Shannon heard Megan’s voice in the background, a weak, “No.”
“I’m driving your sister home right now. We should arrive in about fifteen minutes. If you’d like to meet us, perhaps you could join us for dinner.”
Shannon felt her temper rising. Of all the nerve . . . “I don’t think that would be such a good idea, Detective. Let me speak to my sister.”
“Yes?” Megan sounded subdued.
“Surely you’re not seriously considering having dinner with the man who arrested you just a few hours ago.”
A bit more life came into Megan’s conversation. “Steve didn’t arrest me. It was all his partner’s idea. And he’s the one responsible for my being released. I’d like to thank him.”
Shannon couldn’t understand it. Maybe if she could speak with Megan face-to-face . . . “Will you wait for me at my house? I want to talk with you before you leave.”
“I guess so. It will take us awhile to pack and load stuff into my car so I can finish moving. Steve has volunteered to help me.” Alston’s voice in the background murmured something. “Got to go now. I’ll see you there.”
Shannon had heard of grinding one’s teeth in frustration, but never experienced it—until now.
ELENA WAITES WAS IN HER CAR WHEN HER CELL PHONE RANG. SHE pulled it from the purse on the seat next to her and answered.
“Elena? Shannon Frasier. Megan just called me. She’s on her way to my house, and Detective Alston is driving her there.” Shannon’s voice rose in both pitch and volume as she neared the end of that sentence.
“I know,” Elena said. “I was going to call you, but Megan insisted she wanted to do it. How much did she tell you?”
“Not enough for me to understand what was going on. Why don’t you fill me in?”
“Just a second.” Elena maneuvered around a car stopped in the right-hand lane, its hood up and emergency blinkers flashing, apparently another victim of the summer heat. This was the time of year when radiators and hoses turned functioning cars into two-ton paperweights. She made a mental note to make sure everything was okay under the hood of her own vehicle.
“Okay,” Elena said. “Had to pay attention to my driving. Here’s the story. I hurried down to the jail, but they kept shuffling me around until after lunch. First they said Megan was in processing. Then the detectives were out on a call, and I had to speak with them before I could see Megan. It was three o’clock when I got in to see her.”
“How was she doing?”
“How do you think? They kept her isolated in a cell, no idea what was happening next, and by the time I saw her she was already beaten down. I’ve seen it before. We talked for a bit, then the detectives came in.”
Elena described the questioning from Jesse Callaway, summarizing at the end. “Pretty much the same questions they asked when we were all down there a week or so ago—and the same answers. I think Callaway thought if he softened Megan up she’d confess to something, but she held her ground.”
“So then they released her?”
“No, then Alston took over. I don’t know if it’s his nature or the scenario they crafted, but he was a lot easier on her. First he threw her a few easy questions, then, out of the blue, he asked her about being a part of the bank robbery Crosley and Radick were thought to have pulled. She denied it, of course, and eventually the questioning lost steam and they quit.”
“And . . .”
She told Shannon about Alston’s offer to take Megan home. As she clicked her turn signal and wheeled onto the street leading to her house, Elena said, “Sometimes police will arrange for a ride for a witness. But a detective arresting a suspect, then driving them home—that’s unheard of.”
“I couldn’t figure that one out either,” Shannon said. “Megan sounded almost like she’d bonded with Alston.”
“Stockholm syndrome,” Elena said. “I’ve seen it before, although not as pronounced as here. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, but I can’t recall the context.”
“It’s named for what happened at a bank robbery in Stockholm over forty years ago. A captive—or in this case, a prisoner—mistakes lack of abuse for an act of kindness, so they bond with the person holding them prisoner. I think Megan was convinced that Steve Alston was responsible for her release, so she considered him her rescuer.”
Shannon was silent.
“Look,” Elena said, “I’m pulling into my driveway. I can call you later tonight, or you can feel free to call me. Otherwise, I’m going to talk with the district attorney tomorrow and get this thing settled once and for all. I’m tired of you and Megan having the constant threat of arrest hanging over you.”
AS SHANNON NEARED HER HOME, SHE SAW A DARK SEDAN AT THE CURB. Alston and Megan must already be inside, packing the last of her things. Shannon was happy for her sister, but to her way of thinking, this was absolutely the worst time for Megan to be on her own. If she’d stay with Shannon, she could get the guidance . . . Stop it. She’s a grown woman, not a child.
Shannon pulled in and lowered the garage door, but she didn’t exit her car. Instead, she took out her cell and called Mark. Please let him pick up. On the fourth ring, he answered.
“How did things go at the police station? Is Megan still there?” he asked.
Shannon took a moment to give Mark the details of what had transpired. “I’m home and about to face Megan and Steve Alston, but I’m frankly unsure of how to approach this.”
“Let me think about that.” Mark was silent for almost a minute. “How about this? First of all, don’t make a big deal of it—that would only make Megan dig in her heels.”
“I agree. But I don’t want—”
“Thank Detective Alston for bringing her home. Tell them both you’d like to spend this last night together with your sister. Offer to load what won’t fit into her car in yours, follow her to the new apartment so she can show it to you, then take her to dinner.”
“What about trying to convince her the detectives aren’t her friends?”
“Not tonight. Tonight, be her friend, not her big sister. Right now she doesn’t need someone telling her what to do. Make sense?”
Shannon considered it. It would take some restraint on her part, but it did make sense. “That might work.”
“You and Elena can nose around tomorrow to see if you can figure out what’s going on with these two detectives. Tonight, just be glad your sister isn’t in jail. Celebrate the fact that your prayers were answered.”
Shannon put her cell phone away and opened the car door. Mark’s last sentence had made her acutely aware that her prayers for her sister had stopped the moment she learned that Megan was free. Weren’t prayers of thanks as appropriate as supplications for help? Thank You, God, for delivering her. Sorry it took me awhile to get around to this.
THE ROOM MEGAN HAD BEEN OCCUPYING LOOKED ALMOST BARREN. An open suitcase sat on the bed. The closet doors were ajar, and no clothes hung inside.
Steve Alston heard the door from the garage open and close. “Shannon must be home,” he said to Megan.
Steve needed to play this carefully. His decision to take Megan home was spur of the moment, and he had to admit that he’d hoped—however unconsciously—that it would get points for him. But from the sound of the slamming door, that didn’t appear to be the way it was going to go.
He paused in his efforts to close a suitcase Megan had overfilled with clothes, toiletries, and a couple of stuffed animals she’d probably hung on to since childhood. “You know, she may not be too happy to see me here. You probably should let me explain things to her.”
Shannon stuck her head into Megan’s bedroom, saw her sister, and hurried across the room to give her a hug. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Shannon . . . Dr. Frasier, I suppose you’re wondering what’s going on,” Steve said.
The look Shannon gave him would have cut through steel, but he managed to ignore it. Steve had been a policeman for a long time, and he was used to those looks. Th
en, as though she’d flipped a switch, Shannon smiled and said, “It doesn’t matter now. I just want to enjoy this evening with my sister—her last time here in my house for a while.” It must have taken an effort for Shannon to get the next words out, but she did, and she managed to sound sincere. “Thank you for bringing her home.”
“I was going to help her move,” Steve said. “Then maybe I could buy both you ladies dinner.”
Although Shannon addressed her reply to Steve, there was no doubt her words were meant for Megan. “I thought we’d load everything into two cars—Megan’s and mine—and I’d help her get things settled in her new apartment. That way she could show it off to me. Then I wanted to take her out and have dinner with my sister.”
Shannon bore down on the last word, and Steve saw Megan softening. He tried once more, although he felt the fight slipping away. “You know, Shannon, the arrest this morning wasn’t my idea. Matter of fact, I tried to talk Jesse out of it.” He indicated Megan. “I think your sister will tell you that I was pretty gentle in my questioning. This is just my way of apologizing.”
“I appreciate it,” Shannon said, “but I think my plan is better for tonight. If you want to apologize—and I think you owe one to both of us—we can talk about that later.” She moved aside to leave the path to the door open. “We won’t keep you. I’ll help Megan finish packing so you can be on your way.” Her mouth said the next words, but her eyes refuted them before they were fully out. “Thank you.”
“But—”
“I’ll tell you what, Detective Alston. How about this? If you have anything you want to tell Megan or me, just give the message to our attorney. Considering what happened earlier today, maybe that would be the best way to communicate in the future.”
Steve knew when he was beaten. If anything, his gamble had made his position worse with Shannon. However, it seemed to have put him in Megan’s good graces. He put on his most gracious smile, nodded to both women, and said, “No need to show me out. I know the way.”
ONCE ALSTON HAD LEFT, MEGAN SAID, “WHY DID YOU DO THAT? Steve was going to help me finish my move. And then he offered to take us both out to dinner.”
Shannon struggled to hold her tongue. She took a deep breath, let it out, then another. “Don’t you think it was sort of inappropriate to be going out with the detective who arrested you for murder earlier in the day?”
“That wasn’t anything serious,” Megan said. “Elena was there to protect my rights. And Steve got me released.”
Shannon wanted to remind Megan of how she’d felt less than twelve hours earlier when she was handcuffed and hauled away to jail. She wondered what her sister’s attitude was when she sat in a jail cell, not knowing what was coming next. And although Detective Steve Alston was decidedly the enemy in this confrontation, why had Megan fixed on him as her deliverer, rather than Elena Waites? But Shannon bit her tongue and said none of this. These were arguments for another time. Tonight she’d work on being a friend to Megan.
By the time they reached the new apartment, Megan showed signs of thawing. Shannon met Parker and was immediately taken with her. Megan was right—Parker was the perfect roommate for her. She was a woman who’d made mistakes in the past, learned from them, moved on, and had the fortitude to not only stay on the right track but also help someone else struggling to do the same.
Shannon ended up buying dinner for the three of them, and by the end of the evening she thought Megan was recovering nicely from the trauma of her arrest earlier in the day.
“I’ll call you tomorrow night,” Megan said.
“I’d like that,” Shannon replied.
Megan grinned at her new roommate. “I might even cook dinner for you one evening . . . providing Parker has some pots and pans I can borrow.”
Shannon climbed into her car, thinking about Megan’s offer. Better see if she has a cookbook she can loan you, too. No matter. If it made peace with her sister, she’d even be willing to eat Megan’s cooking.
SHANNON WAS IN THE SURGEONS’ LOUNGE THE NEXT MORNING awaiting the start of her next case, an endoscopic hernia repair. She was looking forward to showing her resident how the operation could be done using this minimally invasive method. The surgery itself might take a few minutes longer than the old technique, but the patient’s convalescence was shortened by several days.
When she heard a voice from the intercom speaker on the wall above her head, Shannon started to get up from the well-worn sofa and head to the operating rom. Maybe her case was going to start early. But instead, the female voice said, “Dr. Frasier, can you take an outside call?”
Shannon hoped this wasn’t another family emergency. “Sure. Which line?”
She pulled the phone near to her and punched the button. “Dr. Frasier.”
“Shannon, this is Elena. Do you have a moment to talk?”
Shannon leaned back and closed her eyes. A call from her attorney had the potential to be very good news . . . or very bad news. “Sure. Sorry I didn’t have my cell with me. I’m operating this morning.”
“No problem. Don’t forget, I’m married to a surgeon.”
Actually, Shannon had momentarily forgotten that. No matter.
Elena continued, “Recall I told you I was going to chat with the DA’s office about yesterday’s arrest. As a matter of fact, I went all the way up the chain to the district attorney himself. He agreed with me that the evidence the detectives cited to incriminate Megan—and you, for that matter—is circumstantial. Neither of you is a viable suspect in the murder of Tony Lester. Of course you’re already cleared of suspicion in Radick’s shooting.”
Shannon noticed that Elena hadn’t mentioned Megan’s possible role in that shooting. Surely they didn’t suspect her of Radick’s death. “So why was an arrest warrant issued for Megan?”
“That’s where it gets interesting. I did a lot of digging, checked with a few judges and some of the clerks, tapped a couple of other sources. Tell me, did you look very closely at the warrant Detective Callaway had?”
Shannon tried to remember. “No, actually I didn’t read it at all. He waved an official-looking piece of paper in front of me, but after that I . . . I guess I was too caught up in what was happening to examine anything closely.”
“Things might have gone differently if you had.”
Shannon took a deep breath. She had a bad feeling about what was coming next. “Why?”
“Because no official warrant was ever issued for the arrest of Megan Frasier.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“DR. FRASIER, WE’RE READY FOR YOU IN OR TWO.” AN OPERATING room nurse stood framed in the doorway of the surgeons’ lounge, her mask dangling below her chin.
Shannon held up a finger and mouthed, “Be right there.”
“I hear someone in the room,” Elena said. “Do I need to let you go?”
“Yes, I have to get started with my next operation. Can I call you later?”
“How would this afternoon work for you? When will you be out of the OR?”
“I’ll probably finish all my cases by about three,” Shannon said.
“Call me after that. I hope to have more information by then.”
As Shannon stood at the scrub sink, she thought about what Elena had told her. If there was no actual warrant, then the whole scenario of Megan’s arrest was staged. Whoever was behind it was taking a huge chance they might be discovered, so the stakes had to be pretty high. And no matter which detective was responsible, the other had to cooperate. Who was responsible for this? And why?
Shannon left the scrub sink and, arms held in front of her, dripping hands high, bumped the swinging door and backed into the operating room. When she went through that door, as though a curtain had parted, her thoughts shifted to the patient on the table. From this point forward, she would be focused on him.
Shannon accepted the sterile towel offered by the scrub nurse. The resident, who was already gowned and gloved, said, “Shall I go ahead and drape the fiel
d?”
“Yes, please.” Shannon shoved her arms into the sterile gown and spun so the circulating nurse could tie it in the back. She plunged her hands into surgical gloves, then approached the operating table.
Shannon looked down at the operative field, the familiar rectangle of skin made orange by antiseptic solution and circumscribed by green surgical drapes. It was almost like the canvas for an impressionist painting. This was the area on which she would focus her attention for the next . . . well, for as long as it took. That was another thing she wanted to teach her resident. When you’re performing surgery, never look at the clock. Concentrate on the patient.
“Ready?” she said to the resident.
“Ready when you are,” he replied.
Shannon checked the endoscope—no need making an incision in the abdomen, however small, if you couldn’t look and work inside.
“Here we go,” Shannon said and held out her hand.
ELENA WAITES GLANCED AT HER WATCH—ALMOST FOUR IN THE afternoon. Maybe Shannon had been delayed in surgery. She was familiar with that scenario. Her husband, Tom, had come home to many a cold dinner for that very reason.
Elena called through her open office door, “Helen, have we heard from Dr. Frasier?”
Helen, a spry grandmother, poked her head through the door. “Not a peep. Want me to try to get her for you?”
“No, but thanks.”
Elena swiveled away from her desk to face the window behind her. She purposely kept her back to the view of downtown Dallas as she worked, but right now she needed to think. Maybe the skyline would inspire her.
“Dr. Frasier on line two,” Helen called through the intercom.
Elena punched the button. “Shannon, I was guessing you’d been delayed.”
“And your guess would be right,” Shannon said. “Emergency cholecystectomy—I mean, gallbladder removal.”
Elena swiveled her chair back to her desk and pulled her notes toward her. “I’m afraid I don’t know much more than I did earlier. Since there was no warrant for Megan’s arrest, both detectives must have cooperated in the charade. I did find out that one of the policemen at headquarters was asked to take Megan through the booking process—fingerprinting, mug shot—without any paperwork.”
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