Deadly Revenge (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 4) Read online

  Deadly Revenge

  Sarah Spillman Mysteries Book 4

  Renée Pawlish

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  This Doesn’t Happen in the Movies, The Reed Ferguson Mysteries Book 1

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  About the Author

  Deadly Revenge

  Published by Creative Cat Press

  copyright 2021 by Renée Pawlish

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your personal use only, then you should return this copy to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgments

  The author gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Treat and Beth Higgins.

  I remained indebted to Colonel Randy Powers, retired, Chief Deputy. He has answered countless questions, and I am grateful for his assistance. Any mistakes in police procedure are mine.

  To all my beta readers: I am in your debt!

  Dianne Biscoe, Renee Boomershine, Betty Jo English, Tracy Gestewitz, Patti Gross, Eileen Hill, Sherry Ito, Maxine Lauer, Becky Neilsen, Louise Ohman, Becky Serna, Bev Smith, Albert Stevens, Marlene Van Matre

  If I’ve forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.

  Author’s Note

  I have exercised some creative license in bending settings and law-enforcement agencies to the whims of the story. This is, after all, a work of fiction. Any similarities between characters in this novel and real persons is strictly coincidental.

  Chapter One

  “We have to kill them, you know.”

  He turned in the seat and looked at her. Her eyebrows pinched, her lips pressed into a thin, harsh line. She was beautiful when she was angry, and dangerous. He smiled to himself. That didn’t mean he was attracted to her. He held up his hands and stared out the windshield.

  “Who first?” he asked. He couldn’t believe it had come to this, that this was what he was contemplating.

  “You know who we have to start with,” she replied.

  “You’ve been thinking about this.”

  “Of course. And don’t play innocent. So have you.”

  He had been thinking about it. But he’d been thinking how he could talk her out of it. Ultimately, though, he knew she was right. They had to do something. “So,” he sighed. “How are we going to do it?”

  She tapped her lips for a moment. He could smell her perfume, not one he cared for. She grabbed a can of Coke from the console between the seats and took a sip.

  He could smell alcohol from the can. “Have you been drinking?” he asked.

  “Just enough to calm my nerves.”

  She held up the can and stared into it. He’d known her long enough to know that this was her way to give herself time to think.

  “Can’t we wait another week or so?” he asked. “Maybe she’ll come around.”

  She swirled the can, then finally spoke.

  “Could we? She goes to the gym like clockwork, every morning before work. She could be taken out there.”

  He was relieved that she might be willing to wait, but her suggestion was not good. He shook his head. “No, too many people around, and there could be security cameras near the gym. Count on that.”

  She swore. “Then we need to do it now. Tonight.”

  He grimaced. He should’ve kept his mouth shut about the gym. He ran both hands over his face as he stared out the windshield, his foot wiggling. It was his way of thinking. She was right, of course.

  “You know I’m right,” she said as if she’d heard his thoughts. “We can’t let them interfere in this. If we don’t act now, all our work will go down the drain.” She took another sip of Coke. “Do you know how much money we’re talking about?”

  “Of course I do.”

  He stared at her, then his gaze drifted again. The street was quiet, no one around. He liked this time of night, no one to disturb him. Like death, in a way. Ironic, given what they were talking about. He looked back at her. Her eyes were slits as she watched him.

  “I know everything about the money,” he said. “I’m the one who got us this all set up. Don’t ever forget that.”

  Her muscles tensed, like a feral cat waiting to pounce.

  “You may have set this up,” she said, “but I’m the one who got us to this point. Don’t ever forget that.”

  He nodded slowly. “I know exactly how this has gone down; you don’t need to tell me. We’re both in this deep, and if anything happens, we’ll both pay. Which is why we need to be very careful in how we handle this.”

  The cloud of anger around her suddenly dispersed. She sighed and finished the soda. Her face filled with a cool determination. “People are killed every day, for a lot less than what we’re talking about. We can do this.”

  He leaned forward and put his hands on the dashboard. “You don’t see any other way?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve laid awake several nights trying to see if I’ve missed something. They’re not going to go along with this anymore, and –”

  “They know how much money we’re talking about,” he interrupted.

  She shrugged. “I’ve tried that route. I talked to them about that until I’m blue in the face. They don’t care, no matter how much it is. You know, some people just don’t care.”

  He smirked at her. Again, she seemed to miss the irony of her comment. They were all supposed to care, right? But the money was just too good.

  “I’m worried they might say something, ruin it for all of us,” she said.

  He’d had that thought, too. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t see any other choice.

  “How do we do this?” he asked.

  “I have a gun in my purse.”

  He was taken aback. She was more prepared than he figured. “Where did you get it?”

  She shook her head. “The less you know, the better. Don’t worry. It’s untraceable. We’ll go to her house now. She won’t do anything with a gun on her. I’ll force her into her car, and we’ll drive someplace, then take care of her.” She stared at him, daring him to protest.

  He swallowed hard and tried to think of an alternative, but he couldn’t.

  “L
et’s do this,” he said.

  Chapter Two

  “Tell me about Amy Babbitt.”

  Officer Hawthorne leaned back in his chair and put one hand on his desk. “I heard you got that one, Spillman.” The tone in his low voice indicated a little awkwardness, as if he were questioning why he hadn’t acted on the missing persons report he’d received on Babbitt. “Who discovered her body?”

  “A woman walking her dogs early this morning,” I said. “She saw the Mercedes sitting in a lot at Congress Park. As she walked by, her dogs started whining and pulling her toward the car. She didn’t see anyone in the car, and she tried to move on, but the dogs wouldn’t give up. She finally looked in the car window and saw the body slumped over. She tapped the window, called out, and when she got no response, she called 911.”

  He ran a thick finger along the edge of his desk, careful not to make eye contact with me. In another room, we heard other detectives talking.

  “How’d she die?” he finally asked.

  “A single gunshot to the head. My guess is a .32. The bullet rattled around but didn’t exit, so no mess in the Mercedes, no blood on the windows, no bullet hole. The car was locked up, no signs of forced entry, no signs of a struggle. Possibly suicide.”

  He noted the skepticism in my tone. “You don’t buy that?”

  “I’ll never assume that. I need proof.” I ticked off more things I had doubts about. “I don’t like the way the bullet entry on her temple looked, either, no star pattern. Like the gun was held away from her head. Wouldn’t a person committing suicide press the barrel to their temple?”

  “Probably.”

  “Same with blood spatter on her hand, not enough of it. It doesn’t make sense. I’ll wait for autopsy results on that, though.”

  “Any surveillance video?”

  I pursed my lips. “Not that we’ve found so far. Where the car was parked, the houses are too far away. I’d be surprised if any cameras on those houses recorded anything useful.”

  He grimaced. “What a shame. I was hoping she’d show up.”

  “Tell me about your report.”

  “When I took it,” Hawthorne said, “Amy had been missing barely twenty-four hours. It sounded like she just hadn’t returned her friend’s phone calls. What was I supposed to do?”

  I waved that away. “Water under the bridge. Tell me about the interview.”

  Hawthorne was a big man, over six feet tall, all of it muscle, and he turned his bulk to the computer monitor, his fingers on the keyboard, happy to have something to do. “Amy Babbitt’s friend, Jenna Ordway, called here on Sunday. Jenna said she was worried about Amy, that she hadn’t heard from Amy since Saturday night.” He glanced at me, then his gaze quickly went back to the monitor. “I asked Jenna why not hearing from her friend would be unusual, and she said that she and Amy had gone out the night before, and that Amy had hooked up with a guy at the bar. I guess Amy ended up leaving the bar with him instead of with Jenna. Amy was supposed to call Jenna yesterday, and she didn’t. Jenna called a few times, then went over to Amy’s house. No one answered. When Amy didn’t return the phone calls, Jenna decided to report her missing.” He leaned back in the chair again and contemplated me. “Like I said, it didn’t seem like much, so I filed the report and didn’t think anything more of it. Until you called and told me she was dead.”

  I rested an elbow on the edge of the desk. “What bar did they go to?”

  He took the mouse and scrolled through his report. “The Capitol Grille. You know it?”

  I nodded. “It’s a little place on Pennsylvania Street. Nice, trendy. The type of place I could see a doctor going to.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Amy Babbitt was a doctor?”

  “Yes. She had a family practice, worked with another doctor and a couple of PAs. We haven’t talked to any of Amy’s family or friends yet, so I don’t know much about her, other than she’s single. When I found out she’d been reported missing, I came to you first.” He cleared his throat and waited. “What else did Jenna say?”

  He glanced at the monitor again. “According to Jenna, Amy was complaining about how stressful things had been lately, more so than usual. I guess Amy had been working long hours, lots of late nights at the office, working on some clinical trial for a new drug. Jenna said she and Amy used to get together about once a week or so, and they’d talk on the phone a fair amount, but that for the past few months that hadn’t been happening. Jenna had to twist Amy’s arm to get her to go out. Jenna picked Amy up about seven on Saturday, and they had dinner, then went to the bar about nine. They got a table and chatted, and they were drinking a bit, maybe a little more than Jenna and Amy normally did. Amy said she really needed a break from things, and when the man at the bar started talking to them, Amy was working hard to get noticed, really flirting with this guy. Jenna was a little surprised that Amy wanted to leave with him. I guess that’s not necessarily what Amy would do.”

  “What was the guy’s name?”

  He consulted the report. “Dennis. No last name.”

  “Too bad.” I gestured at the monitor. “What’d he look like?”

  “Brown hair, brown eyes, clean-shaven. Average height and build, and, according to Jenna, good-looking.” He rolled his eyes. “Whatever that means.”

  I mulled that over. “So like half the men in Denver.”

  He smirked. “That sounds about right. Jenna had no idea where he lived, or anything else about him.”

  “Did he say where he worked?”

  He shook his head. “If he did, Jenna didn’t remember. She acknowledges being a little drunk. Enough so that she took an Uber home.”

  My phone buzzed and I glanced at the text. One of my partners, “Spats” Youngfield, had a warrant to search Amy Babbitt’s house. I texted back that I’d meet him there soon. When I looked up, Hawthorne said, “You need to go?” His tone a little too eager, his look a little too hopeful that I was being called away, that the questions were finished.

  I shook my head. “So other than Amy being a little stressed out lately, was Jenna worried about her?”

  The hopefulness on his face vanished. “No, she was just concerned that she hadn’t heard from Amy.”

  “Nothing about Amy’s mood, nothing to indicate she might’ve been suicidal?”

  “Not at all.”

  I got the feeling that he hadn’t pressed the issue. And I couldn’t blame him for that. He hadn’t known at the time the missing persons report was filed what would happen later. It would be worth talking to Jenna Ordway myself, though. I kept pressing for more information. “And Jenna didn’t notice anybody watching them? Anybody strange at the bar, something like that?”

  Another shake of his head. “No, Jenna didn’t report anything out of the ordinary. She thought the evening was going along fine, they were having a good time, and Amy seemed to be having fun. As I said, Jenna was a little surprised that Amy wanted to go home with this guy, but other than that, nothing unusual.”

  “What time did Amy leave with Dennis?”

  Another glance at the screen. “About eleven o’clock. Jenna went to the restroom, and when she came back, Dennis excused himself and went to the john as well. Amy quickly told Jenna that he’d asked her to go home with him, and that she would call Jenna the next day. Jenna told her to be careful. Amy said Dennis was harmless, and she’d be fine. When he came out of the bathroom, Amy left with him. Jenna stayed to have another drink, and after that, she knew she was too drunk to drive, so she called the Uber. She went home, got up the next morning, and tried Amy. Amy didn’t answer, and Jenna figured she was still with Dennis. She left a message, got dressed, and got another Uber to take her back to her car. She ran some errands, went to the gym, and she expected Amy to call her. When Amy didn’t, Jenna tried her a few times throughout the afternoon, then went by Amy’s house. By the end of the day, still no word from Amy, which got Jenna worried, so she called us.”

  “And you told her what?”


  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “I told her I’d file a report, but that it was probably nothing. Amy would show up soon, and I’m sure she would call Jenna.”

  “How did Jenna take that?”

  Someone laughed in another room, and his gaze darted that way. “I don’t think Jenna was too happy, but what could she do? What could we do, for that matter?” He held up his palms. “Like I said, I didn’t think anything else about it until you called.”

  “Jenna didn’t call the station again,” I mused more to myself than him.

  “Not that I’ve heard.” He ran a hand over his short-cropped blond hair. “You going to talk to her?”

  I nodded. “It’s on my list.” I pointed at the monitor. “Print that report for me, please.”

  He did, and handed it to me. Then he went back to rubbing his finger along the edge of the desk. “Yeah, it’s too bad it turned out this way. I really thought Amy just took a break, you know? Things had been stressful, she hangs out with the guy a little longer than she means to, then goes home.”

  “Maybe she did.”

  “And then she committed suicide later?”

  I pondered that. “Maybe.” I tapped the desk. “A family practice physician goes home with a guy she just met at a bar?”