Deadly Past

by Kris Rafferty

  He panicked, fearing she’d confess to a murder she didn’t commit. “I’m guilty,” Charlie said. Guilty of loving her.

  A feeling of peace settled on him, even though tears welled in Cynthia’s eyes, because his confession stopped her potential confession from having legitimacy. For now, anyway. He hadn’t given up on the investigation clearing his name. He’d only given up on Cynthia’s ability to keep herself out of trouble.

  Cynthia’s jaw dropped, her shock evident. “What have you done?”

  “Paid a debt,” Charlie whispered. He couldn’t save Terrance, but he could save his little sister. Cynthia blanched, and her eyes glazed over. For a moment, the room was silent as Cynthia swayed, looking moments from fainting. He reached for her, but his cuffs stopped him from leaving the table. “Catch her, Modena,” Charlie snapped.

  “Damn.” Modena reached for Cynthia, but she slapped his hand away, stepping back, inhaling sharply. Modena turned to Benton. “The cameras were off. We don’t have that on tape.”

  Cynthia locked eyes with Charlie. He winked, because he’d known that when he’d spoken. She glared the moment she recognized his strategy, and then she lunged at him, grabbed his jumpsuit’s lapel, and gave him a fierce tug, her face inches in front of his.

  “No more games,” she growled. “You hear me? You shut up. Just keep your damn mouth shut while I figure this out.”

  He was counting on it, so he winked again, and then lifted his cuffed wrists. “Until then, I’m indisposed, so I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry it up, please.”

  Cynthia’s chin quivered as she searched his eyes, and then she covered his mouth with a long, lingering kiss. Charlie allowed himself to enjoy it, to linger with her, and forced Cynthia to be the one to break their kiss.

  “I… I…” She looked as if she wanted to say something to him, but held back for some reason. “Just don’t say anything.”

  “Deming, outside,” Modena said. When Cynthia didn’t move, but just held Charlie’s jumpsuit by the collar, fists bunched in the orange material, Modena cleared his throat. “Charlie?” Modena said quietly. “Will you tell your wife I’m about to throw her over my shoulder if she doesn’t leave the room on her own steam?”

  Charlie’s cheek kicked up, his gaze still locked with his wife’s. “Cynthia, if Modena lays a hand on you, I promise I’ll knock him flat.”

  Modena sighed, hands on his hips. “Well, that’s not productive.”

  Cynthia sniffed, nodded, and then left the room without saying another word.

  The red light was soon lit on the security camera, and Charlie knew they wanted him to play his greatest hits, like confessing to a massacre he didn’t commit, but Cynthia asked for time, so time is what he’d give her. Now it was the only thing he had to give.

  He smiled at the special agents. “She loves me,” Charlie said. Benton nodded. Modena’s frown deepened. “Hey,” Charlie said. “I was wondering. Does your team have any evidence that I didn’t give you, or couldn’t have been planted by your industrious anonymous source?” Benton and Modena exchanged disgruntled frowns. “Yeah,” Charlie said. “I didn’t think so. Doesn’t that seem odd?”

  As one, the two special agents nodded. Then Benton turned to the security camera and drew his finger across his neck again. The red light blinked out. “About that,” Benton said. “Modena and I have a theory we’d like to run by you.”

  Charlie studied the two agents’ expressions, and for the first time since he’d become entangled in the Chinatown Massacre, he felt as if things were going his way.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cynthia’s head was pounding as she rushed down the hall, pushing through the incident room’s door. Though she’d had a headache to some degree since she’d woken in the safe house, it had turned into a raging headache. Too much going on, and not enough time to process. The door slammed against the wall as she scanned the room and saw Vivian O’Grady and Special Agent Gilroy standing around the monitor, watching the interview continue between Charlie and the other team members. Their heads had swiveled toward her when the door bounced off the wall.

  “They shut off the monitor, then turned it back on, and then shut it off again,” Vivian said. “Do you know why?”

  Vivian’s brown hair was pulled back into a chignon, and her brow was furrowed. She dressed like a librarian from the fifties. All buttoned up, bow at the neck, pearls at her throat. Vivian smoothed her palms over her tweed skirt, making Cynthia think she was wiping nervous sweat. Cynthia sympathized. She couldn’t remember the last time she was this stressed. Gilroy was scowling, studying Cynthia as if the monitor glitch had been her fault.

  “Don’t look at me. Ask Benton,” she said, hurrying to her desk, dropping her handbag onto the neat surface. “He’s running the show.”

  Gilroy tilted his head toward the monitor. “Charlie going mute Benton’s idea, too? Or was that yours?”

  “He’s my husband,” Cynthia said. “What do you think, Gilroy?” She turned to the IT specialist. “Vivian, do you have Tylenol? My head is killing me, and I used the last in my bag.” She sat, pulling desk drawers open, searching for a medicine bottle. Instead, her eye alit upon a comb, which she used to tug through her messy hair. “I rolled out of bed and didn’t take the time to look at a mirror.” Cynthia saw a pack of gum in the back, grabbed it, and popped the peppermint gum into her mouth. “My head hurts.” How was she supposed to save Charlie when she couldn’t even hold a thought in her head? “Tylenol, Vivian?”

  “Yes.” The IT tech hurried toward the back wall, where her desk was situated.

  The incident room’s door opened, and she expected to see Modena or Benton, ready to ream her out. Instead, she saw one of the forensic techs. “Kevin.” Cynthia saw a file in his hand. “Now isn’t a good time.”

  “I printed additional crime scene photos and stuff,” Kevin said, walking toward her, his blond hair slicked back as if he’d just had a shower. “Autopsy photos, crowd shots. I’ve got the updated evidence list, with accompanying photos. Everything is logged, with descriptions.” He handed Cynthia the manila file. “And I printed out the photos I took at Charlie’s house. They’re new.” He pursed his lips, lifting his brows. “So…how is Charlie?”

  “What?” Cynthia said. “Why? I mean, why were you at Charlie’s house?”

  “More importantly, when?” Gilroy said. “And who authorized it?”

  “Benton’s warrant was signed last night,” Kevin said. “The search is still going on. I just got back, printed the photos, and came directly here, hoping someone would tell me what’s going on.” Kevin shifted between his feet, glancing at the door as if he feared someone might overhear. “We have his computer in the lab, his gun safe, and all his files in the evidence locker. Anyone want to tell me why?”

  “Charlie is prime suspect,” Gilroy said. “Keep that to yourself, if you know what’s good for you.” Kevin didn’t seem surprised, and why would he be? Cynthia figured being sent to scour a man’s home, with the man in question in custody rather than dead, kind of tipped a person off.

  “Of course.” Kevin seemed disgruntled rather than curious. Cynthia suspected, like her, Kevin saw this deviation in the investigation as a huge mistake.

  “Who logged in the evidence?” Cynthia said. Vivian handed Cynthia a paper cup of water and two Tylenols. Cynthia swallowed them without taking her eyes off Kevin. “You?”

  “No. That’s Teresa’s job.” Kevin glanced at his watch. “She’s downstairs, finishing up the paperwork. We drove to the precinct together, so right about now she’ll be wondering where I am.”

  Cynthia frowned at the folder sitting atop the other photos, and suddenly realized she and Kevin must have just missed each other this morning. Did he take pictures of rumpled bed sheets, evidence of her and Charlie’s night of passion? And were they in this folder? Cynthia nudged it with her acrylic nail, eq
ual parts curious and wary to see her personal life in a case file folder.

  “I better go,” Kevin said. “Teresa might be waiting for me in the garage, and I have her keys. An interim M.E. is stepping in for Charlie until this misunderstanding is cleared up, and she’s arriving in the next hour.” He glanced at Cynthia. “Socks, Charlie’s cat, is still in the house. I thought it best to leave him there, rather than disrupt his life. He’s got plenty of food in his dish, and water, and I told the detectives to make sure they don’t let him escape when they leave.” His expression told her he had questions, but he kept them to himself.

  “Thank you.” Cynthia nodded, feeling a little weepy at the mention of Socks, and Kevin’s kindness, but it didn’t make her any less cautious about bringing him into her circle of confidants. Someone who knew Charlie, and had access to his stuff, was framing him. That was the only way to explain the overwhelming amount of planted evidence. They had access to his house, his computer, his gun, and they wanted him blamed for these murders. That meant she and Charlie knew who was doing this to him. They trusted this person, and that trust led them to this moment, with Cynthia’s head pounding, feeling helpless, and once again unable to protect Charlie from someone else’s disastrous decisions. It might not be the accident all over again, but it felt like it was inexorably heading there.

  The incident room door slammed against the wall again. Teresa, this time. Blue eyes wide, her mouth open as if she’d surprised herself with the force she’d used to open the door. “Sorry,” Teresa said. “Don’t know my own strength. Ah, Kevin? You have my keys.”

  “I think the door’s hinge is broken,” Vivian said, “because it just slammed that way for Cynthia.”

  Gilroy took Kevin’s folder, and some of the photos slipped out onto the desk, landing in front of Cynthia. She squinted, afraid of what she’d see, but it was just a photo of the kitchen counter. Her heart settled as she took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the details. On a kitchen that had always been a refuge from the world, but was now being treated as a crime scene. The same kitchen where Charlie had bent a knee and slipped his grandmother’s rings on her finger in front of his parents. ’Til death do us part.

  “Are those the photos?” Teresa’s lips compressed, her gaze locked on the file. Kevin shrugged. “I told Kevin I wanted—” She cut off her sentence with a shake of her head. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.” She tucked a blond lock behind her ear, and hesitated at the door. Cynthia supposed the tech was equally upset about Charlie being a suspect, and probably wanted to look at all the evidence to find something to clear him. If Cynthia were kind and empathetic rather than desperate and jealous, she’d say something calming about Charlie’s chances of coming out of this unscathed, but she didn’t have it in her. Instead, Cynthia pressed a hand to her pounding forehead and focused on Teresa, trying not to hate her for crushing on Charlie.

  He was sexy, loveable; who wouldn’t crush on him? Cynthia needed to grow up. She would grow up. Figuring Teresa would be one more set of eyes on the photos, she waved her forward. They needed all the help they could get.

  “Come in,” Cynthia said. Teresa approached with obvious reluctance, and Cynthia couldn’t blame her. If their places were switched, Cynthia would resent the hell out of Teresa.

  “Yes?” Teresa said.

  Cynthia splayed the photos on her desk, side by side. The bedroom with rumpled sheets. Charlie’s office, neat, and organized. The kitchen counter, with Sock’s plunder pile of odds and ends. Everything was familiar, and nothing stood out. She glanced at the other eyes looking at the photos. Gilroy’s expression was neutral. No surprise there. Cynthia suspected the only person that could make him move a facial muscle was his girlfriend, Vivian, and she was poring over the photos, her expression a mask of worry. Kevin was grimacing, shaking his head, and Teresa was looking everywhere but at the photos.

  “What are we looking for?” Kevin said.

  “Something that catches your eye that might help Charlie,” Cynthia said. What she wanted to say was, “Do you see anything the killer might have planted that could cause Charlie problems?” but she couldn’t do that. The killer knew Charlie. If he wasn’t in Charlie’s small circle of friends, he was friends with one of Charlie’s friends. Any one of them in this room could have been unwitting sources for the killer. She refused to think they would help willingly.

  Teresa glanced at the photos, then caught Cynthia’s gaze. “Is Charlie…okay?”

  “No,” Gilroy said, not elaborating. In this instance, it was Charlie’s fault. Cynthia had a plane on standby. But where was Charlie? In custody.

  Her eyes dropped to her desk, onto the photo of Sock’s plunder. They’d have to arrange for someone to care for the cat. Just the idea of it broke Cynthia’s heart. Socks was a stray, and now they were about to orphan him again. Who knew what kind of behavioral issues would layer onto the ones he already had, hoarding things the cat thought important enough to steal? Cynthia’s finger dragged the picture of the kitchen counter toward her, and looked again at the magic marker, the purple leather heart charm. The silver and purple flower charm and a dirty sock. Cynthia supposed Charlie’s scent was on these items, and that’s why the cat was forever stealing Charlie’s socks.

  Vivian narrowed her eyes at Gilroy, who seemed clueless about why his girlfriend was disgruntled with him. “Teresa,” Vivian said, “we don’t really know what’s going on with Charlie.” Then she glanced at Cynthia, as if she might have answers. She didn’t.

  Teresa nodded, and then caught Kevin’s gaze. “Well, I have a doctor’s appointment and you have my keys, Kevin.”

  Kevin pulled out a set of keys from his pants pocket, and then handed it to Teresa. Something shiny fell from Kevin’s pocket. Cynthia’s eye tracked it, but it bounced out of sight, under her desk.

  “You coming or staying?” Teresa lifted her brows at Kevin, but didn’t wait to hear his answer. He waved goodbye to the special agents and then hurried after the tech.

  “You dropped something, Kevin.” Cynthia bent at the waist, looking for the shiny object.

  “Huh?” Kevin looked in the direction that Cynthia pointed, then joined her in the search. Cynthia found a small, rectangular silver object. It was metal and had the letters “NYU” inscribed on it. She picked it up, her head still under the desk, hidden from view. Knowing that, she had a moment of weakness, and she lost her composure. The sky was falling. If she couldn’t solve this case within the next few hours, Charlie would be formally charged with six counts of murder. When she could no longer stay under the desk without comment, Cynthia schooled her features and inhaled slowly. She pulled her head out from under the desk and sat, handing the tech what she’d found: a silver and purple charm. Kevin frowned, cupping it in his hand.

  “Must have fallen off Teresa’s keychain,” he said. He held it by its small, broken metal loop. “She went to NYU.”

  “Yeah. I remember seeing a photo on her desk,” Cynthia said. “Sorority girls.”

  Cynthia’s headache pounded from sitting up so quickly, but as it abated she was able to blink through the pain. She picked up the photo of Sock’s plunder as Kevin reached the incident room’s door. Teresa’s keychain charm had the same color scheme as the purple heart charm, and the purple and white flower in Sock’s plunder pile.

  “Kevin, wait,” Cynthia said.

  Kevin slipped the charm into his pocket. “I have to go before Teresa leaves me behind.”

  “Wait.” Her tone broached no argument. She waved him toward her. “Give me that charm.”

  “What?” Gilroy said.

  “I know that look,” Vivian said. “She’s thought of something.”

  Kevin paused, exchanging glances with Gilroy and Vivian, but they were both looking at Cynthia. He stepped forward, reached into his pocket, and retrieved the charm for her. Cynthia placed it on the photo.

  “Tell
me I’m not imagining this.” Cynthia could hear the breathiness of her voice and told herself to keep her cool. “Does this charm match what is in the picture?”

  “I don’t know,” Kevin said. “I think so.” Cynthia thought it matched.

  Gilroy shrugged. Vivian nodded enthusiastically.

  It begged the question: Why the hell had Teresa been in Charlie’s house? Or was there another explanation?

  Charlie wouldn’t have lied to Cynthia. He said no woman, other than her and his mother, had ever been in his house. Unless Charlie was lying to spare her feelings? Images of Charlie and Teresa having a secret affair flooded her brain, and Cynthia immediately rejected the thought. Though that scenario would explain Teresa’s hurt, it required Charlie to be cast as a liar, and that was too farfetched for Cynthia to buy. Charlie was a rule follower, unless it came to protecting Cynthia. Then she was positive he’d lie up a storm. As he’d just done in the interrogation room, telling Benton he was guilty.

  But she couldn’t see how the lie of Charlie having an affair with Teresa would benefit Cynthia. It didn’t make sense, so Charlie didn’t lie. He didn’t knowingly have more than her or his mother in his house. That left one option: Teresa was in his house without Charlie knowing about it. Or, rather, Teresa’s charm keychain was in Charlie’s house. Kevin had easy access to it. Socks found the charms as they fell from the defective keychain. It’s the only thing that made sense.

  Kevin stared at the picture. Gilroy stepped to his side, scowling at the evidence.

  “Harris, honey?” Vivian glanced at Special Agent Gilroy. “What am I missing?”

  Gilroy knew. He locked gazes with Cynthia. “The colors match. They’re charms. What do you want to do?”

  “Kevin, sit. If you’re involved in this, so help me—” Cynthia said, so upset she could barely speak.