Ripley knitted his brows together. Little dashes formed between his eyes. “Tell me again how the drugs got into your system?” he asked with a quiet force.
“I already told you, Paul put them there, all right!”
Ripley rocked forward onto his toes. “Yes, Paul Chapman, your husband’s associate? Without your consent?”
“Yes, he tied me to a chair and then shot me up,” I said, my gaze dropping to the silhouette of my feet under the blanket. I should have called Anna-Beth like I was supposed to.
“When we found you, you were lyin’ on the floor,” Ripley said. “If you were tied to a chair, how did you end up down there?”
I looked from one wrist to the other for ligature marks, hoping to find evidence to corroborate my story. Nothing on my skin looked out of place. Closing my eyes, I thought back to when I’d hit the ground.
“I don’t know, he untied me, I guess.”
“Is that how you got that nasty gnash on your face?”
I flinched as the memory of Daniel’s gun crossing my cheek flashed before my eyes. “No. First, Paul hit me.” Tears rose up, stung the inside of my nose. “Then he tied me up.”
“Why?”
I couldn’t say why in front of Daniel. Couldn’t admit that I’d broken into his private safe. Couldn’t reveal the secrets I’d learned that I might later need to save myself. Couldn’t tell them that Paul was a murderer, not to mention a member of an ultra-radical group trying to take over the world, until I had a chance to assemble all the pieces and figure out what it all meant. I barely believed it myself. How could I explain anything to this disbelieving detective?
Not that I thought Paul left any evidence behind to corroborate my story if I did try to explain it. “Because I was snooping into matters he didn’t think concerned me,” I said, revealing only what Paul had already warned Daniel I’d been doing.
Slowly, Ripley raised one eyebrow. “These ‘matters’ wouldn’t have anythin’ to do with the questions you were askin’ me the day before yesterday about that Jane Doe from the alley?” he asked. “Because if they do, you’d better start talkin’ or I’ll add obstruction to your current list of charges.”
Suddenly the presence of a uniformed officer guarding the door had new meaning. My gaze shifted to Ripley’s. “Charges?” I croaked. “What am I being charged with?”
Ripley pulled at his collar. “First . . . murder.”
My entire body went rigid, my eyes and mouth popping open. “Murder?” I said, my questioning gaze darting between the two glum faces of the detectives. “Who’s dead?”
“Mr. Chapman, for one,” Ripley said.
“Paul?” I asked, raking my brain for any recollection of his passing. The last thing I could recall of him was the sound of profanity. “How?”
Ripley pushed his suit jacket back to rest his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s what we were hopin’ you could tell us,” he said with an expectant look.
Paul was dead and they thought I was the one who’d killed him? “I don’t know. I can’t remember b-but I know I didn’t kill him.” I replayed the foggy memory out loud. “I was tied to a chair. He shot me full of drugs, twice. I blacked out. I couldn’t have done it!”
The muscles around Ripley’s jaw tightened as he said, “So you say.”
“It’s the truth,” I insisted, my eyes darting about the room, my brain trying to latch onto another detail that might further my assertions. “Ask Herbert, he was there.”
Ripley exchanged a look with the other detective. “We will as soon as he’s out of surgery,” he said, locking his gaze with mine.
I gulped down another dry lump. “Surgery?”
Ripley nodded. “He sustained a severe gunshot wound to the chest.”
The image of Herbert hitting the floor, his eyes unseeing, staring into mine, surfaced in my memory. My head fell back against the pillow.
“You better hope he lives to tell us you had nothing to do with it or we’ll be adding a second murder charge,” Ripley added.
This was too much. I slammed my fists down into the mattress. “You think I attacked Herbert?” I shrieked. I turned my attention fully to my husband for the first time since the interrogation had begun. “Daniel, tell them, I would never hurt him. He’s family.”
Ripley adjusted his position, blocking Daniel from my line of sight. “I’m goin’ to have to remind you not to address your husband, ma’am. He’s here merely as a courtesy,” he said in a coarse tone. “Were you havin’ an affair with Mr. Chapman?”
I snorted. “N-no. Of course not,” I said, my face scrunching in disgust. Ew! “Why would you ask that?”
Ripley sighed, like this was exhausting . . . for him. “You and Mr. Chapman didn’t engage in sexual intercourse last night?”
“No!”
“Mrs. Cannon, can you explain why you lied to your husband, telling him you would be away for the night, and why you and Mr. Chapman were in your house, alone, while you knew your husband was staying the night elsewhere?” Ripley asked, shifting his stance just enough for me to see Daniel again. His expression hadn’t changed except that his skin had turned an ominous shade of white.
“No,” I repeated, my heart, my soul, my life, sinking further into the unfathomable oblivion of Ripley’s assumptions.
“So why don’t you tell me why Mr. Chapman was at your house, why he’s now dead, why your gardener is laying on an operatin’ table, and why your finger prints are on the garden clippers used to assault Mr. Chapman and the gun that shot them both?”
I stared at him through hollow eyes. “I can’t,” I said in an unsteady voice. “I don’t remember anything.”
“Let me see if I can clarify things a little for you,” Ripley said, moving around to the other side of the bed. “This is what we think happened. You and Mr. Chapman were having an affair. He wanted to break it off.”
The idea made me so sick it felt like my stomach was trying to crawl up my throat.
“When he told you it was over, you became enraged, got physical, the two of you fought.” He pointed a stiff finger at my cheek. “That’s how you got that bruise on your face. Your gardener heard the ruckus and came to your aid, attacking Mr. Chapman with his clippers. You became enraged when he stabbed your lover and grabbed the gun. But Mr. Chapman got in your way and you shot him by mistake. Blaming your gardener for your lover’s death, you shot your gardener next. Then, distraught by what you’d done, you took a lethal dose of drugs.” He pressed his lips together like he intended for the tension to mount, the pressure to break me. “Sound ’bout right?”
My head spun around the facts he’d spewed, facts that were in direct contradiction to what little I remembered.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, thinking back, replaying the events in my head.
I was going through the contents of the safe, I pulled out my phone to call Anna-Beth, and then, out of nowhere, Paul was there. I should have picked up my purse. I shouldn’t have been snooping. I should have called Anna-Beth first. If only, if only . . . The light . . . “His eyes!” I shuddered. I insulted him . . . He hit me—
“What did you mean ‘his eyes’?” Ripley asked, breaking my garbled chain of thoughts with a curious look.
I bit down on my lip. “His eyes?” I repeated. “I didn’t,” I said, shaking my head.
Ripley blew an impatient breath through his nose. “Okay, Mrs. Cannon. I think you need some time to rest, to think about what happened and consider the severity of the situation you’re in. I can’t help you if you won’t help me.”
The click of the door shutting split my attention; I looked over but couldn’t see that anyone had come in. A quick sweep of the room told me why. No one had come in, someone had left, and that someone was my husband. But then given Ripley’s assumptions, why should he stay? His purpose here was done. As far as he was concerned, I’d been “taken care of.” My lack of memory pitted against the evidence planted by Paul, or possibly even Daniel, would be
enough to discredit anything I could say to damage Daniel’s reputation now. And since there was a pretty good chance no evidence was left pointing to Paul as the serial killer, it was my word against a dead, sociopathic Iphiclesian.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” I said.
Ripley slipped his hand beneath his suit coat. “Well, to be honest, you haven’t given me much to go on.” He pulled out a pair of shiny linked cuffs. Securing one around my wrist, he tightened the other on the bar attached to my bed.
I yanked at the handcuffs—tied up again. “Are you arresting me?”
“Yes, ma’am. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and . . .” The gravity of my current predicament closed around me like a cage as his tongue rolled effortlessly over the words.
“I guess I need a lawyer?” I said when he’d finished.
“I think that would be a good idea.” He snapped his fingers at his partner. The detective flipped to a clean sheet in his pad. “Is there someone besides Anna-Beth you want me to call?”
I said the first name that came to mind. “Johnny Hutchinson.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
My hospital room became unnaturally dark after Ripley and his partner disappeared beyond the door. Rubbing a sudden chill from my shoulders, I pulled my knees to my chest. My thoughts turned to Bridger and Bodie. Had they tried to contact me from camp? Did they have any idea what had happened at home over the last two days?
Above me, a cool fluorescent light buzzed a bluish glow. It hurt my eyes while doing little to illuminate the single-bed room. Now that the space was void of visitors, the room felt small, the walls growing closer with every passing second. Only it wasn’t the emptiness that bothered me but the aura that lurked there. The more I became aware of it, the more it surged forward, encircling my solitary shot of light with an oppressive sense of doom. The darkness cackled, mocking my concerns, and I pressed my free palm over my ear. “Get away from me,” I muttered over and over.
“It’s too late,” the darkness hissed.
I knew it was nothing more than the after effects of the drug, but the voice was hard to ignore. “Paul? Is that you?” It was impossible.
“You’re too weak,” the shadows whispered. “You will fail.”
Shaking my head, I knew none of this was real, and still, I glared into the murk. “This isn’t over,” I said, my voice sharp with fear, with resolve. “I can still fix this. You haven’t won! Not yet!”
The door bumped open, casting a hazy glow from the corridor along with Johnny’s profile across my floor. “Marlie?”
A gasp shot from my lips, and the blackness dissipated.
“What in the world is goin’ on?” he said, his gaze zeroing in on my left cheek. He came around the bed for a closer look. “What happened to you?”
I touched my fingertips to the protrusion and winced at the pain. I hadn’t given much thought to my appearance, but from the alarmed look on Johnny’s face, I must have looked pretty bad. “It was Paul,” I squeaked. “He tried to kill me.”
Johnny’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What?”
I nodded a conformation.
“No, it can’t be true.” He yanked his fingers through his disheveled hair.
“It’s the truth,” I rasped. “Please, you have to believe me. No one believes me.”
Red-faced, Johnny smashed his fist into the rolling tray sitting off to the side of my bed. It shot out from under his might and crashed into the wall. He spewed a few choice words before yelling, “He wouldn’t dare!” through gritted teeth. “He tried to kill you? Idiot!” he exclaimed and made for the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, frantic not to be left alone again.
Johnny addressed me over his shoulder. “Paul crossed a line and now he’s goin’ to pay,” he said in the stone cold tone of a man resigned to doing something he would one day regret.
“Wait! Please, Johnny, don’t leave me. Don’t go!” Tears shot from my eyes, stained my words. “I need you.”
He hesitated but only for an instant before he was on his way again. “I’ll be back just as soon as I—”
“You can’t confront him,” I pleaded in a desperate rush.
Johnny closed his fingers around the door handle. “Watch me,” he said.
I sat forward. My head spun, sending another wave of nausea to my belly. “He’s dead.”
He looked back at me with disbelief. “What?”
I swallowed again and gave him a weak smile. “They think I killed him.” I raised my cuffed hand. “They think I tried to kill Herbert too.” More tears leaked free. “Herbert! C-can y-you i-imagine?” I stammered. “I hope he’s okay.”
Johnny’s severe expression turned thoughtful. “I guess that explains the guards outside your room,” he said and we both fell silent.
He was wearing trendy jeans, a pricy western-styled shirt and boots. Detective Ripley’s call had probably interrupted a night out on the town, and I wondered what leggy beauty he’d abandoned in order to come to my rescue.
“Did you?”
Johnny’s blunt question caught me by surprise.
“Did I what?”
“Kill Paul?” he clarified, a hint of amusement tainting the reservation in his voice.
I looked deep into his eyes, green and glistening with distinctive gold flecks. There was no way he was wearing contacts. Those were his eyes and both the exact same color. He wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t like Paul.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I could kill another person, even one as disgusting as Paul,” I said, my voice steadily rising. “I mean, he tried to kill me. He shot me up with some kind of heroin . . . heroin! So I would have been within my rights to kill him,” I said, and then paused as the pictures of Gentry tossed out with garbage appeared before my eyes, along with faceless images of the others he’d likely killed—images that nearly had included me. My heart ached for them all.
Edging my wedding ring from my finger with my thumb, I held it out to him. “I want to hire you to represent me.”
He was an Iphiclesian but since his eyes showed no sign that he was one of the elite, I figured he was the best person to protect me from them. If he agreed to be my lawyer, he would have no choice but to keep my story confidential, which would ensure my safety. For now, anyway.
His gaze dropped to the sparkling diamond in my outstretched hand. “Where’s your husband?”
“He’s gone,” I mumbled, casting my eyes away. “He thinks I’m guilty.”
“He said that?” Johnny asked.
“Not in so many words.” I gave a cursory glance around the darkened room. “But do you see him anywhere here?”
“No, I guess I don’t,” he said but made no effort to take the ring. He was eying it like he might a poisonous spider or something.
“I need a lawyer, and if I’m not mistaken, you are one,” I reiterated. “Here take this. I have money in an account set up for me by our prenup. I can pay you just as soon as I can gain access to it.”
“You’re assumin’ that I’ve agreed to represent you.” He took a subtle step back.
I captured his gaze in mine, imploring him to reconsider. For all I knew, Anna-Beth had already been compromised. And Daniel? “Please, I have no one else,” I said, holding his focus long enough to see his uncertainty waver.
He broke away from my gaze to intently study the ceiling. “Fine,” he agreed after a few tense moments. He popped the ring from my fingers like a hot potato and dropped it into his pocket. “Now, tell me why Paul attacked you.”
I licked my dry lips. “He’s been killing women,” I said with a solemn sigh. “He called it, ‘his hobby.’”
Johnny’s gaze held steady, not directly on me but somewhere just beyond. “He did, did he?” he said, his words measured, skeptical.
“You don’t believe me,” I said. But then, for some reason, I couldn’t help feeling that if anyone in this world would beli
eve me, it was Johnny. “Come on Johnny, I know we haven’t been acquainted very long, and you’ve made it your life’s mission to make mine miserable, but somehow you know me. And you know I couldn’t have done what they’re accusing me of.”
Johnny’s sedate look held long enough for what little hope I had left to shrivel away. I slumped back onto the bed. What had I expected? The last time I’d seen him, he was laughing in the face of my pain.
“I know you didn’t kill him, Marlie,” he said, his face cracking into an easy grin. “Come on, I was just messin’ with ya.”
My jaw dropped an instant before it clenched in annoyance. “That’s not funny.”
Johnny huffed out a laugh. “Sure it was.” He made an invisible inch between his thumb and forefinger. “It was a little funny,” he said, amused by his own ruse.
This was no time for his lightheartedness, and I attempted a scowl, but then his eyes were twinkling down at me playfully, and I just couldn’t help myself.
“I mean, I’m in handcuffs . . .” a wave of laughter rose out of nowhere. “Accused of murder and of having an affair with Paul.” I snorted out a laugh.
Johnny whistled through his teeth. “Wow, I don’t know which one is worse.”
“Sleeping with Paul, for sure,” I said, releasing my laughter in a wave of rolling giggles.
Johnny came closer and leaned his elbows on the bedrail. The look of worry he gave me was so strong it squelched my brief light moment, and I looked away.
“What am I gonna do?”
Johnny straightened and pushed his hands down into his pockets. “Well, for starters, we need to get you outa here.”
“Out of here?” I echoed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re an officer of the court. You can’t break people out of police custody.” My voice squeaked. “Harbor a fugitive?”
“If I’m correct in my assumptions, Paul must have been hidin’ some pretty big secrets. Dangerous secrets the others might kill to keep,” he added. “You’re at the Society’s mercy, and it’s not safe. One of them already tried to kill you once. We need to hide you, gather evidence, and figure out our next move. And you can’t do that tethered to a bed, now can you?”
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