I’d given up then—but I knew I wouldn’t this time. The Devil may have had his minions chunking painful obstacles at me, but I wouldn’t cower this time. “No I won’t…back…down…hey, baby. There ain’t no easy way out…”
The rush of excitement made my entire body quake with joy. I didn’t say anything while I replayed his words over and over in my mind. Detective Knowles was not the type of man who admitted fault easily, nor did he take well to having his mistakes pointed out. My guess was that he had never, even to solve a difficult case, exposed his soft underbelly like he had just done.
No sleep. Not on duty. Apologetic. No doubts. I mulled those phrases over. Whatever evidence he uncovered, whether by contemplating what he’d been shown last week or finding new information out on his own, had caused him do a one-eighty from his previous perceptions about Jack.
Blinking back my manic thoughts, I found my voice. “Please, tell me why. You don’t have to go into detail, just the surface is fine. But I need to know what changed your mind. Somehow, I don’t think it was just what I showed you, since you seemed to have brushed it off that day. Did you finally check out Guy Powell and Bill Witham? Was it the Justice for Jack website?”
Even though I wasn’t a cop and had no professional training in reading facial expressions, I saw a fleeting glimpse of shock on the detective’s face, followed by conflict. He clenched his jaw so tight that the small vein running from his jawbone up to his temple throbbed with each thump of his heart. He looked away from me and back down at his half-eaten plate full of breakfast, unwilling to meet my inquisitive and pleading stare. His tension and unease filled the living room as he struggled with his thoughts.
After several long minutes he cleared his throat, took a sip of coffee and looked over at me, his dark brown eyes betraying his inner turmoil.
“Mrs. Dickinson—what I’m about to tell you can go no further than this room. I am already jeopardizing not only my job but the livelihood of others by even being here. This bomb will come out eventually, but it can’t right now. Not until this case is solved. However, I can’t not tell you because if it weren’t for…my errors in judgment…you wouldn’t be hearing this from me. You’d be hearing it from your husband. You need to know—but you also must know that someone is trying very hard to keep what I’m about to say hidden—and as of yet, I haven’t figured out who or why. So, I need you to trust me and not ask me any questions after I tell you the bare minimum—because I won’t answer them. Too much is at risk right now.”
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening in response to not only his words, but mannerisms. He seemed nervous—edgy. He was doing his best not to fidget in the chair across from me, like a little kid forced to sit still during church. No wonder. If what he said was true, and I sensed it was, mine wasn’t the only life altered by this tragedy.
“Detective, I understand how investigations work and keeping the confidentiality of your sources. I really do. So, I won’t ask you to divulge anything that might jeopardize what you are doing. But, again, I will ask you: are you looking into the possible involvement of Guy Powell and Bill Witham? A simple yes or no response is sufficient.”
“Yes.”
I clapped my hands and had to force myself to remain seated. “That is great news! Regina, Kendal and I all believe those two are somehow tied together in this mess. Have you talked to either of them yet?”
“I spoke with Mr. Witham yesterday but have not had a chance to meet with Mr. Powell.”
“The look on your face now betrays your thoughts, Detective. You think—oh, my God—you think that Bill is involved, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What about Guy? Have you made any contact with him? If you can’t find him, Kendal might be able to help. He ran into him at Christmas in Sheridan.”
“Not necessary. I know where he is, but I haven’t figured out how to see him just yet.”
I pondered his statement and then it hit me. “He’s in jail, isn’t he?” The detective nodded in agreement. “In jail…at Pulaski?”
“Yes.”
I let that heavy brick he just tossed me sink in. Bill Witham—the ex-boyfriend of Serena—now a jailer for Pulaski County. Guy Powell—enemy of Jack with a score to settle—an inmate at the same place. Though crazy and improbable, it couldn’t be sheer coincidence. It made sense to me now why the police department didn’t want to re-open the investigation. Not only would it tarnish their image, but the reputation of the jail as well, and had the potential to end up costing the county millions—just like Roger said. It was damage control with a heavy dose of the “good ol’ boy” system in place to cover each other’s asses and bury the truth so deep under the jail it would never be uncovered.
At the expense of my husband’s name. No way was that going to happen. No way in Hell. “I’m guessing that these little revelations aren’t the thing you previously referred to that Jack himself should be telling me.”
“No, they aren’t. None of that information can be shared to anyone, and this last bit certainly cannot. Under any circumstances. If it gets out, then it will come back to me as the one who leaked it, and I doubt I will be able to continue my investigation, much less be employed in law enforcement. This is just between the two of us, agreed?”
“Agreed. What is it?”
He paused, pain and excitement vying for control over his face. There was a look of pity, followed by angst, then an overshadowing of guilt. I couldn’t imagine what he was being so cryptic for and why in the world he thought it was something that Jack should have been telling…
All of a sudden it was like the Mack truck that had been sitting on my chest for over two weeks, slowly crushing the life out of me, was roaring to life and speeding off. The haze of the last three gut-wrenching weeks lifted off of my broken heart. I could breathe. Jack had already bemoaned his innocence in Serena’s death, admitted to their affair and the fact that he would soon be a father. There was only one thing that I could think of that Jack would need to say to me face-to-face that he hadn’t already. One hand flew to my mouth and the other hand to my stomach as the truth slammed home.
“Jack…wasn’t the father, was he?” I whispered through my tears of joy.
Detective Knowles’ smile was a strange mixture of happiness at telling me the news and fear of the repercussions of spilling the beans. He nodded his agreement.
Thank you, Lord. Thank you. He did bring sunshine. Oh, God! Warm, beautiful sun.
I closed my eyes and shut out everything else, basking in the happiness of the new found knowledge that Jack hadn’t fathered a child with another woman. Questions bubbled below the surface of my thoughts but I pushed them away. I wanted to savor this news. This revelation came from left field and was not something I had even been praying for.
Jack and Serena had an affair. He admitted to it and told me the reason that he fled the hotel was the announcement from Serena that he was going to be a father. The baby was the catalyst that spurred the detective to arrest Jack. Poor Jack spent his last few days here on earth thinking he was the father. And my mother! Oh, I couldn’t wait to tell her…
In an instant the warm glow from the detective’s words turned into a red, throbbing haze. It burned a hole inside of my heart and sparked the flames of fury. The man sitting across from me was the one who had arrested Jack for a crime he not only didn’t do, but had no motive in committing. Had he been more diligent, lined his ducks up in a row before he condemned Jack, I wouldn’t be a widow. My two closest friends wouldn’t be stuck doing their best to help me plan my mother’s funeral because I was screwed up from all of this and couldn’t think straight.
Why didn’t he wait for the DNA results to come back before he arrested Jack? If he had, Jack would be by my side, right now. Along with my mother. All of us would be rejoicing at the news of viable suspects and that fatherhood had not been in the cards for Jack.
I tried to control my anger, but it was a
lost cause. The poison of hatred seeped into every crevice in my mind. Rage clouded my vision and filled my head with its orange flames. I’d wandered through the valley of life and fallen so many times I couldn’t stand it any longer. I felt my soul falter on the dark, slippery road and skitter off into the dark abyss. The bread crumbs of the light of God’s love were gone from my heart, covered by a throbbing mass of blood red. Hatred toward the man sitting in front of me—in Jack’s chair—for putting me inside this living nightmare slithered through me. The heat intensified and pushed all reasoning out of me in one low, dark hiss as the emotional volcano erupted, “Get out.”
“Mrs. Dickinson, please.”
“I said get out. I mean it. Get out of my house and don’t even think about contacting me until you have the real killer behind bars.”
“If I could just—”
I stood up from the couch and in three quick strides crossed the room, my finger in his face, my voice low so Kendal and Regina wouldn’t hear. Had I been a man, I would have punched his lights out. Even though I wasn’t, I still had to fight the urge to hurt him.
“If you think you can ease your conscious by coming over here and telling me all this, you’re wrong. Dead wrong. Your errors in judgment cost me my entire existence, Detective. Jack’s dead because you arrested an innocent man way before you completed your investigation. And now, my mother has died from a massive heart attack because she couldn’t handle all the stress. Stress brought on by your shoddy investigation. Do you realize what you’ve done? You destroyed my family’s world because you kowtowed to pressure by others to hurry up and box the lid on the embarrassing end to Ritchie Rich’s daughter.”
“That’s not tru—”
“I’m not finished, Detective,” I shot back, my finger still millimeters from his nose. I took a deep breath to refresh my lungs so I could unload some more righteous indignation in his face, courtesy of my sharp tongue. Before I could unleash my wrath, he grabbed my finger with both hands and pushed it out of his face. I started to jerk away, but something stopped me.
There were tears glinting in his eyes. Real, fresh tears. They weren’t enough to spill down his face and had I not been inches from them, I would never have noticed. Nonetheless, they were there and their presence knocked me for a loop.
“You’re right. You have every reason to hate my guts and want to stomp and spit all over me for what has happened. I don’t blame you one bit, in fact, I feel the exact same way,” he choked, his words full of pain. “I didn’t come here to upset you any further, Mrs. Dickinson. I came here because I felt you needed to know, needed to hear it from me, the man who put your husband behind bars. And what you need to know is that I believe with all my heart he was innocent. I also wanted to let you know that I won’t stop investigating this case until I get to the very bottom of it and figure out why Mr. Dickinson was the target of a large, and quite vast, conspiracy. Because I believe that’s what’s going on here—and the players involved don’t play nice, Mrs. Dickinson.”
“Let go of me,” I said with more gusto than I felt. True, genuine remorse shone like a beacon on his face. His words sent shock waves through my heart. A conspiracy? I couldn’t fathom what he meant by that.
He stood up and pulled me closer, his words faint and full of despair. “Please, Mrs. Dickinson. You need to trust me on this. I can’t say much more, but I can tell you this—until I unravel this mess, you are in danger. From what I’ve been able to uncover so far, this goes much deeper than either of us can really imagine. Not even behind walls of reinforced concrete and bars was safe. So please, lay low and keep your phone with you at all times and for God sake, don’t go anywhere alone. And don’t say a word about what I just revealed to anyone, including Roger, Bertrand, and especially not your friends or family. Understand?”
I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him I had no family to tell, to go straight to hell and offer explicit directions on exactly how to get there and what to do upon his arrival. But I couldn’t. My brain was telling my body to lose all control and grab the closest instrument to me and bash him over the head—to make him pay for what he’d done to me. To Jack. To my mom. Images of me landing a solid kick to his groin flashed into my mind. My limbs shook as I tried to override my wicked thoughts of vengeance with what my heart was telling me, which was to keep my temper in check and heed his advice.
Though improbable, it made sense. I already knew Jack didn’t kill Serena. It had been just an added bonus to hear that the child in her belly hadn’t been his. But that knowledge brought us back to square one, which was who did kill her and decide to frame Jack? Other than the man Kendal mentioned, Guy Powell, who seemed to have a morbid fascination with making Kendal and Jack pay for some teenage grudge, who else would go to such lengths to ruin Jack’s life? What did Bill Witham have to do with all this? Was it simply an ironic twist of fate? Was it rational thought overridden by the knowledge of Serena’s death, and the inability to control his own need for revenge that ended Jack’s life?
As I grappled with everything the detective said, the last piece slammed into the forefront of my thoughts. My heart skipped two beats as I ingested his words. “You said Jack and Serena weren’t the only targets—so who else is on the hit list?” The detective released his tight grip on my hands, his eyes clouded with worry. “I don’t know for sure.”
“Don’t lie to me again, Detective. I’m learning how to read you. Who is it?”
He didn’t answer, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts.
I’m the target.
Oh, God.
CHAPTER TWENTY - WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
The house was quiet. Kendal had left for work and Regina for a doctor appointment and trip to the grocery store. Simba slept at my feet, her tail and feet twitching every now and then, probably from chasing squirrels or cats in her dreams. For a moment, I envied her blissful serenity and wished that I could crawl inside her dream-state and get lost frolicking around in the confines of sleep-induced reality.
The afternoon sun had burned the puffy clouds away with its intense heat and warmed the water molecules in the air. The combination made it feel like I was sitting in a steam bath at the gym. I ignored the sweat that clung to me and continued slowly pushing my bare feet against the concrete of my deck. The slight movements rocked the swing back in forth in gentle waves.
I had begged off going to the store with Regina, feigning a sinus headache and ignoring the warning of Detective Knowles not to be alone. At this point, if I was really a target, then whoever was behind it all just needed to get on with their plans. Quit being a coward and come face me. If I was lucky, I’d put up a helluva fight, win and smile while I watched them pay for their actions. If I was luckier, they would best me and I would begin my next journey in eternity, flying around with my butterfly wings alongside my loved ones in Heaven.
Mom’s funeral was all set for Friday afternoon at two o’clock. Regina had given me a funny look, but thankfully said nothing in front of Kendal when I told them to change the funeral from Saturday to Friday. I saw the questions looming behind her eyes. She wondered why I changed the date to the day that I was to go to the Justice for Jack rally at the capitol. My eyes must have conveyed my determination because she kept these thoughts to herself.
Kendal seemed oblivious to the dramatic shift in my demeanor when the detective left. But after our conversation a few nights ago, things had become strained between the two of us, and we were both keeping our distance from each other. Our dirty little secrets were free, but I sure didn’t feel cleansed. I doubted Kendal did, either.
When the detective left, I said very little other than the fact he was now on our side and working the case. I made sure to hammer home that this was all very hush-hush and to not say a word about his visit. That seemed to quell Kendal’s concerns, but my hasty departure to take a shower and unwillingness to expound on anything else only piqued Regina’s.
One good thing about having
a close friend is that they learn to read your face. They understand your expressions, the nuances in your voice, and your body movements. I could tell that Regina read mine like an open book. She knew within seconds of looking at me that something was very, very wrong. I could read hers, too, and recognized the look of deferring to my wishes. She knew better than to ask and would wait until I let down the wall I’d just erected around myself.
For the past hour, I had accomplished only three things: smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, thanked God countless times for the news I heard earlier, and contemplated whether I should or shouldn’t call Roger and Bertrand. They needed to know the news dumped on me by Detective Knowles. Conflict raged inside me. On the one hand, I’d promised the detective I would not tell anyone. While he continued to work on the case in stealth mode, sharing obvious confidential information might jeopardize things. The flip side was my promise to Jack at his funeral; a promise whispered to the silent grave to do whatever necessary to clear his name.
I realized that promise won the battle when I snatched my phone off the swing next to me and dialed Roger’s number. I didn’t really know Bertrand and had no real reason to trust him. Roger, on the other hand, I did know and knew I could. Besides, I knew if I kept this bottled up any longer I would explode. What I really wanted to do was call Erin Corpian and tell her to come over for an earful. That would surely get the ball rolling for a full review of Jack’s case when she revealed on primetime that Jack Dickinson wasn’t the father of Serena Rowland’s love child.
“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today, Melody. Regina said you were knocked out.”
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