Winter Frost (A Chris Matheson Cold Case Mystery Book 2) Read online

  “They’re fine.” Helen’s tone was much more upbeat than it needed to be.

  Abruptly, Doris hugged Chris and kissed him on the cheek. “You look hungry.” She took his hand. “Let me fix you something to eat.” She pulled him toward the house.

  Chris extracted his hand from hers. In a low voice, he asked, “What have you done now?”

  Doris’s hands landed on her hips. “Why do you just assume I did something wrong?”

  Cursing and barking exploded from inside the workshop. Chris put out his arms to part the two women. He ran through the doorway where Sterling had jumped up to turn the knob and entered. Upon discovering the intruders, the German shepherd sounded the alarm.

  Helen groaned. “We are in so much trouble.”

  “It’s about time.” Doris tossed her head in the direction of the two police cruisers from the sheriff’s department making their way up the lane.

  Chris stumbled out of the workshop. “Why are they naked?”

  “They’re hitmen,” Doris said. “Your friend Stu Dunleavy had sent them.”

  “Stu Dunleavy is not my friend.”

  “He certainly is not considering that he hired two goons to murder you and burn down our house.” Doris hurried to meet Sheriff Grant Bassett as he climbed out of his cruiser. “Oh, Grant, I am so glad to see you. Have you lost weight?”

  Chris called to her back. “Their bare butts are on my chairs!”

  “Chris, did you hear your mother? Stu Dunleavy sent them to kill you. Why would he do that?”

  “Did they tell you that?” Chris asked as Doris led the sheriff and two deputies into the workshop.

  “After your mother threatened to hollow out their penises with a drill,” Helen said.

  Chris involuntarily flinched at the thought.

  “I never touched them,” Doris said. “All I did was show them my pink toolbox and let their imaginations go to work.”

  “That was enough to make Ralph sing like a canary,” Helen said.

  “Which one is Ralph?” Chris asked.

  “The big guy.”

  The sheriff stepped into the doorway. “Where are their clothes?”

  “Would you believe we found them like that?” Doris’s face was filled with innocence. She bestowed a smile on the lawman. “Would you like a slice of pie before you go, Grant?”

  “That would be really nice, Doris.” The sheriff turned to his deputies. “They found them that way.”

  With a sigh, Helen went into the barn to collect the men’s clothes, weapons, and other evidence of their planned assassination.

  “According to the call log on Tony’s phone—” Doris said.

  “Am I correct in assuming Tony is the short goon?” Chris asked.

  “Allegedly, Jenn, Stu Dunleavy’s assistant called him at one-clock this morning to burn down the house with you in it. But, according to Ralph—”

  “The big canary.”

  Doris nodded her head. “He told us it was an emergency hit that had to be carried out ASAP.” She tapped his chest with a manicured fingertip. “She gave Tony the address for your old house.”

  “In Reston.”

  “By the time Tony found Ralph, rented a vehicle, and they drove all the way to Reston, Blair’s body had been found and the place was hopping with police. Jenn sent texted them a link to a map with the proper address around noon.”

  “Stu didn’t know I had moved out of the area until we interviewed him and Ivy shortly before lunch,” Chris said. “Why would they want to kill me?”

  “We don’t know, but we’ll find out,” Helen said as she joined them. “I called Ripley. Since these guys are from Maryland, Dunleavy is in Virginia, and we’re in West Virginia, I figured it would be best to bring her in.”

  “Good idea, Helen,” Chris said. “There’s no way Stu Dunleavy will let us near his assistant without a half-dozen warrants.”

  The deputies had dressed the two men and were leading them to their cruisers.

  “Blair’s been living with the Dunleavys for three years,” Chris said. “Why would they take her in and protect her, and then suddenly out of the blue murder her and send hit men to take me out?”

  “That’s something we need to find out,” Helen said.

  Abruptly, a cloud crossed Doris’s face. “Christopher, where’s Elliott?”

  Murphy turned his SUV off Connecticut Avenue and then right to pull into the parking lot at the Equinox Athletic Club. In the passenger seat, Elliott squinted at the clientele, all dressed for show rather than athletics, going through the canopy entrance. Bruce was meeting old friends for cocktails at a downtown lounge.

  “Is Cross really going to buy this?” he asked Murphy.

  “He will if you say you’re my guest.” Murphy slid out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear compartment. He extracted two athletic bags and tossed one to Elliott. “Now remember. If Cross asks your name—”

  “I know what to do, kid.” Elliott slung the bag over his shoulder. “I was doing this while you were still figuring out the difference between boys and girls.” He strode to the front entrance.

  “We already know that he’s going to deny being in Switzerland when Les Monroe was killed,” Murphy said. “There’s no paper trail to prove that he was ever in the country, or even left the U.S. during that time period. He didn’t use his passport. The only way he could have managed to get to Switzerland, threaten Monroe and Matheson, and then kill Monroe—”

  “With Schiff’s help and then cover it up by making the investigators call it a suicide.”

  “The only way to prove Marianne Landon told Jacqui and Francine the truth is to prove he was in the country,” Murphy said.

  “We need to see his reaction when confronted by a witness,” Elliott said.

  “If you’ve been doing this for so long, then I’ll trust you to know how much to push.”

  They gained entrance into the gym using a membership that Tristan had set up by hacking into their system. In a matter of minutes, Murphy was a gym member under a phony identity and Elliott was his guest.

  They found Daniel Cross working out on the weight machines next to his right hand man, Ned Schiff.

  Casually, Murphy and Elliott walked up to the bench press directly across from where Cross was doing chest presses while Schiff spotted for him. Four other men lingered nearby. Each one had a noticeable bulge under his jacket. As head of the CIA’s intelligence directorate, Daniel Cross was entitled to a security detail.

  While Murphy set up the bar for bench presses, Elliott lingered just long enough for Daniel Cross to finish his reps and sit up. It was also long enough to garnish the attention of the security detail.

  “Hey,” Elliott said with a friendly grin and nodded at him.

  Cross offered the slightest of polite nods.

  “Don’t I know you?” Elliott squinted at him.

  “I get that a lot.” Daniel Cross shot him a crooked grin. “You probably saw me on the news. I’m—”

  “Nah, I don’t watch TV.” Elliott snapped his fingers. “I flew you.”

  “Excuse me.” Not unlike a teenager being forced to tolerate a nerd, Daniel Cross rolled his eyes in Ned’s direction.

  “I never forget a face or a flight,” Elliott said. “Three years ago. July. Destination Switzerland.”

  The smile fell from Daniel Cross’s face. Ned Schiff gave a wordless order to one of the security guards to step in.

  “Sorry, old man, but we never met,” Dan said.

  “Did you ever get that emergency taken care of?” Elliott asked.

  Ned jerked his thumb for the guards to remove Elliott. “I don’t think this gentleman is a member.”

  Holding out his hand to the security detail, Murphy stepped forward to take Elliott by the arm. “Uncle Hank, don’t bother the othe
r members.” He turned to Cross. “I’m sorry. You know how old military pilots are. My uncle can remember every flight and passenger going back forty years. But ask him what he ate for breakfast—”

  “The terrorist attack,” Elliot said. “I flew you out of Switzerland on the same day that terrorist killed all those people in Nice.”

  “You’re confused, old man,” Dan blurted out. “I wasn’t in Switzerland. I had gone to Switzerland on business, but definitely not then. Maybe we flew, but it wouldn’t have been around the Bastille Day terror attack.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I flew you there before.” As two members of Cross’s detail ushered him and Murphy toward the door, Elliott called out over his shoulder. “I’ll check my personal flight log. It’s all in there.”

  In the parking lot, Murphy and Elliott took their time walking to their vehicle.

  “Count of three,” Murphy suggested a bet.

  “Nah. Five. He’s got a reputation to maintain.” Elliott held up his hand and counted down on his fingers as they approached the rear of the SUV.

  “Excuse me!”

  Murphy and Elliott exchanged private grins before pasting chagrined expressions on their faces and turning to face Daniel Cross jogging across the lot. He had ordered his detail to hang back out of earshot.

  “I’m sorry about what happened in there. My buddy gets a little paranoid. He’s been through a lot at some overseas bases.” Dan nodded at Elliott. “I’m sure, being a military pilot, you know what I mean. I bet you’ve seen a lot of action during your years of service.”

  Elliott folded his arms across his chest. “You’d be surprised.”

  “Listen,” Cross rubbed his chin, “Uh, what did you mean in there when you said something about a private log?”

  “Just that,” Elliott said. “I’ve been keeping a private log since I started flying. Kind of like my journal. I kept track of what I flew. Who I flew, to where, and what happened. Everything.”

  “Now that Uncle Hank has retired, he’s going to put it all in a book,” Murphy said.

  “I’ve got everything documented.” Elliott tapped his temple. “Helps me to keep the facts straight. So you can bet that as soon as I get home, I’ll check my log. If I’m right, and I’m sure I am, then you’ll be in there—flying into Switzerland the day before and flying out the day of the terrorist attack in France.”

  Daniel Cross’s face turned red. “You are aware that I work for the CIA.”

  Elliott’s eyes grew wide. “You’re kidding.”

  “That means all of my business, including my travels, are matters of national security.” Dan moved in closer. “Now, whether you are right, and I am wrong about going to Switzerland is irrelevant. What matters is what you do with the information. If you go around broadcasting that I was traveling in that part of the world at that time, terrible things could happen.”

  “What type of terrible things?” Elliott said.

  “The worst type of things,” Dan said with a stern expression.

  Elliott’s mouth dropped open.

  With a nod of his head, Dan added in a low voice. “People could die.” He tapped Elliott on the chest. “So, it is very important that you do your part to protect our country and its citizens by making sure that no one knows about our little trip. Can I count on you to do that?”

  Elliott stood up tall. “You most certainly can, sir.”

  “I knew I could make you see things my way.” Cross smiled broadly at Elliott as he went around to climb into the SUV.

  Before Murphy could go around to the driver’s side, Cross grabbed him by the elbow and jabbed him in the kidney, sending a sharp pain up Murphy’s spine. “If you care anything about your uncle and your family, you better burn that log,” he hissed into his ear.

  Murphy tried to turn to face him, but Cross punched him again. Cross had a tight hold on him so that no one nearby, including the security detail several feet away, could notice any type of conflict between the two men.

  “You listen to me. If I ever see your face in this club again, you won’t live to make it home. You got that?”

  Murphy silently nodded his head.

  With a hearty laugh, Daniel Cross released him. “Glad we got that sorted out!” He waved to Elliott through the vehicle’s windows and backed up.

  Sharp pains shooting through his kidney and back, Murphy climbed into the SUV. Dan kept a sharp eye on him through the rearview mirror as he backed up and pulled out onto the street.

  “That went much smoother than I thought it would,” Elliott said once they were on their way. “Don’t you think?”

  Pushing back against the pain in his back, Murphy slowly turned and arched an eyebrow in his direction.

  “Could have been worse.”

  Murphy cocked his head.

  “He could have put three bullets in your back.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After dinner and a movie in the family room, Chris started the ordeal of putting Emma to bed. It never took much to distract the seven-year-old from the end goal.

  That evening, she was too excited about her angel collection. She and Sierra had spent the afternoon unwrapping and cleaning each one. Until Chris built a case for them, they had arranged the figurines on the shelves around the angel clock. When they ran out of room there, they put the remainder on the dresser.

  The collection was diverse. Some angels were tall and slender with wide wings. Others were short and round with big eyes. There were angels dressed in white. Some were in gold. Some looked like regular people with wings and halos.

  Emma named every angel and insisted on personally saying good-night to each one. She didn’t want any of their feelings to be hurt.

  “I’m glad Nonni found Mom’s angels,” Emma told Chris while re-arranging them on the dresser. “Now she doesn’t have to be alone anymore.”

  “Mom never was alone.” Chris pulled back the comforter on her bed.

  “Now that she has other angels to keep her company, she’s really happy.”

  “I’m sure she is.” Chris urged her to get into the bed.

  Emma climbed under the comforter. “She’s so happy, she’s been singing all day.”

  “Singing?” Chris remembered hearing the music box earlier in the day.

  Emma pointed at the clock on the shelf. “She’s been singing ever since we found her friends.”

  It was close to nine o’clock, Emma’s bedtime. Chris heard the clocks below chiming and bonging to announce the hour.

  Chris went to the shelf and peered at the angel clock. The second hand approached the minute hand at the top of the hour. The second hand swept pass the minute hand. The gears inside the clock churned. Then, the clocked chimed the hour, which was immediately followed by nine bongs.

  As the final notes of the last bong died away, the music box played the melody.

  “Hear her singing, Daddy?” Emma asked.

  “Yes, I do, sweetheart.” Narrowing his eyes, he studied the clock’s face.

  The melody ended. Chris waited for her to continue singing or to start again, as Emma claimed it had been doing. Instead, silence filled the room.

  “She must be tired,” Emma said.

  “She knows it’s your bedtime.” Concluding that the singing angel was a figment of Emma’s very active imagination, Chris went to the bed and hugged Emma tightly. He did not want to let her go. “I love you, honey.”

  She squeezed him back. “Love you, too, Daddy.”

  He kissed her good night and tucked her in.

  On cue, Thor hopped into the room and pawed at Chris to lift her up onto the bed. As the rabbit snuggled with Emma, Sterling trotted in and joined them.

  Chris was on his way up to the attic when he heard movement on the floor above. He eased his gun from his ankle holster and made his way up the stairs.
As his head cleared the floorboards, he saw Helen on his bed, one ankle of her bare feet crossed over the other.

  “If you shoot me, I am so going to dump you.”

  “What are you doing here?” Chris laid his gun on the dresser. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Sierra went out with her friends tonight,” Helen said. “I didn’t want you to have to explain to Emma and Nikki why your lady friend was coming over to see you late in the night, so I snuck in.”

  “How?”

  “I used the same route you used to sneak out when you got grounded.” Helen pointed at the huge oak tree outside the window. “Only I was sneaking in instead of sneaking out.”

  “Aren’t we a little old to be sneaking around?” Chris plopped onto the bed next to her and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Are you really?”

  Chris looked down at his hands.

  “I’m not staying the night,” she said. “I just wanted to talk to you alone. I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

  “Even if it means scaling three floors up the side of a house and climbing through a window?”

  “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I know this is a difficult time for you.”

  He took her hand into both of his. “Thank you for understanding.” He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “You know me better than I know myself.”

  She smiled softly at him.

  Gently, he kissed her on the lips and pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell the girls. There’s so much I don’t know.”

  “Like why Stu Dunleavy would want you dead,” she said. “I have Ray digging into his background. Based on what I’ve learned from the detective working the cold case in Baltimore, this is not the first time Stu had hired these guys. A twenty-two-year-old college student interning at Stu Dunleavy’s law firm was murdered twelve years ago. The killer had left a partial print on a window that he had climbed through to get into her apartment. Her friends claimed she was having an affair with him and got pregnant. The detective is coming out here tomorrow to question the hitman.”