Killer Headline (9 page)

Flipping on another light, he turned and slipped back into cop mode. “Violet?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling with happiness. Laughter escaped her lips, the buoyant sound in stark contrast to the cold chill that had slid over his portion of the room.

He pointed to the other side of the living room. Drawers had been pulled from her desk. Papers lay scattered over the floor. A lamp had overturned, and books from a shelf had been tossed into a pile on a nearby area rug. Her phone sat on the otherwise bare desktop.

Confusion swept across her face as Clay stated the obvious. “This time it’s definitely the mob.”

V
iolet’s stomach roiled and she felt lightheaded. “Clay—”

He reached out and steadied her, wrapping her in his arms.

Her sternum felt like a brick weight, collapsing her lungs.

“Easy, honey,” he soothed, rubbing his hands over her back.

She gasped for air as hot tears stung her eyes. Clay had been right all along. The mob had been after her. Why had she been so foolish not to admit it to herself?

Because of what had happened with Aunt Lettie, of course. But she couldn’t explain that to Clay.

Gathering strength, she pulled from his embrace. She needed to inventory her things and determine what had been taken.

Glancing at the empty desktop and at the clutter on the floor, realization hit. “My laptop’s gone.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Clay warned. “Stay here while I check the house.”

He moved from room to room as she tried to comprehend what had happened. Had the intruder been after
her computer when he’d broken in Monday night? And what about her files at work? Had someone accessed them or had she accidentally deleted them herself?

All this time, Violet hadn’t wanted to admit Clay was right. She
had
placed herself in danger.

“The rest of the house looks okay. He must have found what he was looking for,” Clay said, returning to the living room. “Who has a key?”

Violet tried to think. “Jimmy did when I first moved back to Missoula.”

“Jimmy?” Clay raised his brow.

“He helped me paint the place while I stayed at Bernice’s. Sometimes he’d get here earlier than I could, so I gave him a key. He gave it back before I moved in.”

“Easy enough to make a copy.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, willing herself to be strong. “Jimmy wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re too trusting, Violet. Jimmy’s interested in everything about you. Have you noticed anything out of place or missing before this?”

“No, of course not.”

Clay was right. Jimmy wanted their relationship to develop into something longterm, but he’d never over-stepped the bounds of propriety and he’d never verbalized his feelings.

“We need to report the break-in to the police.” Clay pulled out his cell. “While they’re on the way, check your valuables and ensure nothing else has been taken.”

Her missing files once again came to mind.

Clay narrowed his eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” She explained about the files on her work computer.

“Why didn’t you mention it?”

She looked into his eyes, feeling she had betrayed him with her earlier reticence. Her mistrust of law enforcement continued to get in the way. “I…I—”

He sighed. “It’s okay, Violet. I know you’re still not sure you can trust me.”

Tears stung her eyes. He was right, just as he’d been about the danger.

“Was everything deleted on your computer at work?”

At least he hadn’t lingered on the trust issue.

“Only the documents concerning the Chicago Mafia. Luckily, I backed up the information on to my flash drive.”

“Which is where?”

She hesitated.

He held up his hands. “Don’t tell me. I’ll call the police from the kitchen and give you privacy to ensure it’s still safe.”

“No, Clay, it’s okay.” She dug in her purse and was relieved to find the tiny flash drive where she’d placed it earlier.

He made the call, explained what had happened and requested Officer O’Reilly be notified.

“O’Reilly’s off duty tonight, but a patrol car’s in the area,” Clay said, closing his phone. “An officer will be here soon.”

Violet moved through her house, checking the few valuables she had. Nothing in the bedroom appeared to have been touched. A tiny cross necklace that had belonged to Aunt Lettie remained in the velvet-lined box on her dresser.

She returned to the living room just as Clay opened
the front door. He motioned the officer inside and quickly explained about everything that had happened, including the missing laptop and the problem with her files at work.

Tall, with short blond hair and blue eyes, the officer seemed both efficient and sympathetic.

“So, you’re the guy who helped us bring in Jamie Favor?” The cop was impressed.

Clay nodded. “O’Reilly said he divulged the name of a drug dealer in the neighborhood.”

“We pulled him in last night. Hopefully, things will quiet down around here now.”

The officer turned to Violet. “What’s on your laptop, ma’am? Bank records? Online financial accounts?”

She shook her head. “I do all my financial transactions in person at the bank.”

“Are you working on any stories someone may not want written?”

She looked at Clay before she answered. “I’m currently doing a story on the need for increased police officers in the city.” She didn’t mention the missing information on the Mafia.

The cop nodded his approval. “Thanks for being on our side. We’ve got enough folks who don’t appreciate what we do.”

Violet felt a stab of conscience. The officer seemed like a decent man. Stu had probably been right to reject the first story she’d submitted about the local P.D. Her prejudice against the chief of police due to what had happened back home in Granite Pass had more than colored her reporting. She had made a mistake and let her personal feelings sway the
story. Something any good reporter shouldn’t have allowed to happen.

“No sign of forced entry,” the officer said after he checked the house. “Someone must have made a copy of your key. I’ll talk to the locksmiths in the area and your neighbors to see if they noticed anything. Have your locks changed in the morning.”

“I plan to do that,” Violet said.

“Does anyone have a spare key?” the officer asked.

The same question Clay had posed. Cops must think alike. She didn’t want Jimmy involved. Besides, she’d given him the key almost a year ago. Why would he choose to enter her house now?

Quinn’s warning played through her mind. Jimmy had access to her computer at work. Would he sabotage her Mafia story in order to help his own career?

“What about someone at work?” Clay prompted as if reading her thoughts.

“No one has a key,” she said with conviction.

Clay’s face was hard to read. She prided herself in being a good judge of character. Jimmy had been a friend for years. Nothing had changed.

Except Clay had entered the picture.

The officer did a thorough search of the exterior of the house, looking for any sign of entry. He fingerprinted the doors, as well as the areas that had been disturbed inside.

“We’ll increase patrols in the area,” the officer said once he had finished. “I’ll let O’Reilly know, and contact you if we uncover any leads.”

When the officer left, Clay reached for his tool kit. “After I install the dead bolts, you’re coming back with me to Bernice’s house.”

Violet packed a small overnight bag as Clay worked. Where had she gone wrong? Had Gwyn’s boyfriend discovered she’d been passing information? Or had Violet’s search for information about the two murdered green-eyed women been her own undoing?

What about Clay? His actions had adversely affected a sting the police had planned in Chicago.

A slipup on his part. But what if he had purposefully tried to thwart the operation? Could he be something other than a good man focused on justice and the rule of law?

Christ preached forgiveness, although it was a message Violet sometimes struggled to embrace. The board of inquiry was looking into Clay’s actions. Their ruling would decide his future and reveal the truth. Until then, she’d have to rely on her inner compass, and right now it was saying Clay was an honest man.

Hopefully, her compass was true and not wrapping her in a false sense of security.

Clay installed the dead bolts without problem. They were top-of-the-line and would provide additional protection for Violet.

She turned worried eyes toward him as they left her house and locked the doors behind them. If she had refused to spend the night at Bernice’s house, Clay would have camped out on Violet’s front porch. Despite the cold, he had to keep her safe. Right now, he enjoyed the warmth of her hand and the way her fingers wrapped through his. A nice fit.

“It’s going to be okay, Violet,” he encouraged, giv
ing her hand a gentle squeeze. “If the perpetrator left prints, the cops will take him down.”

She flashed him a tenuous smile. “Thanks for not saying ‘I told you so.’”

“I’d never say that.” He dropped her hand and moved his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. Her perfume teased his nostrils. He tilted his head toward hers. At that moment, the night didn’t seem so cold.

He was almost disappointed when they arrived at Bernice’s home. Violet stepped out of his embrace so he could unlock the door.

“I still have some work to do on the story that’s due tomorrow.” She stepped into the home. “Would you mind if I use your laptop?”

“Why don’t you make a pot of coffee while I get my computer booted up and online?”

Clay placed his laptop on the dining table so Violet could work. Even if the Mafia had the information on her laptop, she was still in grave danger.

Someone had gotten into her home unnoticed twice. The next time might be to do something far worse, and that’s what worried Clay. He couldn’t let her out of his sight, yet as determined as Violet was to make her own path through life, keeping the headstrong reporter safe might be a hard task to accomplish.

The smell of fresh-perked coffee filled the air as Violet inserted her flash drive into Clay’s laptop. With a few taps on the keyboard, her e-mail provider popped on to the screen. She entered her password and found a new message in her mailbox.

Clicking on the subject line, an e-mail from Gwyn appeared on the screen.

Did you locate Jen Davis?

Violet wrote a hasty reply, explaining what she and Clay had found in Billings.

The U.S. Marshals are looking for Jen. They’ll keep her safe. They can help you, too, if you’re willing to accept their protection.

Gwyn’s reply came quickly.

I’ll call you soon.

Violet closed her e-mail as Clay came into the dining area, carrying two mugs of coffee. He pulled out a chair and sat next to her while she told him about the message she’d just received.

“Did you mention Micah’s offer?”

Violet placed her cell on the table. “She said she’d call me.” Before Violet had finished her coffee, her cell rang. Relief swept over her when she heard Gwyn’s voice.

“Tell me what you found out?” the woman asked.

“I talked to a U.S. Marshal today,” Violet said. “He’ll be able to get you into Witness Protection and set you up in another city.”

“What about Ruby Maxwell and Carlie Donald? No one kept them safe.”

“Do you know if they contacted someone from their past? That could have led the mob to their doors.”

“My boyfriend never mentioned how the mob found them. They probably didn’t realize their lives were in danger.”

How many other women in Witness Protection were in danger, as well?

“You’ll have to cut all ties, Gwyn. You won’t be able to talk to family or friends you knew in Chicago.”

“I’m all alone, Violet. That won’t be a problem.”

“If you’re willing to provide evidence against the mob, the Marshals will get you to safety.”

Violet thought once again of Jen Davis and the strange man who had appeared wherever they went in Billings, as well as the vehicle that had almost crashed into Clay’s car. Hopefully, the Marshals would find Jen before the mob did.

Violet looked at Clay. His eyes were filled with concern. “Tell me where you’re staying, Gwyn. I’ve got a friend who’s a cop. We’ll come and get you.” She reached out her hand and squeezed Clay’s. “He’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m still worried someone’s following me. Once I feel secure enough, I’ll contact you so we can meet.”

A sense of foreboding settled over Violet when she disconnected and glanced once again at Clay. Despite the way she felt about law enforcement, she had to trust Clay. Violet had promised never to reveal her informant’s name, but Gwyn needed protection. Clay would notify the Marshals, who could take her to a safe house.

Clay had protected Violet. He would get Gwyn the protection she needed, as well.

“It’s time I give you all the information about my in
formant. Her name’s Gwyn Duncan.” Violet opened her cell phone. “I took this picture of her at the coffee shop.”

Clay glanced at the photo then dug in his pocket for his own cell and pulled up almost the identical picture that he had taken of Gwyn.

“Why didn’t you show Micah the photo this morning?” she asked.

Clay’s gaze warmed her. “I knew you’d provide everything once you could trust me.”

Violet’s lips trembled and tears stung her eyes. Why had she doubted Clay?

He pulled her into his arms, and she felt the strength of his embrace.

She’d asked God to help her protect women caught in the grip of organized crime. He had sent her Clay.

Jen Davis, Gwyn Duncan, Olivia Jensen and Eloise Hill were being hunted by the Chicago mob. Eloise’s daughter, Kristin, might also be in danger.

Dear God, keep them safe.

Violet snuggled closer.

Keep Clay safe, as well.

O
nce Violet refocused her attention on the story she needed to write, Clay stepped into the kitchen and called Jackson, filling him in on the information about Gwyn.

“Did Micah tell you about Jen Davis, who might be in danger?”

“Jen Davis? Young woman, green eyes, Witness Protection, Montana, and currently unaccounted for? Yeah, Micah called me after you and Violet met with him this morning. Sounds like it ties in with the two Montana murders.”

“There’s another problem.”

“Yeah?”

“Someone broke into Violet’s house and ransacked her office area. Her laptop’s gone.”

“Sounds like the mob’s found her for sure. If they’ve got her laptop, they must have the information she collected for that story she wants to write about the Martino family and the Montana murders.”

“The mob will sit on the information, but if someone else stole her laptop, we still might see the story in print.”

“Is there something you haven’t told me, Clay?”

“Duplicate files about the Mafia were deleted from her computer at work. We had talked about the mob having a go-to guy in Missoula. Probably the man I chased from her house the night I arrived. There’s a lot of back-and-forth movement of people through the newspaper office. Violet’s desk sits in a corner by the elevator. I walked in this morning, and everyone was tied up in a meeting.”

“I’ll call the paper’s editor and have him send me a list of the folks on staff. Wouldn’t hurt to check them out.”

Exactly what Clay had planned to do until Violet objected.

“What else is she working on? Any other stories that might play into the mix?”

“Other than the Mafia story? She’s doing a feature on the local police force.”

“I hope she paints the cops in a good light.”

After her reaction to Chief Howard, Clay wasn’t sure how Violet would slant the story.

“Is she safe tonight?” Jackson asked.

Clay glanced into the dining room. “She’s okay for now. Tomorrow she’s having new locks installed on her house. I plan to stay around for a few more days.”

“Good man. Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

Clay flipped his cell closed as the back door opened and Bernice breezed into the kitchen. “I’m home.”

She slipped her coat from her shoulders and hung it in the closet. “The program was wonderful.”

“And your new friend?” Violet asked as she rose from the table.

“Leonard? Such a gentleman.” Bernice glanced at
Clay. “He reminds me of you. Older, of course. But a good man.”

The same words Jackson had used. He’d never thought that particular phrase applied to him. Determined. Dedicated, maybe. But good?

Being with Leonard had added a new bounce to Bernice’s step and an enthusiasm in her voice Clay hadn’t noticed earlier. He hated to spoil the moment by telling her about the break-in. “Maybe I should meet this guy and check him out.”

“You’d like him for sure. It’s his inner goodness that attracted me to him in the first place. That’s the part that reminds me of you, Clay.”

She called into the dining room. “Violet, don’t you see that goodness in Clay?”

“You’re right, Bernice.” Violet’s eyes twinkled. “There is goodness in Clay, although I doubt he realizes how much.”

Usually he could control his expressions, but his face burned with embarrassment. “How was the program?” he asked.

“A sad story with a triumphant ending. A man whose adult daughter had been murdered. He’d finally been able to forgive the murderer who was eventually brought to justice. The father felt the Lord’s healing forgiveness. He went to the jail and talked to the young man about Christ’s mercy and has written a book about how God changed both their hearts.” Bernice pulled a small paperback from her purse and laid it on the counter. “He autographed a copy for me.”

Clay glanced at the book. He’d never forgotten how Eloise, back at the foster home, talked about God tak
ing the bad part of our lives and making something good come from it. The story of the father’s forgiveness sounded like an example of the way Christ worked.

Violet stepped into the kitchen. “Care for some coffee and dessert, Bernice?”

“I’ve already had more than my limit following the program. A number of the ladies baked. But let me cut the cake for you two.”

Bernice busied herself preparing two plates, while Violet refilled their coffee cups. As they ate, Violet and Clay told Bernice about the break-in and stolen laptop.

“You have to be careful, dear.” Bernice patted Violet’s shoulder. “I’ve worried about you being alone. Sometimes I don’t think you use enough caution, coming home late like you often do.”

She stretched her other hand toward Clay. “Nice to know Clay’s here to keep you safe.”

Violet smiled at him. She didn’t counter Bernice’s comments. Instead, she winked, sending a buzz of energy rippling through him.

“I’ve got a third bedroom, Violet,” the older woman continued. “You’re staying here until all this calms down.”

“I’m having my locks changed in the morning, Bernice.”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” After chatting for a few more minutes, Bernice said good-night and headed for her bedroom.

Clay took a sip of his coffee and glanced at Violet over the rim of his cup. “You know when I first arrived in Missoula, I felt we were working on opposite sides.”

“I did seem a bit anticop back then, didn’t I?” Violet admitted.

“Because…?”

She shook her head. “It’s a long story. What about you? Did you follow in your dad’s footsteps?”

Was her comment telling? Reading between the lines, Clay wondered if her negative feelings toward law enforcement had something to do with her dad. A subject he’d explore at a later time. Right now he needed to answer her question.

“My dad worked construction. Mom waited tables at a local restaurant. They were hardworking folks, trying to survive.”

“I’m sure they were proud of you, Clay.”

He shrugged. “They died when I was thirteen. Don’t know if I’d done anything to earn their pride by that point.”

“Then you went to the foster home where you met Eloise.”

“That’s right.” He glanced at the doorway through which Bernice had just passed. “Eloise talked about the same things Bernice did tonight. God’s mercy and love. Forgiveness was the stumbling block for me. I questioned why God had allowed my parents to die. Folks said He’d called them home. For a kid, it’s hard to rationalize why a so-called loving God would leave a kid orphaned.”

“Forgiveness is always hard.” Sounded as if Violet struggled with that virtue, as well.

After loading the dessert plates into the dishwasher, Violet returned to the computer while Clay checked to ensure the doors were locked and added another log
to the fire. Soon the wood crackled, warming the room from the winter chill.

He picked up the book Bernice had brought home, pausing occasionally as he read to glance at Violet. She focused on the computer, pounding the keyboard and scrolling through the files she accessed with her flash drive. Opening her purse, she pulled out a few typed pages and referred to them occasionally as she worked.

Clay was deeply moved by the story he read. The author recounted turning his heart to the Lord and, at long last, forgiving the man who had killed his only child.

“Do me a favor.” Violet rose from the table. “Read what I’ve written and tell me what you think. Please?” She moved to the couch and sat near the fire, her hands outstretched to the warmth.

Clay placed the paperback on the coffee table near the Bible Bernice read each afternoon. Walking to the laptop, he sat in the chair Violet had just left and read her article.

Thought provoking and well written, the piece called for the city to fund additional monies to pay for an increase in police manpower. Violet made a good case for the need for more officers and outlined each person’s civic responsibility to support their men in blue.

Her words warmed his heart. She had taken on the cops’ cause and defended their standing in the community. Clay started to praise her work aloud when he realized she’d put her head on the arm of the couch and was sound asleep.

Violet’s papers were scattered around the table. He noticed a story dated a few days earlier. Stu had scribbled
See me
followed by his last name on the upper margin.

Clay read the text. Again, Violet made an excellent point about the growing incidence of crime and the interstate and intrastate crime rings that were increasing their influence throughout Montana. She presented the facts in an orderly, convincing manner. Clay appreciated the points she made about needing more police coverage and the reasons for increasing the city budget. The only problem he found was when she mentioned the chief of police. At that point, her levelheaded reporting seemed skewed and so opposite what he’d read in the other sections of the feature.

His eyes glanced at the pile of papers, and he noticed a draft of another story. This one focused on the two women in Witness Protection murdered by the mob.

Clay’s neck muscles tightened. If the story ever went to print, Violet would be at the top of the mob’s most-wanted list. Surely, she still wasn’t trying to sell the story to her editor.

He glanced at her sleeping on the couch. How much did he know about Violet? She’d earned a journalism degree and had excelled at UMT, winning the prestigious internship with the
Chicago Gazette.
A few folks on the paper had been forthright about Violet’s need to prove herself and her desire for a permanent position on staff that never came through for her.

But Clay knew nothing about her family or what her life had been like growing up. Chief Howard had started his law-enforcement career in Violet’s hometown. Clay checked the Missoula Police Department’s home page and pulled up the chief’s bio. His first job was in Granite Pass, a small town, two hours from Missoula.

Clay searched for a local Granite Pass newspaper and found a county publication that fortunately archived their issues. Following the prompts, he uncovered a list of articles.

The first he opened was a short piece about Everett Kramer, Violet’s dad, graduating with a Bachelor of Arts in Education from the University in Montana. Clay did the math. Violet had been a kid, probably about seven years old.

The next article made his heart pound as he read the headline:
Kramer Last To See Murdered Girl Alive.

Clay scanned the text. A high school senior’s body discovered in a wooded area near the school…Everett Kramer had tutored the girl after school…person of interest…

Clay’s fingers hit the next listing.

Second Victim Found…Lettie Kramer Dead.

Violet’s aunt.

…body uncovered in shallow grave near highway…no suspects…Kramer family grieving…police questioned Everett Kramer through the night…no breaks in the case…

From what Clay pieced together, the police lacked enough evidence to level charges against Violet’s dad. No other arrests. Both cases remained unsolved.

Clay glanced again at Violet. Hard for a kid to go through life having her father suspected of being a murderer. Tongues wagged in small towns.
Innocent until proven guilty
wouldn’t have prevailed.

Clay understood a little better why Violet pushed to protect the women in danger from the mob. She’d experienced firsthand the heartache of having a family
member murdered. She’d probably had to prove herself, as well.

He unfolded the afghan Bernice kept on a nearby footstool and laid it over Violet. She snuggled down into the couch and sighed as he tucked the crocheted blanket around her shoulders.

Her curls spilled over the arm of the couch. His fingers touched the silky strands and smoothed them back in place. Her lips twitched into a smile, and in that instant, he knew he’d do anything to protect her.

Clay had read the author’s words about forgiveness and a higher cause and how he had to embrace life with love and acceptance, but Clay hadn’t let himself be free from the past. He’d guarded a part of his heart that had been broken when he was thirteen. The loss of his parents had affected him more than he’d ever allowed himself to realize.

Eloise had been a lifesaver when he needed something to hold on to lest he drown in his own pain, but she’d been only a temporary stopgap. He thought Sylvia would fill the void. But she’d had her own problems, and they’d been young. Neither supported the other constructively. Sacrificial love? Not at that time of his life.

If only he could have been more aware of her insecurity. She’d turned to drugs, which had been a crutch when she was a teen, before they’d met and married. He’d known she’d been in rehab, but they both believed she wouldn’t slip back into addiction.

His long work shifts and the stress of having a husband in the line of fire was her excuse for needing pills to get through the day. At some point, she needed more than prescription drugs.

He’d encouraged her to go into rehab again, but she never found the strength to seek healing. Instead, she’d left him for a path of darkness and despair.

Clay’s gut tightened at the memory of seeing her on a street corner one cold winter night. He’d stopped to help her. Spaced out on the drugs she’d bought with the money she earned selling her body, Sylvia had thought he was another john and started to get into his car.

When recognition lifted the cloud of her existence and she saw him clearly, Sylvia had run away into the night.

Clay never saw her alive again. His last memory was her face staring back at him from the morgue when he’d been called in to identify her body.

He dropped his head in his hands, trying to close out the memory. His gaze rested on the Bible and paperback, lying side by side. He’d just read about a father’s mercy and the way forgiveness can heal the most hardened hearts.

Who did Clay need to forgive?

Sylvia? He’d done that already.

Cameron Trimble, the pimp who’d used her and abused her? The drugs he fed Sylvia had caused her death.

Forgive Cameron? Clay had had a different reaction when he’d seen him, yet vengeance wasn’t cathartic or freeing. The beating meant Clay had more to forgive. Now he had to forgive himself. Sometimes that was the hardest thing to do.