by A R Kennedy
She softly moaned. “That feels so much better. Thank you.”
Afraid of what he might do next, he said, “I better go,” and shot up.
“Okay, thanks,” she yelled out as he closed the sliding door.
She marveled at the leg, which was for the first time in weeks not itchy. She didn’t notice the abrupt departure.
The beeping on his phone disturbed Vinnie from his late-night snack, a cup of green tea and a banana. It wasn’t the beep of an incoming text or voicemail. It wasn’t a beep he recognized at all.
He picked up the phone with his left hand, still holding the banana in his right. Unconsciously, his hands clenched, causing the banana to squirt out onto his lap.
“Crap!” he exclaimed in response to the mess and the phone’s alert.
He got on the patrol car’s radio with his banana-smeared hand. “Get to Chandler’s now!”
Vinnie flipped on his lights and sirens and threw the car into drive. Tires squealing, he pulled out of Glinton’s convenience store’s parking lot and sped toward Cecilia’s home.
As he pulled onto Cecilia’s street, he turned off the sirens and lights for a stealthy approach. His fellow officer, driving in from the opposite direction, followed suit and they both pulled up in front of Cecilia’s. Each jumped out of their car, leaving the car door open.
“You really think—” Officer Rango started to ask.
“Tech doesn’t lie, my friend,” he answered, pointing to his phone. Pugliese could not hide his smile.
Another police car pulled up as Pugliese and Rango approached the front door, guns drawn. The house looked the same as the other nights Pugliese had driven by. He had made a habit of driving by, at least twice, each shift he was assigned. Just to make sure. He checked the app on his phone regularly, even when he wasn’t working. Some would say he was obsessed. Pugliese would say dedicated. He knew computer-savvy Chandler would do this. She’d waited until the media trucks had left plus a little more time. He wasn’t surprised she had waited until everyone else had put the case in the back of their minds.
Pugliese banged on the door. He signaled for the third officer to go around back. “Make sure the car is in the garage.” Officer Landings nodded understanding and did as he was ordered.
“Police! Open up!” Pugliese yelled as he banged on the door again.
Cecilia was still sitting in the kitchen, enjoying the rest of her soda and marveling at the itch-free leg, when she heard the banging. Ferris and Cecilia looked at each other. They got up before the second knocking. Before she could get to the door and ask who it was, the door flew open.
She screamed at the sight of the two officers, with their guns drawn.
“Hands up!” Pugliese ordered.
“What’s the—” Cecilia started to ask.
“Shut up!” Pugliese ordered. “Rango, clear the house. Make sure she’s alone.” Gun leading the way, Rango walked up the stairs and checked each of the rooms.
Landings came in the front door, gun holstered. “Car’s still there, Pugliese. Truck too.”
“Clear the first floor,” Pugliese ordered Landings. He nodded understanding, pulled out his gun, and started walking through the first floor.
Cecilia stood as still as she could, hands in the air. She could feel Ferris’s shaking body on her leg. Her eyes the only part of her that moved. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Down!” Pugliese ordered. Cecilia knelt down, hands still in the air, and Ferris laid next to her, his shaking intensifying.
“I—” she started to speak again but Pugliese interrupted.
“Shut up! I already told you!”
Cecilia pursed her lips and remained quiet. She heard someone coming up the porch and looked over Pugliese’s shoulder. She smiled when she saw Holden. As he entered, he tipped his hat at Cecilia. “Mrs. Chandler.”
Ferris, happy to see a friend, jumped up from Cecilia’s side and ran to Holden. Ferris jumped on him, expecting the usual petting. “Down, boy,” Holden directed him. Surprised by the sharp tone, Ferris sat.
“What seems to be the problem, Pugliese?” the chief asked.
Pugliese took a few steps back, in order to see Owens. His gun remaining trained on Cecilia. “What are you doing here, Chief?”
“Heard on the radio there was a problem at the Chandler house. Can you explain?”
“Mrs. Chandler here has been removing her ankle monitor.”
Holden stepped to the side to look at Cecilia’s ankle. “Looks like it’s still on, Pugliese.”
Holden held his hand out to Cecilia to help her up. “Don’t touch the suspect, sir!” Pugliese yelled.
“Put the gun away,” Holden ordered him. Rango and Landings returned from the inspection of the house, shaking their heads at Pugliese. “Put your guns away too,” Holden ordered.
“What’d you find?” Pugliese barked.
“Nothing,” answered Rango, after he holstered his gun. “House is clear.”
Pugliese looked to Landings, hoping for better news. “Nothing but two open sodas in the kitchen.”
She glanced at Holden before answering. To Holden, it felt like minutes passed. To the others, just seconds. “I like my Mountain Dew. Is that a crime?”
“Get back on patrol,” Owens instructed the two officers. They did so, both giving Pugliese a stern look for getting them in trouble with the Chief.
“She disarmed the ankle monitor, Chief.” He pointed to the monitor, which was untouched. “Probably using some tech stuff so she can escape the jurisdiction.”
“Mrs. Chandler,” Holden said again, his hand still held out. She took it and stood.
She looked down at the ankle monitor. “I’m not a hacker, Officer.”
“Can you please have a seat, Mrs. Chandler?” Holden pointed to the kitchen.
Cecilia noted the use of her full name again. “Yes, Chief Owens.” She did little to hide her annoyance.
They walked into the kitchen and she sat on the same stool she had when he cleaned her skin. The bottle of rubbing alcohol and used gauze remained on the kitchen counter.
Ferris tapped his leg, and Holden gave him a biscuit from his treat jar. “Have you been cleaning around the monitor?” he asked.
Cecilia always knew Holden snuck in her back door for a reason but she had never put much thought into it. She was glad for the company, especially his company. The first night, he had said it was so the media wouldn’t see him. But the media trucks had left weeks ago and he still snuck in the back door. As he stood in front of her, hiding their friendship from his co-workers, she was hurt.
He touched her leg softly, as he did before. She tried to ignore his gentle touch as he inspected her leg. “Skin’s pretty irritated. Try to be more careful next time you’re cleaning the skin.”
She nodded but wouldn’t look at him. Holden turned to find Pugliese scowling at the soda cans. Only one had lipstick on it. “Is the monitor back online?” Holden asked.
Pugliese pulled out his phone and opened the app. The monitor was back online.
“Yes. But she was fiddling with it, sir.”
“She was cleaning irritated skin.” Holden straightened up and tried to catch Cecilia’s eye. She wouldn’t look at him. “We apologize for the disturbance,” he told Cecilia as he headed to the door. Pugliese huffed. Holden pushed Pugliese toward the front door. He inspected the kicked-in door and added, “Someone will be out tomorrow to fix the door.”
Cecilia closed the door without speaking. Her only friend in this town didn’t want anyone to know.
“Really?” Holden said to Pugliese, pointing to the door. “Was that necessary?”
“I thought she was trying to run.”
“And where is she going to go? No passport. Her face has been all over the news. This isn’t some serial killer, some lady who’s a danger to society.”
Holden escorted Pugliese to his patrol car. The other patrol cars were gone. The street remained appropriately quiet for
this time of night. Holden was thankful the officers had made a quiet approach. He did not want to face the neighbors and have to explain the events.
“That dog sure seems to like you, sir.” Pugliese looked at the Chandler home. “Strange for a dog that was attacked by an intruder fairly recently.”
“We’ve been in the house before, Pugliese.”
“He didn’t greet me like he did you, didn’t ask me for a treat.”
“I didn’t have a gun pointed at him and his owner,” Owens reminded him.
Pugliese agreed. But there was something about the encounter that bothered him.
CHAPTER 35
The next morning, Holden headed to his car and got out his tool kit. He waved at Pugliese as he was headed into the station.
“Where are you going?” Vinnie asked as Holden was getting in his patrol car.
“Going to fix Mrs. Chandler’s door.” He paused, before getting into the car. “Unless you want to do it?”
“I’m sure she could get it fixed.”
“Yeah, and who in this town would take her calls?” Holden didn’t wait for an answer, got in the car, and drove away.
“She owns a construction company, for goodness sake!” Vinnie yelled after him.
Toolbox in hand, he rang Cecilia’s doorbell. The door stood slightly askew. He regretted not returning last night to fix it. He rang the bell again. He heard movement behind the door and Cecilia opened the door. “Hello, Chief Owens, how can I help you?”
Holden noted her frosty tone. “Good morning. I came to fix the door.”
“Oh, I figured it was official business with you coming to the front door and all.” Her tone was not warming up.
“CeCe—”
“Oh, it’s CeCe now, is it? Now that all your co-workers are gone.”
“I’m sorry—” he started.
“Oh stop. You might have mentioned you were the one who at least told me I could clean the ankle monitor like that. They busted in here, guns out. It was terrifying.”
“CeCe—”
“They’re not as stealth as you are. Look at the door. He kicked it down!” She stepped back and pointed to a desk. “I had to put this against the door to keep it up last night.”
“I know but I couldn’t—”
“Yeah, I get you can’t tell them you come over to see public enemy number one. But to treat me like a stranger, that was…cold. You know, Wyatt wouldn’t be so thrilled to find out I’ve been talking to you without him present as my counsel. But I wouldn’t pretend I didn’t know you.”
“CeCe—” Holden wanted to explain. But how?
“Shut up, he said to me. Twice in my own home. I’m treated like a criminal in my own home!” She looked down at the ankle monitor. “I am a prisoner in my own home because some dumb kid attacked me and Ferris in my own home!”
At the sound of his name, Ferris came in running from the backyard. He jumped for Holden, missing him by two inches, to greet him. His second try was successful.
“Ferris!” she rebuked. “Sit.” He quickly obeyed. His tail tapped the ground while he waited to be released from the sit command. “Don’t play with him. He’s the enemy.”
“I’m not the enemy, CeCe,” he pleaded. Trying to change the subject, and return them to their pleasant relationship, he asked. “How’s the ankle?”
“It feels much better, thank you!” she shouted at him as she walked away.
“How’s Mrs. Chandler?” Vinnie asked when Holden returned to the station’s parking lot.
“Pissed off.”
“Well, you seem to have that effect on people today. Briscoe’s looking for you.”
Holden held his profanity until returning to his patrol car. His anger had not evaporated in the short drive to the prosecutor’s office.
The chief walked into the office, slamming the door against the wall. Startled by his quick arrival and the door slam, Marcy smeared her lipstick across her face. Holden did not care.
He walked into Briscoe’s office, finding him filling out some paperwork.
“Now what?” Holden asked.
“How are you, Chief?” Briscoe asked when he looked up. He looked happy. Owens didn’t like meeting with an angry Briscoe, but a happy one was far more unsettling.
“What do you want, Briscoe?”
Briscoe returned to completing the paperwork. “I heard there was an incident at the Chandler house.”
“It’s under control.”
“For now,” Briscoe responded. Owens glared at Briscoe. “Do we need to revoke her bail?”
“No.”
He signed his name at the bottom of a form and waved it at Owens. “I think we need to revoke her bail.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I need you with me.” He got up and put on his jacket. He looked in the mirror, straightened his tie, and ran his hand through his hair. “Got to look good for the cameras.”
“There’s no cameras today.” He was thankful the media had missed last night’s events. He didn’t want to have to answer the media’s questions on the incident.
“Oh, there will be,” Briscoe assured him.
“I think this is a mistake,” Owens warned as they exited his office.
Marcy was still scrubbing the lipstick off of her face. Neither man noticed.
“All I need you to do, Owens, is tell the judge what happened last night.”
“Nothing happened,” he tried to explain. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“Bull,” Briscoe spat.
They walked the rest of the way to the judge’s chambers in silence. Sewell was sitting outside the office. His glare at Briscoe was as intimidating as Owens’s. Briscoe didn’t notice.
“What’s going on?” Sewell asked.
“Where’s Ms. Chandler?” Briscoe said, looking up and down the hallway.
“She’s home. Where else would she be?” Sewell asked.
“Not for long,” Briscoe answered. He smiled.
Disturbed by Briscoe’s grin, Sewell turned to Michael. “Go get Cecilia.”
Pulling up his contact list, Michael called Cecilia and told her to be court ready in five minutes. She asked why but Michael had already hung up. Michael ran to their rental car.
The lawyers and police chief were called into Judge Lowe’s chambers.
“Aren’t we missing someone?” the judge asked.
“She’s on her way, Your Honor.” Sewell looked at Briscoe and Owens. “My assistant went to get her.”
Judge Lowe looked at Briscoe. “I’ll give her ten minutes. If she’s not here by then, we’ll get started.”
Holden leaned into Briscoe and whispered, “I really think we need to talk about this before you talk to the judge.”
“No.” Briscoe remained sitting, smile plastered across his face.
Sewell sat in another chair looking from Owens to Briscoe, trying to figure out what was going on.
With two minutes to spare, Michael and Cecilia ran into the judge’s chambers.
Sewell rolled his eyes when he appraised Cecilia’s attire. Holden smiled.
Cecilia’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing black leggings, gray boat shoes, a T-shirt, and a blue blazer. When she caught the two men looking at her Beastie Boys To the 5 Boroughs concert T-shirt, she buttoned her blazer.
She wasn’t fast enough.
“What’s on your shirt, Ms. Chandler?” the judge asked.
She could feel Wyatt’s glare. “It’s a concert T-shirt, sir.” She was overwhelmed knowing the four men were staring at her chest.
“The Five Boroughs?” he asked.
“Um…yes, New York.”
With disdain, he said, “Oh…New York. Are you a fan?”
“The T-shirt was my husband’s, sir. I apologize for not being properly dressed for you.”
Wyatt nodded approval for her conciliatory tone.
“Oh…it’s always the dead husband,” Briscoe mumbled. “Can we get to
the matter at hand please?”
“Get to it, Briscoe,” Judge Lowe ordered him.
He stood, puffed out his chest, and told him, “Ms. Chandler violated the conditions of her bail conditions and her house arrest last night.”
“What?” Michael and Wyatt said in unison, while Cecilia was left speechless. They turned to Cecilia for explanation and she shook her head.
Holden hung his head.
Briscoe continued, “Last night, at eleven p.m., she left the confines of her home, triggering her ankle monitor’s alarm.”
“Your Honor—” Owens started.
Judge Lowe held his hand up. “Mr. Sewell, can you explain?”
“Can I have a moment with my client, Judge?” Sewell asked.
“No,” the judge ruled. He pointed to Cecilia and signaled for her to step closer to him. She did as ordered. “Ms. Chandler, did you try to leave the jurisdiction last night?”
Cecilia looked from one man to the other, panicked, not knowing who to address.
“No,” she answered, looking at the judge.
“Have you ever tried to leave the jurisdiction?” Judge Lowe asked.
Cecilia shook her head vehemently. “Not since you put the monitor on and ordered me not to.”
Lastly, the judge asked, “Are you going to try to leave the jurisdiction?”
Relieved that her previous answers had met the judge’s approval, she sighed before answering, “No.”
Appeased with her answers, Judge Lowe looked at Briscoe and Owens. “Who wants to explain to me why I am late for lunch at CB’s Diner? If he runs out of the Sloppy Joes, someone is going to be in contempt!”
“Your Honor—” Briscoe started.
“Chief Owens, can you explain?” the judge asked.
“There seemed to be a malfunction of the ankle monitor last night. Setting off a false alarm. When my officers got to the Chandler residence, she was in her home.”
“Malfunction?” Briscoe yelled. “Nonsen—”