"How long have we known each other, Ewan, huh? Do you honestly think I am capable of killing someone?"
He didn't answer, pushing the fragile boundaries of their friendship once more. He was torn between loyalty to his job and his best friend and, in all his years on the force, had never once thought he would have to challenge it in this way. But so far, what little evidence they had gathered during the night all pointed to her.
"I was home, alone, like I am every night. You of all people should know that by now."
She crossed her arms, her eyes filled with hurt.
Ewan's voice became gentle. “You were the last person to see him alive, Jorgie. I'm sorry, it's my job. I have to make sure I have all the facts before Major Crimes gets here. It's not like we have a murder here every week, you know. I'm sorry, okay?"
She stepped away from him again, her back toward him once more.
"Why don't you just tell me what you know, Jorgie, then I can move on and catch the guy who did this? Why did you close your shop early?"
Jorja threw her head back in disbelief as she turned and flashed an amused smile, knowing it could have only been Jenny from the flower shop next door that could have told him.
"That's the thing with our little town. Everyone knows everyone's business. Did Jenny also tell you that Myles was very much alive when he left my shop? And that I popped by Ann's to pick up some fresh milk and a tin of cat food for Vincent."
Ewan nodded.
"Well, then I don't understand, Ewan. I'm trying to stay calm here but I guess I am just a little offended that you of all people could think I am capable of committing murder. So, I will make it easy for you. I did not kill Myles Brentwood. He came into my shop around four forty-five p.m. as he’s done every Friday afternoon for as long as I can remember. He bought a small painting, no different from what he’s done the last Friday of every month, we made small talk, then he left saying he had a faculty meeting to get to. That's it. Besides, why would I kill him? I adored him. He was one of the few people around here who fully appreciated fine art. I loved discussing it with him."
"I know. We all loved him. It's quite a shock if I'm honest."
"I don't understand, Ewan. Why do you think I had anything to do with this then?"
He reached out and took hold of her arm.
"I'm sorry, okay? I know you couldn't do this. I don't know what I was thinking. It's just, I have to go by the book on this one or I'll risk losing my pips. I already have my chief inspector up in my face about this case. Something like this could be blown out of proportion quickly if the papers were to get hold of it. And bad publicity is the last thing this town needs."
He grabbed hold of her other arm, tilted his head to one side, and pinned his eyes on hers from beneath his dark, raised eyebrows.
"Forgive me?" he begged.
Her anger melted easily.
"On one condition."
"Name it."
"You tell me what you know."
"I can't discuss the case, Jorgie, you must know that."
Her eyes told him he had no choice.
"Fine, but it stays between us, okay? And you promise me you won't jump to any conclusions," he agreed, strong-armed by his sudden onset of guilt over upsetting her.
"Deal."
"Myles never made it to the faculty meeting yesterday. It was due to start at five. He is never late and he has never missed a meeting either. That's what raised concern. They tried ringing him on his cell, but the thing went straight to voicemail."
"That's not really that strange for Myles. He never remembered to charge his phone."
"Right, except, Mrs. Reeves says she knows his battery was fully charged because he had asked her to charge it in her office during school and gave it to him before he left to go to your shop. So, she went past his house around six thirty on her way home, after the faculty meeting. He wasn't there either. That's when she rang us. We searched all night and finally found his body at the start of the woodland path behind your house."
He paused to see her reaction but Jorja's face didn't reveal the thoughts that suddenly flooded her mind. Perhaps Vincent's behavior was in response to something he had heard outside. Cats sense danger long before humans do.
"There's more though, Jorgie." Ewan straightened his shoulders before he spoke.
"There was a piece of art, placed on top of his body. It looked to have been crafted by hand, from copper, like the pipes you find in a house's plumbing. It's quite unique and beautiful, and without a doubt made with skill by a very talented artist. Jorgie, it was a single long-stemmed rose. We believe it was also the murder weapon."
Chapter Three
Ewan's words rang in her ears. On the outside, Jorja's face told him his last piece of information had no effect on her. A skill she had learned a long time ago when her job placed her in pressured situations—or when she needed to hide from the world. For reasons she didn't quite understand her body suddenly felt necessary to draw on it, triggered into motion, and she could not stop it. It had been years since she last felt the need to withdraw. Inside, her body was once again at war with itself. It was so easy for her mind to slip back into the past. Instinctively she knew she needed to be on guard, even around her best friend, possibly especially around Ewan.
"Jorgie, say something. I told you not to jump to any conclusions. I knew I shouldn't have told you anything." He backed away and swept his hand through his thick dark-brown hair.
"I'm fine, Ewan, and I'm glad you told me. I can see why you would come knocking on my door for answers. But just because he was found dead near my house and my last name is Rose does not mean anything. I didn't kill him. I could never do that."
Her voice was aloof, almost steely. Not because she felt hurt or offended by Ewan suspecting that she was capable of murder, but because she suddenly knew why Myles Brentwood was killed. Challenging the tall stranger had proved to be a huge mistake.
"I know you didn't do it, Jorgie. Like I said, my hand is forced on this one. I want to stay on this case, catch the guy who did this, keep this town safe. And to do that I have to pull out the rulebook. So... I am going to need to ask you to come down to the station and make an official statement. So we can rule you out. Once forensics give us an approximate time of death, it will be easier to rule you out. For all we know it happened while you were at Ann's. Then you'll have an alibi."
"And if it didn't? What if it happened last night while I was sleeping, alone, with no alibi?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, if we get to it, okay? Come on. Jump in. I've got your back. Best to do this quickly before McGuthrey gets wind of it. He's been praying for a juicy story to give him that big break that will finally land him his dream job at the Daily Mail."
But it was already too late. St. Ives was too small for something this big to stay a secret. When they arrived at the St. Ives police station, McGuthrey was already standing on the front steps, camera in hand.
"Unbelievable," Ewan said as he parked his car.
Jorja didn't react.
"It's fine, nothing to worry about. You and I have been friends for donkey's years. This will not be the first time we arrive at the station together. If he asks why you are here, you don't tell him anything, okay. Let's not create any sparks that could cause him to turn it into an inferno. I'll handle it."
Jorja nodded and followed Ewan from the parking lot toward the steps of the main entrance.
McGuthrey didn't waste any time and rushed toward them.
"Reid, do you know who killed Myles Brentwood? How was he killed? Any suspects?"
"Back off, McGuthrey, we don't know anything yet."
"What's the significance of the rose? There's blood on it. Is it his? Is it the murder weapon?"
"I said, back off, McGuthrey. And you shouldn't be going anywhere near the crime scene. You'll contaminate it, might even drop your DNA there, and then we'll link you to the murder."
Ewan's disguised warning gave the eage
r journalist some pause, but not enough to sway him from pushing his inquiry further.
"Why are you here, Jorja? Are you a suspect?"
"Don't fall for his tricks," Ewan whispered close to Jorja's ear as he gently ushered her toward the door.
She looked back at McGuthrey and flashed him a small smile in amusement.
"That's ridiculous, McGuthrey. I'm here to discuss the security for the upcoming art fair, that's all. Why don't you let Ewan do his job and go take some photos of the bowling club's tenth anniversary instead before I tell your mother you bought another nude sketch from me?"
Her comment sent a flush to the eager reporter's twenty-eight-year-old face and immediately had him back off.
"If you know anything, Reid, I'm the first to know, deal?" he shouted back at Ewan whose wide grin soon broke into laughter.
"Now who knows everything, huh?" he joked as they stepped inside the police station and the door shut behind them.
"The boy had it coming. He's obsessed with nudes. Someone ought to find him a wife before his sins catch up with him."
"Yeah well, perhaps he's holding out for the London girls. Anyway, let's get the ball rolling and get you out of here before Major Crimes get here. I just want to quickly make a phone call. Charlie should not have let anyone near that crime scene yet. Help yourself to some coffee, I'll be quick."
She watched Ewan step into his office to make the call. The station was quiet—most likely because he had all his constables guarding the crime scene. It seemed as if they were there alone.
St. Ives police station was much smaller than those in the larger nearby towns, equipped with just enough officers to service general police incidents. Ewan had started there as a police constable and gradually worked his way up the ranks to detective inspector, the most senior at the station and trained to handle criminal investigations of this kind. But, since murder investigations hardly, if not ever, occurred in their town, it was evident he was anxious not to botch the investigation.
She watched him through the window of his office as he impressed upon his officers at the scene to step up their game. Next to the coffee station, the printer suddenly whirred, startling her into almost spilling her fresh mug of coffee. She fixed her eyes on the machine as it started processing a sheet of paper. Before long it spat out a color copy of Myles Brentwood's bloody body, lying sprawled on his back across the forest path behind her house. She drew in a sharp breath, caught off guard by the next photo that dropped into the printing tray atop the first. His head was covered in blood, his eyes wide and filled with angst, as if he had been frightened when he died and frozen in place.
The next photo delivered a close-up of his neck and a large puncture wound to one side; his left side. Jorja's heart pounded in her chest as she took in the brutality of the crime. She was simultaneously repulsed and overcome with fear. Before long, the printer ejected another printed copy, this time one of the rose that was made entirely from copper. Ewan was right. It was unique and an awe-inspiring piece of art. But her admiration soon turned to disgust as the next photo had zoomed in to the tip of the stem that was covered in blood. Suddenly panic engulfed her as she realized how Myles had died. She slammed her mug onto the table, spilling half of its contents across the coffee tray. She spun around and bolted toward the exit. Her pace quickened and she bumped her hips against the corners of several desks along the way in a desperate attempt to run out of the station.
"Hey, Jorgie. Wait! What's wrong?" Ewan yelled from behind his desk, slamming the phone's receiver down on the desk as he rushed toward her. But she had already found the front door and started running down the steps. In her wake, she heard Ewan running after her, shouting for her to stop. She couldn't. She had to get out of there. Had to run, as fast as she could.
Overcome by emotions she couldn't quite make sense of yet, she ran toward her house, glancing over her shoulder every few strides. Conscious of feeling exposed, she pulled her hoodie over her head, grateful she had decided to wear it that morning instead of her usual neon reflective jacket. She took the cobbled path that led away from the center of town toward the beach. She would zigzag through the fishermen's cottages and cross the stretch of bluff to where it met up with the other side of the woodland that bordered her house. Once she reached it she would stay clear of the path and find a way through the dense trees, avoiding the crime scene. She had been in those woods a thousand times and knew her way through the trees. With Major Crimes still en route, there would be no more than the four constables that were on duty at any given time during the week, eight at the most if Ewan had called in the rest of his unit who were off duty. With any luck, they would all be guarding the immediate perimeter of the crime scene, which should leave her path clear to slip in through the side entrance of her house. Ewan would most certainly come looking for her there first, but she would lock herself in, for now. She needed time to think, time to collect herself. Time to process. Alone, just her, the real her.
Chapter Four
Panic flooded her veins as she navigated her way through the dense woods behind her house. She had slowed to a brisk walk, proceeding with the utmost caution to avoid bumping into any of the neighbors who regularly walked their dogs there. The crisp scent of fresh foliage that had always brought her such peace now acted as a detecting system. She filled her nostrils, relying on her senses to detect danger. Though she was as light-footed as a gazelle, her presence scared a few squirrels that were feverishly scouring the ground to gather the last of what the season offered before the cold set in. Nearby, she heard a rustle in the bushes behind her and looked back. The dense foliage made it difficult to see anything so she bent at the waist to have a proper look. When she didn't see anything, she brushed it off as another squirrel, or perhaps a fox. Off the footpath, it was hard to move through the thicket and it slowed her down. Her route there was shorter than if she had run along the road, but even so, she was running out of time to get home before Ewan got there. She picked up her pace, hooking her bare legs on the spiky leaves of the nettle patches. As she neared her house, she could hear Charlie's voice drifting in the breeze toward her. She crouched down behind a tree, peering around it to see if she was visible to him and the squad. They were searching in the undergrowth around the body, engrossed in their task. Determining she was out of their view, she changed direction and zigzagged from tree to tree until she was within ten yards of her house. With her side door in full view, she paused behind a tree, assessing if any constables were patrolling her house. The coast was clear.
She drew a deep breath, exhaled, and darted across the narrow strip of lawn toward the door. Her long limbs ensured she did it in only three strides before her feet leaped the two steps up to the door.
As always, her door was unlocked—quite common for people living in St. Ives. She shut the door behind her, bolted the latch at the top, then the key in the door. She paused briefly, her back to the door, scanning her eyes through the cozy kitchen. Everything seemed exactly as she had left it earlier that morning. When she didn't hear any sounds coming from the rest of the house, she moved through the kitchen and down the small corridor to lock the front door. Her fingers moved quickly, first the latch at the top, then the key. Her body tingled with adrenaline. She had made it home unnoticed.
As the endorphins slowly dissipated and her brain kicked into clarity, she made her way back to the kitchen and gulped down a small bottle of water from the fridge. Her eye caught a magnet she had gotten as a birthday gift the previous year. Ewan had given it to her. It was a four-by-four-inch picture of a waterfall running into a beautiful pond. A biblical scripture was written across it. She allowed herself to take it in.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters,
He restores my soul.
She waited for the words to mean something, anything. But nothing happened. It rang empty, devoid of any emotion
. She never really got why he gave it to her in the first place and always thought it must have had some special meaning to him since he was more committed to their faith than she was. So, she left it on her fridge door as a sign of respect—or to trick him into thinking that it had meant something to her too. He had tried to get her to attend church more regularly, but for some reason, she couldn't. It made her feel vulnerable—a place where someone bigger than her knew her deepest, darkest secrets. She went when she felt like it—which was all of perhaps once a month to appease Ewan and keep up her facade. It wasn't that she did not believe that there was a God, she did. She just wasn't ready to let go of who she used to be and so desperately yearned to one day be again. Letting the community—and Ewan—believe she had already crossed the line of faith made living there easier somehow—not to mention ensured her cover. The reminder of her past jolted her into the present and she dropped the empty water bottle into the recycling. Her shoes squeaked on the tiled floor as she started pacing the small space in her kitchen. Think Jorja, think! She swept her medium-length blonde hair back and tucked it behind her ears, locking her hands in the nape of her neck to help her focus.
Her mind wandered to the man who’d stood across the street. She hadn't liked the look of him then and most certainly now had the eerie feeling that he’d had a hand in Myles' demise. As her memory played back his last moments in her shop she shut her eyes in an attempt to recall any details about the man she might have overlooked. But her mind was foggy. Instead, the heavy feeling of dread that had been simmering in the pit of her stomach slowly pushed up and settled in her chest. She threw her head back and drew in several deep breaths to encourage her body to get rid of it, but it didn't. Panic set in.
She tried to calm her thoughts, reasoning that she should have just told Ewan about him, let him handle it, and do what he was trained to do. But something had held her back from mentioning the man to him. Perhaps it was because she refused to believe it was possible, tried to convince herself that there was no way on earth they could have known where she was. That they could not have finally found her.
Vengeance is Mine: A Jorja Rose Christian Suspense Thriller (Valley of Death Book 1) Page 2