Munro Family: The Investigator Part 1

THE INVESTIGATOR.

The Munro Family Series.

Chris Taylor.

A woman who thought she could run away from her past...

At fourteen, Kate Collins ran away from home. Ten years later, her mother has disappeared without a trace. Faced with no other choice, she returns home. Kate's convinced her stepfather's responsible, but he's a highly decorated police officer. Who will take her accusations seriously?

Banished to a small country town after reporting his city superiors for corruption, Detective Riley Munro is never going to accuse the town's recently retired Police Commander of murder. But Kate's fear and distress seem genuine and her mother does seem to have disappeared. With reluctance, he agrees to investigate.

After making rudimentary enquires, he's told Kate's mother is on a cruise. The information pans out. On the verge of closing the case, Riley is taken by surprise when he receives a subtle threat from his boss, the new Police Commander, to leave Kate's stepfather alone.

Why would the new Commander feel the need to warn him off? With his instincts on alert, Riley digs deeper and discovers not only is Kate's mother in a wheelchair, she also hates the water.

Is Kate telling the truth? Is her stepfather, the former Police Commander, guilty of murder? Or is Riley allowing the sad vulnerability in Kate's beautiful eyes to cloud his judgement?

This book is dedicated to my amazing grandmother, Ivy Kosseris, who continues to inspire me, even at the age of ninety-six and as always, to my husband Linden, who is my very own strong and s.e.xy hero.

PROLOGUE.

Watervale, New South Wales.

Kate Collins crept through the darkened house. Her heart hammered. Fear clogged her throat. Her jaw was clenched and her lips were so taut, she could barely breathe.

She cracked open the back door. Its slight groan of protest sounded loud in the utter stillness. She froze, straining to hear the slightest noise, knowing he was a light sleeper.

Nothing.

She released what little breath she had in a rush. The house offered silent encouragement.

Careful to avoid the loose floorboard, she opened the door wider and made her way down the back stairs, her tattered sneakers noiseless on the scuffed concrete steps.

The gra.s.s, white with frost, crunched beneath her feet. She crept across the backyard, her muscles sluggish with cold and tension.

The shadows in the yard reached for her. She gritted her teeth against the rising panic and fisted her hands. Telling herself they were only trees, she forced her way past them in the pre-dawn light. In a couple of hours, he would know she was gone. By then, she'd be miles away.

The back fence loomed close in the dimness, sagging under the weight of an overgrown potato vine. Keeping a tight rein on her relief lest it be short-lived, she tossed her solitary bag to the other side and hoisted herself over the rusted barbed wire, careful not to catch her jeans on the vicious, teta.n.u.s-ridden points.

She landed on the other side and retrieved her backpack from the frozen ground, her numb fingers fumbling with the straps. She shrugged it onto her shoulders then jiggled it to distribute the weight of her meager belongings. She tucked her ponytail into her knitted beanie and tightened the sash of her old woolen coat. Her eyes closed on a brief prayer, seeking courage and a bus that was running on time.

She filled her lungs until they hurt, then started down the still-dark laneway, each step taking her farther away from the only home she could remember.

She didn't look back.

CHAPTER 1.

Ten years later.

Detective Riley Munro leaned backwards in his regulation black vinyl chair. Dropping his heavy boot-clad feet onto his desk, he stacked his hands behind his head and sighed. In just over an hour, his shift would be over and the weekend would be his.

A long hot shower and some fresh clothes were first on his list, followed immediately by an ice-cold beer. He'd just returned from Jack Sampson's dairy farm where he'd paddled around in mud and cow s.h.i.t while old man Sampson badgered him with infinitesimal details of the farmer's stolen prize-winning Jersey.

Riley had actually been paying attention until Sampson took him into the milking shed and he'd made the mistake of standing too close to the golden beasts. Their glossy, caramel-colored hides and black, soulful eyes were deceiving. Unaware of the perils of coming into close contact with confined cows, he'd been taken by surprise when a sluice of sloppy s.h.i.t disgorged from the nether regions of one of the beasts and drenched him from hip to ankle. Sampson had laughed his head off. Riley failed to see the joke.

Grimacing at the memory, he closed his eyes and sighed again. Thank G.o.d it was Friday. His mind drifted to the possibilities a couple of days off would afford. The very delectable Lucy would be more than willing to take his call. They'd only just met, but there was promise in her coquettish, green-eyed gaze and the sultry tilt of her chin. Besides, it was past time he forgot about Iris. It had been six months since she'd walked out on him, spouting excuses about why she didn't love him anymore and all the while, she already had her next lover lined up and ready to go.

Six months. More than enough time for him to get over her, even if it did sometimes feel like it only happened yesterday.

Anger and residual hurt seared through him. He ground his teeth and fought off the memories. It was bulls.h.i.t. He was a decent guy, one who deserved better than the Irises of the world.

He shook his head in an effort to clear it of his dark thoughts. Maybe he'd go down to The Bullet and swap shoptalk with the boys, have a game or two of pool and listen to a few tunes on the jukebox. Now that they'd kicked the smokers out, he didn't have to struggle against the persistent urge to light up. The bar would provide a modic.u.m of relief from the boredom he'd felt since his arrival in Watervale almost three months earlier.

He tamped down his irritation. It was his own fault he'd ended up in this backwater, after all. If he'd had the brains to shut his mouth and look the other way like all the others had, he would still be enjoying the action-packed, s.h.i.t-hot lifestyle of a city detective.

Instead, he'd gotten all moralistic. Taken the high road. And look where it got him. Doomed to shuffling paper in some forgotten country town.

The shrill ringing of the telephone on his desk interrupted his musings. Dropping his feet to the floor, he leaned over and picked up the receiver.

"Watervale Police."

He was greeted with silence and cleared his throat.

"It's Detective Munro. Can I help you?"

More seconds ticked by. With a m.u.f.fled curse, he went to hang up. And then he heard a sharp intake of breath. The faint sound gave him pause. He tried again.

"h.e.l.lo? Is anybody there?"

"My mother's missing. I think my stepfather's murdered her."

His gut tightened, both at her words and her tone. The husky voice brought to mind images of cigar smoke, whiskey and Demi Moore. But the accent was wrong. He struggled to place it.

"Excuse me? I'm not sure if I heard you right?"

"You heard me right."

The voice was firmer now, bristling with quiet efficiency.

"My mother's been missing for at least a month, maybe longer," the woman continued. "I'm sure that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's done something to her."

Riley straightened in his chair. The profanity coming from that voice was all wrong. Cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he reached for the notepad and pen on his desk and scribbled notes.

"Look, Miss...?"

"Collins," she eventually supplied. "Kate Collins."

"Okay, Miss Collins. You'll have to come into the station and make a statement. I'll need a full description of your mother-a recent photo would be good-and anything that makes you think she's met with foul play."

Another pause, and then, "I'm only in Watervale for the next fortnight. I need you to move on this right away. I'll be there in ten minutes."

The line went dead.

Riley stared at the phone in his hand and shook his head as his plans for the evening slipped away.

The door opened. His partner entered on a gust of wintery air. The ancient heating downstairs didn't have the strength to reach the cold concrete of the stairwell. Detective Chase Barrington sauntered toward him and then pulled up short. His hand waved back and forth in front of his face.

"Phew, Munro, you stink like s.h.i.t. Where the h.e.l.l have you been? You'd better go and find a shower, mate. In less than an hour, we'll be out of here. The ladies won't want to come within a mile of you smelling like that."

Riley grinned back at him. "I'm trying out a new blend of designer cologne-eau de cow c.r.a.p. What do you reckon?"

Chase didn't miss a beat. "I reckon you're full of s.h.i.t."

Riley laughed out loud. Chase grinned back at him and then raised a questioning brow. "So, who are we going to line up for you tonight? Sonia? Or maybe Sally will be there? Hang on, there was a new one last week. What was her name again? Lorraine? Lavinia?" He snapped his fingers, his face alight. "No, that's right. Lucy! She was all over you, mate. I'll bet if you give her a little more encouragement tonight, you'll be in."

Riley ducked his head and looked away. "Back off, Barrington," he muttered. "Who says I'm looking to get laid, anyway?"

"Are you kidding? I'm worried about you, Munro. You've been here nearly three months and I haven't seen you take home a single piece of a.s.s yet." Chase strolled over and propped his hip against Riley's desk, one leg swinging loosely like a pendulum as he eyed him somberly. "You do like girls, don't you?"

Heat flared in Riley's eyes and crept across his cheeks.

"Of course I do. It's just that... I'm just not..." He blew out his breath and looked away. "I've just come out of a relationship. It ended pretty badly. I'm happy to be going solo right now."

Chase winked at him. "Hey, nothing wrong with that. I love playing the field. Easy come, easy go. That's my motto." He leaned in close, his voice dropping lower. "I've lined up buxom Belinda tonight. The good news is, she's got this cousin who's also built in all the right places, if you know what I mean. She'd be happy to give her a call."

"Thanks, mate. But you go ahead. I just took a call from some lady who wants to report her mother missing. She's on her way in to make a statement," Riley replied, grateful for the excuse.

"Want me to sit in?"

"Nah, I wouldn't bother. Probably nothing to it. Besides, one of us might as well get a head start on our Friday night."

Chase hefted himself off Riley's desk, sending a pile of paperwork precariously close to the edge.

"All right, then, Munro. Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't offer." He headed toward the door and then turned briefly to throw over his shoulder, "See you Monday."

Kate turned the rental car into the graveled parking lot beside the Watervale Police Station and cut the ignition. Night was closing in and the air had a sharp bite to it. Darkness fell so much earlier in the winter. She'd almost forgotten how cold it could be here this time of year.

She shivered and couldn't say if it was from the cold or the tension that still knotted her belly. Surely, making the phone call had been the hardest part? Now all she had to do was enter the building. Push the memories away and walk inside.

Easy.

Drawing crisp air deep into her lungs, she released it one molecule at a time in an effort to still her insistent pulse. Think of your mother, Kate. She's never gone this long without contacting you. Something's not right. That's why you've finally found the courage to return. You've flown halfway around the world. Just get it over with.

The pep talk seemed to work. Guilt replaced some of her fear. She'd left her beloved mother in the care of a husband who was more monster than man and now it seemed she'd disappeared.

Tears burned behind Kate's eyes. She blinked them away, refusing to give herself the luxury of crying. Her mother was missing. It was Kate's fault and it was her responsibility to fix it. It was as simple as that.

She took a calmer breath and stepped out of the car. Tugging her coat around her, she locked the vehicle and tossed the keys into her handbag before squaring her shoulders and heading toward the illuminated doorway of the police station.

Kate glanced around her. The place was just as she remembered. The stringent smell of ammonia irritated her nostrils. Scored vinyl floor tiles that had weathered to dirty beige mocked her memory. She pushed the image aside and focused on the row of thin steel bars that guarded the opening above the reception desk.

She turned at a noise behind her. A strange smell seemed to emanate from the man who closed the distance between them, but it was his smile that captured her attention. Well-formed, masculine lips stretched open to reveal startlingly white, even teeth. Her gaze locked on his. She'd never seen eyes so dark-such a deep brown they were almost black-like his closely cropped hair. His eyes seemed to see straight through her. Her belly clenched with nerves.

"Miss Collins, I presume? I'm Detective Munro. We spoke on the phone."

His voice slid over her like warm toffee. His rich, latte-colored skin and the broadness of his nose hinted at aboriginal ancestry, but his accent bespoke a private school education. He wasn't in uniform, but he exuded the same air of deceptively casual authority she'd grown up with. Instinctively, she took a step back.

A slight frown marred his otherwise smooth forehead. Mistaking her reticence, he said, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't smell the best. I had a run in with a dairy cow. I was on my way home to shower and change when you called. Hopefully, we can get this over with quickly."

Without waiting for her reply, the detective turned and headed toward a stairwell at one end of the reception area.

Kate scanned the waiting area. It was after five-thirty. Keyboards had stilled. The ringing of phones was only sporadic. She'd deliberately chosen this time to minimize the likelihood of running into someone familiar.

She looked over toward the stairwell where the officer had disappeared. With a sigh of resignation, she walked toward it and started the ascent. She'd come this far. She might as well do what had to be done to finish it.

Riley Munro's thoughts centered on the woman who climbed the stairs behind him. Christ, she was a looker. More Gwyneth Paltrow than Demi Moore, but still beyond adequate compensation for the delay of his Friday night revelry.

She was younger than he'd pictured. Despite the blond hair pulled back into a tight, uncompromising bun, her face was clear and unlined. An expensive-looking black coat covered a pair of tailored charcoal-gray, woolen pants and concealed much of her tiny frame, but nothing could hide the ocean-deep blueness of her wide, wary eyes. Nor the full softness of her mouth that had fallen slightly open in surprise when he'd met her in reception. He was sure her reaction hadn't entirely been a consequence of his drenching in the dairy.

He was used to confusion and surprise from newcomers-as if banishment to the small country town perched in a far outpost of northern New South Wales wasn't punishment enough. When he'd shown up for his first shift in Watervale, it became clear he was the only aboriginal detective in town. During the ensuing months, he'd come to expect curious stares.

Slanting a look behind him, Riley watched as the woman reached the top of the stairs.

"Over here," he said, striding toward the nearest interview room.

She took a cautious step forward and then hesitated. Her gaze darted around the squad room, glancing off the jumble of vacant desks.

"It's change over," he said by way of explanation. "Most of the day shift's gone home. Night shift's doing a hand-over in the tearoom."

Her gaze clashed with his. The wariness in her eyes had intensified to something that looked akin to fear. He wondered at her curious reaction, unable to ascertain what might have caused it.

"I-I'm... I'm s-sorry," she stuttered, her gaze skittering away from his. "Maybe there's someone else who could do this? You're on your way out. I don't want to keep you..."