She looked at the house—no sign that Christmas cheer had ever existed there—but couldn’t get herself to step out of the car. She’d never been here before, but she knew who was inside. He went by “Freddy,” but his real name was Hank Cohen. He’d turned to the streets at fifteen when his mother took up with an abusive man who’d slapped him around one too many times. He had been in and out of jail for dealing, but Amanda would guess his list of crimes was more extensive than that. The reasoning behind his handle was a mystery to her.
Now, all she had to do was get out of the car, walk up the cracked pavement to the door, and knock.
That’s all, she coached herself. But it really wasn’t “all.” She was a detective in the Homicide Unit under the Criminal Investigations Division and Violent Crimes Bureau for the Prince William County Police Department. She was supposed to be a role model, to lead by example.
But Freddy could give her what she needed. He offered street drugs, but she was interested in getting her hands on some Xanax. After the accident, her doctor had prescribed it for a few months but then he had refused to renew the prescription. He’d told her it wasn’t healthy to stay on the pills long-term and recommended she see a therapist. He’d referred her to one, who she saw a grand total of three times. It made her feel worse talking about Kevin and Lindsey to a stranger. Her internal dialogue nattered enough, and that’s why she needed something to shut up the voices. The over-the-counter sleeping pills could only do so much. The Xanax helped her become so relaxed she didn’t have the energy to feel or think a damn thing.
She gave another glance toward Freddy’s house, then at the badge still in her hand, and blinked back tears. She’d already fallen so far from grace. Did it matter if she slipped further? If she took this step, would there be a way back? And if there wasn’t, did she care?
She tossed her badge back in the glove box and reached for the door handle. Her cell phone rang, and her heart palpitated off rhythm. She took a few deep breaths. “Detective Steele,” she answered, sinking lower in her seat and feeling shame.
“Amanda? It’s Becky.”
She’d known Becky since kindergarten, but now Becky was an officer with Dumfries Police Department, the small town where Amanda lived. Given that it was just after midnight now, she’d wager Becky’s call was related to work as Dumfries PD turned suspicious deaths and murders over to Amanda’s department at PWCPD for investigation, but Amanda wasn’t on shift. “Is everything okay?”
“There’s something you should know. Chad Palmer’s been found dead in a room at Denver’s Motel.”
Amanda’s throat constricted and her vision went black. Chad Palmer—the man who’d destroyed her world and taken her family from her. All because he’d gotten behind the wheel drunk and crossed the line in more ways than one.
She couldn’t bring herself to talk. She was too busy processing this news. Denver’s was a dive motel that catered to lowlifes. It was a fitting exit ramp for Palmer.
“I had to call it in, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” Becky’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Was he murdered?” she squeezed out.
“I don’t know. I’m here now, and it’s not obvious exactly what killed him.”
Chills shot down her arms, goose bumps rising in their wake. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Of course.”
Amanda hung up but kept her grip on her phone tight and turned her attention to the glove box, her mind on her badge. She gave one last, desperate look at Freddy’s and drove toward Denver’s. Becky’s call had saved her this time.
Two
Amanda pressed the gas and made it from Woodbridge to Dumfries in less than the fifteen minutes it would normally take. Between the time of night and her speed, it took her under ten. But for every one of those minutes she was thinking about what she was going to find once she got to Denver’s Motel. Was Chad Palmer really dead?
If so, he had finally gotten what he’d deserved after all this time. The law certainly hadn’t doled out justice when it had given him five years, the equivalent of a slap on the wrist. Even tacking on the additional five months he’d spent behind bars during the trial was nothing. Call it karma that he’d just been released from prison two days ago and his undeserved freedom had been snatched from him so quickly.
Denver’s Motel was a single-story establishment with maybe twenty rooms, laid out in a horseshoe around an inground swimming pool that had found a second life as a garden. Its clientele would have included the shadier types.
When Amanda arrived, there was no sign of the Crime Scene Unit, but two police cruisers were in the parking lot; both had their lights flashing. An officer was in one but shrouded in darkness, making it hard to distinguish if it was Becky. There was also an SUV marked Police Town of Dumfries, which would belong to a sergeant with Dumfries PD, likely Lisa Greer. Amanda only knew of her through Becky and hadn’t met her yet, as she’d just transferred in a few weeks ago. Hopefully, that meant she didn’t know Amanda’s history with the deceased. But whether the sergeant was Greer or someone else, they’d leave once Amanda’s sergeant from PWCPD arrived. Their immediate job was just to watch over the scene until it could be handed over.
Amanda parked, grabbed her badge and gun and set across the courtyard. There was a woman in slacks and a winter coat posted next to an opened door.
“Amanda,” Becky called out to her.
Amanda shut her eyes for a second, then turned. Her friend’s shoulder-length hair was in a ponytail, as it often was when she was on duty, and swinging side to side. She’d hustled to catch up.
“What are you doing here?” Becky asked.
“Where else would I be?” Amanda resumed walking, but Becky cut in front of her, blocking her path.
“You need to go home.”
Amanda juked to go around Becky, but her friend moved with her. She was a couple of inches shorter than Amanda’s five-foot-nine, but she was solid and athletic. Amanda stopped, let her arms dangle. “You had to know I’d show up.”
Becky looked over a shoulder, and it had Amanda following the direction of her gaze. The woman outside the motel room was watching them closely, her brows pinched together.
“Maybe,” Becky admitted, “but I’d hoped you wouldn’t. Your being here really isn’t a good idea.”
Amanda tucked a strand of her ginger hair over her left ear and scanned the lot for any department vehicles from PWCPD. “I don’t see any other detectives from Homicide on scene yet.” The words were out before Amanda gave them much thought. Did she really want to get involved with the investigation, assuming Palmer had been murdered? When she’d sped over here, it had been an instinct, just to see the man who had killed her family dead, as if by doing so it would heal a part of her.
“No, but—”
“Then I’m the first homicide detective to arrive. That means I qualify to enter the scene.”
The woman waved her over. Amanda pointed her out to Becky. “I’m guessing that’s Greer?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, your boss seems to think I’m here because I was assigned the case.”