Cold Case Cover-Up Read online

  “Not really. Why?”

  “Well, someone heard you. If I can figure out who, I might be able to track down the person who broke into my room.”

  Lila’s face flushed. “Oh, well, then I suppose you’d also have to have the names of everyone at the grocery store and the beauty shop and everyone who came into the library yesterday. I might have mentioned it more than I let on.”

  Dana smiled past her annoyance and tried to reassure her. “That’s okay. So basically, anyone could have heard about it.” You had to love the small-town grapevine. She tried another tactic. “Did anyone seem overly concerned about me being in town? Maybe someone asked a lot of questions about what I was working on?”

  “Everyone was curious, of course, but I can’t think of anyone who would want to do you harm.”

  She could see this was a dead end. It didn’t matter who had heard the news—she imagined by this point everyone in town knew it.

  “Did you locate the microfiche I asked for?”

  “I did. I’ll show you where they’re at.” Lila crossed the main floor and Dana followed her. Microfiche wasn’t used much anymore but Dana was surprised when Lila led her through the side door and up a flight of stairs. She’d expected it to be in an out-of-the-way place, like the basement.

  She shot Lila a questioning glance.

  “We had it downstairs until a pipe burst last year and flooded the basement. We moved the machine upstairs to a storage closet behind the stacks. It’s a little dark but it’s private. No one should bother you.”

  She followed Lila through rows of shelves lined with books until they reached a door on the far wall. Lila unlocked the door and Dana stepped inside. The room was filled with boxes and supplies. In the corner was the microfiche machine with a chair pushed up to it. A fluorescent light flickered overhead, threatening to go out at any moment. Lila was right about it being private. Few people would venture here except by accident. But she’d faced worse circumstances and she wasn’t going to complain. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Lila.”

  She motioned to a box of microfiche next to the machine. “I pulled everything I could find on the murders for you. And the machine is set up to print to the circulation-desk printer downstairs. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

  Lila disappeared into the stacks while Dana set down her purse and got to work. She pulled out the first microfiche film and placed it into the machine. She scrolled through the newspaper dates until she came to the front-page headline on the day after the murders: Double Murder Stuns West Bend.

  The article went on to describe how the local volunteer fire department had responded to the fire at the Renfield home. One body had been discovered, that of Mrs. Rene Renfield. Police were being tight-lipped about how she died, but it was rumored that she was already deceased when the fire was started. The whereabouts of Paul Renfield and the couple’s one-year-old daughter, Alicia, had yet to be determined.

  Dana knew from the article in her mom’s belongings, dated six days later, that the child’s body would not be found for two more days, when it was discovered beneath rubble of the house by fireman Jay Englin, but she doubted the veracity of that report, believing the local authorities, namely Sheriff Mackey, had covered up the fact that Alicia—that Dana—was alive. Was she found in the rubble of the house two days after the fire as this article stated? It seemed unlikely. She would have been severely dehydrated and suffering smoke inhalation at the least, and been taken immediately to the hospital, where several people would have seen her, making a cover-up unlikely. How then, and more importantly when, did Jay Englin find her?

  She wished she could track him down, but so far, she hadn’t been able to find a current address or online presence for him. He was the one person still living who could confirm that a child’s body had actually been discovered. She thought about asking Lila if she had any information on Jay’s whereabouts. She wasn’t giving up on talking to him and would continue trying to locate him.

  She printed out several articles that mentioned the murders and jotted down every piece of information she could find about the details of the case, hoping the reporters who’d written for the paper back then had better access to the police files than she did. Perhaps she could even track down one of them for an interview. She glanced at the bylines and realized most of the articles were written by two people, Jerry Foster and Jane Shaw. She added their names to her list of people she wanted to interview. It would be nice to speak to them to discover if there was anything in their notes that hadn’t made it into the articles.

  She took out her phone and looked up the paper online, only to discover it had folded back in the late nineties, when the digital age began to make papers around the country flounder. It was no surprise that a small-town paper couldn’t make it. There was, however, a webpage that seemed active. She clicked the link and discovered Jerry Foster still operated an online blog. She skimmed through the archives and found no mention of the murder, but if he was still writing then perhaps he would remember the case. She quickly pulled up her email and shot him a message asking to meet.

  Suddenly, the room went dark. The machine shut down, and only the light from her phone illuminated the room. The machine was old and probably hadn’t been used in a while. Perhaps it had blown a fuse. She opened the door and found the lights were off in the stacks as well, and it was dark as night as she made her way toward the light she saw filtering in through the windows in the main area.

  She cleared the stacks and looked around. No one was here, but the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly raised and Dana swore she felt eyes on her, watching her. She glanced around and saw no one, yet she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that she wasn’t alone. She pressed the button for the elevator, then realized it wasn’t working, either.

  Rubbing her arms, that feeling of being watched was strong. Someone was up here with her, but why weren’t they showing themselves? “Hello?” she called, watching for movement and feeling silly for the uneasiness washing over her. It was probably Lila or one of the other librarians reshelving or straightening books. Sure they were. In the dark. “Hello?” she called again.

  No one responded.

  A door slammed and she jumped and spun around. Someone had just left through the side door that led downstairs. But why hadn’t they answered when she’d called?

  She hurried over and pushed open the door, “Who’s there?” she called, her voice echoing through the stairwell. “I know someone was just here. Who is it?”

  She started down the steps. The lights were out here, too, but if someone was trying to frighten her they’d have to do a better job than spying on her at the library or cutting power to the microfiche. She wasn’t going to be intimidated.

  In the darkness, she felt a hand on her back, shoving her. She went tumbling down the concrete steps, pain shooting through her with every bump. She hit the bottom, jamming her shoulder into the concrete floor. Her head spun, but she forced herself to glance up, pain shooting through her as she did. All she saw was darkness above her. A figure moved at the top of the stairs but she couldn’t make it out. Man or woman? Young or old? She couldn’t tell. Then the darkness pulled her away and she didn’t know anything else.

  TWO

  Quinn was still thinking about Dana Lang by the time he returned home. He’d been to the post office, the barber shop and the grocery store since leaving the sheriff’s office and it seemed the beautiful television reporter was all anyone in town wanted to talk about. No wonder he couldn’t push her from his mind.

  The woman had spunk, that was for certain, and he liked that. Although he was glad to learn that she wasn’t in town sniffing around the embassy story or his connection to it, he didn’t like having her here at all. She was looking for shock and awe in order to make a name for herself. Well, she wasn’t going to use his family to do it.

  He picked up a photograph
of him and his grandfather taken by the lake when he was twelve. He’d loved that man with all his heart and the feeling had been mutual. They’d spent every moment together—when they weren’t at school or work—and during summers Quinn had practically lived at his grandparents’ house, at least until his mother forced him to return home for a few days. Then he was right back.

  That man had taught him everything he knew about mechanics and fishing and hunting, but he’d also taught him important things like integrity and honor and faith. It burned him up that someone like Dana Lang would try to mar a good man’s name all for the sake of a story.

  Quinn remembered the Renfield case. His grandfather had spoken often about how brutal the attack on the wife had been. It was only one of a few cases during his career that had haunted him, especially the death of the little girl. His grandfather had once told Quinn he thought about her regularly and wished he could have done more to help her.

  Quinn probably still had his grandfather’s personal files, brought from the sheriff’s office after his death, but Dana wasn’t going to get her hands on them. He knew there was a file on that case because his grandfather had looked at it every so often and tried to see if he could figure out what happened to the father, or if there were any clues he missed about the man’s whereabouts.

  Quinn shook his head. Dana had planted doubts in his head and he had to address them. He took out the bible his grandfather had given him on his eighteenth birthday and opened it to the inscription on the front page.

  Quinn, let these words be your guide. Love, Grandpa.

  He stared at the handwriting and felt his heart drop. He hadn’t been imagining it. His grandfather’s rich script was easily distinguishable. If it wasn’t his writing on that note, then someone had done a good imitation.

  What did you do, Grandpa?

  Had he really abandoned a child, and if he had, why? And more importantly, had that child been Alicia Renfield? He wished for the millionth time that his grandfather was here with him so he could ask. Quinn missed his wisdom and guidance, especially since his life had gotten so topsy-turvy with the embassy attack, losing Tommy and Mike and now Dana Lang arriving in town.

  He opened the bible to his grandfather’s favorite passage, Hebrews 11:1 and read the words aloud. “‘Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’”

  Quinn wanted to take comfort in this verse, the way his is grandfather always had. He’d believed in his own faith, but the last several months had left him wondering. The evidence he was seeing was sending his life spiraling out of control, and now Dana had added another layer to it with her investigation into his grandfather. He rubbed his face. His grandfather had professed to be a man of faith and Quinn had never seen evidence to doubt that. He wouldn’t start doubting now, not unless he had a lot more proof of wrongdoing.

  His phone rang and he scooped it up, checking the ID. It was his brother. “Hey, Rich, what’s up?”

  “I thought you might like to know we just responded to an incident at the library involving your Dana Lang.”

  “Was she hurt?” He grimaced at the question. Why should he care? She was out to destroy his family.

  “Not seriously. She claims someone pushed her down the stairs. She has some bumps and bruises, but she’s mostly all right. Here’s the thing, though. Someone intentionally cut the power to the top floor. Sliced the wires right in two. The librarian didn’t see anyone coming or going and she can account for everyone that was there. First the graffiti in Lang’s hotel room and now this. Do you think she might be orchestrating all this in order to build up the story she’s working on?”

  “No, that doesn’t seem like her style.” He hated to defend her, but he’d been with her at the hotel. He’d seen the way her hands shook and the fear in her expression. She hadn’t been faking that. “I know the library doesn’t have security cameras, but the ATM at the bank across the street might have a clear view of whoever was coming and going from there. Can you see if you can pull their security feed?”

  Rich sighed. “I’m already on it. Talk to you later.”

  Quinn ended the call, but he kept replaying their conversation in his head. He didn’t believe Dana was making all this up for a story. He’d seen enough fear during his years with Delta that he could recognize true terror when he saw it. Someone was after her, but what was there about the Renfield case that someone would want to hide? It had gone cold a very long time ago.

  Still, it couldn’t be a coincidence that she’d come to town to investigate this murder and now someone was targeting her. She didn’t strike him as the type of woman to turn and run, either. She was going to dig in to this case, and while he knew his grandfather hadn’t been involved in any criminal act, Dana Lang was an unknown factor. He grabbed his keys. It wouldn’t hurt to check up on her. For his own peace of mind, he wanted to know that his grandfather would not be her fall guy.

  * * *

  Dana grimaced as the doctor poked and prodded her arm then tried to move it into different positions. It hurt, but she didn’t believe anything was permanently damaged, and after the examination, the doctor concurred.

  “Your X-rays are fine and you have good range of motion. It looks like you jarred that shoulder when you fell. I’ll write you a prescription for some pain medicine and you’ll probably want to ice it, but I think it’ll feel better in a few days. However, I do have some concerns over your head injury. You have a mild concussion. I’d recommend you take it easy for at least twenty-four hours. No handling heavy machinery, and that includes driving.”

  She reluctantly agreed and thanked the doctor, who then left the exam room. Her head did sort of feel like it was spinning. Besides, she didn’t even have her rental car with her. It was still parked in the lot at the library. Surely, she could find a cab to take her back to her hotel, order in room service and spend yet another night wondering who was targeting her and why.

  Someone had been there, trying to intimidate her, and she remembered the feel of his hand on her back, pushing her forward. And he’d cut the power to the floor she was working on. Two attacks in two days? This wasn’t random.

  A nurse came in to help her get dressed. Dana was glad to be released after hours of being examined.

  “I’ll go start your release paperwork,” the nurse said, then left her alone to gather her things.

  She picked up her phone. The screen had cracked in the fall, but thankfully it was still operational. She had a message from Tracy, her friend and research assistant, who wanted to know how her investigation was proceeding, and another from her producer wanting some additional information about stories that they were preparing to air.

  One message stood out, however. It was a reply from Jerry Foster, the reporter she’d emailed and asked for an interview. He’d agreed to her request and asked for her to meet him at his home in Bedford, twenty miles away, at 8:00 p.m. tonight. She glanced at the time on her phone and realized it was already after seven. She would never make it in time unless she could find a cab that would drive her that far. She typed up a quick response, letting him know she was coming but that she might be a little late. She’d just hit Send on the email when someone grabbed her from behind. A hand clamped over her mouth and the blade of a knife dug into her neck. Startled, she dropped the phone and grabbed for her assailant’s hand, trying to pull it away.

  “You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” a voice hissed in her ear. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pack up and leave town today.”

  “Here we go,” the nurse said, walking back into the room with papers in hand. She screamed when she saw the man with the knife.

  Suddenly, he shoved Dana, sending her reeling into a chair and taking down a bedside lamp as she fell. She hit the floor, landing hard on her knee and jarring that shoulder once again. When she looked up, a hooded figure was barreling pas
t the nurse and exiting the room.

  Dana tried to etch an image of him into her memory so she could describe her attacker to the police, but her head was spinning too much.

  Then another figure appeared in the doorway, hesitating for a moment before rushing to her side.

  Quinn.

  “Dana, what happened? Are you okay?”

  “He grabbed me, Quinn. He snuck up behind me and grabbed me. He put a knife to my throat.” She didn’t like the high-pitched fearful way her voice sounded, but she couldn’t control her emotions right now. Shock and fear were too strong for her to deny. If the nurse hadn’t returned with her papers, what would he have done to her?

  “Who did that?” he demanded. “The guy in the hoodie?”

  She must have managed to nod or somehow signal yes because he took off, stopping only to check that the nurse was okay before he ran from the room and disappeared into the hall.

  Dana pulled herself into a chair. She couldn’t stop the sobs that rushed through her at the memory of those terrifying seconds of not knowing what was going to happen. She put her face into her hands and let the tears come.

  * * *

  Quinn spotted the hooded figure ducking into the stairwell and he followed. Seeing Dana on the floor pushed him forward. The assailant could have killed her right then and Quinn would have been seconds too late to do anything to help her.

  Too late, just as he’d been for Tommy.

  Anger lit through him. This guy had to be stopped.

  Quinn pushed through the door and saw the man below him on the stairs.

  “Hey!” Quinn shouted.

  The guy looked up at him, then took off down the stairs.

  Quinn chased after him. Whoever this guy was, he was fast and agile. He got to the bottom and burst through the door to the lobby, but by the time Quinn reached it, the man was pushing his way out the front doors and shoving aside anyone who dared to step into his path. Quinn tried to follow him but the guy was too fast. Frustration rattled him as he realized he might lose the guy. What he wouldn’t give for his sniper’s rifle right about now. He’d end this guy’s getaway with a single shot.