to Oscar Carlson in the woods.

  Reba Miller looked saddened as she shook her head.

  “What? Dead? Oscar can’t be dead.”

  “I’m afraid it’s true,” Jake said.

  Reba Miller laid a hand on her chest and then looked back at Carlson’s house.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Jake pointed at the wall.

  “What’s the story behind that?”

  Reba Miller sighed.

  “Oscar and I didn’t get along at first. When I bought the land on my side of the wall and built my house, I was the only soul out here. Then, Carlson’s uncle left him the land on the other side of the wall, and he built his damn house right next to mine. He had four acres and he had to crowd me. That’s when I put up the wall.”

  “So there was bad blood between the two of you?” Pierce said.

  “Yeah, early on, but I never wished him dead.”

  ***

  After checking her gun permit and verifying that she was the homeowner, Pierce left his card with Reba Miller. Then, he and Jake began the trek back through the woods.

  “If this is a murder,” Jake said, “that lady there is my prime suspect. I mean, a privacy fence would be one thing, but that was a damn barricade. She must have hated him.”

  “I don’t know; I thought she seemed upset to learn that Carlson had died.”

  “Maybe, or maybe it was an act.”

  They made it back to the scene and Jake headed towards the home of Mrs. King, the woman who had discovered Carlson’s body.

  “Where are you going?” Pierce said.

  “I want to ask Mrs. King if she knows anything about Reba Miller.”

  “Good idea, and I should meet her anyway. If Carlson was murdered, she might be a suspect.”

  Jake laughed.

  “Mrs. King is no Reba Miller. She’s a young mother with a two-year-old.”

  “Never rule anyone out, Jake, not even the child. I may be wrong, but I think the youngest murderer on record was only six.”

  “Six?”

  “Yeah, and he used a shotgun.”

  “Wow, and yeah, you’re right. I’ll keep an open mind, but I still like Miller for it if it turns out to be murder.”

  ***

  Lana King was a pixie of a woman who had an infectious smile.

  She greeted them at the door while holding her daughter, who looked like a toddler version of herself.

  “Reba Miller? No, the name doesn’t sound familiar. That man who was struck by the tree limb was the only one I’ve ever seen walking out there. That is, if you don’t count the kids.”

  “What kids? Teenagers?” Pierce asked.

  “No, they’re younger than that, maybe eight or so. They’re mostly boys, but there are some girls too.”

  “Did the kids play in the woods?” Pierce said.

  Lana King made a face.

  “They would use the trail to visit the man who died. It seemed weird to me, a grown man with so many kids around him all the time, but they seemed to like the man.”

  “Did you suspect that Carlson was a molester?” Jake asked.

  “No... but I did
think it odd that he was always around children, and he tried to talk to my daughter once or twice while she played out in the backyard.”

  “We’ll look into it to see if he had a record,” Pierce said. “If so, it could be a motive.”

  “A motive? For what, I thought it was just a freak accident?”

  “It probably is,” Pierce said. “But we have to be thorough.”

  “Is there anything else? I have food cooking on the stove.”

  “No ma’am, and have a good day.”

  Jake handed Lana King his card and he and Pierce walked back to their unmarked car. They had paperwork from a previous case that they had to have done by noon. Unfortunately, they also had to notify Carlson’s next of kin about his death. After they handled those duties, they would check out their latest victim’s home and business.

  There was little else to do until the coroner’s report came in. Unless they learned otherwise, Oscar Carlson was simply the victim of an accident.

  “What do you think about the kids spending time with Carlson?” Jake said.

  “The man owned a hobby shop and he had a playset in his yard. Maybe he just liked kids. Some people love children; it doesn’t mean they’re predators.”

  “According to his records, he was never married and had no children.”

  Pierce nodded as he drove.

  “I see where you’re going. You wonder if Carlson was a child predator and one of the kids’ parents found out something disturbing, right?”

  “Exactly, and when we get back, I’m going to ask for a rush job on that autopsy. If the coroner finds anything hinkey, this case could be a doozy.”

  “Let’s hope it was just an accident.”

  “Yeah, but I got a feeling about this one,” Jake said.

  Pierce smiled. He had known Collins since the man was a young rookie, and now he had developed a gut instinct. Jake was already a good detective, but Pierce thought he would only get better. If his instincts were right, and Carlson was murdered, Pierce would make Jake the lead on the case.

  It was time to see what Collins could do.

  CHAPTER 5

  Inside a federal penitentiary in New Hampshire, an old acquaintance and adversary of Pierce’s was receiving bad news.