Blood Will Tell by Jean Lorrah Read Free Book Online Page B

Benton demanded, “Well? How'd it happen? You never broke up a family fight before?"
    “The house was locked,” Church recited flatly. “When Mrs. Perkins screamed, Paschall broke the door. By the time we got in, Perkins had shot his wife, his son, and his daughter. Then he turned the gun on himself."
    “Jesus!” exclaimed the chief. “No wonder people call us Murphy's Law!"
    “I tried,” Jimmy Paschall choked out.
    “It happened too quickly,” Brandy came to his aid. “Paschall did try, sir. Perkins clearly wanted to die—he had no hesitation."
    “That's right,” Rand backed up his colleague. “No one coulda stopped him, Sir."
    Benton studied the four of them. “All right. Reports on my desk by noon tomorrow. People can't think civilians in this town can shoot one another while the police look on! Dismissed!” he added, the order left over from his military experience.
    But how could Brandy dismiss that scene from her memory? Half an hour later Carrie confirmed that the Perkins family was, indeed, the one she had been working with. “Oh, God, why did I let her go home?"
    “You couldn't stop her,” Brandy reminded her. “Listen, you want to get together tonight? Talking might help."
    “It probably would,” said Carrie, “but I've got to work. Two visits out in the county and then a rape counseling group.” Brandy could hear unshed tears in her friend's voice. “I have to keep my cool and get through it. I'll call you later in the week, okay?"
    As she hung up, the dispatcher called, “Hey, Mather—visitor!” Brandy found Dan Martin in the waiting area, hat in hand. She had forgotten their appointment.
    “They told me you were out on a call earlier,” he said. “Half an hour ago they said you were wrapping it up, so I took the chance and came back. You look exhausted."
    “Rough case,” Brandy agreed. “Murder/suicide."
    He nodded. “If you don't want to work tonight, I certainly understand. Let me take you to dinner."
    “I'm not hungry,” Brandy said truthfully, even though it was 6:11. “This was an appetite destroyer. If you really don't mind, I'd rather work on the Land case than go home and think about what happened today."
    The mysterious case of Everett Land was a pleasure because of what it did not include: violence toward women or children, grieving friends and relatives, or anything related to the never-ending, time-consuming, and ineffectual war against drugs.
    The letters in Greek had come back from Dan's friend at Columbia, along with a message: “The longest document, not included here, is in an ancient dialect I'm still trying to identify. It's a manuscript Dr. Land must have been studying. I'll send you the translation as soon as I work it out.” The letters that had been translated concerned plans for a trip to Greece the following summer.
    Dan Martin knew tricks with a computer that Brandy had never seen before. Soon they had Everett Land's Kentucky Teacher's Retirement records, his insurance records, and his tax returns since he had moved to Kentucky.
    The returns provided their first clue: even the first year he worked at JPSU, Land had considerable interest from savings. They followed the money to bank records, where there was no surprise that he had bought CD's when interest rates were high—everyone who had $500 to spare had done so. What was amazing was that in the early 1980's Everett Land had had over fifty thousand dollars. During the years of high interest, he doubled it.
    But where had he gotten the original money?
    All the computer could tell them was that $53,726.64 had been transferred to the Murphy Savings Bank—a small fortune in 1984. His checking account told them he had spent some of his nest egg on a new car, and later on the down payment for a house, but he had also socked away a good quarter of his paycheck every month.
    “Not a risk-taker,” said Brandy. “No stocks, not even bonds. I wonder why he didn't have an IRA—or a tax-sheltered