Justice Delayed

by Patricia Bradley

  She was pretty certain she could get approval to work on the case from the police director. “What time will you be back?”

  “Shooting for three thirty. Like I said, we’ll see.”

  Yes, they would. She ended the call, then dialed the police director, securing an appointment with him at one. Good. Time enough to go by and check on Chloe. As she drove away from the TV station, she checked her rearview mirror for any suspicious cars. Ever since the man attacked her, she had the odd sensation someone was watching her.

  On the third floor of the hospital, Andi signed in to ICU and stuck the temporary pass on her jacket. For a second, her head swam. Maybe she should have left off the pills. No, the pain had eased. In fact, she felt as though she could leap over tall buildings. Tamping down a giggle, she hurried into the ICU.

  A US marshal had replaced the policeman outside Chloe’s room who had been there the last time. The curtain was pulled back from the window, and while the marshal examined her ID, she observed the sleeping teenager. It was hard to believe this sweet-faced girl had been put on the streets for prostitution.

  Chloe’s eyes remained shut when Andi stepped inside the room. A heart monitor beeped a soft, steady rhythm, and she stood for a minute watching Chloe’s chest rise and fall evenly.

  Someone had shampooed Chloe’s platinum hair. From the roots, it looked as though her original color may have been chestnut. Two bags dripped solution into her IV. Probably antibiotics.

  A cuff on her arm inflated, and the teen’s eyes flew open. “What—”

  “It’s just your blood pressure cuff,” Andi said. When Chloe continued to frown at her, she said, “Do you remember me? I’m—”

  “I remember. What do you want?”

  “Just to visit.”

  Wariness replaced fear. “I never should have called you, but after I watched your story on the news, I thought maybe you could help me get off the streets. And I really did want to warn other girls about running away.”

  “You would have died if you’d stayed in that situation.” Either from a drug overdose or a beating. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a two-ton truck fell on me. How do you think I feel?”

  At least she was still fighting. “Like a two-ton truck fell on you.”

  Chloe pressed her lips together, but not before Andi saw a hint of a grin.

  “I knew there was something I liked about you,” Chloe said. “I guess you know a US Marshal has been to see me.”

  “Yeah. There’s one outside your door too. What’s going on?” If the US Marshals were involved, Chloe’s pimp was big.

  “They want me to testify about what I know. If I do, I’ll have to go into something he called WitSec.”

  “Witness Security Program,” Andi said. “How do you feel about that?”

  Chloe’s blue eyes narrowed. “What’s with you and this feeling stuff?”

  “Nothing. I just want to know how you feel—your health, about going into hiding.”

  The girl lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug. “At least I’ll get to go to school again.” She snorted. “None of my old friends back in Oh—I mean, people I know wouldn’t believe I just said that.”

  Sounded like she was about to say Ohio. “Is it possible some parts of your old life wherever you’re from weren’t that bad?” She couldn’t imagine what Chloe’s life had been like to make her run away from home.

  “It was bad enough that disappearing into that program actually looks good. Besides, I can’t go home.”

  Evidently, she’d had a hard life. Her heart broke for Chloe. Chloe. It was a beautiful name, one that wasn’t stuck on a baby girl at the last minute. Her mother had put time into finding just the right one. “What happened to your mom?”

  The girl startled. “How did you know something happened to her?”

  “She took pains to find a pretty name for you. Stands to reason if she were alive, you would never have run away.”

  Chloe’s chin quivered, and she blinked her eyes rapidly. “She died last year from cancer, and my stepdad married the next month. When he . . .” She glanced toward the cup of water on her tray. “I’d give anything for a soda.”

  Pieces of Chloe’s puzzle fell into place. Even though the teenager spoke with the cadence of the street, Andi never felt the street was her natural language. At one time, she’d probably had a normal life. Someone, her mom more than likely, had taught her compassion or Chloe wouldn’t have wanted to warn other girls about the dangers of running away from home. “Is your dad still living?”

  “Who knows. He checked out when I was three—I hardly remember him. Then Mom married—” She took a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms across her chest. “Oh, that hurts so bad.”

  “Do I need to get a nurse?”

  Chloe shook her head. “I’ll be okay.”

  And she probably would. The teenager was a survivor, and that, Andi understood. While her own life hadn’t been easy with her sister’s murder and then heart surgery four days later, she couldn’t imagine being in the teenager’s place. “Do you still want to send a message to those teenagers out there thinking about running away?”

  The steady beep of the heart monitor jumped to over a hundred.

  “We’ll do it in shadows and alter your voice. No one will ever find out it’s you.”

  The teenager’s face went from gray to white, and her heart rate jumped again. “But he might,” she whispered.

  “Who is he? Is he your—”

  “No! That’s Jason. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about him, just like I will the marshals, but the other man . . . I don’t know what his name is . . .” She raked her hand through her hair. “He’s like a ghost. No one knows what he looks like, but I’ve heard some of the other girls talk about him. He knows everything, and even Jason is afraid of him.”

  Andi checked the monitor again, surprised a nurse hadn’t come rushing in. “I won’t ask you about him. Just tell me about Jason.”

  “I think I want to rest now.”

  “May I come visit again?” She didn’t want to push Chloe too hard until she was recovered.

  “Maybe next week.”

  Andi nodded and took a card from her purse. She’d come back Sunday. “Call me if you feel like talking before then. And I promise if you agree to the interview, no one will know who you are. Between the marshals and me, you’ll be safe.”

  “Like I was last night?”

  Andi stiffened. The girl’s words burned in her chest. She should have contacted Will or Brad when Chloe first called her. If she had, the teenager would not be lying here in the ICU. And Treece wouldn’t be recovering from an injury. Once again, she’d been reckless not only with her life but two others, as well.

  “I’ve been thinking about it since I’ve been in here,” Chloe said softly. “I think maybe I shouldn’t talk to you.”

  “I don’t blame you for being afraid, and if you don’t want to talk to me, I’m okay with that. I would like to come see you again to see how you’re doing.”

  Chloe held Andi’s gaze and finally nodded. “That’d be okay.”

  At the door, she paused and looked back. “I’ll see if they’ll let you have a soda.”

  “Thanks.”

  Andi pulled the sliding door back.

  “I will tell you this . . .” Chloe said. “Wednesday night was going to be my last night with Jason. I heard him arguing with someone on the phone about me being shipped out. I was scared. I’d heard about some of the other girls they’d shipped out . . .”

  Andi walked back to the bed. “I don’t understand something. We tried to get you to leave with us. Why did you refuse to get in the car?”

  Chloe chewed her thumbnail. “You don’t know what it’s like. My mind was so messed up with the drugs Jason gave me, I didn’t know what I was doing. I was scared—I saw what happened when another girl ran away from him, and he found her . . .” Tears spilled down the teen’s cheeks.

 
Andi gathered the girl in her arms. “Oh, Chloe, I’m so sorry.”

  The girl’s thin shoulders shook as she sobbed on Andi’s shoulder.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she murmured, gently stroking Chloe’s back.

  Andi just hoped that was true.

  Memphis Police Director Marcus Kennedy extended his hand to Andi. She stretched to her full five feet four inches, but Kennedy dwarfed her at six-four.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” she said as they shook hands.

  “Always glad to talk to the media about getting good publicity. I like the story you’re doing on runaways. When will we see the documentary on cold cases?”

  Good. He remembered giving the go-ahead on letting her have access to the cold case files. “That’s what I’m working on now. The case I ended up choosing to profile may be related to a current case, and the detective isn’t too happy about my involvement. Nothing solid there yet, but I don’t want to get booted and lose what work I’ve done.”

  A grin stretched across his dark face. “Wouldn’t happen to be a case a certain Sergeant Brad Hollister is working on, would it?”

  Kennedy read her well, and even though she tried to will her body not to react, heat flushed her face. “Yes, sir. It hasn’t been determined if the current case is a suicide or homicide.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “We haven’t had a problem yet with you tagging along on cases, and you’ve attended the citizen police academy, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” She waited, trying not to hold her breath. “I believe the positive publicity our stories generate will be great for public relations, given there’s been so many negative stories out there lately.”

  Kennedy sat on the corner of his desk and propped his hand on his knee. “Great point.”

  He reached behind him for a memo pad. “I’ll send an email to Brad’s boss that I’d like you to be a consultant on the case, and that should take care of it.”

  Andi was glad she’d learned long ago it paid to go straight to the top. Just wait until Brad said something this time.

  “Thank you.” She beamed at him. “I’ll make sure you don’t regret this.”

  16

  WIND FROM PASSING EIGHTEEN-WHEELERS buffeted Will as he stood at the edge of the interstate. Larry Ray Johnson’s pickup had left the right lane without a skid mark and rolled into a ravine. Will turned to Richard Lee, the state trooper standing beside him, and shouted over the traffic, “You say the truck is at a body repair shop at the next exit?”

  “Yeah. King’s body shop. Take a right at the exit and it’s about a mile. You can’t miss it,” Lee said. “But if you’d like, I’ll lead the way.”

  “Good deal.” Will wrote down the patrolman’s cell number, then climbed into his car with the accident report he’d given him. Cause of accident was mechanical. Bolt in the tie rod had worked loose. A note by Lee stated there appeared to be no alcohol involved.

  He followed the patrolman to the body shop that was as easy to find as he’d said. They drove around the back to where the Silverado sat on a trailer. Some time in the past Johnson had raised the suspension on the pickup about four inches and replaced the original tires with mudders.

  Judging from the flattened cab, the truck had rolled more than once. If Johnson hadn’t been thrown out, he probably would have died instantly. Will examined the raised suspension and the right front wheel that flopped out at a right angle.

  “When that bolt came out, wasn’t no way the driver could keep it on the road,” the trooper said. “Not traveling seventy miles an hour on the interstate. Driver is mighty lucky to still be alive.”

  Will agreed. He’d called an hour ago, and, according to the nurse he talked with, Johnson was still in critical condition and could not be interviewed. Will pointed to the end of the tie rod where it had separated from the steering knuckle. “Do you think raising the suspension caused this?”

  “If it did, there would be wrecks happening around here all the time. Got a lot of the jacked-up trucks on the road. This one isn’t as bad as some.”

  “How long will the truck be here?” Will asked.

  “Till the TBI gets through with their investigation.”

  “Why did you call in the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation?”

  Lee nodded to the tie rod. “There was no reason for that nut to come loose, and I just felt better asking them to take a look.”

  “You have my card,” Will said. “Would you give me a call when the investigator is coming? I’d like to either be here or speak to him.”

  Lee pocketed the card. “Sure thing.”

  Will thanked the trooper and headed back to Memphis, calling David and updating him on the way. His cell phone rang as he exited I-40 to fill up his car. Andi. “Hello, Ms. Hollister.”

  “Where are you, Sergeant Kincade?”

  Her tone indicated he was late, and he checked his watch. “It’s barely two forty-five. I’ve stopped just outside of Memphis to refuel. Where are you?”

  “At Mom and Dad’s. Did you discover anything interesting?”

  “I’ll tell you about it when I see you—at three thirty. I’ll pick you up.”

  After seeing Larry Ray Johnson’s pickup, somehow he had to talk Andi out of getting involved in Lacey Wilson’s case. If his hunch was right, and Lacey had been murdered, and if that same person had tried to kill the corrections officer by sabotaging his truck, this guy played for keeps.

  Of course, he could be all wrong, but he rarely was. For Will, solving a crime was like putting a five-hundred-piece puzzle together. His brain seemed to know how the pieces came together.

  Andi was waiting for him in her parents’ driveway when he pulled up. “I’ll follow you.”

  He got out of his car. “About that. I don’t think this is a good idea. Reporters don’t belong at a crime scene.”

  “Will Kincade, you promised.”

  His heart sank. He had promised. But only if she got permission from Director Kennedy, and maybe that hadn’t happened. Before he could ask, she put her hand on his arm, her fingers sending electricity through his body.

  “If Lacey’s case can shed light on my sister’s murder, you’re not going to lock me out of this. I promise, I won’t report it on the news, at least not until we catch the real murderer.”

  “There is no we.” He didn’t blame Andi. If the roles were reversed, he’d want to be in on the investigation.

  She stepped back. “Suit yourself. But it’s a free country, and I can go wherever I please. Director Kennedy has given me carte blanche with this case. See you on the nightly news.” She turned to walk away.

  With Kennedy’s backing, she could do just what she said. She had him over a barrel. “Wait.”

  If he let her work alongside him, he could at least keep her out of trouble.

  She turned around, victory in her eyes. He was in a no-win situation, and she knew it. His mistake had been in taking her to Nashville in the first place. In more ways than one, judging by the way he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. “Come on, if you’re going with me.”

  She ducked her head, but not before he saw the grin spread across her face.

  “I better not hear one word about this investigation on the news.”

  “I promise I won’t report anything until it’s over,” she said as she slid into the front seat.

  “Your brother’s not going to like this,” he muttered.

  “I can handle Brad.”

  He didn’t know about that. “How’s your arm?”

  “Still sore, thank you for asking,” she said. “What did you learn at the accident scene?”

  “Part of the steering mechanism failed, and Johnson lost control of the truck.”

  “So it was an accident?”

  “Didn’t say that,” Will said, making a right turn onto the street where Lacey Wilson had lived. “The trooper has asked the TBI to take a look at the truck.”

  When Will approached Lacey’s
house, Brad’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Instead, a black Cadillac sat in the middle of the concrete drive like it owned the place. He called in the tag number to Emily.

  “Whose car is it?” Andi asked when he hung up.

  “It belongs to Laura Delaney.”

  “I have an appointment with her tomorrow. Wonder what she’s doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” Delaney couldn’t have missed the crime scene tape. “But I think I’ll find out.”

  The front door was partially open, and voices floated down from the second floor. At least two people. “You stay here until I see what’s going on,” Will said.

  Will slipped inside. Drawing his gun—just in case—he eased up the stairs. He wanted to see what they were doing before they realized they weren’t alone.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Keep looking. There has to be something.”

  The district attorney was here with a man, and it sounded like her husband. He frowned at the snatches of conversation coming from the room. What were they looking for? From where he stood, a mirror reflected clothes strewn over the bed, and he holstered his gun.

  “Police,” he said, rounding the corner into the bedroom and holding up his badge.

  “Oh!” Laura Delaney clasped her chest.

  Spencer jerked upright from the closet with a pair of shoes in his hands.

  “Sergeant Kincade, you scared two years off my life!” Laura glared at him.

  Will planted his feet. “This is a crime scene, Ms. Delaney. What are you doing here, and when did you arrive?”

  “Crime scene?” she said. “We talked about this earlier. Lacey committed suicide. We just arrived and were getting clothes for her funeral.”

  “Homicide hasn’t been ruled out.”

  Laura dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. “It’s not a homicide. She’s been depressed for years.” She turned to her husband. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yep,” Spencer said, and then slid his hands in his pockets.

  He was about as talkative now as earlier. Will motioned them out. “For now it’s a crime scene, so you need to leave.”

  She pointed to a gray crepe dress on the bed and the shoes. “May we take these clothes?”