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Chapter 9
Dale wasn’t sure what he’d expected Heather to say, but the calm, matter-of-fact recitation of the attack surprised him. That ability to detach in the heat of the moment would be an asset if she ever chose to apply herself to a career in law enforcement.
Bingham listened intently, nodding once when she finished. “Anything to add, Nichols?”
“Only that I’d forgotten to set my security system when we left in a rush this morning. Might have prevented this whole mess.”
Bingham shrugged as if none of that mattered. “We both know a determined criminal usually succeeds.”
Dale’s instincts kicked into a higher gear. Was Bingham warning them? He didn’t want to believe his boss was involved, but someone with serious clout in the justice system was enabling Lester’s operation.
“Is anything missing?” Bingham’s gaze roamed over the room, landing lightly on Heather’s bag and then the gun on the floor. He frowned at the crowbar currently being tagged as evidence.
“Not in here,” Dale replied, willing Heather to stay quiet.
“Miss Morris?”
Damn it. He didn’t know if she would trust Bingham—as logic dictated—or hold back—as he hoped.
Heather shook her head. “Someone searched my bag, but everything is still there.”
“I see.”
Dale thought it likely that Bingham saw too much. Despite the inherent risks in both of his careers, Dale rarely felt pure fear on the job. There had been moments of uncertainty, when lives —including his—had been on the line, but this was different.
He’d caught the brief flash of recognition in Bingham’s eyes when the team had hauled the perp to his feet.
Of course Dale had purposely left the security system turned off. More than likely his boss suspected as much. Offering his home as a temptation had paid off, giving them another clue about how far this criminal ring would go to stay in the game. He’d expected an intrusion and a thorough examination of his property in an effort to derail the dogfighting investigation. He’d never anticipated a personal attack.
Fool me once, he thought, with no small amount of frustration. But Lester had fooled him twice. Twice in one day. Being so far behind in the score didn’t sit well.
“Let’s do a walk through and then I’ll let you get on with your lives.”
“That would be great, sir. We were looking forward to the weekend.”
“As you should be.” Bingham clapped him on the shoulder and grinned at Heather. “Life’s far too short. You should celebrate the milestones every chance you get.”
Dale caught Heather’s hand in his as they left the bedroom and headed for the space he had designated as his office. Had it been just last night that they’d argued about who would sleep where?
“Glad you’re not this messy at the office,” Bingham said, taking in the cluttered desktop.
“Damn it.” Dale scowled at the scattered paper and upturned trash can. “I assure you, I didn’t have anything sensitive here, sir.” He reached for the power button on his laptop, realizing it was in sleep mode, rather than powered off. Someone had taken full advantage of his open invitation. The violation would’ve pissed him off if it hadn’t been exactly what he’d wanted an intruder to do.
“That’s your personal computer.”
“Yes, sir. It stays right here. My resolution this year is to leave business at the office now that I have a personal life.” He rubbed Heather’s hand between his, more than a little impressed at how well she followed his lead.
“Smart,” Bingham said, frowning once more at the desk. “We’ll need this dusted for prints,” he muttered. “I’ll have the techs come through after you’re on your way.” He gestured at the chair. “Humor me and check for any kind of breach.”
“Yes, sir.” Dale released Heather and sank into the chair to evaluate which files—if any—had been compromised on his computer.
“Well?” Bingham leaned over his shoulder, pulling out a pair of reading glasses to get a better look. “What were they after?”
Dale interpreted every move the man made as a sign of guilt, suddenly impatient with the presumption of innocence. “This may not have anything to do with a case, sir. Looks like my personal email was compromised and they attempted to get into my bank account.”
“Well they chose the wrong target, didn’t they?”
“Yes, sir.” If the roles were reversed, Dale would have left the same breadcrumbs in order to distract or possibly fool his target. Clearly whoever had been picking apart his hard drive had been convinced they had plenty of time for the task. Getting them out of the house might be the real motivation behind the shelter attack, but it didn’t explain the murder.
