“That’s the family. Richard and his wife, Eden, still live in Fallbrook, though they downsized a couple of years back. Their current residence is still twice the size of mine.” Thompson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Their son, Joey, runs Bell Landscaping.”
“Wait, didn’t they also have a daughter?” Alex asked, pointing his pen in the captain’s direction. “She was murdered by her boyfriend in the early nineties, right?”
“That’s right. Seventeen years old. Found at the bottom of the staircase in their home with a fractured skull.” Thompson shook his head. “Jury found Grant Tatlock guilty of pushing Iris down a flight of stairs. He was a working-class kid from the south side, eighteen years old. The prosecution argued he killed her during an argument. They’d been dating against her parents’ wishes.”
“Witnesses?”
“None. But the prosecution painted a compelling enough argument that the jury went along with it.”
“So much for reasonable doubt,” Alex said, connecting the dots. “I’m guessing the Bell family had some pull in town.”
“If we’re being honest, I don’t think they greased anyone’s pockets. A cassette tape was presented as evidence that Tatlock had threatened her life. Apparently, the girl had recorded anargument between them the day she was killed. Tatlock died in prison about three years ago, stabbed during a mess hall fight.”
Alex absorbed the information, mentally filing it away.
“Why is this coming up now, Cap? It’s been over thirty years.”
“Because yesterday, a crew working on a foreclosed property found something interesting in the attic.”
“Hold on, foreclosure?” Alex questioned, laying his pen down on the desk. “You just said the Bells downsized.”
“The current owner walked away about three months after the sale. Lost his job, and things went south from there.” Thompson reached into the front pocket of his uniform and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “This is the phone number of the foreman. One of his crew members discovered a tape recorder with some cassette tapes behind a false wall. Someone recorded some very interesting conversations involving people close to Iris. Given that she had a recorder on her the night she died, they’re probably hers. Twenty-seven cassette tapes in total.”
“I take it the crew listened to some of these recordings?”
“Enough to come up with a theory that Tatlock might not have killed Iris Bell,” Thompson replied, handing over the contact information. “Since the mayor is friends with the Bells, I want these rumors snuffed out before they take on a life of their own.”
“Why not give this to Sam and Shane? Aren’t they next up in rotation?”
“Shane’s been up at Terrapin Lake all day. Something about an anonymous tip regarding a body in the water. Divers have been searching since dawn, but last I heard, they hadn’t found anything.” Thompson nodded toward the piece of paper in Alex’s hand. “This will give Aspen something to work on while you’re off living my dream vacation.”
“So, Kinsley will start the preliminary work, and I’ll join her when I get back?” Alex clarified, wanting to be certain he understood the assignment.
The corner of Thompson’s mouth twitched in response.
“Enjoy the time off, Lanen.”
Thompson made his way back through the bullpen, stopping briefly at another detective’s desk before disappearing into his office around the corner. Alex reached for his phone and leaned back in his chair. He accessed the second number on his speed dial list, the first being his mother, and pressed Kinsley’s name. While it rang, he stared at the foreman's contact information on the foreclosure crew. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He wasn’t too surprised when the call went straight to voicemail.
“Kin, we’re up next,” Alex stated before sighing in irritation. “More accurately,you’reup next while I’m breathing some salt air, downing beers, and casting lines. I don’t know if you got my earlier message, but I’m joining some buddies down in the Gulf. Call me for the details.”
He hesitated, wanting to say more but reconsidering at the last second. He pulled the phone away from his ear and disconnected the call.
Kinsley came from a big family, and he didn’t want to jump to conclusions about her personal life. They shared a strong bond, the kind that would prompt her to reach out if something was truly wrong. In the meantime, his lucky fishing hat was calling his name.
4
Kinsley Aspen
July
Thursday, 6:03 pm
Awarm breeze drifted across George and Margaret Aspen’s backyard, but it barely skimmed the surface of Kinsley’s discomfort. She wrapped her arms around herself as though the pressure alone might banish the chill that had burrowed deep into her bones. Anxiety, most likely. The sensation had settled over her like a relentless fog hours ago, and now she couldn’t tell where the cold ended and the unease began.
She stared at the charred remnants of wood in the fire pit from their last family gathering, wondering how something so definite could simply vanish without a trace. A body, a car, an entire crime swallowed by a lake and then somehow un-swallowed, as if the earth itself had decided to spit back her secrets.
Unable to make sense of it, she lifted her gaze and let it travel across the backyard. The manicured lawn stretched toward adense line of trees that formed a natural border along the back of her parents’ property. She had run among those trees as a child, building forts with her brothers and sister, creating a world where rules made sense, and consequences were predictable. The memory seemed impossibly distant now. The darkening woods came across as holding nothing but secrets, and Kinsley had more than her share of those already.
