Don't Trust Me (Hamlet Book 1) Read online

  That was why he answered her buzz that morning. He expected the leftover ramblings of her annual drunken binge, the pleas that they could make it work again. Instead, he received a summons to work.

  A summons to death.

  Standing outside of the hotel room, Lucas watched the scene playing out in front of him before going in. He preferred to observe first, make his own assumptions. It was too easy to be swayed by someone else’s preconceived notions.

  The one time he stayed in Bonnie Mitchell’s inn, he had a first floor room. Except for an entirely different color scheme—the room he rented when he first moved out of his and Caity’s place was more wintry grey than springtime peach—this one was set up just the same. Two chairs, two dressers, a nightstand, and a very wide window. Then, of course, the large bed that took up much of the space.

  Lucas’s attention was drawn immediately to the still figure sprawled flat on his back. The tail end of the rope tied around the dead man’s neck spooled on the thick, cream-colored carpet. Ligature strangulation, if he had to take a guess.

  Caitlin was standing at the foot of the bed, a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Most unusually, her long red hair was hanging loosely down her back; it was her habit to wear her hair plaited away from her face when she was working. She was also wearing a tinted pair of shades, despite the fact that they were indoors and the curtain was still drawn.

  Taking the medical bag from its place slung over his shoulder, he set it down by Caitlin’s feet. If the sheriff was standing there, it was a safe bet that he wasn’t going to contaminate any evidence if he joined her.

  “I’m here. What do we have?”

  At the sound of his voice, she winced, like he was speaking too loud. When she answered, though, she was as succinct and professional as he could’ve hoped.

  “Male vic. Twenty-six years old. Caucasian, brown and brown. License in his wallet lists his stats as 5’11”, 215 pounds. Identified by same ID as James Sullivan, also known as Jack. Confirmed by his wife. Both of them outsiders.”

  Of course, she would have to make that point. To Caitlin—and most of Hamlet—being an outsider was as much as a descriptor as age or height or weight. You couldn’t change it, not really. It just was.

  “How’d he die?”

  From his first glance, it was fairly obvious. Lucas wanted to hear Caitlin’s opinion anyway. It wouldn’t change his mind—only an autopsy and further testing might—but it didn’t hurt to ask someone with a practiced eye. Maybe the sheriff saw something that he hadn’t.

  Using the tip of her pen, she gestured at his throat. “It’s gotta be strangulation. Someone snuck up on this guy, tied him up tighter than a twine knot. From the look of him, and the level of rigor mortis, I put TOD at a couple of hours ago. You’ll get a better read in the fridge.”

  He stiffened at her last comment. “That back room might be small, so what? It serves its purpose as a mortuary, Caity. It doesn’t have to be fancy. I barely use it anyway.”

  Her nonplussed expression seemed out of place at a crime scene. The sunglasses didn’t help. “It’s a fridge, Luc. I get the chills whenever I have to go there and not just because of the bodies. Don't fool yourself.”

  She was goading him. Standing there, wound up tight and nearly vibrating in place from a mixture of fury and frustration, Caitlin was itching for a fight if only to let off some steam. It was how she always got whenever there was a problem she couldn’t fix with a snap of her fingers or a flash of her sheriff’s badge. She considered crime in her jurisdiction a personal insult.

  This murder was an ultimate betrayal. Though outwardly she seemed calm and collected, inside she was spoiling to release some tension. He could oblige her, or he could get to work.

  Lucas let it go. Hiking up his trousers, he crouched down low to get a better look at the victim.

  Strangulation was never pretty. Jack Sullivan might have been a handsome man once but there was no sign of that in the caricature he left behind. Big brown eyes bulged, red splashing across the whites where blood vessels burst violently. Thick rope, common rope twisted around his throat. Lucas could see the purple bruises peeking out on his neck. No sign of scratches on his skin.

  So he hadn’t struggled. Strange.

  Lucas reached behind him for his medical bag. After digging through it, he found a pair of latex gloves. “How many guests are staying at the inn right now?” he called out as he snapped them on.

  The sheriff hesitated in answering. She knew where Lucas was going with this. A lifelong fan of mystery novels and true crime, her ex was detecting. Out of spite, she wanted to ignore his question. But since it helped her to talk out a case, she obliged him.

  “Just two. Both outsiders, our vic and his wife. Bonnie was off for the night, her back aching from the storm. She was in her third floor room all night. Her daughter had the desk ‘til two a.m. when she dragged Roy out of bed, made him take over until she then relieved him at eight this morning. Body was discovered at about half past nine.

  “Even if I thought they had it in them, surveillance clears all three. I’ve already been down to see the tapes. It backs up their statements. They’re not involved. Just bad luck that they own the place.”

  Lucas leaned in closer, peering at the dead man’s hands. “Anyone else pop on the video?”

  “Only the wife. Caro says she left around ten p.m. last night. Tapes confirm it. They have her coming back in at nine a.m.”

  “It took her half an hour to find the body?”

  “She thought he was still sleeping. Took a shower first, got ready, then got the shock of her life when she went to wake him up.”

  “What about the room?”

  Caitlin flipped through her notes. “Couple reportedly requested a private room. Caro gave them a far room on the second floor because it best fit their request. Unfortunately for us, the cameras don’t reach that far. We have no visual of anyone going in and out of this room. She did say that she had cause to use the boards for Sullivan’s room in the middle of the night.” Using the point of her pen, Caitlin scanned her notes, circling part of Caroline’s statement when she found it. “As of 1:47 a.m., we have confirmation that he was still alive. Me and my team just gotta figure out what happened to change that.”

  Lucas knew her well enough to know when he was being dismissed. But Caitlin knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t be shut down until he was ready.

  “Okay, no one on the camera. But these doors all lock. How did someone even get in here to strangle the guy?”

  She snorted. “The cameras are the height of security in the inn. I’m lucky there was that much. Bonnie told me that every damn lock on the first and second floor can be opened with the same keycard. Anyone who’s ever had one, or could get their paws on one, could open the guest rooms.”

  That made sense. Took away a bit his thrill for a locked room mystery, but still. “Not even counting the outsiders, most everyone in Hamlet has stayed over in the inn for a night out.”

  “Yeah.” With an aggravated sniff, Caitlin nodded at the bed. “Whenever you’re ready, Sherlock, I’d love for you to give me your read on our DB. I don’t know about you, but the sooner we can get all the facts down, the sooner I can get to work on solving this thing. I’ve seen a lot over the years. Nothing like this. This one is a real piece of work, I’ve gotta warn you.”

  She wasn’t kidding.

  Leaning in again, he moved the vic’s head so that he could get a better look at the taut rope knotted around the man’s thick throat. And, okay, so that he didn’t have to see the man’s destroyed eyes. The way they bulged unnerved him, how eerily they stared accusingly at the ceiling even worse. Lucas preferred to focus on the marks left behind from the rope. Later, when the sheriff gave him the okay, he would remove it.

  For now, though, he slipped one gloved finger underneath. Very little slack existed between the stiff flesh and the twisted rope. Abrasions left red scratches running through the mottled p
urple bruises of the ligatures. A classic case of homicidal strangulation.

  But no fingernail marks. Not from the assailant trying to restrain a large man. Definitely none from a physically fit male in his prime trying to defend his very life. It almost seemed like Jack Sullivan laid there and allowed someone to strangle him. It made no sense.

  The fact that he was murdered in Hamlet was just as incomprehensible. Who would want to kill this outsider?

  His concentration was suddenly broken by a keening cry, followed by a muffled sob. When it continued, decreasing in volume if not its intensity, Lucas turned to look back up at the sheriff.

  While he was studying Sullivan, Caitlin had returned to her notes. Meticulous as ever, Lucas was willing to bet that she had everything about the dead man, from his birthday to his shoe size, written down in a code that only she could decipher.

  Caitlin was flipping through her pages again, adding notes and crossing things out as she tried her best to capture the crime scene on paper. Photos would come later, he knew. For now, she wanted to get down as many of her thoughts as possible.

  As if she felt his gaze on her, she glanced up and asked, “You got something for me yet?”

  “No. It’s just… what’s that noise?”

  “The weeper?” Caitlin waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the closed bathroom door before jotting something else down. “It’s the wife. Mason is in there trying to console her. I guess she’s taking it kind of hard. Like I said before, she’s the one who found the guy.”

  “Hmm.” Standing up, he moved closer to Caitlin. “You looking at her for the murder?”

  She looked up from her notepad in time to catch Lucas as he tried to get a glimpse of her scribblings. She pushed her sunglasses down her nose so that she could face him directly. Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot courtesy of her late night but there was green steel staring back at him.

  “This isn’t one of those mystery books you liked to read. Let’s leave the detective work to the real cops. I just need you to take a look at the body and verify the cause of death. Can you do that?”

  It was a slapdown, no doubt about that. He couldn’t say he was surprised. A wicked hangover could turn Caity into a demon. He knew that. It was one more reason why he was glad he got out when he did.

  “Calm down, kitty. No need to sharpen your claws on me. I know my job.” Wiping his hands on his slacks, Lucas stepped away, gave her space. He kept his back to the bed, knowing there was nothing more he could do for the victim until he got the corpse down to his office. But something nagged at him. “Question. Has anybody moved him?”

  “Luc—”

  “Doctor,” he told her as the first glove came off with a snap. Two could play that petty game.

  Before she shoved her sunglasses back up her nose, he could’ve sworn he saw her roll her eyes. “Just the witness, Doctor De Angelis. The vic’s wife came in, found him face down on the bed and assumed he was still sleeping. Mase was first on-site and he took her statement. Husband’s still lazing about in bed even after she showered and got dressed, so she grabs the blanket, tries to shake him awake. Says he’s cold. Panics. Tries shoving him onto his back.”

  Falling easily into her role as sheriff, Caitlin brought him over to the bed. Using her pen as a pointer, she gestured to the body.

  “Big guy. Gotta be what? Way more than two hundred pounds dead weight, given his stats. It was a struggle for her. You can see where the sheet got all twisted as she pulled and eventually flipped him over. Once she saw the rope, she was done for. Knew he was gone, screamed the whole house down. Caroline got Mase on the radio, who got me. And then I buzzed you.”

  Lucas nodded. That would explain it. “Alright. Well, it’s definitely homicide. He didn’t do this to himself. I mean, I can’t say anything for sure until I get him down to my office, but I’m pretty sure someone else tied this around his neck and pulled real tight.”

  “She might have done it,” Caitlin mused. She underlined one particular bit of chicken scratch covering the page. “It’s… it could be possible.”

  Just like how he could tell when his ex was goading him, he was well aware that she was baiting him. Like a wriggling worm on a hook, she dangled that little tidbit in front of him, waiting to see if he’d bite. He almost didn’t because she so obviously expected him to. Even when they were still married, she always liked to tease him that he was a doctor by trade, and a detective at his core.

  Lucas lasted five seconds.

  “Okay. Tell me. Who do you think did it?” Before Caitlin answered, he guessed, “The wife?”

  She shrugged. “Hey, that’s Homicide 101. The husband—or, in this case, wife—is usually the prime suspect.”

  “So, if you ended up on the slab in my office, it would be because I was the one who put you there?”

  “Don’t act cute with me, Luc. You know what I mean.”

  He had to admit she had a point. She wasn’t entirely wrong. In most murder cases, it was a safe bet that the victim was killed by someone close to them. The surviving spouse was always going to be the first one questioned, whether because they had pertinent information or because they were the perpetrator.

  “What can you tell me about Sullivan’s wife?”

  Without even looking at her notes, Caitlin rattled of the woman’s information. “Tessa Sullivan. Twenty-five. Light brown hair, hazelish eyes. I put her at 5’4”, maybe 5’5”, 115 pounds. Petite. Worked as a kindergarten teacher before getting married to Sullivan last September.”

  Lucas called up a mental image of the woman and compared it to the brute strength required to both incapacitate and then execute a man of Sullivan’s size. “And you think she could do this to her husband?”

  “You haven’t seen her yet. I have. Ignore the stats for a minute, Luc. I’m telling you, she’s got this… this look in her eyes. It could’ve been her.” Slapping her notepad against her thigh, Caitlin muttered under her breath, “Damn it, it should be her.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at her heated reaction. When it came to her job, she was cold and clinical. Evidence solved cases, not her personal feelings.

  The Sullivan woman had gotten under Cait’s skin.

  Interesting.

  7

  He was saved from having to respond by the soft sound of the bathroom door opening. After Caitlin’s last comment, Lucas wanted to get a good look at Tessa Sullivan himself.

  Except the shadow that led the way was far too big for the petite woman Caitlin described. A quiet murmur echoed in the hotel room a moment before Mason Walsh stepped out.

  He raised a hand in greeting when he saw Lucas. “Hey, doc. Sheriff called you in?”

  Lucas nodded. “I’ve done all I can here. I’m gonna call in a couple of favors, see if I can get some help moving your vic over to my place.” He glanced over at Caitlin. “Are you done with him?

  “Yeah. I promised Bonnie that I’d clear this room as soon as possible. We can get the DB out of here, then my guys can start processing the scene. Willie’s gonna come in early and pull a double shift at the station in order to free up the fellas. I’ll get Mason and Sly to help me out here. After that, I can give them a couple of hours down each and check in on you later.”

  Walsh cleared his throat. “Actually, boss, I thought I would see about getting our witness settled somewhere else.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s too hard for her to focus on giving a coherent statement when she knows her husband is lying in his bed like that. I got her to stop crying so much, but it’s rough. She wants to go.”

  “No,” Caitlin said flatly.

  “Sheriff—”

  “Deputy, I told you that I didn't want her leaving. Was I unclear before?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then we’re done here. Let's leave the wife with Caro and Roy while we get to work on the crime scene.”

  Walsh puffed out his chest. “With all due respect, Sheriff, I still think I should mov
e her first. She doesn’t want to stay at the inn anymore. I get that.”

  Rubbing the bridge of her nose in open irritation, Caitlin snapped, “Don’t be ridiculous. Bonnie has more than twelve rooms open in her place at any given time. The outsider only died in this one.”

  “Wow, Caity,” Lucas murmured under his breath. “Wow. So sensitive.”

  “Zip it, Luc. You know I’m right. The inn is the only place we have in Hamlet for outsiders. I can’t let her leave. Not yet. She's the best lead I got. And I doubt she’ll want to stay in the cells since someone keeps insisting she’s innocent.”

  With his eyes darting back to the room where he left the weeping woman, Walsh obviously didn’t catch on to the fact that the sheriff was talking about him until she jabbed him in the side with her pointer finger.

  “What? Wait— that again, Sheriff? I already told you. There’s no way Tess could’ve killed her husband. She was locked up tight in the holding cells all night, first with me watching, then with Sly. No way she could’ve done it.”

  “Locked up?” Lucas echoed. It seemed there was way more to this than he first thought. And it was suddenly even clearer that the poor widow had nothing to do with her husband’s murder. Kind of hard to strangle a man when she was behind bars for whatever reason.

  “Tess?” Caitlin said at the same time. Her comment was more of a sneer. Partly because of how chummy her deputy was becoming with her witness, but mostly because it burned to know that her theory was already full of so many holes, it was basically Swiss cheese.

  Walsh had the decency to flush. “Mrs. Sullivan. There was an incident outside of Thirsty’s last night. I had it under control.”

  Caitlin scowled. “Is that where you found her? The bar?”

  “It’s where I saw you, too,” Walsh reminded Caitlin.

  Lucas wasn’t even the least bit surprised to hear that. From the way Caitlin straightened, drawing herself up to her full height though the deputy still dwarfed her, Lucas bet she never expected Walsh to throw that back in her face.