by Vicki Hinze
“I fear he did.”
“I think it’s time we talked to Blake.” Madison worried her lower lip. Grant still held the pink rubbing stone in his hand and his thumb moved rapidly across the face of it.
She couldn’t blame him. Especially when she had her left hand in her pocket, rubbing her own Purple Heart.
* * *
Madison and Grant spoke briefly with Beecher at the Nest cellblock’s observation desk.
“Any trouble?” Grant asked.
“None,” Beecher said. “I’m not sure they’re even aware they’re in the same cellblock. I haven’t seen any signs of it. I moved Dayton up to the first cell—I trust him the least, and it’s closest to the desk. Blake’s at the far end.”
“You can be sure Dayton’s noticed people delivering food to Blake, if nothing else.” Madison crossed her chest with her arms.
“If he turned around once in a while, he might. But he just sits on the floor all day and night with his back to the bars.”
Grant rubbed his jaw. Dayton was accustomed to being free to do pretty much what he wanted. He’d resent having his every move watched. “When I was in Madison’s cell and Dayton came down here,” Grant said, “you remember him getting a call at the desk?”
Beecher nodded. “Blake had something he wanted to tell Dayton, but he never got the chance. Dayton didn’t take the call.”
That’s what Grant wanted verified. “Would you write that out for me?”
“For your report?”
Apparently Talbot had filled Beecher in. Grant nodded.
“We’re going to talk to Blake,” Madison said before Beecher could ask questions she didn’t want to answer.
“I’ll have a statement waiting for you when you come back.”
They walked down the cellblock’s center corridor. Being here again had Madison edgy. Every nerve ending in her body sizzled its rebellion.
“You okay?”
“I’m telling myself I am.” She glanced over. “But I’ll be glad when we’re out of here.”
“Understood.”
As they walked past, Dayton didn’t look over.
They stopped outside Blake’s cell.
He rushed the bars. “It’s about time.”
“For what?” Grant asked.
“For someone to remember I’m stuck here.” He gestured wildly. “I’ve been locked up for over a week and you guys and Beecher are the only people I’ve seen. What kind of treatment is this?”
“The kind you should expect when you do the things you’ve done.”
“What have I done? Nothing to deserve this, that’s for sure.” His eyes stretched wide.
“Dayton claims you’re Blue Shoes,” Madison said.
“What?” Blake was just outraged enough to be credible.
Neither Madison nor Grant answered.
“I’m not Blue Shoes.” Blake paced his cell, his movements highly agitated. “I can’t believe the commander would believe that for a second.”
“We didn’t say he did,” Grant told Blake. “I think we should pull up a couple chairs and you tell us exactly what’s been going on here.”
“Fine by me.” Blake grabbed his cot and heaved, dragging it close to the bars, then plopped down on it.
Grant grabbed two folding chairs from a stack at the end of the corridor, then set them up outside Blake’s cell.
Madison pulled out a recorder. “Ready?”
Blake nodded.
She turned the recorder on, stated the date, time and that the conversation was being recorded with permission, which Blake verified, then they began.
Grant posed the first round of questions.
It netted them nothing. Madison tried the second and it proved fruitless, too.
Two full hours later, Grant said, “You’re wasting our time.”
“I’m telling you what I know.”
“You’re telling us what you think we want to hear,” Grant said. “Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat this. You’ve got a reputation for covering bases so you’re protected regardless of the outcome. That’s worked well for you in the past, but you’re in a lot of trouble here, and your tactics aren’t going to work well for you this time. You’ve got one shot to ever walk out of here, and this is it. Without us, you’re not going to make it.”
His arms propped on his knees, Blake let his head hang for a long minute. When he looked up, his misery reflected in his eyes. “Dayton promised me the vice slot here,” he said, then swallowed hard. “I didn’t know he was Blue Shoes. I swear it.”
Madison kept her reaction to herself, but asked, “Why were you outside Della’s cottage when the garage exploded?”
“What’s that got to do with this?”
“Just answer the question,” she said. “You were seen mowing the lawn across the street, but disappeared after the explosion.”
“I was told to watch her. At the time, she was suspected of a security breach.”
“You had nothing to do with the explosion, then? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Of course I didn’t.” He frowned. “I was there, but I wasn’t mowing the lawn.”
“A witness places you at the mower.”
“I was at it. It was running, and I was watching it while Dayton got a bottle of water. He left the mower running, and I thought someone ought to watch it. There are kids in that neighborhood, you know? One was sitting out on the porch across the street.”
Gracie. “So where did Dayton go to get the bottle of water?”
“His truck, I guess. I honestly didn’t notice. He left, the garage blew and it got chaotic fast.”
Grant and Madison exchanged a look. That’s all they’d be getting from Blake on that.
Shifting on his seat, Grant took over. “Let’s move forward to Christmas Eve and the children’s program at church.”
“I was there.”
“We know,” Grant said. “You gave a little girl a black rose.”
He looked puzzled, then his expression cleared. “Yeah, I did. I’d forgotten.” He rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t remember her name, but I did give her a rose. She was dressed up for the play.”
“If you don’t know her, why did you give her the flower?”
“It wasn’t actually for her. It was for Maggie Mason. I passed along a message, too. That her red dress was pretty or something like that. I don’t recall the exact words now. It was pretty insignificant.”
“Try to recall the exact message,” Madison advised him.
“Why? It was a kids’ play and a flower for a woman wearing a pretty dress. It was nothing.”
“It was a very big something, Blake,” Grant said. “You realize two bombs were in the church that night, and more in the parking lot.”
He frowned. “I knew a car bomb went off in the parking lot, but I didn’t know there were bombs in the church.”
Madison grunted. “Have you been under a rock? It was all over the news and, by your own admission, you were there.”
“I delivered the rose, and then left and went straight to the flight line.”
“Why?” Grant asked.
“Because I had orders to go to Iraq for three weeks.” Irritation bled through in his tone. “Where are you going with this stuff? Neither of these things has anything to do with what happened here.”
“Actually, both do,” Madison said. “The rose you delivered...” He nodded, and she went on. “It was the signature of a serial killer after Maggie Mason, the woman in the pretty red dress. Gary Crawford’s signature.”
The color leaked out of Blake’s face. “No.”
“Yes.” Madison leaned forward. “I have a question, and, Blake, you’d better tell me the truth or we’re done here.”
The gravity of his situation was coming into focus; it showed in every drawn line on his face. “I will.”
“You said you were delivering the rose with a message about the dress for Maggie through this child.”
He nodded.
“For whom?”
Anguish crossed his face. “I can’t say.”
Grant sighed. “A flower and pretty dress hardly rise to the level of being classified.”
“I don’t make the rules, I just follow them,” Blake fired back.
“One more question,” Madison interrupted. “Did you sign or deliver a written order to Janet Hardy that directed her to expunge telephone records?”
“I’m not authorized to sign those orders, and I didn’t sign them. But I did deliver several of them to her.”
That surprised Madison. She’d been playing a hunch in asking, and now she was glad she had.
“Who signed them?”
“Some were generated by the commander and some by Dayton. I don’t know which one you mean. Can you be more specific?”
Grant nodded. “Of greatest interest is the one directing Janet Hardy to expunge the records of a call to WKME’s station manager, Brett Lund.”
His face went ruddy. “I remember it, but I don’t honestly remember who signed it. I’d tell you if I knew, but I’d be guessing.”
The sorry thing about that answer was Madison totally believed him. She stood up. “That’s all for now.”
“Are you going to get me out of here?”
“We’re going to complete our investigation,” Grant said.
The man’s fate was in higher hands, and all three of them knew it.
Madison left the cellblock and then the building and was glad to be outside. “What do you think?” she asked Grant.
“I think he was played and set up. I don’t think he’s Blue Shoes.” He crossed the parking lot. “Do you?”
“No, but I do believe he’s hiding something. I’m not sure what or for whom.”
Grant frowned, but kept his thoughts to himself. “Let’s go talk to Janet Hardy.”
“It’s after eleven, Grant,” Madison reminded him. “We’ll talk to her first thing in the morning.” When they were seated in his Jeep, Madison added, “I’m assuming you want to know why Janet didn’t say Blake delivered the expunge orders and claimed not to know who signed them.”
“You’d be correct.”
“I’m eager to hear her answers to those things myself.”
TEN
When Grant and Madison arrived on the West Side cul-de-sac, Janet Hardy was in her front yard on her knees, weeding her flowerbeds.
Serene, hands in the dirt and humming, she looked over and saw them walking toward her. Her smile faded.
Madison nodded. “Good morning, Janet.”
“It was.” Janet stood up and removed her gardening gloves. “What is it now?”
Definitely still wary, but after being locked up for as long as she had been, Madison could certainly understand why. “Just a few questions.”
“Dayton and Blake?”
“Still behind bars.”
Her sigh of relief lifted her shoulders. “That means you’re here for...”
Madison looked her right in the eye. “The truth.”
She smiled. “I’m ready to give it to you, now that I’m not locked up like a rat in a trap anymore.”
“You have the order to expunge the phone record?” A chill went up Madison’s spine.
“Not exactly.” She crooked a finger at them to come with her inside. When the door shut behind them, she walked on. “My computer’s in here.”
They followed her down a narrow hallway to an extra bedroom, where she had her computer sitting on a whitewashed desk. Craft items were stacked in plastic boxes against the wall. “I couldn’t tell you Blake brought me the order—not with him watching my every move,” she explained.
Understanding now, Madison said, “That was your only leverage to ever get out.”
Janet Hardy nodded, her hair swinging toward her face. “If they found that order, I was as good as dead, and I knew it.”
“You said you don’t have the order,” Grant reminded her.
“I don’t. It was misfiled, and they haven’t found it yet, though I expect they’ve been looking high and low for it.”
Madison got a glimpse of how the woman’s mind worked. “They’re not going to find it, are they?”
“Doubtful.” She smiled. “Let’s say I have a unique filing system for questionable documents.”
“You can get it.”
“Actually, I can’t.” She booted up her computer. “But I don’t need it.” She tapped an electronic device next to her computer. “I have this.”
“An external hard drive?”
“A scanner.” She dipped her chin. “Anything comes across my desk that makes me the least bit uneasy, I scan myself a copy and store it in a secret location.” She sniffed. “It’s sad we live in a world where people tell you to do things, then get convenient amnesia. It happens a lot, I’m sorry to say, so I keep myself a CYB book.”
“CYB?” Grant asked, clearly puzzled.
“Cover your back.” Janet lifted her chin. “I’ll take my hits for my mistakes, but nobody’s gonna lie about me and get away with it.”
Madison had called her backup by a different name but she knew exactly what Janet meant. “You’ve got a scan of the original order.” Madison swallowed a gasp.
She twirled her finger. “I need to log in.”
They turned their backs and waited for Janet’s signal.
“Okay.” She hit Print, and pointed to the screen. “There it is.”
Grant reached for the printed copy. “You have any problem in attesting to this being a certified copy of the original?”
“No problem whatsoever.”
Madison scanned the screen but couldn’t see who’d signed it. She looked at Grant, reading the printed copy. His expression gave nothing away. “Well?” she asked.
“Dayton.”
Madison looked at Janet. “What about this order made you flag it? Why did it make you uneasy?”
“Because Talbot always signed them himself. I thought it was weird for Dayton to sign one without the commander’s initialing it, as well.”
“Just how many of these are there?” Grant asked.
“Over the last four years, probably three or four dozen.”
“Can you give us copies of them, too?”
“I can, but I don’t know if I should. The commander—”
“We have his full authority,” Grant told Janet. “Access to whatever we need.”
Madison couldn’t speak. She tried, but her voice just wasn’t there. She was too stunned.
“You okay?” Grant whispered while Janet printed out the documents.
“When Maggie was running from Crawford, his calls were routed through the base and rerouted to various military installations around the world.” Madison looked at Grant. “Why would the commander expunge those records? They were evidence used to convict Crawford.”
“I don’t know.” He frowned. “But I think we’d better hold this information in reserve until we do.”
He wanted to exclude it from the preliminary report. A sickening feeling sank in the pit of her stomach and she nodded her agreement.
When they left Janet Hardy’s house, the first words out of Grant’s mouth were the very ones going through Madison’s mind.
“We need to run a timeline on Talbot.”
They did. She pulled out the tape of their interview with Blake—replayed his answers about the rose. “Grant,” she said, “Blake was holding back.”
“What?”
“Talbot.” Grant slammed on the brakes and headed back to the Nest.
Their minds obviously were moving in the same dark direction, and it appeared Grant wanted to confirm or dispel those suspicions now.
“It can’t be Talbot, Grant. It just can’t.” Madison felt chilled, betrayed to the bone. “Mrs. Renault will be devastated. I—I—”
“I don’t want to believe it, either.” Grant gripped the steering wheel hard. His knuckles were raised like knobs. “But remember what Mrs. Renault herself said.”
“What?”
“Throw out preconceived notions and find the truth and—”
“Let the chips fall where they may.” Madison feared those words would be burned into her memory forever. She closed her eyes and prayed they were wrong. Prayed with all her might that Talbot was the man Mrs. Renault believed him to be.
* * *
Two hours later, the proof was before Madison’s eyes. Blake had confirmed that Talbot had asked him to deliver the rose to Gracie for Maggie with the message about her dress, and Talbot’s timeline had more holes in it during peak crime times than a chunk of Swiss cheese.
Madison’s disappointment was so profound, her eyes leaked tears.
Grant’s, too, shone overly bright.
They hugged to comfort each other for a long moment, then Grant cleared his throat. “I need to make a call.”
“Mrs. Renault?”
“Beecher,” Grant said, dialing. When he answered, Grant told him he needed to speak directly to Blake.
A long few minutes later, Blake’s familiar voice came through the phone. “Hello.”
“Talbot’s timeline has a lot of holes in it during peak times when Blue Shoes was active.”
“Are you asking me a question, Deaver?”
“Drop the act. Trust me, you can’t afford it. Where are the records?”
“Dayton’s.”
“So he pulled them?” Blake getting leverage on Dayton, Dayton getting leverage on Talbot. Wasn’t anybody straight with anybody anymore?
“No, I pulled them,” Blake admitted. “Insurance. Dayton likes to trash houses, and I figured when he couldn’t find the logbook, he’d trash mine, looking for it. So I hid it at his house. I figured that’s the one place he’d never trash.”