“About the missing drug money that you mentioned to Internal Affairs,” Madison said, brushing his hand under his nose. “Officer Simmons had the greatest opportunity. She was inside the house for over an hour before the other units arrived.”
“That’s asinine,” the attorney said. “If Rachel took the money, why would she have insisted that I report it to Internal Affairs?” He tilted his head toward the house. “Fred Ramone and Nick Miller were present on Maple Avenue. Maybe one of them is your thief. And don’t forget the paramedics and crime scene technicians who were working inside that house.”
Edgar Madison would do more than put a guard on Grant Cummings’s hospital room, he decided, as disturbed over the stolen money as he was by Cummings’s shooting. He despised thieves, particularly those who carried a badge. Before Rachel had joined the department there had been no accusations of misconduct, no looting of crime scenes, no shootings inside the station. Police departments didn’t disintegrate overnight, and Madison didn’t believe in coincidences.
Had Grant Cummings somehow found out that Rachel had taken the cash from Maple Avenue? Had the woman shot him to keep him from reporting what he knew?
Unlocking the Pathfinder with Rachel’s keys, Madison checked the ammo clip on her service revolver, but none of the rounds were missing. She would be placed under twenty-four-hour surveillance. If Rachel Simmons so much as hiccuped, he would have his men hook her up and haul her ass to jail.
c h a p t e r
TWENTY-FOUR
Rachel, Joe, and Tracy were on Rachel’s bed in the master bedroom. It was a few minutes past ten. Joe was stretched out on his mother’s lap sleeping. Rachel was propped up on the bed with several pillows. While the boy slept, she gazed at his face and softly stroked his hair away from his forehead.
“What’s going to happen now?” Tracy asked, curled up at the foot of the bed.
“I don’t want to think about it,” Rachel told her.
“You have to think about it,” the girl argued. “If we don’t, we won’t be prepared.”
She had told Tracy the truth. The only thing Rachel held back were the threats Grant had directed toward the girl. “You shouldn’t have lied, Tracy. Lies always come back to haunt you.”
“If I hadn’t lied, they would have taken you to jail,” she said. “That man beat you, Mom. He’s the one who should be in trouble, not you.”
“Well,” Rachel said, her eyes filling with pain as she lifted Joe off her stomach and placed him in the center of the bed, “I guess he got his punishment, Tracy. The doctors believe he’s going to be paralyzed.”
“But the cops think you’re the one who shot him,” Tracy said, shoving her hair off her forehead. “How can they get away with something like this? Who is this person who saw you? How could he see you when you weren’t there?”
“See, honey,” her mother said, “this is the kind of damage you can cause when you don’t tell the truth. That’s why I won’t allow you to continue your deception about being in the house with me this morning. How did you get home from Sheila’s house? Eight miles is a long way to walk.”
Tracy avoided her mother’s eyes. “I got a ride with a friend.”
“None of your friends can drive,” Rachel answered. “Why can’t you just tell me the truth? If someone drove you home, that person is going to eventually come forward. When you testify under oath in a courtroom, a lie becomes a crime. They call it perjury, and perjury carries a substantial penalty.”
“Are they going to send you to prison?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel told her. “It’s possible. The way things have been going, anything is possible.”
Tracy chewed on a fingernail. “What will Joe and I do?” she said. “Where will we go?”
“I don’t think we need to worry about that right this minute,” Rachel said, sighing. Knowing how her daughter’s mind worked, she added, “You could stay with Carrie or Susan if I have to—” She couldn’t say the word prison. It was beyond comprehension that she would end up behind bars, that she would be separated from her children for a crime she didn’t commit.
“I don’t even know Susan,” Tracy shouted, causing Joe to wake up and whimper. Rachel picked up the child and deposited him in his bed in the other room. Once her mother returned, Tracy continued. “The only time I saw Susan was at Dad’s funeral. Carrie’s okay, but I don’t want to live with her. I’d have to go to a brand-new school, leave all my friends again. I’d rather die.”
“Don’t say that,” Rachel said, climbing back into the bed.
“I’m sorry,” Tracy said, weeping again. “It’s just that everything is always wrong. First Dad dies, then this happens to us. It seems like we’re always in this big hole that we can’t ever get out of. Maybe we should all kill ourselves. Then we would be with Dad. We could be reborn into a different life.”
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “We’re going to be all right,” she said. “Whatever happens, we’ll survive. Please, honey, I can’t stand to see you this upset.”
Tracy crawled up on the bed, resting her head on the pillow beside her mother. “Nothing should happen to you,” she said, her eyes focused on the ceiling. “We’ll just have to figure out a way to make them believe you. If they knew all the bad things this Grant guy has done, maybe they would put him in prison instead of you.” She turned her head, meeting her mother’s gaze. “He was a police officer. He had a gun. Can’t they understand that there was no one for you to go to, no one who could help you? Who do people call when they’re in trouble or someone hurts them? They call the police. You couldn’t do that because they’re all rotten.” She shook her head from side to side. “It isn’t right. Mom. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know,” Rachel said, touching a strand of her daughter’s hair. “But life isn’t always fair, honey. Sometimes we have to play the hand we’re dealt.”
“No,” Tracy said. “I don’t believe that. You’re a good person. You always try to do the right thing. They’re not going to put you in prison. I won’t let them.” She got up and started walking toward the door. “I’m going out for a walk.”
“No,” Rachel called. “You can’t leave the house.”
“Why?” Tracy said, giving her a look of defiance. “That Grant guy is in the hospital. He isn’t going to hurt anyone. I need to get some fresh air.”
“Please don’t leave,” her mother insisted, picking up the remote control. “It’s late. Come back to bed with me. We’ll watch TV. Maybe there’s a movie on we haven’t seen.”
Tracy threw her hands in the air. “I can’t stay here, Mom,” she said. “If I don’t get out of the house, I’m going to go crazy.”
Rachel’s voice was firm. “I forbid you to leave the house, Tracy. You don’t understand. It’s not just Grant I’m afraid of. There are others. Other officers. They could be watching our house right now. That’s why I refused to let you go down to the station with Sergeant Miller.”
“Why should I listen to you anymore?” her daughter exploded. “If you go to prison, I’ll end up raising Joe by myself. I hate you. Why did you even have him? All you ever do is make things worse for us.”
“Don’t go near the orange grove,” Rachel pleaded, trying not to react to her daughter’s hurtful words. “If you’re determined to go out, promise me you’ll at least stay on the portion of the sidewalk that’s well lit.”
Before her mother could stop her, Tracy raced down the hall to her room. After she had placed a call to Matt Fitzgerald, she ran out the front door.
Tracy met Matt on the corner near her house. Leaping into the passenger seat of his green Datsun, she said, “Drive. I don’t care where you go as long as it’s not here.”
“What’s going on?” the shaggy-haired boy asked. “How did you get out of the house so late at night?”
“I walked out.”
“Is your mother asleep?”
“No,” she said. “I just told her I was leaving and left
. There wasn’t much she could do about it. All this parenting stuff is crap. What’s she going to do? Chain me to my bed? From now on, I’m going to do anything I want to do.”
“Whew,” he said, letting out a low whistle. “Your mother doesn’t know you’re with me, I hope.”
Tracy was staring out the window. “My mother was attacked. The man who attacked her was a police officer. He beat her up in the orange grove down the street from our house.”
“You’re not serious,” he said, shocked. “When did this happen?”
“Last night when I was at Sheila’s,” she told him. “This morning someone went down to the police station and shot the man who attacked her. The police think my mother did it. I told them she couldn’t have done it because I was with her at the house.” She turned and put a hand on his shoulder. “All you have to do is tell the police you dropped me off at the house before seven o’clock.”
Matt took his foot off the gas and let the car come to a stop in the center of the roadway. “I only gave you a ride home. If I get messed up with the police, my mother will kill me. You didn’t tell them my name, I hope.”
“No,” Tracy said. “Not yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“My mother wouldn’t let the police question me, but when they do, I’ll have to tell them how I got home.”
“I was asleep in my bed at seven,” Matt told her. “My dad’s out of town, but for all I know, my mother saw me. What was it? Almost eight o’clock when you called me and asked me to pick you up at Sheila’s house?”
“Then you have to make your mother lie,” Tracy said, her fingers tightening on him. “If you don’t, my mother won’t have an alibi.”
“Now you want to get my mother involved in this,” Matt exclaimed. “No way, man. My mother’s scared shitless of the cops. She got busted for drank driving last year and spent three days in the pokey.”
“So what?” Tracy shouted. “My mother may end up in prison. I’m not going to let them do that to her.” She began slapping out at him with both hands. “You have to do this! You have to!”
“Stop,” Matt said, deflecting her blows with his forearm. “What’s wrong with you? What did I do?”
“You have everything,” Tracy cried, slumping back against the seat. “All I want is a normal family. Why can’t I go surfing every day after school like you? Why can’t I come home and do my homework or talk on the phone with my friends? I’m sick of cooking and taking care of Joe. The cheerleader try outs are next week. How can I try out for anything now? My mother is about to go to jail. My life is rained.”
“Calm down,” Matt said. “You’re getting carried away. Your mother might be in some trouble, but I don’t think your whole life is rained.” He placed his deformed hand on the steering wheel, grimacing at the sight of it. “Your problems will go away. I’ll have this forever.”
“I’m sorry,” Tracy said, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t know what it’s like, though. Your dad’s a dentist and makes gobs of money. Your mother cooks your meals, cleans your room, stuffs money in your pocket all the time. Even if I did make cheerleader, my mom can’t afford to pay for the uniforms.” She glanced at his hand. “Your hand isn’t that bad anyway. Most of the time you keep it hidden so no one even notices.”
Matt drove around the block, waiting for Tracy to calm down. After a few minutes had passed, he pulled to the curb and parked. “What will you do if your mother has to go to prison?”
“We’ll have to go live with one of my aunts,” Tracy said, her eyes dark with bitterness. “One of them lives in some kind of wilderness area in Oregon. They don’t even have running water,” she told him. “As for my other aunt, I like Carrie, but I don’t want to leave my school. If my mother tries to make me, I’ll run away. I’d rather live on the streets.”
“That’s crazy,” he said. “Hey, maybe you can come and live with me. My mom’s cool. She’s always taking in stray dogs.”
Tracy narrowed her eyes at him. “She wouldn’t take in a three-year-old like Joe, though. A kid isn’t the same thing as a dog.”
“Probably not,” he said.
“I didn’t think so,” she said, glowering at him. A few moments later, her face softened. “Will you talk to your mother?”
“I don’t know,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“Let me tell you what to do,” Tracy said, turning sideways in the seat. “First, you’ve got to find out if your mother saw you in the house at seven o’clock this morning. If she was still asleep, you don’t have to ask her to lie. Just tell her that you picked me up at Sheila’s house and drove me home. Make certain you mention the time. I told the police I was back in the house before seven.”
“This is your problem, not mine,” Matt told her. “If the police find out I’m lying, they could put me in jail. My dad wants me to go to dental school. I’ll never be accepted if I have an arrest record.”
Tracy slid across the seat, tugging on his sleeve. “If you do this for me, I’ll do something nice for you,” she said, her voice soft and seductive. “You know you want it. All boys want to have sex. Are you still a virgin? Don’t you want to tell your friends you had sex with a girl?”
Matt knocked her hand away, cranking the ignition of the car. “You’re talking silly,” he said. “You’re just trying to con me into doing what you want. I’m taking you home.”
“Fine,” Tracy snapped. “But when the police call, you know what to say, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, flooring the accelerator and speeding down the road. “All I have to do is say I gave you a ride home. I’ll tell them I don’t know what time it was because I wasn’t wearing a watch. That way, I won’t get in trouble.”
“Wrong,” she said. “You have to tell them it was before seven o’clock or it won’t mean anything. You know what the reward is now. Do we have a deal or not?”
Matt felt blood racing to his groin. Tracy was sitting so close, he could smell the almond-scented conditioner she used on her hair. Draping his arm over her shoulder, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She was the first girl who had accepted his deformity. When he was with her, he felt handsome and confident. Most of his friends had already had sex. “I guess we’ve got a deal, then,” he said, winking. “A guy would be a fool to turn down something this hot. Seven o’clock. No problem. When do I get my reward?”
“After you talk to the police,” Tracy said, removing his arm from her shoulder and returning to her side of the seat.
c h a p t e r
TWENTY-FIVE
Mike Atwater stopped by Rachel’s house at nine o’clock Monday morning, a newspaper tucked under his arm. When she opened the door, he didn’t say hello. He simply walked in and quickly closed the door behind him. “Have you looked outside?”
“No,” she said, heading for the windows. When Atwater had rung the doorbell, she had been taking a shower in the children’s bathroom. She was naked under a thin nylon robe.
“Stand back,” he told her. “The minute they see you, they’ll storm the front door.”
A reporter for the local paper was waiting in his carat the curb. A mini-van containing a camera crew from one of the TV stations had pulled up right behind! Atwater.
“Why don’t they just ring the doorbell?” Rachel asked. “They saw you come in just now. They have to know I’m home.”
“I think the reporter is waiting for a photographer to arrive,” Atwater said, pacing in the entryway. “They want to get a shot of your face when you open the door. The people from the TV station just got here. It takes them a few minutes to set up their equipment.”
“So?” Rachel said, shrugging.
“Where’s your daughter?”
“At school,” she said. Eyeing the newspaper in his hand, she asked, “Was Grant’s shooting in the paper this morning?”
“Front page,” he said, unfurling the paper.
She started to reach for it, then dropped her hands back to her
side. Reading it would only upset her. “Did they mention my name?”
“No,” he said, tossing the paper down on the coffee table. “They only said another officer was listed as one of the suspects. Obviously, though, someone at the department is talking. If not, why is the media suddenly camped out on your doorstep?”
Rachel turned and headed to the kitchen. Atwater had no choice but to follow her. “Grant Cummings was shot with his own gun,” he said. “The shooter must have been hiding in the men’s locker room. Cummings probably placed his revolver in his locker when he went to take a shower.”
“Did they find any evidence?” she asked, pouring them both a cup of coffee. “You know, fingerprints, fibers, forensic stuff?”
“Nothing significant,” he said, slicking back his hair. “I haven’t seen the final reports, though. The results from the crime lab won’t be complete for several days.”
Rachel pulled out a chair and took a seat at the kitchen table, motioning for Atwater to do the same. “Where do we go from here?” she said. “How do you fit into the picture?”
“I’m going to try the attempted rape,” he said. “I spoke to Bill Ringwald last night at home. He thinks we should move forward with it. Since no arrests have been made on the shooting incident, we really don’t have a case yet to prosecute.”
Rachel felt as if a black cloud had lifted. “You’re still going to prosecute Grant, even after what happened?”
“I don’t see why not,” Atwater said, with a small smile. “Getting yourself shot doesn’t preclude you from being prosecuted for a crime. We’ll have to give the man a chance to recover, though, before we can bring the case to trial. I’m still going to have Cummings arrested, either tomorrow or the next day. If we have to arraign him in the hospital, we will. We’ve done it before.”
Rachel fidgeted in her seat. She had a strong urge to tell Atwater the truth. “Don’t you want to ask me anything?” she said, tapping her fingernails on the table.
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” Atwater said, a puzzled look on his face.
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