Screaming To Be Solved

by Lauren Hope

  She walked briskly into Forsyth Park, ignoring the heat, the sweat rolling down her back, gathering at the clasp of her bra. New information. More information. This is just what she’d been needing to take her out of the self-pitying hole she’d crawled in.

  Grant did it, she knew he could. He’d found something out. He’d explain it to her. Then maybe this whole nightmare would be over.

  Squinting her eyes against the glaring sun—where were her sunglasses?—she spotted him standing in front of an old wooden bench partially hidden by a large spray of full shrubs. He looked cool, even in the heat, but troubled. Bad news? Oh no, she hadn’t considered bad news. She’d already had more of that than she could take.

  “Hi.” Marxie gave him an awkward wave as she approached.

  “Hey.” He smiled, gestured to the bench. “Wanna sit?”

  “Should I?”

  When he didn’t say anything, she took that as a yes and slumped onto the creaky bench.

  “Marxie, Lawson found some interesting things out about Evan during his examination, and this is going to be hard to hear.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded because she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “Evan did not die from fire. Or smoke. Or anything related to an explosion or even a car accident.” He sighed heavily, put stiff hands on his hips. “He was shot, Marxie.”

  Shot? Did he just say shot? No, that couldn’t be. Evan, shot? She put a hand to her head that had begun to spin. “But the explosion . . . ” she trailed off, not able to finish. Her thoughts weren’t cohesive. Weren’t making sense enough to form them into understandable words and sentences.

  Grant lowered himself on the bench beside her, tried to meet her eyes, but she couldn’t keep them still. They, like her stomach and thoughts, were scattered, unable to settle. What was happening?

  Grant sighed again, put a warm hand to hers. “You could see the wounds in him, Marxie. I was sure a few days ago that’s what it was, but I wanted Lawson to check it out first. I needed his official word anyway to tell you anything.”

  The heat surrounded her, filled her lungs, wrapping them in suffocating humidity. She wasn’t sweating anymore, but was clammy, slick with a cold perspiration. Her stomach churned and clinched. The world tilted a bit. She leaned behind the bench and was ill. She coughed, choked, felt Grant patting her back, rubbing up and down her aching spine.

  When she finished, feeling raw and empty, she turned, wiped a hand over her mouth and looked at him with watery eyes. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered.

  “It’s okay.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, slid the bangs from her eyes. “You all right?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.” And then the tears came. Big, hot, stinging tears that filled her eyes, made the hazy heat even fuzzier. “Evan was shot. Where? By who? Why?”

  He shook his head. “Those are the questions I have to answer, for Evan, for you. And I will, Marxie.”

  “I need to go home.” She rose, stumbled over her feet a little and turned to walk away. “I have to go to Pembroke. Talk to the chief. He needs to tell me what’s going on. He’ll know. He has to.” When Grant was silent, she spun around. “Doesn’t he?”

  His eyes were hard, unreadable. “I don’t know. He didn’t help you much the first time. Don’t know what he’ll say different now.”

  “He’ll say the truth. He’ll make some sense of this,” she splayed her hands in front of her, searching for words, “of this, madness!”

  “Will he?”

  She narrowed her eyes, put a hand to her queasy stomach and mustered up defiance. “What are you trying to say, Detective?”

  “All I’m asking is that you be careful, be cautious and watchful, okay?”

  “No, not okay.” She shook a finger at him, felt panic give way to anger. “The chief will have to know something, and it’s my right to ask, to—to find out. Maybe he was shot before the explosion, or that’s what caused it.” Then a thought gripped her, and her defiance sunk. “There was an explosion, right Grant? That at least is true?”

  “I’d assume so.” He nodded. “I haven’t fully checked into it yet, but there’s no reason not to believe that. Except—“

  “Except what?”

  “Evan wasn’t in the car, whenever it exploded. We know that.” When she only stared at him, he rose, took her shoulders, and shook gently. “Think about it, Marx. If Evan was in the car, we wouldn’t have his body, would we? He’d be burned, but he’s not. His lungs would have smoke in them, but they don’t. His body would have evidence of trauma, being in an accident like that, but it doesn’t.”

  She nodded, slowly, and tried to let another impossibility sink in. Not in the car? Then where had he been? What had gone on?

  “I have to leave, Grant.” She shrugged away from him, started walking backward, back to her car as she fumbled a wave. “Um, thanks for the info. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Marxie! Marxie, wait!” He called after her. But she ignored him. The blood was pounding too hard in her ears, her heart beating too heavy in her chest. She couldn’t hear him well anyway, for the sound of a gun, spewing its angry shell, ricocheted inside her mind.

  FOURTEEN

  Her trip to Pembroke was quick. Her mind was foggy and her driving reflected it. She ignored speed limits, sailed through yellow lights at mounting speeds. She didn’t even hear the honks and jeers. Was completely ignorant of the middle fingers and curses aimed at her speeding SUV.

  The haze over her mind cleared only when she whisked her big Explorer into an empty space in the Pembroke PD parking lot. Only then did she realize she couldn’t remember much of the trip getting there. But she didn’t care.

  The chief better be in. If he wasn’t, she’d go and find him. It had to be now.

  Her adrenaline was pumping, her nerves shot. Her heart was finally ready to do what she’d neglected two years ago. If she didn’t speak with Chief Raines now, she’d lose her courage as she had all the times before. Today, she was ready—no, more than ready, desperate—to find out exactly what happened the night her husband died.

  She wanted details. And she intended to get them.

  Not even trying for a smile, she pushed open the door of the lobby, breezed in cool and efficient.

  Behind the counter, Rita gave a big grin, but as Marxie approached, her smile faded, the lines in her forehead crinkling as she frowned.

  “Rita.” She nodded, polite. “The chief, please.”

  “Sure honey.” Rita picked up the phone, slowly punched a button. “You okay?”

  “Fine. I just need to speak with Robert.”

  “Okay. I don’t think he’s in his office. Let me buzz around and find him.”

  While Rita rounded up the chief, Marxie fielded a few smiles and waves, gave a hug or two as familiar faces passed. When anyone asked how she was, she answered politely, curtly. When what she really wanted to do was scream, take any one of the uniforms that walked by and shake them silly until they told her what they knew about her Evan . . . being shot and murdered. Someone had to know something! This time, she wasn’t leaving without finding out what it was. The chief couldn’t appease her today with friendship and kindness.

  “Marxie?” Rita called. “I found him. He’s on his way to his office. You can head back.”

  “Perfect.” She sailed off down the hall, mulling over questions in her head, forcing herself to remember certain things, not forget to ask about specific details.

  “Marxie Vaughn?” A voice called from behind. She rolled her eyes at the interruption but turned on her heel to greet whoever it was and get rid of them quickly.

  But when she turned, she smiled, genuinely. “Beau!” She ran to him, threw her arms around his neck. His big arms wrapped her in a hug, spun her for half a turn. “What are you doing here?” She smiled at the tall man with mossy brown hair and heavy-lidded brown eyes.

  “I’m back.” He held his hands out, smiled down at her and ruffled her
hair playfully. “And running for Mayor in our fair town.”

  “No! Really?”

  “Yep. Pops convinced me to come home from the big city. I’ve been back a few weeks and already starting on the campaign. So what brings you here from your city life to our neck of the woods?”

  “Oh.” She frowned, her stomach jumping as the last few hours flooded back. “Business . . . I think. I’m here to talk with your father.”

  “Great. We’ll go together. I was just on my way to see him.”

  Marxie curved her lips, trying for a smile. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to follow her. She intended on not showing one of her best side’s today. She hadn’t seen Beau in at least a year since he’d moved away to Atlanta to be second in command on their force.

  Lots of cops—in Pembroke especially—hadn’t been too happy with his climb up in rank and power. They thought his father had more than a little to do with it, but she was happy for him. He deserved it. All in all, Beau was a great guy. A gentleman, albeit a little on the nerdy side, but it made him endearing and sweet. And the way he and the chief had looked after her when Evan died, she felt he deserved any position he got, including Mayor.

  Anyway, she didn’t want him to think she’d gone off the deep end in the months since he’d been gone, harping on his father for details from a closed case. On the other hand, it might end up being beneficial. Beau had been part of Pembroke’s team when Evan was killed. He might be able to help.

  She looped her arm through his as they walked down the hall. “I’m glad you’re back, Beau. It’s been awhile.”

  “Right back at ‘cha.” He paused, stared down at her. “You all right? You look pale. Paler than normal,” he teased, pinching her cheeks.

  “The last few days have been . . . difficult.”

  He stopped, rubbed a thumb across her cheek. “I know, Dad just told me about Evan. Weird, huh?”

  “Yeah.” To say the least. “There’s more.”

  “What?” His eyes widened.

  “Yep. More news today. Bad, confusing news. You’ll get all the details in a minute.” She pointed to the door a few paces away. “Wait till we get in there. I want him to hear too.”

  “All right. Let’s go then.”

  He led her into the chief’s office, a comforting hand on her back.

  After she’d told Chief Raines and Beau about the M.E.’s report, the chief exhaled loudly and pushed a hand over his forehead, through his thin hair. Beau was silent beside her, an arm draped over his chair to clasp her hand in his.

  “Marxie, I’m so sorry about this.” The chief said, sitting back in his big chair, looking down his long, thin nose to her. “This must be terrible for you.”

  “Yeah. It’s like the nightmare is happening all over again. But worse. I know you warned against this, Chief, said it wouldn’t be bad. But to me, he’s dying again.” She choked up a little and swiped a hand over her eyes, willing them to dam up.

  Beau rose, came behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Yes,” she shrugged, not wanting to be comforted. She was prepared for the truth and didn’t want to be coddled while hearing it. “I want answers. The truth, Chief.” She started at him with stubborn eyes. “I want details from that night. Give me an exact timeline of what happened to Evan.”

  “Marxie, I—”

  “No. No excuses.” She rose, placed her hands on his desk. “I’ve never asked you before. In all the times over the years you’ve asked what I’ve needed, I’ve never asked for anything. I am now.” She leaned a little further into his desk, leveling her gaze with his. “And Chief, I’m not really asking so much as I’m telling.”

  With deliberate steps, she walked to the window while Beau and the chief stared at her, stunned. “I’m his widow. He died serving this county and town, the people in it—you two included.” She spun to point an accusatory finger at them. “I have a right to know what happened. To see the records and papers on it.” She breathed deep, hoped she could say what she had to next without her voice breaking. “And if I have to, I’ll get a court order.”

  The chief bolted out of his chair on that one. “Marxie, calm down, honey. That absolutely won’t be necessary. We’ll talk to you. We’ll explain.” He looked to Beau who shrugged, seeming resigned.

  “We don’t have a choice, Pop. We don’t tell her, she’ll fight to find out. And we’ll be busted. She’s right too. She does deserve to know.” Beau glanced at his father. “You tell her?”

  “Tell me what!” Marxie cried, frustration and anxiety rising within her.

  “The truth.” Beau came to the window, led her back to the chairs and pushed her gently into one. He turned his chair to face her, and sat, their knees nearly touching.

  “Evan wasn’t chasing a simple thief that happened to have some drugs on him the night he was killed, Marxie,” Beau said, eyes grim. “He was working undercover. Had been for some time, actually.”

  “Undercover? But Evan was a beat cop, a patroller.”

  “I know.” Chief Raines stepped forward now, stood behind Beau. “That was why we used him. He was young, not high in ranks yet, not too visible to those outside the department. We wanted an unrecognizable face.”

  “For what?”

  “We’d been getting lots of pressure from the higher ups—Sherriff, Mayor, Governor—wanting us to crack down on all the drugs in Pembroke,” Raines continued. “Guys gathering in the outskirts, meeting in fields, back roads, abandoned barns. For a small place, it seemed we were on the path to a lot of drug-related crimes. The politicians, scared at losing votes, started coming down hard on us to look into it.

  “After some initial investigating, we found the trouble was mainly one group, and a rather large one. The only way to bring them down was get someone in there, one of us. To get a whole group like that you have to infiltrate them. We couldn’t put a vet in there. Surely not a face seen on TV. The boys out there would’ve known.”

  Beau nodded, put a hand on Marxie’s knee and picked up where his dad left off. “Evan was perfect. Not long out of school. Easily trusted by us and the dealers out there. Nice face, approachable. He was the guy, Marxie.”

  Chief Raines smiled, nostalgic almost. “When I brought him in here, briefed him on the situation, the possibility of undercover, he was up in arms. Ready, excited, eager to get the job done.”

  Yes, Marxie thought, that was Evan. She could see it now, his smile, his fierce work ethic, his moral compass that always pulled him to do the right thing. He would’ve been proud of the offer, honored.

  “He took it? The job?” Marxie asked, knowing the answer.

  “With pleasure. ‘Course like most boys going out on their first sting, he was a bit nervous, but ready for it. By the end of his investigation, Evan said he’d be bringing us the top dogs.” The chief sighed and his cheeks puffed as he slowly exhaled the breath. “He was doin’ a great job of making good on his word—we’d made four, five arrests under the radar without the others in the group getting suspicious—until the night of the accident.”

  “What happened then?” She scooted to the edge of her seat, restless.

  “All we’ve been able to figure and piece together from Evan’s communications, Rita’s dispatch, and evidence from the scene, Evan was headed to make a routine traffic stop, got there, pulled the guy over—it was Henry you know—and he was from the group Evan had infiltrated. So there Evan was, in his car, uniform and all, right in front of Henry. He was busted, cover blown.” The chief sat again, cursed under his breath. “I shoulda taken him off duty. Wasn’t thinking right. He never should’ve been out there in uniform.”

  Marxie ignored that, since it couldn’t be changed. “But Evan did chase Henry?”

  The chief nodded. “Well, Henry sped off once he saw it was Evan, and then the chase began. At least that’s what we thought.” Raines glanced at Beau. “Up ‘til today. I give you my word, Marxie, until you came in here with the news,
I’d never heard anything about shots being fired, wounds, nothing.” He scooted over to a file cabinet, unlocked the bottom bin, rolled it open and pulled out a folder. “Look,” he came over to her, kneeled down. “This is the crime scene investigator’s report from the crash site.” He pointed to a line on the paper. “Two teeth found. They were Evan’s. What else would we suspect but that he was in the burning car? Teeth are usually the only thing that survives something like that. And here was our answer.”

  She sat for a moment, shocked, and wondering why she’d never wanted to see this before. It was proof, details, last moments of her sweet Evan. And she’d neglected it, not wanting to know what his final minutes had been like. Not wanting to imagine what it had been like for him, feeling pain, nearing death.

  Now it was all she could think of. All she wanted to know. And none of it was making sense.

  “Chief, I can’t. I mean, I can’t make much sense of this. I need a minute to take it all in.”

  Beau rubbed her knee and looked at his father with pained eyes. The chief shook his head wearily and put a hand to Beau’s shoulder, looked over at Marxie. “To tell you the truth, Marxie, we feel the same. I’m just as shocked as you about the gunshot wound. That detective of yours sure he got the right info?”

  Marxie nodded.

  “I may need to get in touch with him. Compare notes. Something’s off . . .” The chief tapped a finger to Evan’s files.

  Nerves and nausea battling within her, Marxie rose, paced the room muttering. “All this time. I can’t believe it. How did I not know?”

  The chief sat in the chair she vacated, put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. Really sorry, Marxie. Evan asked if he could tell you about it when we brought him on board. I made it clear the work was strictly confidential, even from family. I didn’t want him undermining the investigation. In fact,” he bobbed his head up now, looked to Beau, “that’s why we haven’t told anyone outside of the department the true details yet. We’re still gaining access to the last of the dealers and their steady users. We couldn’t tell the public about Evan or his work, then or now. So we went with the thief bit. It worked since we caught Henry with some drugs that he claimed he didn’t buy. We took that to mean he’d stolen them. He didn’t protest any of it but the murder charges, as you know.”