Vindication: Of Demons & Stones: Tri-Stone Trilogy, Book Three

by Anne L. Parks

  "The Porsche has a flat. I can call Ray, but I really want to get over to Alex's office and use his copier."

  "I'm on my way, and I'll call Ray." In the background I hear the SUV door close and the dinging of the ignition.

  "I'll let Sarah know that Ray will be here," I say, and turn back towards the office building. "Unless, you wanted to tell her yourself."

  "Funny," Jake says without any voice inflection. He has a sense of humor, but it is a closely guarded secret. "Be there in a few minutes.

  Jake swings into the parking lot ten minutes later, and I get in just as the tow truck from Ray's pulls in. Jake rolls down his window and talks to Ray, then pulls onto the street. His cell phone rings, and he spends the next couple of minutes talking to someone, and then hangs up. A scowl crosses his face.

  "Trouble?" I ask.

  "Could be. That was Felix, the guy that handles security at Stone Holdings. Someone reported activity at one of the empty buildings owned by the company. Apparently, the call came in a couple of weeks ago, but no one checked it out. Felix just found out about it today."

  "Why did it take so long for him to get the information?"

  "Wife just had a baby, and he was on maternity leave." Jake growls out the last two words, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Jake is old school, and doesn't believe in men taking maternity leave. Of course, Jake also doesn't have a wife or kids.

  "So what are you thinking?" I ask.

  He glances around, and then over at me. "I'm thinking we aren't far away, and it's worth checking out. You mind tagging along?"

  I shake my head. "Not at all." This is a first—Jake bringing me with him into an unknown, potentially dangerous situation. If Alex knew…

  Probably best not to mention Alex right now, especially since I want to see what's in this empty building. There's a strong chance that it has something to do with my case, and I want first hand information.

  The building is in an industrial area, tucked behind a couple of other businesses. I'm not sure what type of business used to be here. The painting on the exterior is weathered, and a few of the windows just below the roofline are broken.

  Jake pulls to a stop by the entrance. I open my door before he puts the vehicle in park, or has a chance to tell me to stay put. Fuck that. I'm going in with him.

  "Seriously?" he asks, as I round the front of the vehicle. "Your husband is already going to have my ass for even bringing you along. You really think I'm going to let you go in with me?"

  What the hell? A wave of rage rolls through me, but I shake it off. "First off, Jake, you don't let me. I'm a grown woman, and decide for myself. Second, yes, I do expect to go in with you."

  He runs his hand down his face and exhales through his nose. "Stay behind me, and do what I say."

  Victory!

  I do feel a little guilty. Alex is going to be pissed when he finds out. Then again, Alex needs to get over it, as well.

  Jake pulls a handgun from a holster at his back. With a hard and fast jerk, the door opens with a screeching groan. Directing me against the wall behind him, he pops his head around the corner, and then steps inside. After a few seconds, he returns.

  "All clear, as far as I can tell, but I want you to stay behind me, and stay close. Understand?" His eyes are piercing. He's not bullshitting with me.

  My heart rate ramps up, and I swallow hard. "Yes, I understand."

  The interior is dark, but there's light coming in through about a dozen skylights in the ceiling, along with the windows. The warehouse is a big open, empty space, dirty cement floor, and steel beam columns. Jake points to the opposite side from where we are standing. A set of stairs leads up to a second floor office with large picture windows.

  "Looks like a good place to start checking things out," he whispers.

  I nod, and we quietly walk across the dirty cement floors. When we reach the bottom of the metal stairs, Jake puts his hand up, indicating I should stay put. Fine with me, I'd rather he discover any squatters without me. The stairs clang as he steps on them. There's no way for him to be silent, he's too heavy, but announcing his arrival to anyone in the office space is not optimal.

  Slowly opening the door, he leads with the gun, and looks around the door, and then disappears inside. I strain to listen for any voices, but there's only the sound of footsteps. A beam of light bounces around the room. Jake must be using the flashlight on his phone. At least, I hope it's Jake. I glance around. If anyone besides Jake comes out that door, I can run across the warehouse and get outside. As long as the person doesn't have a gun, or is a really bad shot, I should be able to make it to the SUV and get in. Jake showed me a few months ago where the hidden keys to the vehicle are, under the steering column in a nifty little niche. I could drive a safe distance, call the cops, and pray that Jake is okay until they get there.

  Jake steps onto the top step, and holsters his gun at his back. "You better come up."

  "Why?" I ask, careful of each placement of my shoes on the ragged steps. "Did you find something interesting?"

  "Yeah. I think this is where James was hiding out."

  Holy. Shit.

  Why did I wear a suit in heels to work today!

  I step inside the office. The smell hits my nose—dirt and rust. A ledge runs beneath the windows that look out over the warehouse floor. Off to the side is a metal desk.

  "Do you have your cell phone?" Jake asks.

  I hold my phone up.

  "Probably going to need extra light, especially if the stuff all over the couch back here is what I think it is." He points behind me, and I turn around. From what I can see, there is a couch along one wall. A small kitchenette with a refrigerator, counter, and a table take up the opposite corner. He leads the way over the couch as I open the flashlight app on my phone and turn it on high beam.

  I flash my light on the arm of the couch. The brown and green tweed screams sixties. The beam sweeps along the seat cushions. A huge black spot covers one cushion and part of another. Whatever the substance is that soaked into the couch, also dripped down the front of the couch, and there is a large pool of it on the floor.

  "What is that?" I ask.

  Jake squats in front of the couch, and dips the very tip of his finger in the liquid. He stands and places his finger under his light. "I'd say that's blood." He shines his light onto the couch. "And a whole lot of it."

  "That must be the metallic, rust smell that hit me when I came in." I stare at the couch. A wave of nausea passes over me, and I shiver. "That amount of blood would suggest someone bled out."

  "Yep."

  I look at him, but his face is blank. "You think this is where James was killed?"

  He nods, his lips a thin line.

  "Could have been someone else. We don't even know if whoever was here was shot or had their throat cut."

  "I thought about that at first, but check out the wall over there." Papers and photos are tacked to the wall to my right, spanning about six feet. I step over clothes strewn on the floor, along with not-quite-empty takeout containers. Another couple of days and this place will become a cockroach and rat infested wonderland.

  I gaze at a couple of the photos. My heart nearly jumps up my throat and out of my body. The pictures are of Alex, me, and the two of us together. Not pictures we've posed for, or even the ones online shot by paparazzi. Some of these are blurred by our movement. Getting out of my car. Walking into a restaurant. Driving through the gates leaving the estate. How did we not notice someone on the street taking a picture? The road dead ends just past our property. A vehicle down there would stand out like a sore thumb.

  Most of the papers were news stories printed off the internet, I assume. Most center around James re-trial last fall. The outcome had been a victory in that James was convicted of his wife's murder, but the judge ordered his sentence be carried out at the same state hospital where John was incarcerated. They weren't there long together before both escaped.

  At
the end of the wall was a map of the area. Red tacks were stuck in various locales. I lean in to see where exactly he was pinpointing. Covering my mouth with my hand, I inhale, tension painfully seizes my muscles. "Oh my God, these are all places Alex and I frequent. The house, Stone Holdings," I point to the pins as Jake steps next to me to take a closer look. "Even the little coffee shop I go to across from the office."

  Jake leans in close, his nose almost against the map. "This is interesting," he lifts his head, and places his finger on the map. "He highlighted this area."

  I look at the spot where he is pointing. Yellow highlighter colors an area by the water on our property. "Wait—is that the boathouse?"

  Jake nods.

  Why would that be highlighted? Did James commit suicide and enlist someone to help him frame Alex? Or was the boathouse part of another plan that was abandoned when James was murdered?

  "Call McClure and Kain. Let them know we've potentially found where James was staying." I turn the flashlight app off, and pull up the camera. Making certain the flash is on, I start taking pictures of the wall.

  "They're on their way," Jake says. "They want us out of here so we don't contaminate their crime scene."

  I nod, my focus on getting as much of the wall as I can. "How much time do you think we have before they get here?"

  "About ten minutes." Jake is taking pictures of the couch.

  "Then let's get as much of this scene captured as we can in seven minutes."

  Jake and I are outside when the detectives pull up. They get out of their car and strut toward us, sunglasses and all. If the circumstances weren't so serious, I might chuckle at the cliché scene.

  "Tell me again how you came to find this?" Kain asks Jake.

  "The security officer at Stone Holdings reported activity at an abandoned property owned by the corporation. We were only a couple of minutes away, so we decided to stop by and check it out."

  "Convenient," McClure says, staring straight at me. "Almost as if it was the perfect place to create a crime scene—and you two found it."

  I'm used to most cops taking an instant dislike to me. After all, the way they see it, they arrest the bad guys and I come in and try to set them all free. Criminal defense attorneys and cops are like oil and water. They don't often mix well.

  But this woman seems to have a particular hate on for me. I don't really give a damn, as long as it doesn't interfere with her unbiased investigation, of which, I'm not holding out much hope.

  "Don't get testy, Detective, just because we found the place Mr. Wells was actually murdered," I say, maintaining eye contact with her. "I understand it's embarrassing that we had to do your job—and were vastly more successful."

  McClure bows up and takes a step towards me. Jake steps next to me, his shoulder rubs against mine. Kain wraps his hand around McClure's bicep. "Take it easy," he says, his voice low.

  "Careful, detective," I say, "I'm starting to feel threatened by your presence."

  "Okay, why don't we all just take a deep breath," Kain says, and pulls on his partners arm. "We're going to go take a look around inside."

  Jake glances at me, and I nod at him. We don't need to be here any longer. We have photos of the scene, and I want to get back home and take a closer look at them.

  "We'll leave you to it," Jake says.

  "You both will need to provide formal statements." McClure still has her death glare on me as she speaks.

  I plaster a wide smile across my face, hoping to hell it exudes condescension. "Call my office. My secretary will be happy to schedule an appointment for you to come in and meet with Jake and me."

  Without waiting for an answer, I stroll to the passenger side door, and slide onto the leather seat. Jake nods at Kain, gets behind the steering wheel, and starts the engine.

  The detectives disappear inside the building. "I hate that bitch."

  Jake laughs, and pulls away from the warehouse. "You made that pretty obvious."

  Good. If the detective wants to play hardball with me, let her. Game on.

  * * *

  “You should have waited for me to get there,” Alex says.

  Here we go. Alex in protective mode.

  “Ha, you are the last person that I would’ve called to that scene, Alex.” I try to deflect his icy glare with a smile. “Do you think having the crime scene unit find your DNA anywhere around the warehouse is a smart idea?”

  He continues to stare at me, and then releases a deep sigh. His shoulders relax, and he shakes his head. “No, but I don’t like that Jake took you along. What if the person that killed James was still there?”

  “Jake would have shot him,” I say, and sigh. I pull Alex’s arms from across his chest, and place them around my waist. “Baby, Jake is not the boss of me anymore than you are. I thought we had gotten over this perception that either of you let’s me do anything.” I step into his body and wrap my arms around his neck. “It’s good that I was there. We were able to get pictures of everything, which gives me a few extra days. I won’t get the official crime scene photos from Matt’s office until the middle of next week, with his stalling techniques.”

  “Okay, I give in,” he says, kissing my forehead, and tightening his embrace. “I just worry about you. The kidnapping didn’t just scare the hell out of you, you know. Without you in my life, there is no life.”

  I swallow over the lump in my throat. I know he worried I would never come back to him, but hearing him voice it shreds my heart. “I know, and I promise to be careful. We are going to be together forever, but right now I have a job to do. And you have to let me do it.”

  He audibly sighs. “Yes, dear.”

  I chuckle. “I have an idea.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Let’s take a break from the case, and have some time together.” I lean back to gaze into his stunning blue eyes. “Just you, me, and a bottle of wine.”

  “I do love the way your mind works, wife.” He brushes his lips across mine. “I’ll get the glasses and wine, you meet me in the bedroom.”

  He steps away and I smack him on the ass. God, I love his firm, rounded butt. He glances over his shoulder, a glint in his eye.

  “Just a preview of the night, baby,” I say, and saunter away, swaying my hips as I walk toward the bedroom.

  His chuckle echoes down the hallway, along with his quick steps.

  Twenty-Six

  Alex snores softly beside me in bed. I roll onto my side, and groan at the bright green light screaming that I am awake at two-thirty in the morning. Again.

  For the past three weeks I've been unable to sleep through the night, and for the last week, two-thirty seems to be my bewitching hour. I lift the covers and carefully get out of bed. Alex doesn't need to get up with me. He has enough on his mind, worrying that he may have to spend the rest of his life in prison for a crime he didn't commit. All because his once brilliant attorney wife failed at the moment he needs her the most.

  Slipping out of the bedroom, I enter the library and turn on the desk lamp. Legal pads with notes scribbled over all the pages litter the entire surface. Buried underneath are a few files that I need to go through for the hundredth time. Since I failed to get the case dismissed, I've been going back over the evidence, trying to see the same information with new eyes. It's not working well, and I'll be damned if I can figure what it is I'm looking for.

  Time is running out. The trial starts in a couple of days, and if I'm going to get an acquittal I need to figure out either who actually killed James or come up with the proverbial smoking gun. Neither one of those options seems likely.

  Alex has complete confidence in me. Blind confidence. I wish I could be that sure of my abilities. I'm petrified I will miss something that will send him away forever. I can't imagine my life without him. To say this is the biggest case of my life is like saying Einstein was sort of smart.

  Shifting legal pads, I pull the coroner’s report from the bottom of the stack. Nothing has changed since the l
ast time I looked at it before I went to bed last night. James died from six gunshot wounds to the chest. He appeared to be asleep on the couch when he was shot, and bled out. Time of death was between midnight and six a.m. There were no defensive wounds on the victim. No drugs or alcohol in his system.

  Nothing there.

  According to the crime scene analysis, the only fingerprints found belong to James. The blood is James', and the only DNA is also the victims. Ballistics on the spent cartridges shows the same gun was used in the Colorado shootings. The killer had used James's gun and then took it with him when he left the scene, along with the body.

  None of this makes sense. There is reasonable doubt all over the place. Why is the prosecution so single-mindedly focused on Alex as the killer. Is Reyes really so bitter that I turned down his advances and am married to Alex that he would want an innocent man to go to prison for murder? Does he have that much sway over Matt that he can convince him to go forward with such a weak circumstantial case? And what does Matt get out of this?

  I just can't believe he would risk his career on such a flimsy case. I must be missing something. There is no way he doesn't see the epic amount of reasonable doubt that exists.

  So what does he know that I don't? And when will he spring it on me?

  The rules of procedure are clear that there be no unfair surprise in criminal cases. The prosecution must turn over all evidence they have to the defense, and vice versa. The timing is where each side can fuck with the other. If Matt turns something over at the last minute, I'll have to argue that I need time to investigate the new evidence. Whether the court allows me that time, is a big question mark.

  The answer is here somewhere. In all this…shit…on my desk and at the office. There is a question I need to be asking. A lead I need to be following. Something that will provide light on the darkness of this case.

  I have to find it. It's the only way I can make sure Alex never spends another night in jail.

  At five a.m., after getting nowhere, I decide to take a shower and go into the office. By six, I have the coffee brewing. I sit in front of the board in the conference room, and look at all the crime scene pictures and the timeline. My yellow legal pad rests on the table next to me, and I am waiting for inspiration to strike, but there is nothing there. My mind is blank—or too full to comprehend where to start. Either one is not good.