The Reveal: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery (Book 6)

by Mike Markel

  Wayne said to me, “I’m going to get the system back online. Susan, can you stay and help them with whatever they need?”

  “Of course.” We were both looking down at Ryan, bent over Abby’s mouth. Susan turned to me. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Call the Fire Rescue team. Tell them we got both the people out of the water, but one of them’s nonresponsive. We’re gonna need an ambulance.”

  She nodded and pulled out her phone.

  I turned to my partner. “Any reason to keep going with that?”

  He pulled his head up to answer me. “Any reason not to?” He was breathing hard. His tone was angry and frustrated. Ryan really doesn’t like to lose.

  “Let me take over.”

  “I got it,” he said. He returned to the rescue breathing, harder than before.

  Susan said, “The Fire Rescue team is almost here. They’re all EMT-certified. They’ve called in for the ambulance. Three minutes.”

  I looked down at Abby. She was a big girl, I’d say five-eight or nine. Wide shoulders, narrow hips. Her blond hair was hanging over her face. I brushed it back. The exhaustion caught up with me and I began to weep softly. Not out of control, like a few minutes ago. I pictured myself sitting in the chief’s office with Abby’s parents. The mother would be weeping, the father sitting there, his head bowed. They’d be asking about why that young man did that to her.

  Suddenly, Abby’s trunk shuddered, and her chin thrust in the air. Ryan pulled his head back just before the water blew out of her mouth. He rolled her onto her side. “That’s it,” he said, reaching into her mouth to make sure her tongue was out of the way. She started to groan, convulsed again, and vomited more water onto the concrete walkway.

  I heard the sirens in the distance.

  A minute later, when the two EMTs with a gurney rushed over, Abby’s eyes were open. She wasn’t talking yet, but she was conscious. She didn’t seem to understand Ryan when he talked to her. Her eyes didn’t follow his finger as he moved it in front of her face.

  The two EMTs loaded her onto the gurney. One of them said to me, “We’re gonna put her in the ambulance and take her in.”

  “Is she gonna be okay?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe.”

  One of the EMTs had given Ryan a blanket, which was draped over his shoulders. “Well, that was exciting.” He managed a small smile.

  I shook my head.

  He said, “Did you get my things? At the cross?”

  “I got your things.” I started to cry again. “Why did you do that?”

  “To protect and serve.” He pointed to my shield around my neck. “That’s what it says.”

  I walked over to him and slapped him as hard as I could on the arm.

  “Ow.” He rubbed his arm.

  “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  He smiled. “To you?”

  “That’s what I fucking said. Don’t ever do that to me again.” I collapsed onto his chest, still shuddering. His heartbeat was strong beneath his ice-cold shirt.

  He laughed, patting me on the back like a big brother.

  The EMTs had finished strapping Abby in. “One of you two want to ride with her? Is she in custody or something?”

  Ryan said, “I’ll ride with them. You going to be okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll follow you over to the hospital.”

  “One other detail, Karen.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Martin Hunt. You cuffed him to the handrail at the cross.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “You going to let the animals take care of him?”

  The EMTs started to wheel the gurney down the walkway toward the elevator. Ryan followed them.

  I called headquarters and told them to send out a couple of uniforms to bring Martin Hunt in and drive Ryan’s car back to headquarters.

  I turned to Susan. “Thanks for your help. Would you tell Wayne I hope I didn’t break his dam?”

  She smiled. “I’ll tell him.” She paused. “Your partner—he dove in after the girl?”

  “Over at the cross. Took his shoes off and dove right in.”

  “He’s something.”

  “Yeah, he’s something, all right.” I shook my head. “Not exactly sure what.”

  I drove back to the cross, where Martin Hunt was sitting in the parking lot, legs crossed, his left arm handcuffed to the railing.

  “How you doin’, Marty?”

  He scowled but didn’t reply.

  “Great news. Your classmate—Abby? the one you beat up and threw into the water?—my partner grabbed her. She’s gonna be fine. But I don’t blame you for trying to kill her. What a pain in the ass.” I rolled my eyes. “Talk, talk, talk. That girl just won’t shut up.”

  Chapter 30

  I leaned my head inside the chief’s office. “You got a minute, Chief?”

  He waved me in. “Where’s Ryan?”

  “He’s at the hospital. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine. The Virginia Rinaldi case broke this afternoon. I want to fill you in on where we are.”

  “Why is Ryan at the hospital?” His tone was a little impatient.

  “He went there with Abby Demarest. The porn-video girl? She got tossed into the reservoir. He dove in and got her. He’s fine. We don’t know about her yet. She’s alive, but whether she lost any brain function, we won’t know that for a while.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  “Abby Demarest met up with Martin Hunt, the idiot from the fraternity, under the cross out at the dam. He beat her up, threw her into the reservoir. Ryan jumped in and pulled her out. Abby and Ryan are at the hospital. Martin Hunt is in Holding.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I have a few questions.”

  I nodded. “I thought you might.”

  “Didn’t you tell me Abby was lying low? Why did she go out to meet Martin Hunt?”

  “I planted the story that we were arresting Krista for the murder of Virginia Rinaldi.”

  “The prostitute?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought you said she didn’t do it.”

  “I did say that.”

  “So you’re not going to arrest her.”

  “No, I’m going to arrest Martin Hunt. It might take a while, but I’m going to arrest him.”

  “How did you plant the story that we’re going to charge Krista?”

  “Chief, before I tell you, I want to be really clear about this: This was my idea. Ryan didn’t want to do it.”

  “How did you plant the story, Detective?”

  “We couldn’t communicate with Abby because the university was keeping her under wraps—”

  “How did you plant the story, Detective?”

  “I got Mary Dawson, the dean of students, to call her.”

  “So you lied to a dean at the university?”

  “No, I didn’t lie to her. I talked her into lying to Abby.”

  “How did you do that, Detective?”

  “Remember the university attorney, Arthur Vines?”

  The chief waved his hand in a small circle, telling me to continue.

  “He’s trying to cover his ass about the death of that girl, Jennifer Taylor, in the arson fire. He’s saying he offered her a place to live so she wouldn’t be in danger, you know, if anyone came after Abby. He’s lying.”

  “How do you know that, Detective?”

  “Because Ryan and I interviewed Jennifer after Abby moved out. She didn’t even know that Abby was being harassed.”

  “All right. So the dean apparently agreed with you?”

  I nodded. “I told her the truth—”

  “Doesn’t quite sound like it to me, Detective.”

  “Chief, I’m taking full responsibility. I’m not gonna fight you on this. If you want my shield right now …” I pulled the chain up over my head and offered him the shield.

  “Why did the dean go along wi
th your idea?”

  I shook my head. “No idea. Maybe she’s got some issues with the attorney, things I don’t know about. But I persuaded her that if Abby thought we were gonna arrest Krista, she’d get in touch with Martin. I knew Krista didn’t kill Virginia, and the only way to break this open was to force the real killer out of his hole.”

  “And the killer is Martin Hunt?”

  “I think so.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I know it, but I can’t prove it yet. Two reasons I think so: One, the DNA under Virginia’s fingernails comes from a male. It isn’t Richard Albright, the Jesus thug—we have his DNA on record—”

  “He could’ve subbed out the murder.”

  “True. But here’s the second reason. As soon as Mary Dawson phoned Abby, she called Martin Hunt, not Richard Albright. Hunt is the one she’s in with. When they met up, under the cross, he tried to kill her.”

  “So why can’t we charge Martin Hunt?”

  “We can. We can charge him with two things. One, rape. He and the other slugs in his fraternity raped Krista at the fraternity party. And two, Ryan and I saw him beat up Abby and throw her into the reservoir couple hours ago. That’s assault—at least. It’s a felony.”

  “So, once he signs off on the assault, we get his DNA.”

  “Which we match to the DNA from Virginia’s fingernails. Then we’ve got him for murder.”

  “You say we have Martin Hunt in Holding right now?”

  “That’s right. I lied to him—told him Abby is talking. So he’s churning it in his head. I mean, about what Abby’s telling us about Virginia Rinaldi.”

  “But we don’t know if Abby knows Martin Hunt killed her.”

  “True. But we don’t have to know exactly what he’s worried about. My guess is that if we offer to drop the rape in exchange for pleading to the felony assault, he’ll be so relieved we’re not thinking about the murder charge he’ll sign a confession right now.”

  “All right, Detective. Has he been assigned a public defender?”

  “Yeah, he’ll be ready in about an hour. You want to run the interview with Hunt?”

  “Why?”

  I looked at Robert Murtaugh. “I assume you want my shield, or at least pull me off the case.”

  “Why would I want to discipline you?”

  “For manipulating the dean.”

  “You didn’t manipulate her. You laid out the reasons for doing what you asked her to do. She didn’t have to do it.”

  “For dragging Ryan into it.”

  “No problem there, either. You said he told you he didn’t like your idea, right?”

  “Yeah, he made that clear.”

  “But he chose to go along with you rather than come to me. He always had the right to come to me. All police personnel can go up the ladder if they think they’re being asked to do something improper.”

  “I almost got him killed.”

  “No, he almost got himself killed.”

  “Yeah, well, we got lucky this time.”

  “Why would I want to discipline you? You haven’t explained.”

  “I should’ve run the idea by you.”

  “Why? Because I’m your supervisor?”

  “I’m sorry, Chief. Won’t happen again.”

  “Answer my question, Detective. Why should you have run the idea by me?”

  “Because you’re a cop. A really smart cop. You might’ve seen something I didn’t see.”

  “That’s right, Detective. I might have seen something you didn’t see.”

  I was looking down at the carpet, trying to keep it together. Ever since I thought I’d gotten Ryan killed, I’d been a mess. I looked up. The chief was looking at me hard.

  “I’ve been chief for more than a year. I trusted you to stay sober. And most of the time, you have. You’ve been an excellent detective. Now it’s your turn to trust me. If you bring me an idea I don’t like, you should want to know why I don’t like it. Not because I’m the boss. Because I’m another cop, and I’ve been doing this a long time.”

  I nodded. “What did I screw up?”

  “Nothing. If you’d lied to the dean, that would have been wrong—and stupid. It could’ve blown up in our faces. You were straight with her, let her make the decision.” He paused. “But I’m not talking about this case, Karen. You’re not hearing what I’m saying.”

  I took a deep breath. “You have to understand something about me, Chief. I’ve fucked up so many things for so long … I don’t know. I didn’t want you to tell me how dumb I am. I’d rather just do it my way—then let you fire me when it turns to shit.”

  “I can’t have you working out your insecurities on the job. You said you almost got Ryan killed. You’re wrong about that. But what if you were right? If your plan didn’t work, and Ryan got killed. And you hadn’t run it by me—because of your own issues. How good a detective would you have been after that?”

  I nodded, which was enough of an answer to the chief’s question. The chief was right. If that had happened, I couldn’t have stayed on the job. I’d probably be dead inside a month.

  He paused a moment. “You don’t get to decide that you’re unqualified to serve as a detective in this department. I do. When I reach that conclusion, believe me, you’ll be the first to know. Work out your personal insecurities off the clock. That shield you wear says Rawlings Police Department. When you carry it, you’re a member of this department. The whole department, including me. If you can bring that attitude toward the job, we all have a better chance of getting the job done—and staying alive.

  “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m putting a letter of reprimand in your file. Failure to exercise professional judgment. Do you have any questions?”

  “No, Chief. That’s fair. You’re right. I’m sorry.” I took a moment. “Do you want to run the interview with Martin Hunt?”

  “You don’t think you can handle it?”

  I looked at him. “I’ll let you know how it went.”

  He held my gaze. “I would appreciate that, Detective. You’re dismissed.”

  “Thank you, Chief. It won’t happen again.”

  I left the chief’s office and headed to the ladies’, where I tore into myself a lot harder than the chief just had. I threw up some, cried a little bit. Then I cleaned myself up and tried to pull it together.

  I walked back to the bullpen and set up the interview with Martin Hunt and the public defender for three this afternoon, which would give me time to run over to the hospital and check on Ryan and Abby Demarest.

  I took the Charger over to the hospital and parked in the horseshoe outside the emergency entrance. A squad car was already there. Ryan must have called for a uniform to protect Abby in the ER or wherever she was.

  I checked in with the attendant, who told me there was no “Demarest, Abby” in the hospital. I took out my shield and asked about a wet young detective with a young woman, then a uniformed officer. She told me to go to the second floor. I took the stairs. Ryan, the blanket still over his shoulders, was talking with the uniform outside Abby’s room. When the uniform saw me, he retreated a few feet to give me some privacy with Ryan.

  “How’re you doing?” I said.

  “I’m fine.” He smiled. “A little clammy.” He pulled at the wet T-shirt clinging to his chest.

  “I see. You get a chance to talk to a doctor?”

  “They can’t tell yet whether she’s suffered any significant cognitive damage.”

  “She was under a couple of minutes?”

  “That would be my guess. She’s conscious and appears to track with her eyes, but she isn’t talking.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not what I told Martin Hunt.”

  “He’s at headquarters?”

  I looked at my watch. “We’re set to interview him in about forty-five minutes. He’s with the public defender now. Here’s the plan. We’re sticking with the story that we’ve arrested Krista for the Virginia Rinaldi murder. Thi
s whole thing revolves around him believing we’re sure it’s her. Then, we sell him the idea that we can nail him for rape at the party.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “We’ve got a girl’s selfie showing him dropping something into Krista’s drink.”

  “We do?”

  “No, we don’t. We’re gonna offer to drop the rape in exchange for the felony assault at the reservoir. Once he cops to the assault, we get his DNA, match it to DNA under Virginia’s fingernails.”

  “Why would he take the assault rather than the rape?”

  “Because the rape puts him on the sex offender registry for life. The assault is a fight. A youthful indiscretion.”

  “Did you run this by the chief?”

  “I did. He’s good with it.” I spared him the rest of my discussion with the chief.

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  “You tell the doc we want updates on Abby?”

  “Yep.”

  We headed out to the Charger and I drove us back to headquarters. As we walked in the rear entrance to the building, Ryan said, “Do I have time to shower?”

  “Listen, Ryan, why don’t you head on home? I can handle this.”

  “No way I’m going to miss this one.”

  “You sure?”

  “See you in ten minutes.”

  I walked over to the break room and got some coffee. When I got back to my desk to sit down, I realized how wrung out I was. My legs buckled and I almost fell into my chair. After everything Ryan had been through today, he looked a hell of a lot better than I felt.

  A few minutes later, I jumped when I felt someone touching my shoulder.

  “You okay, Karen?” Ryan looked concerned. “We’re ready to go.”

  “Absolutely.”

  It took me a second to get my bearings and heave myself out of my chair. We walked over toward the interview rooms. We went through the door marked “Janitor,” into the passageway between the two interview rooms where we watch through the mirrors.

  Martin Hunt was seated at the table, his fist tapping on the metal bar with the handcuffs. He wasn’t cuffed. His eyes darted around, and his forehead was wrinkled in apprehension. It was obvious he knew he was in serious legal trouble. Next to him sat his public defender, a grey looking man of about fifty, scribbling on a legal pad.