Hidden in Darkness (An Emily O'Brien novel #7)

By M.R. Miller

Two grisly murders shatter the illusion of safety in the sleepy town of Clarkstown. And Christopher Potter, known for his trouble with police, insists he’s the one who did it. Just days after pleading guilty in spectacular fashion, he demands an interview with Winston Chronicle reporter Emily O’Brien, who reluctantly agrees to meet with him. The tale he spins brings into question what actually happened that night and whether Potter acted alone – and whether he’s really guilty at all. As Emily tries to track down the truth, tragedy strikes close to home, forcing her to evaluate her relationships and her future. But not everyone wants the truth of what happened in Clarkstown to come to light. And someone is willing to kill to keep that secret.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.R. Miller
• Release date: Oct 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370107742

M.R. Miller

I was a journalist for about twelve years with a daily newspaper in the Midwest and am now the author of the Emily O’Brien series. When I’m not writing, I enjoy reading, hiking, cooking, gardening and spending time with my family.

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Hidden in Darkness

An Emily O’Brien novel

By M.R.Miller

© 2017 M.R. Miller

All rights reserved. No reproduction of this work is authorized without prior written consent from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, dialogue and plot are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to people, living or dead, or actual events are entirely coincidental.

Published by M.R. Miller at Smashwords.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®.Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Author’s Note

Each book in the Emily O’Brien series is a standalone novel (no cliffhangers, I promise) but the characters and events do develop and unfold over the course of each book so reading them in order is recommended to avoid any unintentional spoilers.

If you are new to the Emily O’Brien series, welcome! Here’s what you should know. The books have Christian themes. But these themes play out in the real world, and that world includes not-so-nice elements, including some profanity, that I’ve chosen to include for the sake of authenticity. If either of these elements bothers you (Christianity or profanity), then this might not be the series for you. That’s okay; not every book is right for every reader. But I hope you’ll give it a try with an open mind.

If you are a returning reader, thank you so much for taking this journey with me. Happy reading!

Chapter 1

The last thing I needed this morning was a phone call.

Is this the Chronicle?

Her conspiratorial whisper already had my radar up. I could also hear the age in her voice, the slight shake as she spoke. I really, really didn’t have time to talk about dogs running loose or loud neighbors. I had twenty minutes to finish the police blotter before heading out to court. But, she was a reader. I’d picked up the phone instead of letting it go to voicemail. I was now on the hook.

Yes.

I live in Clarkstown, on Hickory Lane, and there’s a police car at the house across my street.

Is that so? Her whisper was fading; her voice sounding more confident.

Yes. And two officers got out and have been inside all this time. I think something is going on.

News tips were fairly common. Some of them were ridiculous but a few were legit. I was already thinking this was going to be something innocuous.

Okay…

It’s been an hour.

Maybe your neighbor is reporting a crime.

They just wheeled out a body on a stretcher. It was in a bag. I wanted you to know so you could investigate.

I’m sure what she wanted was to know what was going on. Still, I reasoned out the situation. It was always possible it was just a routine death. People died at home every day but then cops wouldn’t be there for an hour. It had to be something more.

Thanks for the tip, I said, taking down her name and number before hanging up the phone. Clarkstown was small enough that finding Hickory Street wouldn’t be too hard.

I grabbed my notebook, poking my head into my editor’s office. Bill Marshall was proofing pages, with his glasses pushed up on his head of wiry, white hair.

Hey, just got a tip that they’re taking a body out of a house in Clarkstown. Police are there.

You’re kidding? In Clarkstown?

Well, it was an older lady who called. It could be nothing. But the cops have been there an hour. Do you want me to go?

Yeah, probably, just in case.

I’ll call you when I know anything, I said. Oh, and the blotter is done and is ready for edit. If there’s a problem, the reports are on my desk. And someone else will have to pick up the Mathis trial. It’s just an update. Nothing hard.

I’ll get Caputo on it.

Great. Evan Caputo would do nothing but gripe about picking up my assignment. He’d probably try to guilt me into taking his next county board meeting. The little jerk. But I’d deal with that later.

I left the newsroom and went to my Jeep, then drove the ten miles to Clarkstown, which was situated west of Winston along the Illinois River. It was a town of around a thousand people. The main industry was a plant that processed sand to be used in automobile glass, a gravel quarry and some great taverns. It also wasn’t far from a couple of state parks so there were tourist shops in town as well.

I made a few wrong turns before finding Hickory, a short, quiet street lined with nice houses. Two squad cars from the sheriff’s department were there along with a Clarkstown Police car. I parked down the street and approached on foot.

As I came to the front of the yard, I noticed a few deputies putting up the crime scene tape. Rick Guthrie was one of the officers. He nodded as he saw me approach, casting a smirk my way. He had a reputation as a ladies man and he never missed the chance to flirt. I knew he’d dated my predecessor, Rosemary Lostant, but only for a few months. I think it ended amicably, though it was hard to say for sure. I tried to avoid that kind of gossip.

Hey there, he called.

Hey. Got a call that someone died here.

You know I can’t talk to you about that. Not unless you give me a reason to.

I rolled my eyes. How about I not tell the rest of the department what Lostant told me about your dates.

He frowned. What would that be?

I laughed. Don’t look so worried. I know how to keep my mouth shut.

No, seriously, what did she say?

Nothing. It was a joke. So what have you got?

He came closer and dropped his voice so no one else could hear. For a second I thought he was going to give me the lowdown on the death. Wrong. I heard you’re not dating Craig Caldwell anymore.

I snorted. That’s putting it mildly.

End badly?

You could say that.

He shrugged. His loss.

I’m dating someone else. I figured I should just head any other ideas off at the pass.

Anyone I know?

No. He doesn’t live around here.So back to my original question. What’s going on?

He bit his lip. I knew he wanted to tell me. Cops could be pretty big gossips if they trusted you to keep your mouth shut. For the most part, I’d earned that trust, keeping off the record things that were told to me on the side. It was part of the job.

You better talk to the sheriff.

That bad?

He nodded.

Where is he?

Inside. I’ll get him.

I watched him walk up to the house, a large single story home, with brick and cedar siding, high pitched roof and carefully trimmed landscaping. He crossed the paved sidewalk and went into the house. A few minutes later, the Ochre County sheriff came out.

He was nothing like his counterpart in Winston. Whereas Winston Police Chief Jeremiah Chapel was a cowboy who liked to do his own thing, Kale Bourne was straight-laced and by the book. He kept his head shaved, making him look older than he likely was. He never smiled – at least not that I’d ever seen – and his glasses completed that serious look.He walked up to me at the edge of the crime scene.

Emily, he said with a nod.

Sheriff. What’s going on?

I’m going to have a press conference in an hour. I don’t want one bit of this leaked before then.

I got what he was saying. He’d give me the information but I couldn’t release it until after the press conference. Still, it would help that I would be ready to slap the news on the web before my competition, maybe even make today’s edition, which was printed at noon. That’s the best I could hope for.

Not a word.

Two bodies. Married couple.

Names?

Not yet. Next of kin still needs to be notified. Maybe by noon.

What happened?

Beaten to death. With what, I don’t know. Still waiting for the coroner’s report.

Motive?

Well, we’re not sure yet. But it looks like a break-in, though it doesn’t look like much is missing.

Drug addict?

Maybe. Someone looking for money. We’re checking it out.

When did it happen?

Still waiting on the coroner for that, but it had to be last night some time based on the condition of the bodies and the house. The woman volunteered at the library in Manaqua. She always came in early and cleaned out the overnight drop box. When she didn’t show, another librarian called her. No answer so she came right over to check on her. She found the bodies.

How old are they? It seemed odd that someone would rush over that quickly. Maybe the woman had a medical condition or was elderly.

It’s hard to say with the condition of the bodies. We’ll know more later. And I can confirm what I already told you at the conference.

Got it. Thanks, I said, closing my notebook. This is a nice subdivision.

He looked around at the other houses. All of the yards were perfectly landscaped and the homes were well maintained. Not a bad egg in the bunch. I can’t remember the last time we had a call here. Probably not the whole time I’ve been here.

Not much crime in Clarkstown in general.

That’s the truth. He turned to go back toward the house. Not a word, O’Brien, he warned.

Nothing until you say so.

We’re setting up a command center at the village hall. That’s where I’ll be speaking. He glanced at his watch. I’ve already put the word out to your colleagues. See you in about forty-five minutes.

I left and went to Clarkstown’s downtown area and pulled up in front of its library, which was about the size of a shed. I hadn’t thought to bring a laptop so I needed to use a computer. It would be dumb for me to drive all the way back to Winston just to turn back again. I was pretty sure they’d have at least one.

I called Bill. He confirmed that a press release had been faxed to the newsroom. It was vague, he said, saying only there had been a death in Clarkstown and more information would be available at the press conference.

I went inside the library and asked to use a computer. As I feared, there was just one, but fortunately no one was using it. I opened my email account to begin writing my story. When it was done, I sent it to Bill and told him to hold it until after the press conference unless he wanted Bourne to never speak to me again. He called me back a few minutes later. I went outside to take the call.

This is big news for Ochre County. Think he’ll give the names?

I’m hoping.

We’re going to hold the front page for this and screw the deadline. We can be a few minutes late today. Call as soon as the press conference is over and I’ll have another reporter go over the story with you rather than wait for you to get back.

Okay.

Ariel is on her way to get a photo of the house and then the meeting. What was the address again?

I gave it to him and hung up. I went back inside to gather my things. I decided to leave my Jeep where it was and walk the two blocks. Some of the other news agencies had already arrived so I went inside and found a seat in the council chambers. If you could call it that.

The Clarkstown Village Board met above the village garage. It was a tiny room that would have seated about fifteen comfortably in the audience but they had twenty-some chairs crammed in there. The air conditioner – a window unit – let out a high-pitch whine when it kicked on and a trickle of water ran to a pan on the floor.

Two large tables took up most of the front of the room, normally providing seating for the six trustees and the mayor, along with the village clerk and attorney, during monthly meetings. Today those seats were occupied by law enforcement officers. The room was stuffy, and as more people came in, the crowded room became crushed.

Jack Pence, who wrote for the Manaqua Times, took the spot next to me at the last minute. The Times was our biggest competition in Clarkstown. Manaqua and Winston were about twenty-five miles apart along the Illinois River and approximately the same size at around twenty thousand people. Clarkstown, much smaller, was directly in between, marking it the border between our coverage areas. Both papers covered the little town, though it wasn’t either paper’s primary stomping grounds.

Jack’s ruddy face flushed even redder than normal as he plopped into the seat, still breathing hard from presumably running to get here on time. Bourne didn’t like it when people were late.

Do you know what this is about? he asked.

I just shrugged nonchalantly.

All I’ve got is this fax, he probed.

What does it say?

Didn’t you get one?

Nah. I haven’t been in the office this morning. I just heard I was supposed to be here.

Sheriff Bourne stepped to the front of the room and cleared his throat. The room quickly fell silent. Early this morning, we were called to a home here in Clarkstown after two bodies were discovered.

The rest of his statement was pretty much what he had told me, all basic facts with no detail. Police rarely spilled too many details to make sure it didn’t mess up the investigation.

The coroner has given us the go-ahead to release the names. Gerald Less, age sixty-nine, and Marilyn Less, age sixty-six. Married. Both were residents of the home, the only residents of the home.

Do you have any information about the murder weapon, cause of death? Pence asked.

We’re not releasing that information at this time.

Motive? Kelly Epson, a reporter from WSTN-radio, called.

We believe the killing may have been committed as part of a robbery, but we’re not sure yet.

What kind of leads are you pursuing? I asked.

I’m not ready to say, but I think we may release more details in the next day or so. I will once again alert the news media for a press conference. The village has agreed to let us use this room for a field office while we continue our investigation.

Bourne stepped away and began gathering up his things to leave. I hurried outside and called Bill so we could finish the story and get the press rolling. He answered, and then transferred me to Caputo. I pushed aside my normal reluctance to work with him and gave him the names and ages, and added some quotes about pursuing leads, the possible robbery and declining to give further information. I made him read it all back to me until I was satisfied. He promised to give it to Bill.

So…uh…who gets the top billing with the byline? If we go alphabetically…

Are you kidding me?

I hung up, walked back to the Jeep and headed to the office, trying not to think of ways to strangle Caputo and get away with it. I wasn’t a glory hound. Had it been anyone else, I wouldn’t have even cared. But no one else would have even asked that question. I’d been here all morning. Of course it was my story.

As I drove, I pushed aside my annoyance with Caputo in light of a bigger problem. I could see my plans for the weekend unraveling. I let out a frustrated sigh.I was supposed to be getting off early tomorrow and driving to Mt. Compton to see Brian and his girls for the weekend. It was our chance to get better acquainted before our big trip to St. Louis in a few weeks. The St. Louis trip to see the Cards play the Cubs was part of my birthday present from way back in November. I’d already arranged a long weekend for that. For this weekend I just planned to get my forty hours in early enough that I could get down there by supper time. But I couldn’t leave with a double murder pending. It would be my luck to be four hours away when they picked up the person who did it.

Brian was supposed to call me tonight after he got the girls to bed. I’d break the news to him then. Abby and Kara now lived with him full time since his ex-wife was having a hard time staying sober. The circumstances stunk, but after so many years of the girls living with their mom, I knew he enjoyed seeing them every day. He loved his kids. As I drove, I grumbled to myself about the stupid timing of this case. But, I decided, I didn’t care what was going on when it was time to go to St. Louis. I wasn’t passing on that time off even if the killer announced his plans to confess in the middle of downtown Clarkstown. Forget my reputation as a diehard. Other things had become more important.

Chapter 2

The crack of the bat jarred my muscles into acting reflexively, sending me diving into the dirt to snag the ball that screamed down the third baseline. The hard ground bumped unforgivingly against my hip and shoulder – something I didn’t remember from when I played ball as a kid.

Getting older sucks, I thought.

But I’d managed to grab the ball before it touched the dirt. One out. The opposing team was definitely better than we were, mostly college kids playing for a local tavern. They had just the minimum number of women required for the co-ed league, but I wasn’t sure that if we did chromosome testing they would actually be female.

Our church league had players of all ages and skill levels. At first, the team had been at the bottom of the standings each year but they had fun. When I joined, I’d brought a certain element of competitiveness – not entirely welcome since it dimmed the amount of fun anyone had. But we had started winning more. I didn’t know any other way to play, having played baseball through my sophomore year of high school until my aunt and uncle found out and put an end to it. My father, who had a very short stint in the minor, then major leagues, had taught his only daughter everything he knew about the sport until he died when I was fifteen. And I felt it was my duty to share it – welcome or not.

I watched the next batter come up to the plate. I was pretty sure he was already half in the bag, but last time he’d been up, he’d hit it over the fence. Pastor Greg was pitching this time, though, and I hoped he knew enough to keep the ball on the corners rather than serving up something he could tee off on. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to matter what Greg threw. This guy was looking for another homerun and he swung big on one low and outside. I watched, frustrated, as the ball sailed into the outfield, headed for the fence.

Craig Caldwell sprinted hard to catch up with the ball in left field before it cleared the barrier. He jumped, grabbing the ball, as the runner on second tagged up and began racing to third. The runner would easily beat the throw and round to home plate. Our only hope was to get him there. But instead of throwing the ball to Jeff Johnson, who had moved from shortstop to field the ball, Craig tried to make the throw himself, hurling the ball in a sharp arc. The catcher had to move up from the base to get a line on the ball as it fell from the sky. The runner crossed home long before the ball dropped.

What was that? I yelled at Craig. Did you think Jeff was standing out there for his health? Hit the cutoff. That’s basic Little League. Come on.

All eyes were on me, surprised at my reaction. While I could nag or push, I had never screamed at anyone.Craig grimaced and looked away. Instead of apologizing, I kicked the dirt and bent over so my hands were on my knees, waiting for the next batter. We had two outs now and I wanted to shut them down before more damage was done.

That wasn’t fair, a nagging thought chewed on the edge of my brain.

He deserved it, I countered.

Greg made the next play off a dribbler hit to him on the mound, and it was our turn. Last at-bat. We needed three runs to win, two to tie. Based on where we were in the lineup, I didn’t hold out a lot of hope. But that was okay. I actually thought losing six to four to a team of this caliber wasn’t too bad for us. We’d held our own.

Jeff caught up with me as we walked to the dugout.

That was kind of harsh, even for you, he said.

I just shrugged.

Come on, Em. I know you’re still mad at him, but don’t take it out on him at the baseball field. No one wants to hear that. And it makes our church look bad. We’re supposed to be witnesses, you know.

I sighed. I guess.

He nudged my shoulder with his and tried to coax a smile. Nice snag at third.

I smirked. Flattery won’t work.

What will?

By then we were back at the dugout so I didn’t have to answer. As Jeff prepared to bat, I sat down on the bench. Jon Parks took the seat next to me. He was almost as competitive as I was.

Too bad we weren’t at the top of the order.

Yeah, but we’re not. At least we didn’t get slaughtered.

Three batters up. Three outs. It was over. As I gathered up my gear, Mattie, Jeff’s wife and my best friend, came up to the fence.

Want to come over for awhile? Or do you have plans with Brian?

I wouldn’t call them plans, but he’s not calling until later.

Then come by.

I agreed and walked out to my Jeep Cherokee. When I got to Mattie’s, she’d left the door open for me. She had made strawberry shortcake and was dishing it up for Lydia, who was seven, and Sam, who was eleven.

Want some?

Sure.

She shooed the kids into the living room with Jeff, who had flipped on the Cubs game.

Let’s take ours outside.

That’s when I knew I was in trouble.

We sat on the picnic table and ate the dessert in silence. I decided to head her off at the pass.

I know what you’re going to say. I shouldn’t have chewed Craig out at the game.

No, you shouldn’t have.

But I’m not going to apologize.

I didn’t think you would.

I’m still angry at him.

I know. And so does everyone at church and everyone at the ball games. You can’t be anywhere near him without going icy cold. Or losing your temper.

Do you blame me?

No. I understand. Really. I’m mad at him, too. What he did was wrong.

More than wrong. I don’t understand how he could be so selfish. And manipulative. And deceitful.

Craig and I had tried unsuccessfully to date while Brian and I were taking a break, a break prompted by his ex-wife’s manipulations but something he needed to work out