by Rita Herron
Was he reliving the nightmare from the evening before? Seeing images of a murderer?
Max ushered her and Stevie into a small private room where the therapist waited. He’d already assured her that Dr. Edwards was a criminal psychologist who regularly conducted interviews for the department, and that she was great with children. Max left them and went to the adjoining room to watch the interview through a one-way mirror.
“Hi, Stevie,” Dr. Edwards said in a pleasant voice.
Stevie clung to Angelica’s hand, his expression dazed, haunted. Unfazed, Dr. Edwards made chitchat about her own little boy named Billy, then showed him a picture of her son dressed in full football gear. She was obviously trying to help Stevie relax and to win his trust. Finally, Stevie responded by nodding to a few of her questions, mostly details about his likes and dislikes in foods, preferences for toys and sport activities.
“Do you like to draw?” Dr. Edwards asked.
Stevie nodded again, then glanced at Angelica with an odd expression.
Dr. Edwards lifted a sketch pad from her briefcase, along with crayons and markers, and placed them on the table in front of Stevie. “How about drawing a picture of yourself?”
He hesitated, then took a crayon and drew a stick figure. A few minutes later the psychologist had coaxed him into sketching his room, the steps to the downstairs and, finally, the den. His hand stilled when she mentioned the Christmas tree.
Angelica gave him an encouraging smile, although her own throat welled with emotions as he penciled in the tree as it lay on its side, the decorations scattered and broken, and his train set…the one she’d bought him the year before. It had been crushed in the struggle.
Angelica realized the inevitable. Stevie had seen his mother’s body on the floor before he’d disappeared into the storage room to hide. But had he seen the killer?
“Stevie,” Dr. Edwards said quietly, “can you draw what happened last night?”
His lower lip trembled. Angelica wanted to make the woman stop the inquisition, but if Stevie had seen the killer, they had to know. He might come after Stevie…
“Go on, sweetie, it’s okay.” She rubbed his back, felt the tension in his shoulders subside slightly. “Did you see someone hurt your mommy?”
Tears filled his big brown eyes as he nodded.
“Then you need to show us, honey.” Angelica smoothed down his cowlick, an affectionate gesture she’d made a thousand times. “The bad man’s not here now, Stevie. He won’t hurt you, I promise.”
He sniffed, then picked up a black crayon and began to draw. She frowned, realizing the sketch wasn’t a figure of a person, but a gun. Next, he drew an outline of his mother lying on the floor and used a red crayon to color the blood covering her chest.
Angelica barely contained her emotions.
“That’s good, Stevie,” Dr. Edwards said. “Did you see the person holding the gun? Was it a woman or a man?”
He frowned, then shook his head, his eyes widening in terror. With a low sob, he threw down the crayon, turned and buried his head in Angelica’s lap, refusing to answer any more questions.
Max, his partner, and the district attorney, Brian Waverly, watched the boy’s reaction together. If the kid had seen the murderer, he was either afraid to draw his face or he might have blocked out the memory. Either way, he was in trouble.
“I want to talk to the woman,” the D.A. said as the therapist excused himself and left the room.
“What for?” Max asked. “I’ve already spoken with her and gotten some names to start checking.”
“Hopefully trace evidence will give us something to go on,” Officer Simmons said.
“I still want to question her,” Waverly insisted.
Max shrugged, stood and opened the door. “Angelica, this is Mr. Waverly, the district attorney. He needs to speak to you.”
Stevie was clinging to her leg, so Max knelt to his level. “Hey, little buddy. Let’s grab a soda.”
His hands tightened around Angelica’s leg, but she patted him. “It’s okay, Stevie, there’s a soda machine down the hall. Max will take good care of you.”
He hesitated, but reluctantly accepted Max’s hand. The simple show of trust made Max’s chest squeeze. He’d never been around kids much. Had no idea how to relate to them.
But this child was hurting, and he was a possible witness in a murder. If treating the boy to a soda made him feel better, he’d buy him a whole damn case.
Five minutes later they’d bought colas and a pack of dinosaur animal crackers, then Max found a headset and video game that belonged to Simmons’s son, and let Stevie use it. Max wanted to hear the D.A.’s conversation with Angelica, but he had to spare Stevie.
He took a seat in front of the one-way mirror, keeping one eye on the kid while he listened.
Waverly paced the room, his voice cold. “When did your parents die?”
“I was seventeen,” Angelica said. “Gina was thirteen at the time.”
“So you took care of your sister?”
Angelica nodded.
“You still take care of her and her son, don’t you?”
She nodded again, twining her hands together.
“But you two didn’t get along, did you?” Waverly’s voice hardened. “You wanted to raise the kid yourself. You hated having to supervise her and the boy, got tired of giving Gina money and cleaning up her mistakes, so you threatened to seek custody of the boy.”
Max stiffened, an uneasy feeling hitting him as he realized Waverly’s intentions.
“I…” Angelica bit her lip, but her voice remained steady. “I loved Gina and Stevie. Although, yes, sometimes I got angry with her. She wasn’t a very responsible mother.”
Waverly leaned forward, hands on the table. “You threatened to take the boy away, didn’t you?”
“Yes, once.” Angelica looked flustered. “But that was when I thought Gina was doing drugs.”
“That was three months ago, right?”
Angelica tapped her nails in her lap. “Yes.”
“And when you threatened her with a custody suit, your sister retaliated. She insisted that she’d take Stevie away for good, that you’d never see him again, didn’t she?” Waverly asked.
“Yes, but she didn’t mean it. Gina was all talk. She’d have come back for more money.”
“More money that you were tired of paying, right? Because you wanted the little boy for yourself.”
“Oh, my God. I…what are you implying?” Angelica’s hand shook as she lifted it to her forehead. “That I shot my little sister?”
Chapter Four
“You’re wrong, Mr. Waverly,” Angelica cried. “I loved Gina and her son. They’re my only family.”
“But with your sister gone, all your family’s money goes to you!”
“My family had a small life insurance policy that went into a trust for us when they died,” Angelica admitted. “But I’ve never used it, except to try to encourage Gina to go back to college.”
“Right. She blew your money and now you want her half,” Waverly countered. “And she would have had it soon, on her birthday.”
“I did not want her money,” Angelica said, enunciating each word slowly. “I just wanted her to be a good mother to Stevie and to make a better life for herself.”
“You never tried to convince her to give you her half for investment purposes?”
“No. I encouraged her to use it to set up a college fund for Stevie!”
Angelica was seething. How dare this man accuse her of such an atrocious act? Couldn’t he see that she was hurting?
Suddenly the door flew open. Stevie ran inside and dove toward the district attorney, pummeling him with his fists.
She stared in shock. She’d never seen Stevie get angry enough to hit someone.
Then the truth dawned on her. He had overheard the man’s questions. Max rushed in and tried to pull Stevie off Waverly.
She jumped up and pushed away Max’s hands, t
rying to coax Stevie from the D.A. herself. “Stevie, come on, calm down, honey.”
He squealed in rage and rammed his fist into the man’s stomach again. The district attorney threw up his arms to ward off the blows. “Stop it right now, kid!”
Max swooped up Stevie with one arm around his waist and hauled him away. Stevie was kicking and spitting and sobbing.
Angelica glared at Max. “How could you let him listen to that conversation? He’s been through enough already, Max.”
“I didn’t,” he said, although guilt flared in his eyes. “At least, I didn’t mean to. I thought he was wearing headphones, playing a game.”
The district attorney growled and straightened his clothes. “What’s wrong with that kid?”
“He didn’t like the line of your questioning,” Max snapped.
Betrayal knifed through Angelica as she stared at Max. She’d shared her personal feelings with him the night before in the throes of anguish. She’d never thought he’d use them against her. Or that he’d let the district attorney try to pin her sister’s murder on her.
“These are questions you should have been asking, Malone,” the D.A. said. “But it’s obvious you and Miss North have a personal relationship that’s clouding your judgment.”
“I did ask those questions,” Max said. “And yes, I do know Angelica, which is the reason I’m certain she’s innocent. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have an investigation to run.”
Stevie’s arms tightened around Max’s neck as he spun on his heels and gestured for Angelica to leave the room.
She did, desperately wanting to escape Waverly.
But her mind was reeling with confusion as she faced Max in the outer office. Stevie cuddled against Max, still sobbing.
“You used what I told you in confidence,” she said, hurt tinging her tone.
“Believe what you will, Angelica, but that’s not true. I don’t have time for an emotional tirade from you, though,” he said, his voice raw with anger. “We need to question those men your sister dated.”
She lowered her voice. “Then I’ll take Stevie home while you get busy.”
She reached for Stevie, the tension between her and Max palpable as Stevie settled into her arms.
“You’re not going anywhere alone,” Max stated. “It’s not safe.”
A reporter from across the room pushed past two beat cops. “Hey, that’s the kid whose mother got nailed last night, isn’t it?”
Angelica’s eyes widened in horror as he snapped a photograph.
Max threw his arm over her and Stevie to shield them. “Get him out of here!”
Two cops reached for the man’s arms, but he snapped another picture in the process. “Did the kid see the killer?”
MAX SWUNG AROUND, ushering Angelica and Stevie into the break room. Furious, he stomped back to the bullpen to warn the reporter that he couldn’t publish that photo. But he was too late. The man was gone.
Which meant that he had probably gotten what he’d wanted.
And if the reporter published that photo and revealed that Stevie was a potential eyewitness to his mother’s murder, he’d lead the killer right to Stevie.
Max’s partner approached him, a wary look on her face. “I can’t believe that creep got away.”
“Do you know which paper he’s from?” Max asked.
Sheila shook her head. “I didn’t even get his name. But I’ll call the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and speak to the editor just in case.”
Max nodded, although the man could be a freelance photographer who’d sell to anyone. “Call the local news stations and community papers, too, see what you can find out.”
She agreed, and Max tried to squash the daunting repercussions that might occur if the story aired. He could still feel little Stevie’s arms clenched around his neck in terror. The image of Angelica’s look of betrayal followed.
He couldn’t let anything happen to that kid. It would kill Angelica.
“Listen, Max, I heard the D.A.’s line of questioning,” Sheila said.
“He was wrong about Angelica.”
Sheila raised an eyebrow. “I know. But…you do seem more charged than usual.”
“For God’s sake, the boy saw his mother murdered. I may be cold, but I’m not a damn unfeeling robot, or a monster.”
A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “I’m beginning to see that.”
He gritted his teeth. “What’s your point?”
“I take it you’re not going to leave Angelica or her nephew unguarded.”
“Not for one damn second of the day.”
Her smile widened. “Then let me watch them for a while. I’ll take them to my place, let Stevie play with my son. They could kick around the soccer ball.”
Max chewed the inside of his cheek. He could use a breather. “The boy would probably like that.”
“Yeah, he needs some normalcy after the past twenty-four hours. And it might do you and his aunt both good to have a few minutes apart. I know you’re dying to question the old boyfriends, too, start tearing off heads.”
He nodded. “All right. I’ll go tell her.”
“Want to look at the CSI evidence first?”
He accepted the file from her and studied the evidence collected. Several fingerprints had been lifted from inside the house.
“We’re running them through the system now for possible matches,” Sheila said.
“Make sure you compare them to the old boyfriends’ prints.”
She nodded and he skimmed the rest of the report. Some stray white fibers, synthetic of some kind, were found near the body. They might have come from a rug or pillow, or a wig of some kind. No traces of a second blood type or semen were present, although there was evidence of saliva on the victim.
Hmm. Maybe a boyfriend had shown up and their romantic rendezvous had turned nasty. He’d have to obtain a DNA sample from each of the old boyfriends.
Anxious to get started, he found Angelica in the break room with Stevie. Thankfully the little boy had calmed down and Angelica was pointing out the various ornaments on the Christmas tree. Each ornament held the specific name of a kid in need at the local orphanage.
Instead of exchanging gifts with one another, a practice he’d thought ludicrous for a police precinct, Sheila had organized a charity drive. Each officer picked a name, purchased a gift for the orphaned child, then one of the officers played Santa and delivered the presents on Christmas Eve. He’d yet to choose a name, but he had to or Sheila would rag him to death. And although he hated to admit it, the idea of the poor kids doing without gifts didn’t sit well with him, either.
“This is a nice gesture,” Angelica said.
“Thank my partner, it was her doing.”
Angelica nodded, Stevie scooching closer to her.
“Shelia is going to take you and Stevie to her place for a while, so I can check out some leads.”
“Let me go with you, Max.”
He frowned and shook his head. “No way.”
“Max, if you’re going to see one of the men my sister dated, I might be able to help.”
“I said no.” For God’s sake, what was she thinking? If one of Gina’s old boyfriends had killed Gina, and he saw Angelica with the cops asking questions, he might go after her. And if Max failed to protect her, then her nephew might wind up completely parentless like those kids at the orphanage.
AN HOUR LATER Angelica relaxed slightly as she and Sheila sat on the patio watching the boys play. Although Stevie still hadn’t said a word, he loved Mikey’s Labrador puppy. And although Mikey was eighteen months older than Stevie, he enjoyed showing off his soccer skills to her nephew and was patient while Stevie practiced.
“Thanks for taking his mind off his mother and the murder,” Angelica said as she accepted a cup of coffee from Shelia.
Sheila sipped from her own mug. “I can’t imagine my son going through what your nephew has the past twenty-four hours.”
“Yet you
put your life on the line every day for others.”
Sheila shrugged. “Sometimes I think I’m crazy. My fiancé hinted that I should take a desk job, and I’m considering it. Especially if we have more children.”
“I can understand that.”