Suspicious Circumstances Read online

  SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES

  • • •

  SANDRA RUTTAN

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  First Kindle Original Edition, 2011

  First Published by TICO Publishing, 2007

  Copyright © 2007 by Sandra Ruttan

  All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Author’s Note

  There were a lot of different ideas that combined to inspire this book, but at its core it was always a book about two characters: Lara Kelly and Tymen Farraday.

  I’ve taken some creative liberties with procedure, both in the police investigation and the investigative journalism. I wanted to throw the rulebook out and create a situation that allowed a reporter and detective to work together closely on a case.

  More than anything, I hope readers find two characters here that they care about and like, and want to spend more time with. I know I do, and hope to bring the long-overdue sequel soon.

  For more about the inspiration of this novel and my approach to the story, visit www.sandraruttan.com, or http://sruttan.wordpress.com

  Praise for Suspicious Circumstances

  “Ruttan has a spellbinding style."

  —New York Times Bestselling Author Clive Cussler

  “Never a dull moment. It’s a hard book to put down.”

  —Tony Hillerman, Edgar Award-Winning and New York Times Bestselling Author of The Shape Shifter

  “A well executed procedural with a plot that twists and turns like a bad tempered rattlesnake.”

  —Crime Scene Scotland

  “Ruttan clearly has the potential to be a very successful author… Lots of talent which I expect will be realized!"

  —Maddy Van Hertbruggen, Mystery News

  "Ruttan has made one big mistake in my eyes, she waited too long to bring her writing to us. She is talented in the way that a natural musician is talented, making all the notes seem effortless. Characters that feel very real, and a wonderful sense of timing, Ruttan brings it all and leaves it on the page. Lucky us. And unlucky me, because now I have to wait for the next one…"

  —Jon Jordan, Crimespree Magazine

  “Watch for more efforts from Ruttan, who shows a great deal of skill in developing an intriguing, complicated story."

  —Lesa Holstine, BookBitch

  “Sandra Ruttan’s Suspicious Circumstances is crime fiction with booster jets – a white-hot blazing ride sure to slam you down some of the darkest, twistiest back alleys that ever corrupted a small city’s secret heart. The next time someone asks me why I read crime fiction, I will hand them a copy of Suspicious Circumstances and say, ‘Two words: Sandra Ruttan. This is not a book for the faint of heart, but boy oh boy does it take on the stuff that matters.”

  —Cornelia Read, Edgar Award-Nominated Author of Invisible Boy

  “Suspicious Circumstances soars. It is complex, exciting and elegant. In musical terms, it’s listening to Bach. I’m in love with Lara Kelly, the smart, strong, vulnerable protagonist. Her detective lover better move fast or I’m in there. A gripping adventure, a large cast of marvelous characters, and twists that follow turns. Read it. You’ll love it too.”

  —Robert Fate, Author of Baby Shark

  “Here is the new voice, and what a voice! Eloquent, sassy, compassionate and written with a style so assured… This is talent writ huge.”

  —Ken Bruen, Shamus Award-Winning Author of The Guards

  “Ruttan has a keen eye for description, a wonderful ear for dialogue, and an acute instinct for the nuances of characterization.”

  —Anne Frasier, USA Today Bestselling Author of Hush

  “Sandra Ruttan writes with a machine gun rhythm that pulls you through every unexpected twist and dark turn.”

  —Bill Cameron, Author of Lost Dog

  “Ruttan's deft touch intrigues and satisfies, making her a powerful new force in the mystery field.”

  —JT Ellison, ITW award-nominated author of The Cold Room

  Dedication

  When Suspicious Circumstances was first published I enjoyed glowing reviews from authors and critics alike. This is an excerpt from one of those reviews.

  “Suspicious Circumstances is… a compelling read that makes me wish it wasn’t a debut just so I could go out and buy her other books…

  “This book has two big strengths going for it: its characters and the twists in the plot. The two main characters Ty and Lara have an easy chemistry between them…. They do have an ease and comfort around each other. Their dialogue is filled with banter that rings true and brings out other facets of their personalities. Almost all of the characters are developed through dialogue, which is one of the most natural and realistic ways for an author to develop a character. They really are great together and I hope to see at least one more book with the paring.

  “To Ruttan’s credit also she lets their relationship unfold naturally and doesn’t rush them into situations where they might kiss, hug, sleep together or have a touch that lingers just a second too long. Their personalities click in many ways before they even slightly suspect or begin to admit to themselves that there is chemistry there…

  “The simple premise of the plot and Lara and Ty’s subsequent investigation is a first cut that strikes deep. It exposes a conspiracy of corruption that extends further then anyone thought was possible. Ruttan proves to be very adept at twisting the plot and yanking the rug out from under her characters with the continuous revealing of information. The reveals in this book are like a popcorn machine. They start off slow then very quickly speed up to maintain a relentless pace that rarely falters and never lets up.”

  RATING: 8 out of 10—Brian Lindenmuth, Mysterybookspot Review

  I’d never heard of the reviewer before, but as a result of that critique I began a dialogue with the reviewer, who read my next manuscript and blurbed it before it sold to Dorchester. Our communication produced a friendship, and in time, a relationship. By the time my third book was being drafted, I’d lost an enthusiastic reviewer but ultimately, I gained a supportive husband.

  This is for Brian, who may finally get to see Lara and Ty in another offering soon.

  CHAPTER 1

  Pulsing light shimmered on the rock face. Thunder rumbled, lightning flashed and, for a moment, the image of the woman was clear. She scrambled along the ledge, glanced back over her shoulder and pulled herself onto the crest of the hill. Her loose, white shirt and dark hair were buoyed by the wind. Then the light faded and the black of the moonless night engulfed her.

  The moan of the wind and drumming of rain softened. Electricity crackled as the woman backed away from the trees toward the ledge, her arms outstretched. Lightning shot through the sky again as she wavered on the edge, then fell out of sight as the thunder rumbled one last time before the picture turned to static.

  Reporter Larimer Kelly looked down at the remote in her hand as she pressed the mute button and set the VCR to rewind. She could feel the vacant gaze of the man sitting on the chair on the other side of her desk and raised her eyes a millimeter at a time until she was looking Mr. Brodie in the eye.

&
nbsp; “Jest like I said. One second she’s there an… and then…” He raised his hands suddenly, spraying water from the hat he was holding. “Then she’s gone,” he added with a shrug.

  Lara wiped water from her cheek and drew a deep breath. She studied the enlarged eyes, the somber, wrinkled face, the broad shoulders and coveralls that made her think of plumbers or mechanics. The bumbling, oversized hands that bore nicks and scars, suggesting manual labor. Picturing him holding a hammer wasn’t hard, but a sophisticated video camera?

  “How much for it?”

  It was becoming standard operating procedure at newspapers in North America. Videos and photographs were purchased from bystanders, sometimes with the certainty that the material would be usable, and sometimes impulsively, to keep a rival news outlet from scooping the story first. Would buying this video pay off?

  She quoted a price for the video and added, “If I run a story and if it turns out to be a big one, there’ll be a bonus.”

  “Oh, okay.” He scratched his head, which was covered with thinning brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been cut in some time.

  “I do have some questions for you, Mr. Brodie.”

  The hands went up again and the misshapen hat sailed across the desk. Lara picked it up with her fingertips, and tossed it back to him.

  “S-sorry about that.”

  “It’s only water.” She mopped up the spray with a napkin and tossed it in the garbage. This man had walked into her office ten minutes earlier, a complete stranger, offering to sell her a video for a story. Lara had thought of politicians and prostitutes or cops taking bribes, not a woman falling off a ledge. “You were about to say something.”

  “Oh.” His forehead wrinkled and he raised his overgrown eyebrows. “Oh yeah. Duane. Call me Duane.”

  “How did you get this on video?”

  He rubbed his nose with his thumb, looking at the ceiling. “My camera was on. I was taping the lightning. And took some pictures of the storm. With my Pentax.”

  “Do you do a lot of filming?”

  “Sold some photos to the magazines for those weather people. Storm-chasers. Now I’m figurin’ out how to use the camcorder. Wanna see my pictures?”

  “Another time, perhaps.” She bit her lip. The video was disturbing. There was a real possibility she’d just watched the last few moments of someone’s life before they fell to their death, but was it newsworthy?

  Or was someone playing a joke? “Why didn’t you take this to the police?”

  “Oh, I did. They say there ain’t nobody missin’.” His face resembled a pug as the skin billowed into rows of folds. “They asked if I’d been drinkin’.”

  “Had you?” Not that it mattered. Either the tape was a hoax or it wasn’t. Whether the cameraman had been drinking wouldn’t change that.

  Duane’s eyes widened. “No, Ma’am. I swear.”

  “Call me Lara.”

  “Layr-ra. Lara. Like Sara.” He nodded, staring down at the floor, his pink cheeks deflating. He glanced up a second later. “The cop said…somethin’ ‘bout how ye can’t, you know, no reason to start lookin’…”

  “To launch an investigation without evidence of a crime?”

  “Yep.” He pointed hat and hand at her. She pressed against the back of her chair until she was sure the sodden article was staying on the other side of the desk. That line was a test. Police investigate reports of suspicious activity and then determine if there’s a crime. They don’t wait until a body falls on their desk, even in Oakridge. Still, it didn’t prove he was lying.

  “The police watched the video?”

  Duane frowned. “No. They jest said it’s likely nothin’ ‘cause nobody’s missin’.”

  “Do you remember which officer you talked to?”

  She frowned as he stared at the ceiling, looking like he was digging through dusty boxes in his brain, searching for the right answer. Something about this didn’t add up. The twisting in her gut started again.

  Duane stopped staring into space and started poking in his pockets until he produced a card, which he passed to her.

  Trooper Robson Walker. Nobody she’d heard of in the few months she’d been in Oakridge, so not one of the cops with a reputation. That didn’t mean he was clean, though. She copied the information and handed it back. “If I print a story the police might want to talk to you.”

  Duane nodded his apparent understanding, gave her a lop-sided smile and took the money she offered him. Using both hands to pull his hat on, he half-shrugged, waved, then stood in the doorway and looked from left to right.

  “Go left.”

  “Oh yeah. Thanks.”

  Lara picked up her pen, twirling it in her fingers as she sat staring at the doorway for a moment. Curls swept across her forehead and blocked her eyes. She tucked the strands behind her ears, took a deep breath and picked up the phone to call in her first favor.

  ~ SC ~

  It was a few hours later when the stocky frame of Lara’s boss filled her doorway.

  “Burning the midnight oil?” he asked.

  “I thought you left for the day.”

  “To play golf. If the staff think I’m lazy, they don’t suspect I’m checking up on them.”

  Lara felt a shiver trickle down her spine. Hatcher’s reputation wasn’t a secret. He spied on his reporters, had a long-standing feud with a local police captain and used his position with the paper to schmooze with local politicians. Lara had spent three years working at the Silver Springs Sentinel before she’d accepted the job offer in Oakridge and had only been at The Ledger for a few months. During her time in Silver Springs she’d heard stories about Ted Hatcher, mostly about his obsession with taking down Patrick Collins, the captain of the 14th Precinct, a department shadowed by rumors of scandal and corruption.

  Which made the potential scope of Duane’s video more interesting.

  “You working on that piece for the Historical Society?”

  She nodded at the television. “See for yourself.”

  Ted Hatcher was an imposing man, a quarterback for some college football team until he’d wrecked his knee and been benched permanently. Despite the helmet crashing he was perceptive. Lara watched him process the contents of the video. He had the same detached look as Duane, apparently indifferent to the implications for a family who might this very moment be wondering where this woman was, praying for her safe return.

  When the screen went to static, he snorted. “Is that it?”

  She paused. If Hatcher knew everything her research had turned up so far, she had a pretty good idea of what he’d say, so she held back, and only told him what Duane had said about being turned away by the police.

  “The boys at the One-Four will hate you.”

  Lara fought to keep her chin from jutting out. She hadn’t been in Oakridge long, but was already tired of being kept on the sidelines. Hatcher gave her routine assignments and feature pieces. She’d told him when they negotiated a contract that her priority was investigative journalism. Hard news. Not 101 ways to groom a poodle.

  “Might be a good idea to pass this on to someone with a bit more experience.”

  Lara felt her back stiffen as she reached for the VCR remote. “I can handle it.”

  Hatcher flashed her a condescending smile. “Police incompetence? Here? With this precinct? Honey, you don’t even know who the players in this story are, never mind where to start.”

  She unclenched her jaw. “There wouldn’t even be a story if it wasn’t for me. It’s mine.”

  He glared at her but she didn’t flinch as she returned his gaze. The whir of the rewinding videotape slowed and the machine clicked off. The ticking of a clock was a faint whisper, as though it feared intruding on the silence as they stared each other down. “Why’d he put it on video?”

  It was her turn to hold up her hands in surrender. “Technologically inept?”

  Hatcher snorted, then shrugged. “Chase it down, try to work the incompetence angle,
take this right up to the captain’s office.” Hatcher propelled himself out of the chair he'd sat down in only a few moments before, and walked to the door.

  “One step at a time,” she said. But Hatcher was already gone.

  The gleam in Hatcher’s eye, the lilt in his voice when he’d mentioned the 14th Precinct… She locked the video and files in her safe and bit her lip, thinking again that the tape better not be a hoax.

  ~ SC ~

  Vern Fletcher sat at the far end of the bar, away from his usual spot in the center of the action. Bars always suited a double purpose for a journalist: anesthetic for the soul and gossip for the job. A little bit of alcohol was all it took to loosen most tongues, often prompting the privileged few who knew something juicy to throw caution to the wind, and he was the kind of reporter who didn’t mind drinking his way to a scoop. Not if it kept his boss, Ted Hatcher, off his back.

  Bar talk didn’t interest him tonight, though. His mind was replaying his conversation with Teo Chan.

  He’d been on his way to his car when he saw the Asian man approaching the front doors of the Oakridge Ledger, the newspaper where Vern had worked for more years than he cared to think about.

  Vern felt the skin between his brows pinch together. He’d come to The Ledger with fire and zeal and traded in all his enthusiasm for jaded realism as the job swallowed his life, chewing him up and spitting him out in the process. It was like he’d been living in a fog. By the time getting a scoop didn’t seem so damned important and he’d shaken the clouds off, he went home and realized the place was half empty, his wife gone.

  Work had become a routine, what he did to pay the bills, bringing in enough to keep him one step ahead of his bar tab.

  It was a Friday night. He’d clocked his eight hours, was more than ready to settle down on a stool and have a drink or three.