AS GOVERNOR MULLS SENATE RUN, Decades-Old Cold Case Rears Its Head

Governor’s Connection to 27-Year Unsolved Multiple Murder Surfaces

Both the LA Times and the local Long Beach paper had detailed stories on the Triple Seven, and both papers were waiting for Abby when she finally made it to her office.

“Who put these on my desk?” she asked Roper.

“Woody stopped by on his way home. He dropped them off.”

Abby sat and scanned them. Reporters had stopped calling her. From news reports she gathered they really wanted a comment from the governor, but he hadn’t issued one yet.

Abby had been summoned to the DC’s office first thing that morning. It did her no good to explain to Cox that she had not revealed who she was to the press. Rollins or Murphy could have. Gunther certainly wasn’t giving up his source. But as far as the DC was concerned, it was her fault. Surprisingly, it was the issue of the YouTube video that seemed to mollify the deputy chief. While Cox chastised her for taking such a dangerous leap, the video cast the department in a positive light, and that was a good thing for LBPD even if the Triple Seven still rankled.

“The last I checked, you have made no progress on the Jenkins murder; is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How can you presume to work an old open-unsolved when you have current, fresh cases on your desk? Not that you would even be allowed to investigate the murders of your own parents, for heaven’s sake!” She threw her hands up and paced. Abby stood in front of the DC’s desk, doing her best to appear unmoved.

“All of this news coverage has caused the chief to cut his vacation short. He’s on his way back as we speak.”

“I admit I spoke to Gunther, but he was the original reporter —”

Cox waved her quiet, but Abby knew now the core reason for her anger: the chief was coming back, which meant Cox would no longer be acting chief of police.

Cox faced her, hands on hips. “The damage is done. All we can do is try to contain the blowback. But I want you to know that if for some reason the Triple Seven case is reactivated, it will be handled by Carney and O’Reilly, not Hart and Roper. Is that clear?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Good. And I want you to give a brief statement to press relations about why and how you kept your identity quiet for so long in case the chief wishes to give an official comment on it.”

With a wave of her hand, Abby was dismissed.

She visited community relations and gave a statement to the officer on duty. The woman was happy to have something to put in a press release, telling Abby the news channels were driving them crazy.

Abby was perplexed. “They stopped calling me. I knew this would be news, but I admit I never thought it’d be this big. Why am I such a big deal?”

“You’re not,” she said with a laugh. “But the connection to the governor is huge.”

Woody had said as much, Abby thought as she walked back to her office. Rollins makes all the difference. And I’ll bet, in more ways than one.

“Let’s go work on Jenkins,” she said, setting the newspapers aside.

She and Bill left the station and walked the neighborhood around the victim’s business, talking to people without uncovering anything new. When they returned to the station, she gathered her purse to leave for her meeting with Luke.

“Anything wrong?” Bill asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Just annoyed by all the press.” She opened her ancient Rolodex, something left to her by Asa. Since they were on the Jenkins case and Gunther had cryptically mentioned Crunchers, the reporter needed to be recontacted. But Abby didn’t have the energy to field any of Gunther’s inquiries about her past. One excellent perk of having a partner was being able to share.

“Do me a favor; call Walter Gunther.” She gave him the card with Gunther’s number. “He gave me the Crunchers lead on the Jenkins murder. See if he has any more to add.”

Immediately interest sparked in his features, and as Abby turned to leave, Roper picked up the phone.

Wish everyone was that easy to please, she thought.

All the way out to her car, she wondered at the wisdom of meeting Murphy. She almost called to cancel, but the phone rang before she could dial. It was DA Drew calling to say Lil’ Sporty was indeed ready to cut a deal.

“That was fast,” Abby said, surprised and a little relieved. Death penalty cases were often tough and drawn out.

“He’s remorseful, according to his public defender. He’s also on suicide watch.”

“Probably more because he’s in forced detox than anything else. Are you going to deal?”

“Only with the death penalty. We’ll take that off the table. Nothing else.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Abby hung up, certain Davis was her killer and knowing that without direct evidence, a jury trial could be a coin flip. The jury pool watched too many TV crime shows. They wanted to be wowed by DNA and supersecret crime lab techniques. Though Abby knew she’d give solid testimony, she wasn’t an eyewitness and she couldn’t show them a direct DNA match. She was too pragmatic not to appreciate that a sure conviction was a good thing.

Second Street was busy but not horrible for afternoon. At noon the area was usually packed. Abby parked the plain car and sent dispatch a message saying she was code 7, out to lunch.

She saw Murphy as soon as she got out of the car. He stood on the sidewalk at the corner of Java Shack. He turned, and when she saw recognition in his expression, butterflies erupted in her stomach, a reaction she couldn’t fathom. I love Ethan, she thought. I don’t even like this guy.

Working to keep her face as blank as if she were going to interview a suspect, Abby walked up to him. “Thanks for meeting me.” She extended her hand.

Murphy took it in a rough, strong grip. “Believe me, it’s my pleasure. But why the frown? Do you have bad news?”

Mouth suddenly dry, Abby couldn’t believe he’d read her so easily.

“Sorry; the press has been persistent to say the least.”

He arched an eyebrow in understanding, then turned to open the door to the Shack. Abby entered first with Murphy right behind her. They both ordered coffee before finding an open table in the back.

“I was surprised by your call,” Murphy said once they sat.

Not as surprised as I was that I made it, Abby thought. But what she said was “It was a no-brainer. We both want the same thing. I saw you on TV and heard that you’ve been investigating the Triple Seven for a while. You’ve studied my parents?”

He nodded, and Abby sipped her coffee, nerves surfacing, wanting something familiar to settle them.

“When I put together a file, it was obvious that your folks were the targets, not my uncle. I tried to talk to the lead investigators but they were both retired. They were less than helpful, seemed to think I was criticizing their investigation.” He tapped the table with two fingers. “I only wanted to help.”

“Don’t take it personal. It’s a sore spot that the crime never was solved.”

“Are you going to work the case?”

Abby shook her head. “I’ve memorized the investigation. Now that everyone knows who I am, I’ve been told that I’m too close. If the case is investigated, Carney and O’Reilly will be assigned.”

“I know them; they’re good guys. But that has to be rough. I mean, you tell Rollins who you are —I would imagine to get information to activate the case —but that ends up making it impossible for you to investigate the case.”

Abby sat back, amazed he could see the whole picture so quickly. Her identity was the only thing she had to wager, and she’d staked everything on being able to elicit info from Rollins and lost.

Finally she sighed. “I hoped he’d talk to me. I also hoped he’d show some interest in finally resolving the case. It was a long shot.”

“With you investigating?”

It felt like he had punched her. “I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.”

“Yeah, but he sure didn’t seem to want to talk about it,” she managed, hoping she didn’t sound as jumbled as she felt.

“He did have a strange reaction. It’s important for you to close this case, isn’t it?”

Meeting his gaze and seeing the intensity there unnerved Abby for a minute. She played with her engagement ring and looked away before answering. “Of course. The murders of my parents changed my life. I drove myself to make it to homicide to find the killers.” She stopped, feeling old anger and hatred boil up, emotions she thought she’d buried forever. Dede’s words rang in her mind: “Don’t let the quest for justice become your god.”

“I get it,” Murphy said simply, and Abby knew he did. His eyes calmed her and validated her anger all at the same time.

She sipped her coffee.

“I don’t know how you stayed away from it for so long. I’d have been ramming my head against walls, shouting in the streets, probably gotten myself fired by now.”

Abby smiled and studied the design on her coffee cup. “At first it wasn’t easy. When I got hired, of course the background investigator knew but kept it confidential for Asa and Woody. Then during training, there was so much to learn about being a cop. When I finally did reach homicide, Asa was my partner and he really wanted me to leave well enough alone. And when my fiancé found out . . . he also wanted me to stay quiet.”

“What’s he say now?”

“He and my aunt both worry about my safety.” She cleared her throat, not really wanting to talk about Ethan with Luke Murphy. “After working homicide for four years, I’ve seen how much an arrest and conviction can help the victim’s friends and family. It can’t put things back the way they were, but it does provide a measure of stability, I guess. Something they can lean back against and say, ‘This bad thing happened, but there’s justice in the end,’ you know?”

“I do. I want my uncle’s killer dealt with.” His warm gaze regarded her, and the perusal made her shift in her seat. “You called me,” he said. “I’m assuming it’s because of this case. You want to talk to me about it?”

She wondered how to tell him what she wanted. He could refuse, and then how would she gracefully back out? But her parents’ murders were too important for her not to try.

“I’d like to compare notes.”

Murphy sat back and Abby relaxed. He was intrigued; he wasn’t going to say no.

“How would you like to have dinner at my house tonight? Bring your files and we’ll go over everything.”

Abby stiffened. “It’s not a date.”

Murphy reddened and held his hands up. “Sorry; I didn’t mean it that way. You just told me you’re engaged. I live with my folks and my daughter. I just thought we’d be more comfortable going over everything in an informal environment.”

Sipping her coffee, Abby struggled to keep her expression neutral. The invitation caught her off guard because she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Did she want Murphy at her house? No.

“That might work,” she said after a long minute of awkward silence. “Would you mind if I brought my dog?”