This time Connie was quiet. I rarely talked about Brad Turlington, the man who’d first noticed my uniquely trained mid-century modern decorator’s eye, refined through years of watching the Doris Day movies my parents had gifted me every year on the birthday I shared with the actress. They’d died in a car crash when I was twenty-one, and the collection of movies had gotten me through the grieving process. Over twenty years had passed since their deaths, but every time I decorated a room, I was reminded of Mom and Dad.
The memories of Brad were less welcome. He’d been my teacher, my co-worker, and my lover, until one day he wasn’t. Lately unwanted memories of Brad had been surfacing. I pushed them back down. I needed to hold on to my anger toward him, because it was the protective device that kept me from ever allowing myself to get hurt again.
It occurred to me that Jane may have done the very same thing. She’d briefly talked about her divorce but had told me there was another man in her life. She hadn’t wanted to jinx it by telling me who he was. Had she kept quiet for reasons other than superstition? Had this been an affair that happened at the right time—that delicate window after she’d already known her marriage was over but before she’d worked up the courage to legally end it?
And if that was the case, who would be angrier, the divorced husband or the new guy? And what would that anger propel one of the men to do when he found out?
I surprised Connie by continuing. “Brad taught me a lot about this world, and if I were mature enough to get past my anger, I’d give him credit for that. But I can’t. There’s a lot of rage inside of me because of him. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what happens. If people get burned by one relationship and ruin the next one by trying to course correct.”
“Are you talking about you and Hudson?”
I pushed the industrial vacuum out of the way. “I’m talking about Jane. She had a secret, and I think it got her killed. If only she’d opened up to me, confided in me instead of fighting with me, maybe I could have helped her.”
“You guys fought? When? Joanie said you called her your bestie.”
“Actually, Joanie came up with that, not me.”
“So?”
“Connie, Jane and I had a fight the morning she was killed.”
“Do the police know?”
“I don’t know. Detective Henning listed a bunch of things that made me look suspicious, but that wasn’t one of them.”
Connie studied me. “Why did you lie in the first place?”
“Because it made me look like a pretty crappy friend.” I studied Connie’s expression. She was nervous. “In hindsight, I should have told the truth from the beginning, and I know that now.”
“Madison, the police came to my house. They know I used to work for you, and they were asking lots of questions. They asked how well I knew you and if you had any reason to lie about your relationship with Jane.”
“I’m sorry to have put you in that position. I don’t know why the police are looking so closely at me for Jane’s murder. Nobody knows about that fight, and if we both keep quiet about it, nobody will.”
Connie’s eyes shifted from my face to over my shoulder and then back to me. Her eyes were wide. “I’m sorry, Madison.”
Slowly, I turned around. Detective Henning stood in the hallway with two uniformed officers. I recognized Officer Martinez and Officer Doyle from the police station last night. The familiarity of their faces did little to alter the sense of impending doom established by their presence.
“Ms. Night,” Detective Henning addressed me, “I’m going to ask that you come with us.”
“Detective, I’ve already lost too much time on my entry in the VIP competition, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d much prefer talking in one of the vacant units here.”
“I’m afraid we’re beyond that.” He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a folded set of papers. “The computers came back online, and I was able to get that signature from the judge.”
“No,” I said. I stepped away from Martinez and Doyle. Doyle looked at Henning, who tipped his head toward me. “You’re wasting your time talking to me. You need to talk to Captain Tex Allen of the Lakewood Police Department. He’s working with an independent computer expert who has evidence that will lead you to the real killer.”
“I already spoke to Captain Allen and he’s agreed to cooperate with me.”
“Did he tell you about the sterling roses at Jane’s business? And their link back to Sterling Webster? Sterling sent the same ones to me—”
“Sterling Webster has an alibi. He was signed out of Republic Tower before the murder took place.”
“Did you ask Captain Allen about the computer virus? That’s evidence. Whoever killed Jane hacked into her computer and sent out the viruses that corrupted all our computers. They might even be the person who took the security cameras offline. Find the person Jane didn’t send an attachment and you’ll have the one person who wasn’t targeted. That has to be the killer.”
“That’s exactly what Captain Allen told us before he turned his information over to me.”
“And? Did you follow the email trail and find a suspect?”
“Funny you should ask. The only person Jane didn’t send an attachment to that morning was you.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The fact didn’t fit with reality. “That’s not possible,” I said. “Jane did send me an attachment. She sent a copy of our collaborated design files.”
The detective studied me. “We’ve been over your computer, Ms. Night. We’ve been over the sent files from Ms. Strong’s computer. There was no attachment.”
I wanted to argue the point, but I already knew if the hacker had been able to falsify files on Tex’s computer and delete the files on mine, he would have been able to manipulate this as well.
“Assuming you are telling me the truth, why would Ms. Strong send you those files? Wouldn’t you already have them?” the detective asked.
“I did, but they were erased.”
Henning looked at the uniformed officers and nodded. Doyle stepped toward me. Henning spoke. “Ms. Night, it’s not necessary for us to handcuff you if you come with us voluntarily.”
A rebuttal of assumptions was on the tip of my lips, but the train had already left the station and Henning was driving it. Earlier today, Tex and Nasty had been intent on reverse engineering the sent emails from Jane’s computer to determine who was to blame. If the found evidence pointed to me, that only said one thing: the hacker was still in control of the game.
I turned to Connie. “Keep working on the design. Effie can get a copy of my application from the DIDI offices,” I said. “Tell her, and this is very important, to sign in and sign out and to look for any familiar names on the registry. Don’t stop working—don’t let anybody stop working—and don’t use my computer for anything.”
“Do you want me to call anybody for help?”
“Absolutely not.”
I left the partially demoed room and walked with the officers through the hallway and out the back door. A standard issue police cruiser with the slanted words DALLAS POLICE DEPARTMENT in all caps was parked in the middle of the lot. In front of it was a dark gray sedan. Henning got into the sedan and the officers led me to their marked car. I waited by the back door while Martinez let me in. He didn’t make eye contact.
I hadn’t realized how much time I’d spent working on the demolition inside the apartment building, but it now struck me that I must have been at it for at least a few hours. The sun was high in the sky, hitting the peak temperatures for a late September day. The recent rains had let up indefinitely, replaced by a post-storm glow. It was as pretty a day as any I’d experienced recently, with the exception of the black cloud over my head.
For all the good the physical labor inside the apartment building had done, giving me an outlet for pent-up frustra
tion, it had lulled me into a safe zone where I hadn’t seen the possibility of this particular outcome. I’d left Tex and Nasty in control of finding out what had happened to Jane.
I was never collaborating with anyone again.
My tumultuous thoughts kept me distracted from the ride to the police station. The process of arriving, walking past the gates topped with razor wire, hearing the heavy doors clank shut behind me, and taking in the faces of the officers inside were only slightly less intimidating thanks to their now (unfortunate) familiarity. I’d left my belongings at the apartment complex, so I had nothing to check in with the desk sergeant. Detective Henning was mildly annoyed that I had no reason to sign the paper being thrust at me. I smiled sweetly—for now. The way things were going, I suspected a different waiver of rights would be in front of me shortly.
I was led to a small desk. Officer Martinez moved to the computer behind it. He clicked the mouse a few times and then asked me a series of questions: name, address, birthdate, social security number. As uncomfortable as I was reciting the personal information to him, the environment around me left me feeling like I had little choice.
“What happens next?” I asked him.
“You don’t know?”
“How would I know? I’ve never been arrested before.”
“Once I finish the paperwork, I’ll turn you over to Officer Doyle for a drug test and cheek swab. Then Detective Henning will get your statement. You’ll go into a holding cell until arraignment.”
The officer talked like I had no choice of participation in those activities, and as long as I was pulling out my cooperative, nice lady act, it seemed wisest not to challenge him on that. Yet.
“Arraignment is when the judge sets bail, right?”
He nodded. “Dallas uses a standard bail schedule. You’re a first timer, no history of criminal behavior. Your bail will be two million dollars.”
“Two million dollars?!” I exclaimed. Several people standing around the interior of the police station looked my direction. “Two million dollars?” I repeated in a quieter voice. “How am I supposed to get two million dollars on a Thursday afternoon?”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. I followed his stare. It was going on three o’clock. “Circuit court closes at five, so you’ll probably spend the night here and see the judge tomorrow.”
Of all the times I could have used a friend on the police force, this one shot to the top of the list. But there was no way I was calling Tex, not now. I had no idea how things had gone so wrong after I left him and Nasty, but whatever he and Nasty told Henning had led to me sitting right here, right now.
I finished up with Martinez and followed a petite female officer named Fields to a door marked Women. She had mostly brown hair that was slicked back into a tight bun at the nape of her head. Her roots had gone a few weeks past acceptable for a touch-up and gleamed silver under the harsh interior light. She unlocked a cabinet on the far wall and pulled out a sealed plastic bag that held a cup, a large Q-tip, and an assortment of other items.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“You submit for a voluntary drug test and let us swab your cheek for DNA.”
“Your use of the word ‘voluntary’ suggests I have a choice. It doesn’t feel like I have a choice.”
“Ma’am, this is standard procedure. You’re innocent until proven guilty. These are the tools that can do that.” She handed me the plastic cup. “Bathroom’s over there.”
I hadn’t done anything wrong. I knew that. Whoever killed Jane knew that. But so far, that person had orchestrated things to put me where I was. Officer Martinez had led me to believe I wouldn’t have a chance to approach the judge until tomorrow, but there were two hours left before the courts closed. I wasn’t about to fritter them away with an argument I probably wouldn’t win.
I gave them the requested samples, submitted to the cheek swab, and had my fingerprints recorded by Live Scan. (When that last part came back with a hit, the officers all looked a bit surprised.)
“Your prints are already in here,” she said. “I thought you didn’t have any priors.”
Not willing to eat up the clock with unnecessary explanations, I simply said, “It’s a long story.”
Officer Fields led me to a small room. “Detective Henning will be in to take your statement.”
And when Detective Henning showed up about twenty minutes later, I gave him the only statement I was prepared to make. “Detective, you’ve arrested and booked me. The only statement you’re going to hear out of me is the one I intend to say to the judge.”
“You sure about that?”
“I am. And I believe we have enough time to see the judge about bail before the courts close for the day.”
“Under normal circumstances, you’d be right.”
“What do you mean, ‘normal circumstances’?”
“Computer systems went down again. Right after I got your warrant. Unless you change your mind and give me a statement, there’s nothing left to do but take you to lockup.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Things to check off my bucket list: spending the night in jail.
Officer Clark, who had obtained a better-fitting uniform since the last time I saw him, escorted me to my visit with the judge. He handed me a bar of soap, a white towel that smelled faintly of bleach, and a can of Pepsi.
“I’m sorry, Madison, this was the best I could do.”
I took the proffered items. “Why are you handling me?” I asked. “Henning knows you know me. He seemed surprised by it the morning I found Jane, but by now he’s had plenty of time to uncover the details. Isn’t that a problem for him? Or for you? Or for me?”
He lowered his voice. “Henning wants to make you feel comfortable.”
Now I understood. Henning was using my familiarity with Officer Clark in the hopes that I’d confide something I wasn’t willing to tell Henning directly. If I’d done something wrong, it might have worked.
I took the items from Clark and went into the ladies’ room. Any hope I’d had of appearing fresh as a daisy in front of the judge were out the window. My appearance was like my mental state: dull as mulch. I did what I could with the soap and the sink water, downed half of the Pepsi, and returned to Clark who was waiting for me in the hallway.
The judge, a sixty-year-old woman with brushed steel glasses and shoulder-length, highlighted hair, didn’t seem bothered by the way I looked. “Ms. Night, I’d like to apologize on behalf of the court for detaining you overnight. I have had a chance to review your case and ties to the community. Based on your history, I’ve reduced your bail to two hundred thousand dollars. See the bailiff for your court date.”
“But I don’t have two hundred thousand dollars,” I said.
There were a few snickers around the room. The judge looked at me over the top of her glasses. “For someone with as colorful of a history as you, Ms. Night, I’m surprised you’re not better acquainted with how the legal system works. Once bail is set, you’re only required to pay 10 percent of the bond. You’re free to leave. Next,” she said.
I turned to Officer Clark. “Twenty thousand dollars is still going to be a problem.”
“Your bail was paid, Madison. You’re free to go.”
There was no one in the world who owed me a twenty-thousand-dollar favor: not friends, not lovers, not enemies. But there was one person who had recently given me twenty thousand dollars, and I hated knowing it was Nasty’s money that had bought my freedom.
I found Effie standing in the lobby. “I’m sorry, Boss, I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You cashed Nasty’s check, didn’t you?” I said.
She nodded.
It was only then that I realized the black man standing a few feet away from Effie was listening in on our conversation. And despite the fact that he wore a suit and tie in place
of the security uniform issued by Republic Tower, I quickly recognized Delbert Manning.
“Delbert?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”
Delbert held a tweed cap in his hands, though his nervousness appeared to be taken out on the fabric by balling the cap into a wad.
“Boss,” Effie said, “I cashed Nasty’s check, but this man paid your bail.”
“Thank you,” I said to Delbert. “But why? And how did either of you know I where I was?”
“Miz Madison, I think we need to sit down and talk and I’d really rather it not be anywhere near here.”
That made two of us.
The neighborhoods surrounding the Dallas jail were filled with bail bondsmen and liquor stores. I wasn’t dressed (or deodorized) for anything fancy, so Effie dropped Delbert and me off at a small coffeeshop on Commerce Street while she went in search of parking. The older security guard remained quiet until we were seated.
“Miz Madison, I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he said. His blue eyes were watery but clear. He seemed troubled by something and I wanted to put him at ease.
I put my hand on his forearm and said, “I don’t know how you came to bail me out of jail, but I owe you a huge thank you. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Oh yes, I do.” He let his coffee go untouched while I drank mine. After a few awkward minutes of silence, he spoke. “I’m the reason the police arrested you for Miz Strong’s murder.”
“Delbert, I know you were just doing your job.”
“Miz Madison, I lied about something on my application when I applied for the security job at Republic Tower. It was 1970, before background checks like they do today. Times were different then and I got the job because my uncle vouched for me. I was fresh out of jail and at a crossroads. Straighten up my act or die young.”
“Delbert, I’m getting the very strong feeling you have something to tell me. Something you need to unburden yourself from and something I need to hear. You just bailed me out of jail with the kind of money it would take anybody some effort to get, so whatever it is you have to tell me, I’m not going to judge you.”
LOVER COME HACK Page 17