Revenge of Innocents

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

Genres: Thrillers

Synopsis

Carolyn knew everything about Veronica Campbell. She knew about the case of murder and retribution that haunted her life and her career. About her stormy relationship with her husband, Drew. About the emotional darkness that was overwhelming Veronica's fragile seventeen-year-old daughter, Jude. But seeing her friend laid out on a cold hard slab of steel in a morgue, and hearing the initial judgments of the investigators, Carolyn also knows this: there's no way Veronica would have ever taken her own life. And when Carolyn receives a note threatening her away from the case, she knows a killer is at large.

Carolyn must separate lies from truths in a world of complex relationships and battered psyches. As a hidden side of Veronica's life emerges, including the stunning possibility that Veronica had taken a lover, Carolyn becomes increasingly involved with Veronica's daughter, who claims her father has been abusing her for years. Trusting a person she doesn't truly know, putting her own upcoming marriage with wealthy, charming Marcus Wright in jeopardy, Carolyn investigates the brutal murder of another young woman. With danger and deceit swirling all around her, Carolyn is determined to lure her prime suspect out of the shadows. But all the while a killer is coming straight after her…

Release date: May 1, 2007

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

Death showed up amidst the smoke and flying embers. She was sitting on the front steps of Ventura High when she saw his car. He would wait her on a side street. If she made him wait too long, he would beat her. Today, he would wait.

“They announced on TV that the schools were going to be closed,” Chloe said, a short girl with brown hair and freckled skin. “I can’t believe my stupid mother didn’t tell me. I could have slept late. Now that we’re here, want to do something?”

“I can’t,” she said, raising her eyes and then lowering them. “I have an appointment.” What would she look like in her coffin? Would they leave it open or closed? How many people would show up? The only thing that bothered her was not being able to control what they did to her after she died. It would be over, though, and over was enough.

“What kind of appointment?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What do you mean, you don’t remember?” Chloe said. “Is it a doctor, a shrink, a dentist? Do you at least know when you’re supposed to be there? If your appointment is this morning, we might still be able to do something this afternoon.”

“I have an essay I have to finish.”

“So what? Let’s have some fun today. You’re too uptight about everything.”

“I should have graduated last year, Chloe. I’m eighteen and I’m still in high school. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Chloe reached over and touched her arm. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been acting weird lately. Where were you last week? You and Reggie didn’t run away and get married, did you?”

“No,” she said. “I was sick.”

Chloe persisted. “Did you have the flu?”

“I have to go,” she told her, annoyed by the barrage of questions. She stood and made her way through a small throng of students.

“Maybe we’ll get another day off tomorrow,” Chloe yelled. “Who knows? We might get lucky and the school will burn down.”

Her plan to hold him off wasn’t working. She’d devised a new plan, but the timing had to be perfect. Weak and dizzy, she knew if she passed out in a public place, they would take her to the hospital and find out what was hidden underneath her clothes.

As she stared at the black clouds rising into the atmosphere, she noticed her sweatshirt was covered in ash. When she tried to brush some of it off, strands of hair became tangled in her fingers. She coughed from the smoke, causing her ribs to ache.

She entered the girls’ bathroom and locked herself inside a stall. Maybe he didn’t know school had been called off because of the fires. If she stayed in here long enough, he might leave. She wanted to put an end to it today, but she was afraid.

Facing death wasn’t easy.

Thirty minutes passed. She left the stall, walked to the door, and peered out. The school appeared deserted. Her throat was sore from breathing in the smoke-filled air, so she got a drink from the water fountain, then returned to the bathroom and squatted down in a corner.

The door burst open. “You saw me out there,” he shouted, his face flushed with rage. “You know how long I’ve been waiting?” He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her to her feet. “I’m parked in the regular spot. To make certain no one sees you, wait five minutes before you come out.” He stared at her, then added, “You look like shit. Comb your hair. And why are you wearing those heavy sweats on such a hot day?”

Once he left, she splashed water in her face and smoothed down her hair. She didn’t have a brush with her. No wonder her hair kept falling out. It wasn’t strictly poor nutrition. He kept pulling it. He even did it when other people were around, but he always laughed, making it seem like a game.

She walked to the street behind the school. He called it their special meeting place. To her, it represented the gate to hell. When she saw his car, she looked straight ahead and continued walking. He slammed on the brakes and leapt out, rushing over and seizing her by the arm. Her books tumbled to the ground. “Don’t act like this,” he said. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” she said, glaring at him until her released her. “What kind of surprise?”

“Get in the car and you’ll find out.”

Fighting him was useless. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten. Was it last night or the night before? Every other day, she sliced an orange into three equal pieces and parceled them out over the course of the day. She was getting forgetful and suspected days passed when she didn’t eat anything at all. Since she cleared the plates every night, no one knew what went down the disposal. She glanced at her books on the sidewalk, but made no attempt to retrieve them. If everything went the way she’d planned, she would no longer need them. “I don’t care about your surprise.”

“Get in the damn car!” he said, the words roaring from his mouth.

His mouth formed a perfect circle when he yelled at her. It was as if his lips became a megaphone. In the past, she’d cowered in fear. What frightened her now wasn’t his voice or even the things he did to her.

He glanced up and down the street to see if anyone was around. “If you keep this up, you’ll ruin everything. Are you going to get inside the car, or do I have to make you?”

She climbed inside, not bothering to buckle her seat belt.

“Are you still pissed off because I said something about your weight?” he asked. “I didn’t mean anything, baby. Since you’ve slimmed down, you look great. Maybe you can be an actress.”

She closed her eyes, trying to forget where she was and what was about to happen to her. When she opened them and realized they had traveled a long way, she asked him, “Where are you taking me?”

He placed his hand on her thigh. She was wearing two pairs of sweatpants, so all she felt was a small amount of pressure. Even that repulsed her. She scooted closer to the door.

“The least you could do is smile,” he said, placing his hand back on the steering wheel. “You look so pretty when you smile.”

He turned into a parking lot and parked the car.

“Is this your surprise?” she asked, looking up and seeing a motel sign.

He pulled out a key and jangled it. “When we get to the room, I’m going to make you feel like you’ve never felt before.”

She’d already accomplished that without him, although she knew he was referring to sex. Starvation was interesting. Something new happened every day. That is, as long as you didn’t cheat. But she was long past cheating. She was tired of waiting, though, and fearful someone would find out and stop her. It wasn’t herself she was concerned about. The previous week, she had seen him with her younger sister.

She followed him up the stairway to the second floor, holding on to the railing for support until they reached the room.

“We don’t have to hurry,” he said, once they were inside. “That’s why I got the room. Take your clothes off. No one’s going to bother us here.” He turned on the air conditioner, an old floor unit. “Man, this thing really blasts, doesn’t it? While everyone’s sweltering out there, we can cuddle under the covers.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, placing her hand inside her sweatshirt and clasping her cell phone. She closed the door behind her and flushed the toilet so he couldn’t hear.

When she came back, he shoved her sweatshirts up to her armpits.

“Jesus, you’re skin and bones. Are you sick?”

“You told me to lose weight,” she said, fixing him with a look of defiance. “Isn’t this what you wanted? My breasts are gone. I look like a little girl again. That’s what turns you on, isn’t it?”

“I—I didn’t mean you should…” He walked around in a circle, coming to terms with what he had seen. “It’s okay. You just went overboard. Start eating again. You’ll gain the weight back in no time.” He came up behind her, and pulled her to his body. “I want you so bad,” he said, moaning. “It’s been too long.”

“I’m going to tell the police.”

“Don’t talk, baby,” he panted. “We’ve got all day.”

“Didn’t you hear me, asshole?” she shouted, twisting away from him. “I’m going to tell the police what you’ve been doing to me. They’ll send you to prison.”

His face became distorted with rage. He pulled back his arm and punched her hard in the abdomen. She doubled over in pain. “Look what you’ve done,” he said, massaging his knuckles. “You know you can’t threaten me like that.”

“I can do anything I want,” she snarled. “The only way you can stop me is to kill me.”

He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the bathroom. After he kicked her several times, he fell on top of her and began pummeling her with his fists. The lower half of her body was sandwiched between the toilet and the bathtub. The sweat dripped down from his face and stung her eyes. She felt a blow to her chest, then her ribs, and another to her groin area. When she saw the next blow coming, she intentionally turned her face into his fist.

The beating stopped. His fury turned to fear. When he beat her, he never struck her in the face. He made certain all the blows landed on her torso, so she could cover them with her clothes. He moved her jaw from side to side. The pain was excruciating, but she forced herself not to cry out. She didn’t want someone in the motel to hear and call the police. It wasn’t time yet.

“Jesus, your jaw may be broken.” He walked out of the bathroom, and then returned, standing in profile in the doorway. “We’ll think of something. You could say you tripped and fell on the sidewalk. I’ll go and get some ice to put on your jaw.”

“If you leave,” she said, pushing herself up on her elbows, “I’ll call the police and tell them you raped me.”

“Why are you doing this?” he said, placing his hand on his head. “If you wanted to hurt me, you have. You’ve lost too much weight. You don’t know what you’re saying. I didn’t mean to hit you. You provoked me. Everything’s fine now. I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“How can you make it up to me?” she yelled, her pent-up emotions spewing out. “You’re a filthy, disgusting pig. I hate you. I’m going to tell everyone. They’ll put your name in the newspapers. They’ll—”

“You ungrateful little bitch,” he said, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “This is all because of that guy.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “What did you do with him? I warned you not to get involved with gutter scum like that.”

“You’re a wimp,” she yelled, her face twisted in contempt. “A third grader could hit harder than you. You don’t scare me. I want a real man, not some stupid prick like you.”

“Shut up,” he said, his chest heaving.

“You can’t get it up with a real woman,” she pressed on. “Pretty soon, you won’t even be able to get it up with a kid. Who do you think your fooling? You’re a perverted freak.”

He hoisted her up in his arms and then dropped her into the bathtub.

Her back felt like it was broken. Blinding pain rushed through her body. She wasn’t sure if he was going to wash the blood off or drown her. It had to end now. She’d rather die than have the same thing happen to her sister. And dying was the only way. Murderers went away forever. Everyone else got out.

His thumbs dug into her throat, his eyes bulging.

“Kill me!” she choked out. “Do it, bastard! Do it now or I’ll tell.”

Tuesday, October 12—9:55 A.M.

Carolyn Sullivan’s eyes rested on a framed print to the right of her desk, a winding path through a lush, green forest. Only a year ago, the walls were covered with pictures of Brad Preston standing in front of high-powered race cars. When the director of the Ventura County Probation Department had retired, Preston had been promoted to chief deputy over probation services. Carolyn had been appointed to his position as division manager over the investigative unit.

She was finally earning a decent income. The only problem was it came with a heavy price. Her wedding was only two weeks away, and all she could think about were the horrible crimes human beings committed against each other. There was no way to stop them. The only thing she could do was punish them.

Carolyn spun her chair around to face Veronica Campbell. At forty, Veronica was an outspoken woman. She had a daughter almost the same age as Carolyn’s son, John, as well as three other young children. She wore her curly blond hair short, and had a round, friendly face. She’d never lost the weight from her last pregnancy, and the extra twenty pounds had settled in her midsection and thighs. The two women had known each other since grade school. They didn’t always agree on everything, but they were best friends. “Brent Dover should spend the rest of his life in prison,” Carolyn told her. “Unfortunately, we don’t have that as an option. How could you not recommend a prison sentence? Dover sodomized Patricia Baxter. She has permanent brain damage. As far as I’m concerned, he killed her.”

“For one thing,” Veronica countered, “Patricia Baxter is a guy, not a girl. His real name is Patrick, but he went to court and changed it to Patricia. Cute, huh? Only a few letters difference, so he wouldn’t forget it. Secondly, Brett Dover wasn’t convicted of sodomy or attempted murder. This is a 245 violation, Carolyn. He didn’t use a gun, a knife, or a baseball bat. I’m not sure how we even got him for assault with a deadly weapon.”

“This whole thing is the DA’s fault,” Carolyn answered, shoving a thick mass of wavy brown hair behind her ear. The year before, she’d chopped her hair off during a midlife crises. It now brushed the top of her shoulders, and was far more flattering to her heart-shaped face. Like Veronica, she’d also turned forty the previous year. Now that she’d gotten over the hump, she realized that forty was young. People today were living longer. Since she’d never smoked, drunk heavily, or gorged herself on fatty foods, she might have another fifty years ahead of her. If she died prematurely, it would be from stress. “Dover would have been convicted of attempted murder if they hadn’t tacked on the assault charge.”

Prosecutors frequently filed a number of counts, all representative of the same crime, just with varying degrees of punishment. The reasoning was if the jury didn’t find sufficient evidence to convict on one count, they might convict on the other. Anything was better than an acquittal. “Dover is a linebacker at Ventura High,” Carolyn continued. “His body is a deadly weapon. He beat Baxter to a pulp. He bit off her nipples, for Christ’s sake. He demolished her face. To look even halfway normal, she’ll have to go through years of plastic surgery. The jury should have convicted on the GBI charge.” GBI was great bodily injury, and served as an enhancement to extend the term of imprisonment.

“Don’t you believe the victim carries some of the responsibility?” Veronica said, swinging her leg. “Maybe none of this would have happened if he hadn’t tricked the defendant into believing he was a girl. I mean, it’s not like I think Baxter deserved to get the shit kicked out of him. I just don’t see how sending Dover to prison will accomplish anything. His grades are excellent. He goes to church every Sunday, even sings in the choir. You should read the stack of glowing letters people sent me about him. A year in custody at the local level and a ten-thousand-dollar fine isn’t exactly a walk in the park, Carolyn. He’s already lost his football scholarship. Send him to prison and he’ll come out a hardened criminal. How’s that going to benefit society?”

“It’s called justice,” Carolyn said. “Maybe in prison Mr. Dover will find out how it feels to be violently sodomized.”

“Yeah, sure,” Veronica said. “What was Baxter doing in an alley behind a bar in a ten-inch skirt? He was a prostitute, Carolyn. Isn’t it obvious? It was to the jury.”

Carolyn was inundated with the details of every crime that passed through the system. She had to know as much about the case as the investigating officer. That meant reviewing police reports, trial transcripts, evidence. After the probation officers conducted their investigations and made their recommendations as to an appropriate sentence, they then had to conference the case with Carolyn to get her approval. She felt like a computer about to run out of memory. She had to shove things to the back of her mind just so she could answer a question.

This particular case was controversial in a variety of ways. Brett Dover was white; the victim was black. Ten members of the jury had been not only men, but Caucasian. They probably perceived Baxter to be a twisted pervert who’d enticed a clean-cut young white boy into engaging in sex. The facts clearly refuted such an assumption. The case made Carolyn’s blood boil.

She wouldn’t be having this discussion with Veronica if the crime wasn’t what they referred to as a wobbler. Section 245 of the California Penal Code allowed the court to sentence the defendant to serve a year in the local jail, or two, three, or four years in a state prison facility. The Judicial Council in San Francisco had developed specific rules that were to be applied to determine if the interest of justice would be best served by one sentence or the other.

“Don’t you understand?” Carolyn argued, slapping back in her chair. “Whether the victim was male or female doesn’t matter. Patricia Baxter is only a few months past her nineteenth birthday. When her sex organs didn’t develop normally, her mother made the decision to raise her as a girl. Granted, this may have been a poor decision, but Patricia wasn’t the one who made it. She’d never had sex with anyone, male or female. Her mother was saving money for a sex change. Regardless, the medical report showed significant injuries from a violent sexual assault. The jury simply chose to ignore it because of the circumstances.” She paused and sucked in a breath. “So what if she was hanging around a nightclub in a short skirt? Would you feel the same if something like this happened to Jude?”

“Hey,” Veronica said, pushing herself to her feet, “if you want to trump me on this one, go right ahead. You’re the boss now. No one cares what I think.”

“You know I respect your opinion,” Carolyn told her. “I have to call the cases as I see them, Veronica. This was a brutal attack that resulted in great bodily injury. Circumstances in aggravation clearly exist and support the maximum term of four years in prison. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to rewrite the report and submit it under those conditions.”

“Can I go now?” Veronica said, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “I have to track down a probationer.”

“Which one?”

“Phillip Bramson.”

“Is he in violation?” Carolyn asked, hating it that her investigators had to supervise people because of the overflow in field services.

“I called the place where he works yesterday and they haven’t seen him in over a week. My guess is he’s using again. I left a message on his cell phone. He didn’t check in, so I’m going to try to track him down today.”

The details of Bramson’s case were beginning to surface in Carolyn’s mind. “Doesn’t he have a suspended sentence?”

“Yep,” Veronica said. “He doesn’t get to pass go or collect his two hundred dollars. If he tests dirty, all I have to do is put him on the next bus to prison.”

Because of the overcrowding in the state prisons, judges were utilizing suspended sentences more often. “I’m going to get these supervision cases off your back,” she told her. “I’ll dump them on one of the new people. It was a mistake to assign them to you in the first place.”

“I could manage if I didn’t have to rewrite reports.”

Carolyn was upset that her friend was taking things personally. She could understand Veronica’s jealousy over her promotion. They’d been on the job for almost the same amount of time. What Veronica didn’t factor in was all the time she’d taken off on maternity leave, as well as management’s belief that a woman with four children might not be able to meet the demands of the position.

Carolyn had also made a name for herself as an interrogator, and had years of experiencing assisting Brad Preston, the former supervisor of the unit. “Your dress is at my house. Are you still going to be my maid of honor?”

“I guess,” Veronica said, shrugging.

“Please, sit back down,” Carolyn said, gesturing toward the chair. When Veronica settled herself in the seat again, she noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She’d always been an earthy type, but lately she’d stopped wearing makeup. Something was bothering her. She should have noticed it before now. “I’ve been so busy, we haven’t had much time to talk outside of work,” she said. “Marcus and I should have got married by a justice of the peace. I never thought this wedding would turn into such a big production. How are things with Drew and the kids?”

“Fine,” Veronica said, still miffed.

“Look,” Carolyn said, folding her arms on top of her desk, “we promised we wouldn’t let my promotion come between us. Let’s go to lunch one day this week.” She glanced at her calendar. “Friday works for me. How about you?”

Veronica stood, ignoring her question. “You’re probably right about Brett Dover. After what happened last year, I’ve become more sympathetic toward people who make mistakes.”

Carolyn knew what she was referring to, but she also knew this wasn’t the time or place to discuss it. Both of her lines were ringing. Her assistant, Rachel Mitchell, would pick up one of them. She reached over and grabbed the other. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, placing the caller on hold so they could firm up their lunch date. When she turned back around, though, Veronica had already slipped out of the office.

 

Driving dangerously fast over the narrow residential streets, Veronica kept her fingers locked on the steering wheel. She and Carolyn had grown apart recently. It was more than the promotion. While she was living a nightmare, her friend seemingly had everything. She was marrying a wealthy, handsome man who was madly in love with her. Her son was attending college at MIT, studying to become a physicist. Her daughter was one of the most popular girls at Ventura High.

Veronica had been assigned to handle the unit while Carolyn was in Europe on her honeymoon, with no compensation above her normal pay. She couldn’t fault Carolyn for the supervision cases, however. She had asked for them so she could qualify for a county car.

Her husband no longer loved her. They hadn’t had sex in four years, not since their last child was born. She was certain Drew was having an affair, but she had no way to prove it. In reality, the problems had been present from the onset of their marriage. Now they seldom spoke. They lived together like strangers.

Veronica’s biggest problem was her eighteen-year-old daughter. Jude had become pregnant at thirteen, claiming she’d had sex with too many boys to identify the father. This had been the onset of a five-year period of promiscuity and delinquency. She got involved with drugs, served two terms in juvenile hall, and had undergone a number of abortions. Since Jude was now legally an adult, Veronica refused to continue supporting her. Although she had no means of support, she was going to demand that Jude move out by the end of the month. It was a hard decision for a parent to make, but she had no choice. She had to safeguard the well-being of her other children.

Veronica had distanced herself from her religion because of the way the church had sheltered priests who were known sex offenders. Her belief in God had fallen by the wayside as well. There was too much evil in the world. If the devil was responsible, then God was either indifferent or powerless. All the innocent children who died agonizing, violent deaths needed a God who would protect them. The promise of eternal life with Jesus and Mary meant nothing to a kid in the hands of a sadistic maniac.

During the past summer, Jude had slept all day and stayed out all night. When Veronica gave her a list of chores to do around the house, her father sometimes did them for her. Usurping her with her daughter was another way for Drew to express his contempt for their marriage.

Veronica slammed on the brakes at a stoplight, reaching in her purse for a bottle of pills. She popped one in her mouth and swallowed it without water. Her doctor had placed her on antidepressants, and given her a referral to see a psychiatrist. Her daughter was the one who needed counseling. She didn’t have time for Jude’s bullshit. She had five reports due next week, and she had to chase down a drug dealer who should already be in prison.

Hearing a horn honking, Veronica realized she’d dozed off waiting for the light to change. She stepped on the gas and took off. Everyone placed demands on her. The previous year, the agency had implemented a new program that allowed investigators to work from their home three days a week. She’d jumped on it, thinking she could save a fortune in day care. During the past six months, she’d desperately tried to keep up with her caseload, but concentrating with three kids under eight and a belligerent lazy teenager in the house was next to impossible.

When Veronica finally went to bed, sometimes as late as four in the morning, as soon as she drifted off she would jolt herself awake, as if there were something in her subconscious she couldn’t bear to face. The problems with Jude weighed heavily on her mind, but what she sensed was more sinister. It was like glimpsing something just outside your range of vision, and then forgetting what it was you saw. Was it her guilt over her daughter’s abortions, or was she having a legitimate breakdown?

She and Carolyn used to talk about people who caved in under pressure. They’d been certain it would never happen to them. They were rocks, machines. So what if they dealt with violence on a daily basis? They could handle it. They were seasoned officers. There wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before.

Carolyn would find out the truth any day now—that Veronica’s recommendations weren’t appropriate because she didn’t know half the facts of the case. She regularly fabricated the defendant and victim interviews. If you were going to make things up, she’d decided, it was better to err on the side of leniency. If a judge didn’t think the sentence she proposed was severe enough, all he had to do was ignore it. Judges were esteemed members of the community, with a salary far above that of a probation officer. She was tired of doing their job for them.

Drew was a technician at Boeing, but even with both of their incomes, they couldn’t make ends meet. The price of raising four children in today’s world was insane, and the cost of living was still rising at an alarming rate.

In addition to everything else, Veronica had become Jude’s chauffeur. Her daughter would disappear for days, and then place a frantic call for her mother to come and get her. The Ford Taurus they had bought for her sat in the driveway. She’d forbidden her to drive it until she began contributing to the insurance. Jude was supposed to graduate the year before, but she’d flunked several of her classes. She was a smart girl, so things didn’t add up. Why did she stagger around with a blank look on her face? Why had she abruptly ended her relationship with Haley Snodgrass, a girl she’d been close to for most of her life?

Veronica’s red-rimmed eyes scanned the buildings. She steered the car into a parking lot, getting out and hiking up the stairs to the second floor. As she was trying to focus on the arrows that showed where room 246 was located, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She managed to open her purse and pull out her gun, but before she could turn around, someone reached around her waist and wrenched it out of her hand.

Tuesday, October 12—5:30 P.M.

The Ventura government center was similar to a small city. The courts, the district attorney’s and public defender’s offices, as well as the records division, were all housed on the right side of a large open space. A bubbling fountain stood in the center, surrounded by concrete benches and blooming flowers. To the left was the probation department, the sheriff’s department, and the women’s and men’s jails. The general public assumed the two structures weren’t connected, yet an underground tunnel was used to transport inmates back and forth.

Carolyn headed to her new red Infiniti M35 in the parking lot. The wildfires had been contained, but her car was covered with ash. The car was a wedding gift from her fiancé, Marcus Wright. Two weeks ago, the house she had raised her children in had sold and she’d no choice but to move into Marcus’s home in Santa Rosa. She’d wanted to wait until after they were married. She was old-fashioned when it came to certain things. And why have a formal wedding if you were already living with the person?

Carolyn’s old house would fit into Marcus’s living room. Her son, John, was in his first year at MIT. Rebecca, her sixteen-year-old, adored Marcus and was elated they were getting married. Everything was finally coming together, and Carolyn couldn’t be happier.

A forty-year-old wearing a wedding dress seemed absurd, but Marcus had insisted. Both of their first marriages had ended in failure, so he wanted to make it a special occasion. She had intended to exercise and lose five pounds. Any mention of the word diet, though, and she became ravenously hungry. With all the hassle of moving and planning the reception, she’d gained seven pounds. Yesterday, she’d gone to the tailor and had the seams let out on her dress. She wasn’t heavy, just curvaceous. She didn’t need to look like a waif.

Her cell phone rang and she fumbled around in her purse to retrieve it. “It’s Hank,” a gruff male voice said. “Where are you? Are you on the road?”

Hank Sawyer was a lieutenant in Ventura homicide, as well as a long-term friend. The tone of his voice was alarming. “What’s going on?”

“Are you driving?”

“No,” Carolyn said. “What difference does it make if I’m driving or not? I can listen and drive.”

“I have some bad news,” he said. “I don’t want you to be behind the wheel when I tell you.”

“I’m in the parking lot. Tell me, for Christ’s sake.”

“Veronica Campbell is dead.”

Carolyn dropped her briefcase on the pavement. “God, no!” she exclaimed. “What happened? A traffic accident…”

“Charley Young thinks she was shot sometime this morning. The maid at the Motor Inn on East Thompson found her around three o’clock.”

“I’m on my way.” She swept up her briefcase and jogged toward her car.

“There’s nothing for you to do here. Charley just gave the okay for us to transport the body. I’m sorry, Carolyn. I know how close you two were.”

“It’s a mistake,” she said, panting. “It’s someone who looks like her. You don’t know Veronica that well, Hank. I’ll come—”

The detective cut her off. “We have her badge, as well as the county vehicle she was driving. I thought you’d want to be the one to tell her husband. Can you handle it?”

“I can’t…do anything right now.” Carolyn leaned against the Infiniti, then slid to the ground on her knees. People were walking past her and staring. She covered her face with her free hand, then grabbed on to the door handle and pulled herself up, unlocking the door and ducking inside. “Tell me she didn’t suffer, Hank.”

“For what it’s worth, she probably never knew what hit her.” He stopped to bark orders to one of the officers at the scene. “Do you know what she was doing at a motel?”

“She mentioned trying to track down a probationer she thought was in violation. His name is…God, I can’t think…Bramson, Phillip Bramson. He has a prison sentence hanging over his head. I’ll go back to the office.”

“Give me whatever you can remember,” Hank told her. “Bramson is in the system, right?”

Carolyn pressed her fingers against her eyelids. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Images from the past darted through her mind. Giggling when she’d told Veronica about her first kiss, their high school graduations, their weddings, the births of their children, all the years they’d worked together. . .