Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) (4 page)

“Son of a bitch!” Brophy slammed the phone down. Nothing bristled his neck hairs faster than a suspect lawyering up before he had a chance to interrogate him. “That damn lawyer has blocked our access to Ashcroft today.”

“Did you expect anything different?”

Brophy glanced up to see a tall, African-American woman in front of his desk. “Tina Cruz, it’s been awhile.”

Tina smiled down at him. She hadn’t changed much since she worked at a desk across the room from him. At the time, she had been one of the two females serving on the homicide squad.

An attractive woman, she presented herself in a professional manner, dressed in a tailored pants suit. When she had been on the force, she had had a reputation of being a tough as nails, no nonsense kind of cop. Fit right in with the guys. Smoked and drank with the best of them and one of the best interrogators Brophy had worked with in his years on the force.

“It has.” She glanced over at Waters and then back at Brophy. “Got a few minutes?”

Brophy caught Waters’s eyes. Waters nodded in understanding and stood.

“Anyone for coffee?”

“Thanks. That would be great. Cream, no sugar.” Cruz sat on the edge of Brophy’s desk without looking back at Waters. Her attention was set on Brophy. She picked up a picture of the Barlow crime scene.

“You know you aren’t supposed to be looking at that?”

She smiled wryly. “Don’t worry, John. I’m here to help you. I just came from Mass General. I had an interesting conversation with someone of interest to you.”

Brophy leaned back in his chair. “Ashcroft. How the hell did you get in to see him? He’s in the lockdown unit.”

“I have my ways.”

He didn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole. Didn’t want to know. “So what do you have?”

“I’m working a case with Josh Kincaid.”

“Figured as much. If you are here to pick him up, please do. He’s in with the captain, shooting the shit.”

Cruz gave a little laugh. “You’re the one who insisted he come down here, but don’t worry. I’ll take him out of your hair soon enough.”

Brophy kept his frustration in check. Cruz was right. It was his own fault Kincaid was down here.

“Out with it. What do you have?”

“I didn’t have long with him, but when I saw the kid, he was high as a kite and rambling about finding the mutilated body. I can tell you he’s not your guy.

“He was too upset, kept wiping his hands as if trying to get the blood off them. Said he had fallen into the victim. Kept repeating
have to get the blood off
. Mumbling he couldn’t leave because he hadn’t found what he was looking for.”

“Considering the evidence, Ashcroft may be a person of interest, but not a viable suspect in the actual killing. You know that, given that Kincaid witnessed him drive up to the house no more than ten minutes before the bodies were found.” He crossed his arms, his jaw set. He met her eyes. “You have come down here for a reason. Either you are fishing for information or you want something.”

“It’s what I’ve always liked about you, Brophy. You are to the point. So, I’m going to be up-front with you. This is the deal. I tell you what we know about the case and Kincaid gets an exclusive.”

Brophy glanced back over his shoulder. Kincaid was still in Captain Centrello’s office. No doubt selling the same arrangement.

“If it’s worth it.” Brophy nodded, but not without his reservations. “But why?”

“Kincaid is about to go up against the Ashcrofts,” she answered bluntly. “Not the smartest career move since the station is owned by one of their corporations, WAS Media Group. He has already gotten a call from Mark Buccieri, the news manager, requesting a meeting ASAP.”

“Wasn’t aware the Ashcrofts delved into broadcasting,” Brophy answered honestly, but understood the obstacles ahead of Kincaid. His brief dealings with the family had already raised his blood pressure.

She rounded his desk. “I told Kincaid you were one of the good guys. You may be pigheaded and hardheaded, but you won’t be intimidated.”

Cruz had been a good cop, the kind who followed her instincts and she had excellent instincts. She read him right.

Brophy had always taken pride in the fact he never let anyone or anything get in the way of justice. An intensely private man, Brophy had only one objective: not letting anything interfere with his job.

She paused a moment before she continued. “Kincaid received a tip about an inmate down in South Carolina. A Harrison Taylor. The tip said that he had been framed. It caught Kincaid’s eye because Harrison Taylor was Jack Ashcroft’s last client before he killed himself. Kincaid asked me to look into it to see if it had any merit.”

“It must have.”

“I ran the IP address of the tip back to Helen Barlow’s house, Florence Ashcroft’s former personal assistant. Red flags went up.”

Brophy waved his hand in front of his face, gesturing for her to stop. There was no need to go any further, not with finding two of the Ashcrofts on Barlow’s doorstep with the lady bludgeoned to death inside.

Experience had taught him not to put blinders on in an investigation. He still had to check out Barlow’s son’s questionable past and the rumors the man owed money to the Russians, but the Ashcrofts’ connection certainly came front and center.

Hell, he hadn’t a clue what the connection meant, but he would press the matter. If there was something there, no doubt, he’d soon find out what it was.

* * * *

Riley sat in the grand walnut-paneled library of her family’s Boston townhouse, a beautiful home by all accounts. Nestled in a lovely neighborhood of beautifully restored redbrick buildings, the twenty-million-dollar Boston brownstone was the epitome of what wealth and status brought.

The house had been renovated ten years previous, modernized, but the essence of its character remained, preserving its original splendor: gorgeous hardwood floors; large spacious rooms with high ceilings; bright, sunlit rooms; and a heated four-car parking garage on the first floor.

Over the years, the cold, icy room had witnessed many family events. The last had been her nana’s funeral. Despite that she had once lived in this house, she thought she would never return when she left that day. The days of coming and going without a thought had ended.

Nana was gone. Riley was no longer welcome in the house, which her uncle now owned.

A sudden, overwhelming memory of a long ago Christmas Eve surfaced and warmed her heart.
What was wrong with her?
Happy memories were few and far between in this family…house…but there had been a time once when it had all been so different.

How old had she been? Eight or nine.
Closing her eyes, she saw the scene so vividly. The library had been decorated in the most festive fashion. The tall evergreen fir, placed in the corner by the oversized window, faced the street below. The heavily flocked tree decorated in green and red of traditional ornaments glistened in the lights; a beautiful porcelain angel topped the top of the tree.

Garland draped over the door and mantel with a large ornamented wreath above the blazing fireplace. Antique heirlooms littered the room, with a traditional train set chugging round the base of the tree where the tree skirt ended.

Sounds, chatter and laughing, resonated around her.
Happiness.
She could see her father so clearly in front of her, holding a glass in his hand, ever so handsome. He stood between his brothers and father, talking…chuckling.

Jack Ashcroft had been half a foot taller than his brothers and father, having taken after his mother. His fair complexion and striking sky-blue eyes contrasted his brothers…and his smile charmed the hardest heart.

Riley had learned at an early age that people were drawn to her father. Charisma, Meme, their housekeeper, had called it.

Leaning over to Nana, Riley remembered sipping her nana’s eggnog and snuggling close to her. The day had been perfect…perhaps not at the beginning. Her excitement in coming to Boston with her daddy for Christmas had been squashed when on her arrival her cousin, Olivia, teased her about her clothes.

Daddy had always let Meme, their housekeeper, pick out her clothes. Down in Whipple, there had been no need for such fancy dresses. Her heart swelled remembering how much care Meme had taken in picking out just the right dresses for her…but Olivia sneered the moment she saw Riley.

Four years older than Riley, Olivia had always been idolized by her younger cousin. The taunt cut Riley deep. Water welled in her eyes and to Riley’s horror, tears streamed down her cheeks.

She had no need to fear. Nana had taken care of her. Riley hadn’t even had time to put her suitcase down when Nana took her down to Newbury Street and bought her an elegant party dress.

How she loved that dress! She recalled every detail of the dazzling gift. Green taffeta glittered flower flocking with a black velvet bolero jacket. She felt like a princess.

After her return from shopping, Daddy waited for her with Olivia and Freddy. He took them down to the Frog Pond on Boston Common and skated the afternoon away. Of course, she didn’t know how to skate. But to her delight, Olivia took one hand, Freddy the other.

Nana and Grandfather even came down and had hot chocolate with them. Afterwards, they had an amazing Christmas Eve dinner, where they came back to this room… Such a lovely time…so long ago…so much had changed.

“Umm, Riley, I said.”

Abruptly, she looked at Walter. Long ago, she had stopped using the term of endearment of uncle.

Short, no more than five seven, his graying hair had thinned and his waist had expanded since his youth. He was not a man who most would have noticed in a crowded room, but Riley knew him well—a dangerous opponent when it came to protecting what he considered his.

He sat behind his desk with a solemn expression. “I know you will agree that during this time, the family needs to present a united front to the public. It would be for the best.”

She stiffened. Her every nerve went on alert. She wasn’t a fool. Despite his assertion, she comprehended only too well that her uncle had not changed from the ruthless and merciless man she had come to know.

For as long as she could remember, Walter Ashcroft, Jr. bowed at the altar of the almighty dollar, trying to imitate the legacy he had been born into. “Old money” begat money. Doors of the elite of Boston opened to his knock. The problem: he wasn’t Walter Ashcroft, Sr.—Witt to those who knew him.

Riley had heard the whispers about her uncle—that he wasn’t the businessman his father had been. Too reckless. Too impatient. Too arrogant. WAS stock had dropped by fifteen percent since he had been appointed CEO.

She would never forgive the heartless bastard for keeping her from Nana, while her beloved grandmother lay on her deathbed. No, Walter was just as unfeeling as he had been when he had left her to fend for herself at fourteen after his brother had killed himself.

Now, he had the nerve to demand her presence for a family emergency.

A coldness swept over Riley. “Best for who? A family you have made clear I’m not a part of anymore?”

His hardened eyes fixed on her face. “Don’t be childish. Everything that has happened between us was brought on by your own behavior.”

His words burned in her soul. 
Her fault?
 Her throat went dry. She refused to be intimidated by this man anymore. Clutching her hands tightly, she tried desperately not to let him see her tremble.

She drew in a deep breath. “Is this why you had me brought here? To be insulted?”

“I had Ellis bring you here to clear the air. We need to put our differences aside…at least for Freddy’s sake.”

“Why?” Glancing quickly around the room, Riley shook her head, confused. “Where is Freddy? For that matter, where is my Jeep?”

“He is safe.” Ellis spoke for the first time since he had escorted her to her uncle. He stood at the window, staring down at the activity on the street. He turned to Riley. “I didn’t lie to the police. Freddy was admitted to Mass General after abandoning your Jeep.”

She looked at the man who once had been her father’s best friend. Tall and lean, Riley wouldn’t consider him a handsome man. His nose was too sharp, his eyes, too narrow but Ellis was polished, refined, and Harvard educated.

The Ivy League school had been where he had met her father. Both had played basketball for Harvard. Their friendship continued through Harvard Law. After graduation, her father had even helped Ellis land his first job at Lincoln and Sullivan, one of Boston’s most prestigious law firms.

Her father had left the law firm to move down South. Ellis had become a permanent fixture at Lincoln and Sullivan. Now, he was a senior partner in the firm and the Ashcrofts’ private lawyer.

“Then would someone explain what has happened?”

Ellis walked over to the side of Walter’s desk. “What your uncle is trying to tell you is despite your feelings toward each other, you both care for Freddy. Freddy needs for the family to come together for him. He needs protecting. This time, not only from himself.”

Her throat turned to dust. “The police? You can’t believe that Freddy had anything to do with murdering Mrs. Barlow. I was there.”