Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

“Stanton and I met at the GGPD Christmas party last year.” Bonnie smiled at him.

Stanton nodded. “We did.”

“Let’s get our drinks and sit down.” Stanton placed their order before walking with them to a table. Dominique and Stanton took stools across from Bonnie, who leaned back against a wall. She looked Dominique in the eyes, her expression grim. “I’m glad I finally have the opportunity to talk to you about everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you sooner but until the internal investigation committee gave me the okay, my hands were tied.”

“I understand.” And she did. But now she wanted answers. “Why don’t we begin with what you feel Randall did wrong, if you would?”

“Sure. As long as this is off the record? I want to help you get the story but I don’t want my name in the paper.”

“That’s fine.” Dominique’s patience was wearing thin but she felt Stanton’s calm presence and did her best to soak it in.

Bonnie crossed her arms in front of her chest. “My work here was ideal up until about a year ago. I enjoyed working for Randall. He was a generous boss and mentor, and I learned so much from him. As you can see, I’m no spring chicken. I went back to college in my late fifties and got my degree. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to land such a plum job. It’s very satisfying, when we match up evidence to crimes and help nail the bad guys and gals.” She paused. “Randall began doing more and more work on his own. At first he said it was because he was having marital problems and needed the extra time away from home. But then I noticed that I wasn’t seeing anything that had to do with the more serious crimes. Randall had processed the evidence and filed his report before I ever set eyes on it. We worked on Drew Orr’s case, and Everleigh Emerson’s, but I wasn’t allowed to so much as read the evidence reports. I thought that was odd, for a man who’d so strongly mentored me previously.”

“What kind of evidence are we talking about?”

“The usual. Fingerprints, bullet casings, blood stains, DNA. Mostly we test for fingerprints, the breakdowns of batches of heroin—how much fentanyl it’s been cut with, if any—and occasional blood types when there’s an assault or worse. Anything with DNA or more complicated lab work gets sent out. Still, we could accomplish an impressive amount of work at GGPD, to enable our officers to get their jobs done. And, of course, our work aided the DA when it’s time to prosecute the criminal.”

“What specifically do you know Randall Bowe did or didn’t do?”

“Several things. First, he was a witness in several court cases against drug dealers for this local cartel. In each case, he testified, under oath, that there was no evidence he’d consider valid for use against the dealers. It took me a while to put it together, but one night I worked late and needed the file for a heroin OD. I wanted to verify the officer’s report that the user who’d died was also a dealer. The officer bagged dozens of bags of heroin. When I opened the file, there was no mention of the drugs. Nothing. As if the officer never filed the evidence. I questioned Randall about it the next morning and he said he’d tested the powder, only to discover it was all baking soda.”

“Has that ever happened before?”

“Never. We’ve had one or two times with fake drugs, but that doesn’t happen with this cartel. They’re slick and here to do one thing—make money. How I finally proved that Randall was lying to me was that I found the evidence the officer had brought in, stuffed in a tea tin, you know the kind you find at specialty stores? Randall’s a big tea drinker. I’d had other cases that he’d taken over go bad, in my opinion. So I took it upon myself to search his office when he was out.”

“Did you confront him with what you found?”

“No. I was terrified, frankly. I’m not sure if you know, but he’d recently purchased a Lamborghini. Really stupid, if you ask me, because it’s a red flag when a government employee all of a sudden affords luxury anything. I figured there was a good chance that he was being paid by the cartel to stifle evidence, make it disappear. I wanted to talk to the officers who brought the evidence in, but I didn’t know who to trust anymore. Once someone you’ve trusted, who has made a good difference in your life, goes bad, it’s very upsetting.”

“So you reported it.”

“I did. I went to Lansing, took a personal day, and reported it. I felt awful, going over Chief Colton’s head, even though I was fired.” Her eyes darted to where Stanton sat, taking it all in. She knew Melissa was his sister. “Randall disappeared days after I reported him, from what I understand. And it looks as though there could be one or two bad cops who’ve been helping him, too, from what I’ve read in the paper. It makes me sick to think I was working next to someone who let a serial killer go free. None of us are safe until Len Davison is caught.” Bonnie shook her head. “Tough times for Grave Gulch.”

“Can you tell me, Bonnie, if you know anything about Charlie Hamm, about his case?”

“The convict who died in the prison fight a while back?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve had so many cases. But I remember his in particular because one day there wasn’t a lot of evidence in his file and the next, a suitcase was there. Randall wouldn’t answer my questions about it.” As Bonnie spoke, Dominique snuck a look at Stanton. His blue gaze steadied her, and he gave her a slight nod. He thought she was handling this well, on the right track.

“I haven’t