A Cloud of Suspicion

by Patricia Davids

  Jodie frowned. “So?”

  “Patrick said his bike has a…a…a cracked gasket. It was leaking oil. There was a big puddle of it between the tires yesterday morning.”

  Barb came running up with her camera and handed it to Shelby. Quickly, Shelby scrolled through the images until she found the one of Mark making a face at the oil on his finger. The glint of the puddle in front of him reflected the light through the open doorway.

  Shelby handed the camera to Jodie. “See the puddle? There’s no way the bike could have been moved without leaving oily tire tracks all the way to the door. There’s a date stamp and time on all these pictures. They were taken yesterday morning.”

  Jodie walked over to the shed. The ground in front of the door was muddy, but the area just inside was dry. “I’d say that motorcycle is at least five feet from this doorway, wouldn’t you, Ed?”

  Her coworker nodded. “About that.”

  “Are there tire tracks or footprints in that oil between the tires?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Could you get that cycle out of there without going through the oil?”

  “I’m guessing the bike weighs six to seven hundred pounds. I don’t see how.”

  Jodie studied the picture. Stepping to one side, she focused the camera and took a picture. Holding it for the tech to look at, she asked, “Does that look like the same size and shape of puddle to you?”

  He studied both pictures, then nodded. “It does.”

  Grinning, Shelby hugged Barb, then spun to face Jodie. “If the woman who accused him said he took her for a ride on his bike, she was lying.”

  Jodie nodded. “If she lied about that, then we need to find out what else she was lying about.”

  Inside the Loomis police station, Patrick sat on a bare cot inside a holding cell. The room stank of pungent pine cleaner and vomit. A weak fluorescent fixture on the stained ceiling outside the cell was the only source of light. He had no idea what time it was, but he figured he’d been there for hours. They’d taken his watch, his belt and the laces from his shoes when they booked him.

  At least his trip to the interrogation room this time around had been mercifully shorter than his last visit.

  Ten years ago he’d been a stunned kid barely twenty-two years old, who thought being innocent of a crime meant the sheriff would listen to what you had to say and let you go. Instead, he’d spent twelve hours being interrogated and browbeaten to the point that he’d nearly confessed to something he hadn’t done.

  This time the only words out of his mouth had been, “I want a lawyer.”

  Since then, he’d been sitting inside this cell, worrying about Shelby’s safety and waiting for his court-appointed attorney to show up.

  Had Wyatt managed to get Shelby somewhere safe?

  Patrick rubbed his hands across his face. Did she think he was guilty?

  He’d seen the doubt in her eyes. He could bear almost anything accept knowing she thought he was capable of such a crime.

  Leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees, Patrick bowed his head.

  Please, God, I don’t care what happens to me. Just keep Shelby safe. And, God, thank You for the blessing of Shelby—and for a renewed relationship with You.

  The sound of footsteps signaled the approach of someone coming down the hall. Maybe his attorney was finally here. Patrick rose to his feet.

  It wasn’t a lawyer. Sheriff Reed stopped in front of the cell. With a fierce scowl on his face, the sheriff unlocked the door and pulled it open. “You’re free to go, Rivers.”

  Eyeing the man in disbelief, Patrick didn’t move. “Why?”

  “Your alibi checks out—for now.”

  Relief shot through Patrick’s body. He blinked hard and took a deep breath. Was this real?

  Sheriff Reed stepped aside. “Don’t leave town.”

  Patrick sent up a quick prayer of thanks and walked out the door.

  “First, you tell me to leave, then you want me to stay. I wish you’d make up your mind, Sheriff.”

  Patrick smiled as he heard the sheriff muttering behind him.

  Just outside the holding cell area, he collected his things from a freckle-faced young sergeant at the booking desk. After threading his belt through the loops in his jeans and buckling it, Patrick sat down to lace his shoes.

  “Mr. Rivers, I’m Federal Agent Gilmore.” A woman with blond hair approached him.

  Great. Now the FBI wanted him. He tipped his head to look at her. “Can I finish tying my shoes or should I turn my laces in again?”

  A slight smile curved her delicate lips. “I’m not here to arrest you. I’m the one who got you out.”

  “Then you have my eternal thanks.”

  “Just doing my job. After Shelby Mason convinced me your bike hadn’t been moved, we knew your accuser was lying. I went to have a little chat with her.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t give you that information.”

  “I need to talk to her. I need to find out who put her up to this.”

  “We’re checking a few leads, but unfortunately it appears she has already left town. Fortunately, her neighbor was very helpful.”

  “How so?”

  “He was taking out his trash, and he saw the woman in question getting into a dark sedan at the same time she stated she was being raped by you outside a bar in Covington.”

  “So we don’t know who she was with? Did he get a license number or anything?”

  “No. According to him, she’s a party girl and seeing her get in a strange car wasn’t all that unusual.”

  Jodie nodded toward the door leading to the waiting area. “I thought I might warn you that there’s quite a media circus going on out there.”

  Puzzled, he asked, “Why?”

  Shooting a sour glance at the officer behind the desk, she said, “Apparently, this department has a leak that makes the Mississippi River look like a drainage ditch. I believe the term serial rapist is being bandied about by the press. The news is all over town.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Can you prove you were traveling in Mexico last December and January?”

  Puzzled, he asked, “Why?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  He considered refusing, but thought better of it. “My passport is in my safe deposit box in L.A. It was stamped when I left and reentered the country. I can give you the names of some hotels where I stayed. I paid cash, but I ride a unique bike. Someone might remember me.”

  “All right, write them down for me.” She handed him a pen and paper. After jotting down the names, he handed the sheet back.

  She looked them over and nodded. “You should also know that Shelby Mason is waiting outside.”

  “She is?” He shot to his feet, happiness flooding his heart.

  Agent Gilmore laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’s a good friend to have in your corner. If she believes in someone, she never gives up.”

  “Did you know she’s been receiving threats?”

  “We’ll be keeping a closer eye on her. If you’ll excuse me, I have to confer with a colleague.”

  She left and Patrick braced himself to face the wolf pack waiting for him outside. This time, he wouldn’t head out of town with his tail between his legs. He had a voice and he’d speak up for himself.

  Pulling open the door, he saw a group of reporters and several news crews clustered around a couple standing across the room. Coral Travis was hanging on the arm of her fiancé, councilman Wendell Bixby, as he addressed the group.

  “Loomis is a much safer town tonight, ladies and gentleman. A miscarriage of justice had gone on for ten years, but now my future wife can rest easy. Patrick Rivers is behind bars where he belongs.”

  Patrick squared his shoulders and walked forward. “You should get your facts straight, Councilman. I’m a free man. In fact, the only miscarriage of justice here is the slur on my good name.”

&nb
sp; Like a flock of birds, the reporters swooped to Patrick’s side of the room. Bright lights shone in his face and people began shouting questions at him. Finally, he held up his hand.

  “Ten years ago I was accused of drugging and raping Coral Travis. None of that is true. The charges against me were dropped for lack of evidence, but that didn’t clear my name.”

  Patrick paused, wondering how to put into words everything raging in his soul. As he did, he caught sight of Shelby.

  In the corner of the room, she stood with her hands clasped beneath her chin, trying to be invisible again. The look shining in her eyes made his heart swell with pride. He held out his hand.

  Straightening her shoulders, she crossed the room and linked her fingers with his. If they weren’t surrounded by people, he would have kissed her.

  Glancing over her head, he saw a look of hatred cross Coral’s face. The threats had to stop. Everything had to come out in the open.

  The outside doors to the room opened. Ava and Max entered. Agent Gilmore hadn’t been kidding when she said the news was all over town. A second later, Wyatt and Barb came in behind them.

  Patrick gave his attention back to the reporters. This was his one chance to clear his name.

  “I was accused of using a date-rape drug. I barely knew what they were ten years ago, but I’ve done my research. Drugs like GHB, Rohypnol and Ketamine often have no color, smell or taste and can easily be added to drinks without a victim’s knowledge. They take effect quickly. The victim can suffer nausea, vomiting, hallucinations and lost time. They have distorted perceptions of sight and sound, even out-of-body experiences.”

  Coral shook off the hand of her fiancé and stormed across the room. “I suffered all of those things. You slipped something in my drink, and the next thing I knew I was being assaulted by you.”

  “You didn’t let me finish, Coral. A hallmark of these drugs is that the victim can remain unconscious for up to twelve hours. How long after we left the party were we discovered in bed together?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “One hour. Your roommate found us one hour after we left the party. You didn’t have trouble walking or talking or recounting what had happened. I just want to know why you lied. Why you let the police haul me away in handcuffs.”

  Wendell reached her side and said, “Coral, let’s leave.”

  “No. He belongs in jail and everyone should know it.”

  “Patrick doesn’t belong in jail, Coral. I was there, and I know the truth.” Wyatt left his wife’s side and came to stand next to Patrick.

  Puzzled by Wyatt’s comment, Patrick said, “What do you mean?”

  Wyatt glanced toward his wife. She nodded slightly. “Shelby said she overheard Coral talking to someone,” he continued. “That someone was me. I’d finally gotten up the courage to ask Coral out.”

  He fastened his gaze on her. “Do you remember what you said? You said you wouldn’t waste your time on a second string player like me. Then you left with him.”

  “You were second string and you still are. Look how you turned out. A mill worker,” Coral scoffed.

  “I am a mill worker with a loving wife and two beautiful boys. They’re much more than I deserve. I’m sorry, Patrick. I followed the two of you when you left the party. When you went into Coral’s dorm room, I crept up to the window. I saw everything.”

  The shock of his friend’s betrayal rocked Patrick to the core. “Why didn’t you say something to clear me?”

  “I hated you that night for having everything I could never have. For being everything I could never be.”

  “But to leave me in jail?”

  “I regretted keeping quiet, but I didn’t know how to undo it. I avoided you after that because I felt so guilty each time I looked at your face. I was glad you left town, but not as glad as I am that you’ve come back. I hope in time you can forgive me.”

  Walking away, Wyatt draped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and they left together.

  A reporter asked, “Mr. Rivers, what about today’s rape charges? Were they also dropped for lack of evidence?”

  “No.” Shelby spoke up for the first time. “Patrick has an alibi. His accuser lied. We don’t know why, but we think she was paid to do so. Care to comment about that, Coral?”

  “I had nothing to do with it. Wendell, please take me home.”

  She brushed past the media but was stopped by Ava. “Coral, you made me party to a terrible lie. Why?”

  “I thought he was going to be somebody. Instead, he tells me he doesn’t want to play professional football. He wants to build motorcycles. Then you walked in. Honestly, what was I supposed to say, Ava? I didn’t want a Renault to think I’d sleep with a grease monkey.”

  Tossing her head back, Coral walked out, leaving her bewildered-looking fiancé behind her.

  He swallowed hard as he looked at Max. “Mr. Pershing, I had no idea.”

  “Don’t worry, Wendell, I’m not withdrawing my support of your campaign.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “As long as the deed for Mr. Rivers’s property shows up by tomorrow.”

  “It will. I’ll see to it.”

  Patrick’s head was awhirl with everything he’d learned. It was almost more than he could take in. He needed balance—he needed Shelby.

  He looked around, but she was gone.

  EIGHTEEN

  Shelby sank onto a chair at side of the waiting room. Most of the reporters were trickling out, and she needed time to gather her thoughts.

  Memory after memory surfaced in her mind like so many bubbles rising to the top of a shaken soda bottle. They fizzed and splattered against her brain, making her wonder if they were real events or only something she had dreamed.

  “Is this seat taken?” Patrick stood in front of her looking wonderfully handsome and as dazed as she felt.

  She patted the chair. “I’m sorry about Wyatt.”

  Patrick sank down beside her. “It took a lot of guts for him to come forward. I think things will get better for us both.”

  “I pray they will.”

  “I understand that I owe my freedom to you. That you proved my bike never left Wyatt’s shed.”

  “Agent Gilmore would have figured it out in about five more minutes. I just rushed it.”

  “Thanks.” Patrick took her hand and raised it to his lips. The simple gesture melted her heart.

  He said, “Why don’t I take you home? It’s been a long day.”

  Shelby pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’d love to go home, but I can’t. I need to talk to Agent Gilmore.”

  “About what?”

  “When you started listing the effects of the date-rape drugs, I knew it had happened to me.”

  His face registered shock, quickly followed by compassion. “Darling, I’m so sorry.”

  “I wasn’t raped. At least I don’t think so, but I believe I was drugged. I remember feeling so sick. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. It just never clicked. I thought it was a dream. A dream that wouldn’t go away.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Four years ago at a Christmas party. I think Dylan raped Leah that night.”

  The police interrogation room was small and cramped with gray cinder block walls that left Shelby feeling chilly. The wooden chair she perched on offered nothing in the way of comfort.

  The door opened suddenly, and Agent Sam Pierce walked in. He was the kind of man who commanded attention. He was a man used to being in charge.

  He took a seat on the edge of the table, looming over her. “What new evidence do you have about Dylan Renault’s murder?”

  Jodie would have been much less intimidating. Shelby bit her lip. “It isn’t evidence, exactly.”

  She wished the police had let Patrick stay with her. Sam had interviewed her several times following Leah’s disappearance. When he was working, he was intimidating to say the least.

  “Shelby, I kn
ow you’re a friend of my wife, but that doesn’t mean you can waste the FBI’s time.”

  “I’m not!” She took a breath and forged ahead. “Four years ago, Leah worked for Dylan Renault.”

  “We know that.”

  “That year, Leah convinced me to go to the company Christmas party with her. She was uncomfortable being in a social setting with Dylan. She wanted me to come along for moral support and to run interference.”

  “He was known as a ladies’ man.”

  “Dylan wouldn’t leave Leah alone at the party. We were getting ready to leave, and I remember he brought us cups of punch. He insisted we have a Christmas toast with him. That’s when things started to get strange. Leah said she felt sick and within a matter of minutes, so did I.”

  “How much had you had to drink?”

  “Well, that’s just it. We weren’t drinking alcohol. All we’d had was ginger ale until the punch.”

  “Are you suggesting someone spiked your drinks?”

  “Yes. We both got sick very quickly. The room was spinning like crazy. Someone helped me to a sofa in another room. That’s the last thing I remember. When I woke up in the morning, the party was over and Leah was gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “A maid told me Dylan had taken her home because she wasn’t feeling well. I couldn’t believe she just left me there. When I got to her apartment, I knew something was wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know how to describe it, but I knew she was keeping something from me. She wouldn’t look at me. She said we must have had some kind of twenty-four-hour flu bug. I felt like I had the flu, but I noticed bruises on her wrists and on her face. The next day, she quit her job. I think Dylan Renault drugged her and raped her.”

  “So she took her revenge by killing him. Did you help her?”

  Aghast, Shelby stared at him in astonishment. “No, of course not!”

  “So she killed him on her own.”

  “No! What are you trying to do?”

  “Your story provides a very strong motive for murder.”

  Shelby stared at him open-mouthed. “Leah didn’t kill anyone.”