Then There Were None (Matt Foley/Sara Bradford series Book 2) Read online

  THEN THERE WERE NONE

  A Matt Foley/Sara Bradford Novel

  Book Two

  by

  V. B. Tenery

  DEDICATION

  To my Savior Jesus Christ.

  May all I do honor you.

  And

  To my beloved daughter, Holly.

  You have brightened my life beyond measure.

  THEN THERE WERE NONE

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by V. B. TENERY

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The town of Twin Falls, Texas exists only in the imagination of the author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording—or in any other manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contact Information:

  Website: www.vbtenery.com

  FB Author Page: www.facebook.com/vbtenery

  Twitter: @teneryherrin

  Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated are taken from the King James translation, public domain.

  Cover Art by Sharon A. Lavy

  Edited by: Barbara Hand

  Kathy McKinsey

  Publishing History:

  First Edition CBC Press, a division of CBC services

  September 2014

  Published in the United States of America

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Grayson Manor

  Twin Falls, Texas

  Light filtered through the cottage windows as Sean McKinnon drained the last sip of strong brew from his teacup. He took the empty mug to the sink, rinsed it, and placed it in the dishwasher. He pulled on a jacket, picked up his cap and umbrella from the rack by the door, then strolled up the hill to the big house.

  Morning clouds hung heavy in the gray sky and raindrops splattered the stone walkway in front of him. Sean sucked in a deep breath of cold moist air and smiled, glad to have the family home from their stay in England. The big estate was lonely when they were gone. He increased his pace as the rain pelted faster. He hummed despite the weather, looking forward to breakfast in the kitchen with Amanda Castleton. Aye, he’d missed the woman’s cooking.

  He crossed the large expanse of manicured lawn and bright flowers. It was a bonnie garden. He’d come over with the Graysons more than thirty years ago. Those had been dark times for the family.

  The task Mr. Grayson had set for him—planting a proper English garden in this arid Texas land, had proved a mighty one. He’d faced many failures before the land yielded its secrets. He breathed in the sweet fragrance of the delicate tea roses he’d planted in the spring, pleased that the garden rivaled any to be found in his native country.

  He slowed and bent down to examine a recently replaced rosebush. Satisfied, he moved closer to the manor’s back door. As he drew nearer, the sound of smoke alarms pierced the silent morning.

  The umbrella dropped from his hand, and he sprinted towards the manor’s back entrance. He stumbled on the stone path but managed to keep his balance. Snatching a deep breath, he hurried on.

  Black smoke engulfed him as he jerked the kitchen door open and rushed inside. “Mrs. Castleton! Mrs. Castleton!”

  Only the deafening blast of the alarms answered.

  Smoke billowed from the huge gas range on the right, just inside the doorway. Pulling his jacket over his nose, he pushed farther into the room, switched off the stove’s burners, then flipped on the exhaust fan. The acrid smell of scorched food burned his nose and stung his eyes. Through a blur of tears and smoke, he grabbed oven mitts from a rack and carried the charred pans outside.

  His mind raced. Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Mrs. Castleton would never leave a meal unattended. Where was she? Where was the rest of the family?

  The questions would have to wait. For now, he must switch off the blasted alarms and attend to the smoke.

  With the burned food outside, he breathed easier. He re-entered the kitchen and moved around the large island to open the bank of windows on the other side of the room. He rounded the corner and stopped, his feet glued to the tile.

  Three bodies lay on the floor behind the counter.

  Sean whispered, “Dear Heavenly Father,” the sight too horrible to comprehend. He staggered and fell to his knees.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Twin Falls, Texas

  Police Chief Matt Foley had just shrugged into his jacket when his desk phone rang. He gave his watch a quick glance. Still a few extra minutes before his meeting with the DA. He turned back and picked up the receiver.

  Charles Kennedy, the desk sergeant’s voice sounded in his ear. “Glad I caught you, Chief.”

  “What’s up, Chuck?”

  “Ethan Grayson’s gardener called 911 earlier…” Kennedy’s voice suddenly subdued, tense. “Said bodies were scattered everywhere in the big house.”

  The full implication of what Kennedy said swept over him. Ethan Grayson was a friend. “Dead? Is he sure? All of them?”

  “The cook and her daughter, too. Six bodies. That’s what the gardener reported.”

  Numb but functioning, he went into cop mode. “I’m on my way. Detectives Turner and Allen are on call. Have they been notified?”

  “They left a little ahead of McCulloch and the crime-scene crew. Mac told me to let you know.”

  Mass murder didn’t happen in Matt’s town. It didn’t happen to his friends. He closed his eyes as white-hot anguish flowed through his body and lay like hot lead in his chest. Inhaling a long breath, he let the oxygen calm the turmoil until the pain became manageable. He’d have to deal with the grief later. “Call the DA and cancel our meeting.”

  Matt wanted Miles Davis on this case. He was the senior detective in the division and a professional. Lucy Turner had a year in the department. A good detective, but she was also as prickly as a porcupine. The giant chip on her shoulder made her nearly impossible to work with. Her partner, Cole Allen, seemed to be the only one who could handle her. He laughed off her bad temper.

  Matt hurried out the private entrance to his office. His black Explorer sat just outside by the curb. He jumped inside, shoved the gearshift into reverse, and spun out of the parking lot.

  Reaching for his cell phone, Matt found Davis’ mobile number and waited for the connection.

  “Morning, Chief,” Davis said. Traffic noise in the background meant the detective was on the road.

  “You hear about the Graysons?”

  “Yeah, Chuck filled me in. Lucy and Cole are up for this one. Right?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to make a switch. You’ll be lead. Lucy will be your partner.”

  A groan came through the line. “You know I want this case, Chief. But partnering with Turner is above and beyond the call.”

  “This isn’t a request, it’s an order. I need both of you. You’ll be good for Lucy. She could use some of your finesse. But I won’t have any squabbling. This case is too important.”

  “Understood. But she’s not gonna be happy.”

  “That’s he
r problem. Meet me at the crime-scene. I’ll fill Lucy in when I get there.”

  Traffic was light on the familiar streets. Most commuters headed to Dallas and points south had left hours earlier.

  Condensation formed on the windshield, and he switched on the air conditioning to clear the glass. A dense dark sky hung over the city, and a light morning drizzle wet the pavement. Mirrored buildings along Highway 75 reflected the morbid weather in their opaque windows. Early November was past the fall hurricane season, but there was a maverick tropical storm in the Gulf picking up speed. Things would get worse as the day progressed.

  When he reached FM320, the road leading to the Grayson estate, an ambulance flew past, sirens wailing, headed in the opposite direction. He could only hope someone survived the carnage.

  Grayson Manor

  Twin Falls, Texas

  The ornate black gate stood open, and Matt swung onto the private road. The open gate wasn’t the norm. Ethan Grayson valued his privacy. An elaborate security system provided a shield from the outside world. Some called Ethan eccentric, but it was the man’s prerogative.

  Matt pulled in behind the coroner’s white ambulance. His own Crime Scene Unit’s blue van, an unmarked Ford, and two black-and-whites filled the circular driveway.

  County Sheriff Joe Wilson’s SUV slid to the curb behind Matt. The sheriff was a childhood friend and colleague. Matt slammed his car door, ignored the rain, and waited for Joe to catch up.

  “Lisa gave me the news.” Joe extended a large hand for a firm handshake, then moved his six-three frame into step beside Matt. “Came to see if I could help.”

  In the distance, a local news crew tried to sneak through the front gate. Matt tapped a young officer on the shoulder. “Turn that van around and post a squad car at the entrance. You know the drill.”

  With an affirmative nod, the officer stepped into the driveway and headed to intercept the intruder.

  Stomping water from his shoes, Matt joined the sheriff at the entrance. They walked into the mansion together and signed the crime-scene log on the foyer table. After donning booties and gloves the officer at the door provided, they ducked under the yellow tape and stepped inside.

  Across the entryway, Lucy Turner chatted with one of the crime-scene techs. Turner was average height and a little overweight, but attractive despite her customary scowl. A cascade of auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung past the collar of her navy pantsuit.

  Matt strode across the tile to where she stood. “I passed an ambulance down the road. Please tell me one of them survived.”

  She nodded. “Victoria Grayson still had a pulse when the first officer arrived. Five confirmed dead.”

  “Where was she found?”

  Turner pointed to the wide staircase leading to the second floor. “The shooter grazed her head as she came downstairs. She’d lost a lot of blood, but still had a pulse.”

  A chalk outline and a large red stain on the stairwell marked the spot. “What do we know so far?”

  “The security system wasn’t breached. Whoever the killer or killers were, either someone admitted them, or they had the gate entry code. We pulled the security camera data. Should have a picture if they entered through the front gate.”

  “Could they have come over the wall?”

  “Cole checked it out,” Turner said. “The rain has washed out any footprints there might have been. The fence is electrified and has razor wire. So it would be difficult to breach, but not impossible.”

  Matt glanced over at the security system by the entrance. “The killer must have shut down the system before or after the murders.”

  “It was off when we arrived. The smoke alarms would have summoned the police and fire department if the system had been on.”

  “What caused the fire?”

  Lucy nodded towards the kitchen. “No fire, just smoke. Dinner was left cooking on the stove.”

  Miles Davis walked through the entrance. He was easy to spot with his dark ruggedly handsome face framed by short-cropped black hair and expertly trimmed beard.

  Lucy’s steel gaze zeroed in on Davis. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I asked him to come.”

  Angry red spots burned into her cheeks. “Why? This is my case, Chief.”

  “I made an executive decision, Lucy. Davis is coming onboard. You’ll work with him. He’ll be lead on this one.”

  She froze at his words, mouth twisted with suppressed rage. “Why, because I’m a woman?”

  “No, because he’s a grade three, and you’re a grade two.”

  The tension in her body and the stoic expression that formed on her face revealed her feeling more than any words could.

  From behind Lucy, Joe rolled his eyes and stepped away to join the crime-scene unit.

  “Good morning, Chief, Lucy,” Davis said. “You’ll never guess who followed me in.” Davis jerked his head toward the entrance. “Our esteemed mayor.”

  How had Hall heard about the murders so quickly? Unless he kept a police scanner in his office, someone must have tipped him off. The thought left a bitter taste in Matt’s mouth.

  “Must have smelled blood in the water.” Matt had dealt with Terrence Hall when the man served on the city council. The experience had not been a pleasant one.

  Hall, with a fresh-faced clone in tow, tried to march past the cop at the door. Matt crossed the room. The officer would need assistance to keep His Honor at bay.

  Hall’s cold stare settled on Matt. “What happened here?”

  “We’re just starting to collect evidence. You’ll need to sign the log if you plan to enter the crime scene.” Matt glanced down at his own feet, then up at Hall. “You can’t cross the yellow tape without footwear.”

  In his Armani suit, Hall rivaled Davis for best dressed, but where Davis exuded masculinity, Hall came off effete. If Matt knew the mayor, he wouldn’t mar his carefully crafted image with the blue booties in case a photographer was nearby.

  Hall waved the cop with the log away. “So, you know nothing?”

  Matt debated whether to push the point that he had just arrived and decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “We know five people are dead, one survivor, at least so far. We’ll know more after the crime-scene is processed.”

  “Who survived?”

  “Ethan’s daughter, Victoria.”

  “Get on top of this, Foley. Ethan Grayson is an international player. You don’t want to end up looking like a local yokel on prime time news.”

  The mayor was right in one respect. Keeping this tragedy quiet would be impossible. Ethan was one of the big three in the microchip industry. When word of his death surfaced, the press would flock into town like a swarm of killer bees.

  Hall was yanking Matt’s chain, but it wouldn’t work. Not today. “Ethan Grayson was a friend. “Terry. You don’t have to worry about me giving the case my full attention.”

  “I’ll call a press conference this afternoon.” The mayor straightened, a stance Matt recognized as Hall’s officious posture. “We will need to update the media on a regular basis. I’ll want you and the DA present.”

  Matt should have been prepared for this from Hall. The mayor always went for the limelight. “The family members haven’t been notified. The oldest son lives outside the U.S., so it may take a while.”

  Hall stepped so close the smell of his breath mint and cologne was intense.

  Matt held his breath and moved back. Hall wasn’t welcome in his space.

  “Let me know the minute they’re notified.” Hall whirled and started for the exit, then turned. “I want a daily written report on the case status, Foley. This will put Twin Falls on the map. I don’t intend to have my office and this city portrayed as a bunch of amateurs.”

  Shaking his head, he watched Hall leave the premises then joined the two detectives.

  Davis adjusted his coat sleeves over the cuffs of his shirt. “Politicians should be like groundhogs. Come out for a few minutes on
ce a year, and then go back into their holes.”

  Matt and Davis followed Turner down the hallway. Every light in the foyer burned, and the crime-scene techs were busy stringing cords to set up extra lighting for video. Nearby, a tech gathered three shell casings from outside the door and numbered the spots where they had fallen.

  Matt leaned over, and the tech handed him one of the shells. He examined the markings then gave it back. “Any more of these around?”

  The tech nodded. “Three more in the kitchen.”

  Matt glanced at Lucy. “Rifle casings. Any of the guns missing from Ethan’s collection?”

  “The gun cases were locked, and nothing appears to be missing. But we’ll check them out anyway.”

  The marble floor from the hallway continued inside the room, where a green and gold Persian rug covered most of the area. Two impressionist paintings hung on one wall across from the hearth, part of a priceless collection of original art. The fact they were still there ruled out robbery as a motive.

  Matt swallowed hard as his gaze moved closer. He’d learned to become detached at crime-scenes—a form of survival. If you didn’t disengage, you took it home with you. But when it was personal, the mechanism didn’t work.

  Ethan Grayson’s body rested in a large leather chair next to the fireplace. His head slumped forward on his chest, almost as if he had dozed off, except for a large, dark circle over his heart. Even in death, he had an enviable elegance. Not a tall man, yet his compact frame had held a sense of power. His dark eyes, always alight with humor and intelligence, were now dull and vacant.

  In a matching seat across from her husband, pretty Ann Grayson’s head rested against the chair back as though she’d turned to face the killer before the fatal shot left a gaping hole in her chest. Her face, ashen now, had delicate features and a wide, sensitive mouth. A passionate face in life, filled with wisdom and strength.