Silent Night Suspect

by Sharee Stover

  “I wasn’t sure if you had a friend or someone you’d like to notify,” Slade clarified, invading her misery.

  She turned away. “There’s no one.” The bitter words stung her throat. “Not that you’d ever understand being alone.” Asia didn’t meet Slade’s eyes. Couldn’t. His family—a raucous, close-knit group where love and laughter enveloped everyone in a ten-mile radius—had been her second home. A family she’d betrayed for Zander.

  The memories increased the burn in her chest and hollow ache in her heart. She and Zander had always been a volatile combination. Her nurturing instincts combined with his lack of family—thanks to his mother’s drug overdose—entangled them in an isolating solace of false peace. Zander’s eventual emotional and physical abandonment left Asia more alone than she’d ever thought possible. Only superficial work relationships existed for her.

  Work. One more consideration. Asia studied her fingernails. “I returned to the salon two weeks ago, and I have no vacation time. They’ll fire me.” She turned to Slade. “Unless...”

  “Unless?”

  “Do you think I’ll be able to go home by tomorrow morning?” It was stupid to even hope for such a thing, and the doubt in Slade’s eyes spoke his answer. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t want you losing your job.”

  “Yeah, well, one missed paycheck won’t change my meager lifestyle,” she said, miffed that she’d revealed too much. A prison sentence would eliminate the need for employment, anyway.

  Slade appeared taken aback. “Are you having financial troubles? I assumed Zander’s insurance—”

  “Not that it’s any of your business.” Asia drilled him with her best you-asked-for-it scowl. “But I never received any money. Turns out, they withhold life-insurance benefits when there’s an ongoing investigation.” Slade’s invasive comment meant he was digging. The department mandated every trooper carry life insurance of at least two times their salary.

  He grimaced and swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize...but you had the house? Equity after the sale?”

  She shook her head. “The bank foreclosed on our house when I failed to pay the second mortgage Zander forged in my name. Of course, that was right after he’d cleaned out our savings.” Why was she confessing her financial woes to him? It was none of Slade’s concern, and the EMT looked like he wanted to crawl under her stretcher and hide.

  “Zander’s path of destruction had no boundaries,” Slade murmured.

  Asia started to defend her deceased husband but lost the energy to follow through. She reached up and gently touched the tender spot on her head, allowing her fingers to graze the hard, crusty sections of her hair where blood had coagulated. Another unknown, though surely in her favor. She couldn’t have inflicted the injury to herself.

  Slade leaned closer. “I wasn’t aware things were so difficult. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve helped you.”

  She crossed her arms, blinked and tilted her head. “Why would I run to you?”

  The words were harsh, but Slade’s nonchalant manner surprised her. “To be honest, my thoughts exactly. You’ve never asked for my help. Which made your text tonight even more baffling.”

  So we’re back to quizzing me. “Someone else sent that message. Find my phone and I’ll prove it.” Her voice sounded far more confident than the fear swarming her heart. The more disturbing question was, how had the killer connected her and Slade? They hadn’t talked since the funeral, and even that had been strained.

  She considered him. After all they’d been through this evening, he’d maintained his perfectly put-together self. Examining her blouse and pants, she grimaced. I, on the other hand, resemble a demolition-derby car.

  Slade pulled out his notepad and wrote something down.

  “What did the message say?”

  “Hmm?” He glanced up from his note taking.

  “The text you’re accusing me of sending. What did it say?” she repeated.

  Slade withdrew his cell phone, scrolled through his messages and passed the device to her. Asia’s name and number appeared in the contact area along with her picture. A print screen showed a map and one word—Help.

  She studied the words and image, using her fingers to zoom in closer. “Is this where we were?”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Yes.”

  She handed him the phone. “I never sent the message, and I don’t recognize the address.”

  He dismissed her by slipping the device into his belt clip. “For the record, you could’ve asked for my help.”

  An unladylike snort escaped, and she shifted her gaze.

  “I didn’t want to report Zander. It was—”

  Asia jerked to face him, and the headache gained new rhythm behind her eyeballs. “What, Slade?” She cut him off. “The right thing to do?”

  Tension covered his expression, and his posture stiffened. Satisfaction at silencing him reminded her of their disconnected relationship. He wasn’t her friend. He’d lost that privilege a long time ago, and she’d never give him the chance to hurt her again.

  Slade palmed the notepad. “I realize you weren’t able to see them from your vantage point, but did you recognize either of those men? Their voices?”

  Without hesitation, Asia responded with an emphatic head shake. “Not at all.”

  “What do you know about the deceased?” Slade refrained from using Quenten’s name. Did he not trust the EMT? Or was he testing her?

  “Limited comments from Zander, but nothing of significance.” Her mind raced, and questions tumbled out fast, crashing over one another. “Why would a guy like him come after me? Why are those men looking for me? What do they want?”

  Slade worked his jaw and gave a slight shake of his head. This wasn’t the place to discuss Nevil Quenten or Zander. Not to mention, something about his mannerisms suggested he didn’t believe her. The darkened expression on his rugged face sent a tremor of worry through Asia. Was she becoming paranoid in her efforts to prove her innocence?

  “We’ll figure this out.”

  His calm manner should have been comforting. Instead, it irked her. Did he not comprehend the problem? The danger she faced? Or did he not care?

  “If they’re searching for me, they’ll find me. Why was I there with that—that—criminal?” Asia spit the last word, then continued, “How did they know I was there? Where have I been? How did I get there?” Frustration made her ramble, leaving no opening for Slade to respond. “What is going on?”

  The walls of the ambulance closed in, reminding Asia she was a prisoner with the ever-watchful Slade. He’d never let her out of his sight, yet the sudden urge to jump up and thrust open the doors tempted her. Common sense revealed the impossibility of the option—it was something out of an action movie, not real-life drama.

  Her heart rate quickened, and the EMT shifted his gaze to the monitor. “Ma’am, please calm down.”

  Asia worried her lip. I have done nothing wrong. True enough, but the truth had paled when the other officers arrived, and the terror of her reality hit again. And of course, Sergeant Oliver and Slade’s brother Trey would be the responding troopers. It would’ve been easier to deal with two strangers than a reunion of her deceased husband’s coworkers. Not that they’d hung out and been friends. An unexpected wave of sadness washed over her. She’d lost so much with Zander’s death. Even the identity of being part of the patrol family. They wouldn’t be amicable once they arrested her for murder.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Slade repeated, though it held no promise for her freedom. The wretched ringing of his cell phone interrupted the conversation.

  Asia watched his expression as he answered the call. The crease in his forehead said the news wasn’t good. He disconnected and met her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Her pulse quickened as each sile
nt second ticked by.

  “Let’s talk later.”

  Common sense said to keep quiet; this wasn’t the time or place. Asia ignored her instinct and blurted, “No. Tell me now.”

  “Later.”

  His brush-off bothered her. She had the right to be informed of every detail of her case. “Slade, I can take whatever you have to say.”

  He sighed, and Asia jerked to look at the EMT, who avoided her gaze. Slade leaned closer and spoke in a barely audible volume. “Magnum found cocaine in your purse.”

  She gripped the stretcher’s rails to keep from jumping up. “No! That’s not possible. I don’t... It wasn’t my purse, then!”

  “The investigators also discovered your wallet and phone inside.”

  “Whatever they think they found, it wasn’t mine.”

  Slade shook his head. Disbelief? Preoccupation? “There’s more. The CSIs identified the gun at the scene.”

  She swallowed, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. “That was fast.”

  “The state patrol emblem was inscribed on the side with a badge number.”

  Asia held her breath, dreading the next words.

  “It was Zander’s service weapon.”

  No. “But the investigators took all of his equipment after...” Asia paused midargument. Why would she have his gun? Zander always kept it in his possession, and he hadn’t lived with her for over a year. The department collected all his issued items. She’d refused to go to his apartment, but they’d told her everything had been cleaned out. Why hadn’t she confirmed?

  “Zander’s weapon went missing before his murder,” Slade clarified.

  Asia’s shoulders tightened. “You can’t seriously believe I killed Nevil Quenten using Zander’s gun? Or that I was running drugs? Slade, come on.”

  He seemed to age before her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Asia gritted her teeth. What didn’t he know? Whether I’m a murderer? Whether I’m lying now? The three words plagued her from every angle. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here, and her only ally didn’t know if he believed her. Wretched irony.

  THREE

  Fatigue wore through Slade’s depleting energy reserves. His phone buzzed, dragging him into consciousness, and a glance at the screen revealed it was 02:34 in the morning. He repositioned in the uncomfortable hospital chair. The night seemed to stretch on forever. Asia had endured multiple tests on machines with names resembling alphabet soup, and finally the surgery to repair her shoulder. Thankfully, the bullet had missed her vital organs and arteries.

  Slade scrubbed his palm over his face, then read Oliver’s demand for an update. Based on the tone, he’d avoided the conversation with his boss for one message too long. He’d hoped to receive the lab results first, but it was time to confront the inevitable.

  The phone buzzed again. “Give me a minute,” Slade groused in a whispered reply to the inanimate object.

  Asia sighed and rolled over, reminding him to be quiet. She appeared to sleep peacefully, and he didn’t want to wake her. The poor woman needed rest.

  He glanced down, expecting Oliver’s number, but a new text message from his friend’s wife—a manager in the hospital lab—resuscitated his hope. Asia’s tox results confirmed the presence of scopolamine. A drug Quenten’s cronies specialized in because it kept the victim conscious and compliant, but blocked memory formation.

  Renewed optimism had Slade slipping from Asia’s hospital room. The scopolamine explained Asia’s temporary amnesia and added plausible deniability about her participation in Quenten’s death. Unease crept between Slade’s shoulder blades. Oliver would demand an answer as to how Slade had obtained the rapid results. The reality of him facing disciplinary action for unlawful use of authority was a serious consideration. He didn’t want to get his friend’s wife in trouble, but the evidence helped Asia’s defense. Please don’t let Oliver ask for details. The prayer escaped before Slade debated whether God would frown on such a request.

  Lacey Fisher, the young female trooper Sergeant Oliver assigned to assist with Asia’s security, sat in the hallway keeping watch. She glanced up, acknowledging Slade as he palmed his phone. “Please sit with Mrs. Stratton. She’s asleep. I’ll be back in five minutes. I need to make a call, but the reception in the hospital’s terrible.”

  “Affirmative.” Fisher jumped to her feet.

  He waited until the trooper entered Asia’s room, then strode through the gray hallway where pictures of farming landscapes hung at two-foot intervals. The path curved and disappeared behind him toward the elevators. He poked the down arrow and exhaled, allowing the night’s events to loom in his mind.

  The ride to the lobby ended too soon. Slade traipsed through the vacant area to the hospital’s electric glass entry. He shivered as the frosty air greeted him. With a tap to Oliver’s contact icon, he made the call and exited the building.

  “Glad to see you found time to report in. What’s Mrs. Stratton’s status?” Oliver barked without saying hello.

  His sergeant’s comments were deserved and expected, but Slade cringed anyway. Avoiding the man didn’t rank high on the smart-things-to-do list, but procrastination came easy to him. “She’s resting now. Doctor stitched up the bullet wound, but the concussion and her blood pressure have him wanting to keep her overnight for observation.”

  Oliver exhaled into the receiver. “That’s a relief. No need to rush her departure. The CSIs have finished for the night. They won’t release the scene until they’ve had a chance to go over it again in the morning with better lighting.”

  Slade contemplated asking his next question, then concluded they had to know everything Asia faced. “Sir, did they find anything else—”

  “You mean besides a dead cartel leader, murder weapon, her purse and the drugs?” Oliver snapped.

  The gun hadn’t been confirmed as the murder weapon, but correcting his boss would be unwise. “Something like that.”

  “Nothing of significance. I’ve requested her phone records because her cell is password protected. Should have them within a few hours.”

  Slade heard the veiled implication. Unless the killer had her password, it appeared Asia had sent the text. Would the records help her case or make it worse? Why hadn’t she dialed 9-1-1?

  “The drugs in Asia’s purse require her arrest. At the very least, she must be detained for questioning and processing.”

  “But you said her purse was found in one of the bedroom closets. A good attorney will refute the evidence since the purse wasn’t actively in her possession.” Slade’s weak argument was the best he could muster at the late hour.

  “True, but the murder charges aren’t as avoidable. Doubtful he shot himself, Trooper.”

  “Yes, sir. That part is a little harder to rebut.”

  “Once the lab fingerprints the weapon...”

  Slade swallowed hard. Asia’s prints were all over the gun. The realization left him reeling. Whether she was drugged or not, if the clothes he’d submitted had gunshot residue on them, it would only add to the evidence against her. Even without the ballistics report, there was little doubt in his mind that the bullet that killed Quenten came from Zander’s weapon. The same one Asia had been holding. “They’ll find Asia’s prints on the gun.”

  “I see. You’d better start over and tell me exactly what happened before my arrival.” Oliver’s impatience oozed through the line.

  Everything within Slade wanted to circumvent the truth, but there was no pretending or denying she’d held the gun. Until now, he hadn’t offered those specifics. With a sigh, he recounted the story again, this time including all the pertinent information, and ended with the men fleeing at the sirens.

  “That’s a significant omitted detail.” Oliver’s tone, though agitated, wasn’t irate. “I suppose there’s the possibility that Quenten attacked her first.”


  Perhaps his boss would give Asia the benefit of the doubt. “Then it would be self-defense.” Slade inhaled and launched into his practiced speech informing Oliver about the scopolamine.

  Oliver’s pause hung between them for so long that Slade held his breath, expecting the worst. “I see. I’m not even going to ask how you obtained results that quickly.”

  Whew. “Sir, Quenten should also be tested for drugs. Something that might explain immobility? How else was he shot square in the forehead? There are seasoned troopers who lack that type of accuracy. I’m sure there’s more to this than we’re seeing. It would be easy to book her and call it a done deal, but my gut says Asia’s innocent. What if the murderer’s intention was to lure me there and take out both of us?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Listen, I’m not heartless. I feel for her. Asia’s had a full plate longer than anyone should have to. I’ll request the tox screen on Quenten. In the meantime, ensure she’s safe and keep me posted.” Oliver disconnected.

  Relief and a second wind had Slade rushing through the hospital doors. He paced in front of the elevator while his brain raced out of control. He had hope again, and that was huge. Dad always said hope was like blinders on a horse—it focused a man’s attention and eliminated his peripheral vision. Of course, he’d been talking about falling in love, not battling murder charges. If only they had a clue in her favor.

  All of this was connected to Zander. Even in death the guy hurt Asia, and he’d never deserved her. Although Slade had ample opportunities to tattle about Zander’s extramarital activities, he refused to break Asia’s heart. He’d also feared losing her friendship, or worse, having her hate him. Oh wait, I’ve accomplished that. Score one for overachievers.