Avenged

by Janice Cantore

  “Everything goes blank after I see Barton grinning at me,” Carly said with a sigh. “The next thing I remember is Kyle. I don’t remember landing or firing my weapon, but I understand it was discharged twice.”

  “It’s not unusual after a concussion to experience a loss of memory. Your memory could return suddenly, or you may never recall exactly what happened that night.”

  Linder talked more about head injuries as Carly listened. Considering that she might never remember what happened that night was sobering. She recalled Alex suggesting she’d killed Barton accidentally. How do you live with accidentally taking a life? she wondered. That speaks of incompetence of the highest level. And she thought of Granger looking at her as if she were a dirtbag criminal.

  Carly left her appointment with Linder feeling frustrated. Police training was deeply ingrained in her—a cop didn’t fire her weapon unless there was a threat to her life or to an innocent bystander. Barton had been annoying, but he hadn’t been a threat. Maybe that was what bothered her the most. Barton had gotten under her skin. He’d rubbed her the wrong way from the get-go and had made her so angry she’d disregarded basic officer safety to chase him. In truth, she’d wanted to kick his behind all the way back to prison.

  A thought popped into her head, and she frowned as she waited for the elevator, trying to remember the full Bible verse. Somewhere she was sure it said that even being angry with someone could lead to judgment. She wasn’t only angry with Barton; she hated him.

  “Officer Edwards, did you hear me?”

  “What?” She turned and saw DA Martin, head of the team who would be trying the Burke case, trying to catch her attention. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

  “Yeah, I guess. You have a minute?”

  “Sure.” She followed him to a small conference room, her gut still churning with thoughts of murder.

  He closed the door. “There’s an awful mess going on in the press right now.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  He fidgeted and wouldn’t make eye contact with Carly. “We might have to make some adjustments.”

  “Adjustments to what?”

  “Well, maybe offering a plea deal to Burke would be the best way to go—I mean, in light of what’s happening right now.”

  “I thought you tried to come to a plea agreement earlier and it didn’t work out.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, we did, but that was with the murder charges and the death penalty. We’re considering dropping the murder charges altogether and just going with embezzlement and fraud.”

  “What? Burke is responsible for his wife’s murder! He ordered the killing of a police officer and you’re going to let him skate on that?”

  Martin raised his hands as if to calm her down. “Look, Burke is guilty of only what we can prove. And most of the firsthand witnesses are dead. You—”

  “I’m the only witness. Are you accusing me of lying?”

  “No, no, not at all. All I’m saying is that reasonable doubt will get Burke off on all counts. Would a plea where he at least serves some time be better than nothing?”

  Carly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Have you already made this decision?”

  “No, not yet, but I thought you should know that it is a possibility.”

  Carly felt numb as she left the station. Burke had been charged with two murders, one of them her fellow officer Jeff Hanks, but she knew he was responsible for more. It floored her to think that he would get away with them because her credibility as a witness was being tarnished. But then a thought entered her mind that made her face flush with shame.

  Is it possible I shot Barton accidentally because subconsciously I hated the man and wanted him dead? If that were the case, am I any better than Galen Burke? And even if the shooting is declared accidental, how could I put on a uniform to uphold the law ever again?

  30

  CARLY SLUNK PAST the growing crowd of reporters and climbed into her car. She’d meant to ask what the press conference was about but was so disturbed by the discussion with Martin, and the condemnation in her thoughts, that she needed to get away.

  Did my hatred of the man make me pull the trigger?

  Of all the horrific incidents Carly had seen in her eleven-year career, nothing shook her to the core like what she was thinking about this shooting. All that percolated in her brain was what horrible ugliness there must be in her heart that she would let the gibes of a low-life parolee drive her to murder. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and for a few minutes she couldn’t think of where to go or what to do. Finally, after wiping her eyes and swallowing the bile in her throat, she directed her car to a sure sanctuary.

  By the time she parked in front of her mother’s house, the worst of the sick feeling inside her had passed. But she was still reeling with the knowledge that she might have taken a life in anger.

  She could smell the homemade cookies before she opened the front door and remembered that it was Thursday. Her mother and a group from the church fed the homeless on Fridays. Kay always baked cookies to pack in the lunches they made.

  There was praise music playing. Carly called out so as not to startle her mother. “Hello, Mom, anyone home?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  The aroma of baking chocolate chip cookies was strong and soothing as Carly entered the kitchen. Kay already had several racks of cookies cooling, and she was mixing a large bowl of fresh dough. Carly tried to unwind and work the knots of stress out of her neck. This was a safe haven.

  “I was going to call and ask if you wanted to come over and be a cookie taster today.” Her mom’s smile faded and she stopped stirring. “Oh, Carly, what’s wrong?”

  Carly sat at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. “Mom, I think I’ve done something horrible.”

  Kay left the bowl, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and sat across from Carly. “What on earth can you have done that was so awful?”

  “I think I did murder Dean Barton. I think I wanted him dead and . . .” Her voice broke.

  Kay moved to sit next to her. “I don’t believe that for an instant. Tell me why you would think such a thing.”

  The words tumbled out. “I hated him, Mom. I let him get under my skin and I wanted bad things to happen to him. Now he’s dead. I may as well have shot him on purpose.”

  “Let’s take a step back here and look at what actually happened.” Kay handed Carly a Kleenex. “Blow your nose while I take the cookies out of the oven. You’re not a murderer.”

  Carly composed herself and felt steady by the time her mother sat down again. “Mom, you’re not listening to me. I hated the man. The Bible says being so angry with someone could lead to judgment. I arrest guilty people who face judgment for their crimes. I hated Barton and now he’s dead. How am I better than the people I arrest?”

  “Carly, look me in the eye and tell me you could shoot a man—any man—in cold blood.”

  Carly shook her head. “That’s not the point.”

  “It is the point. I understand what the Bible says. That passage in Matthew is meant to show you—show us—that we need a Savior. We’re none of us perfect or able to save ourselves. We need God’s grace. And in Romans it says that condemnation is not from God. You’re coming down awfully hard on yourself when you don’t really know what happened. Even if you hated the man, there’s no way you wished to see him dead.”

  “That’s true. But I did want to see him back in jail. I knew he was up to no good. I’m just afraid that subconsciously my negative feelings turned into some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. And I’m supposed to be a professional, always in control.”

  “Carly, you’re human. No human being is in control all the time. I understand where your heart is in this. You’re looking deep inside and recognizing that there was something wrong there. But your wariness of this man, even your hatred, was only a human response; it doesn’t mean it made you shoot him. At the very worst, this shooting was just a horrible ac
cident. And you said he’d baited you, tried to hurt you by leading you to the weak spot in the railing. You are not a murderer.”

  Carly took a deep breath and considered her mother’s words. “I just wish I could remember what happened.” Turbulent unrest still swirled inside. And now Martin’s words sank in. Galen Burke was going to get off because of her. It was too much to think about at the moment.

  Kay squeezed her hand. “I’m sure you will. Just give it time. Now, how about some warm cookies and milk?”

  Suddenly Carly’s phone buzzed. She looked at the screen and saw a text from Nick: On my way home.

  “It’s Nick. I’ll tell him I’m here. Can you spare a couple of cookies for him, too?” A little darkness lifted. She could tell Nick about Martin.

  “Always,” Kay said.

  •••

  Nick arrived with news. The purpose of the press conference, he said, had been to announce that Mayor Hardy and the city council had voted to postpone the bridge dedication. The mayor read a prepared statement giving the reason for the postponement as the triple shooting and the upcoming eviction of Oceans First. They wanted more resolution in the case and a clean Sandy Park before celebrating with the dedication. The restaurants and shops ready to open would still stage a grand opening, but the city’s ceremony was on hold indefinitely. The mayor then left Jacobs to be peppered with questions about the status of the gang shooting investigation.

  “Ouch,” Carly said, feeling Jake’s pain.

  “He did okay,” Nick said, mouth full of cookie. “Jake eats that stuff up. He thinks fast and gives good answers.”

  “Did he get any questions about my shooting?”

  “You mean about your fall? All Jake said about it was that he wouldn’t comment on an ongoing personnel matter. You know nothing’s going to happen there until after the shooting board.”

  The phone rang, and Carly braced herself, fearing the press would start bugging her mother. But when Kay answered, it was obvious the call was from a friend.

  “I have to take this. Will you listen for the timer and take the last tray of cookies out?”

  “Sure, Mom,” Carly said as she relaxed. Kay went to the other room, and Carly told Nick about IA, Dr. Linder, and Martin.

  His scar darkened, and he gave a look that told her he was irritated.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You really need to stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Trying to spare me. Not calling and telling me about your appointment with IA or the shrink or other happenings in your life. I’m your husband. Don’t you think I’d want to know these things? Pray with you about them?”

  Carly sat back, speechless. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t want you to be distracted.”

  He blew out a breath. “I’m not distracted by your life. I want to be part of it. Gee, Carly, for a smart woman, sometimes you’re exasperating.” He rubbed his face with his hands and then looked at her. “I know that you’re tough and smart and that you can handle yourself, but you’re not supposed to go rogue from your own husband.”

  Carly fought for composure. “I wasn’t going rogue. You’re out there in the line of fire. All I wanted was to make sure you were concentrating on your job and not worrying about the mess in my life.”

  “Your life?” He stood and turned away from her, hands on hips, then spun around. “Listen to you! When we were married the first time, it was my life and your life and we both did a lot of lone ranger stuff. But now I thought we were a team—a partnership—and here you want to shut me out from what’s hurting you.” He held his hands out, palms up.

  Carly saw the moistness in his eyes and lost it. The tears fell before she could stop them. “I was trying to protect you.” She let out an exasperated huff and stood, wiping her face with the palms of her hands. “I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you because you were worried about me.”

  “Are you the same woman who told me a couple of days ago that God is in control?”

  She held his gaze and saw only love and a little bit of pain in his eyes. Her throat was thick and her voice heavy with emotion. “I couldn’t bear to lose you like Elaine lost Jeff.” She crossed her arms as a sob escaped.

  Nick grabbed her in a hug and kissed her head while she squeezed her eyes tight and forced the tears back. “Babe, you’re using tomorrow’s strength for today’s troubles and trying to bear everything by yourself. I’m here for you and I’m not going anywhere. Please don’t try to spare me and deal with heavy stuff all by yourself, okay?”

  Carly kept her eyes shut, head buried in his strong shoulder, determined to speak to him in a clear voice, not a weepy, whiny one. She held his shirt in her fists and swallowed the lump in her throat before she felt okay to speak.

  “I love you, Nick,” she breathed into his neck. “And I promise from now on I’ll call you about everything,” she whispered before gently pushing him away and grabbing a napkin to wipe her face.

  Just then the oven timer rang.

  Nick smiled. “Thanks, I appreciate that. And I’m sorry for getting so upset.”

  Carly gave him a quick kiss and hurried to get the cookies out of the oven.

  He moved to a chair while she slid the cookies onto the cooling rack.

  “If I can’t talk, I’ll tell you or let it go to voice mail.”

  Carly nodded. “I’ll call you. I will—I promise.”

  Nick grabbed another cookie. “That really chafes about Martin.”

  “You don’t think they’d really do it, do you? Drop the murder charges on Burke?” Carly took the last hot cookie off the sheet and sat at the table to finish her milk. She realized she felt better than she had since her fall. It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders even with bad news pending.

  Nick sighed. “Hate to say it, but next year is an election year. That’s all the big DA would need, to lose a huge case like this. With a plea, at least he’d have half a win.” He drained his milk.

  “But Burke is guilty as sin!”

  “I know. Guess we’ll just have to trust that God is in control there, too.”

  Carly clicked her teeth, chagrined.

  Kay came back into the kitchen. “Thank you, Carly. What’s the verdict on the cookies?”

  “Great!” Carly and Nick said at the same time.

  Carly laughed and then realized that even though she’d had three cookies and a glass of milk, she wanted real food. She looked from her mother to Nick. “Are you hungry for dinner?”

  Nick shrugged. “Why not? We had dessert first. Want to take your mom out?”

  Carly nodded and turned to where her mother was washing up.

  “Mom, do you—?” She stopped as a memory flashed through her mind.

  Her mother looked at her with a frown. “Yes?”

  “I remember.” She turned back to Nick, excitement coursing through her like an electric current. “I remember what happened.” Clear as day, there it was. “I stepped back, the railing gave way, and I dropped my flashlight first. Barton was grinning like he was happy to see me fall. But I didn’t fire my gun.” She shook her head. “I know I didn’t! I dropped my gun. Even if I had fired, there was no chance for me to aim; I was falling, not trying to shoot someone. I didn’t shoot Barton. But . . .” She looked at Nick again.

  He finished her thought. “If you didn’t shoot him, who did? And why did they want it to look like you did?”

  31

  CARLY AND NICK TOOK KAY to Sancho’s Ocean Tacos for dinner. Carly listened while Nick and Kay chatted. Her mother was as outraged as she and Nick were about Martin and his talk of a plea deal for Burke. But now that Carly remembered what had happened that night in the half-built restaurant, one thought consumed her: getting back inside the construction yard and figuring out what Barton had been doing there.

  It also occurred to her that Barton had been coming from the old marina—Walt’s, to be exact. She had assumed that when Victo
r followed Crusher, the meeting he witnessed had been at the Bluestone. But what if it had been at Walt’s? Walt’s was also a fenced-in building under construction.

  Since they had two cars, Carly walked Kay to her door while Nick headed home.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Carly said as they stepped onto the porch.

  “For what? Nick bought dinner.”

  “I think coming here and talking to you helped me remember. So thanks.”

  Kay smiled and gave Carly a hug. “I know you’re not a murderer. Good night.”

  On the way home, Carly’s mind churned in frustration because she could not think of any way to justify entry into the construction yard. The investigation was out of her hands. She would call Pete Harris in the morning and tell him what she remembered. She wondered about the GSR test, what it was they wanted to clear up. Maybe now that she remembered, he’d tell her. But since she knew now she hadn’t killed Barton, finding any evidence that would clear her was important.

  As she pulled into the driveway next to Nick’s car and saw the glow of lights from the kitchen and living room, she realized that this was the first time in almost two weeks she and Nick were home together with no plans to go out and nothing pressing. She bowed her head and thanked God for her husband, knowing now more than ever that they were meant to be a team, a partnership, and that she could have peace in the knowledge that God was in control of what happened to both of them.

  Prayer finished, she smiled as all thoughts about the construction zone and mysterious partners fled, and then she hurried inside to find her husband.

  •••

  “Michael Carter doesn’t exist.” Nick hung up the phone the next morning and picked up his half-finished cup of coffee. “The Arizona driver’s license was bogus, and the Social Security number used to obtain it belongs to a dead guy.”