Evie felt bad. But it was more complicated than that—she felt bad for feeling bad. She didn’t know if she would ever see Troy Bukowski again, but at least she could put this thing to bed. A simple overnighter at the police station seemed to have corrected him some, which was most surprising.
But a good thing had come from this, Evie reminded herself. If she wanted to work for Vision, maybe she could. Now that a position was open at the magazine, she wondered if Conan Reed might apologize for the way he’d spoken to her and maybe even offer her the job.
Yeah right, Evie thought, smiling, as if two miracles could happen in one night.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The next morning—after she had retreated to her bed to readjust her strategy—Evie made her way straight over to Judy Durant’s house. Now that she realized her only lead could come from this woman, she felt a sudden fear that the entire case might fall flat within the hour.
Arriving just before noon, Evie knocked on the door and was greeted by a half-smiling Judy. She was dressed in summery clothes and waved Evie in merrily.
“I’m sorry to keep bothering you like this,” Evie said, dropping her purse onto a kitchen stool. The house looked bigger than one would have imagined after looking at it from outside. It was nicely decorated, too—very flowery and smelling of lilies.
“Oh, don’t you worry.” Judy moved around the kitchen with the energy of someone half her age. “I’m always happy to help. It’s just that this isn’t the best time. I have some friends out back, so I would appreciate it if we could keep this quick.”
“Of course! Of course…” Evie followed her through to the garden, where Judy took a hose and began to water her colorful patch of petunias. “To be honest, I’m not exactly sure why I’m here.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been talking to a few people about this whole situation, and I’m getting different versions from everyone. I even confronted your son about his divorce.”
Judy Durant shut off the spraying water and turned to Evie. “You didn’t mention me by name, I hope? I told you that in confidence, dear.”
“Of course not.”
Judy forced a smile at her friends, who sat at the patio table chatting among themselves, and then returned to spraying her plants. “May I ask what happened?”
“Calvin… You probably don’t want to hear this, but your son was having an affair.”
“It doesn’t entirely surprise me. He always had trouble keeping it in his pants. Especially as a teenager.” Judy giggled. “Bless his soul.”
Evie shuddered at the image of Calvin Durant making love to a woman. She didn’t know why, exactly—he was a good-looking man, just not her type. “And about Sadie? Did you know Calvin’s wife was having an affair, too?”
The water shut off suddenly, and Judy’s mouth hung open. “No, I… Really?” she asked, with all the enthusiasm of a gossiping old lady. She shook her head then, her wrinkled cheeks swinging from side to side. “I just couldn’t imagine. Who told you this?”
“John Matthews. This man who worked with her—”
“My dear.” Judy put down the hose and cupped Evie’s hands, gazing into her eyes as if she were her own daughter. “I like to consider myself a reasonable judge of character. I knew Sadie very well and loved her very much—as you can probably tell, seeing as I dealt with the funeral arrangements myself.”
Evie nodded, daring not to speak in case she missed a detail.
“But she would never, ever have betrayed my son’s trust.”
“You’re saying Matthews is lying?”
Judy let go of her hands and rested her own at her sides. “I don’t like to use that word, but yes. If I were in your shoes, I would put all of my time into researching that man. If you think he had anything to do with Sadie and Emma’s murders, I would certainly encourage that.”
“I… will,” Evie said, already formulating her next moves.
“May I ask… How is Calvin?”
“Honestly… I’m scared for him.” Evie was just realizing this for herself. “More than anything else in the world, I want to lock this down and find out the truth before he’s convicted on a murder charge.”
Judy Durant’s expression suddenly turned into one of disbelief. “Then you’d better get a move on, dear. His trial starts today.”
Chapter Thirty
While Calvin Durant threw up in the corner of the courthouse cell, Sam Fitzgerald—his loyal but painfully honest defense attorney—plucked out a tissue from his breast pocket. “Here,” he said, handing it over.
Calvin spat into the bucket, took the tissue, and dabbed it around his mouth.
“It’s not that I don’t feel for you,” Sam took a seat on the poor excuse for a bed, “but it’s a little convenient that you’re sick right now, huh?”
Once again, Calvin felt an urge coming on. It started in his stomach and rose to his throat in an instant. The contents rained inaccurately into the bucket. “Does this look convenient to you?” he asked, gasping for breath.
Sam stared at him in silence. It was like he was trying to figure out if this was all a big act. Hell, it could have been real but only for poor nerves. Finally, he shook his head, sighing. “Fine, I’ll try to get the trial postponed, but don’t hold your breath.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not saying I’ll succeed. I’m just saying I’ll try.” Sam tightened up his black silk tie and left the cell, briefcase in hand. He was shaking his head in the way he often did when disapproving of one of Calvin’s decisions.
Calvin, watching him go, unfolded the tissue and refolded it, clean side out. That wasn’t pretty, he thought, kneeling down beside the bucket. But you gotta do what you gotta do. He briefly thought about Evie, wondering how far she had come in her investigation—or if she was even still working on it, for that matter. In the event that he could get the trial postponed on account of his sickness (which, sadly, seemed like a stretch), there was no guarantee that the journalist would manage to help him out of there.
But Calvin had to give her more time. Hovering his mouth over the bucket, he slid two fingers into the back of his throat and continued to throw up. It was vile, he thought, but necessary.
Chapter Thirty-One
I wonder how he pulled that off, thought Evie as she stared at her laptop screen. The website was detailing the Durant case, which had been postponed for twenty-four hours due to extreme sickness. Of course, the idea that another journalist was covering this scared Evie off a little, but none of them had the angle she had.
Maneuvering through the deepest corners of the web—or surfing, as many used to say—Evie dug up whatever she could find on John Matthews. She got as far back as high school, where he was a seemingly respectable model of alumnus. Further on in years, he had been on the news for a charity fundraiser that he had single-handedly created. So far, everything pointed to him being Mr. Goody Two-Shoes, but none of that sat with Evie. Not one bit.
“Okay,” she told herself, “make a coffee and come at it with a fresh eye.” Minutes later, with cheap instant coffee steaming by her side, that fresh eye seemed to do its work. In that same charity article, in black and white, it stated that John Matthews had worked at a grocery store.
Wasn’t that the place where Sadie Durant had worked?
Evie searched for the number, dialed it, and listened to the ringer with bated breath. When a soft female voice spoke through the phone and said her name was Rebecca-at-Stop-and-Shop-How-Can-I-Help, Evie asked to speak to the manager.
“This is she,” Rebecca said, though it seemed unlikely, as she sounded like a teen.
“I was wondering if I could have a moment to speak with you regarding an ex-employee,” Evie said, absent-mindedly gnawing on her fingernail. “John Matthews used to work for you, along with a lady named Sadie Durant.”
“That’s right.”
Finally, a straightforward answer. “Great. You were there during their employment?”
> “Yes, I was.” A pause, and then, “I’m sorry, can I ask what this is about?”
Evie took a sip of her scalding coffee, winced, and set it back down on the desk. “Sure. I’m an investigative journalist, and I’m looking into the past of Calvin Durant. I’m sure you’ve heard the news about him.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. Well, is there anything you can tell me about them?”
Rebecca hesitated for a moment, a heavy exhale audible even through the speaker. “I’m really not so sure I should be talking about this. It’s been dealt with, in a manner of speaking.”
Whatever this was about, it sounded juicy. If Evie was being true to herself, she hadn’t expected much—if anything—from this call. Some new information, however, sounded most intriguing. “What is it, Rebecca? This can go public or remain confidential. It’s entirely up to you. Just tell me what you want to tell me.”
“It’s just… John had a bit of a way about him. The way he spoke to women… He was always badgering them. There were a lot of sexual harassment complaints about him.”
Evie shot up, searching madly for a pen amidst the towers of paperwork. “Sexual harassment, you say? And how was it handled, if you don’t mind my asking?” She found the pen she’d been looking for. Click.
“Mmm. He refused to admit to them, kicked up a real stink about it.” Rebecca took a moment and came back with a clearer voice, as though her confidence had been restored. “We—my assistant manager and I—contacted the police.”
“It would be on record, then?”
“Not a police record, I’m afraid.”
Evie chewed on the end of her pen. “Why not?”
“The policeman they sent, he was friends with Matthews. There was no getting by him, seeing as how he had the authority and all. In the end, we just had to let go of the poor girls who felt threatened by him.”
Christ. The plot thickens. Evie was relieved to be discovering hidden roots. If she could follow them, she might just find what she was looking for. “Do you have the name of this policeman, by any chance?”
“Oh, uh… I forget,” Rebecca stuttered. “Limp. No…”
Evie felt her muscles seize up. She thought she knew exactly what was coming.
“Detective Little! That was his name. I remember now, because he wasn’t little at all.” She let out a nervous giggle. “His name was Detective Little, and he swept the whole thing under the rug.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Evie waited until the opportune moment, when she could see Detective Little leave the precinct. Clearly off duty, he was loosening his tie as he walked to the underground parking lot. Hopefully he would go home now and stay there until she’d done what she needed to do.
Steeling herself for the coming confrontation, she crossed the road and entered through the front door of the station. At the main desk right in front of her, a lazy-eyed officer in a blue uniform guarded the swing gate.
Evie approached.
“Excuse me, I’d like to report an abuse of authority.”
Without giving her the slightest look, he reached down in front of his knees and then dropped a clipboard onto the desk. “Fill this out and come back when it’s done.”
Evie ignored the clipboard. “I’m afraid it’s urgent. Can I speak to somebody now?”
Now the officer turned to her, staring with his beady, deadpan eyes. “Fill-this-out-and-then-come-back,” he said slowly, as if talking to an unintelligent child.
I don’t have time for this.
It would draw attention to her—she had known that before she’d done it—but Evie stormed past the swinging, knee-high doors that reminded her of saloons in those old spaghetti westerns.
“Hey!” the officer barked. “You can’t just go in there!”
Evie drowned out the sound of his voice and kept walking. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was supposed to be going; she only hoped that if she walked far enough, then the right policeman would stop to help her.
But nothing of the sort happened.
Multiple officers rose from their desks, some with their hands going straight to their gun holsters. It was bravado, of course, as she clearly wasn’t a threat to anyone. She was merely a citizen who wanted to be heard.
“Relax,” said a tired, old voice from beside her.
Evie noticed how quickly everyone obeyed that command and turned to study the man who’d issued it. He was small, wearing an out-of-fashion beige suit. His skin was liver spotted, and what little hair he had was graying. “You in charge?”
“Apparently, you are.” The man chuckled pleasantly. “But I’m the captain here. Now, what seems to be the problem?”
“Could we do this privately?”
Assessing her thoroughly, the captain edged away and showed her through to his office. It was surprisingly small, considering that he had the pick of the rooms. There was little space for his bowling trophies along the wall-length cabinet, and an old, faded picture of a pretty middle-aged woman sat perfectly on his desk. “Now, how can I help you, Miss…”
“Black. Evie Black,” she told him and offered a handshake. She filled him in on the details, careful not to leave anything out. This was probably her only chance to get what she needed, and she made damn sure not to screw it up.
“I’m going to have to involve Internal Affairs,” said the captain, whose desktop nameplate read Captain Moore. He had been listening so intently that Evie hadn’t stopped for a moment to breathe. “In the meantime, try not to do anything silly.”
“How long will this take?”
“Could take a few days. They’ll have to open up an investigation and—”
Evie shook her head. “That’ll be too late.” She stood and gave a fake smile—a simple gesture of gratitude. “Can I leave this in your capable hands? I have somewhere I need to be.”
And time is running out, she thought as she went for the door.
Chapter Thirty-Three
As The City That Never Sleeps began to doze off, Evie sneakily made her way to John Matthews’s apartment. The lights were off when she got there, which either meant that John was in bed or out.
Hopefully the latter, Evie thought, peering through the window.
Either way, time was running out—the trial was tomorrow, so she had to act fast. If she didn’t, Calvin Durant would be found guilty for sure. With that horrific image vivid in her mind, Evie dropped to a knee, slid the hairpin out of her hair, and used it to pick the lock.
Thank you, internet. You’ve taught me so much.
The door popped open with a creak, granting her access. Evie stepped right in, kept the lights off, and closed the door. With the light from her cell phone, she searched around the place, careful not to make any noise.
Rummaging through the drawers brought her no help whatsoever, and the perfectly tidy paperwork on John’s coffee table proved absolutely useless. But Evie was determined to find something inside. When her eyes shifted to the trash can in the corner of the room, a tiny glimmer of hope filled her.
She crossed the room, hoping to get a good look through the man’s belongings—or ex-belongings, if you chose to see it that way. If nothing the man kept was giving any clues, then what he’d decided to discard might do just that.
Evie knelt and set her phone on the floor. She was just about to reach an arm inside the wastebasket when the living room light flickered on.
“What the hell is this?”
She turned to the source of the voice, where John Matthews stood wearing nothing but ugly red pajama pants. His face was even redder, and a vein in his forehead looked just about ready to pop.
“I…” How on earth do I explain this?
John Matthews stomped toward her, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her to her feet. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing in my apartment? This is my home!”
The game was up. There was no way to go but with the truth. “I know what you did, Matthews,” Evie said, knocking his hand aw
ay and standing up to him. “I know you harassed a lot of women at the grocery store. I know Detective Little got you off the hook. Likely, you killed Sadie and Emma Durant, too. And better yet, the police know. So go ahead and hit me. We’ll see how long you last after that.”
John stood staring at her, his eyes wide and his clenched fists shaking. He was about to strike her, she could feel it. But when he shoulder-smashed his way past her and opened the front door, Evie felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
“Get out,” he said. “Get out right now, and never come back. I don’t want to hear your silly little conspiracy theories. Nobody does. So just go.”
Evie felt a shudder as she passed him cautiously. A part of her felt that this might be a trap—that he would grab her at the last moment and beat her senseless. But when the door slammed shut behind her, a different thought occurred to her: why didn’t he call the police? Surely a normal person would have.
Unless, Evie thought, that person didn’t want the police snooping around their apartment. And that in itself was enough to convince her that John Matthews had a larger part in this than he had let on.
She just had to prove it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The next morning, Evie awoke from her half sleep to an urgent pounding on the door.
“Who is it?” she called, looking everywhere for a shirt to slide over her naked breasts.
“It’s Captain Moore.”
Moore? What the hell is he doing here? Internal Affairs couldn’t possibly have found dirt on Detective Little already, and she’d been with John Matthews for only a small portion of last night. She checked her watch: eight o’clock. Too early for Durant to have been convicted. “What do you want?”
Hard Press: The Evie Black Files Page 6