LITMIR.BIZ

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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. It was the same as losing a sister. Worse, she decided. Most siblings didn’t see each other every day.

      “We’re losing time.”

      “I know.” She had to detach somehow, do whatever had to be done. “Bramson is a white male, mid-thirties, tall, slender. I think he has dark hair but I’m not certain. I’ve never seen him in person, only his mug shot.”

      “What’s the underlying offense?”

      The more she talked, the easier it was to remain in denial. It was work, she told herself, just work. Right now, that’s the only way she could handle the situation. The words tumbled out. “The sheriff’s office arrested Bramson with a large quantity of crystal meth. The DA originally charged him with possession for sale, but they pled it down to simple possession. The judge imposed a year in prison, then suspended it and placed him on three years of supervised probation. Veronica suspected he was using again.”

      “Do you know what kind of car he was driving?”

      “No,” Carolyn said. “Everything’s in Veronica’s file. I’ll go back to the office and get it. You can’t let this bastard get away, Hank.”

      “Someone tipped off the media. If you don’t get to her husband and family fast, they’re going to hear about it on the six o’clock news. Oh, and we need the husband to identify her body. It’ll be at the morgue within the hour. I’ll broadcast what you gave me and whatever else I can pull up on the system regarding Phillip Bramson. Call someone in your agency and have them go through his file, then get the info to me ASAP. The most important thing is a vehicle description.”

      “Wait,” Carolyn said. “Who rented the motel room?”

      “A black male in his twenties,” Hank said. “The owner of the credit card is white. We’ve already contacted him. He claims the card was stolen.”

      “But Bramson is white.”

      “Maybe the black guy was a drug buddy,” Hank said, impatient. “We’ve barely scratched the surface, Carolyn. Let us do our jobs here. I’ll need to talk to Veronica’s husband sometime later tonight.”

      She disconnected and called Brad Preston. After she filled him on what had occurred, she cranked the engine on the Infiniti and sped out of the parking lot. “I assigned this case to Veronica, Brad. My investigators shouldn’t be supervising people. They’re not used to it. They might not take the necessary precautions.”

      “Get a hold of yourself, Carolyn,” Brad told her. “You won’t do anyone any good if you fall apart. I’ll grab Bramson’s file and relay the information to Hank and the PD, then meet you at Veronica’s house. She still lives on Tremont, right?”

      “We’ll need someone to watch the kids,” Carolyn said, her thoughts racing. “How can I tell them their mother’s dead?”

      “That’s not your responsibility. Veronica’s husband will tell them when he feels the time is right. Doesn’t she have a teenage daughter?”

      “Jude,” she said, trying to navigate through rush-hour traffic. “I don’t even know if she’s still living at home. They’ve had all kinds of problems with her. Veronica was going to throw her out if she didn’t get her act together.”

      “I need you,” Brad said, talking to someone in the office. “Linda Cartwright is here. I’ll bring her with me.”

      “It could be someone other than Bramson. I—I can’t remember what cases I assigned her.”

      “I’ll print out a list from your computer,” Brad said. “We’ll be there as fast as we can. Whatever you do, don’t talk to the press.”

      “Hurry,” she said, hitting the wrong button to end the call and speed-dialing her brother, Neil’s number. She flipped the phone closed and tossed it back into her purse. She hadn’t called Marcus yet. She didn’t have time to talk to Neil.

      Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up in front of a modest stucco house. The exterior needed painting, and most of the flowers had died from lack of water. A bicycle was lying on its side near the sidewalk. When she reached the front door, she could hear the TV blasting inside. It sounded like cartoons or some other type of children’s program. Thank God, she thought, it wasn’t the news. She swallowed hard and rang the doorbell.

      A tall, attractive man with prematurely gray hair and pale blue eyes answered the door. Drew Campbell was barefoot, wearing jeans and a green cotton T-shirt with some type of stain on the front. “Carolyn,” he said. “Haven’t seen your face in a month of Sundays. Veronica isn’t home, but come in.” He stepped aside and gestured toward the living room. Toys were scattered everywhere, along with juice cups and half-empty bowls of cereal. Stacy, their eight-year-old, was sprawled out on the sofa watching TV. She was tall for her age and reed thin. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail.

      “Excuse the mess,” Drew said. “We live in a perpetual state of chaos. You look like a wreck, Carolyn. Getting ready for the big day, I presume. I was planning to call Marcus and tell him I wouldn’t be able to make his bachelor party. Nice of him to invite me, though. Seems like you’re getting yourself a swell fellow there.”

      Michael, the couple’s four-year-old, raced into the room screaming, “Petey took my truck and won’t give it back.”

      “Gotta share, kiddo,” Drew said, hoisting him up in his arms. “You know who this lady is, don’t you? This is your godmother, Carolyn. She came to see you. Why don’t you give her a hug?”

      “No,” he said, pouting. “I want my red truck.”

      When Carolyn gazed at the child’s round face and wide-set eyes, she saw a miniature version of Veronica. “Is Jude here?” she asked.

      “I’m not sure,” Drew said. “I just picked the kids up from the babysitter. I think we found a live-in, but she hasn’t started yet. What’s going on? Jude’s not in trouble again, I hope.”

      “No, no,” Carolyn said. “Why don’t we sit down? Something’s happened. I thought Jude could look after…” She waved her hand in front of her. “Never mind…it doesn’t matter.”

      “Turn the TV off,” Drew said to his daughter.

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