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  Cover images Castle Rock Reflections © Eric Foltz, iStockPhotography. Floating Feet © Matjaz Slanic, iStockPhotography.

  Cover design copyright © 2019 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2019 by Clair M. Poulson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: February 2019

  ISBN 978-1-52440-782-7

  To Marsha and Scott Peterson

  Prologue

  “My boyfriend was just shot!” the frantic voice said.

  “Where is the victim?” the dispatcher asked.

  “He’s with me,” the caller answered, her voice shaking as she hurriedly gave the address. “He’s dying! I don’t know what to do for him. Please hurry.”

  “Officers and an ambulance are on the way. Is the shooter still there?” the dispatcher asked.

  “No, he shot him and sped away,” the woman said. “I thought he was going to shoot me too.”

  “What was he driving when he left?” the dispatcher asked.

  “A dark-blue Cadillac Seville.”

  The dispatcher quickly put the information out to officers to be on the lookout for the Seville, surprised the woman’s description of the car was so specific. Then she asked, “What’s your name?”

  The caller was breathing heavily and sobbing intermittently. “Brea Burr.”

  “And what is the victim’s name?”

  “Duane Trahan. He’s bleeding badly. I need help now!”

  “Help is on the way. Be calm and try to stop the bleeding.”

  “I’m trying, but it’s gushing out.”

  The dispatcher spoke calmly, professionally, but Brea was getting increasingly upset. “Do you know who the shooter was?” she asked.

  “It was that radio guy Bronson Melville. He’s my ex. He was jealous of Duane.”

  That explained why Miss Burr was so sure of the vehicle.

  Only when an officer arrived at the location did the dispatcher allow the call to be disconnected. She then placed a call to the police chief, who listened to what she had to say and then told her to send a detective to the scene.

  ***

  Detective Gage Tipton arrived at the scene, and Detective Sergeant Jon Hanks responded a few minutes after him. Gage was the younger of the two, but he was assigned as lead investigator.

  Gage found the victim deceased and Miss Brea Burr hysterical when he arrived.

  That evening, after completing the crime-scene investigation, Gage went to the alleged killer’s home. Melville’s car wasn’t present, and no one answered the door. No one had seen the man or his car during the first few hours following the murder, but shortly after leaving Melville’s home in the Bloomington area, Gage passed a car going the other direction. It was not the blue Cadillac, but knowing what Melville looked like and thinking it could be him, Gage turned his Explorer and caught up with the vehicle.

  He followed it for a moment, and then he hit him with his red light. The car, a light-green Toyota, sped up. Gage stayed right on its tail as he called for backup. To his surprise, the car screeched to a stop against the curb at Melville’s home. The driver jumped from the vehicle and ran for his front door. Gage leaped from his own vehicle and ran hard after the man he was now positive was Bronson Melville. Gage was younger than Melville and in much better shape—Melville was somewhat overweight and ran slowly—and had him by the collar as the fugitive attempted to unlock his front door while at the same time attempting to pull a pistol from a shoulder holster.

  Gage slammed him against the door and slapped cuffs on his thick wrists. The suspect’s Glock fell to the ground, and Gage kicked the gun out of the way. Then he spun Melville around and informed him he was under arrest for the murder of Duane Trahan. But before Gage even had a chance to inform the suspect of his Miranda rights, he blurted, “Duane had it coming. He stole my girlfriend from me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than he apparently came to his senses and said, “You can’t use that against me. You didn’t inform me of my rights.”

  “You didn’t give me time,” Gage responded, pretty sure that what Melville had said would be admissible in court as a spontaneous utterance. He read him his rights at that point, and Melville continued to insist Gage couldn’t use the earlier admission against him. By then a patrol unit had arrived at the address, and two uniformed officers joined Gage and his prisoner on the front porch. “He has blood splatter on his jacket,” Gage told them. He glanced down and added, “And on his pants and his shoes. Take him to jail and hold him until I get there. I need to have his car towed, and then I’ll come in to interview him.”

  Two neighbors approached Gage and told him if he needed them to testify, they would. Both claimed they had heard Melville say the victim “had it coming,” an admission of sorts, so Gage took their names and phone numbers and asked them to make written statements and give them to him before he left Melville’s home.

  After he had received the statements, he spoke to several other neighbors. One of them claimed that just the previous evening Melville had threatened to “take care of Duane Trahan.” A couple of others had heard the same thing. They all spoke of Melville as a loud, dishonest man most of them didn’t like, despite his popularity with his radio audience. They made it clear to Gage that Melville’s radio fans didn’t know him like they did. They also mentioned Bronson had a brother, a shady ex-con who often came around, frequently with some rough-looking friends. They knew only two names: the brother was Alvin, and there was another guy they knew only as Dwight. They also mentioned that once in a while a guy in a loud, fancy silver pickup truck was there.

  At the jail, the accused killer was placed in prisoner clothing, and his clothes and shoes were confiscated as evidence, along with the pistol that had been taken from where he’d dropped it at the arrest scene.

  Before the defendant was locked up, Gage, assisted by Detective Lieutenant Bill Dollison and Detective Sergeant Jon Hanks, ushered him into an interview room for questioning. Melville declared his innocence loudly but refused to answer questions. He was allowed to call an attorney, and a few minutes later JC Hass, Attorney at Law, strode in and informed the officers that the interview was over. Gage groaned. Anybody but Hass, he thought.

  The lawyer was allowed a few minutes alone with his client, and then Melville was taken back to a cell, continuing to loudly assert his innocence.

  The officers conferred for a few minutes and then returned to the police department, where the lieutenant and the police chief joined them. The captain missed that meeting, as he was overseas on vacation. Gage explained to the others how the arrest went down and reviewed the evidence he had collected. He mentioned the confession, the spontaneous utterance, Melville had shouted before he’d been informed of his rights. He then produced the signed statements of the man and woman who had heard him say it from the yard next door. He also showed his superiors the statements of those who had heard the accused say he was going to take care of Duane Trahan.

  “I never did like the guy,” Lieutenant Dollison said. “And it sounds like, from what you gathered from his neighbors, they don’t like him either. Apparently he doesn’t have very classy friends. It looks like we have a solid case against him. Good work, Gage.”

  That night, on radio and television newscasts, Attorney JC Hass stated that Melville was innocent and that the arresting officer was jumping to clearly erroneous conclusions when he’d made the arrest.

  “The inexperienced young detective is trying to make a name for himself,” Hass said. “He just returned yesterday from a three-day scuba-diving venture at Lake Powell. He should have kept diving for another day; maybe then an experienced officer would have handled the case, one who isn’t so gullible. Detective Tipton actually believed the lies of a very shady woman by the name of Brea Burr who was angry at Melville for ending their relationship and accused him falsely in retaliation. I will prove Melville is innocent. Tipton has no credible evidence. Bronson Melville will soon be free and back on his very popular radio program.”

  No mention was made of the other witnesses, but JC Hass most likely didn’t know about the statements Bronson’s neighbors had made.

  Contrary to what Hass had declared, however, Melville was soon charged with murder and held without bond in the county jail.

  Chapter One

  Three weeks later

  It was an ordinary Monday evening in late May and an extraordinary first kiss on the doorstep. I’d been dating Denadene Stegner for several weeks, and I probably should have kissed her before tonight, but I didn’t get to be twenty-eight and still single by being overaggressive. I’d dated a fair number of ladies over the years, but until I met Denadene at a regional young single adult activity in St. George, I simply had
never felt the buzz.

  Old habits are hard to break. I was in no hurry and had no intention of pushing the relationship. I liked her a lot, but I was not in love with her—not yet, at least—and maybe I never would be. Denadene seemed patient enough. She still dated other guys. I knew about her dates because she’d mentioned them to me. She’d even named one of them: Isaac Sparks. She’d actually mentioned him three or four times. Seemed to think he was a pretty good guy.

  Like Denadene, I’d been on a date with someone else too since our first one. But for the past few weeks, I hadn’t asked anyone else out. I told myself it was just because I hadn’t really had the opportunity to date others, but I had to admit I enjoyed her company a lot.

  I figured I had time to find out for myself if she was the one and to move the relationship forward if that’s what I wanted to do. That first kiss had me thinking maybe I should move it forward. It really was nice. I supposed taking my time would also give her time to decide if I might be a mistake in her life or if Isaac Sparks or the other guy she’d dated might be a better prospect than me or if she was even interested in a serious relationship with anyone. She was twenty-four and had been through a very bad, childless marriage that had ended two years ago. She had told me a couple of times she didn’t intend to ever make the same mistake again. So even though deep down I thought I wanted to, I didn’t push her. That first kiss had been a big step for me. I had never been the kissing kind. That kiss had surprised me. I wondered, though, if she kissed the other guys she dated like she had kissed me. But I didn’t think I really wanted to know.

  We’d been to dinner and a movie and talked about taking an overnight trip to Zion National Park the following Friday and Saturday—I had those days off work—but Denadene wasn’t sure if she had to work on Friday or not. She told me she wanted to go, although I wasn’t sure she meant it. I hoped an overnight date (I was more than happy to pay for two rooms) wasn’t pushing too much. She’d spoken to her boss, attorney JC Hass, that morning about getting the day off, but he’d told her to check with him in a day or two, as he might need her for some work on a high-profile case in which he was defending a local radio personality, Bronson Melville, charged with murder.

  Melville was popular with some of the local folks, and his arrest had stirred a lot of gossip and even anger among his fans. His neighbors and a lot of other people were glad he was in jail. They were not fans. But the general public had no idea how solid the evidence we had collected against Melville was. So as not to stir things up further, we kept that information quiet, as did the prosecutor’s office. Attorney Hass denied we had any credible evidence against his client and claimed I had fabricated it or, in the alternative, that I believed a witness Hass said was lying. We didn’t care what Hass thought. What mattered was what we could prove in court, and we had what we needed and more to convict his client of first-degree murder.

  Denadene and I had both tried not to let it happen, but the murder case was a bit of a thorn between us. She was a legal secretary and was loyal to her boss, whom I considered to be a first-class jerk. I had trodden lightly with her about my feelings for the guy. Hass and I had tangled in court before. Like the public, Denadene didn’t know how much solid evidence we had against her boss’s client. I discussed none of the particulars with her. All I could tell her was that I was confident we would get a conviction. On the other hand, JC Hass repeatedly told Denadene it had been a very bad arrest and kept insisting the supposed witness, Brea Burr, was a known liar who had it in for his client and would be destroyed in court if she was foolish enough to testify. He also told her the arresting officer was trying to make a name for himself.

  Of course, I was the officer Denadene’s boss repeatedly tried to tear down, and she knew it. I had arrested Bronson Melville, and I had no doubt about his guilt. Melville was a very bad man, one who had pulled the shades over the eyes of much of the public. As JC Hass spread his lies, I, with the help of some of my colleagues, continued to build on the already-solid case.

  But Hass didn’t know I was the man his legal secretary was dating quite regularly and for whom she wanted the day off. At least, that’s what Denadene had told me, and I had no reason not to believe her. She had expressed no desire to tell her boss, which was fine with me. He was a competent attorney but was blatantly dishonest, and he had an extremely overinflated ego. If he’d known Denadene’s date was to be with the arresting officer on his high-profile case, he would have, I was certain, told her she had to work on Friday.

  “I’ll call you,” she told me shortly after that sweet kiss on her doorstep.

  “When?” I asked.

  “I should know by Wednesday,” she said, smiling at me. “I made JC promise to let me know by then.”

  “That’ll work,” I said. Then I grinned at her. “Bat those pretty baby-blue eyes of yours, and he’ll be sure to let you have the day off.”

  She punched me lightly on the shoulder. “You know I have no intention of encouraging him.”

  Hass was also a divorcé, except he’d been through three marriages. The man was more than twenty years older than Denadene, but that hadn’t stopped him from asking her out several times. She told me she kept their relationship strictly professional, but I knew he’d take her out if she showed the least amount of interest.

  “I know,” I said. “I was just kidding. I’d better go. I have to interview a couple of people tomorrow about the Melville case. One of them is expecting me early in the morning.”

  She smiled. “Okay. It’s been a wonderful evening, Gage. I promise I’ll call,” she reiterated. “I think I will be able to persuade JC to give me the day off. I really do want to go with you.”

  “I’ll be anxiously awaiting your call,” I replied. I thought about kissing her one more time, but that would be pushing it, and I was not a pusher in the romantic arena. So I simply waited until she had gone inside and shut the door to her apartment and then headed back to my blue Ford pickup.

  Denadene did not call me on Wednesday, nor did she call me on Thursday. I was anxious to know if she could go with me, and I was already feeling disappointment. Maybe she didn’t want to go after all. But I tried her cell phone a half dozen times anyway. It went to voicemail each time. I had optimistically booked a couple of rooms and needed to cancel them soon if we were not going. I was feeling desperate, so I called the JC Hass Law Office early on Thursday afternoon.

  I didn’t recognize the voice of the woman who answered. After telling her I needed to talk to Denadene, she said, “Ms. Stegner did not come to work yesterday, so Mr. Hass asked me to come in and help out.”

  “And you are?” I asked.

  “My name is Lily Kwick,” she said. “I’ve covered for Ms. Stegner a number of times before.”

  “She didn’t come in? That makes no sense,” I said anxiously. “She promised she would call me either yesterday or today and she hasn’t.”

  “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name,” the temp said.

  “I’m Detective Gage Tipton,” I said reluctantly. I hadn’t wanted to identify myself to that particular law office.

  “Oh,” Lily said in a tone that indicated my name was an unsavory combination of nasty words. “Mr. Hass would not want her to speak with you, Detective Tipton. Any communications he has about the Melville matter will be with the prosecutor in the case. But I’ll tell him you called.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I said. “Please don’t bother. I can speak with the prosecutor as well.” I added that last bit because I didn’t want to let her know my interest in speaking with Denadene was personal and had nothing to do with the murder case. Mrs. Kwick could think what she wanted. “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Kwick.”

  “Ms. Kwick,” she said with a bit of a growl and ended the call before I could apologize for my blunder.

  I stared at my phone for a moment, my mind in a whirl. I wondered if I’d been mistaken to think Denadene enjoyed my company and wanted to continue to date me. But I also wondered if Hass had discovered who Denadene wanted to go with on Friday, and if he had dismissed her from his one-man law firm because of his intense dislike of me.