The waitress realizes she’s interrupting something and excuses herself. Nate slowly sits back down and looks out at the ocean. He appears to be enjoying the cool breeze on his face, but he looks like he’d rather be down there playing volleyball with the locals than sitting up here with a disgraced cop.
Madison leans forward. “I didn’t do it, Mr. Monroe. I was framed. I served the sentence but now I’m out, I want to find whoever did this to me. I can’t have this conviction hanging over me for the rest of my life. I need to get it overturned.”
He appears to think about it, sighs, and then takes a sip of his coffee. “You know, when it comes to the legal system, I used to believe there was no smoke without fire, but I’m not that naïve anymore.” He sits up straight. “I’ll probably regret this, but tell me more. Where did the victim die?”
She tries not to get too excited that he’s willing to hear her out. “Colorado, my home state.”
He raises his eyebrows, probably thinking she’s a long way from home. “Why would someone frame you if you were a cop?”
She takes a sip of her beer. She’s ordered an alcoholic drink for courage. She’s not used to asking for help. “That’s why I called you.”
He remains silent. Unconvinced.
“I chose you because I’d seen your story in the news after your release,” she continues. “In prison we all watched your case closely. You were the famous ‘killer priest’.”
Nate winces. Understandably, he must hate the name the media gave him, but it was inevitable. She’d read he was on track to becoming a Catholic priest, and although he hadn’t been ordained yet, that didn’t stop the press running with it as soon as they found out about his religious background.
She leans forward. “Your happy ending gave us all hope of having our own, less serious convictions overturned. I’d seen that you were framed too and I thought you’d understand what I’ve been through. What it’s like to serve someone else’s sentence.”
He meets her eyes and she hopes he understands her need to be exonerated. “Was I wrong?”
Nate turns away and looks out at the ocean again.
She can’t stop talking. “I know you served seventeen years on death row for your fiancée’s murder. You’ve been in my position, but worse. You’re one of the few people who knows how it feels to lose your life because of someone else’s vendetta.”
She stops there because she notices his hands have started shaking slightly and beads of sweat have popped up on his forehead.
“Who do you think it might have been?” he asks. “Did you have any enemies, or piss anyone off? Or were you in the middle of a break-up?”
It’s her turn to look away. The ocean is glistening in the sunshine. “No. I was single at the time. It had been almost three years since I’d split from my girlfriend.”
“Okay.” He picks up his pen and writes something down. “Why did you split? Was she mad at you for something?”
She looks at him, unsure whether to trust him yet. “We split because I have a soft spot for men.”
He doesn’t react. “Was she angry enough to murder a police officer and frame you for it?”
Madison shakes her head. “No. She’d already met someone else by the time I moved out. She visited me in prison during the first couple of years, to make sure I wasn’t completely alone. It wasn’t her.”
Nate’s pen moves fast. “What’s her name?”
“Stephanie Garcia. But she’s not a suspect, Nate.”
He still writes her name on his pad. “What did you do on the force?”
“I had just been promoted to detective. It was my fifth year as a cop but my first week in my new role. I was arrested for murder on my thirtieth birthday.”
“When were you released?”
“Last November; seven months ago. I came out with no money and no job prospects so I had to spend time finding crappy housing and an even crappier job before I could start looking into who framed me. I can’t do it on my own because people won’t talk to me.”
“What people?” he asks.
“My co-workers.” She pauses, before adding, “The rest of my police department.”
He drops his pen again, realizing what she’s insinuating. “Are you saying you think this was an inside job? Someone on the force framed you?”
She takes another long slug of her beer and then smiles at him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He leans back in his chair and shakes his head. “Shit. I can’t take on a whole police department.”
Her heart sinks.
Five
Madison has never chased after a guy in her life, but desperate times call for desperate measures. She almost trips on a chair as she runs across the veranda and into the parking lot, ignoring the stares from the waiting staff. Nate is already opening his car door when she reaches him.
“Nate? That’s not the only reason I called you today.” She has to catch her breath. Any fitness she once had has disappeared after spending six years confined to a cell. It doesn’t help that she took up smoking to pass the time.
The PI puts his sunglasses on and leans against his car.
“You mean there’s more?”
“Yes. I want to work for you. As an investigator.”
He laughs, and she wants to punch him for not taking her seriously. She’s had enough of that from other people. “I’m serious.”
He shields his eyes from the bright sunlight and she has to cover her own. Even sunglasses aren’t enough on a day like this. She notices something around his neck, peeking out from under his T-shirt. It looks like black rosary beads. Her eyes drift down to his defined chest, and she can just make out the outline of a cross under the fabric. She’s surprised he has any faith left after the horror of what he’s experienced.
“I work alone,” he says. “I have trust issues. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course. Issues I share. I don’t mean I want to work on my own case, but I can pick up unrelated investigations. No employer worth working for will hire me with this manslaughter conviction on my record, and I need money to survive. I was a good cop and I believe I can help you with your cases.”
He laughs again.
“If you laugh at me one more time, I’ll punch you.” She crosses her arms, getting angrier by the minute.
“Look. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at how my day is going. I’m seriously not on the lookout for a business partner, I’m sorry. Why don’t you set up on your own?”
Madison rolls her eyes. “Because, like I said, I don’t have any money.”
He reaches in his pocket for his phone and gives it a quick glance. “The client pays your expenses, so all you really need is a case. You can get that by setting yourself up with a website and a business number. Your phone will probably ring within twenty-four hours. The majority of cases are cheating partners, but you can more or less charge what you want. You’ll need a license too, if you want to do everything above board.” He stops to think about what he’s just said. “Actually, I couldn’t get a license, even with my conviction being overturned, so I doubt you’d be granted one. You’d have to be upfront with any clients about that, unless you want to end up back inside.”
“See! These are the kind of things I could be learning from you,” she says. “Let me at least help you with your next case—like a trial period.” She avoids the word “probation” for obvious reasons. “Or give me all the menial jobs, so you can focus on the big-ticket cases. If I’m a pain in the ass, you can let me go after. But I’ll still want you to work on my case, either way.”
He appears to be thinking about it. “I assume you’re on parole. What are your conditions?”
She takes a deep breath. “Basically, I just need to stay out of trouble. No arrests and no drugs. My parole officer surprised me with a few random drug tests after my release, but not anymore. She could see I wasn’t a troublemaker. As long as I call her once a month for the foreseeable future,
I’m all good.”
Nate nods, then smiles. “You just told me you’re broke; how are you going to pay me to work on your case?”
She smiles back. “That’s the beauty of it. My wages will go directly to you. So in essence, I’d be working for free. Well, obviously I’ll need you to cover some of my living expenses, but I live cheaply. I don’t need anything fancy. Not since prison, anyway.”
He pauses, which gives her hope. But then he gets into his car. Before he closes the door, he looks at her. “Let me think about it.”
She takes a deep breath as she watches him pull out of the parking lot. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up, but right now, Nate Monroe is the only chance she’s got of ever getting her son back.
six
The office of Dr. Pamela Jarvis
Dr. Jarvis takes a sip of her coffee and grimaces. She’s out of sugar, but she needs to stay alert today and knows this will be the first of many strong coffees for her. Last night was horrendous. Knowing what she had to do today meant she didn’t sleep at all. It’s a good job she’s single, as she would have been kicked out of bed with all the tossing and turning she was doing. And thank God for under-eye concealer.
Moving a pile of paperwork from her office chair, she sits behind her oak desk in preparation for reading a client’s journal. A while ago now she suggested this client keep a stream-of-consciousness account of what she’s feeling, to help her cope with the aftermath of the accidental death of two of her children last year. Pamela was concerned with the way her client was internalizing her pain, and she thought this might help to release some of it.
She opens the journal and reads the first couple of pages, written a year ago:
It’s been one month since the accident. I worry where my thoughts take me lately. Did they die because of me? Is it something I did whilst raising my children that caused this? Or were they always destined to only reach three years and five years old? If so, I wish I’d been told sooner. I would never have had them. I’ve learned the bitter lesson that it’s not better to have loved and lost than never to have loved. That’s a lie manufactured to make people feel better. I know now with great, searing clarity that it’s better never to have loved in the first place.
It is no comfort to me that they died together. No comfort that my husband has stayed with me when I’m told most couples who lose a child split up. How can there be any kind of comfort after what we’ve been through? It should’ve been all of us. That would have been kinder.
I often wonder if forgiveness is real or just a concept we pay lip service to because it’s expected of us. They say nothing can ever prepare you for losing a child, but what about losing two? As horrific as it is to never be able to hold your children again, to never be able to tell them you love them and miss them, the look of pity in people’s eyes when they see me now is almost as bad. The doctors, the nurses, the police, the neighbors, the parents at school. It’s a look that gives away their thoughts: “I’m so glad it wasn’t my children.”
I don’t blame them for it. God knows I’d like to be one of them. The question now is whether to live this life of pretense or whether to end the pain and die. At this moment I could go either way.
She takes a deep breath and closes the journal. She hadn’t realized quite how close her client was to giving up last year. As a therapist, missing the signs is unforgivable.
Seven
Nate has driven to the dog beach. He sits in his usual spot in the shade of the afternoon sun whilst slathering sunscreen all over his face and arms and watching other people’s dogs splash around in the ocean. He had a chocolate Labrador as a kid and has had a soft spot for dogs ever since. In his experience, they’re more trustworthy than people. All animals are. He thinks of the cat they had on death row, brought in once a week by a well-meaning charity to try to reduce the inmates’ suffering. He was black with a white chest and his owner called him Oreo. That cat spent more time with Nate than anyone else and he always wondered why. He liked to think it was because he was the only innocent person on the unit, but he knows that probably wasn’t it.
He checks his phone out of habit: no messages. He doesn’t have a new case to work on yet so he doesn’t see how he could take Madison on as an investigator. At the moment the majority of his jobs come through his friend Rex Hartley. Mainly because Rex is a sucker for a sob story and listens to whoever is willing to confide in him. Rex is one of the good guys and has helped Nate acclimatize to life on the outside, like an unofficial therapist. He’s an ex-convict himself and Nate met him through Kristen, the woman who helped get his conviction overturned.
He’d give anything to be able to speak to Kristen again, to show her how all her hard work paid off in the end and to greet her without the handcuffs and prison-issue white uniform. But after more than two years of no contact or sightings, he has to assume she’s dead, and probably because of him.
He sometimes wonders whether that’s why he became a PI: to find Kristen. He shakes his head as if he’s spoken the thought aloud. He’s kidding himself. He knows the real reason. He became an investigator to find Stacey’s uncle. That was something else the police screwed up: they let Father Jack Connor get away with murder. Nate won’t be doing that.
He enjoys the sun on his face as he watches a game of beach volleyball and the pack of dogs excitedly trying to join in. He thinks about Madison Harper again. If she’s telling the truth, she’s right to want to find out who framed her. She appeared genuine. And Nate knows a guilty person wouldn’t want someone looking into their conviction after they’ve been released from prison. They’d want to move on with their life and forget it ever happened. Madison obviously wants to clear her name.
If he’s honest with himself, he’d love to take the case. He’d love the chance to nail a bent cop, assuming it was someone from her police department, but his gut instinct warns him that getting involved with the police would put him at risk. Whilst inside, he vowed never to set foot in a police station voluntarily. He knows he couldn’t serve more time. Sin or no sin, he would take the easy way out if they ever tried to make him go back there.
His cell phone rings and Rex’s name appears. Nate smiles as he answers the call. “How’re you doing, Rex? I was actually just thinking about you.”
“I’m not bad, my friend. How about you? Are you living it up in Vegas with your millions yet?” Rex laughs heartily. “I keep expecting you to tell me you’ve squandered it all on broads and booze.”
Rex is a big man, in height and size, with a deep, booming voice that’s intimidating to the right people. But Nate knows he’s a softie inside. He lives on an old ranch in San Diego with a herd of stray animals: dogs, cats, horses, snakes, geckos. He takes anyone in. Anyone except cops, that is, because he hates cops even more than Nate does.
“I’m waiting for you to come with me,” Nate says.
“I wish! Who would feed the animals?”
Nate laughs.
“Anyway, this is a business call,” says Rex. “I’ve been contacted by a friend of a friend who knows this woman whose granddaughter went missing two weeks ago. She was at a summer camp called Camp Fearless in Shadow Falls. That’s in the Wildwood National Forest, north of the state. You know it?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“Well, according to Google Maps, it’s about a twelve-hour drive from Malibu and in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, the grandmother says the police have been useless—go figure—and she suspects foul play. The girl hasn’t been spotted since her disappearance, so she wants to hire an investigator. You interested?”
“I don’t know. How old’s the girl?”
“Twelve. Name’s Jennifer Lucas. Grandmother’s called Esme and she talks with an old-money accent. I called to find out a bit more about it and she said she’d like to keep it all on the down-low. Doesn’t want the police knowing that she’s going around them. Sounds like just your thing.”
Nate thinks about it. He’s ready to move on from Malibu
and he doesn’t have anything else to work on right now, unless he takes Madison’s cold case. He’s not sure about her yet. “Do we have any idea how the police investigation went?”
“Yeah, the grandmother said they’re working on the assumption that Jenny ran away. There’s no body and no sign of foul play at the summer camp. Staff have been background-checked: no registered sex offenders on the payroll. She said she’d prefer to discuss the rest in person, like they all do. She and the girl’s parents live in Santa Barbara.”
Nate would assume it was a runaway case too if the rich grandmother hadn’t asked for help. It’s unusual for people with money to go against the police. He’s intrigued, and as he watches a huge black Newfoundland running toward him, completely soaked with sea water, he decides to take the case.
“Okay, send me her details. I’ll contact her.”
“That’s my boy!” says Rex. “I should start charging commission for all the work I bring you.”
“Or you could leave the safety of your ranch for once in your life and help me work the cases. We’d be like Cagney and Lacey.”
Rex laughs. “My hair’s too short for that.”
Nate smiles, then asks the question he’s asked a hundred times before. “Any leads on Father Connor or Kristen?”
Rex sighs down the line and answers the same way he always does. “You’ll know as soon as I hear anything, Nate.”
It was Rex who had managed to get an illegal copy of the police report into Stacey’s death. He found a witness statement from a neighbor saying they thought they saw Father Connor leaving the crime scene just minutes before Nate showed up and found Stacey’s body. Nate was fifteen years into his capital murder sentence and just two years away from his final execution date at the time Rex discovered it. It had apparently been ignored by the police and prosecution so Rex gave it to Kristen for her to act on. Up until that point he’d had an increasingly bad feeling about Stacey’s uncle, but he hadn’t wanted to believe he’d actually murdered her.
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