The officer left the room and closed the door. The click of the lock echoed through the small room, making Della Cullen look up at the door.
Corey walked down the hall to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. When she got to the door of the interview room she stopped, counting to ten before opening the door. She allowed herself her own cleansing breath, willing herself to chill out so as not to come on too strong, too eager. She opened the door.
“Hello, Mrs. Cullen.” Corey placed her file folder and her pen on the table with the water, sliding one of the bottles toward Della Cullen.
“What the hell is going on here? I demand to know why I am being detained! Do you know who I am? When I get through here, I am going to call the High Prestiger’s office and—”
“I think you lied to us when we spoke this morning about your husband, Mrs. Cullen.” Corey twisted the top off her water bottle and took a long sip, her eyes on Mrs. Cullen.
The woman’s mouth snapped shut and her eyes opened wide. “Lied? About what?”
“I think you know where your husband was last night.”
“This has nothing to do with me! I have done nothing wrong!” She slammed her hands on the metal table, tipping her water bottle over.
“Of course, Mrs. Cullen.” Corey righted the water bottle. “May I call you Della?”
The woman leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Only my friends may call me Della.” She sniffed and looked down at the table, staring at it as if it would give her some way out of this room.
Corey bit back her temper. She had to get this woman to talk. She needed to find out about the man in the mask. “Look, nobody said anything about you being involved in anything illegal, Mrs. Cullen. But I think we both know that you know more about what’s going on than you said. When my partner and I got to your house this morning, you were pretty upset. You’d been crying quite a bit.” Corey lowered her face, tried to get Mrs. Cullen to make eye contact with her.
Della Cullen glared at Corey, fury smoldering in her gaze.
Corey’s brow creased. “I think you knew something had happened to your husband before we told you. I think you knew where he was going last night, and who he was with. We just want to find the person who murdered your husband.”
The word murder caused an instant change in Della Cullen. She unfolded her arms and gasped a breath. When she looked back at Corey, her eyes brimmed with tears. “Greg wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was trying to help.”
Gotcha. A zing of adrenalin coursed through Corey’s body. She felt her pulse in her fingertips as she gripped her pen. “Who was he trying to help?”
Mrs. Cullen’s face wrinkled as she fought back tears. “My brother, Richie. Greg was trying to help him. I asked him to. Greg died because I asked him to help Richie. It’s all my fault.” She crumpled into tears, sobbing loudly.
Corey stood and grabbed a box of tissues from the windowsill under the one-way glass. “Why don’t you take a moment? When you’re ready, you can start at the beginning.”
“Thank you.” Della Cullen looked up. “Do you have any tea here?”
Della Cullen’s eyes were red and puffy, her dark makeup smudged in the corners, giving her a grotesque cat-lady look. “My little brother Richie has always been a mess. He’s just a screw up. No matter what happens, he always manages to make the wrong choice. You can count on him to take the easy way out, every time. You know?”
Corey nodded.
“Our parents died when we were little. Car accident. We were raised by my uncle. So it’s just been the two of us. We always said we’d look out for each other. But it turns out Richie isn’t capable of watching out for anyone but Richie. And he’s barely managing that.”
“Tell me how your husband got involved in this.”
“Well, Richie got into synthetic enhancers years ago, when he was in school. He went to Briargate Academy for Wizards. He had such a future ahead of him. Could have been a professor at one of the wizard schools.” She held her hand out, as if stopping Corey from making any wrong assumptions about her brother. “Not street drugs, none of the rough mundane stuff. It was performance enhancers, designer stuff meant to make your magic stronger. To make your casting more accurate, your articulation perfect, you understand…” Della Cullen smiled, remembering.
Corey didn’t understand anything about casting and articulation, and for the first time, the thought of being ignorant of all of it made her bristle.
“He used to be a competitive spell caster in college. He could have competed professionally. He was that good. He had a shot to be really great, you know? But then he got injured in year four and between the pain and missed classes it all just ended. But by then he was already up to his neck with these drug people. He started dealing for them to pay for his own habit, selling the drugs to classmates and friends.”
“Who were they? The drug people?”
“I never knew. I never asked. Didn’t want to know, honestly.” She shrugged. “The important thing to me was that Richie was doing well. He wasn’t hurting anyone. And his bosses seemed to be taking care of him. He was doing okay. He was happy.”
Corey marveled at how the line between right and wrong became so blurred when it involved the people close to you. The things that were once considered completely out of the question, completely unacceptable, somehow became normal. And when you let normal slip a few pegs, it didn’t take long before everything else had to shift in order for you to keep moving on with your life. The justifications and rationalizations… everything had to be reframed in order to remain in your bubble of contrived ignorance.
“But that changed?”
Della Cullen nodded. “When Richie got out of school, he didn’t have a plan—no surprise. So my uncle hooked him up with Maldrake Correctional. Richie said the routine of it made sense to him. Said he liked the freedom that came with it.” She laughed. “Freedom. That’s ironic when you think about it.”
“How so?”
“Well, he wasn’t in that job for a month before his bosses with the drugs made him start dealing to the prisoners.”
Corey prompted her, kept the conversation moving. “I didn’t realize there was a market for performance enhancers in jail. Aren’t the inmates prohibited from using magic?”
“Oh, no. They didn’t want him bringing that stuff to the inmates.” Della Cullen’s eyebrows arched as she explained. “The stuff he was bringing in there was bad news. ‘Dane drugs. Street stuff. Heroin and pills, but it was their own brand. Richie said that once the prisoners got a taste for that stuff, they never went back to anything else. Business was going crazy.” She leaned across the table. “Don’t you find it amazing that people in jail are able to afford things like that? I mean, I know they work and get paid, but how they manage to get money for drugs just… it just… it’s like the whole prison system is a joke.”
Corey had no interest in discussing prison security with this woman. “So he was doing well again. Cornering the drug market at Maldrake?”
“I guess. It all freaked me out, but Richie swore it was still okay. He wasn’t pushing drugs on anyone. He was providing drugs for those who already wanted them. So, you know. He really wasn’t hurting anyone.” She shrugged. “They would have been getting drugs from someone else, regardless.”
Corey looked down and nodded, trying to hide her incredulity. “What happened recently that made your husband get involved?”
Mrs. Cullen sighed and her shoulders dropped. “Richie flew in to see us last week, came to stay at our house. He said he needed to talk to Greg.”
Corey made a note on her pad to check Richie’s recent travel.
“He was scared. Said his bosses contacted him, told him to be ready to do a job.”
“What kind of job?”
“They were bringing someone to the prison, a new inmate. It was that guy, the sicko man with the yacht who kidnapped those women last year?”
Goosefle
sh rippled up Corey’s arms. “Marcus Wingate.”
“Yes, that’s him. Well, he was being brought here to stand trial and Richie’s bosses told him that he had to kill him. Can you believe that? Richie was supposed to kill Marcus Wingate while he was inside.”
Corey inhaled slowly, pressed her hands into her thighs. “How was he supposed to do it?”
“He was supposed to drug him. They gave him this tiny syringe, told him to inject it into Marcus Wingate. That it would knock him out and kill him.”
“And he didn’t want to do that?”
“No!” Mrs. Cullen gasped. “God, what kind of monster do you think he is? Richie is not a murderer!”
No, he’s only a nice and honorable drug dealer. “Of course, I wasn’t suggesting that. So Richie came here last week to tell you this?”
“He was afraid. He came here for help.”
“From your husband?”
“Yes. Richie isn’t a big guy. He’s a runner, tall and thin. He always looked up to Greg. Admired him for his physical ability. He called him Blue Bear… because he was with the Elite Blue Guard.”
“So how was Greg supposed to help Richie?”
“I don’t know. They told Richie that if he killed Wingate, then they wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else.”
A chill came over Corey. “Anyone else like whom?”
“They told Richie that if Wingate made it to trial, they would be forced to go after the witnesses.”
Corey bolted upright in her seat. “Are you telling me that they are planning to kill the witnesses? Where? At the courthouse?”
“No. When Richie set up the meeting for Greg to meet with his bosses, the meeting was here.”
“What do you mean? Here? On the island? But the hearing is on the mainland.”
Della Cullen nodded. “Because the girl from town, the one that got kidnapped by Marcus Wingate? She’s from here. She’s going to be here soon. And they told Richie that if he didn’t kill Wingate, they would have to kill the girl, and it would be all his fault.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Corey burst from the interview room, letting the door slam behind her. Della Cullen gaped as their interview ended abruptly. Corey grabbed her cell phone, dialed. The call was answered on the first ring.
“Bronwyn? It’s Corey. I need to find Alicia.”
“Corey? You sound funny. Everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. I just need to speak to your daughter. Does she have a number here?” When she went into witness protection, Alicia was forced to sever all ties to her old life. She’d ditched her phone and her online presence had been stripped bare.
“No. I have Agent Lee’s contact number. I have to call Agent Lee or Gallagan to get her while they’re here.
“Ok, I have those numbers. Gotta run.” Corey clicked off the phone, opened the door to Interview Room B. “Young. I need you.”
Her partner hurried into the hall. “What’s up?”
“Call the PIO team. Richie Olson is working with The Oasis Group. Brings drugs into the jail.”
“The hell?!”
“He’s been in touch with someone on the inside. It might be the guy on the video with Cullen, or someone working with him. We need Richie Olson’s phone records, and someone to get him talking about what he knows.”
They hurried back to their cubicle. Young picked up his desk phone. “What’s the rush?”
“They’re going after the witnesses since Olson didn’t get to Wingate. They know Alicia is here, on Witch Island.” Corey scattered papers over her desk until she found a business card for Special Agent Lee who was with Alicia. She pulled on her jacket as she ran to the door, stopping at the reception desk at the front of the Inspector’s area. “Mazie. Can you see if you can get a hold of Special Agent Fox in the PIO? Have her call me on my cell. I need Alicia Turnkey’s location on the island right away.”
Young stopped as the doors to the station slid open. “Where you going?”
Corey stepped outside into the sun, her brown hair blowing in the cool air that wafted through the open doorway. She turned to face Young as she continued walking backward toward the parking lot. “There’s no way they don’t know Richie screwed up with Wingate. It’s all over the damned news. I have to reach someone who knows where Alicia is. I have to get to her before they do.”
She dialed Agent Lee’s number from the card and lifted the phone to her ear, racing across the parking lot to her Toyota 4Runner. She hopped in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The engine hummed.
The phone picked up. “You have reached Special Agent Lee.” I’m not available right now…”
“Shit!” Corey ended the call and dialed Young’s cell phone.
“Hey. I’m on the other line with the PIO team. Waiting for the guy interrogating Olson.”
“Call the captain. See if he can get through to anyone up there who can tell me where they’re holding Alicia.”
“OK.” Young hung up.
Corey gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles going pale. She inhaled and blew her breath out, her heartbeat a drum in her chest. She looked at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were wild. “Get a grip, Corey.” Her phone buzzed. A blocked number. She answered it.
“Proctor.” Her throat clenched with anxiety.
“Corey?” The voice was a whisper.
Sweat dripped down Corey’s back, despite the cold air blowing through the truck’s vents. “Alicia? My god, Alicia. Where are you? Are you safe?”
“Corey?” Static bristled over the phone. The connection was bad.
Corey closed her eyes and cursed the shitty cell service on the island. “Alicia? I’m here.” Corey gripped the phone.
“Are you there? I’m in trouble.” Alicia’s voice shook with terror.
“Alicia!” Corey shouted into the phone. The call broke off. Corey stared at the phone in her hand.
It buzzed again and she tapped to accept the call. “Alicia? I’m here.”
“Inspector Proctor? It’s Agent Fox. Your secretary said our witness has been targeted?”
“Agent Fox! The Oasis Group has a hit out on Alicia. Here on the island. I think it’s going down right now. I need to know where your people are keeping her.”
“Corey, are you sure? My god.”
“There’s no time. Please.”
“Corey, I am breaking protocol big time here.”
“I know, Agent Fox. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t seriously important.”
“Ok. They have Alicia at the Rocky Hale B&B, on Castle Road. Agent Fox read the address of a small bed-and-breakfast on the north shore.
Corey knew it well. She drove past it every day on her way home. “Thank you, Lori. Send people to the location immediately. I’m heading there now.” She slammed the gas pedal to the floor and peeled out of the parking lot, her mind mapping the familiar route while trying to ignore the problem of the ticking clock and the back country roads between here and there.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Corey arrived at the Rocky Hale B&B, and drove slowly past the house, getting a look at what she was able to see from the road as she rolled by. She pulled off into a neighboring driveway, inched her truck off the pavement, and parked up against a tall hedge wall of purple lilacs separating the neighbor’s property from the B&B. She eased the door open and hopped out, slipping her jacket off so her arms would be free. She stepped up into the cab, onto the driver’s seat, and hoisted herself onto the roof of the truck. Then she jumped over the hedge and into the yard on the side of the Rocky Hale.
The bed-and-breakfast was a large plantation style house that had been refurbished for the vacation crowd. It boasted a wide wraparound porch and was in a remote location, but was known for being close to the rugged hills that made up the majority of the island’s interior.
Corey pulled her Glock .40 from her shoulder holster and held it in front of her as she ran toward the house. From the outside, the place appea
red quiet. A tawny alpaca munched at the soft leaves of the lilac bushes that draped over the top of the fence near one of the outbuildings on the side of the house.
Corey scanned the front of the house for anything out of place. The windows were closed, the sheer curtains pulled back. A ceiling fan with blades made to look like woven palm paddles turned slowly on the porch. A bird whistled its lyrical bird call in the trees overhead.
She did a quick check around the side of the large home. All quiet. She eased up the five steps onto the wooden porch, careful to stay away from the windows. Pressing her back against the clapboard wall of the house, she glanced at the door. It was open a crack.
Corey crouched and used her elbow to nudge the door open. It swung silently on its hinges and stopped when it bumped into something on the floor. Corey inched her face toward the doorway.
The front room looked like a war zone.
The body of Agent Lee sat on the floor facing the door. Her back leaned against one of two sofas that had been tipped forward. Corey hurried into the room and knelt next to the woman and checked her pulse. She was dead.
Corey scanned the room. Puffs of white fluff and feathers gave the room a snowy quality as if someone had just had a pillow fight, bursting seams and raining pillow feathers all over. Cottony white stuffing stuck out of what appeared to be bullet holes in the cushions. Bits of yellow shattered glass covered the floor, the shards of a light fixture that had been caught in the middle of whatever happened here.
The low wooden table had been knocked over. Magazines and a large coffee-table book on the hiking trails in the Nahant back country were strewn across the floor.
Corey scanned the space, using her gun to sight as she checked the room. Left, Right, Up, Down. She turned to look behind her. Clear.
Corey swallowed. She gripped her Glock, blew her breath out. Crouch-walking through the front room, she made her way into the dining room next door. The table and chairs were in perfect position, nothing was out of place. If someone had come through the house that way, they’d never know anything was wrong.
Death Comes Ashore Page 14