Secret Alibi

by Lori L. Harris

  “Yes.” Why couldn’t he get a real read on her? She seemed so controlled and contained at times. So different from that first day he’d seen her having lunch. She’d been open, reaching out to those around her.

  Using the fingers of her injured right hand, she lifted a tea bag and then let it sink into the hot water again, all the while watching it as if it were some kind of scientific experiment. “When?” she asked as the bag went down for the third time.

  “Soon. The paperwork is ready to take to the judge, so it won’t be long.”

  Her left hand was unsteady when she passed him one of the mugs. As he took it, the now empty fingers curled into a loose fist and her mouth tightened as if she found her inability to control her body as unsettling as the news.

  Jack sat at the table, assuming she’d follow suit. But instead, she crossed the room to turn off the television, and then leaned against the counter. She was waiting for him to speak first—to give some indication of his stance. Obviously, she understood how an interrogation worked. That the power was usually in putting her cards on the table last.

  But he wasn’t looking for power; he was looking for the truth.

  “Do you own a twenty-five automatic?” Jack asked.

  “No.”

  Jack tasted the tea. “It’s a woman’s gun.”

  Lexie pushed away from the counter. “Maybe a woman who’s afraid of anything bigger. I don’t have guns for protection. I have them for competition. A twenty-five is worthless.” Looking only slightly less nervous, she crossed to where she’d left her mug. “Why all the questions about a twenty-five?”

  “Because on Friday night someone first used a twenty-five and then followed up with the .357. Not right away though. There are indications that there was up to half an hour between the two shots.”

  Lexie reached for the counter edge with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. For several moments, she just stood there, looking as if her knees would go out from under her. Then, after dragging in a deep breath and letting it out, she turned and stared out the window.

  Jack stayed where he was.

  “So they think I shot Dan with a peashooter first and then went and got the larger caliber weapon?”

  “You have both motive and opportunity. And there was gunpowder residue on your cuff—”

  She faced him, the counter now at her back, supporting her. “I’d been to the shooting range.”

  “The prosecution will argue that the reason you went to the gun range was so you’d be able to explain away the positive result. Premeditation, Lexie. If the prosecuting attorney can convince the jury of it, instead of doing twenty to life, you’ll be staring at the death penalty.”

  She tightened her arms across her. Her color had drained to the point that even her lips looked pale.

  “You had blood on your clothing—”

  “From when I bent over Dan! To make certain that he was dead!”

  Jack stood and walked toward her. “Checking to see if someone is dead, Lexie, is what killers do. Checking to see if someone is alive is what the rest of us do.”

  He stopped in front of her. “So which was it? When you bent over him were you hoping to find him alive or dead?”

  “Alive, damn it.” Pulling back, she took a deep breath. “No one could survive what was done to him. No one. Even before I bent over him, I knew it was hopeless.” She lifted her chin. “I didn’t kill Dan. I wouldn’t kill anyone! No matter what they did to me!”

  Jack saw the truth in her eyes. Even if no one else did. But her last words rang in his head. No matter what they did to me! What had been done to her?

  When she tried to push past him, he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, staying her. “I believe you, Lexie.”

  She studied his face as if she wasn’t certain she’d heard him right. “You believe me?”

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever seen eyes so filled with both hope and fear. “Yes. I do.”

  Tears collected in them. Her lips trembled. When she started to turn away, Jack reached out and, hooking a hand around the back of her head, pulled her into his arms. As soon as he did, she broke down completely.

  As he tightened his arms around her, Jack realized that for the first time since he’d made his decision, he was comfortable with it. What he’d done, what he was about to do, was the right thing.

  After a period of time, when she seemed to be in better control, she backed out of his arms. Using both hands, she scrubbed away the last remnants of tears. “I’m confused. You come in here telling me that I’m about to be arrested, and then you tell me that you believe me?”

  “The fact that you will be arrested today hasn’t changed.”

  “But can’t you do something?”

  “No. As of this morning, I resigned as police chief.”

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, hands shoved into his pockets, Jack headed for his car. Halfway down the walk, something—a sensation that he was being watched—made him stop and look toward the woods.

  The low cloud cover of earlier had settled to a point where the tops of the trees seemed to pierce the sky’s exposed, soft gray underbelly. A breeze kicked by, bringing the first mist of rain.

  Atlanta weather, not Florida. He found himself almost wishing he was back there, working undercover, dealing with pushers and druggies, hookers and pimps, instead of the beautiful woman he’d held in his arms this morning. Maybe only because as much as he wanted to help her, he feared he might not be able to. The mountain of circumstantial evidence they had on her was damn impressive. Arguing reasonable doubt wasn’t going to be good enough. He was going to have to find the real killer, or watch Lexie go to prison.

  Jack was nearly at his car when he saw the blue strobe of rack lights through the trees. Shepherd had made fast work of getting the arrest warrant signed by a judge. There’d be a search warrant, too. Because the main item that they were looking for was a twenty-five automatic, they’d have pretty much free rein to go anywhere inside the house they wanted to—anywhere a small caliber pistol could possibly be concealed.

  He glanced back at the front door, where Lexie still stood. He knew the moment she, too, saw the blue lights. He’d heard the term struck with fear, but had never seen it so clearly demonstrated.

  Jack waited beside his car.

  Fitz and Shepherd pulled in behind. They didn’t get out immediately, instead conferred for more than a minute. When they emerged, their expressions were grim.

  Fitz turned up the collar on his wrinkled sport coat. Though still more a mist than a real drizzle, the precipitation was more enthusiastic now. But it wasn’t just rain that Jack saw on Fitz’s plump face as he strode past. There was also perspiration there. He knew the detective well enough to recognize that Fitz wasn’t comfortable with what was going down, that it was Shepherd who was in control. But unlike Jack, Fitz was letting it happen.

  Shepherd didn’t say anything, just pulled the arrest warrant from the inside pocket of his black wool coat and held it up as he passed.” Stay out of our way, Jack. This can be as easy or difficult as you want it.”

  “I wasn’t the one who made it difficult. You did when you failed to do your job.”

  Frank Shepherd stalked back to where Jack stood. “I respected you, even went to bat for you last year when the town council wanted to flush you. But what you’re doing now…there’s no damn excuse for it.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the house. “Lexie Dawson isn’t worth it, Jack! She already ruined one man’s life. You going to let her do the same to you? Is a little sack time really worth losing your career over?”

  “Better my career than an innocent woman’s life.” When Frank started to turn away, Jack grabbed him by the upper arm and stopped him. “What is it, Frank? You figure you’re going to get offered my job?” Jack allowed his hand to drop.

  Shepherd made a show of straightening his coat. “I’ve already accepted the position of chief of police.”

  Jack wasn�
�t surprised that Shepherd had been offered the job, but he was somewhat surprised that the detective had accepted. Or was he? Maybe Shepherd was more ambitious than Jack had realized.

  Shepherd walked away.

  “You’re buying a career with that woman’s life, Frank,” Jack called at the man’s retreating back.

  “Go to hell, Jack.”

  Joining Fitz at the front door, Shepherd jerked open the screen and pounded with his fist. “Police. Open up.”

  As if she had been waiting just inside, Lexie immediately stepped out. She’d pulled on shoes and wore a leather jacket over her jeans and sweater.

  Jack started up the walk toward them, but Shepherd lifted his hand. “Come any closer, Jack, and I’ll arrest you, too.”

  Jack found a confident smile. “On what charges?”

  “Interfering with a lawful arrest.”

  The charges wouldn’t stick, but they would keep Jack busy for a few hours—time better spent helping Lexie.

  As Jack watched, Fitz Mirandized Lexie as Shepherd placed the cuffs. Lexie flinched slightly as the steel closed around her right wrist.

  The two of them led her down the stairs, one hand wrapped around an upper arm. She looked at Jack when she was led past, but didn’t speak.

  Nor did he.

  Shepherd placed her in the back seat. As he closed the door, he glanced toward Jack again. “It wasn’t a witch hunt, Jack. As much as you don’t want to believe it, she did it.”

  Frank climbed behind the wheel. When the car swept past where he stood, Jack ignored the two men in the front of the car, instead focused on the woman in back. She didn’t glance at him even once as the car pulled away, but as it headed down the driveway he saw her turn and look back.

  It was only then that he realized just how tightly their fates were now linked.

  Chapter Six

  Lexie sat on the narrow stainless steel “cot” anchored to the wall, her back pressed against the concrete block, her knees collapsed beneath her. The mattress was hard and, despite the lingering odor of antiseptic in the cell, there was no way she was going to lie down. No reason to, anyway, since she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

  How many hours had it been now? She tried not to think about the grueling interrogation, the horror of the booking process, of being photographed and fingerprinted. She’d been frightened and then indignant, then frightened again, each emotion rising and falling and escalating as the hours dripped by too slowly.

  Incarcerated. Even the word was scary as hell. She shifted, pushing her spine flatter to the painted wall as the muscles of her abdomen clenched with a mixture of fear and dread. How in the hell could this be happening to her?

  She was innocent.

  She closed her eyes and rested her head back. She no longer believed that she’d been unlucky, that she’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone had intentionally done this to her.

  In an effort to sort it out, she had replayed that night in her head over and over again. Had Dan already been dead when she received the first text message? Or had his killer simply taken advantage of the fact that her ex-husband had already contacted her, following up with the other messages?

  Someone in a nearby cell let out a sharp cough and a grunt. She could hear the person moving around, the sound of urination.

  She glanced around her cell. What time was it? How much longer to dawn, to the possibility of freedom? Lexie climbed to her feet, stretching her cramped muscles as she went.

  A door opened somewhere down the corridor. Probably a guard on rounds. Lexie had been here only a matter of hours and already she knew the routine.

  She looked at the stainless steel toilet in the corner. She’d been considering using it but, with the possibility of an audience, decided she could wait a bit longer.

  When she’d been stripped of her personal possessions yesterday afternoon, she’d thought the loss of freedom was going to be the most difficult thing for her to cope with, but now realized that the loss of dignity was nearly as hard.

  Lexie swallowed the saliva that suddenly pooled in her mouth. A warm flush washed over her. Light-headed, she quickly plopped down on the hard mattress. No matter how unappealing, she should have eaten some of the food on her dinner tray. In the next instant, she was diving toward the stainless steel fixture, retching uncontrollably even before she reached it. Not trusting her ability to maintain her balance, Lexie held on to the bowl.

  Sweat clung to her skin by the time the dry heaves faded. If she went to prison, what would become of her baby? She couldn’t give her child away. Even to the father. What if he didn’t want the baby? Would the child be taken from her, placed in foster care or put up for adoption? Who would want the child of a convicted killer? What if no one did?

  Sinking back onto the floor, she realized that she was crying, hard and uncontrollably and silently. Not for herself, but for her baby.

  Lexie washed her hands and face, then climbed back onto the cot, resuming the position that she had retained through most of the night. She wouldn’t think. She would just exist. She would think about the next five minutes and no further. Placing her left hand over her abdomen, she shut her eyes.

  They were closed only momentarily.

  “Hey, you, sitting there. What’s your name?”

  The prisoner in the cell across from hers, a woman somewhere in her late fifties, stood at her cell door, her hands gripping the bars as she stared out.

  Her gaze met Lexie’s. “What day is it?”

  “Tuesday.”

  Nodding, she turned away and slunk back to her cot, where she collapsed once more.

  Was that how it would be inside prison, one day bleeding into another, with no real mile markers to tell you when one week, one month, ended and another began?

  Someone was crying now, soft mournful sobs that neither became louder nor faded. Lexie rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes again, praying not only for help but for sleep, too.

  The rattling of her cell door as it was being unlocked startled her awake, but she had no sense of how long she’d been asleep.

  “Time to head next door, Dawson.”

  She peered up at the hefty, dark-haired woman with features that looked as if they belonged on someone half her size. “Do I get to change first?”

  Lexie wore the orange jumpsuit she’d been given the previous afternoon, but it was now extremely wrinkled.

  “Nope. You’ll be back here before you know it.”

  “I’ll be brought back here afterward, then? Until bail is posted?”

  “If the judge allows bail,” the guard said. “Usually doesn’t happen when the charge is murder.”

  “But I thought—” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The idea of staying in this cell for even one more day was unbearable. She’d been so numb when she’d talked to her attorney yesterday that she’d asked few questions of him. Garland Ramsey had been a friend of her grandparents, so Lexie had known the well-respected lawyer for years.

  She dragged herself to her feet. “I need to wash up at least.”

  The guard waited while Lexie made a quick attempt at grooming. The only mirror was a polished piece of stainless steel. The closer she leaned into it, the more distorted her already indistinct image became. Her nose and mouth grew in prominence, the distance between her eyes narrowing. But even with all the distortion, there was no disguising that the woman in the mirror was frightened.

  Turning her back on her image, Lexie saw the cuffs the guard had in her hand and held out her wrists, one bare, the other encased in plaster. She’d expected to be loaded into some type of vehicle, so was surprised when she was escorted outside and through an alley to the courthouse a block away. The day was overcast and cold. The guard was dressed for the weather; Lexie was not and the breeze seemed to go through the jumpsuit.

  While the jail was a new facility, the courthouse had been built in the latter days of the nineteenth century, when Deep Water ha
d been the county seat. Over the years, it had undergone numerous remodelings; none of them had attempted to meld the present with the past, though.

  The original floors had long ago disappeared beneath brown linoleum tiles. The guard unlocked and relocked doors as they went. With each turn of the key, Lexie’s chest tightened and her respiration quickened.

  There were no windows in the short hallway that led from the back entrance to a small vestibule, and because of the lack of air circulation, there was a mustiness to both spaces. The guard’s hand remained wrapped around Lexie’s arm the whole time, and glancing down at it, Lexie was reminded of the way her stepfather had sometimes grabbed her when she was a child. It wasn’t a pleasant memory.

  As soon as the guard opened the door into the courtroom, conversations stopped. People turned and stared in her direction as she entered. She saw five or six friends in the crowd, but she didn’t see Jack or Fleming. And because she didn’t, she felt as if she was about to face the worst situation in her life completely alone.

  It was possible that Fleming been called out with an emergency delivery, but what about Jack? Why wasn’t he here? Desperate, she scanned the crowd. Had he changed his mind about her? She tried to contain her growing panic by telling herself that it would be Garland Ramsey who got her off, not Jack. That as long as her attorney stuck by her, she’d be okay.

  “It’s just stage fright, hon,” the guard said, urging Lexie forward.

  Lexie managed to respond to the guard’s tug, but nearly stumbled over her own feet because she was still madly searching the crowd. She spotted Dan’s parents. Jessica Dawson was a rail-thin and unusually tall woman, while Jeffrey Dawson was nearly a foot shorter. Mutt and Jess. That’s how Dan had introduced his parents to her the first time. She’d been instantly certain that she was going to love them. And she still did—in spite of the animosity between her and their son.

  When Jessica realized that she was looking in her direction, the woman quickly turned away. Though Lexie hadn’t expected her ex-mother-in-law to respond any differently, it still hurt.

  The guard pulled out a chair for her, but when he would have retreated, Garland stopped her. “Please remove the cuffs.”