“Why was she scared to death?”
“The bruises?” Georgie’s eyebrows rose. “The man who beat her is the baby’s daddy. They’re separated, but he won’t leave her alone. She’s afraid once he finds out she’s going to have a baby, he’ll really come after her.” She shook her head, disgust sneering her plumped-up lips. “She wouldn’t name the creep, and the bruises are a couple of weeks old. So all we could do was reassure her the baby is okay and send her home.”
Claudia settled on lasagna and closed the menu. “Do you get a lot of that?”
“More than we’d like. Of course, even one case is more than we’d like.” She shrugged. “Anyway, she was a bit dehydrated, which might have contributed to cramps, so we got her fluids up and watched her for a couple of hours and sent her home.”
They ordered, and Georgie carried the conversation, which mostly revolved around nursing, the ER, and why she couldn’t find a decent man. When Georgie finally paid the bill, Claudia had never been more relieved to see a meal come to an end.
Victor
It was midafternoon before Claudia finally answered her phone. Vic was glad to hear her voice, especially after last night’s ordeal.
“Did you get your mother home?” she asked him before he could say anything.
“Yes. I hired a nurse’s aide to come and stay with her this week. She’s not happy about it.”
“Well, did you expect her to be?”
“No, I guess not. How was your lunch with the nurse?”
“I had lasagna. We talked about nursing, mostly. The woman we saw last night didn’t lose the baby.”
Vic felt his stomach tighten. If that woman was Harper Abbott, then Casio was going to be a father. And not under very good circumstances. He had a feeling Casio didn’t know about it. Casio wasn’t one to keep his mouth shut, so Vic was sure he would have mentioned it if he knew. “She talked about her patient?”
“Not by name or anything like that. But I asked her about the baby and she said it was okay. The pains were just gas or something like that.”
“Sounds like you didn’t have a very good time.”
“It wasn’t too bad.”
Her voice sounded strained, almost like she was angry.
“Is everything okay, Claude?”
“Not really.”
“What’s wrong, honey?
“When were you planning to tell me you had opened the Remington case and were working on it with Casio?”
Vic drew in a breath. “How did you find out?” No way she could have learned all that at lunch. The nurse couldn’t have known about Casio.
“The girl who does my hair happens to be dating Blake and she told me. She said Casio and you questioned Blake. I was going to discuss it with you at dinner last night. But then your mom got hurt.”
“Claude, let’s talk about this when we get home.”
“When I get home, I’m packing my things and moving out.”
Vic’s heart picked up speed. “What do you mean? Isn’t that a little excessive for the crime?” He’d kept the truth from her to protect her from going completely ballistic. He had tried to spare her the emotional trauma of knowing he was working on the case. This didn’t make sense.
“Do you mean the fact that I can’t stand the thought of sleeping next to you every night, knowing you’ve reopened a case that gives me panic attacks and nightmares? Or that you didn’t respect me enough to tell me yourself instead of making me look like a fool? I had a panic attack right in the parking lot at Tara’s.”
“Honey, I’m sorry.” When Claudia didn’t respond, he said, “Please don’t do this.”
“I have to.” Her voice broke, but Vic recognized that she was resolute in her decision.
“Where will you go?”
“As much as I hate to do it, I’ll have to stay at my parents’ house.”
“You don’t have to do this, Claude. Come on.”
“You didn’t have to open BJ’s case. It’s been this long and no one else has been murdered. So it’s not like we’re talking about a serial killer. BJ must have ticked off the wrong person, or maybe it was random and she was just unlucky. Either way, why put the town through another dead-end investigation just so you can be elected DA?”
Her words hit hard, stealing a bit of his breath. Was that what she thought? That he just wanted to be elected? An uncomfortable knot formed in his stomach. It wouldn’t hurt for him to solve the case. That was certain. But that wasn’t his reason. “It’s too late to stop it now. We’ve already started looking into a couple of leads. Just trust me.”
“Don’t expect any help from me.”
“O-kay,” he said tentatively. “Claudia, I have a good feeling that we’re going to find this guy. Don’t be upset.”
“Don’t tell me not to be upset, Vic. You hear me? Not until you’ve lain in the blood of your best friend while she slowly stops breathing.”
“Claudia, sweetheart.” Vic wished they weren’t having this conversation over the phone. He wanted to hold her, comfort her through this.
“When you’ve stood in the shower and the blood won’t come off. No matter how you scrub and scrub and it won’t wash off. Then, you can tell me not to be upset.” Her voice broke. “I have to go, Vic. I can’t talk to you anymore.”
MONDAY
Victor
Three days later Vic walked into the dimly lit cop bar, allowing his eyes to adjust before venturing more than a couple of steps inside. When he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t fall flat on his face, he headed for the bar and waited for the older guy behind the counter to notice him. The man looked familiar, but Vic couldn’t place him. Maybe if he were more illuminated.
“Be right with you.”
Vic nodded. “Take your time.” He watched as the bartender slid a drink across the bar to an older man who was surrounded by a group of younger men and women.
The bartender turned back to Vic and shook his head. He jerked his thumb toward the guy. “The life of the party, ain’t he? Give him another hour and he’ll be too drunk to know his own name. I guarantee you, none of those rookies will be around to help him get home.” He tossed his towel over his left shoulder and placed his hands on the counter—looking a lot like a professional wrestler. “What can I get you?”
“Nothing to drink. I’m supposed to meet a man named Gabriel Hightower. Do you know him?”
The bartender frowned and peered closer. “I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
Vic held out his hand. “Victor Campbell.”
Recognition registered in the bartender’s eyes. “The Assistant DA. What do you want with Gabe?”
“We have a meeting. And since you know him, think you could point him out?”
The bartender shrugged and pointed at Mr. Popularity. “Good luck prying him away from his fans.”
“Thanks.” Vic moved toward the group of six or seven admirers and elbowed his way through. “Excuse me, Mr. Hightower?”
The man had silver hair and straight shoulders. He stood and, even retired, would have been a force to be reckoned with if not for the tubing stuck in his nose. Taller than Vic’s six feet by at least three inches, he seemed more powerful than a man of sixty should—especially one carrying around an oxygen tank. “You ADA Campbell?”
“Yes sir.” Victor held out his hand and tried not to wince as he felt it being crushed beneath the former detective’s bruising grip. This guy would never respect a sign of weakness. “You mind if we find a private corner somewhere?”
“Okay by me.” Hightower glanced back at his entourage. “Sorry, boys and girls, duty calls.” Vic watched the group scatter like roaches. Gabe downed his bourbon and set the glass on the bar. “Burt, give me another and one for my friend here. And a draft.”
“Club soda is good for me,” Vic said quickly.
“What? Can’t hold your liquor?”
Vic gave him a tight smile. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t drink liquor.”
The old
er man scowled, clearly unimpressed with any so-called man who didn’t throw back a few with the boys. He grabbed his fresh drink in one hand and the beer in the other. Vic took his club soda and paid for all three drinks. “Thanks,” he told the bartender and followed Gabe to an empty corner table.
Gabe stumbled a bit as he walked. “You’re lucky it’s dinnertime. Couple more hours and this place will be standing room only.”
“I appreciate you taking time to see me, Mr. Hightower.”
“Mr. Hightower was my old man. Call me Gabe.” Gabe took the chair by the wall—Vic assumed so he could keep an eye on the room. Typical of someone in law enforcement. He needed to make sure no one could sneak up on him. Vic didn’t mind. The place was full of cops and retired cops. He felt about as safe as he could possibly feel in a bar.
“So.” Gabe tapped on the table and squinted at Vic as though trying to read him. “What do you want with me?”
“We’re reinvestigating the murder of BJ Remington, the high school teacher shot to death ten years ago.”
“You don’t need to remind me of that case. I was in charge of that one. My boy got himself shot. Lucky he didn’t get killed.”
“Yes sir. That’s why I’m coming to you.” More out of professional courtesy and a respect for Mr. Hightower’s years of service than an actual desire for assistance, but there might be pieces of information he remembered that didn’t make it into any of his reports. From what Vic had observed, the man was better at grunt work than paperwork anyway. He got the job done; he just didn’t document it well.
“So, what do you want to know?” He drank down his bourbon and chased it with a swig of his beer. The bartender had been right. The way this guy was drinking, he’d be worthless in less than an hour.
“There were a couple of questions that came up while we were looking through files.”
He coughed deeply and wiped his mouth. The napkin came away spotted red. “Like what, for instance?”
“For instance, why didn’t you interview the high school principal?”
Hightower’s eyes narrowed. “That little gnat? What could he have told us? He wasn’t even there that night.”
“True, but he knew about Miss Remington’s relationships with students and teachers. He might have been able to point you toward a reliable witness at least.”
The former cop gave a snort and held up his glass toward the bar. “Burt! Another boilermaker.”
Trying not to show his irritation, Vic purposely kept his voice amiable. “Mr. Hightower, would you mind holding off on the booze for just a few more minutes so we can talk?”
He released a profanity. “Don’t tell me not to drink, boy.”
This was getting him nowhere but angry. Vic stood and glanced down at the man. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Hightower. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Oh now, don’t get mad. Sit down, I’ll hold off for a while.”
Surprised, Vic took his seat. “Thank you. I appreciate it. So?”
“Okay, so why didn’t I interview the little creep? I didn’t see anything relevant he could tell me. He wasn’t even at the game that night.”
“But you were?”
“Yeah, my son was quarterback. Best quarterback that team had before or since. He should have gone all the way.” Vic noted that Gabe was out of breath.
“Except he was shot.”
“That’s right.”
“Now he’s following your footsteps. That should make you proud.”
His meaty shoulders lifted. “Sure. I guess. He’s good at what he does. But he could have gone all the way to the NFL. But he couldn’t stay out of the line of fire.”
Vic frowned at the tone. Did Gabe blame his son for his own injury? “I heard he got shot trying to save Miss Remington.”
“That’s right.” Gabe sipped his beer. At least he wasn’t slugging it down now.
“That must have made you proud. No one else raised a hand to help.”
“Yeah, that’s my boy. The hero.” He sipped again, then leveled his gaze at Vic. “Like I said, the reason I didn’t interview the principal is because I didn’t think he had anything relevant to add. If he knew something he would have come forward.”
So the old man didn’t want to talk about Casio’s shooting. Vic could understand that. And nothing he could say about that could help, so he allowed the former cop to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Are you sure Mr. Newman couldn’t have helped light up any of your gray areas?”
“Yeah, real sure.” The older man’s demeanor was becoming bristled as his defenses rose. Clearly, this wasn’t the kind of man who enjoyed having his judgment questioned. “Otherwise, I’d have interviewed him.”
“Mr. Hightower, I’m not questioning whether you did your job right or not. It was a rough time back then and it would have been hard to know who to interview. Especially when you had your boy to worry about.”
Gabe nodded. He seemed mollified by Vic’s speech, so Vic continued.
“Just wondering …”
“Yeah?”
“Where was Casio’s mother? He doesn’t talk about her and you haven’t mentioned anything about her. If a boy is in the hospital, seems like his mom would be there.”
A scowl twisted the former detective’s lips. “She was no good. Left us a month before the shooting and never even sent him a balloon when he was in the hospital.”
Vic filed away this information. “Some women aren’t the motherly type, I guess.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” He sipped his beer. “She was some piece of work, that one.”
Vic cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I was thinking if we could put our heads together … maybe you know something I don’t know or maybe I’ve discovered something you overlooked.”
The former detective’s eyes darted back to Vic. “What’d I overlook?”
Definitely didn’t like being second-guessed.
Vic sipped his club soda and swallowed, setting his glass back on the table. “Well, the principal, for instance.”
“I told you there was no good reason to waste taxpayer dollars and my time.”
This guy’s insecurity was beginning to grate. “Did you know he was in love with BJ Remington?”
From the rise of silvery eyebrows, Vic guessed the answer was no. Anger flashed in Gabe’s eyes. “That little runt in love with Miss Remington?” He gave a humorless laugh. “No way. The guy swings the other way, if you get my meaning.”
Vic narrowed his gaze and studied Gabe. Something definitely bothered him about the idea of Newman being in love with BJ. Vic decided to press a little. “Maybe he swung both ways.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The two of them went out to dinner several times, and he even gave her a bracelet she hardly ever took off.”
“You mean the one with the knot?”
“You know it?”
Gabe shrugged. “Sounds familiar. The girl must have been wearing it when we found her.”
“Probably.” Vic nodded. “Anyway, Newman loved her. Or was at least obsessed with her, so he’s a possible suspect.”
“Are you pursuing him as a suspect?”
“I almost have to. But there’s another lead we’re also pursuing.”
Vic noted with satisfaction that he had Mr. Hightower’s full attention now. His hand was no longer even on his mug of beer. “Do you remember another football player named Blake Simpson? He was one of Casio’s teammates.”
Gabe nodded once. “Sure. That kid could have gone all the way, too. He had the same colleges interested in him as my son did.”
“Did you know that he threatened Miss Remington a week before she was killed?”
The blood drained from Gabe’s sallow cheeks. He shook his head. “I had no idea.”
“You might have if you’d bothered to investigate Newman.”
“Okay, so I should have questioned the little fairy.”
“You know, Mr. Hightower, I’m beginning to take offense to your hate references.”
“Did I touch a nerve?”
“All prejudice touches a nerve with me.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know you were such a bleeding heart.”
Vic forced back a retort. This guy was worse than Casio—by a lot. He leveled his gaze at Gabe, determined to stay professional. “Back to Blake Simpson. You were at the game that night, so you must have seen him in the stands, right?”
“I never paid attention. I was too busy watching my own kid play.”
“You didn’t notice the star running back was missing?”
He shrugged. “They won without the Simpson boy. I just never thought about it.”
“Well, Blake thought about it plenty. Miss Remington gave him a low grade that forced him onto academic probation. That’s the reason he didn’t get to play.”
Only the slightest rise in his eyebrows showed the older man’s reaction. “So he should have studied.” Gabe went back to his beer and swallowed a mouthful. “So you’re looking at two suspects I never even thought of. I guess that makes you the man.”
“Casio’s helping me too.”
“Yeah, he told me. Thought the old man might have some advice.” He gave an unpleasant laugh. “I told him to duck if he sees a man with a gun.”
“You know, Mr. Hightower,” Vic said, rising from his seat. He’d had about all he could take of this guy. No wonder Casio was such an emotional wreck. “Your son was pretty darned heroic that night. There aren’t many kids who would have tried to tackle a man with a gun.”
“Not that it did BJ any good.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The fatal shots had already been fired, and with the delay in getting paramedics to the bus, nothing Casio or anyone else did would have made a difference.”
The former detective raised his glass toward the bar again, and this time Vic didn’t stop him. He’d had pretty much all he could stomach of this guy anyway. It was becoming more and more clear where Casio got his rough edges. What a waste of time.
The Crossing Page 12