Injustice For All

by Robin Caroll

  Bella rested her head against the side of the bed, more tired than she’d realized. But she wasn’t going to stay here.

  “I found these, but no shirt.” Ardy laid the sweatpants on the foot of the bed. “Your shoes are right here. Don’t see any socks.”

  “I have my socks on.” They would’ve had to cut her shirt and bra off to treat her wound. Lovely. She stood, wobbling again. “Can you help me get the pants on?”

  “Sure, hon. No problem.”

  Between the two of them, Bella had her sweatpants, socks, and shoes on when the nurse arrived with her discharge papers and prescriptions. She went over the wound care instructions, then handed the paperwork to Ardy before staring back at Bella. “Let me get you a shirt. We have plenty of scrubs left around here.”

  “Thank you.” Bella stared at the clock on the wall.

  Ten o’clock. Plenty of time for Hayden and the other officers to make it to the motel. Maybe she’d hear something soon.

  And where was Rafe?

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  “Police, open up!” Hayden kept his hand on the butt of his gun. “Agents Hartlock and Devane, Hopewell Police. Open the door.”

  No response.

  Hayden knocked again, even harder than before. “Agents Hartlock and Devane?”

  Silence save for the shifting of nervous police officers.

  Hayden nodded at the officer who held a master room key, given to them by the young woman named Daisy at the front desk. He inserted the key and turned the knob, then pushed in the door and flattened himself against the wall.

  Rafe moved past Hayden and marched into the empty room. “They’re gone.”

  Officers checked the small bathroom area, then returned to Hayden. “Nothing.”

  “But their car is still outside.” Hayden glanced around the parking lot. “Bob, take two men and walk to the diner. See if they’re out having breakfast.” He nodded at the rookie officer just hired three months ago. “Call in a BOLO on both agents.”

  Rafe exited the bathroom area, carrying a trash can. “Look here.”

  Hayden glanced inside to find wadded papers, but at the bottom, gauze with dried blood. “Devane?”

  “I knew I’d hit him.”

  “Hey,” Hayden hollered after the cop he’d just spoken to.

  The rookie faced him. “Yes, sir?”

  “Get the crime-scene kit. There are some items here to be bagged for evidence.” And he’d have to take photographs and preserve as much as possible in the event this went to trial. “Everyone else, vacate the room immediately.”

  Hayden couldn’t deny the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he ordered his men about, collecting evidence and documenting. He turned back to Rafe. “We don’t have a warrant on the vehicle, but I’ve called in a request for that, given what we’ve found here. We should get that back soon.”

  Rafe nodded, his face grave as he stared at the car.

  “What?”

  “I just now noticed the car’s plates.” He pointed.

  Hayden looked. Rental car plates. Not good. Hartlock and Devane were covering their tracks.

  “Have you heard from your men on foot?” Rafe’s voice sounded lighter than normal. “Have they found Hartlock or Devane yet?”

  Hayden radioed to Bob Travis. “Any sign of them?” He deliberately didn’t say names or other identifying words on the off chance the agents had access to a scanner and were monitoring.

  “No, sir. No one at the diner has seen them either.”

  Hayden let out a sigh. “Head on back, then. Keep an eye out on your way back. Over.”

  “Copy that. Out.”

  Hayden turned back to Rafe. “Not a sign. I guess we don’t know for certain now if your SAC tried to warn them or not.”

  “True. That could be why they’re staying away. However, they were gone long before I called Jackson, and they left their car then. Something’s up.” Rafe rubbed his jaw.

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “Where’d they go on foot, and why?”

  Hayden shrugged. Then his blood went cold as he locked stares with Rafe.

  They both spoke at the same time—

  “Bella!”

  “Remington!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.”

  WALT DISNEY

  If anything happened to Remington . . .

  Rafe gripped the car door handle tight as Simpson spun the cruiser into the hospital’s parking lot. The tires barely stopped rolling outside of the emergency entrance and Rafe’s shoes hit the pavement.

  He jogged down the hall, opted for the stairs over the elevator, and raced up flight after flight of steps. He wasn’t even out of breath as he spilled out of the staircase onto the hospital ward. He eased down the hall. No guards sat outside her room. His heart pounded as he pushed open Remington’s door.

  “Hey . . .”

  No one was inside. The bed had been stripped. The computer on the bedside table had a blank screen.

  Rafe backtracked to the nurses’ station. Hayden strode off the elevator and met him at the counter. “She’s not in her room. Your officers aren’t there.”

  Hayden nodded. “I know. They checked in a few minutes ago. Bella’s been discharged and left. The officers are following her.”

  The knot in his gut loosened just a bit. “How did she get home? She was in no condition to drive, and her truck wasn’t here.”

  “My mother is driving her.”

  Rafe shoved aside the feeling that Simpson had set all this in motion to keep him away from her, which was ridiculous. He was just being overly suspicious.

  “I have security here still on high alert, with Hartlock and Devane’s photos distributed. They shouldn’t know she’s been released.”

  Unless they’d been watching. FBI agents were trained in covert operations. The same training could be applied in this situation. After all, Hartlock and Devane had managed not to arouse any suspicion of wrongdoing for all this time.

  Rafe’s cell phone rang. “Baxter.”

  “We’ve uncovered some interesting information about the Moore case I think you’ll be most interested in seeing. What’s a good fax number?”

  “Hang on, Nick.” He got the police department’s fax number from Simpson, then passed it along to Nick. “Thanks. I really appreciate it, man.”

  “Keep me updated. And stay safe.”

  Rafe shut the phone. “He’s faxing some important information to me at the station now. Mind if we head that way?”

  “Let’s go.” Simpson led the way to the elevator. “I’ll call Mom and tell her not to be alarmed at the officers out front.”

  “Ask her how Remington’s feeling.” He didn’t care if Simpson read into the comment whatever he would. He couldn’t bear not to know how she was.

  Simpson flashed a small, sad smile. “I will.” He placed his cell to his ear as they exited the elevator.

  What was that about? Didn’t matter. He crossed the lobby and headed to his car, Simpson’s footsteps and muffled voice trailing. Instinct told Rafe something was about to blow wide open with his case. Anticipation had him speeding down the road in minutes.

  He waited for Simpson outside the police station a good five minutes before the commissioner whipped into the parking lot.

  Simpson’s face wore a scowl as he swung open the station door.

  What was up with him? Rafe followed, about to demand an explanation, when two men met Simpson in the main room.

  “We’ve been waiting on you, Commissioner Simpson,” the first man said. Wait a minute . . . Rafe recognized him from the diner.

  “Should have called if you wanted to visit
, Councilman.” Simpson motioned toward his office and nodded at Rafe. “Your fax should be in there.”

  “Who is that, and why is he receiving a fax at a public official’s office?” the councilman asked.

  Rafe ignored everyone and strode purposefully to Simpson’s office. The men’s loud voices followed. Rafe shut the door and grabbed the pages off the fax machine. He slumped into the chair in front of the desk. His eyes scanned Nick’s notes faster than his mind could process.

  Cason Moore case changed the unwritten custom of government witnesses receiving less of a sentence than noncooperating witnesses. In Judge Tate’s confidential notes, he states he believed the government hadn’t proven their case, with the exception of two witnesses. His notes further state one of those witnesses had contacted Tate’s clerk, requesting a meeting. That notation is the last in the file. It was dated the week prior to Tate’s murder. The only two agents who assisted the US attorney’s office with case preparation were Lars Hartlock and Jack Devane. They worked the investigation and case for nearly two years prior to the trial. Because of their successful conviction rate on the case, Hartlock was promoted to ASAC in his office. That position had been vacant for several years. Former ASAC retired.

  Swallowing, Rafe considered the implications. The case smacked of all kinds of legal maneuvering, the complete repercussions well over his head. He flipped to the second page of the fax.

  Everything I’ve looked at gives me no indication that Jackson was involved, nor knew anything about this. From what I gathered, Hartlock and Devane worked exclusively with the US attorney’s office. Could Hartlock’s motive been the promotion?

  Very likely, Hartlock needed the promotion. Maybe he paid off Devane. But if Jackson wasn’t involved, who was? Remington had been adamant in her retelling of what she overheard the night Tate had been murdered. He’d threatened to report the agents, and they’d informed him they were acting on orders of higher-ups.

  Could they have been bluffing Tate? It didn’t make sense why they would. They were going to kill him, why lie?

  Could Remington have been mistaken? She was upset, heard people she trusted kill her father figure . . . maybe she misheard. It happened all the time to people in such stressful situations. He, himself, had seen witnesses fall apart because their minds had created an alternative to what they’d really seen or heard.

  But Remington was a forensic psychologist. And she was adamant. Very adamant.

  So who did that leave? If Jackson wasn’t involved . . .

  Simpson swung the door open and slammed it shut behind him. His face was Razorback red. His chest rose and fell quicker than normal, and he pushed out air through his nostrils.

  “What’s going on?”

  Simpson paced the small space behind his desk. “I should’ve seen it coming.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “See that man with the councilman?” Simpson nodded out the glass window of his office.

  Rafe stood and glanced. A younger man, probably in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, with dark hair and needing a shave, spoke to one of the officers in the main room. Rafe turned back to Simpson. “Yeah, what about him?”

  “That’s Marshall Abernathy.”

  “The guy your sister went off with?”

  “Yeah. The one who wants my job.”

  Rafe kept his mouth shut and sat back down. Simpson would get the information out when and how he wanted, in his own time.

  The commissioner made another short stride before yanking out his chair from under his desk and plopping down. “Seems my sister not only told Marshall I knew about her vandalizing someone’s car—which I didn’t—but she also told him I’d been skimming money from the office.”

  Rafe still kept his mouth shut. Maddie and Riley drove him nuts at times, but they’d never, ever messed with his career. Not like this.

  “He, of course, took it straight to the city council and told them.” Simpson flicked a wrist toward the two men. “So the good councilman, Caleb Montgomery there, told the others on the council that he’d personally oversee an audit.

  “I don’t have time for this mess.” Simpson scraped a hand down his face. “And now, since the nice officers at the front desk know we answer to the city council, when Montgomery and Abernathy questioned where I was, the officers were only too happy to inform them I was bringing in an FBI agent for questioning regarding an assault on my best friend.”

  Rafe knew what Simpson wasn’t saying—the implication was that he’d been using taxpayers’ money and resources for his personal use. Rafe had heard the talk when he’d first gotten into Hopewell and asked around about Hayden Simpson. His contract was almost up and the city council was the sole decision maker on whether or not to renew.

  “Lord, I sure could use some direction. My life’s going way off track here.” Simpson pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can use all the divine guidance You can spare.”

  “Amen,” Rafe whispered. “Amen.”

  This was his last chance.

  Lars waited on the side of the road while Devane snored in the backseat of his car. It was regrettable that they’d had to leave the rental in the motel parking lot. Some things just couldn’t be helped.

  It was already Monday, and he’d avoided the call twice already. He couldn’t think about what would happen if he didn’t take care of Remington. Lars decided the best thing would be to just have her disappear so the locals would think she was missing. If there wasn’t a body, it’d be hard to prove there was a murder.

  He’d been waiting in the car for almost half an hour, with no sign of her yet. The woman driving Remington had pulled the car up to the front entrance of the hospital when he left. What could be keeping them? He blew on his hands, despite the heater keeping the car’s cabin a comfortable temperature.

  His cell vibrated in his front pocket. No way! Talk about a coincidence. He jerked the phone out and checked the caller ID. His boss. What?

  “Hello, Alphonse. What a surprise.”

  “I got an interesting call from Agent Baxter a bit ago.”

  Rafe Baxter was quickly turning into a pain in Lars’s side. “Really? I haven’t been able to sit down with him just yet. I don’t—”

  “What is this business about you assaulting a woman in a hospital?”

  Lars’s mind couldn’t process a lie fast enough. Remington wouldn’t have identified him. She had as much at stake as he did. “I-I—”

  “Assaulting a woman?” Alphonse’s voice drummed against Lars’s head.

  “Sir, I don’t know—”

  “A witness picked you out of a photo lineup. What are you doing, Hartlock?” Alphonse’s tone raised two octaves. “You were supposed to assist Baxter on the Tate case. Now he calls and informs me that the local police are picking you up for questioning. What is going on?”

  Lars’s tongue filled his mouth. “Sir, it’s all a misunderstanding. I’ll have it straightened out this afternoon.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on down there, but you’d better get it cleared up and get your butt back to the office by morning.” With each word, Alphonse had gotten louder.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And bring Baxter back with you. I want you both in my office first thing in the morning. No excuses.”

  “Yes, sir.” Unless he killed Rafe first.

  Which suddenly seemed like his only solution.

  The sky streaked overcast, cloaking the bayou in gloom. Bella closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the headrest.

  She loved Ardy dearly, but Bella would be so glad to get home and relax in silence. Ardy had kept up a stream of meaningless conversation the entire trip from the hospital to the pharmacy to now. Bella’s ears hurt and her head throbbed. All she needed was her bed and silence.

 
Emphasis on the silence.

  “I can stay and help you.” Ardy turned off the main road. Asphalt merged into freshly grated gravel.

  “No.” Bella forced a smile. “Really, I’m fine.” Especially since Hayden had probably already picked up Hartlock. Exhaustion tugged her down. “I’m going to take my pain medication and sleep.” Now that she didn’t have to worry about Hartlock and Devane coming to kill her, she’d sleep deeply. It’d been a long, long time since she’d been able to do that.

  “Are you sure, hon?”

  The car fishtailed on the gravel. Ardy took her foot off the accelerator and corrected the path. “I don’t mind staying one little bit. I could catch up on your laundry for you. Cook you some nice soup.”

  Bella clutched the white bag of her medications. “Thank you, but no.” She pinched her eyes closed, the bumpiness of driving over the gravel causing a minor bout of nausea.

  Wham!

  She slammed against the car door. Her eyes shot open, taking in everything but hardly registering anything.

  Another car plowed into the driver’s side of the car. Everything slowed down in Bella’s realm of reality.

  The force flung Ardy sideways, her temple smacked her window, then her head bounced back against the headrest.

  Tires slid on the loose gravel. Grinding screeched so loud it made the fillings in her molars rattle.

  The stop came so suddenly the car rocked right, then left, then right. Then nothing. Stillness.

  Gravel dust clouded the air and burned Bella’s eyes. She blinked rapidly. A buzz rang in her ears. The pain shooting out from her injured shoulder caused her to grind her teeth. Oh-my-stars, the pain!

  She released her seat belt, then looked across the console. “Ardy? Ardy!”

  Hayden’s mother groaned in response. At least she was alive.

  Bella grasped the door handle and pushed to open the door. She needed to process what had happened. Everything was fuzzy in her mind. An accident . . . they’d been in an accident.