CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“I’M DONE FOR the night,” Johnson said. “I haven’t time to talk to you now. Trudeau is in charge until I get back. We’re busy chasing down the other two. Don’t even think of doing any funny business.” Roxy was sitting behind bars, her head spinning. “There are cameras in these cells, and I’ll have Trudeau reporting back to me with regular updates.” Johnson strode away but turned back. “I always knew you were trouble. Maybe now you’ll learn not to meddle.”
Roxy could not believe where she was. She was too stunned to cry or even feel any emotion at all. She sat on the cold hard bench, wringing her hands. All she could hear was the ticking of the wall clock in the hallway. Time dragged painfully slowly.
She wondered where George and Charles were. Was one of them in terrible danger? And if so, which one? She imagined them in a cemetery, Charles coolly lining George up with one of the graves so that he fell into it once Charles had shot him. She found it a struggle to visualize the scene, so she tried to imagine George shooting Charles in a temper, his hand shaking, his eyes bright with fury. She couldn’t visualize that scene at all.
“Officer Trudeau!” she called out. She shook the bars of her cell putting her entire body weight behind the action, but all they did was rattle. Nobody came. Her voice echoed around the empty corridor outside her cell and died without getting any response.
Roxy sat on the bench for what felt like an eternity until finally, she heard the click of a door opening down the hallway. She rushed to the bars.
“Roxy.” It was Trudeau.
“Officer Trudeau!” she said her body flooding with relief. “You must help me. This case has gone very wrong. Seriously, we have to do something. People could be in danger!”
“Yeah, I hear you.” He unlocked the door and came into her cell, locking the door again behind him.
Roxy told him everything—how Meredith had stolen Terah’s boyfriend, how Lamontagne had lost a major business deal thanks to Voodoo performed by Meredith and George, what Lamontagne had told her about Charles being unsupportive of his wife, and her suspicions that he was trying to kill her, Roxy’s concerns that Charles was being unfaithful, and finally how George had been abused and downtrodden by his boss.
“Wow, it seems she made a lot of enemies. They all have a motive,” Trudeau said.
“When I set up the reenactment, I had no idea who the murderer was. I thought it was most likely Lamontagne. I thought it might jog memories or someone might say something incriminating. But now they’ve disappeared, I think it must be George or Charles, or perhaps they are in cahoots together!” Roxy started to wring her hands again.
“Okay, okay, calm down. I understand what you’re saying.”
“Oh, thank goodness! Thank you for believing me!”
“Now I didn’t say that missy, but we are on the case.”
Trudeau’s radio crackled. He pressed the button on the side and lifted it slightly so he could hear what was being said. “Suspect sighting AEO123KO. Leonidas heading south toward Oak. 35 covering.” It made no sense to Roxy, but Trudeau’s eyes lit up. He spoke briefly into the radio, “35 stay back. 43 on its way.”
“I gotta run,” he said rattling his keys. “That was good news.”
“Huh?” Her situation seemed so dire that Roxy could barely process what he was saying.
“Romanoff’s car has been sighted. They’re still in the city. We put an APB out for them before we left the botanica.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic!” Roxy said. Her eyes shone, and now she clasped her hands together.
“I’m gonna follow up now. Perhaps we can bring them in before Detective Johnson even knows they’ve been spotted.” He turned and stepped out of Roxy’s cell, grabbing the door.
Roxy quickly stuck out her hand to prevent him from closing it. “Can I… can I come with you? I might be able to help.”
Trudeau grimaced. “Absolutely not, Roxy. You’re under arrest. Johnson will have my head.”
“Please,” she said. “I did give you all that intel. And I know them well. I might be able to advise you on how to approach when you find them. Yes, that’s it—you need me there. And besides, when you solve the case, Johnson won’t be able to say anything bad. You might even get a promotion.” Roxy’s words came out in a rush. She looked so eager—her eyes open wide, her eyebrows up as far as they could go, her whole body tense as she awaited Trudeau’s answer. Her eagerness made her look even younger than normal.
Trudeau regarded her. She could see him weighing the arguments. “Oh alright! You can come, but I’ll have to cuff you, otherwise, I’m breaking the law, and we’ll both end up in jail.”
“That’s fine,” said Roxy quickly. “Hurry, I don’t want them to get away. And I definitely don’t want to be sitting in here, wondering what’s going on.”
“Don’t do anything funny or stupid. Remember, you’re still in police custody.”
“Don’t worry,” said Roxy. “I won’t do a thing.”
Trudeau led her out of the cell and handcuffed her wrists in front of her. They hurried through the police station and got in the squad car, all the while Trudeau listening to his radio following the communication between Control and the car that was on Charles’ tail.
“Right,” Trudeau said. He buckled Roxy in the front passenger seat before looking down at his police-issue phone. Roxy watched as he navigated to a tracking app.
“Where is he?” she blurted out.
Trudeau looked at the screen and the flashing dot that was traveling across it. “He’s heading west on South Claiborne toward Boutte.”
“How quickly can we get there?”
Trudeau narrowed his eyes. “We’ll put the sirens on.”
The torrential rain had calmed to little more than a spit, but the roads were slick. Nevertheless, the police officer pressed his foot down hard on the gas and shot out of the precinct parking lot and into the street. Soon they were weaving through light traffic at high speed. Roxy had never ridden in a squad car with its sirens on before and found it quite exciting.
Trudeau had beamed his phone display onto the patrol car’s interior screen, and Roxy watched the pulsating red dot as it tracked Charles’ and George’s movements. They were gaining ground, but not quickly enough.
“I just hope George isn’t involved, and he’s safe,” said Roxy. “I hope this isn’t a getaway drive.”
After five minutes, the red dot slowed to a crawl.
“Fantastic!” said Trudeau. “We can catch up with him. Look at the screen. Where does it say he is? What’s the location?”
Roxy peered at the display. “Louiswood Industrial Park.”
Trudeau spoke into his radio. “35 stand down. 43 covering.”
“Is it just us following him now?” Roxy asked.
“Yep. I don’t want to spook them. It’s just you and me, kid.” Trudeau looked over at Roxy and winked. She felt a shiver of fear run down her spine for the first time.
They continued weaving their way through traffic, driving through stoplights, sirens blaring all the way along South Claiborne Avenue until they were within a half-mile of their prey. Trudeau turned off his siren and then his lights as they quietly turned into the industrial park. At a crawl, they edged their way around the buildings, each corner they navigated bringing them closer to the red dot on their screen. Both of them were on edge, but silent and alert. As they rounded the fourth building, Roxy gasped. “There!” A white Mercedes sat outside one of the buildings, the rental car company sign still hooked around the rearview mirror.
“I’m going in.” Trudeau brought the car to a halt and unbuckled his seat belt. “Hmmm, what am I going to do with you?” he said, frowning. “I’m going to have to leave you in the car…”
“Let me come with you. Please?”
“Much too dangerous. You’d be a liability.” Trudeau wouldn’t consider it. He had parked the squad car a little way down so that they had a clear view of the rental veh
icle and the building it was parked next to. He’d also avoided setting off the motion sensor floodlights. They were shrouded in darkness. “Looks like they’re in a warehouse,” Trudeau said, sizing up buildings around the lot.
“Please let me come.”
"No. What if you got shot?” he said. “I can’t let you out. I can’t. I’d probably go to jail myself. You’re going to have to get down in the back and make sure you’re not seen.”
Roxy frowned and pursed her lips like a truculent toddler.
“Or maybe I should take you back to the station and lock you up.”
“No!” said Roxy.
“Either way, I should wait for backup. It would be safer.”
“But we don’t have time! George or Charles might be in danger!” Roxy desperately wanted to enter the warehouse with Trudeau, but she had to see sense. “Okay, look, I’ll lie down in the back and keep quiet.”
Trudeau fingered his radio. “I’m calling for stealth back up, no sirens or lights. When they get here, stay down, y’hear?” He unbuckled her seat belt. “Get in the back now, and quickly.”
“All right, all right,” Roxy grumbled. She had a thought. “Hey! I can track you while you’re inside. Give me your personal phone. You keep your police issue one.”
“How will that help?”
“I’m not sure, but it can’t hurt. We can talk too.”
Trudeau thought for a moment. “Fine. But don’t you tell anyone about this. Got it?” He handed her his personal phone.
“Not a soul,” said Roxy. “Promise. Can’t you take my handcuffs off, you know, just in case I need to rescue you or something?”
Trudeau squinted at Roxy, assessing. “No chance, you might escape. Then I really would be in trouble.”
Roxy huffed. “Call your phone then and keep the line open. Oh, and put it on silent.”
“It’s already on silent,” Trudeau said icily. “I’m not stupid. Don’t overstep the mark, okay? I’m the cop here.”
“Sorry,” Roxy said.
Trudeau helped her out of the car and into the backseat. “See you in a while.” In his haste, as he shut the door the lock didn’t quite catch.
Roxy crouched in the back of the car as Trudeau moved carefully toward the building. The phone in her lap lit up.
“It’s an abandoned warehouse,” she heard him whisper. “There’s a whole bunch of rusting car parts, covered in dust. Cardboard boxes disintegrating.”
“No sign of Charles or George?”
“No.”
Trudeau was silent for a while. “I think they must be upstairs.”
“Be careful.”
“I’m doing fine, thank you very much,” he whispered back sharply.
With her cuffed hands, Roxy tried to reach through the grille that separated the front from the back of the patrol car. She wanted to see if she could manipulate the dashboard display and get another view of the scene outside, but it was impossible.
She looked around. There were no interior handles to the back doors of the police vehicle. She sat impotently for a few moments before, with a sudden burst of energy she shoved the half-closed door with her shoulder so hard it burst open and she fell out onto the tarmac.
Roxy quickly righted herself and darted into the front seat. She slipped down low and closed the door oh-so quietly. She held her breath. There was no movement outside and no sound from Trudeau’s phone. She turned to the dashboard display, reaching out for it, but manipulating the screen with her hands cuffed together caused her to overbalance. She ended up flat on her face, sprawled across the driver’s seat, her behind in the air.
She wriggled herself upright and tried again. This time she ended up with her head in the driver’s footwell. She stared at her handcuffs, then looked around. She gave a big sigh. “Sorry, Trudeau,” she whispered. One at a time, she wriggled her wrists out of the cuffs. Her hands were so slight and fine-boned that it wasn’t difficult, although she did need to lick the back of her right hand to ease the cuff past her knuckle. Her left hand came out more easily.
Roxy grinned. Now she could reach forward and play with the screen.
“Are you walking or still?” she whispered into the phone.
“Walking,” Trudeau whispered back. “Now stop talking. Only reply when I tell you to. I’m going up the stairs, and they may well be close. Be quiet now. Don’t announce yourself.”
She could hear the sound of his police-issue boots on the steps. Don’t announce yourself. She hardly dare breathe. Then, the most horrifying sound came through the phone’s speaker. It was a muffled voice, begging, pleading.
George! Roxy recognized the high timbre of his voice.
“Police! Put down the gun!” Trudeau yelled. His voice came through the phone so loud that it hurt Roxy’s ears. There was a bang, a gunshot. Roxy clenched her jaws to stop herself from crying out. She heard a groan.
“Officer down! Officer down!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“HE’S RUNNING AWAY!” Trudeau ground out, his voice tight with pain. “He’s going down the stairs. He’s going for the car!”
“What do I do? Are you okay?” Roxy whisper shouted into the phone.
“I don’t know,” he said. “He’s shot me in the leg. I can’t get up.” He let out a holler of pain. “I just hope… is backup there yet?”
Adrenaline flooded Roxy’s body. She turned to look frantically around her, but there were no police cars that she could see.
“Nope,” Roxy said desperately, willing them to come. “Just me.”
“Stay down,” said Trudeau. “Just in case… stay down… Don’t let him see you.”
“Okay,” said Roxy. “Hang on in there. Shall I call an ambulance?”
“No. Just stay where you are and get down.”
Roxy slid down the front seat, hiding herself in the footwell, keeping as still as a mummy. She heard a noise, like a can being kicked, then someone swearing. She sat up just a smidgeon so that she could see the entrance to the warehouse.
The sight took her breath away. Charles, dressed in his slacks and white shirt, was running or rather lumbering away from the scene. He was not a fit, lithe man. Instead of getting in his car, he passed it, and she saw him toss something into the bushes just beyond the warehouse. He disappeared down an alleyway between two other buildings. Roxy quickly looked at the map on the screen and saw that it led to a six-lane street that ran through the business district.
Before Roxy knew what she was doing, she was out of the patrol car, running after him as quickly as her legs would take her. He was a lot bigger than she was, he had a good head start, but he wasn’t fast. And she was so light she could practically float through the air.
“Charles Romanoff!” she hollered as she turned the corner between the buildings. Shocked, he turned immediately and stepped into the motion field of a floodlight. Immediately he was illuminated in bright white light. He put his hands up like a cat preparing to fight. Roxy, benefitting from the shadows, darted around the edge of another building and found herself in a small cul-de-sac. Darn! She could hear Charles’ footsteps, and momentarily he slunk around the corner to face her with his hands curled like claws in front of him!
Roxy was panting with fear. Half-crouched, she looked up at him. “You killed Meredith, didn’t you?” Charles stared at her, motionless. “And you kidnapped George because…why?” Charles continued to stare. He made no movement or sound at all.
“Because we thought he was on to us. He was getting way too cocky. You know, what with his magical powers and all.” Roxy’s eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, astonishment wiping away the fear that she felt as her mind went blank. For there, in front of Roxy, walking from around the back of a building, a gun aimed straight at her, was Terah Jones.
“Terah!”
“Yup, pretty girl. You had no idea did you?” Terah’s lip curled in amusement, her black eye patch bisecting her face. The two German Shepherds strained against their leashes in fro
nt of her, their muzzles absent.
Roxy looked back and forth between Terah and Charles. Charles was still in his fighting stance, a silent tension causing every muscle in his body to tremble. In contrast, Terah stood calmly, confidently, next to him, a small smile on her face. “Sit!” she commanded the dogs. They deferred to her immediately, sitting at her feet.
“What’s happening here? What have you to do with all this? Are you telling me that all that talk about you and Meredith in high school was lies?” Roxy was incredulous.
“Oh no, it was all true,” Terah cackled. “I knew Meredith in high school, alright. She was a drug dealer who got caught. She was controlling and toxic and manipulative. But more than that, she ruined my life. That boyfriend Meredith stole from me? That was Charles. This eye patch? It covers the injury I sustained when I crashed my car minutes after Meredith told me she had stolen him from me.”
Roxy swung wildly around to Charles. She was having a hard time believing that this pink, bald, portly man was formerly a high school football player with flicky brown hair and a motorbike. “It was Terah you were having an affair with, not your nursing administrator at the foundation?”
This seemed to shake Charles from his stupor. He came to life. “What? Stacey? Good lord, no. Stacey’s a good friend, but our relationship is purely platonic.”
Roxy wasn’t sure Stacey saw things in quite the same way. “And what about when you went missing? We were all terrified for you.”
Charles lowered his hands. He spoke quietly, deferentially, like he was explaining to a patient about a surgery he was about to perform. “I’m sorry about that. I was with Terah. She and I were high school sweethearts before I started a relationship with Meredith. We got back in touch five years ago. We’ve been together ever since. I should never have let Meredith come between us in the first place. I was a fool.”
Roxy Reinhardt Mysteries Box Set Page 50