Justice for Sara by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online Page A

the criticism. Especially from you.”
    Luke shook his head. “Not criticism. A fresh perspective. It’s been known to work on many a cold case.”
    “I solved the McCall case but the jury bungled the verdict. As for Wally, that wasn’t ours. Look to the sheriff’s department.”
    “Have you ever considered the two crimes might be related?”
    “You don’t think I looked into that?”
    “Did you?”
    “Son of a bitch, boy! What kind of lawman do you take me for?”
    “A good one. But even the good ones miss things.”
    “What could I have missed? The two murders had nothing in common. Wally was shot on the road, McCall was beaten to death with a bat.”
    “Nothing but the fact they happened on the same night, less than five miles apart. Besides, like I said a moment ago, this isn’t about you, Pops.”
    “The hell it isn’t. The only reason you’re so interested is because it’s my failure.”
    “Not true, Pops. Maybe once upon a time it would have been, but no more.”
    “You’re my own flesh and blood. Why can’t you leave this alone?”
    “Because two people died. They deserve justice.”
    His father seemed to crumble, all bravado sucked out of him. Luke moved to help him, but he angrily waved him off.
    Luke watched as his father limped slowly out. Why did his old man feel so strongly about the case being reopened. Was it his pride? Or was he hiding something?
    Chief Stephen Tanner
2003

    The morning after the murder

    A swimming pool, bright blue water like glass. The sun reflecting off it, almost blinding. No adults. Just two boys.
    His boys.
    Laughing. Daring each other to swim to the bottom. Touch the drain. Whoever stayed under longer won.
    Typical Stevie, oldest and boldest, jumped in first.
    Stephen Tanner sat straight up in bed. “Stevie!” he screamed. “No!”
    The warning reverberated off the bedroom walls. Heart thundering, disoriented, Tanner looked frantically around. Dark. His bed. Alone. Margaret, where— At her mother’s, he remembered. For the week.
    He brought his hands to his throbbing head. His mouth was dry, his stomach rolled. Its contents lurched to his throat, and he climbed off the bed. His right foot caught a bottle, sending it spinning.
    An empty bottle.
    Captain Morgan spiced rum.
    His stomach protested again and he stumbled to the bathroom. He reached the commode just in time, bent over it and retched. Stomach empty, he dragged himself up, crossed to the sink. He rinsed out his mouth, then splashed his face.
    His haggard reflection gazed back at him. Unshaven, pale. Bloodshot eyes.
    The reflection of a man who couldn’t stay sober. A man who hadn’t been able to protect his family.
    He curled his shaking hands into fists. Chief Stephen Tanner. The great pretender.
    Tanner turned away from his reflection. No. It wasn’t true. He had everything under control. Liberty and her citizens were safe under his watchful eye.
    Tanner returned to the bedroom; the empty bottle mocked him. He scooped it up. One fall from grace. It’d been months. That wasn’t so bad.
    A man in his position had to let off some steam every once in a while.
    But Margaret couldn’t know. She had warned him what would happen if he started up again. That she would leave him. Then everyone would know. They would see what he really was.
    Margaret didn’t understand the pressure he was under. So many people depended on him to be strong. Her. The citizens of Liberty. His son.
    His only son .
    He would bury the evidence deep in the trash.
    The phone rang. He frowned, glanced at the bedside clock. Barely five. Not the time of day for a social call.
    He cleared his throat, snatched it up. “Tanner,” he said.
    “Chief, it’s Trixie.”
    The night clerk. She manned the phone and the station from 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. She never called.
    Her voice was thin, shaking.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “It’s Wally, he…” She started to cry. “A sheriff’s deputy called … he said … he said—”
    He