“Time for Mommy to keep her word, baby girl,” she said to the walls, to the spirit of her dead daughter. Who truly knew what happened to us when we died? What she couldn’t deny though were the nights she could have sworn she’d felt Kevin moving on his side of the bed. Whenever she’d reached out or looked—nothing, no one. It was likely just her carrying his ghost around in her mind.
She headed down the hall and went through her morning routine. On her way out of the house, she grabbed her keys from the bowl by the front door and shoved them into her jacket pocket. Her fingers brushed against the baggie of pills and she pulled it out. She’d be able to concentrate much better without worrying about them being discovered on her person.
She looked down at them in her palm. There were still six pills. Despite her intention, she hadn’t taken a Xanax last night. She’d just had a sleeping pill, crawled into bed, and left the day behind. She had more willpower than she realized, but she’d keep them for a moment of weakness. She took the pills and Freddy’s card to her bedroom and put them in the top drawer of her nightstand, then exited her house to hit the road.
First stop would be Hannah’s Diner for a coffee.
The door chimed when she entered the shop. May Byrd, who owned the diner and had named it after her first daughter, was behind the counter and offered her a gigawatt smile. May was easily in her early sixties and always lit up when she saw Amanda. May had told her once that she reminded her of Hannah, even though she was several years older than Amanda. She was a big-shot defense attorney in Washington.
“Good morning, May.”
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine.” Amanda’s gaze drifted to the pots on the counter behind May. “I’d love a coffee.”
“Of course ya would.” May grabbed an extra-large to-go cup and filled it to the brim, then snapped on a lid.
“You know just the way I like it.” Her dad had always said don’t trust a cop who doesn’t drink their coffee black.
“Hey, hold up a minute.” May hustled along the counter to where there was a confection display cabinet, slid the doors open at the back, and pulled out a blueberry muffin. She put it into a bag and extended it to Amanda. “Here, take this. Baked fresh this morning.”
In all the years Amanda had been coming here, May had given her only two freebies. The first was when her paternal grandmother had died, back when she was in the police academy; the second was after the accident. The pattern wasn’t one that was encouraging, but nothing bad had happened— Oh, unless word had already got around about Palmer’s death. But was that bad news per se?
“What’s this for?” Amanda indicated the muffin.
“You certainly haven’t had it easy, dear, but at least your luck is changing. That horrible man is dead.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding, almost as if she’d expected that May was going to say something else. But it made sense that Palmer’s death would get back to May. She was the heartbeat of the small community and every morsel of gossip passed through the walls of the diner. And anything May might miss there, she would hear from her book club, which convened once a month to discuss their latest paperback but weekly to shoot scuttlebutt.
“Okay, well, thank you for the muffin and the coffee.” She dropped two dollars on the counter and left.
She’d just bit into the muffin when her phone rang. Chew, chew, chew… She swallowed a large chunk and fished her phone out of her pocket. Caller ID told her it was Malone. “Hey.”
“Where are you?”
“Just about to head in.”
“Good. Come to my office straightaway.” With that he clicked off.
Something had Malone worked up, and that, combined with the strange way May had been with her, gave Amanda the niggling feeling something wasn’t right.
She drove to the station, breaking a few speeding laws, but when she walked through the building, she found her legs weren’t moving fast. She made her way through the cubicle maze belonging to the Homicide Unit, passing Cud, who looked up at her but turned away just as quickly.
“Come on—get in here.” Malone was waving her down the hallway like a marshal corralling an airplane into a parking spot.
She went inside, him behind her, and he shut the door.
“We don’t have long,” he said.
“What happened?” She had a sick feeling crawling over her skin, and it tamped down the urgency of filling him in on the bracelet and data chip.
“First, please tell me you have that alibi.”
“You’re freaking me out a bit.”
“Never mind that… Your alibi?”
She hadn’t done anything with Motel Guy’s plate last night, but she had a link to hunt him down. “Working on it.”
“Working on it. Oy vey.” He started pacing his small office. Stopped. Put his hands on his hips. “What seems to be the issue?”
“It’s a little complicated, and I’d been up for over thirty hours and needed sleep.”
“Just don’t tell me you don’t really have one because I’ll wind up with a hernia.”
“Oh, I have one.”
“Okay, good, good.” He looked at her as if expecting her to hand it over, despite the fact she’d just said she was working on it.
She shrank. “As soon as I have it, I’ll—”
There was a knock on the door.
“There’s the shit hitting the fan,” Malone mumbled. “I didn’t even get a chance to warn you.”
“Wha—”
Malone got the door. “Lieutenant Hill, how nice to—”
“Save it, Malone.” Lieutenant Sherry Hill strode into the room wearing a navy-blue pencil skirt with matching jacket, a cream silk blouse spilling over the neckline—a string bean on stilettos holding on to a black leather attaché case.
The lieutenant looked around the room and pursed her lips, which were painted a bright red in stark contrast to her otherwise fair features. “Small little office, isn’t it? We should have moved this meeting to mine, but it’s best we get down to business.” She leaned against the filing credenza and reached into her attaché.
Amanda glanced at Malone, who closed his eyes and shook his head. Whatever was coming out of that thing was not good news. Malone was a shade of green or, as Lindsey would have said, “he had gills.” It was how she described it when she wasn’t feeling well.
“You could sit in my seat if you’d like,” Malone offered Hill, likely more a delay tactic than out of any real concern for her comfort.
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Hill withdrew a folded newspaper from her bag, handed it to Amanda, and set her bag on the cabinet next to her. “Not sure if you’ve had a chance to read the latest?”
Amanda glanced at the copy of the Prince William Times in her hand. “What am I looking at?”
“Right on the cover.” Hill pointed with a manicured fingertip. “By all means, go ahead and read. We’ll wait.” Hill pasted on a tight-lipped smile for her and let it carry to Malone. “Go ahead,” she reiterated.
Lead sank in Amanda’s gut, a premonition setting in that everything was about to come crumbling down on top of her. She’d rather Hill scream and shout, but that wasn’t how the woman operated. She toyed with her subordinates through the subtleties of misleading displays of compassion and understanding. Like a psychopath, she batted her opponents with her paws, claws retracted until the final moment when she was going in for the kill. Amanda could feel her demise breathing down the back of her neck.
She set her coffee on the edge of Malone’s desk and slowly flipped and unfolded the paper. In large bold letters were the words PWCPD Playing Favorites and Murder Victim to Pay the Price. The article had been written by Fraser Reyes and, as Amanda read, her stomach twisted and balled, and her chest grew tighter. Reyes had painted the PWCPD as a bunch of cops more loyal to a former police chief than to finding justice. It alleged that by letting Detective Steele, the former police chief’s daughte
r, work an investigation into the murder of the man involved in the accident that had claimed her family’s life, the PWCPD was hosting a faux investigation, intent on sweeping Chad Palmer’s murder under the rug. Reyes also reported that Detective Amanda Steele had been so ardent in questioning Palmer’s girlfriend—who preferred to remain unnamed—that she was considering suing the department for harassment.
Amanda gripped the paper, the newsprint crinkling under her fingers. She wanted to hurl the thing across the room.
“All of this came as a shock to me,” Hill said, drawing Amanda’s gaze. “The fact that you’d be working this case in any capacity at all… Abhorrent thought, really.” Hill’s words were concise and prim, laced and dripping with acid.
Sure, Amanda had messed up, but it was the damn small community of slack jaws that had truly bitten her in the ass! If only she’d sent Trent solo to Courtney Barrett. And to think that she hadn’t the decency to acknowledge that she knew who Amanda was to her face. She glanced at Malone.
“He can’t save you from this mess, and there’s a lot to be cleaned up, Detective. All because you put your nose in where it didn’t belong.” She smoothed out her skirt. “Now, I’m sorry for what happened to your family—” She paused; she must have witnessed the rage in Amanda’s eyes.
Amanda wanted to lash back that she highly doubted the lieutenant was sorry at all. She’d wager Hill may have even reveled in her tragedy.
“As I was saying,” Hill continued, “I’m sorry for what happened to your family, but I can’t have the community thinking that Prince William County PD turns a blind eye to justice, to conflict of interest. I’m sure you understand.”
Amanda clenched her teeth so hard, a pain shot through her jaw. All those girls caught up in the sex-trafficking ring. Was she just supposed to turn her back on them?
“Sergeant Malone has explained to me that this reporter, a Mr.…” Hill nudged her chin toward the paper still in Amanda’s hands.
“Fraser Reyes,” Amanda said coolly. Hill knew exactly what his name was but just wanted to exert her power. More batting of her paws.
“Yes, well, Sergeant Malone has assured me that Mr. Reyes has exaggerated his facts, but just the hint of scandal, that we as PWCPD are willing to sacrifice our service to the community, well, it’s to be taken seriously indeed.”
Hill stopped talking and crossed her legs at the ankles. All a play at dramatics to relax her prey, when her softened posture just meant the claws were about to come out. “Malone did confirm that you had made some inquiries early in the case, but that you’ve taken a back seat in the investigation itself. Is that correct?” She arched her brows and managed to look down on Amanda, who was standing, from her seated position.
“Detective?” Hill prompted.
“That’s correct,” Amanda forced out.
“From what I understand from Malone, the actual lead on the case is Detective Stenson.” Hill leveled her gaze at her, expecting a response.
“Correct,” Amanda confirmed.
“So you both expect me to believe that you’ve been reporting to a rookie?” She scoffed laughter, looking from Amanda to Malone and back again. “Excuse me, but I’m calling complete and utter bullshit on that.” A splash of red filled her cheeks. “But it’s a good thing for you that I’m a reasonable woman and a team player.” She shot a threatening look at Malone. “And if those who report to me tell me something, I like to believe them, I endeavor to believe them, but I really should suspend you both.”
Hill let the threat sit in the air, and the room went silent except for breathing and the ticking clock on the wall. Eventually, Hill spoke again. “But I’m not going to—officially anyhow. At least not yet. However, let me make this perfectly clear, Detective. You are not to touch this case again.”
A ball knotted in Amanda’s chest. Just when she had started to feel a spark of purpose again, this witch had stomped it out. Well, screw it! She wasn’t the only cop who could save those girls and bring the sick bastards involved to justice. She’d fill in Trent, and someone from Sex Crimes was probably already on it.
“You know what?” Amanda unclipped her badge from her waist. “Take it!”
Hill’s eyes enlarged, but a smirk toyed at the corners of her mouth. Malone was shaking his head.
Amanda proceeded to remove her holster and firearm. “Take it all.” She shoved the items toward Hill, but the lieutenant wouldn’t take them. Amanda dropped them on the cabinet next to her.
“Are you quitting?” Hill asked, sounding too pleased by the prospect.
“I’m doing what you don’t have the guts to do; I’m suspending myself.”
“You can’t—”
“I just did,” Amanda shoved out.
“All right then…” Hill hoisted herself off the cabinet and grabbed her attaché case. “Suit yourself. Take some time off, get a massage or something. You do seem rather tense, Detective.”
At the door, Hill looked over a shoulder and flashed her a smug, self-satisfied smile that Amanda would have happily smacked off her face.
Malone was quick to get the door and shut Amanda inside with him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m not living with a threat hanging over my head. She tells us ‘oh, I’m not officially suspending you, at least not right now’? It’s a manipulation tactic and I’m not anyone’s damn puppet, least of all Hill’s!”
Malone put his hands on his hips and let out a puff of air. “I admit that I expected a lot worse.”
“She’s just saving it up for a time in the future. People like her work the favor system.”
“I’m not going to dispute that, but”—Malone glanced at her items on the cabinet—“I just don’t want you to throw everything you’ve worked for away.”
In this moment she wasn’t so sure what she had was worth fighting for. She hadn’t been the same since the accident; she’d lost purpose and direction. Her motivation gone. Any dreams of an amazing future gone. She wasn’t cut out for this job anymore. She’d been a pretender, a fake, for the last five and a half years.
“I know you’ve experienced horrible loss,” Malone said softly, inching toward the cabinet. “And I can’t begin to imagine how much you’re still hurting. And maybe”—he shrugged—“some time off would do you good. Maybe get out of town, take a real vacation somewhere outside the county. But don’t leave this behind because you let Hill get under your skin.” He took her badge, holster, and gun and extended it to her. When she didn’t reach for it right away, he nudged it toward her. “Don’t make Hill happy by leaving the force. Then she’ll win.”
Amanda looked down at the items that had defined her entire adult life. She should have felt a draw to take them from Malone, but she stepped back and shook her head. “I’m taking—” She was going to say a break when her phone rang. One quick glance at the caller ID and her breath froze. Dad. Of all the times!
She squeezed her phone. All she wanted to do was slam it to the floor, stomp it to pieces. Anything so it would stop ringing.
“Your dad?” Malone wagered a guess, his voice respectful and tentative.
She clenched her jaw and nodded as the ringing continued. She expected Malone to give her some lecture about how she should pick it up, that her father wouldn’t want her to throw her career away, that her father was attempting to traverse the chasm between them and mend things. But did all of them think it had been an easy decision to stop talking to her family and back away? She’d just done what she needed to do in order to survive. She shook off the guilt that was worming its way through her, but her entire body was pulsating.
The ringing stopped—her father would have been shuffled to voicemail—and the room somehow became quieter than before.
Malone was still holding out her badge, holster, and gun. Again, he nudged it toward her.
“I’ve gotta go.” She brushed past him and hurried out the door. Self-doubt rattled through her mind, crippling her, hindering her steps, b
ut she was making the right decision for her. She couldn’t cling to her job just because it was familiar or because victims depended on her. Other cops would rise. It was time for her to be brave enough to face a new world of her own making. Get out of town as Malone had suggested. Just maybe she wouldn’t come back. After all, the sobering truth was that Hill’s claws hadn’t come out at all. No, Amanda was quite sure the lieutenant wasn’t finished batting her—or Malone—around yet, but she didn’t have to sit around and take it.
Twenty-Seven
The tape icon in the top-left-hand corner of Amanda’s phone screen burned a hole in the heart. Just knowing that on the other side it would be her father’s voice, a voice from her past, from before life had been flipped on its head… Yes, it was time to get out of the county. Maybe never look back again.
She pulled into her driveway. She’d just slip into her house for a quick moment, pack a couple of bags, and hit the road. Who knew where it would take her and when she’d stop?
She was partway up the front walk when her phone rang again. She stopped and took it out of her pocket. It was probably going to be Malone appealing for her return or Trent checking on her whereabouts, but she wasn’t in the mood for either conversation. She also wasn’t in the mood for some idiot trying to scare her. “Unbelievable,” she called out at seeing the caller ID was blocked. She slid the call to voicemail and hurried to her door.
She put the key in the lock and twisted. But it was already unlocked. Her hand moved to her holster—only to be reminded it wasn’t there. For the trace of a second, she regretted her brash decision to leave her badge and weapon behind.
The Little Grave Page 17