An awkward silence filled the room. Nick fidgeted. He put his left hand over mine on the table—in front of Mitch—in front of God and everybody sitting behind that wall of glass in front of us.
I snatched my hand away from his. Apprehension snaked through me. “What is it?”
Nick picked up the water bottle in front of him with open palms and rolled it. Slightly to the left, back to the right. Then he set it back down and looked at me. His eyes glistened, and deep awareness burned my bewilderment away, leaving anger in its place.
“Don’t do this. It’s not worth it. And you do not have my permission.”
He knew. He must have known and, somehow, he must have come up with proof of where I’d been. “You have no right. This is my decision. Not yours.”
“No, not any more it isn’t. Not when your job, your freedom is on the line.” He fished in his pocket. “Not when I have your own personal get-out-of-jail-free card.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and pressed it into my palm.
My fingers found hard edges, flat sides. I closed my hand around the little object and shut my eyes, offered an unintelligible prayer for wisdom, for protection. Then I opened my eyes and unclenched my fist to reveal the flash drive Nick had given me.
“Doubtless this will detail my whereabouts during the past twenty-four hours.” Rage settled into my gut, swirling, pulling anything not nailed down into its angry vortex.
“More like forty-eight. And I’m confident that Mitch knows how to handle a piece of evidence confidentially.” Nick-speak for no one needs to know what’s on it—where you’ve been.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll give it up, but only if I retain the right to recant it later if something goes haywire and we end up in court.”
Mitch coughed, paused for a long minute, giving me enough thinking time to realize something key.
I let out a long breath. “It’s inadmissible anyway. Evidence obtained illegally.”
“Useful in making a determination of sufficient evidence of non-involvement.” Mitch arched her brows, and she reached out her hand for the flash drive. “Not that we’d need more of an alibi than your time with Sam, but you know me boss, I’m all belt and suspenders, just like you taught me.”
“But still, I need your word that the identities of these women will remain hidden. Or I’m not giving it up.” Even as the words escaped my lips, everything clicked together. The look that passed between them confirmed it. “But you don’t even really need this, do you? Ten to one, copies of this drive have already been emailed to you, right?”
Mitch’s face reddened.
Nick stared into the middle distance.
My volunteer work spanned three different women’s shelters in two counties. Each of the facilities had top-of-the-line security systems, including cameras in every public space, over every entrance and exit. Once a month, I took over round-the-clock supervision duties so the director could get a much-needed break. One of the shelters catered to a very well-heeled population. The kind of women no one would ever believe would be in need of protective services.
I placed the flash drive in Mitch’s outstretched hand.
I turned to Nick, the tightness in my gut relaxing. Maybe he really was trying to help. “You get all this done in between my calls?”
“I had help.”
Gino!
I looked up at the one-way glass, rage building inside me. “Gino, why don’t you come betray me face-to-face?”
Mitch glanced into the mirror and nodded. Thirty seconds later, the door opened, and Gino stepped inside. His bulky, six-foot frame looked cartoonish under his red do rag. His olive brown skin paled when he caught the anger boiling out of my eyes at him.
He put his hands up, as if warding off blows. “M’hija, you must believe me. It was the most prudent move.”
“Jeopardizing the safety of the women in my care isn’t something you get to make decisions about, Gino. How dare you? How dare any of you? This should have been my call.” And they knew that. So why had they gone over my head? Colluded? Unless maybe someone didn’t believe in my innocence?
“It won’t get out, Chief. We’ll see to that. Your women will be safe with us.” Mitch was already putting the drive into a small laptop she’d had retrieved from a briefcase under her chair. Her movements were crisp, full of hope.
“You shouldn’t have needed to go this far, Mitch. You shouldn’t have had to wonder about it.” I wasn’t being fair. They’d found a potential murder weapon in my home, after I happened upon two dead bodies. Any normal person would’ve wondered about it. A little, right? Though I wasn’t sure I would’ve. I tend to be pretty loyal to the people on my team. Turns out, my loyalty maybe wasn’t going to be reciprocated.
“She was just doing her job, m’hija.”
“Maybe so. But you’ve known me what, over ten years? After all we’ve been through, you’re not rock solid enough to talk these jokers out of violating the identity of the women in my care?”
Mitch had the drive in and the computer whirring. All heads turned at the sound, as if a magical answer would pop up at any moment and clear my good name.
“I not only did not talk them out of it, but I suggested this might be the fastest way to prove your innocence beyond a shadow of a doubt, as I knew very well where you had been. And I also knew that this electronic proof would allow us not to have to rely on the testimony of any of the women in your care.” Gino’s chocolaty eyes sparked.
He had a good point. Maybe I should calm down, start seeing this as a good thing. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like all of you going behind my back, treating me like a suspect. You could’ve just talked to me. Some Good Friday this is turning out to be. Guess I’m in good company, you know, what with being betrayed by my closest friends and all…”
Someone snorted from the hallway, and a low murmuring began. What the…? Liz, my administrative assistant, poked her head in, nodded at me, and pulled the door shut. I could hear her shooing all the guys away. No doubt this gruesome case was about to become the greatest show on Earth—right here in our little town of Haversport.
“Whatever you’re about to see on that screen is no different than what you already know to be true about me.” I sighed, stretching out my arms, loosening tension from my shoulders to my wrists. But it is going to change what I thought I knew about each of you.
Mitch, Gino, and Nick—three of my best friends in the world—sat huddled around Mitch’s laptop across the table from me, like a clan of hunter-gatherers congregating around a fire. Their feral expressions left no doubt about their intent. They would find evidence to prove my whereabouts during the timeframe of my husband’s murder, or they would arrest me on the spot.
Ice pumped through my veins. Would I ever be able to trust them again? How far had news spread of the murders and of my submitting to a midnight rendezvous for a special round of questioning? And what was going on with Mr. Richardson? The walls of the interrogation room were all I had between me and an increasingly hostile world.
Judging from the voices in the hallway, off-duty cops had been called in to deal with the aftermath of the double homicide. And no matter which way the evidence ultimately shook out… some of them would believe the worst of me from here on in. The tenuous thread of respect I’d fought so hard to earn, and struggled to maintain, from some of the staunchest of my old school colleagues, would be severed tonight. Unless we got lucky. Fast.
“Alli esta.” Gino’s voice snapped me back to the present.
The three of them leaned in to the computer screen like little kids looking up theme park tickets online for their parents.
“Unmistakable.” Mitch was jotting notes on a pad next to her computer as she scrolled down her screen. “Assuming you didn’t pay some hack to kill him, to kill them.” Eyes lowered, she cracked a grim smile as they reviewed security footage from my last shifts at the women’s shelters. “Don’t worry, we’ll investigate every angle.”
“Sometimes
I hate you guys.” I pushed my chair away from the table, crossed my arms, and stared at them. They were doing their job. Then why had Mitch morphed into Judas before my eyes?
“What do you expect us to do? Stand by and let you be arrested? Not gonna happen. Not on my watch.” Nick met my stare, rocking back on his heels, away from the computer screen.
“These women come here,” I pointed to the computer screen, “…to me, because they know I’ll protect them. That my word is my bond. Up until tonight, they had reason to believe me when I said no one would ever know they had come to our haven. I promised them safety. I don’t like the feel of this.” My mind raced down a path including a messy murder trial.
“M’hija,” Gino’s voice was tentative. “We know your heart beats for these women and so does our own. We can redact any identifying information and make sure that anyone needing to view this as proof of your innocence does it only in sealed chambers, and in the presence of an officer of the court. You can trust us in this, and in another more sensitive matter.” He looked from Mitch to Nick. Nervous?
“Another matter?” I stared at him.
“I am… we are thinking, it might be best…” His trailing off made it even harder for me to pay attention to him. My wandering mind conjured a scenario in which Nick, Mitch, or Gino might be compelled to release the tapes as a way of documenting my innocence and justifying my non-arrest.
“For you to, ah…” Gino hesitated again.
It sounded as if he were talking through water in a barrel. I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. Had the identities of the women who had come to me for safety, for shelter, already been compromised? The room was starting to blur. I placed my palm on the edge of the table to steady myself. Bottom line: Mitch wasn’t convinced of my innocence. Not 100%.
“…after surrendering your weapon…” Mitch had picked up the baton from Gino, doing her best to spell things out. “…taking care of things for the next week or so…”
I rubbed my eyes. Those women had trusted me. Something I’d have never relinquished had now been stripped from me and offered up. Their safety was being exchanged for my freedom. A sacrifice I wasn’t worthy of.
“…agree not to return to duty until being examined and released by Dr. Kira Stoklavich.” Mitch stopped talking and stood up.
“Oh no, I’m not wasting any more of my time with that crazy hack.” Wasn’t anybody on my side anymore?
“Think of it as less about you, and more about keeping all options open.” Mitch had one hand on her hip. Ready for a fight? Would she ever fully trust me again?
“I’ve got my rights, my freedom.” My inner sixth grader made an appearance. I was gearing up to give them a piece of my mind. And Mitch could go hang if she was ready to bail on me already.
But what if remaining free was a condition of me staying in the clear to adopt Samantha?
“Okay.” I slid to my feet in acquiescence.
We stood around the table for several seconds in an awkward standoff. A tremor moved up Mitch’s leg, and she pulled her eyes away from mine. “It’ll only be for a few days, Chief. Gonna do you a world of good to get out of here. Take care of yourself. Get away from this insanity.” She fixed her eyes just over my shoulder. Was there someone else on the other side of that mirror?
“’Cause there won’t be any insanity when I get home?” I willed her to look at me.
It didn’t work. “Nick’ll be there with you—for you.” Her eyes swept from the glass to Nick and back again.
“No, he won’t.” I didn’t need a handler.
“Gino then.” She cocked an eyebrow at my Cuban ally.
“Nope. I’m gonna go home alone. Catch a little quality time with Sam and, with any luck at all, my mom. Wait this crap out together. Lay low.” I held up my hand. “Any objections?”
The three of them stared at me in silence. They watched while I pulled out my Glock, and laid it on the table. Mitch stared at the floor, fidgeting. Nick coughed. I stripped off my holster, and snapped my badge out of my purse and dropped them into Gino’s outstretched hands.
“You know where to find me, amigos.” I nodded once before marching out of the room and down the hall without another word to anyone.
It was close to one in the morning by the time I piled into a taxi, and headed home. Shadows wrapped around the buildings I passed almost every day of my life, lending an air of unfamiliarity to the streets of Haversport. Twice, I caught myself nodding off as we drove through the abandoned night. I let out a long sigh as soon as the car pulled into my driveway. After tipping the driver, I dragged my weary body through my house and up the stairs and fell into bed.
In my dreams, I was a beautiful, tiara-clad princess, dressed in white. I faced the beauty of a new day, watching the sun’s first light bouncing off smooth-sided mountains—reflecting my fully redeemed image. I was a princess, daughter of the King of Kings. Then I felt a little tug, like a child pulling on the top of my crown. Curious, I looked up, toward the glossy mountain.
A bolt of lightning struck at my feet—shockwaves rippling through my body. Clouds ripped open from heaven, and a booming voiced called down to me. Run! Run! Run!
Primal fear charged through me and I tried to flee, but my feet were stuck in quicksand.
I awoke to light pouring in my windows. My heart was pumping a million gallons an hour. Hot and cold sensations flowed through me.
I lay still in bed for several long minutes, piecing the dream together. Deep breaths helped slow down my heartbeat. There had been a message behind the dream, and I fought to bring it back into the light long enough for me to catch it. A veil opened, and the message surfaced.
Run! Run! Run!
After nearly ten years behind the badge, I’d learned to trust my gut. My husband had been murdered alongside his girlfriend—just months after I’d learned he even had a girlfriend. Any remaining sense of personal safety shredded with the dimming fragments of the dream.
Run! Run! Run! Was my spirit trying to tell me something? Was I in danger too? I threw off the covers and picked up my cell phone off the nightstand.
Several texts peered at me. Three from Nick, two from Mitch, and one with an attachment—an unknown number. I scrolled down and opened the attachment, ignoring the growing sound of alarm bells somewhere in my mind.
The text was an odd emoticon sandwich. A winking smiley face sat on the first line, followed by a link to a media site. Another smiley face was at the bottom of the text. This one crying a river out of both eyes. The look of the thing gave me the creeps.
I shrugged it off and opened the link. Today’s headline and byline shouted at me. “Local Chief’s Husband and Mistress Murdered During Bitter Divorce.” The article went on to say, “An unknown source in the Paradise County judicial system calls the murders ‘suspiciously convenient.’”
Was this how people would see me now? If this early morning media campaign was any indication of what was to come, my job was on the line. From the looks of the article, and the string of nasty comments that followed, doubt had taken seed overnight and grown in the hearts and minds of colleagues and community members alike.
A new text came in as I stared at the screen, sender “unknown.” Cold fingers tapped up my spine. The muscles in my arms went rigid.
DON’T FEEL SO BAD. THEY DESERVED IT.
Gasping, I dropped the phone.
I stood in the morning sunlight, shaking in my pajamas. Was this some sort of misplaced benevolence? Or was this a message from the killer?
I forwarded both sets of texts to Nick and Mitch. For a moment, I grappled with which one to call first. Could I still trust Nick?
Nick Vitarello had been in my life longer than I cared to admit. Our tempestuous past included a tangle of professional and personal experiences that had created an unbreakable bond between us. But that was before I’d been set up for murder, and called him in to help. Had he helped? Or had I unwittingly helped him? Could any relationship survive tha
t?
I hovered over Nick’s picture several seconds before passing it over to press my thumb on Mitch’s face instead.
Mitch answered on the first ring. We talked about the texts first, speculating on whether or not they’d come from the killer. She listened to my thoughts, her nimble fingers tapping keyboards over the phone. “You’ll never hear this from me, but Richardson is one angry hombre.”
Her words floated over me. “What? Did something happen during his interview?”
“Guy’s got a rap sheet that’ll curdle fresh milk.” The tapping stopped. “Assault is the most frequent offender. Recent, too. Looks to me like this wasn’t Tamra’s first rodeo.”
“What are you saying?” They deserved it. “You saying Richardson sent that text?”
“I’m saying we don’t know what we don’t know. He could have. He’s the type. But for now, I’m ordering phone taps on your cell and work phones, and getting a tech on your texts.”
Richardson. My unlikely ally, or a jealous spouse turned murderer? I pushed the thought out of my mind. I had more immediate concerns. “Thanks. And while you’re busy playing good cop, I’m taking a short walk on the other side of the street.”
Mitch gasped.
Rather than reassure her, I took advantage of her stunned silence to ask for a huge and inappropriate favor. “I’ve got to take a look at the evidence.”
She didn’t say a word.
Goosebumps shivered over me. Cool beads of sweat ringed my forehead. We had to get to bottom of this now—before the killer had time to surprise us again. Since I was out of the office by mutual agreement, the evidence lockers were off limits too. Maybe a little walking tour with the phone on speaker as she itemized the evidence was something Mitch could do for me. I took her silence as reluctance. Just a step away from full support.
It took her over a minute to answer. “I can’t let you do that. Not until you’re cleared.”
Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2) Page 4