Murder in the River City Read online

  On the coffee table she noticed two beer bottles. They were different—same imported beer, but one had the label peeled off.

  Shauna had drunk beer with Mack many times. He never peeled off the label. There were no other beer bottles around, and the brand was the same as the beer in the refrigerator—a brand Shauna didn’t think Mack would buy on his own. If he wasn’t drinking Harp from the tap at Dooley’s, he bought domestic.

  She went back to the refrigerator and, using a dishcloth to prevent smudging any fingerprints, took out the remaining six-pack of imports. There were four left. Tucked in the case was a receipt. The beer had been bought after midnight on Saturday. Mack usually closed at one Friday and Saturday nights, so she doubted he’d bought it. Who was he visiting with?

  It was probably nothing important, but no one who’d come into the bar today had said they’d been with Mack Saturday night. As far as Shauna knew, he didn’t have a girlfriend. And most of his friends were from Dooley’s.

  “Stop being so damn suspicious,” Shauna said. She put the beer back in the refrigerator and pulled out her phone to call Detective Black. Again.

  The front doorknob jiggled.

  Shauna jumped, put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from calling out. If it was Detective Black, he would have knocked, right? Because she’d said she was here.

  The knob jiggled again. It didn’t sound like a key. Why hadn’t she put on the security chain?

  Because you didn’t think someone was going to break into a dead man’s apartment.

  The lock clicked and Shauna realized that as soon as the door opened, the intruder would see her in the kitchen. She was trapped. The only place she could go was quickly around the corner and into the bedroom.

  She took three large, silent steps from the kitchen into the hall, three more steps to the bedroom door and slowly pushed it open. She saw a swath of light cut through the apartment and she didn’t dare close the bedroom door for fear of being seen.

  The front door closed so quietly she almost missed it. There was no place for her to go without being seen from the living room, except behind the half-open bedroom door. She stepped as silently as possible behind the door, held her breath, and peered through the crack. She couldn’t see anyone from the narrow angle, but heard someone moving through the apartment.

  She clicked her phone to silent and sent Black a text message:

  Someone is in Mack’s apartment. I’m trapped in the bedroom. Call Sam Garcia.

  She dialed 911 and then the door slammed into her body, pushing her hard against the wall. The back of her head ached. She dropped her phone. A man she’d never seen before pulled her out from behind the door and threw her across the room. The back of her head hit the dresser and she froze, too stunned by the blow to move.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  Fear flooded her veins. Adrenaline kicked in and she got up on all fours and crawled across the floor.

  He followed and kicked her. Her head hit the dresser and she fell on her side.

  “I already called the police!” she shouted. Had the 911 call gone through? She didn’t know where her phone went.

  Get up! Fight!

  Dizzy and scared, she began to scream but he slapped her.

  He wore a hoodie and gloves. She cataloged all the features she could remember. White. Clean-shaven. Taller than Mike, shorter than Sam.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He grabbed the lamp off the nightstand and pulled her arms up behind her.

  She screamed when her shoulder dislocated from its socket.

  “Shut up!” he said and wound the cord tightly around her hands in a figure eight. Then he pulled a T-shirt from Mack’s drawer and shoved it so deep in her mouth she gagged.

  She couldn’t hear anything through the ringing in her ears. The pain from her shoulder burned her entire body, making her nauseated. Her vision blurred, whether from the throbbing pulse in the back of her head or from the nearly unbearable pain in her shoulder. If she hadn’t had dislocated her shoulder twice before, she was certain she would have passed out. She focused on breathing through her nose as her pulse raced, bringing her to near panic.

  Tears ran down her face, in pain and anger and a deep fear she’d felt only once before: yesterday morning, when she thought her grandfather was dead.

  She tried to move, to hide, when she realized he was no longer in the bedroom, but each movement made her cry into the gag and made it harder to breathe.

  The intruder didn’t leave the apartment immediately. He spent a long minute looking for something, while she scooted slowly over to the corner where she’d dropped her phone, tears burning her eyes. Her phone started singing her ring tone from Riverdance. It was under the bed somewhere, no way she could reach it tied up and in pain.

  The front door closed and she was alone.

  She hoped.

  Chapter Eight

  John had called Sam as he was leaving Dooley’s. “I got a text message from Shauna Murphy that there’s an intruder at Mack Duncan’s apartment and she’s hiding in the bedroom.”

  Sam’s blood ran cold as he ran to his truck. “I’m on my way.”

  “So am I. I dispatched a patrol car, ETA six minutes.”

  Six minutes was enough time for Shauna to get hurt. Or worse.

  Damn damn damn!

  Sam ignored all traffic lights and wished he was in a marked car so he could get people to move out of his way.

  “What were you doing at Mack’s, Shauna?” he said to no one.

  Mack’s apartment in South Natomas wasn’t far from Dooley’s. Ten minutes at most, and Sam made it in six—just as the Sac PD patrol car looped into the drive. Riley Knight got out from behind the wheel.

  “John’s on his way,” Sam said. Shauna’s red Jeep was parked in Mack’s space.

  “That’s Shauna’s car.” No way was Sam waiting for John, not if Shauna was in danger. He had his gun out and Riley followed suit.

  Riley covered Sam as he went up the stairs, then Sam covered Riley as he followed. They stood on either side of Mack’s door. Sam motioned to the doorknob, indicating that Riley try it but not open it. The knob turned freely and Sam nodded, held up three fingers, then counted down to one.

  Riley pushed open the door. He went low and Sam went high. No one was inside. The apartment was small and they cleared the living area and kitchen quickly. The bedroom door was closed. A muffled cry came from behind the door. Sam quickly inspected the bathroom and found no one hiding inside.

  “Three,” he whispered to Riley.

  Riley opened the door again. A quick sweep told them no one was inside. No one except Shauna, tied up on the floor, her face stained with tears and blood, a bruise on her jaw and a T-shirt in her mouth.

  “Oh, God, Shauna.”

  He removed the T-shirt while Riley checked under the bed and in the closet. “Clear,” he said.

  “It’s about time,” Shauna said, but any anger she might have had at her predicament had faded and she sounded relieved.

  Riley started to untie the lamp cord and she cried out, a new wave of tears streaming down her face. Sam inspected her, heart pounding while his training still kept him calm. “Is anything broken?”

  Then he noticed her shoulder.

  “Dislocated?” he asked and she nodded.

  “Please,” she said through clenched teeth, “just push it back in.”

  “You’re sure it’s just dislocated?”

  She nodded again and bit her lip, her face and neck red. He wanted to check her entire body for injuries, inspect the bruise and blood on her face, but first things first.

  Then the bastard was going to pay for what he’d done to her.

  John called into the apartment. “Garcia!”

  “Bedroom. Call an ambulance.”

  “No,” Shauna said when John stepped into the hall, filling the doorway with his tall frame.

  “I have to untie the cord,” Sam said.

  “Just do it,” she
whispered through clenched teeth.

  As carefully as possible, Sam undid the knot and unwound the cord. “Help me stand her up,” he asked John.

  “Have you done this before?” John took Shauna’s good arm and pulled her up.

  Sam glanced at Shauna and smiled. “Oh, yes. Remember your championship soccer game when you were a senior? Those two girls slammed you into the ground.”

  “They were poor losers,” Shauna said. “And Mike was there.”

  “Mike was useless. I’m stunned he became a doctor. You were screaming in pain and he went pale.”

  Shauna grimaced. It might have been a smile. “It’s because I’m his sister.”

  “This is going to hurt.”

  “Just do it,” she repeated.

  Sam turned her arm until it was at a ninety-degree angle, then said, “On three.”

  “One,” Shauna said.

  It only took a second for Sam to rotate the shoulder back into place.

  Shauna cried out, then sat heavily on the bed. “Did you forget how to count in L.A.?”

  “It’s better if it’s a surprise. No chance to tense up.” Sam gently massaged her muscles while looking for other injuries.

  John said, “I take it that wasn’t your first dislocated shoulder.”

  “I think it was number five. No, six. And I could have fixed it myself if I hadn’t been tied up.”

  Shauna was clutching her stomach a bit too much. Sam made a move to look at what caused her pain, and she turned away. “I’m fine,” she said as she winced from the sudden move.

  “Call an ambulance,” Sam told John.

  “I said no,” Shauna said.

  “What did he do to you?”

  “I’ll be fine. You call an ambulance and I’ll never speak to you again.” She stared at Sam, but her eyes weren’t quite in focus.

  Sam put his hands on her head and felt around for bumps. She yelped when he touched a big lump on the back of her head, sticky with blood.

  “Sam, I promise you, I’ll be fine. I’m more angry than hurt.”

  “I’m taking you to Mike.”

  “No!”

  “Ambulance or your brother. You choose.”

  She glared at him, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Fine. Have Mike meet us at Dooley’s.”

  “Riley, go talk to the manager, find out if there’re any security tapes, then start interviewing the neighbors.”

  “On it,” Riley said and left the apartment.

  John turned to Shauna. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I came here to get all Mack’s financial papers for my granddad and take out the garbage. I thought the place was a mess, but didn’t really think about it until I came into the bedroom and saw the drawers misaligned. And the papers in the desk were in no order, like they were thrown in.” She looked pointedly at John. “I called you. You didn’t pick up.”

  John sighed, but didn’t respond to her comment. Sam wouldn’t have either. But Sam said, “Why didn’t you call me? Didn’t we just have this conversation? That I’m on your side?”

  “I didn’t have your number in my phone.”

  She stared at him and Sam realized the truth. She’d deleted it. Why was he surprised?

  Shauna continued. “I decided I should call 911 and report a break in—since you didn’t answer my call—and then I heard someone pick the lock. I ran to the bedroom and hid behind the door. I sent John a text message. But the intruder must have seen or heard me because he came in, hit me with the door, and tied me up. I screamed when my shoulder popped out. End of story.”

  There was more to it, Sam was certain. She was too bruised just to have been hit by the door.

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Not well. He was wearing a white hoodie, but he was white with a fair complexion, pale eyes—light green or blue—and had a square jaw with a dimple. Clean-shaven. Smelled like cologne. Just a little, but nothing I recognized. Jeans. Wore gloves. But I think you should still dust for prints because someone else was here. And someone came here on Saturday night after Mack got off work, brought him beer. The receipt is in the refrigerator, tucked in the cardboard carrier. Mack doesn’t peel off his beer labels, but his guest did.”

  “Slow down,” John said.

  “This is important!”

  “I can’t write as fast as you talk,” he said.

  Sam didn’t know if he was joking or not.

  John asked, “Do you know what, if anything, was taken?”

  “His TV and computer are here, but the desk had been gone through.”

  John looked around the bedroom. “Where’s the computer?”

  “In the living room. On the desk.”

  “It’s not,” John said.

  “It was on the desk when I got here.”

  Shauna stood up, but was unsteady on her feet. Sam caught her before she fell.

  “I need to see the living room. I’ll tell you exactly what he took.”

  Sam put his arm around Shauna’s waist and supported her as she walked to the living room. That she let him was a testament to how shitty she felt.

  She looked around. “He was in here no more than two minutes, but it looks like he went through the desk. I had closed the drawers after looking for Mack’s financial papers, and the top two are open. He took the computer. And he took the beer bottles. They were right there on the table.”

  John went over to the refrigerator. “There’s no beer in here.”

  “I’m not lying!”

  Sam tried to console her. “No one thinks you’re lying.”

  “Why are you talking in that tone?”

  “Ms. Murphy,” John said, “I understand you’re trying to help, but you should have called when you realized something was out of place.”

  She put her hands on her hips and her skin reddened. Sam tried to stop her temper, but she let loose. “I did call you! I called as soon as I saw that the desk was a mess. I had already cleaned out the perishable food and put the garbage by the door—” They all turned and looked at the door.

  The garbage bag was gone.

  “That’s just great. A thief who takes out the garbage! I’m going to Dooley’s. Call me when you know anything.” She walked out.

  “She shouldn’t be driving,” Sam said.

  “Buddy, I’m really sorry. She’s called me so much these last two days—I ignored it.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’ll talk to her again, make sure she understands she needs to give us time to do our job. She’s impulsive with a temper, but she’s not irresponsible.”

  John nodded. “Find out about that beer she remembers. We can pull security tapes if we have a location.”

  “Already planned on it.” He paused. “You know, this break-in means Mack’s murder might have nothing to do with the pub break-in.”

  “Yep. I agree. It also means he might have been involved in something a bit shady.”

  Sam agreed, but didn’t say anything.

  “I already started a cursory background check. I’m going to dig deeper. Might want to give Shauna a heads up.”

  “I’ll do that. See you in the morning.”

  Sam walked out and was surprised to find Shauna sitting outside the door.

  “I’m sorry, Sam,” she said.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I heard everything.”

  He expected an argument, but she didn’t say anything. Sam extended his hand and she took it. He helped her up, noticing she winced. “You okay with what we find?”

  “I’ll have to be.” She looked at him, her eyes red from tears and pain. “All I want is the truth. I want to know who killed Mack and why. And then I want them to spend the rest of their miserable, rotten lives in jail.”

  Chapter Nine

  Shauna wished she hadn’t told Sam she wanted to go to Dooley’s. All she really wanted was to go home and go to bed. Fortunately, Mike got there quick and checked her over. He wanted her to go to the hospital because she
had a mild concussion, but she refused. Finally, he told her he was staying overnight, that he’d run home and pack an overnight bag. “Take her home, Sam. I’ll be there in an hour, tops.”

  Shauna drove herself—it wasn’t far—and Sam followed. She was thankful her brother hadn’t pushed her for more details, though she was pretty certain he’d be pushing her tonight.

  She’d bought a Victorian house last year when the California housing market had hit rock bottom. Housing hadn’t improved much, but she didn’t plan on selling any time soon. She’d bought the house because of the structure—it was sound, with unique architecture circa 1900. It was a rare three-story, single-family home with a basement that had never been converted to apartments, with a grand but worn wood staircase in the entry. Some people might have thought her foolish for buying a house more than a century old, but she’d fallen in love. And love couldn’t always be explained by words.

  Though the bones of the house were solid, there was a lot of work that needed to be done. She’d moved in before most people would have—the water heater was old and barely offered lukewarm showers, the air conditioning was from the 1970s with two big box units sticking out of the dining room and master bedroom windows respectfully. The kitchen had been updated in the 1950s with an antique but functional gas stove, tiny refrigerator, and no dishwasher. She’d barely touched the horrid 1960s wallpaper that plastered the downstairs and had cringed when she realized one of the previous owners had painted over real oak panels in the upstairs bedrooms.

  There were several things that made the house loveable, especially to her trained eye. She yearned to bring the house to its full potential. Though it might take ten years to do everything she wanted, she was excited about the possibilities.

  She drove down the narrow driveway to the single-car garage in the back. Sam parked in front of the house. She walked back down the drive and Sam met her on the wide front porch. “This is your place?”