BLOODY BELL Read online

  The woman’s brows knitted as she blinked and cast her gaze to her belly. “Then at least allow me to call my parents.”

  The corners of the Guardian Angel’s lips curled upward into a tight, knowing grin. “I’ve already left a message with them.”

  Suddenly, the door burst open behind them. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” said the nurse. “But there’s an emergency.”

  The Guardian Angel stood. “Which room?”

  “Room 1.”

  The young woman watched in horror as she propped herself up on both elbows. She asked what was happening but was ignored. The emergency unfolding in Room 1 took precedence.

  Without saying a word, the Guardian Angel hurried from the room and ran down the hall. Bursting inside, he knew immediately that his patient was experiencing a tremendous amount of pain.

  “Something isn’t right,” the woman cried. “It hurts.” She flopped around on her bed in agony. “It hurts so bad. Please. Do something. I can’t take it anymore.”

  The Guardian Angel turned to the nurse. “Up her dose.” He looked to his watch again, knowing that he didn’t have time to monitor his patient himself. He had somewhere else to be and had to leave her in the very capable hands of his nurse.

  “But—”

  “Just do it!” he snapped. “If she dies, this will be on you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I was back behind the wheel driving north on our way to the newsroom when I started thinking once again about Cameron Dee. Whatever happened in the courtroom wasn’t as important as Cameron. At least, that was what I told myself in a lame attempt to justify my failing to come through for Dawson.

  We were so close to finally sitting in on one of these mysterious hearings and I had blown it. It made me sick to my stomach to think we might not get another chance. Today had been nothing but a tug-of-war between which story was more important. I wasn’t sure how Dawson would react to my shortcomings, but I prepared myself for the worst.

  Erin and I entered the building without saying much. Though she wasn’t employed by the paper, she took the liberty of treating my desk as her second office when we were together. It was a way to kill the monotony of always working from home, but mostly it was because we never took on a big story without the other at our side.

  Computer keys clacked and phones rang as smells of reheated lunches drifted through the air.

  Erin had given up on me leaving the paper, and Dawson hadn’t brought it up since the Lady Killer case months ago. But that didn’t stop me from flirting with the idea of throwing in the towel and risking it all on the gig Erin and I had going.

  When I glanced to Erin, a part of me thought she enjoyed being back in the newsroom—even a pathetic looking one like this. Erin looked like she belonged. Long strides, she had her game face on. Even if it was only half the environment it used to be since the Times was bought out by a New York Hedge Fund six months ago and was forced to relocate from across City Hall to North Denver; it was still a newsroom. I knew Erin was too proud to admit it. Even to me.

  My colleague Trisha Christopher made eye contact and I immediately warned Erin about the unsettled weather heading our way.

  “Christ, what do you think it will be today?” Erin mumbled as we both avoided eye contact with hopes of having Trisha move on.

  “Sam! Sam!” Trisha called. I cursed under my breath. “Wait up.”

  I didn’t bother slowing. Trisha caught up to us by the time we reached my desk. There was no place for us to hide.

  “You got something for me?” I asked.

  Trisha rooted her hands on her hips and worked to catch her breath. “Heads up. Dawson is having a day. Don’t ask why, but I think it might have to do with another round of layoffs coming.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned to face my desk. “Thanks, Trisha.”

  I heard her trot off and, as soon as we were alone, Erin said, “That woman is going to kill herself with stress before she even has the chance to be fired.”

  Erin’s comment made me laugh. Six months ago was when pink slips were being handed out like Valentine’s cards. And though we had never personally met the faces behind the board now controlling the destiny of our paper, if what Trisha said was true, their reputation among the staff would only get worse.

  “I just hope that the new owners can someday convince me that they had a better plan for the Colorado Times than simply squeezing it dry.”

  “That’s a little optimistic, don’t you think?” Erin kicked her feet up on the desk. “They’ll do what they do with all the papers they acquire. Downsize and keep downsizing until the last penny drops into their bank accounts and good journalists like yourself are left scrambling to find a new career.”

  I heard what Erin was saying; could read between the lines. But was our website to the point of supporting both of us financially? Erin made it work but she didn’t have a teen boy to support, either. Something about sticking it out at the paper kept my juices flowing. Maybe it was pride, or just the security of a paycheck. Either way, I wasn’t about to quit.

  Sifting through my piles of notes, I fired up my laptop computer and stole an empty chair from a nearby cubicle before checking my emails and listening to the messages that had come through our tip line.

  “Anything?” Erin asked when I cradled the phone back in its home.

  “Nothing solid.”

  Erin reached for the receiver. “I’ll call Regis University. Ask if either Cameron or Tracey are, or have ever been, students.”

  “Don’t forget to include Tyler on your list.”

  Erin scribbled a note on a sheet of paper. “I’d also like to track Cameron’s father down, hear what he has to say about all this.”

  I agreed with what Erin was doing and appreciated her no-nonsense approach. “I’ve got to go talk with Dawson,” I said, flipping on the police scanner before leaving.

  I headed to the coffee maker, hoping that would be enough to cheer Dawson up. When I arrived to the break room, I found the machine off. It wasn’t even plugged in and the boxes of K-cups were empty.

  “Well, darn,” I said, thinking how nobody was picking up the slack. I wondered if I should be the one to take charge. But who could afford it on our bleak salaries and with the persistent threat of a mass layoff looming over our heads; it hardly seemed worth it.

  I glanced toward Dawson’s office in the corner. I really could use Allison’s tech assistance about now. If only we knew who was in Cameron’s social circle, then maybe we could find her.

  My side cramped with guilt.

  I should have called Allison, just to check up, but I knew she would understand.

  I turned my attention back to the coffee cups and went ahead and made two cups anyway. Sugar, cream, a stir stick—everything but the actual coffee—before taking them into Dawson’s office.

  I knocked on his open door but he didn’t react. He just kept on working like I wasn’t there.

  Floating across the floor, I set the cup of sweet cream down on his desk. “Got you a coffee,” I said.

  Dawson kept on working. “When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it,” he said without taking his eyes off his computer screen.

  I stared into my own cup of white sugar and pursed my lips before lowering my bottom down to the seat across from his desk. My sad attempt of a joke was lost.

  “The hearing was canceled,” I said. Dawson’s fingers stopped typing. “No reason given. We didn’t miss anything today. But who told you about the hearing on the docket anyway?”

  He pushed back from his desk and stared out of the corner of his eye. “I have my sources.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He was right. I didn’t care. “Is it possible they knew I was coming? Because if you were a judge wanting to keep his courtroom secret, wouldn’t you abruptly cancel the moment you learned a reporter from the Times was planning to attend?”

  “I’m not speculat
ing on any of this.” Dawson pulled his elbows into his sides, swiveled his chair to face me. “I just need eyes and ears in on one of these proceedings to know why they insist on suppressing the details.” He reached for his empty cup and, after peering inside, gave me a confused look.

  I raised one brow and answered with a silly grin. Maybe the joke wasn’t dead after all?

  Dawson set the cup down without a single laugh. He didn’t even mention it. “Tell me you have something.”

  “Trisha is warning everyone to stay clear of you today, but couldn’t tell me why. Care to comment on that?”

  Dawson’s gaze was unwavering and I could see it in his eyes.

  “How many this time?”

  “Thirty percent.” His voice was as depressed as the current mood of the entire staff.

  “We’re already less than one hundred strong.”

  “I know.” He reached for the coffee cup without thinking. “Which brings me to my next point. You might want to stay off your website this week.”

  “Dawson,” I pinched my eyebrows and gaped, “you know that’s not possible.”

  His eyes pleaded with me. Just this one time to swallow my pride and keep my head low. “At least until the list is finalized.”

  “Am I on the list?”

  A pause hung in the air. “I don’t want them to have any reason to can my best reporter.”

  With my body overheating, I said, “I appreciate the warning, but it’s not just me who runs it.”

  “I know.” He ironed his hands over the tops of his thighs. “But your name is all over it.”

  I flicked my gaze over his shoulder and landed on a signed Denver Bronco football. “Did you hear about the couple found in Congress Park last night?”

  Dawson nodded once. “Suicide, right?”

  “That’s the verdict right now, but they had a daughter and the police still haven’t been able to track her down.” Dawson tipped forward and folded his hands on top of his desk. I knew I had his full attention. “Well, another young woman about her age is missing, too. Her mother came to me. Specifically asked me to look into it.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “Haven’t found anything yet.” I gave him an arched look.

  “Is there a connection between the two?”

  I was glad he asked. After King tried to keep the two cases separate, it was validating to have Dawson jump to the same conclusion I had. “Something is going on. Girls don’t just disappear. I can’t say for sure that these two cases are related, but I think this might be my story.”

  Dawson shook his head. “Sam, you’re not a private investigator.”

  “Maybe I should be.”

  “You’re a journalist. A damn good one.”

  I saw little difference in the two but I wasn’t going to argue with Dawson. Trisha was right, he was in a mood. I nodded my head like the good servant I was, doing whatever it took to get back to my desk and out the door to continue my search for Cameron when suddenly Erin flew into Dawson’s office, panting.

  “He’s on the phone, Sam.” She gripped the door to keep from falling over. Her chest rose and fell as she worked to catch her breath. “Tyler Lopez called your desk. You have to go speak with him now.”

  I jumped to my feet and together we ran to my desk with me asking, “Did you get him to talk?”

  “He’ll only speak with you.”

  We barely hit the brakes when reaching my cubicle and I slingshot my way to the phone, taking a couple deep breaths before picking up the receiver and clicking Line 1. “Hi Tyler, this is Samantha Bell.”

  Silence hung on the line for a moment before he said, “I didn’t have anything to do with Cameron’s disappearance.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Detective King’s vehicle wasn’t even parked when he knew his chance for sleep was ruined. His partner John Alvarez was sitting on the top step of his house, basking in the morning sun with a crinkled brow and permanently stamped scowl.

  “I was just about to contact Search and Rescue to come looking for you,” Alvarez teased as he met King by his car. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you.” He lifted the second espresso he was holding and offered it to King.

  King stared at the coffee before flicking his gaze toward his house. All he needed was an hour. Sixty minutes to rest. It was all he could think about since leaving Samantha’s, but it was hopeless now. He took the espresso and said, “What is it?”

  Alvarez furrowed his brow. “A patrol unit located what they think is Tracey’s car.”

  King’s heart jolted him awake. “And what about Tracey? Did they locate her, too?”

  Alvarez’s eyelids drooped. His sagging shoulders said it all.

  King pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “Where?”

  “Thirtieth and Downing.”

  “All right.” King tipped his head back and followed Alvarez to his car. He downed his espresso in record time and remained quiet as he stared out the window thinking about Keith and Pam Brown while Alvarez drove.

  The more time that passed without locating Tracey, the grimmer her disappearance became. He thought about the missing person Sam had mentioned to him earlier and was anxious to find Tracey. He didn’t want Sam to be right, but something told him she was. Sam was always right. These two girls were missing for the same reason

  Ten minutes later, Alvarez turned into the RTD Park and Ride lot and killed the engine. A pair of uniformed officers was already on scene. They greeted the detectives and were quick to give an overview of what they’d found.

  “Plates match the DMV record and the car is registered to Mr. Keith Brown.”

  “Any signs of the girl?” King asked.

  The officer shook his head and gave King an eager look. “The car hasn’t been stripped or nothin’. Parked and left.”

  Alvarez had his hands rooted on his hips as he looked around. “As is the case with all these vehicles.”

  “True,” the officer agreed sheepishly as King took in his surroundings.

  The white sedan was parked in the back of the lot, far from the lamp post. It would have been a dark spot to park at night, and certainly not a place he would want his own daughter to have chosen if he had one. But when was Tracey here, and why? Or was it even her who parked the car at all? There were no signs pointing to her being here, and that concerned King.

  Dropping to one knee, King ran his finger over the vehicle’s emblem. It was a 2017 Honda Accord and had been kept in good condition.

  He thought about the Browns and his growing doubts about their deaths being a suicide. It would have been easy to say it was, but with Tracey nowhere to be found, and this car finding its way here on the same night Keith and Pam Brown died, King was highly suspicious that something bigger was at play. But he didn’t know what exactly it was.

  “It’s not unusual for people to park their cars here overnight and come to pick them up in the morning,” King heard the young officer say.

  King lifted his gaze up to the man. “No, but what’s odd is why Keith would have left his car here on the same night he and his wife were found dead inside their house.”

  The crease between the officer’s eyes deepened. “Tracey is a suspect, right? That’s why you’re looking for her?”

  King shot up to his feet and got in the officer’s face. He felt his cheeks glow red when he asked, “Why would you say that?”

  “I heard they were killed,” the officer stuttered.

  Alvarez put a hand on King’s shoulder. King relaxed and stepped back. “You said the car was registered to Keith Brown?”

  The officer nodded.

  “But we don’t know who parked it here.” King moved back to the vehicle. “And just so we’re clear, the Browns’ deaths haven’t been ruled a homicide.”

  The officer stood ghost face and frozen as he watched the detectives begin to work.

  Alvarez had his gloves on when he moved to the passenger side d
oor. He tried the handle. To both their surprises, the door opened with ease. “Left unlocked.”

  King stared, his thoughts churning. “Who leaves their car unlocked?”

  “Locking doors only keeps the honest people out.”

  King turned to the officer. “Did you open this vehicle at any time before we arrived?”

  He shook his head, no. King tapped on the driver’s side window after finding that door locked. Alvarez reached over from inside and unlocked it. King immediately checked to see if any of the other doors had been left unlocked. None. Strange.

  “What do you make of that?” Alvarez asked.

  “Bad luck.”

  Alvarez opened the glovebox and dug around. “I’d consider it good luck. Now at least we have a chance to maybe find out who parked here.”

  King checked the center console. He found pens, paperclips, and a tire pressure gauge. Nothing that could point him to Tracey—or to anyone else. Twisting around in the front seat, King reached to the back. Tucked between the seats, he pulled out an Olive Garden uniform. Unfolding it on his lap, he found the name tag and paused.

  “Look here,” he said, angling the name tag toward Alvarez.

  “Well, I suppose that confirms it.” Alvarez stared at Tracey’s name.

  “I guess it’s safe to say this is her car.”

  “Registered in Daddy’s name.” Alvarez reached beneath his seat and hesitated mid-action. A second later, he pulled a half-empty prenatal vitamin bottle out from beneath. “Now this just got interesting.”

  King stared. “She was pregnant.”

  “Maybe this was what started all the yelling and unhappiness in their house like Andy talked about.”

  King exited the vehicle and said, “It’s time we put out a BOLO for Tracey Brown.” Alvarez had followed. They both ignored the questions coming from the officer. “Let’s also see if we can track down which Olive Garden she worked at. The sooner we find her, the better.” Alvarez nodded. “And we need to move fast. If this is a missing person’s case, the clock is ticking—especially if she is carrying a child.”

  Suddenly, the uniformed officer’s radio crackled to life.