Sosa has apparently been able to hear some of what we said because she struggles against the officers holding her, cheeks a bright red. “Kildaire, this is ludicrous. This whole fairy tale about a White Rabbit is stupid. I’m just out here trying to chase down a guy who stole a painting. Look, let me go. I am a fellow officer, and we are letting our true perpetrator get away.”
Matteo hesitates again.
It’s zero hour. And she’s about to talk her way out of this because I have no proof. I snap my fingers, startling everyone beside me. Proof.
“It’s not a fairy tale, and I can prove it. Matteo, if she’s who we were chasing, she hasn’t had time to ditch the journals. She’s got them on her somewhere. I swear.” I’ve never been so sure of anything in my entire life. I will Matteo to believe me.
Matteo reaches forward and unzips her jacket. A manila envelope falls out, along with a journal.
Bazinga.
Agent Sosa screeches, face beet red now. “That’s not mine. Someone planted those there. Why would I have some journal? That huge sea beast put it in my jacket when I fell! You’re arresting the wrong person!”
She’s right. We can’t prove she took them. Another thought occurs to me as I eye her open coat. The painting. The ripped canvas. “Look for a knife,” I tell Matteo as he pulls on a glove and scoops up the envelope. “Do officers carry knives? Anything sharp that could, say, slice through a canvas?”
Silence stretches as he pats her pockets and produces a small folding utility knife, black in color. It looks like military issue, and I’d be willing to believe it’s Sosa’s personal knife. He drops it into a baggie while Sosa glares at me.
The yelling has gathered a crowd, and though the officers are doing their best to keep people out, I see a multitude of cell-phone cameras pointed in our direction. For better or for worse, the Golden Arrow and the White Rabbit—and me and my crew—are evening news fodder. A familiar face pushing through the crowd draws my attention.
Ryan’s face is white. He’s sans coat and bag of freebies, and he all but launches himself to land near Matteo. “MG, what the hell is going on?”
I cut a glance at Latifah, cuffs placed on her beefy arms. “Minor misunderstanding. It seems we happened upon a bad guy—er—girl and got in the way of her escape. Ry, you’re going to have to feed Trog for me until this is cleared up, okay?”
Ryan looks around, sees the rest of his party being handcuffed, and swings his gaze back to me. “No, I’m coming with you guys. I’ll witness to . . . whatever.”
“Actually, that’s a great idea,” Matteo cuts in. He turns to Ryan. “Were you involved in this chase too?”
Ryan raises his eyebrows. “Chase? No. I was in the auction room. Everyone was panicking, and I got stuck in the crowd. Didn’t see where anyone went.”
I squint my eyes. That’s not exactly how I remember it.
“I want you to come give a statement. Sit for questioning anyhow.” Matteo says this like a challenge.
Ryan shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Sure. I’ll meet you at the station.” He turns to me. “And I’ll call the neighbor to let Trog out.”
Matteo rolls his shoulders back, rocks his head side to side, and faces Agent Sosa. “Okay. Back to you. I think this notebook is enough to hold you until we take a look at this evidence. Book her.”
“Kildaire, are you sure about this?” It’s Rideout. But he’s not being an ass. He sounds nervous. I mean, we’re accusing two people on his team—and his idol’s daughter—of drug dealing, murder, and smuggling. Big stuff.
Matteo searches my face, and I nod, pointing to the journal. “Read it. Open the manila envelope. Everything you need is in there.”
He nods and rips open the manila paper, which almost disintegrates. A VHS tape falls out, along with some photography prints and another journal.
The prints show a young man weighing bricks of heroin. The man’s features had aged by the time of the anniversary party, but it’s unmistakably Agent Sosa’s father, Anthony Munez.
“So, your dad is the White Rabbit.” I know she won’t answer me. “Is that why you blocked this case at every turn?”
Agent Sosa won’t meet my eye.
I press on. “Was Huong Yee going to out your father? Or was it you he’d seen—the new White Rabbit?”
She is still silent, but her chest rises and falls at a rapid rate.
I shrug and look at the group gathered around us in silence. This feels so dramatic. “Fine. Stay quiet. I don’t know what’s on this video, but I’m guessing it’s going to incriminate your father. It’s why your father killed Edward Casey Senior.”
The crowd does an impressive imitation of a movie scene: a collective gasp, complete with an outbreak of rabid conversation.
I turn to Matteo, guilt melting all my bravado. We’re back to the fact that this man is now well aware that I lied to him, withheld evidence, aided a suspect in eluding police, and set up a sting operation on my own. Quite the little superhero story line of my own. “I couldn’t tell you because . . . well, I thought Rideout was the double agent. I was wrong about that.” My eyes flick to Rideout and his ashen face. “Anthony Munez not only killed Casey Senior to protect his identity but claimed to have used the information Casey sent to the police department to fake a drug war, round up his competition, and put them all away. It really was brilliant. For thirty years, it worked. But Edward Casey’s journal resurfaced. He got his revenge. He got his justice in the end.”
“That’s quite the story,” Rideout says. No condemnation. Just fact.
I shrug. “It is just a story at this point, but I’m pretty good with stories. I bet you’ll find that I’m right when you do the hard work of pulling together the evidence.”
“I want a lawyer,” Agent Sosa announces as she’s escorted ahead of us.
“I bet you do.”
I nearly crack a smile at Rideout’s dry response. At least he’s a jerk to everyone, and not just me.
“The only thing I can’t figure out,” I say more to myself, “is where the other journal went. Either Sosa ditched it, which could be possible, or . . .”
“Or what?” Rideout barks, a touch of his old bite in evidence. “Spill it, story girl.”
“Or the Golden Arrow was here and tried to nab the envelope. Maybe that’s what the scuffle was. If you find the journal, maybe you’ll find our vigilante. They might not even know we’ve caught Sosa or that she had the envelope.”
“Or you’re the Golden Arrow and trying to draw up a ruse.”
The accusation is so simple, it takes my breath away. “Why would I go to all the trouble of pointing out a loose end if I was hoping to get away with it?”
“Criminal brilliance?”
I look down, my slinky white slacks and rumpled thin cami clinging to my body. “And just where do you think I’d be keeping it?”
Rideout has the decency to look away and mutters something about a pat-down at the station.
“I’m fairly certain there’s another journal missing. I took a picture when I snuck in to see the painting—sorry,” I mutter as Matteo shoots me a look. “My cell phone is in my jacket pocket. But I know I have a picture showing two journals. My jacket is back in the auction room,” I say, and a police officer is dispatched while we wait.
Matteo holds up his hand to Rideout and signals another cop forward. “If MG is right and Sosa doesn’t have both journals on her, then maybe it’s true that someone attempted to stop her, or she dropped one of them. Engage the con security team, and let’s do a sweep for the item. And hope to God that there are two sets of prints on the journal if we find it,” he adds, cutting off Rideout’s retort before he can voice it. “Since MG doesn’t have a journal on her person, I’m going to go with innocent until proven guilty.” He turns an eye to me. “You’ll have to come in for formal questioning, though, and your cell will be kept as evidence until you’re cleared.”
I hold out my wrists to Matteo. “I’ll come willing
ly to the station for questioning, but you can cuff me if you’d like.”
“Maybe later.” He still looks pissed, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
CHAPTER 28
I ring the doorbell on the exterior of the metal gate. It’s an old-fashioned one that rings a real bell, nothing digital, nothing electric. I have to ring it twice before I get a response from the house. The blinds move slightly as someone looks out; then the door cracks open.
Dragons dance in my belly; I wonder if he’s going to shut the door in my face. If he’s going to dismiss me before I can explain. It’s been two months of hell—seeing him interrogated in the hearings for the trial—and not getting to talk to him or touch him. Explain myself other than through my testimony.
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you.” Matteo is in bare feet and pajama pants. He looks relaxed and scrump-diddly-umptious. That is, minus the frown lines that crease his face and the set of his shoulders. Those say that he’s nervous to see me too.
“I’m officially not a suspect anymore. I just thought I’d let you know. I know a guy who says face-to-face is best for important conversations.”
Matteo smirks. He studies me for a moment, then sighs and opens the door wide, allowing me into his house. “In that case, let me welcome you into my home, normal civilian.”
His shoes sit by the door, and I take care to place my bright-purple kitten heels right next to his neat brown shoes. The living room is dark, save for the glow from a TV—he does have one!—tucked away on the far wall. I note the scene paused on the TV, and I laugh. “The Princess Bride?”
Matteo shrugs. “Kyle recommended it.”
“I bet he did.” This time Matteo returns my grin with a small one of his own, and the world seems a lot friendlier.
He shuffles his feet in the carpet. “So how does it feel to be ‘not a person of interest’?” It’s a simple question, but it carries weight.
I lift my hands out to the side and shrug. “Glad it’s over. So lovely, I guess. But I’m a little sad it’s over. I feel like I was the superhero. I got to be the Golden Arrow, or the Hooded Falcon. I did a little vigilante justice, brought a double agent to her knees.” I need to get to my point, though. “But, um, I kinda hurt someone I like in the process, and I want to apologize.”
Matteo’s eyes flick to the ground then back up to mine. “Apologies are quite the work of art, so I hear.”
Great, he isn’t going to let me off easy. I give a dramatic sigh, run my hands through my hair—I’ve returned it to my natural white blonde for the hearings—and square my shoulders to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the journal. Or Lawrence.” I tick them off on my fingers. “Or Officer James. Or call you when I found the drug money in the warehouse. Sorry about breaking into a warehouse too. Probably a bad call.”
He raises his eyebrows and rolls his hand forward to indicate that I should continue.
I squint one eye. “I’m also sorry I set up a sting without your knowledge or permission and that I attempted to catch a dangerous criminal on my own, making this case messy and a logistical nightmare.” I had to sit through hearing after hearing while it was sorted through. I know I made this a tough one for Matteo to wrap up neatly.
He still doesn’t look appeased. “And?”
I rack my brain. “And . . . Matteo, I think that’s everything. I swear.”
He sighs and crosses his arms. He’s standing with his feet shoulder width apart, and even in his pajamas, I recognize Detective Kildaire. “Michael-Grace Martin, you need to apologize for putting yourself in an inordinate amount of danger. I couldn’t protect you from the bad guys. Hell, I couldn’t even protect you from you because I was in the goddamn bloody dark.” Color rises to his cheeks, and he swipes his hand over his face.
I’d like to sink into the carpet. “I know.”
Detective Kildaire isn’t done. “You’re my partner. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs, be honest with each other, even when it’s hard. That’s what partners do.”
I feel like my heart is coming out of my chest like in the old cartoons. He said “you are,” not “were.”
“I was a crappy partner.”
“Damn right you were.”
“But it’s because of the dirty cop, Matteo. I was afraid Lawrence would end up dead or I would end up in jail. I didn’t know who to trust, and I was worried about you too, getting in trouble because of me. I just thought it best to keep my own counsel.”
“You couldn’t trust me to keep you safe? You thought I was the dirty cop?” His stance hasn’t changed, but I hear the hurt in his voice. Ah, this is the crux of it. He thinks I didn’t trust him.
My voice comes out small, but I’m being honest. “I suspected you for about thirty seconds, and then it was obvious that you’re the least crooked cop that ever existed. I tried to protect you. I was wrong not to trust you. I’m sorry. I’ll be a better partner in the future, I promise, if you’ll still have me?”
I hold my breath, terrified for having put myself out there for rejection that openly. He could stomp all over my heart now if he wants.
“You didn’t just catch one double agent.”
I blink. “What?”
“Two of them, as I recall from the hearing.” There’s a note of pride in his voice now.
“Yes, two of them.” I lean forward. “So does this mean I’m forgiven?”
Matteo studies me, then rolls his eyes to the ceiling and mutters what looks like a prayer for patience. “I guess so. And I never suspected. I just showed that text to the team without thinking. Does this make us both crazy?” He reaches forward and hauls me to his chest. I breathe in the smell of toothpaste and revel in the static cling of his pajama pants against my jeans.
I speak into his chest, anxious to discuss the case, since I haven’t been able to for two long months. “It’s crazy to me that Agent Sosa would take over her father’s business like that. The drugs, the lies, the false reports, tossing out cases, deflecting suspicion.” I sat in on only two hearings with Munez and Sosa present, but now that I’m cleared of all my charges, I’d get to sit in on more. I’m now a witness for the prosecution, though the lawyers are thinking this case could take years to sort through in court.
His arms are still wrapped around me like a vise, and he leans his chin against my head. “She did it because she loves him. His health is bad—very bad. He won’t live to see his sentencing, I don’t think. Dementia is a terrible thing, even worse when you’re a kingpin. From what I’ve heard in the hearings you missed, he had started to make business mistakes. His mind was going. She didn’t want him to get caught, so she took on more and more gradually. At first just to keep him out of jail, and then . . . well, money can be a powerful motivator. Unfortunately, she was good at what she did.” He pauses for a moment.
“I don’t think she knew that he had killed Casey until we discovered it. Then she knew for certain he’d die in jail if the case was solved. She was just trying to protect her father. In fact, had she not been falsifying the test results from this specific case, I don’t know that we’d have enough to hold her on. Officer James agreed to identify her in exchange for a plea deal, and that helps. Though he’ll still get close to life for killing Yee. His only chance is to hope he drops that sentence for parole.”
“All of this has been so crazy. The costumes, the crimes, the real-life superheroes. I’m ready for my life to settle down a bit.”
A rumble starts in his chest, and his shoulders shake beneath my cheek. He still hasn’t loosened his hold on me. “It’s been pretty crazy. But I have a feeling that life with you isn’t calm and boring.”
I grin against his chest and slip my hands into his. “No, probably not. Actually, did you see the latest copy of The Hooded Falcon?” I look up to gauge his reaction.
Matteo’s mouth presses into a line. “Yes, we’ve seen it.” A month ago, an independently produced comic showed up online and in retail store
s bearing the name of The Hooded Falcon. Instead of it being a rip-off of ours, though, it was a slim comic containing the cleaned-up sketches of the original Falcon. The sketches from the journals that had been in the frame. The Golden Arrow had presumably managed to somehow take the journals, clean them up, and publish them as close to what Casey would have done as possible.
“You’ll go after the Golden Arrow now?”
Matteo eyes me. “Are you sure it’s not you?”
I laugh. “I’ve been cleared by the courts of men and God.”
“I mean, yes . . . but we have no leads at this point, although we’re looking. We’re still busting the drug rings involved with the White Rabbit. I think things will quiet down a bit with Sosa and her father behind bars.” Matteo looks shell-shocked as he shakes his head in wonder at me. “Anthony was the purveyor of heroin in LA for thirty years, and we never knew.”
I nod. The waves of this case touch every part of the LAPD. Everyone has been in for questioning, Matteo and Rideout included.
“How are Lawrence and Ryan?” Matteo’s question pulls me back to the present.
I shrug, and he wraps his arms around me and rubs slowly up and down my back with one hand. “Okay. Everyone’s shaken up about this. No one’s acting normally. But I think we’ll get there.” Lawrence and Ryan had the charges of aiding and abetting dropped when their alibis panned out. Lelani had actually been a huge help in backing up Ryan’s story. I guess she wasn’t just good in the boardroom; she was good in the courtroom too.
I’m hesitant to share my next bit of information, but Matteo has just said that honesty is everything. “I have to admit, I kind of like the idea of our masked avenger still being out there. Instead of these journals rotting in evidence, they’re seeing the light of day. I know it’s not how the case should be. But it’s a little bit like Robin Hood, don’t you think? Rob from the rich—er, police, and give to the masses? Everyone gets to find out how the comics would have ended. Anyhow, I told you I’m not a suspect anymore. I don’t want to talk about the case.”
The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 1) Page 29