eyes hardened. “I’ve got the best damn closure rate in the department.”
“This isn’t about your closure rate, Detective. This is about convicting a murderer.” She walked by him, her jaw tight. “The man is a self-centered, puffed-up, three-eyed monster,” she grumbled, walking to her car.
A laugh jerked her out of her fuming. She turned to Ash.
“Ralph has that effect on women. They want to kill him. That’s why his partner usually interviews them at crime scenes and leaves Ralph to interview the men.”
She shook her head. “Why does HPD keep him?”
“Because, Kelly, he’s got good instincts and a good solve rate.”
“So he said.”
“It’s true.”
“Then why does this case have holes in it?”
His frown only confirmed her suspicion. “That’s a good question.”
“If my case had holes, do his other cases have problems?”
She didn’t like the look in his eyes.
Chapter 3
Ash cursed a blue streak as he followed Kelly’s car through downtown Houston to her office. The little bug she’d put in his ear kept whispering.
And whispering. And what it said left a hole in his gut.
Ralph had a legendary closure rate, one he held over everyone’s head. But what if that rate wasn’t all it was cracked up to be? What if Ralph had done things in other cases that had helped close them prematurely? Ash’s mind shied away from thinking about such things, because if the Carlson case wasn’t just an aberration, but part of a pattern in Ralph’s closure rate, then they were in deep trouble. If anyone caught wind of this, the courts would be waist deep in prisoners claiming their cases had been railroaded.
He tried to bury the worry as he carried the boxes from Kelly’s car to her office. Teresa, Kelly’s secretary, smiled coyly at him when he walked into the room.
“Let’s go into the conference room, where we can spread out this evidence on the table,” Kelly called over her shoulder.
Ash followed her into the room, noticing what a nice butt she had. He tried to ignore his awareness and set his box on the long table.
“Are you going to need me for anything else, Kelly?” Teresa asked from the doorway. She smiled at Ash again.
Kelly looked from Ash to Teresa. “No, you go on home, Teresa. We’re fine.”
Once they were alone, a warning flashed in Kelly’s eyes. Ash shrugged and opened the box in front of him. Inside was Catherine Reed’s blouse, covered with blood, different items from the room that had blood on them, a carpet sample from the bedroom and pictures from the crime scene. But the murder weapon, a Civil War saber that had hung on the hall wall outside the upstairs bedroom, wasn’t in the box.
Kelly unloaded her box. Evidence from Steve Carlson’s apartment, envelopes containing DNA results and samples of blood evidence. Kelly leaned back in her chair, glancing over the items on the conference table. They compared the items on the table with the inventory sheet. Kelly shook her head.
“Where’s the saber?” Ash asked.
Kelly looked through her file. “We gave it back to Andrew Reed, since it was a family heirloom and was valued around fifty thousand dollars.”
Kelly studied the evidence. “There’s nothing here that could be thought of as a smoking gun.”
“Let’s go over the inventory items.”
Kelly read them off the sheet.
Ash surveyed the items. “Nothing different from the file I reviewed yesterday.” He shook his head.
“What?”
He forgot that Kelly could read him in ways that other folks couldn’t. But that was before she had miscarried and turned inward and they had drifted apart. “The blood evidence still bothers me. I need to investigate it further.”
“It bothers me, too.” She shook her head. “I should’ve seen this problem the first time.”
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Kelly, you just went on what Ralph gave you.”
“What I did was accept his word and didn’t look closely at the case. It was a slam dunk, and I didn’t want to see anything else. I was worrying about my conviction rate. Wanted another promotion.”
No, what had really been going on at the time was Kelly had just miscarried their first baby. It had been a devastating experience for both of them. This case was the first one she’d handled after she went back to work. He saw that truth in her eyes.
“Let’s not panic. There’s no magic key here. It looks like I’ll just have to start from scratch and reinterview everyone listed here, see if I can develop any new leads.”
Kelly picked up a picture of Catherine Reed. “She was a beautiful woman.”
Ash looked over her shoulder at the picture of the victim. As much as they tried to divorce their feelings from these crimes and violence, once in a while a case got to you. “She reminds me of my vision of Snow White.” He shook his head. “Who’d ever think I’d say that?”
She smiled at him. After a quiet moment, she asked, “Why do I have a bad feeling about this, Ash?”
He shook his head and stood. “That’s because there’s something wrong here.”
A moan escaped her. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me that. But I knew…” She took a deep breath. “Okay, Ash. You’re the detective. I’ll go with your interpretation.”
“That’s a first.” The comment slipped out of his mouth before he could think.
Kelly laughed. The sweet sound made Ash want to kiss that lovely mouth.
Whoa, boy. Don’t go there.
Her eyes darkened and the air between them vibrated with their awareness. He stood and took several steps away from her to keep from touching her.
Ash didn’t mention that he had doubts about Andrew Reed. He wanted a closer look at the man. Since Catherine’s death had been so violent, it spoke of rage. Did Andrew Reed have a problem with anger? What was his relationship with his wife? That hadn’t been explored in the previous investigation. And why not?
Terrific, just what he needed, a nasty murder case among the rich and famous.
They quietly put the evidence back into the boxes. “Do you want me to put these boxes in another location?” When his gaze met hers, the electricity in the room exploded between them.
“Uh—” She swallowed. “Just leave them there.”
He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms and kiss her senseless. The thought scared him.
“I’ll be in touch.” He strode out of the room before he did something stupid.
Ash glanced around the elegant den of Andrew Reed’s mansion. The maid informed Ash that Mr. Reed would be with him momentarily. An original oil painting of the Texas Hill county by J. Williams hung over the fireplace. A photo of the artist, famous in Houston and San Antonio, and Andrew Reed, smiling and shaking hands graced the other wall.
“Do you like my Williams?” Andrew asked as he walked into the room.
Ash looked at the handsome man. Pictures of Andrew Reed with other local celebrities hung on the wall. A president, governor, a couple of senators. But there were no pictures of Catherine Reed. “I’m not much into art. My ex-wife said I had taste in my feet,” Ash commented.
Andrew’s brow arched. “What can