There was a long pause. “You forget,” James said finally, turning his gaze to meet mine, “that once upon a time, Addison was convinced that I was a killer.”
I felt my jaw clench. He had us there. A while back, when Barry had been trying to kill me, Addison and I had been convinced that James and Mika were in cahoots in an attempt to off me. In our defense, a lot of screwy things started happening when they entered my life.
“That was different,” I said stiffly.
“Different how?” James asked. “Did you or did you not both think that I wanted you dead?”
“I did,” I admitted, “and so did Addison.”
“All because I happened to be in the wrong places at the wrong time. But you’re judging me for the same thing?”
“I’m not judging,” I started to say, but stopped. That’s exactly what I was doing. “Look,” I said with a sigh. “Addison didn’t do it.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. And when I do, you’re going to look like a fool.”
James chuckled, but drew serious again quickly. “If I were you, Moyer, the chances of looking like a fool would be much more likely.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked back towards the alley exit.
I stood staring after him, unable to form words. Soon, a warm touch filled my lower back. “Come on, Em. We need to get down to the station so that we can meet up with Addison,” Mika whispered, gently guiding me towards the alley entrance.
“I can’t believe he thinks Addison is guilty,” Carly muttered, following after us.
“I can,” Rory told us softly, taking up the rear. He readjusted his glasses, which had fallen towards the tip of his nose. “He was obviously crazy over the woman. Being in love makes you think and do stupid things. And you two,” he said pointing at Mika and I with a wagging finger, “should know that.”
“But murder?” I asked in a way that suggested perhaps the accusation was going a little too far. “Over jealousy?”
“People have murdered for a lot less, kid,” Rory said, cutting in front of James, Carly, Mika and I to open the door into the alley. “Just scroll the headlines.”
James pushed forward, determined to be the first one out of the studio. As soon as the door into the alleyway opened, courtesy of Rory, James was all but shoved back inside by the media storm that awaited us out back. “No comment,” he yelled, falling hard into Rory who was knocked off balance into a wall, while gripping James under the arms. Mika sprang forward and slammed the door closed.
“Way to go, James,” I snorted as he regained his balance and dusted himself off. “Your inability to be inconspicuous led them straight to our getaway exit.”
“How do you know it was me?” James asked, his voice rising with indignation. “They could have spotted any one of us and just chose to make their move now.”
“Sure, because that’s logical,” I countered.
“Children!” Carly yelled, stepping between us and raising her arms.
James glowered at me but turned to Carly. “Is there another way out of here?” he asked.
“Why should we help you?” I snapped. Carly shot me a warning look, so I avoided continuing my angry diatribe. I wasn’t even sure where it was coming from. I was just upset — and James made for the easiest of targets right now, with his incorrect assumptions about Addison’s involvement.
“You’re right, Moyer,” he growled. “I don’t need your help.” He started for the alley door again but Mika grabbed him by his shirt collar.
“Shut up, James. Just because we’re not on the same side, doesn’t mean we can’t be civil. All of us,” he added, fixing me with a stare. I stared back but eventually blinked, losing our contest. With a heavy sigh, I let my arms, which had been crossed, collapse in frustration. “Any ideas?” Mika asked when he saw that I’d returned to be at least mildly reasonable.
I shrugged. “There’s a fire escape in our office upstairs. A ladder down to the parking lot. We’ve never used it; I’m not sure if the window will even open.” I paused. “But it’s our best bet if we can’t get out through the front or back.”
“Why wouldn’t the window open?” Mika asked curiously.
“Um,” I said shyly, “Addison and I kind of painted the office two years ago.”
“It’s beautiful,” Rory jumped in quickly, knowing what was coming. He hadn’t been present for the painting party. If he had been, the following scenario might have been avoided.
“Are you telling me that you think you painted your fire escape shut?” Mika laughed.
James shot me a look. “Are you crazy? What if there had been a fire?”
“It wasn’t intentional!” I told them. “We thought we’d done it correctly. Taped it. Tried to avoid the seal. But that spring, when we tried to open the windows to air out the office, we- well- we couldn’t. Open them, that is. Um. That’s probably not good.”
“Unbelievable,” James muttered, shaking his head. “You really are a piece of work, Moyer. You could get yourself killed taking stupid chances like that.”
“It seems a rather unlikely event that the universe would kill me in a warehouse fire, given that I’ve already survived my car exploding, Barry’s gun and the Polish mob,” I countered.
“Weirder things have happened,” he assured me.
“I said it was an accident!” I cried, throwing my hands over my head.
“Hey, hey, let’s not get all worked up over this,” Mika said, folding an arm around my waist. I ducked my head, refusing to make eye contact with James, who clearly had me figured out to be an idiot. “Everyone upstairs. Let’s see what we can do to bust out of here.”
Twenty minutes, two screwdrivers, a hammer and a pair of scissors later, we managed to pry open the window that let us out onto the fire escape. I was amazed that so much noise hadn’t drawn us any added attention from below. The buzz of the media had dulled to a low roar, still stationed in the alleyway. It was difficult to tell if there was still a gaggle of reporters at the front of the warehouse — it was too far away from the fire escape. Nonetheless, it was likely and none of us wanted to chance it.
Quickly and quietly, James threw his legs out the window sill, lowered himself quietly onto a rung of the ladder and began his descent. Carly followed, then myself, Rory, and finally Mika, who quietly closed the window behind us, warding off any scrutiny.
The gravel crunched loudly beneath our feet, but it was no match for the voices of various newscasters flowing together as one. Creeping through the darkness, the light from street lamps casting eerie shadows on the parking lot, we hurried to my SUV, which hadn’t moved since my arrival for Carmen’s photo shoot earlier that day. I couldn’t believe the woman had been alive just a few hours ago. Unlocking the doors, I hopped up into the driver’s seat and motioned for the others to get in.
“I’m not going anywhere with you traitors,” James hissed as the others scrambled over one another, climbing inside.
I sighed. “James, please just get in.”
“Forget it,” he said, slamming the back passenger door closed with a loud bang and a shake of his head. The four of us inside the vehicle jumped at the loud noise and turned to see James slowly walking down the dark street, shadow bouncing about in the streetlamps, his shoulders scrunched tightly together, hands shoved deep in his jeans. We were quiet as we watched him go, unsure of whether he just needed to be left to his own devices, or if he would be safer with us. “Someone should go after him,” Rory muttered, buckling his seatbelt and crossing his arms. Clearly, he wasn’t up to the task.
Just then, I picked up on a loud cry. It sailed through my window, which had been left slightly open earlier in the day, letting in the smell of spring air and sunshine. “They’re over there!” Suddenly, a large rush of people carrying cameras, microphones, clipboards, handheld recorders and various other devices began rushing towards us.
“James!” Carly screamed, straining to find his shadow a
gainst the evening darkness.
Without warning, Rory’s passenger side door was wrenched open and James dove inside. It would have been comical had it not been for our current situation. “Go, go, go!” James cried, flat as a pancake on the floor of my rusty green SUV. I plugged my key into the ignition and the engine roared to life. Carly tugged at James’s collar while Rory pushed him further inside by his behind and then slammed the door shut. I was already squealing away from the curb as he did so. As we whizzed around a corner, I heard a loud crash behind me. “Marian!” James hollered, grabbing his forehead, which had just hit the back of my seat. “Who told you that you could drive?”
“Shut up, Holden,” I called back. “And buckle up.”
“By the way,” Carly added, nudging his ribcage playfully and tossing her beautiful red hair. “You’re welcome.”
Mika, seated next to me, shook his head and laughed.
We arrived at the downtown police station without any further incidents. Perhaps most shocking was that no media was standing around outside the main entrance. “Guess they’re all at back at the hotel and your studio,” Rory muttered as we let ourselves in and made our way towards the front desk.
The older man in uniform behind the welcome desk lit up when he saw me approach. “Marian!” he bellowed, his cheery voice echoing throughout the precinct. “They didn’t call you in about taking photos in that murder at the hotel earlier, did they?”
“No, no Joe,” I answered wearily. I shuddered at the thought of photographing the crime scene when, just hours earlier, I’d photographed Carmen alive and well, covered in various delicious Bolivian delights. “Actually, we’re here to see Addison Dawes.”
“What a coincidence,” came a confidence-filled voice behind us. “So am I.” The six of us turned towards who could only be Tom Corbin.
Tom Corbin wasn’t quite as tall as I’d expected. Then again, I suppose that when you imagine someone being larger than life, anything short of that fails to meet expectations. Still, he was a solid 6’ tall with dark brown, slightly wavy hair and caramel colored eyes. His eyebrows were thick and wild, which somehow matched his full, handsome face and bow-shaped lips. I found myself staring at them, wondering how it was possible to have such a perfectly shaped mouth, when he interrupted my reverie with a smooth, “Tom Corbin,” as he reached out his hand to shake Mika’s, who was nearest to him. “Tomas, but please, call me Tom.”
James scoffed and turned to me, his eyes angry and narrow. “You hired Tom Corbin to defend Addison Dawes? How much is he costing you? Wait, don’t tell me. Whatever it takes to make her look innocent, right?” He shoved past Rory and growled lowly at Mika before storming towards the front doors of the station. “I can’t even watch this,” he called over his shoulder. “The four of you lying to him. He’s practically the damn icon of our generation and you’re going to ruin his name with this trash?”
Carly shook her head and frowned at Mika as James pushed his way back into the cool night air. “Where does he think he’s going? It’s not like he has a car.”
Mika smiled. “Which he’ll remember in 3- 2-”
“Damn it!” James roared, bursting back through the doors. “Joe, I need a ride. Is anyone nearby?”
“Sorry, Mr. Holden,” Joe said with a shrug. “Our resources are stretched pretty thin tonight. I’m sure you can understand.”
“Joe, I need to see Addison Dawes,” I told him, splaying my hands on the counter. He’d always had a bit of a crush on me, though he was nearly 30 years older than I was. Leaning forward, I hoped that a glimpse of the girls, small though they were, might help ease the process along. I winked and whispered, “It’s really important.”
Joe looked past me to my scraggly group of followers and then eyed Corbin carefully. “These folks all with you?” I nodded and Joe sighed. “They just got her back from the hospital. You know the rules, though, Moyer. It’s after regular visiting hours. Lawyers only.” He eyed all of us again, pausing when he reached Corbin, dressed in a snazzy navy suit with a sharp yellow tie.
“But-” I began.
Joe held up a hand and I swear I saw his chin quiver slightly in remorse. “Please, Marian. Don’t argue.”
“I need to see Ms. Dawes,” said Corbin, gently pushing me aside and laying his briefcase on the countertop.
“And just for the record, you are?” Joe asked kindly.
“Her lawyer, Tomas Corbin,” he answered simply, signing in on the clipboard to his left.
Joe turned to me, his eyes expressing that his hands were tied. With a shrug of understanding, I melted into the background as Joe gave Corbin a basic rundown and led him back to the temporary holding cells. The clacking of their shoes and jangling of Joe’s keys faded the further away from us that they got.
“So,” said James after several moments of silence. “Does this mean one of you can give me a ride?”
After a heated debate, the five of us — myself, Mika, Rory, Carly and James — decided to check into a local hotel for a few nights. None of us was overly safe from the media at home, save for maybe Carly. If they hadn’t already found our addresses and unlocked all our ties to Addison, it was only a matter of time. We were safer off the grid — even James who wanted nothing to do with Addison’s circus.
We waited for Corbin in the cold, hard green and yellow chairs in the lobby of the police station. Was it standard issue to make chairs in public places as uncomfortable as possible? I’d started to nod off several times but Rory kept gently nudging me awake. Finally, Corbin emerged from the back, his shiny leather briefcase in hand. I sprang to my feet and charged over to the front desk. Shift change had come and gone and Joe had been replaced with an overweight, angry-looking woman whose dirty blond hair was pulled back loosely in a blue-checkered scrunchie. I’d never seen her before. She had a large, dark stain down the front of her uniform. It was a uniform that had probably fit her body at one time, but that was no longer the case. A large brown mole with several hairs sprouting from it grew from her lower left lip. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Can I see her now? Addison Dawes?” I asked, as politely as I could manage. Maybe killing this woman with kindness would help my after visiting hours case.
The woman didn’t even bother to look up from her egg salad. Instead, she tapped a small white sign with her pen before going back to watching her computer screen with an intent glare. From the looks of it, she was observing online reruns of last week’s episodes, as opposed to the security cameras that I knew were usually buzzing across the screen in sharp black and white. I glanced at the sign that she had tapped, which read that no one was allowed to visit individuals in the jail between 5pm and 9am. “But he was just back there,” I cried, pointing at Corbin as he strolled past me.
The woman rolled her eyes, slammed her hand on her mouse to pause the screen and spun towards me with a heavy sigh. “He’s her lawyer,” she said by way of explanation.
“I’m her friend,” I said defiantly. “And I work here. Kind of. I’m a freelance photographer for the department. I don’t think we’ve met, actually. I’m-“.
Bored, the woman shook off the remainder of my sentence and turned back to her computer screen, clicking it back to life. I continued to stare at her for a few moments, at which point she raised a hand to the left side of her face so as to block her view of me. How rude.
I turned to look behind me, where everyone had gathered around Corbin, eagerly listening to whatever scraps of updates he was willing to share. Well, forget that. I wanted to hear the news straight from the horse’s mouth.
While I wasn’t usually the break-the-rules type, I figured that now was the time to make an exception. Shrinking as small as possible, I ducked below the counter and hurried over to the short hallway. Pulling my wallet out of my handbag, I waved it in front of the secured lock. As soon as the light turned green, confirming that I was, in fact, an employee, I tugged the door wide and scurried into the back hallway. I was almost never back here, actually.
I’d made a trip once or twice for a coffee or a slice of pizza when I’d been called in for a late night homicide but, in general, I’d never really toured the back offices. I realized that I had no idea how to enter the holding cells, which were in a building all their own on the backside of the station.
Following only my gut, I wove down a series of hallways until I reached a small window. A clerk sat behind it, arms crossed and dozing. I was in luck — we knew each other. “Sean,” I hissed, tapping the glass gently, the way a child might tap the glass in an aquarium.
He shot forward in his chair and reached out to turn on the speaker. When he saw it was me, his sleepy baby face lit up with a smile. “Marian,” he yawned with an overhead stretch. “What can I do you for?”
“I need to see Addison Dawes,” I answered. “But I can’t sign in.”
“And why is that?”
“Technically I’m not supposed to be back here.”
“They’ll see you on the security camera, you know.” He gestured behind him to the camera that was pointed directly at me, its red light bright with live recording rage.
I gulped and began to second-guess my burst of rebellion. “The Scrunchie Lady is too busy watching comedy reruns.”
Sean squinted. “Scrunchie Lady?”
“Yeah,” I answered, pulling my thick ringlets into a ponytail on top of my head by way of explanation. “You know, at the front desk.”
“Oh, you must mean Mildred.”
I paused. “Her name is Mildred?” Sean nodded and I sighed. No wonder she was unhappy. “Well, anyway. She doesn’t even know I’m back here. Not watching the cameras.” I could see him hesitate but he was starting to waver. I’d already broken the rules. There was no turning back now. I was too close. I decided to push just a little harder. “Please, Sean. If I get caught, I’ll say you weren’t even at your desk. You were in the bathroom or something. The camera doesn’t have you in its sights. I’ve seen front desk footage. It only picks up guests.”
Alllison Janda - Marian Moyer 03 - Scandal, Temptation & a Taste of Flan Page 7