Cold Case Witness

by Sarah Varland

  Gemma pulled her phone out of her pocket, hesitated over the 9 that her fingers wanted to dial on gut instinct. Calling 9-1-1 would bring the Treasure Point police to her, but would they believe her this time anyway?

  Matt O’Dell would believe her. She didn’t know why she thought so, but she did.

  She had his number in her phone, from when he’d called looking for her earlier in the day and left her a message telling her he needed to ask her some questions about what she might have seen. She’d ignored him.

  She hit the send button, tried to put into words what she wanted to say to him.

  But she didn’t even get the chance to say “Help”—the only word she’d come up with so far. She’d only just dialed when her headache exploded.

  And the black became blacker.

  * * *

  “Hello?”

  Silence. Matt glanced down at his phone again, at the number he didn’t recognize, though it did look familiar. It had an Atlanta area code.

  Wait. It was Gemma’s number. He’d called it earlier that day; that was why it looked familiar. “Hello?” he tried again, curious as to why she would be calling back at such a late hour.

  No answer. He could hear background noise, although not enough to figure out where she was calling from or why. He’d expected getting hold of her would be challenging; was she really calling him back to talk about the case? Or could something be wrong?

  He grabbed his keys, decided to try to find Gemma even though it was late. He’d head to her sister’s house, where he’d heard she was staying, but first he’d swing by the Hamilton Estate, in case Gemma was working late there and had gotten into some kind of trouble.

  The more seconds passed the more anxious he got. It was late—surely she wasn’t calling to talk, especially since she wasn’t talking at all. It was possible she’d accidentally sat on her phone or something and hadn’t intended to call him at all, but she didn’t seem like the sort to be careless in that way. Something felt...off. And Matt didn’t know why she’d call him if she was in trouble, but that was what this felt like to him. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, pressed the gas pedal a little harder. Two miles had never taken so long to drive. Matt drummed his thumbs on the wheel as he drove. He turned into the driveway and his headlights caught...

  Another car. Hadn’t he seen this one before?

  Gemma’s.

  Matt threw his patrol car into Park, opened the door and ran. He knew he was taking a chance of looking like an idiot if she was in there safe and sound and he was storming the place like this, but the lights were out. Why would her car be here if she didn’t have the lights on in the office, working or something? There were no good reasons that he could think of.

  “Gemma?” He reached for the doorknob. Locked. He fumbled for his key ring, hands shaking. They’d given him an extra key when he’d been assigned this patrol, since the Treasure Point Historical Society wanted everything well guarded but also didn’t want the police to have to resort to damaging their building by breaking a door or a window. Matt knew because they’d told him so in a snooty way when they’d given him the key.

  He shone his flashlight on the lock, shoved the key in, twisted.

  He went light-headed almost instantly from the first whiff of propane. If Gemma was in here...

  “Gemma!” He yelled it this time, no longer asking a question, but instead searching for her. Desperately. He reached for the light switch, but when he flipped it nothing happened. There went any hope this might have been an accident. Someone wanted her dead and Matt knew why.

  You never could escape your past.

  He searched for her, accidentally knocking into stacks of paper on the desk and hoping they weren’t anything too important. Not that any pile of paper could be more important than Gemma. A mental picture of her teased the edges of his mind, her dark eyes wide. Vulnerable even though she had always been one of the most independent people he’d ever met.

  “Be okay, Gemma.” He dropped to his knees and felt around with his hands. The initial light-headedness he’d felt worsened. He stood, ran outside to breathe—through the door that he’d left propped open in the hopes of getting more oxygen into the room—and ran back in. “God, help.” He prayed as he ran. Where would he go if he were Gemma?

  Under the desk. If she’d realized someone was after her, she’d be hiding, right?

  He stumbled to the desk, knowing if he didn’t find her this time he was going to have to call dispatch and have them send the fire department, who had the equipment to do this kind of rescue.

  His hand touched a shoe. Her foot. “Gemma?”

  Still no answer. He removed his hand and felt along the floor about five feet. Her hand. That was what he’d been looking for. Matt moved his hands down the soft skin of her palm and felt for her wrist—and then her pulse. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Still alive. Matt gripped her upper arm with both hands, aware suddenly of how small she was, and pulled her toward him and into his arms. He inhaled and found the strength to stand. “Let him be gone, God. Whoever was here, please let him be gone.”

  With no choice but to pray and hope for the best, he ran out into the darkness, unable to reach his gun if he needed it since he needed both hands to carry Gemma. And leaving her while he checked the outside for possible danger wasn’t an option—she needed fresh air if she was going to wake up...ever.

  The darkness seemed thicker, more suffocating than it had when he’d arrived, even though the air was clean and fresh compared to the office. Matt took a deep breath, filling his own lungs with the outside air and then exhaling. He could only hope Gemma did the same. He laid her on the ground beside his police cruiser, deciding to give her one minute to wake up on her own before loading her in the car and driving straight to the small doctor’s office in town.

  It only took a minute before she started to cough, and sleepily sat up.

  “You got my phone call.”

  Matt met her eyes and nodded.

  Gemma nodded, too. “Thank you for coming.” She closed her eyes again.

  “Gemma, Gemma, wake up.” Matt reached for her arm, helped her sit.

  She did so, but she looked woozy to him, still.

  “I’m taking you to the doctor.”

  “No.” Gemma’s protest was weak. Not that it would have mattered. Matt had already made up his mind about what needed to be done.

  He drove to the doctor’s office and at Gemma’s insistence waited in the car while she went inside to get checked out. He was unsettled, antsy, but he couldn’t very well go to the exam room with her anyway.

  An hour later, she came back out. Matt got out of the car and opened the door for her, an action that was met with raised eyebrows. She’d been in the city too long. “How’d it go?” he asked as she climbed in.

  Gemma shrugged. “Okay, I guess. He wanted to keep me overnight, but I told him I was fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  The look she gave him before she pulled the door shut said enough.

  Matt climbed in the driver’s seat and shut the door, then turned to Gemma. “You’re staying at your sister’s place, right? Where does she live?”

  Gemma shook her head. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “If I go home, I’ll have to go to sleep. I’m not risking dreaming about tonight, not until I’m too tired to stand it. Is there somewhere we could go, just to talk about the case?” She looked away. “You know what, I shouldn’t ask you that. It’s okay, you can take me to Claire’s.”

  “No, it’s fine. We should discuss the case anyway. And I know where we can go.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Matt nodded.

  “Could I borrow your phone real quick, to let my sister know where I’m going?”

  He handed it to her, trying not to eavesdrop on the call—an impossible goal when he was sitting two feet away from her.

  “Claire, it’s me.” />
  Matt couldn’t make out the words on the other end of the line, but the tone sounded less than happy.

  “I’m fine, I’m sorry... Yeah, I know you were worried. But I’m fine.”

  More words from Claire.

  “I was doing some investigating and someone tried to kill me. I just finished at the doctor and I promise I’m fine. It’s a long story...Yes, I promise I’m fine...Claire, really...Yes, I’m really okay, please calm down for now, okay?...Yes, they’re looking for the guy. Listen, I don’t want to go to sleep yet so I’m going to be with Matt for a little while...Yes, Matt O’Dell...I know. Okay...Mmm-hmm, I’ll be home soon, an hour or so tops, okay?...Love you, too. Bye.”

  She handed the phone back to Matt. “You don’t have siblings, do you?”

  “No.” Another thing he wished he could have changed about his childhood.

  “I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “Unit 807 to unit 225. Call my cell.” Matt’s radio crackled before he could reply.

  He turned to Gemma. “Shiloh. I need to call and it’s about the case so I’m going to talk outside. You’ll be okay?”

  “I’m good, Matt.”

  He stepped out of the car and walked maybe ten feet away. Just enough to have privacy in the conversation and still be close to Gemma.

  “Did you find anything to lead to a suspect?” he asked when she answered, unable to wait to hear what she’d discovered.

  Instead, he got a couple seconds of silence. “Matt, there’s no suspect because nothing appears different than it would from an accidental leak.”

  “What do you mean?” Matt glanced down at Gemma through the windows of the car. She was looking out the window, attempting to give him privacy, it seemed.

  “There’s no evidence, forensic or otherwise, that supports the idea of deliberate sabotage. We found a gas leak that the fire department is taking care of right now, but it looks accidental. And as for her being trapped... Maybe she locked herself in?”

  “And couldn’t figure out how to unlock the door?”

  “Hey, don’t get sassy. I’m just telling you what I found. I didn’t say I was happy, either. Frankly, I’m not happy at all because this leaves me with too many questions and I was really looking forward to a good night of sleep tonight.”

  “Okay, you’re right. That was out of line. But, Shiloh... She’s not making it up.”

  “She’s telling you the truth about what she thinks happened. I believe that.” But Shiloh clearly didn’t believe it had been an actual attack. And she seemed to think that he shouldn’t have been so quick to believe it, either.

  Had he lost all sense of his judgment at the sight of a pretty face? Matt was mostly sure the answer was no, but still, doubts haunted his mind. “I think she’s telling me what really happened.”

  “Even though I have no evidence for you that backs that up?”

  He hesitated. He didn’t know Gemma, not really. And he knew and trusted Shiloh.

  “I don’t know.” He let out a puff of air. Frustration, plain and simple.

  “Just be careful, Matt. I know what this job means to you and I’m afraid that from what I’ve heard, Gemma doesn’t exactly mix well with the Treasure Point Police Department. She may have helped with her testimony in that case, but it sounds as if she caused a lot of trouble, made them really work for the information they did get.”

  She’d been seventeen. Was he the only one who remembered that?

  “Careful. I hear you,” he promised Shiloh.

  Matt hung up the phone and opened his door, slid into the car. “Sorry, quick work call. I’m ready to go.”

  “No news, I’m guessing?”

  Her brown eyes were hopeful. This wasn’t the face of a woman who was lying. Be careful... Shiloh’s warning faded in his mind the more he searched Gemma’s gaze.

  He shook his head, started driving in the direction of the Hamilton House. They’d swing by there, pick up Gemma’s phone while officers were still there finishing their investigation. She could get her car another time, but Matt wasn’t comfortable with her being alone in this condition. Then they’d head to his house. She’d wanted to go somewhere safe to talk, and that was the best place he could think of.

  Deciding who to trust was a big part of his job. Matt could only hope he’d chosen wisely.

  THREE

  Inside Matt’s house, Gemma could do nothing but stare. She’d expected that with a steady job and without his dad’s alcohol habit, Matt would have a nicer place than he and his dad had had in high school, but she hadn’t been expecting this. From the outside, it was a cedar cabin-like structure, two stories with a wide deck on the front. But the inside...

  The front door opened into a living room with a ceiling that must have been close to twelve feet tall. She’d taken a deep breath when she’d walked in, exhaled and felt her shoulders relax almost unconsciously. The floor was knotty pine that was well polished and gorgeous, much like the stone counters that gleamed in the kitchen, which she could see from the living room.

  “Everything okay?” Matt’s gaze was amused, to say the least.

  Flustered, she felt herself blush, but didn’t know what to say.

  “Hey, I was kidding, I’m sure it doesn’t look like you pictured.” Matt motioned to his living room couch that looked as though she could sink back in it and let all of her stress evaporate off her very tired shoulders. “Please, sit.”

  She eyed the couch again and took the big chair in the corner instead. She wasn’t willing to let herself relax like that, not yet.

  It was jarring to discover that she’d been right all along, ten years earlier. Someone else had been involved in the smuggling ring. Most likely had been the one in charge.

  And he’d killed someone.

  She swallowed hard, prayed she wouldn’t have to run to the trash can at the revulsion that thought caused. Fear, terror, disgust... They knotted together inside.

  “What do you know about the identity of the body they found today?” she asked Matt. Thinking of it clinically like this, detached as though she was part of the investigation, made her feel more in control.

  Less afraid.

  Matt shook his head. “Nothing for sure and nothing I could share anyway.”

  Gemma sat up straighter. “Why am I here, then? You expect me to tell you something but you’re not going to share information?”

  “You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

  She stood up, moved to the kitchen. “Because I knew you’d come ask me questions eventually anyway. I came tonight to get it over with.” She heard her voice growing louder, but she didn’t care. Maybe she was tired of dealing with all of this, maybe it was the lingering effect of the carbon monoxide or the treatment they’d given her at the doctor’s office to counteract it—but she didn’t want to answer his questions and then sit around and let a bunch of professionals with no personal stake in this sort it out. She wanted to be involved, to help.

  “Then, let’s talk.”

  “Not until you tell me what you know.”

  Matt was already shaking his head. “That’s not how it works.”

  “Why?”

  “You aren’t law enforcement.”

  The quiet was complete enough that she could hear her heart pounding as she stared in Matt’s direction. She’d hate to be on the receiving end of the glare she was giving him right now. “No.”

  His eyebrows rose, slowly. He was calm, in control, and it made her mad. “No?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You heard me.” She shifted in the chair, managed to sit up even straighter.

  “I’m a police officer and this is my investigation.”

  “And unless I’m being arrested for something I don’t have to tell you anything. Isn’t that right?”

  Matt stared at her for a few seconds. Gemma braced herself. He’d always been one of those guys who was impossible to rile, who took everything in stride, but she was be
ing enough of a pain right now that she knew it wouldn’t be too long until he broke.

  Instead, he just nodded.

  “Then, I don’t want to,” she shot back.

  “I guess I can see why you’d feel that way. I’m making coffee. Want some?”

  His calm seemed to knock the fight out of her. Gemma nodded, felt her shoulders drop again. Coffee was always good.

  The familiar sounds of coffee being ground—so he was a coffee snob, too; who would have thought the two of them would have anything in common—relaxed her somewhat. By the time he was pouring French pressed coffee for them in his straight out of Southern Living kitchen, she was downright comfortable. The tension had left her almost entirely and she was beginning to regret her outburst. Why did she have to be so forceful when she felt strongly about something? She had to learn to hold on to some of those emotions. It would pay off in the long run, especially while she was living this small-town life. Small towns tended to like sweet women. Not spunky ones with opinions.

  She watched Matt as he worked, and found herself more fascinated with him than she should be. Everything about him was a contradiction, from the way he handled the French press so carefully while his arm muscles showed very well defined out of the bottom of his T-shirt sleeves, to the way he’d met her every argument and then let it go all in five minutes.

  It made her want to trust him, something that made her stomach do flips—and not the cute kind you read about in novels. These were terrifying, anxious flips.

  If the coffee didn’t smell so good, she’d leave. The stress of the night, the overwhelming aroma of French roast coffee... It had gotten her to let her guard down, something she never did. No good could come from that.

  Gemma stood to leave, good coffee or not. “I have to go,” she announced abruptly as Matt entered the room, two mugs in his hands.

  He just nodded slowly and reached to set the coffee down on the counter. “I’ll follow you back to your sister’s.”

  No questions, no anger that she’d ruined what should have been a nice gesture, making the coffee.

  Gemma hesitated, giving Matt just long enough to approach her. “Hey.” He spoke softly.