by K. A. Tucker
Boyd studies her for a long moment. “We can do one better. Our dash cam was running when we approached you. We caught that exchange on video. At least, from our viewpoint. Would that help?”
I don’t think Gracie was expecting that answer. “Yeah.” She clears her throat. “It would. Thanks.”
“What would help Noah?” a loud voice calls from the entryway.
My body tenses. It’s about time he gave up on the phone.
“You can’t be in here,” Tareen begins, moving toward Silas, his arm out as if to usher him outside.
As if that would stop Silas. “I can and will be in here. I’m the district attorney of Travis County and that is my nephew.” He limps farther into the living room. “And I demand to know what’s going on.”
* * *
Silas tosses his phone onto the kitchen table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. And his face is visibly thinner. “He’s refusing to give his DNA without a court order, and the judge won’t issue one until we give sufficient reason to believe it was Stapley in this house.”
“Surprise, surprise . . .” Klein mutters, his steely gaze set on the backyard. “That’s fine. His blood isn’t going anywhere.”
“Tell him he should probably get a tetanus shot. Maybe one for rabies, too.” Gracie smirks, tossing Cyclops a strawberry.
“You haven’t had that dog vaccinated?” Silas glares at me. As if that’s my fault.
I don’t know what’s been going on behind the scenes, but per typical Silas, within fifteen minutes of stepping in here, he gained approval from Klein’s higher-ups to involve the APD in the break-in investigation and has smoothly inserted himself into the middle of it.
Now, Boyd and his partner are canvassing the neighborhood for potential witnesses, the APD has Stapley in an interrogation room, and Silas is getting regular updates from the acting police chief.
Of course, Stapley is feeding the APD the same bullshit excuse I heard him give Klein earlier—he caught his leg on a rake. Before the meeting with the FBI, he was home, cleaning up the yard. His wife can vouch for him.
Klein is right, though; there’s nothing Stapley can do to hide the blood that courses through his veins. It’s only a matter of time before they have him.
Silas drums his fingertips across the table. A tic of his when he’s frustrated. It’s because Klein is being Klein—closed off, talking in riddles, unwilling to tell Silas what he wants to know. “So, is it safe to say that Lieutenant Stapley is a person of interest in the Abraham Wilkes murder investigation? I presume that’s why Noah would have called the FBI instead of the APD for a break-in. Though I’m not sure why you guys wouldn’t have called for APD assistance.”
Gracie and I exchange a glance. Silas knows there is an official investigation. I have to assume he’s also figured out that we’ve told Klein everything.
“Sure. I think that’s safe to say,” Klein answers in his laid-back, “nothing really matters” tone, his arms folded across his chest.
Uncomfortable silence hangs for a few beats, before Silas shifts his attention back to me.
“Did you find anything on Grace’s aunt in the arrest records, Noah?”
“No, sir. Nothing in the death and marriage records, either.”
“And the FBI is looking for her too. Right?” Gracie peers at Kristian, expectantly.
“We will be. We’re tight on resources at the moment.”
Gracie’s disapproving huff says she doesn’t like that answer.
“Relax. It shouldn’t take too long using facial recognition software, with that picture you gave me. If she’s alive, we’ll get a hit eventually.”
“You have a picture of her?” Silas asks.
“Just one. My mom had it in her things.”
Silas frowns in thought. “Agent Klein, why don’t you let the APD help with tracking Betsy down so you can focus on your case? I’ll make sure it’s a priority for them. Or, at the very least, they can check out the leads you come up with.”
Klein regards him curiously. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll let you know.”
The kitchen chair creaks as Silas leans back against it. “Hey, if we can give Dina Wilkes back her sister . . . it should be a priority. It’s the least we can do.” It’s the first semi-civil exchange between these two since Silas walked through the door.
And everything about it sounds off.
One of the FBI evidence collectors pops his head in to say they’re wrapping up.
Boyd trails in right behind them.
“Got anything?” Silas asks.
“Yes, sir. A lady on the other side of the park noticed a dark blue pickup truck parked on the street during the time frame of the break-in.” They’re not calling it “theft.” As far as anyone can tell, nothing was taken. “She also noticed a tall, white male walking across from this side, in a hurry.”
“So you’re thinking Stapley parked over there, came through the park, and used the gate in the back to get through?”
“Yes, sir,” Boyd says.
“And do we know what Stapley drives?”
“A navy-blue Ford F10, sir.”
Silas smiles with grim satisfaction. “God bless idiots. What was he thinking, driving here in broad daylight to break into the late chief’s house?”
“I’m guessing he wasn’t expecting a vicious guard dog lying in wait,” Klein muses. “But the bigger question is, why would he want to plant cocaine and a gun in Jackie Marshall’s house?” A gun last registered to Abraham Wilkes, they’ve confirmed.
“You mean, besides trying to frame Jackie Marshall with my father’s death to cover his own tracks? His and Mantis’s?” Gracie’s lips twist bitterly.
A faint smile flitters across Klein’s face, saying that’s the conclusion he’s come to as well. It vanishes almost instantly. “And we’re sure that gun wasn’t in there before?”
“I don’t recall checking that shelf thoroughly, no,” Silas begins. “It could have been—”
“No, that gun was not in there,” I say with firm resolution.
Silas’s brow raises. “I don’t recall you checking that thoroughly, either.”
“I did. And besides, it would make no sense for her to put a bag of money and the gun holster in that hole under the floorboards, and not the gun.”
“I have to agree with you on that,” Klein murmurs.
But it then begs another question. “How did Stapley get the combination to the safe?” Because no one broke into it.
“I don’t know, son. I can’t figure it out either.” Silas’s brow furrows with worry as he watches Cyclops, standing outside the door, staring in at us.
“Just think, if this little guy hadn’t bitten him, you wouldn’t even know that someone had broken in here,” Klein offers mildly.
“Too bad Cy wasn’t around when Stapley pulled this shit at my house fourteen years ago,” Gracie mumbles.
“You think Stapley was the one who broke into your house to threaten your mother?” Silas asks her, but quickly turns to Klein. “Is that what the FBI suspects? That Stapley planted evidence in Abraham Wilkes’s house to make him appear guilty?”
Klein shrugs. “That’s one theory.”
Silas raps his fingers against the table’s surface in a rushed drumbeat, waiting for Klein to elaborate.
And Boyd’s watching this entire exchange quietly from the entryway, probably wondering what the hell kind of mess I’ve gotten myself into.
Finally, Silas gives up on an answer from Klein. “I’ll bet there’s blood in his truck. We can match it against what the FBI has collected here. Officer, are you on shift tonight?”
“For a few more hours,” Boyd says.
“I want a car patrolling this street the entire night, y’all hear? The entire night.” Silas’s phone rings then. His hand flies to answer it.
While he’s occupied on a call, Klein begins moving for the door. “How about you two try and stay out of trouble for a
minute.” He’s speaking to the both of us, but his eyes are locked on Gracie, as usual, and he doesn’t even bother to hide it. A cord of tension rises inside of me. Fucking guy. He’s got to be at least ten years older than her, maybe even fifteen.
“What’d you get out of Mantis and Stapley today, anyway?” Gracie asks. Can she tell that he’s attracted to her? Does she care?
“Exactly what I expected to get,” he answers cryptically, glancing at Silas. “If anything else comes up, you call me first, got it?”
“I will,” she promises. “And thanks for coming today.”
He flashes that arrogant smirk and my fist aches with the memory of hitting that jaw. “Yes, ma’am. Anytime.”
“What?” Silas exclaims into the phone, distracting all of us. “But that press conference was . . . Right now?” He waves at the small flat-screen mounted on the wall in the kitchen. “Noah . . . quick! Fox 7!”
I grab the remote and quickly flip through, until Chief Canning’s round face appears. He’s standing on the steps outside the police station, with reporters’ microphones poised to catch his words. “. . . Officer Abraham Wilkes, who was shot and killed on May third, 2003, was previously alleged to have been participatin’ in illegal activities outside his role as a police officer. However, new evidence has come to light today that would indicate Wilkes was not engaged in any sort of illegal activity and was in fact the target of the premeditated crime of murder.” Canning speaks slowly and clearly into the microphone as all of us—Klein included—cling to his words. “The APD and FBI are working jointly to understand exactly what transpired that night just shy of fourteen years ago. I cannot speak to the new evidence or to possible suspects, but if Officer Abraham Wilkes was the victim of this horrible crime . . .” He pauses, his brow furrowing as if he’s in pain. “Well, let’s make sure this city remembers Abe for what he truly was—a good and honorable police officer. No more questions.” He walks away from the microphone.
“Is this for real?” I glance from Silas to Klein, and back to Silas, looking for answers.
Klein’s expression betrays nothing.
Silas is rubbing his forehead furiously.
Meanwhile, Gracie’s face is full of shock. “Did he just clear my dad’s name to the public?”
“Not exactly, but—”
“This is . . .” Her eyes begin to well. “I need to call my mother.” She darts outside.
“What the hell was that, Silas?” Why would Canning—a retired police chief—be doing a press conference on an old murder case, without any conclusive findings, at the beginning of the investigation that the FBI is leading?
“Apparently, he was talking to the press about the coming ceremony and a reporter started asking him about Abraham. Someone must have tipped off the media. Probably after the FBI taped off that motel room today. That kind of thing does tend to raise questions.” Silas shoots an accusatory look at Klein.
“He could have brushed them off.”
“Yes, he could have, but . . . it happened under George’s watch. He’d want to be the one to take responsibility, to make it right.”
“So he obviously knows what we’ve learned.”
“Well, if you had picked up your damn phone at all today, you’d know that I went to Canning last night and told him everything you told me.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“And?”
“What do you mean ‘and’?” He flings a hand at the television. “You just saw ‘and’! We’ve both been on the phone with everyone and their brother all day. If any APD officers were involved in this, Canning will personally have their heads mounted on a spike!”
I look to Klein, baffled. “So, Abe’s case is now a joint investigation between the APD and FBI?” And the retired chief, apparently?
“Sure sounds like it, doesn’t it?” If Klein’s bothered, he doesn’t let on, sharing a whispered word with another FBI tech before focusing on the backyard to where Gracie sits on the lounger, speaking to someone—I assume Dina—her free hand waving excitedly, her face filled with a lightness that I haven’t seen before. He exits out the French doors to the back.
Silas’s dark gaze trails after him. “He’s the one you punched?”
“Yes, sir.”
A faint smile of satisfaction flickers over Silas’s face. “I’ll make sure his superiors speak with him. Help him understand what collaboration means.” The smile is followed by a frown of disapproval, as Silas’s gaze drifts over the yard. “Your mother would be upset if she saw this.”
I sigh. Leave it to Silas to give me grief about gardens at a time like this. “Cyclops did some rearranging. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it all.” It’s a good thing he hasn’t seen the mound of dirt at the bottom of the pool.
“Yes. That’s an interesting pet.”
I chuckle. “He’s starting to grow on me, actually.”
“He definitely earned his keep today.” Silas shakes his head. “In all your twenty-five years, Noah, you have never shown me anything but the utmost respect. Until today.”
I avert my gaze.
“I called you five times and you couldn’t answer? Couldn’t call back?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? Because you were too busy getting the FBI involved, after I specifically told you to wait?”
“I had no choice.” I tell him how Klein tailed and then ambushed us. “As if I had any right to ask Gracie to wait.”
“No, I suppose not.” He shakes his head. “I don’t like the way these guys are operating. Haven’t been able to get much out of anyone, all day. I can appreciate why they’d be tight-lipped, though, especially given Dwayne Mantis’s position, and the fact that they don’t have much of anything that’s concrete.” He runs his hands over his face. “But I can’t help you if you keep secrets from me.”
“And what about the secrets you’re keeping from me?” I struggle to steel my spine as I confront my uncle. “You knew about that video, didn’t you? And about Abe going after Mantis for stealing the money.”
He chews the inside of his cheek in thought, his finger tracing the grain of the wood on the table’s surface. And every second I wait for his answer, my anxiety grows. “I did. And when you came to me yesterday, to tell me all this . . . I thought I was going to lose my breakfast right there in my office. Because I did know about it and I wrote it off as a lie fourteen years ago. If I’d believed it, I would have brought it forward as part of the investigation into his death.”
“What do you mean if you believed it? What the hell did you believe, then?” I can’t help my accusatory tone.
“The same damn thing as Harvey Maxwell! That it was all a part of this elaborate lie Abe was living, another fiber in the wool he’d pulled over everyone’s eyes.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
“For the same reason he was lying to his wife for weeks about his whereabouts!”
“He was searching for her sister!”
Silas throws his hands in the air in an act of surrender. “I didn’t know that! No one knew anything about this Betsy girl! Dina didn’t even know! Why lie to her about it? If he’d told her the truth, then he would have had an alibi.”
I level him with a look. “Mom knew about Betsy.”
“Well, she didn’t tell me.” His voice is bitter. “And I looked through the evidence they found on his computer and in his house. There was nothing there. So I figured there was never anything there to begin with. Had Dina come to me about this man who’d threatened her . . .” He lets his words drift.
“Is this why Mom blamed herself for Abe dying? Does this have something to do with Dina’s sister? Does Betsy have something to do with the fallout between Abe and her?”
His throat bobs with his swallow as he gazes at the chair my mother was sitting in that night. I had been preparing to warn anyone who made for it today—not that chair; don’t sit in that chair—but no one even came close. “I wish I knew, No
ah, but she never told me. Apparently there’s a lot she didn’t tell me. Your mom . . . she was different after Abe died.”
“That’s when she started drinking.”
“It wasn’t just the drinking. She became closed off. To everyone, myself included. She got that promotion to assistant chief not long after and she became so focused on her career, nothing else seemed to matter. She wasn’t the same. I figured it had to do with Abe—with him not being the man she thought he was.” He sighs. “All I know is that with the overwhelming evidence in front of us, we were all left to believe the obvious answer.”
Yes. The evidence. “We went to the motel today, Silas. And there had to be a third person in that room.”
“Maybe there was. But it isn’t as conclusive as what he made you think.” Silas throws a casual hand toward the back, where Klein paces around Gracie, a lit cigarette in his hand. “That guy was still a kid stealing his daddy’s beer and feeling up his girlfriend in the back of a car while I was standing in that motel room, surrounded by dead bodies and blood and drugs and a million hard questions. If there were people in that investigation working to erase fingerprints, to make Abe look guilty . . . well, that means everything was questionable, then, doesn’t it?”
“You can’t rule his theory out, though.”
“His theory is the backbone of this investigation, now, for what it’s worth, without any hard evidence.”
“Thanks to Stapley.”
Silas shakes his head in disbelief. “If Abe was murdered by those two, they will be punished to the full extent of the law.” He sounds resolute, and yet his expression shows only worry. “But we may have to be satisfied with simply clearing Abe’s name with reasonable doubt and moving on with our lives.”
“I know that.”
“Make sure that girl out there knows that. You don’t want her following in her mother’s footsteps.”
“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. Gracie would never become that.”
“Let’s hope not.”
“Dina says she’s just like Abe. Except, you know . . . a girl.” A girl who has me ensnared in her spell.