Silent Night Suspect

by Sharee Stover

  “I’m fine,” she rasped.

  “You’ve always been a terrible actor.”

  The corners of Asia’s lips tugged upward, then fell away as her eyes fluttered closed.

  “No sleeping for you,” he prodded. If she had a concussion, she had to stay awake.

  “I’m fine,” Asia repeated, righting herself and backing from his touch. Her shoulders slumped and seemed to bear the weight of the world.

  Slade concentrated on the flashing lights, fighting the desire to remove her burdens. She couldn’t be guilty. The internal policy and procedure manual played like background music in his brain, battling with concern for her well-being. “Do you remember anything else?”

  Dumb question since he’d already asked her the same thing a hundred different ways, but he had to help her. He owed it to Zander—and to Asia. “Maybe you recall being attacked? Or waking in a trunk?”

  The briefest hint of a smile broke through her downcast expression. “You watch too many television shows.” She shook her head, then glanced down. “You’re doing your job, and I need to follow the rules. I won’t fight.”

  Rumbling engines barreled down the snow-packed gravel driveway. Slade recognized his sergeant’s patrol car—the twin of his own pre-bullet-ridden vehicle—leading the pack with Slade’s brother Trooper Trey Jackson’s white K9 pickup following closely behind. Two brown sedans with sheriff county logos and an ambulance joined the entourage.

  “Are you able to walk?” Slade offered his hand. “Otherwise, I’ll carry you to the ambulance.”

  Asia straightened as if he’d cattle prodded her. “You’re not carrying me anywhere.” She grasped hold of the railing and pulled herself up. Her obstinacy rivaled any mule.

  Slade started to touch the small of her back, then thought better of it. “Just stay by my side and let me do the talking.” For once, she didn’t argue, and they walked toward Sergeant Oliver’s vehicle.

  “Jackson! What’s going on?” Oliver yelled, clambering out of the attractive low-profile Charger. The twenty-pound gun belt, Kevlar vest and the man’s bulky stature made for a difficult exit from the car. “Are you all right?” His gaze bounced from Slade to Asia, registering her presence. “Mrs. Stratton?” Oliver’s confusion said he too was trying to make sense of the situation.

  “Shooters bolted when they heard the sirens.” Slade stepped protectively closer to Asia’s side.

  “What happened to your car?” Oliver asked, mouth agape.

  The newer vehicle’s damage costs would make their way up the chain of command and right to the colonel’s desk. After Slade spent the next week filling out paperwork.

  Two EMTs advanced, and Slade sent a silent prayer of thanks for the interruption. “Let me get Asia—Mrs. Stratton—taken care of.” He excused himself from Oliver and addressed the medics. They visually assessed her condition as Slade provided a robotic report. “Mrs. Stratton has a bullet wound to her shoulder—appears to be a through and through—and she has a contusion on the back of her head.”

  The shorter of the two men nodded vehemently while charting on his iPad. White embroidery on his blue uniform shirt spelled Hereford. Easy to remember. Uncle Irwin had bred Hereford cows. The man’s youthful appearance had Slade questioning whether he was even old enough to drive the rig. Then he realized he sounded like his father, always complaining that everyone else was getting younger when the reality was he was the one aging.

  “I’ll get the stretcher.” The taller EMT jogged to the ambulance before Slade caught sight of his name on his badge.

  “I’m not riding on a stretcher.” Asia shook her head, one palm up in defense.

  “Ma’am,” Hereford began.

  “I’ll assist her to the rig,” Slade promised, not wanting her to become more agitated. What was wrong with her?

  Hereford frowned and joined his partner.

  Slade moved between Asia and the EMTs as a high school memory bounced to the forefront of his mind. “Still claustrophobic? Or are you boycotting ambulances?” he teased, hoping to lighten her anxiety.

  She blinked, and understanding shone in her eyes. “You remember?”

  “Um, yeah. You nearly capsized our canoe in the amusement park’s tunnel of love.” His neck warmed at the romantic recollection of their junior year in high school. He’d spent half his earnings from the grain elevator just to win Asia a giant teddy bear. That had been a wonderful time.

  Slade shoved the painful reminder down. Those days were long gone, having been replaced by adult tragedies.

  Asia’s dark eyes searched his, and he noted the hardness had returned. She took a step back. “I don’t feel well,” she admitted, then added, “I’m not sure I can handle riding in the enclosed van alone with a stranger.”

  The small glimpse of her vulnerable side bolstered his protectiveness. “I happen to be down a vehicle. How about if I ride with you and keep you occupied? Distractions help the trip go faster.” He used his best conspiratorial tone and said, “Plus, it’ll delay the report I have to write about my car’s demise.”

  Asia shrugged without comment, but relief softened the lines on her forehead. Slade took the token of acceptance and helped her to the ambulance. “I need to confer with my sergeant. Then I’ll accompany Mrs. Stratton to the hospital,” he told Hereford, who grunted his acknowledgment.

  “One minute,” Slade assured Asia.

  She waved him off, and he returned to where Oliver, Trey and the deputies stood inspecting his damaged patrol unit. Slade provided a brief recap of the events, starting with Nevil Quenten’s DOA status—temporarily omitting the significant detail of Asia’s gun possession—emphasizing her injuries and then concluding with the shoot-out in the shed.

  Oliver pulled himself to his full six-foot-two-inch height and addressed the team. “Thank you for responding. Set up a perimeter.” He turned to Trey. “Have K9 Magnum search the property. Mark whatever you find with flags, but do not touch it. We’ll let the evidence techs handle collection.”

  “Affirmative.” Trey strode to his pickup and released his police service dog, Magnum, from the cab. The Belgian Malinois barked his appreciation, and the duo navigated to the rear of the home, where they’d work a spiral search pattern of the exterior, starting outside the shed.

  Oliver continued issuing the directives, but his voice faded into the background. Slade’s focus returned to Asia, sitting at the rear of the ambulance as the paramedic dressed her wound.

  The two deputies sprinted past him, yanking Slade to the present as they sped off the property.

  Now was his chance to buy Asia some time with his boss. Slade moved quickly to where Oliver stood alone, typing into his cell phone. “Sir?”

  The sergeant finished his entry before looking up.

  “I can’t believe Asia—er, Mrs. Stratton—would commit murder. It’s obvious she’s in danger and needs our help.”

  Oliver slipped his phone into his belt clip. “You don’t have to pretend she’s a stranger. I’m aware of the friendship you and Zander once had, including the fact the three of you were childhood classmates.”

  Slade and Asia had been more than classmates, but Oliver didn’t need to know any of those details.

  “Right. I respectfully request time to gather more intel before making any hasty decisions.”

  “You mean you don’t want to arrest her.”

  “I don’t want to prematurely arrest her. The stigma of a cop’s wife committing murder...”

  “The press and public would bake her. I understand and agree. However, I’m still confused as to how you ended up here in the first place.”

  “That’s a little trickier to explain. I received a text from Asia’s number asking for help, with a map screenshot of this location.”

  “She lured you here?” Oliver’s tone hardened.

  Slade withdrew his
cell phone and displayed the message. “She insists she never sent the text. It came from her number, but that doesn’t prove the sender.”

  Oliver shook his head. “You said Quenten was already DOA?”

  “Yes, sir.” Slade hesitated.

  “Did she have defensive wounds?”

  “She’s got injuries, possibly defensive, but she’s unsure how they occurred.”

  “She’s claiming amnesia?”

  Slade shifted from one foot to the other. “Partially. Asia said the last thing she recalls is being in her apartment on Thursday. She’s got no recollection of arriving here or the time in between.”

  Oliver’s expression gave no indication as to whether he believed Slade. “Quenten’s got enough enemies. Start at her home. Perhaps returning to a familiar place will help trigger her memory. One more thing.” Oliver stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The clock is ticking. We’ll help Asia in every way possible, but we will not ignore the law. She’s our only suspect, and unless something drastic changes in the next seventy-two hours, she must be brought in for questioning.”

  Slade understood the rationale. Seventy-two hours for the processing of evidence. A short span of time. “I understand. Guess I’d better call in a tow for my car.”

  Oliver shook his head. “No, I’ll handle that. If these men are looking for something, they’ll try again, and I want them caught. Whoever brought Asia here had a specific reason.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do not let her out of your sight. If she’s guilty, we’ll have to deal with it by the book. But if she’s not, she’ll need all the help we can provide. She’s still blue family.”

  Asia needed them, even if she was too stubborn to admit it. If he were honest with himself, there was a part of Slade that needed her too. This was his chance to make up for destroying her life by turning in Zander. He didn’t want to arrest her, but if it came down to that, he’d do so, while protecting her within guidelines. Then he’d prove her innocence because there was no way she was guilty.

  He’d almost guarantee it... Almost.

  An unmarked navy blue truck approached and parked on the other side of Trey’s K9 pickup, blocking Slade’s view of the driver.

  “Trooper, we need to go,” Hereford called.

  Slade sprinted to the ambulance, where Asia sat propped up and unrestrained on the stretcher. An IV line trailed from her wrist. “I’m fine,” she groused. “This is unnecessary.”

  The EMT grinned and stepped aside, giving Slade and Asia privacy. Slade leaned in and whispered, “It’s this or riding in the special visitor seat of a patrol car.”

  She pressed her lips into a flat line. “Point taken.”

  Slade walked toward Hereford. “I need to wrap a few things up with my sergeant. Can you give me two minutes? Will she be okay?”

  He nodded. “She’s lost a lot of blood but she’s stable. One minute.”

  “Thanks.” Slade returned to where Detective Kent Beardly now joined Oliver.

  Of all people, why had Oliver chosen him? Slade couldn’t work the crime scene, which was reasonable, but the last thing they needed was another hand in the mix. Beardly’s cop skills were decent, but he had all the finesse of a longhorn bull. Slade stood undecided between leaving Beardly to assume the investigation and accompanying Asia to the hospital.

  Beardly faced Slade with a clenched jaw, as if he’d interrupted an important meeting. “Mrs. Stratton’s claiming amnesia? A little cliché, don’t you think?”

  Had the man’s voice always been that gravelly? Agitation and defensiveness sent Slade’s hackles up. “It’s possible, but after the shoot-out we endured, it’s more than probable she’s telling the truth. Says she’s lost the past two days.” Slade kept Asia in view.

  Beardly tsked, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen her since the funeral. Heard she’d pretty much disappeared afterward. Not inconceivable she’s using like Zander.”

  Slade gritted his teeth, not wanting to participate in Beardly’s attempt at gossip.

  Thankfully, Oliver regained command of the conversation. “We haven’t assessed the scene yet. Asia’s obviously got enemies. She’s innocent until proven guilty. Jackson, provide her protective detail at the hospital.”

  “Sarge, with all due respect, Jackson’s too close to this.” Beardly slapped a palm on Slade’s shoulder. “No offense.”

  None taken, and no one asked you. Slade restrained the urge to swat Beardly’s hand away.

  The detective continued, “It’d be better to have an impartial party do the detail.”

  No way. If he had to do it incognito, Slade wasn’t letting Asia out of his sight. If she recovered her memory with the wrong people, she’d be dead for sure.

  “With all due respect,” he mimicked, “I’m without a car. Asia is claustrophobic, and I promised to ride with her. She trusts me.” Liar. “I’d like the detail.” Did he sound too eager?

  “Trooper, we need to get Mrs. Stratton to the hospital,” the taller paramedic said.

  “When she’s released, we’ll determine continued custody at that time. Jackson, go with Asia. Beardly, lead the investigation here,” Oliver asserted.

  Beardly squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “You can count on me, sir. No two-bit criminal goes after one of our blue family and gets away with it.”

  All the overexuberant detective needed now was to don a cape and leggings. Slade spun on his heel and sprinted for the ambulance.

  “If Mrs. Stratton remembers anything that might help us, contact me immediately,” Beardly called.

  Slade rolled his eyes, climbed into the rig and dropped onto the metal bench. Hereford sat across from them charting Asia’s vitals, while the other EMT took the driver’s seat. Within seconds, they rumbled off the property.

  They passed Oliver. He stood several feet away, gesturing with wide, emphatic movements to a new set of responding officers from multiple surrounding agencies. A call for an officer-involved shooting brought out everyone. Even with a tight perimeter and law enforcement presence, Slade doubted they’d catch the criminals. If only the team had arrived a few minutes sooner.

  Was Asia faking her selective amnesia? She’d been an angry, defensive woman, but she’d never been a liar. However, desperation motivated people to make foolish choices.

  “How’re you doing?” Slade broke the silence.

  Asia bit her lip. “Do you think any of this has to do with Zander?”

  Sure, now she wants to divulge in front of a stranger. Slade glanced at Hereford, who busied himself with paperwork. “I can’t help but consider the possibility of a connection.” He’d prefer not to have this conversation in the man’s company. Still, letting her talk might work better than interrogating her.

  Asia twirled the white sheet around her fingers, and the childlike motion reminded him of his two-year-old niece. “I haven’t asked for updates on his investigation since the funeral. I couldn’t deal with it, but I can’t hide from it anymore. Especially with this happening. I need to understand what’s going on. Have there been any leads in Zander’s case?” she asked.

  Slade leaned closer. She didn’t move away, and the momentary acceptance touched him. Maybe she’d forgive him someday—though he didn’t deserve it, and he’d never ask. He shifted under the weight of discussing the investigation. Memories of Zander’s crime scene and broken body sent an involuntary shiver up his spine. How much should he share? Struggling to find the right words, he determined to be honest while revealing only what was necessary. “There’s been no progress—”

  “Oh.” Asia fell back against the stretcher and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m so nauseous.”

  “You may have a concussion,” Hereford advised.

  “We’ll talk later. Just rest.” Slade reached for Asia’s arm, then retracted his hand. By the book and pr
ofessional was the only way he could truly help her. Even if she never forgave him for Zander’s death.

  * * *

  The swaying and bumping of the ambulance across the gravel roads worsened Asia’s nausea, swirling her stomach into knots. She leaned against the cool sheet covering the stretcher and closed her eyes while fisting the metal frame. Nothing relieved the dizziness. She swallowed hard and inhaled deeply to calm herself.

  A shiver crept up her spine at the recollection of Nevil Quenten’s lifeless black eyes. Lord, I need Your help. How do I prove I’m innocent when all they see is my guilt?

  And who could blame them? If she were on the outside looking in, she’d feel the same way. Except she was on the inside looking out, and she was no killer. Asia pressed her fingers against her forehead. The drumming in her brain intensified, and she squeezed her eyes tighter, concentrating on her prayers rather than the discomfort.

  The plethora of self-condemning questions continued to ravage her mind. Why hadn’t she run away when she’d come to? What possessed her to grab the gun? How stupid was she? Her train wreck of a life had spiraled out of control, and now her only hope of proving her innocence was to find Nevil Quenten’s real murderer. Would that also prove who had murdered Zander? They were obviously connected. But why drag her into it?

  Guilt hit her. Why had she asked about Zander’s case? The familiar juxtaposition of love and sorrow swirled in her memories of her deceased husband. In a short time, she’d gone through a full range of emotions from terror to humiliation. Was there any way off this crazy train?

  “Are you feeling better?”

  Asia opened her eyes and faced Slade. “I doubt that’ll happen unless this is all a horrible nightmare, and I wake up.”

  “Did you want to call someone?”

  Like who? The rock in her throat threatened to cut off her air supply, and the only faces she pictured were her parents’. Asia concentrated on the sheet until it blurred as she tried to silence the condemning mantra. If only I hadn’t been so selfish, they wouldn’t be dead.

  Zander’s outward charismatic personality and intimate neediness had compelled her to follow him to the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. Mom’s and Daddy’s quiet natures and gentle understanding provided all the approval Asia needed. They promised to visit often and had kept that promise, even when blizzard warnings covered every news channel that lethal night. Daddy had assured Asia the storm wouldn’t be an issue, but they’d never anticipated the wrecked semi jackknifed across the highway. Invisible arrows penetrated her heart with each agonizing image.