by Ana Valen
She fired up the engine and looked over her shoulder. With no cars coming, she made a U-turn and eased down the street. On both sides of the road, people had gathered on the sidewalk, or were coming out of their homes. Even better. The greater the spectacle, the more pressure her ex would feel.
***
Claire unlocked the front door to her condo and walked inside. She entered without much hurry. The police needed time to process James and question him. And even when James identified her as the mastermind, they wouldn’t arrest her right away. They still had to contend with the evidence that pointed towards Harlan. That would grant her hours of freedom. More than enough time to clear out.
She walked into her room and approached the suitcases on her bed. She opened each one, eyed their spaces, and considered how to pack her items. With a plan in mind, she started loading her belongings. She inserted clothes, shoes, makeup, electronics, books, linens—everything she had acquired over the past few years. Or rather, everything she would need for her new life. Anything else would go into the dumpster. And speaking of her new life…
She walked to her dresser, opened the bottom drawer, and took out a wig. After stepping before her vanity mirror, she fixed the wig into place. Not bad. She always wanted straight, black hair. Her natural chestnut hue was so boring, same with her semi-wavy locks. This hairstyle was dramatically simplistic, almost mysterious.
With her purse nearby, she went inside and grabbed her wallet. She retrieved her new driver’s license, the name reading Jenna Gray. That was the name of her deceased daughter. She glanced between her driver’s license photo and her mirror image. They matched perfectly. And with her social security card and birth certificate ready, her new life was good to go.
She set down the license and looked in the mirror. Was she missing anything? It didn’t seem like it. She had avenged her daughter, the authorities would figure out why, and her departure was imminent. Then she remembered the promise she made to Raven—her promise of complete disclosure. She curled her lips. Should she keep the promise or no?
Chapter 40
Detective Raven sat at her desk preparing some documents. Beside her, Adams did the same. They both wore their suit jackets, as neither bothered to remove them after returning from James’ place. They would need them soon enough.
Behind them, someone cleared their throat. She and Adams turned.
“Mack,” she told the Patrol Sergeant. “What’s up?”
“Your perp is inside interrogation room number two. He’s been in there for twenty minutes. Officer Javier Reyes has been babysitting him.”
“I know Reyes. He’s a good kid.”
“He’s a great kid. He’s also past his shift. You wanna tell the commander why Reyes is getting overtime?”
“No way.” Raven slipped her documents into a manila folder and stood. “We’re ready. Right, Adams?”
Adams likewise stood and adjusted his suit jacket. “Roger that.”
“Alright,” Mack responded. He turned and walked off.
Raven and Adams headed to the interrogation rooms. They stopped by number two where Adams knocked and opened the door. Inside, Officer Reyes stood in the corner, arms crossed.
“You guys good?” Reyes asked.
“We’re good,” Adams said. “Thanks for the help.”
“No problem.” Reyes made his way out. “So,” he told Raven, “am I getting overtime or what?”
“For twenty minutes? How about I just buy you lunch?”
“Deal.”
She smirked and sent him on his way. She also slid the door’s outer placard to Occupied and closed it.
James sat behind the smallish desk. His hands were free and resting on the table. Like at his home, anger etched into his face. But the intensity had decreased. That figured. His concern had probably shifted to figuring out how to save himself.
“Mr. Reed,” Adams said while sitting. “How are you holding up?”
Raven sat next to Adams and placed her manila folder on the table.
“I’m fine,” James muttered.
“Can I get you anything before we start? Perhaps something to drink?”
James shook his head.
“Very well.” Adams pulled a digital recorder. “Do you mind?”
“Can I deny?”
“Of course. You’re not under arrest. You’re being detained pending arrest.”
“You can also deny speaking with us,” Raven added. “Or you can help us understand what’s going on.”
James chewed this over. “I’ll speak with you. And yes, you can record it. I want what I’m about to go on the record.”
Adams nodded, activated the recorder, and placed it on the table. He then leaned into the device and announced the date, the time, and the people present. He leaned back. “So—”
“I want to state for the record,” James cut in, “that Detective Raven planted a firearm inside my bathroom. I never placed a firearm there, nor anywhere else inside my home. The firearm isn’t mine. I have no idea where it came from. The only logical explanation is that Detective Raven planted it when she entered my bathroom.”
Raven and Adams exchanged a look.
“Thank you for that theory,” Adams said while refocusing.
“It’s not a theory. It’s a fact.”
“We’ll look into it. If your allegation holds merit, we’ll take further action. For now, may we ask some questions?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Thank you once more. First off, are you familiar with someone named Harlan Nichols?”
“No,” James answered without hesitation.
“Are you familiar with someone named Alexander Kovalenko?”
Now he hesitated. “Yes.”
“How do you know him?”
“He’s a former client of mine.”
“Former? So you no longer work with him?”
“Not exactly. I don’t currently represent him, but I’m on retainer.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“He works in the clothing trade.”
“Is that all?” Raven asked.
Another hesitation.
“That’s all that I know of,” James said.
“So you’re not aware,” she went on, “that he smuggles stolen clothes into the country, and that he has ties to criminal organizations in Eastern Europe?”
“No,” James confidently responded. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Then why does he need your lawyerly representation?”
“Because the authorities have accused him of what you just mentioned. But those allegations don’t hold water. I’ve proven that in court.”
“Are you innocent of these activities as well?” she followed.
“Of course.”
“So you’ve never shuttled firearms for Kovalenko?”
Another pause.
“No,” James said.
Raven and Adams traded a second look.
“Mr. Reed,” Adams continued, “we asked about Harlan Nichols because he was found murdered in his apartment. We have reason to believe that Harlan Nichols was a Kovalenko enforcer. Furthermore, we believe that Harlan Nichols was involved in the Jessie Jacobson murder. While we were investigating that murder, your name came up multiple times. That led to our interest in you. Then while at your home, we found a firearm that resembles the gun used to kill Harlan Nichols.”
“Like I said, I don’t know anything about that gun.”
“Mr. Reed,” Raven said, grabbing her manila folder, “can I show you some images of firearms? And can you tell me if they’re familiar?”
He shrugged. “Go ahead.”
She opened the folder and grabbed the first image. The photo was bunk, same as the second and third. The fourth and fifth photos were the images of interest. But again, she wanted to lull him into a sense of complacency. Then when she displayed the images of interest, his reaction would be unfiltered.
She set down an image of a nickel-pla
ted revolver. “Does this firearm look familiar?”
James eyed the photo and shook his head. “No.”
She set down an image of a shotgun. “How about this one?”
“No.”
She set down an image of a belt-fed machinegun. “And this one?”
James chuckled. “God, no.”
She grabbed the fourth image and set it down. “What about this one?”
James’ face went slack as he eyed a Smith and Wesson M&P 40—the gun used to kill Jessie Jacobson.
“Mr. Reed?” Raven asked.
James shook his head. “No. It—that one—it doesn’t look familiar.” He looked up. “I haven’t seen it before.”
Raven nodded. “Okay. And what about this one?” She grabbed the final image and set it down.
James observed the photo and widened his eyes. Before him was a Beretta M9—the gun used to kill Harlan Nichols, and which was inside his bathroom.
“Mr. Reed?” Raven asked.
James’ breathing grew deeper and faster.
“Mr. Reed?” she prodded. “Have you seen this gun before?”
James whispered something inaudible.
“I’m sorry,” Adams said. “I didn’t quite get that.”
“You fucking bitch,” James hissed, still staring at the image.
“Come again?” Raven asked.
“You fucking bitch,” he repeated, not speaking to her. He wasn’t speaking to anyone. Or at least not anyone in the room. “Oh, you fucking bitch.” He stood and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Mr. Reed,” Adams said, “please calm down.”
“You Goddamn bitch!”
“Mr. Reed,” Adams said once more. “Calm down.”
James pointed at the photo. “That one. Is that the gun you found in my bathroom?”
Adams and Raven exchanged another look.
“Is it?” James asked.
“Yes,” Raven said while refocusing.
James shut his eyes and grunted. He then opened his eyes and scowled. “You Goddamn bitch!”
Raven leaned forward. “Who? Who are you talking about? Who planted that gun? You know it wasn’t me, so who did it?”
James started pacing the room, his wild eyes bouncing around.
“James,” Raven continued, “stay with me. Who planted that gun? Who are you upset with?”
James kept pacing, now on the verge of tears.
“James,” Raven said while standing, “was it Claire?”
That was a leading question—a no-no in interrogations. That’s probably why Adams stood and raised his hand. Raven didn’t care. Right now, the situation’s warranted this.
“Was it Claire?” Raven followed. “Did she plant that gun? Was she recently in your home? And did she go into your bathroom?”
James turned to them. “Lawyer.”
Raven lifted her hands. “Hang on. Work with us. If it was Claire, let us know. We can help you.”
“Lawyer!”
“James, think about—”
Adams again lifted his hand, this time cutting her off. He reached forward, shut off the recorder, and slipped it back into his pocket. He also collected the photos.
“Let’s go,” he quietly told her.
She pursed her lips followed Adams out of the room.
Chapter 41
Claire stood in the alleyway behind her condo. She observed her suitcases in the backseat of her car, along with the young man who helped get them inside. The man leaned out of the backseat and brushed off his hands. While doing so, his muscles flexed.
“Is that it?” he asked while eyeing the luggage.
“That’s it. And thanks for helping. That was very kind of you.”
“No problem.” He turned to her. “So where are you running off to?”
“Someplace hidden.”
“Sounds mysterious.”
“It is. And that’s the point.”
He chuckled. “Since you’re clearing out for good, feel like having some drinks? Maybe you can recount your reasons for leaving. And maybe I can convince you to stay.”
“That sounds lovely. But I’m exhausted. I just want to reach my destination and collapse.”
He gestured towards the car. “That tuckered you out? You only had five suitcases. And I moved the heavy ones.”
“I’m not tired because of my belongings.”
“Then why are you?”
She smiled. “That’s part of the mystery. Have a nice night, kind sir. I’ll remember Los Angeles fondly because of you.”
He chuckled some more. “I’m glad I could leave you with a positive memory. I also hope you find what you’re searching for.” He saluted and headed off.
She would in fact find this. Specifically, she would fine refuge from her demons, and the city in which they lived.
She turned back to her condo and headed inside. After passing through the lobby, she started for the elevators. Only one item remained in her living unit—her backpack with her new identity.
She reentered her unit and walked into the living room. From the couch, she grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She then took a final tour of the unit. With nothing left behind, she walked to the front door and reached for the knob. She froze with her hand inches away.
What about her promise to Raven?
She lowered her hand and stood there. Should she follow through on this? It’s not like that could hurt. She was already home free.
She entered the kitchen, placed her backpack on the counter, and opened the small pocket. After retrieving her old cellphone, she brought up her contacts and dialed the detective. The call connected but nobody answered.
“Detective Raven?” Claire asked.
“You murdering bitch,” Raven responded.
Claire couldn’t help but smile. “So now you know the whole story?”
“I know you’re a liar and a murderer. That much is obvious.”
“What did I ever lie about?”
“Are you kidding? Your brother. You said that Susan killed him.”
“I never said that. I said Susan was the reason for why he was dead. And she is. Had it not been for her, I never would’ve hurt him.”
“You’re a Goddamn psycho.”
Claire took an annoyed breath. “And you have problems empathizing with others. Why can’t you understand that what I did was necessary—that it was justified?”
“Because it’s not. You can’t take the law into your own hands.”
“So the law was going to make this right? When? I’ve been waiting for years, and I’m still waiting. The law forgot about this. Or more than likely, they don’t care.”
“What did you want the law to do? The car accident was just that—an accident.”
“How about charging Jessie for involuntary manslaughter? Did the law ever consider that?”
“What for? Nobody died.”
Claire unwound her face. “What are you talking about?”
“Nobody died. At least nobody except for your brother… when you killed him. Then you killed Harlan Nichols, right?”
Claire’s breathing deepened.
“Right?”
“Yes,” Claire half-mindedly answered. “I killed Jessie. Then I killed Harlan to distract you.”
“Distract me for what? To cover your escape?”
Silence.
“Claire,” Raven went on, “are you about to flee?”
“James didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“My history. He didn’t tell you what happened to me after the accident?”
“No. He didn’t get into that.”
Claire gritted her teeth. “Didn’t you interrogate him?”
“Of course.”
“And what did he say?”
“Not much. He was cooperative until we showed him a picture of the gun you planted. After that, he asked for a lawyer and clammed up.”
Claire made a fist and slammed it onto the k
itchen counter. She then took some calming breaths. “That’s fine. Because like I said, I would tell you everything.” She took another breath, this time to prepare herself. “When I was twenty-three—”
“I don’t care.”
“What?”
“I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about your motivations.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not a victim. You’re a perpetrator. When it comes to perpetrators, the only thing I care about is putting them away.”
“But you have to know why!”
“Nope. I only have to prove that you killed your brother and Harlan. Thanks for admitting that.”
“No! You need to know about—”
Click.
“… my daughter.”
Claire rapidly redialed. When she put the phone to her ear, she received a message saying her number was blocked. She reared back and threw the phone across the kitchen. The phone struck the far wall but didn’t break. It only left a small indentation before clattering to the floor.
She went to the phone, scooped it up, and repeatedly struck it against the kitchen counter. The Goddamn frame still held together. Seeing red, she again threw the device, no longer caring where it landed. She then gripped the back of her head.
What now?
Her next move wasn’t obvious, mainly because she hadn’t planned for this. She only knew that the final step never occurred. James never explained her history. How could she fix this?
An idea slowly formed.
Chapter 42
The following morning, Raven hustled into the homicide. As expected, Adams was at his desk.
“Hey,” she said while approaching.
“Good morning,” he replied.
“It just might be. Claire called me last night.”
He turned to her. “Say what now?”
“Claire called me. And she admitted to murdering Jessie and Harlan.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
He leaned back. “That’s good to hear. But it’s not overly helpful. We still have to prove this.”