by Girard, Dara
She closed her eyes trying to read the language of the flames. It spoke of evil—not revenge or hatred, but madness. Its creator had escalated to the one level she had feared. The level to which her father had descended. It wanted to take her, too.
Robert stroked her forehead. “Talk to us.”
“It’s a house fire,” she gasped feeling as though her lungs would burst through her chest. “Someone’s inside. But it’s too late.”
Melinda looked at Robert. “What is she talking about?”
“The fire.”
“Tell us more,” Grant urged.
Melinda sent him a look of disgust. “She can barely breathe let alone talk. She needs to lie down.”
“We need to get this information before she forgets it.”
“Can’t you see that she’s suffering?”
Victoria buried her face in Robert’s chest. The roar of the fire drowned out anything else. She had to remember the feelings weren’t hers. She couldn’t let them claim her. Soon the power of the vision faded and she could see .the fire and not feel as though she were being consumed by it. She glanced up at Robert and immediately understood why.
Somehow he was channeling his energy through her; making her stronger than her vision. Whereas her skin felt cool to the touch, his burned, beads of sweat grew on his forehead. She knew she had to control her feelings before it grew again and overwhelmed them both. She took a deep breath and slowly distanced herself from the vision until her feelings were her own again.
“It’s over,” she said.
Robert looked exhausted. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” She wanted to ask “Are you?” but knew he wouldn’t welcome the question.
“What the hell just happened?” Grant said then took a long drag of his cigarette.
“You saw what happened,” Melinda said. “Don’t ask silly questions.”
He exhaled. “I know about her...I didn’t know about him.”
Robert frowned. “What are you talking about?”
His hand trembled as he took another drag. “I didn’t know you saw them, too.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“But you felt something, right? You nearly made the air stop. You—”
“It was nothing,” Victoria said, before Grant could continue.
Robert opened his mouth to respond then his mobile rang.
* * *
The death of Susannah Rhodes hit the front page of the morning newspaper and became the main story on TV. She received all the attention she’d craved in life as though the price of her life had risen in the ashes of her death.
Robert shifted through the ruins of her house... only the walls remained. He studied the burn patterns and scrutinized the area. He saw a definite coning pattern: The way a fire spreads from one point out in a fanlike pattern. There had been cigarettes and alcohol, but he didn’t think they had started the fire. This was no accidental fire, and he’d comb the house to prove it however, there was no need. The pathologist later confirmed his suspicions. He gave Robert unwelcome news.
“Her lungs are clean,” he said.
Robert stared down at the body and swore. Clean lungs meant that she hadn’t breathed any smoke. She had been dead before the fire reached her. An outsider wouldn’t have seen past the blackened body to clues that lead to the cause of her death. Fortunately, the pathologist saw through the disguise and identified stab wounds. One pierced her lung. Another went right through her.
A task force immediately sprung into action, but no matter how many witnesses they spoke, to everyone came up clean. At the site they had no knife, no footprints, nothing to link anyone to the crime. Robert was quickly losing hope, until Grant called him.
“You’re not going to like this, but I had to warn you.”
Robert stiffened. “Warn me about what?”
“We’ve got a suspect.”
“Okay. What’s the problem? We can finally get closer to discovering the name of this bastard.”
Grant hesitated. Robert heard him inhale and pictured him standing outside of the station smoking. “Someone saw a car in the driveway before the fire. They got a license plate and we came up with a name.”
“Who?” he asked impatient.
Grant sighed. “It’s Foster.”
* * *
Two officers arrested Foster as he drove up to the house. With no reliable alibi and plenty of opportunity to commit the crime, he became the state’s number one suspect. The news hit the papers. The assistant of a prominent person suspected of murdering a local reporter was definitely newsworthy. Robert skimmed over the news article in disgust. The brass above had taken him off the case until the fervor died down. Besides, having his name in the paper didn’t help the image of the department.
He knew a lot about image and how important it was to maintain it. He glanced up when someone knocked on his open office door. Caprican entered with a malicious smile. Robert resisted the urge to grab his extra shovel in the corner and remove Caprican’s expression.
“How are you doing, Braxton?” he asked.
“Doubt you would care, Caprican.”
“No, I doubt I would.” He sat.
Robert glared at him. “What do you want?”
“I came to give you a little advice. You don’t seem to know how to hire people. First you had the psychic daughter of a known arsonist and now an ex-alcoholic suspected of killing a reporter.”
Robert folded the paper.
“Amazing how much this case is like another I know.”
“Foster doesn’t gain to inherit anything from this.”
“No, but there are other motives, or are you going to ignore them? I know you like to ignore evidence when the opportunity suits you.”
Robert leaned back in his chair “Are you finished?”
“I’m sure you’ll follow all the rules so that you’ll get to the truth and not let any personal prejudices influence you.”
“I’m not on the case.”
“Of course, but that wouldn’t stop you from helping another guilty man walk free.”
“If you want to be able to walk yourself, I suggest you get out of my office.”
Caprican stood. “Good luck, Braxton. See you in court, unless you arrange for a different outcome. I know you have connections in high places.” He left.
Robert drummed his fingers on the desk. Foster was only a suspect. Opportunity wasn’t enough to charge someone with a crime. Though investigators were tossing out possible motives, most of them didn’t stick. Without one, Foster could go free. That was the problem. Robert knew Foster had a motive. A good one. If anyone discovered it, it may be enough to indict him.
He swore. Caprican had a point. Did he circumvent the system and assume Foster was innocent and keep the information he knew to himself, or use the system to prove the truth? Did he put his trust in the system he worked in?
* * *
Victoria stood in the grocery store aisle and read the recent news headline in disgust. The picture they painted of Foster turned her stomach. They have the wrong man, she wanted to scream, but she knew no one would listen.
“Awful isn’t it?” a voice said behind her.
She turned and saw the man from the garden party. She couldn’t remember his name, but did remember her suspicions about him. “Hello.”
“Prescott Delaney,” he said, holding out his hand.
She shook it. He had large, rough workman’s hands. “Yes, I’m—”
“I remember you,” he cut in. “I was at your garden party.”
“Oh, yes.”
“So are you free yet?”
She felt a sudden chill. “Free for what?”
“We were supposed to talk about the arsons.” He tapped the newspaper. “We both know he didn’t do it.”
She licked her lower lip then said, “Do we?”
“Sure. You said you’d check your schedule.”
She reminded herself not to show
fear. “Yes, I remember. I’ve been busy.”
“Sure you have. But you’re not busy any more are you? This recent fire must have shocked you and confused the investigators. Fires are good at keeping secrets. Are you?”
An ugliness spread throughout her and for a moment she thought she would be sick. That instant she knew she stared into the unrepentant eyes of a killer. Had her father’s gaze been so cold?
He smiled, pleased by her look of understanding. “Impressed?”
She nearly choked. “Yes. Very.”
“You must be very curious. We need to talk. Don’t you think?”
She controlled a shiver and tried to keep her voice neutral. “Yes. I will call you.”
“I’ll be waiting.” His friendly mask fell as his tone turned to ice. “Don’t disappoint me.” He tipped an imaginary cap then left.
***
That night, Victoria paced her room. “Why won’t the police do something? They are investigating the wrong man.”
Robert watched her from the bed. “They have to follow the clues where they lead and right now they lead to Foster.”
“But I told you about my conversation. We know who the culprit is.” She threw her hands up frustrated. “We have a name. It’s Prescott Delaney. He practically challenged me to turn him in.”
“I’ve already checked him out—twice. He has a solid alibi. There is nothing to link him to this crime. There’s nothing to link him to the warehouse fire, or the restaurant fire, or anything else, and the police can’t arrest a man based on a hunch.”
“You know this is more than a hunch.”
Robert’s patience snapped. “I need evidence! Hard facts.”
“Find something. Arson investigation is not an exact science. You could—”
His tone fell flat. “No, I couldn’t.”
She stared at him amazed “You won’t bend the rules even if it means a murderer could walk free? Is that how the system works? As long as you’re clever enough, you can do whatever you want until you get caught?”
“You should ask your father that question.”
Victoria staggered back as though he’d struck her. “That’s unfair.”
Robert pushed the sheets aside and sat on the edge of the bed. “Life’s unfair. That’s why we have rules. When you start to bend the rules, when do you stop? It will be too tempting not to stop until the rules mean nothing to you anymore. You’ll live by your own rules. That’s why we have criminals. They have their own rules. I won’t start down that path. Checks and balances are the rational man’s only defense to anarchy.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t really want me to do what you’re suggesting. Evil breeds on deception.”
She narrowed her eyes, her tone hard. “Then maybe I am evil because I will do anything to put this man in prison and if you won’t help me...”
“I won’t.”
Victoria turned and opened her closet and grabbed some clothes.
Robert closed the closet and forced her to look at him. “You need to trust the system.”
“I don’t,” she spat out “I don’t trust it. What do they need to indict him?”
“Enough evidence to prove motive and opportunity.”
“Do you they have both?”
He hesitated. “They have opportunity.”
“But no motive.” She sighed with relief. “So without a motive they can’t go any further.”
“Right.”
She clasped her hands together. “Good then Foster’s safe.”
“No,” Robert said in a low voice. “He’s not safe.”
Victoria looked at him curious. “Why not?”
His eyes held hers. “Because he does have a motive.”
“No, he doesn’t.” She turned away.
“Yes, he does.” Robert stood in front of her determined to make her face the truth. “Foster had a motive. Enough of a motive to get him indicted.”
Victoria shook her head. “He’s innocent. He didn’t do it.”
Robert stared at her amazed. “Don’t you care what the motive is?”
“No, because that doesn’t matter.” She bit her lip thoughtful. “Does anyone else know about this?”
“No.”
She lifted a suggestive brow and rested a hand on his bare chest. “Then no one needs to know.”
His muscles constricted at the gentle touch of her fingers as they slid from his chest to his stomach. He could feel a growing, carnal hunger rise. His entire body tensed, waiting for a release that wouldn’t come. He couldn’t respond to her as she wanted him to. It was dangerous to weaken now; dangerous to both of them. For a moment, he allowed himself to linger in her gaze, her silent request clear. Her loyalty to his friend made him want her more.
He swallowed, resisting the urge to lean closer, to press his mouth against hers, to feel the softness of her body against him. He took a deep, shuddering breath. His will had to be stronger than his lust. “You want me to keep what I know a secret.”
“I want you to protect your friend. You’d betray him by exposing anything about him that could get him into trouble.”
“My job is to protect the innocent. If Foster is innocent he’ll be fine.”
“Your father was innocent.”
Robert’s gaze darkened. He moved away from her touch. “Don’t bring him into this.”
“You brought my father into this.”
He stared at her, his heart aching as he felt the distance growing between them. “I guess we’ll always be on different sides of the law.”
“One man already paid for the crimes of another. Do you want to repeat that?”
“My father’s trial occurred at a different time. The type of investigation back then had relied too much on `hunches.’ We now have experts...”
“We have a more scientific way to skew the truth,” she challenged. “People are scared. They want someone to put away and they don’t care who it is.”
He clenched his teeth desperately wishing she would understand. “I’ve spent my entire career trying to help change this system and now you want me to betray the oaths I’ve made. The system is there and it can work. I’ll get Foster a top attorney.”
Victoria flashed a mocking smile. “If you’re going to toss money around why not pay off the judge and jury as well?”
He stared at her a long moment then said, “Don’t push me, Victoria.”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and stared up at him with pleading eyes. “I know you want to use Foster to prove your ideals. I know you need to believe that your father’s death was for a reason. I know you need to believe that because of what happened to him, you were able to change the very system that failed him, but you can’t. The system hasn’t changed because people haven’t changed. You said your father was a strong man, yet what happened to him destroyed him. Foster isn’t strong. He won’t be able to handle the pressures of a trial. You could push him towards the bottle again.”
He removed her hands and walked to the window. “If anyone found out I kept information I could lose my job.”
“So what?”
He stilled. “What do you mean by that?”
“Your job isn’t that important.”
He slowly turned to her. “You mean I don’t need it, right?”
“I know you like your work, but—”
A gathering fury raced through him, but he kept his voice level. “Like it? Do you think it’s some sort of hobby I do to fill my time? My job is what I do. It’s who I am. Do you expect me to disgrace my name, my oaths and my fellow officers just because I can afford to?” When she didn’t reply his voice hardened, commanding an answer. “Do you?”
She waved her hands helpless. “I just don’t know... I don’t know,” she said then let her gaze fall.
He turned back to the window and rested his hands on the windowsill. His tone deepened with disgust “If that is the case, you don’t know me very well. I live by standards and those standards are not flexible.”
<
br /> “But you could—”
He spun around, his eyes blazing, “I will not bend!”
The passion of his words crashed against the walls like the memory of an echo, mingling with the sound of a soft wind brushing past the window.
Victoria grabbed her suitcase and said quietly, “Neither will I.”
* * *
The next day, Robert sat in the diner he and Grant had visited the night of the warehouse fire. The night before Victoria had entered his life. He stared out the window, but saw nothing. He felt the weight of what he must do. He had only one course of action, no matter how many people would disapprove. With a good defense Foster could get a not guilty verdict like Andy Tracts. He believed that. He had to.
The chef, Sebastian, came out from the kitchen and sat at his table. “You’re making me look bad.”
Robert turned to him. “What?”
He gestured to Robert’s plate. “I’ve burned your meat as requested and you haven’t even touched it.”
Robert glanced down at his uneaten steak. He pushed the plate away and rested his arms on the table. “I’ve been coming here a while, haven’t I?”
Sebastian nodded. “Yes, unfortunately.”
He ignored his teasing. “What kind of customer would you say I am?” He held up a hand. “And don’t flatter me.”
“I don’t think I could.” Sebastian thought for a moment, adjusting his large glasses, then said, “I’d say you were demanding, but honest. You treat the waitresses well. You’re a cordial, but exacting man. Predictable.”
Robert nodded at the apt description. “What if I were to be flexible and order a medium rare steak.”
Sebastian’s eyes lit up at the possibility. “Yes?”
“And I tasted it and didn’t like it. Would you like me to lie and tell you that I did like it?”
He shook his head. “No, I’d be disappointed.”
“Why? Wouldn’t the lie make you feel better?”
“Well, your word wouldn’t be worth as much if you lied. It would lose its value.” He shrugged. “Besides you tell the truth. Lying wouldn’t be like you.”