She'd dutifully done as he asked and not spent any more police time on the case. Her own time, on the other hand, was a different issue. Her gut told her that the case had been rushed and forensics hadn't been given the time to check as thoroughly as they might. Under the circ.u.mstances, she couldn't blame them for that weekend had been a nightmare of mayhem. Holidays always brought out the worst in people.

She opened the folder and looked at the two photos of the deceased women. One younger, but that was debatable for she looked much older than her years. The other had beautiful, flawless skin, and even in death, she had an innocent expression. Yet it appeared that the woman had brutally slain the younger one, then took her own life.

She scanned the coroner's report. Toxicology hadn't been fully investigated, which was odd, and she mentally made it a priority on her checklist. Then she checked the page relating to trace evidence. They found no other fingerprints or DNA that would indicate that anyone else was in the apartment. In the bedroom, they didn't find any unusual fibers, shoe prints in the carpet, or anything else to indicate an intruder. The fact that there was no male DNA in the apartment only stirred the pot that the Thompson woman had been the perpetrator.

She knew it was a busy time for the coroner and forensics teams, holidays always were. What she didn't understand was the haste in closing the case. It just didn't sit right. They had partially interviewed Thompson's boss but then nothing. No one contacted the family or did any interviews with the woman's friends. "Surely, she had friends."

At that point, she'd taken over another homicide, leaving Allen to run alone with the case. What about the Cameron woman? Why hadn't Allen secured any interviews regarding the young woman or her background? The whole case was full of holes. Allen had warned her off, but that didn't mean that if someone walked in the door and asked about either woman, she wouldn't look into the case or even have it reopened. It would give her great pleasure to dig deeper into the case. It was a particular foible of hers-explaining the unexplained.

The phone on her desk rang, and she answered immediately. After a brief conversation, she opened her desk drawer, removed her gun, slid it into the holster on her side, and deposited the folder in the drawer. She'd get back to it when she had some free time.

With the phone call echoing in her head, she propelled herself out of the room and on to her next case.

Chapter Five.

The funeral had been tough on everyone who knew Karen, especially those who were close to her. The chapel of rest at the graveyard filled with colleagues and several clients of the agency. Echo, sharing a pew in the front of the church with Karen's younger sister, Daisy, sat robotically. As for Karen's parents, they turned their backs on their daughter years earlier and did not attend. With little or no interest from her parents in seeing to Karen's funeral, Echo had taken over. Feeling like a voyager in a surreal world, the days since Karen's death were nothing but a blur.

The only facts she could garner from Stan were that Karen had committed suicide. A part of her had raged inside at the insinuation for the Karen she knew had never been a quitter. Even in her pain and sorrow, Echo's subconscious had been p.r.i.c.king her to find out more. It would have to wait. There was no way she could a.s.similate anything else regarding the tragedy.

Now sitting and listening to words she did not hear, Echo's heart sobbed for her friend. The only thing that mattered was that Karen had a decent burial. When the minister delivered his final prayer and the casket slowly lowered into the ground, all Echo could do was cry. Karen and she had been tight for years. Although they had differing outside interests, they had until recently spent more time together than apart.

A question began repeating in her head. What was it Karen had promised to someone that was so important she ended up dead?

As the mourners paid their last respects, another thought invaded Echo's mind. "Why hadn't the Greystoke woman attended the funeral or come to the viewing?" She'd sent a note to the woman at the project headquarters but hadn't received a reply. Did her refusal to acknowledge Karen's death mean that the woman thought her friend had disappointed her in some way? Surely not.

Every fiber of her being told her that Karen wasn't the kind of person to take her own life. One day, she'd prove it, but for the moment, she needed to grieve the loss of her dear friend. She doubted anyone could replace Karen in her life.

Two weeks later, a letter arrived from the lawyers who had handled Karen's affairs when she was alive, indicating that Echo arrange a meeting as soon as possible. In a lethargic mood, she'd done so and had been amazed to find that she was the main beneficiary of Karen's will. The apartment that Karen owned now belonged to her, along with her friend's possessions. The only other beneficiary had been the Greystoke Project that had received a large sum of money and part of her investments. Karen's family got nothing.

In a daze, Echo had been unable to take in her windfall. She hadn't even known that Karen owned her apartment or had the amount of money she'd been able to leave to the project. As the days drifted by, she realized that she hadn't known as much about Karen as she'd thought. Her first visit to the apartment had been a shocking experience.

When she finally placed the key the lawyer had given her in the door, the acrid smell of bleach and other cleaning materials a.s.sailed her nostrils. Tentatively entering the apartment, she looked around. It was the same as when she was there last. But it felt cold and sent a shiver down her back as she ventured farther inside.

Stepping inside the main living area, she saw several photos that she also displayed in her apartment. They were of Karen and her on one of the vacations they'd taken together over the years. It reminded her of what was missing in her life-her best friend.

With her memories clouding her mind, Echo didn't hear someone enter the door that she'd apparently left open.

"Hi, I've seen you around here before...are you Echo Radar?"

Startled by the deep voice, Echo blinked rapidly and turned to face the man who was the super of the building. She'd seen him on several occasions but they never spoke. "Yes, yes, I am. How do you know my name?"

The small wiry man with a weasel face and several days' stubble on his chin smiled warmly, and it gave his features a completely new dimension-kindness. "The lawyers contacted me and asked for a key...and they arranged for the cleaning crew. They advised me that an Echo Radar had inherited the apartment. No one else has been here for weeks, so I figured you must be that person. I've seen you before with Karen."

"Yeah" was all Echo could muster. She didn't know what to say next and reached across and picked up a photo of her and Karen.

"My wife looked like you do now when she found out what happened. It's a real tragedy to all of us in this building. We've never had any trouble, and to have that happen, well...we don't believe any of it. The cops got this one wrong. Karen was good to me and my wife...she helped out when our youngest was sick last year."

Echo was only half listening to the conversation and allowed only the comment of Karen's good deed to penetrate her numb thoughts. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do with the apartment right now. Can you keep an eye on it for me? I'll pay for any services that might be required."

The man nodded. "Sure thing. You don't have to pay, though...I'll be glad to help. We never did have the chance to repay her the money she loaned us. Take your time. If you decide to rent the place, we know of several good people who would snap up the chance to live here."

Echo sighed. "Thanks."

The man didn't leave, but he pulled at his stubble. "Do you think the lawyers will be after us to pay back what we owed Karen?"

"No, I doubt they even know about it, and if I know Karen, it was a gift not a loan. I'll be back to...I'll be back as soon as I can to decide what I'm doing with the place. Thanks for your help, Mr....?"

"Danny, my name's Danny Wilson."

"Well, Danny, here's my card. If you need to speak with me, you can contact me on my cell or at my office number. I guess I'll need your number, too." Echo pa.s.sed him a card, and the man took it with a smile as she noted his number in her BlackBerry.

Echo had been in the apartment long enough to know that her emotions were too raw to deal with packing Karen's personal belongings or going through her private things. She knew she needed to, but she couldn't.

As they both left, Echo locked it behind her and decided she needed a caffeine fix at her favorite haunt across the street from her apartment. It was the perfect place to find some semblance of normality that hadn't been in her life since the day she found out Karen had died.

Echo entered the main police precinct, walked over to the desk, and waited for the officer behind the counter to speak to her. Ten minutes later, he was still on the phone, giving her no more than a cursory glance.

With her irritation mounting, Echo drummed her fingers on the countertop and finally caught the officer's attention. He scowled as he replaced the receiver and gave her a diffident look.

"What can I do for you?"

Undaunted by the man's cra.s.s att.i.tude, Echo said, "I'd like to see the detective in charge of the Karen Thompson case. I can give you all the details..."

The officer held up his hand. "What type of case is it?"

Echo frowned. The fragments of conversations she'd heard over the past two months were why she was there. Her need to know exactly what had happened to Karen had leeched into her soul. Unable to concentrate on anything else, she took a leave from work. Foremost, she knew deep in her gut that suicide wasn't Karen's fate.

"She...she's dead. Her body was released quickly, and no one has been asking any questions, so I'm not sure."

"Look, lady, the detectives are busy. If it isn't suspicious and you don't have any relevant information about the case, then we can't help you." The burly man looked at the mountain of paperwork on his desk and sighed.

Perplexed but not thwarted, Echo said, "What if it was a murder?"

"Is that what you want the detective for? You have information? Give me the details." He punched a few keys on his keyboard and grinned as the lead detective's name appeared. "You're out of luck, lady...Lieutenant Allen is away on a case and won't be back until Friday."

Echo shut her eyes and shook her head. With an exhale of exasperation, she asked, "Is there anyone else I can speak with? I just need a few points clarified. Can you help me out?"

Scratching the back of his neck, the officer relented. "Keating's in the office." He pointed to a row of chairs where others were waiting. "Take a seat over there."

Echo did as he asked and sat. To her left was a tattooed young man with multiple piercings on his face who leered at her. To her right was a heavily made-up older woman who dressed like a teenager. Echo drew in a heavy breath and watched as the officer at the desk picked up the phone.

After punching in a few numbers, the officer at the desk waited for an answer. "Keating?"

"It's Reese...there's a woman here who wants to talk to you about a closed case you and Allen had around Thanksgiving. She said she thinks it was a murder. Want me to get rid of her for you?"

Roan Keating pondered the question as she scanned her workload. "Which case was it?"

"Thompson, Santa Rosa Drive. Suicide...you want more info?"

"No, I'll be right down."

Roan had done everything right when she'd joined the police force. At twenty-nine, her career was above reproach and meteoric, leading to speculation that she would be one of the youngest officers to make captain. She'd taken all the necessary exams and courses, and once her partner, Simon Allen, retired in a few weeks, everyone expected her to succeed his rank.

Her family background had impeccable credentials, as well. Her grandfather had been the chief of police, and her uncle had that t.i.tle now. Her father had been on the fast track to becoming district attorney when he died in an automobile accident that also took her mother and twin sister.

Her grandfather took her in, and she lived with him until he died of a heart attack. She then became her uncle's responsibility. After settling an acrimonious divorce, her uncle wanted his life back, and the teenager didn't fit into his plans, so he shipped her off to boarding school. Eventually, she went to college, majoring in criminal justice, before joining the police force.

Roan had a one-track mind. If she perceived a goal, she went for it regardless of the risks involved or what happened to the people around her. Her partner often called her cold-blooded because she didn't seem to have compa.s.sion for the victims of crime. To Roan's way of thinking, he was partially right. It was her way of understanding the subterranean world she chose to work in-catching criminals.

As Roan opened the locked door between the main offices and the reception area, she scanned the people milling around the room. She ignored over seventy percent for they were men. After carefully taking in the faces of the women, she dismissed another twenty percent. That left five women.

She dismissed another three who began fighting with one another, which made the corners of her mouth curve slightly-a good brawl in the precinct was a given. When she gazed at the two women seated next to each other, her decision was easy. One leaning as far back as she could in the chair was clearly appalled while the other watched the fight in what looked like lurid speculation.

Roan smiled at the sergeant at the desk before walking toward the row of seats. "I'm Keating. I believe you have information for me."

Echo had seen the tall woman walk confidently in her direction and hoped she was the officer in charge of Karen's case. The woman wasn't cla.s.sically beautiful because of a prominent feature-a hawk-like nose. Echo saw the woman move her untidy ma.s.s of black hair aside to display an oval-shaped face with penetrating blue eyes that seemed to look straight through her. She wasn't someone she'd forget in a hurry. Then there was that voice, husky and downright s.e.xy, and it curled her toes.

Echo pressed her eyes shut in an effort to eliminate the images her mind conjured up; this wasn't the place for lurid fantasies.

The woman next to Echo jumped up, and in an irritating nasally voice said, "I'll give you all the information you want if you get me off that trumped-up charge of prost.i.tution."

Roan's expression didn't change as she stood toe to toe with the older woman. "I'm sure if the information you have for me is relevant, we can talk about your situation. If you'll come with me, Ms..."

The bleached blonde smiled, showing her crooked, discolored teeth. As they walked away, the woman touched the officer's jacket. The gesture was rebuffed immediately. "Candice. I always said Charlie was up to no good..."

Roan stopped and raised her eyebrow in question. "Charlie? You aren't here about the Thompson case?"

The two hadn't moved that far away, so Echo easily heard the conversation. She stood and walked over to the officer. "I have information regarding the Thompson case."

Roan frowned. It was rare she made a mistake like that. "I see." She looked at the officer at the desk. "Can you deal with this for me, Frank?" She motioned to the blonde.

The older man nodded and hooked his finger at the scowling older woman who walked toward the desk.

Preoccupied with her bad judgment, Roan curtly said, "Sorry about that. Before we go any further, your name and address?"

The cold, icy blast that had unexpectedly visited the city that week was warm in comparison to the greeting Echo received from the detective. She revised her initial a.s.sessment of the woman. "Radar, Echo Radar. I live at 23 Pinto Drive, Apartment 2C. Karen Thompson is my best friend."

Roan almost smiled at the good fortune. She'd almost forgotten about that particular case. Other homicides and her partner's impending retirement had commanded her attention professionally and privately. She hadn't the time to review the Thompson case. Her partner's words rang in her head. Delve too deep, Keating, and you're out on that a.s.s of yours...family connections or no family connections. With a nonchalant flick of her hair, much as she gave credence to the warning, she escorted the woman through the locked door and to an empty interview room. "I'm Detective Keating. Take a seat and tell me what you know."

Echo sat and swallowed hard. With a pleading expression in her hazel eyes, she caught the detective's gaze and held it. "I don't know anything, Detective. I was hoping you could tell me." Seeing the annoyance that flared in the detective's face, Echo added, "I know she wouldn't kill herself, and she certainly would never hurt anyone. I've known her for fifteen years."

Absently, Roan said, "Did." She then glanced at the case file, ignoring the words, and focused on the pictures of the two dead women involved in this sordid mess.

The one word the detective uttered had Echo gulping back tears. No way would she break down in front of the icy b.i.t.c.h. It was obvious that the detective didn't have an ounce of compa.s.sion regarding Karen's death. "Thank you for reminding me...yes...did is correct."

Roan gave the brunette a cursory glance and took in the woman's appearance. She was impeccably dressed in a business skirt suit that accentuated her curves. When they walked to the interview room, Roan noted that the woman would have barely reached her shoulders had it not been for her ridiculously high heels. Her brown hair was bouncy and seemed to shine even in the dim light of the room. Hazel eyes masked by long lashes gave the woman a doe-like appearance. Her lips were full and what some might call kissable. Roan stopped critically a.s.sessing the woman and placed her long tapered fingers on the table before threading them together. "What exactly do you know?"

Echo breathed in deeply and tried to steady her trembling voice. "Initially, I was told that Karen died in an accident. Then my boss, Stan Austin, explained that the police said she committed suicide. Is that the truth?"

Roan didn't reply, she merely watched the woman's expressions. She'd learned long ago that she could learn a lot about a person from their facial muscle movements. Right now, the woman was testy.

Her emotional roller coaster was beginning again as Echo bowed her head partly in anger and disbelief. "When I had the courage after her death, I went to her apartment." When she saw the detective's intense gaze, she added, "Karen left me her apartment and possessions in her will."

Roan nodded and waited for more.

"The super of the building told me that a cleaning crew had to clean up a lot of blood from the apartment and that a murder had occurred there. If Karen was murdered, why haven't you arrested someone? I thought calling it suicide wasn't right. Is it true...was she murdered? If she was, why have you closed the case?"

When Echo went to the apartment the previous Sat.u.r.day to go through Karen's belongings, Danny Wilson had given her more information than she wanted about what happened at the apartment. His sharing of the story instigated her visit.

"Anything else?" Roan noticed the tiniest change in the woman's body language.

Exasperated by the lack of information, Echo said, "I contacted her parents, but they didn't want to know...Karen hadn't spoken to them since she was fifteen. Only her sister came to the funeral, but she didn't want to talk about how Karen died since her only interest was in the money she might inherit." Echo stopped speaking and closed her eyes-another horrendous headache. Her head had felt like it had been in a vice from the moment she heard the terrible news, and the pressure of her current situation tightened its grip.

Opening her eyes and seeing no change to the impa.s.sive detective opposite her, sadness turned to anger. "You have to tell me what happened...I need to know the truth! She would never have killed herself or anyone else...I knew her well. It isn't who she is."

"Was," Roan automatically added. When she saw the woman's face tighten in anger, she shrugged. "People do the strangest things under stress. Was she under any stress that you know of?"

Echo tried to think, but it was nearly impossible to be coherent inside the jumble that was her head. "I don't think so...at least not at work." As the detective raised her eyebrows in question, Echo added, "We work together...started at the same company fifteen years ago. We work at the..."

Roan raised her hand and was about to say "worked" but changed her mind. "The Austin Advertising Agency...carry on." Roan wondered why the guy they interviewed hadn't mentioned that Thompson worked with such a good friend.

Echo pulled at her bottom lip. A habit she developed at the age of five, and it had been a source of ridicule, teasing, and affectionate ribbing throughout her life. "She helped out at the inner city project called Greystoke every weekend over the past couple of years, and I remember..."

Roan now took a real interest-Greystoke was the trigger. "You remember what?"

Echo felt trapped. What if what she revealed was detrimental to her friend? "She was going to share Thanksgiving with someone that weekend, at least that's what she told me she was going to do. She didn't tell me details. We were supposed to catch up after..." Her voice broke at the memory of that last conversation with Karen.

Roan consulted the notes in the folder rather than look into the tear-filled eyes of the woman opposite her. Tears always had a habit of disconcerting her, especially from a woman. "Do you know anything more?"

Echo gulped back a sob. "I think it was someone she met at the project. She'd been particularly preoccupied with whatever was going on there in the last four months." Echo sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to squelch her emotions.

"This friend, did you know the name? Do you know where she was from?"

The low husky voice that Echo initially thought was s.e.xy now sounded irritating and bordered on nagging. Suddenly, she didn't want to be engaged in the conversation. All she wanted was to know that Karen hadn't killed herself or anyone else, then she could go home and try to get on with her life. "No, I never met anyone from the project. Karen was, as I said, preoccupied...she appeared happy, though."