by K. A. Tucker
“My homemade marmalade is there, too. I’ve made a chicken casserole for lunch and it’s coolin’ from the oven. I just need to scoot up the road for some milk, because we’re fresh out and the grandbabies won’t drink water. I know, they’re spoiled. I’ll be ten minutes at most. George, would you be a doll and keep your eyes on them? If they come lookin’ for food, send the little vultures into the kitchen. There’s a plate waiting for them on the counter. Make sure they wash their hands first!”
“Yes, ma’am. Would you mind droppin’ the books on my desk at the library? They’re due back tomorrow. Lord knows I can’t be turnin’ them in late.”
“Certainly, dear.” She chuckles, patting his shoulder. “Two years ago, Miss Olivia Cane working behind the desk gave this man a good talkin’-down for returning a book late and he’s been afraid to miss a due date ever since!”
“I deserved it, too.” He watches his wife until she disappears into the house with nothing but adoration in his eyes.
“Does Miss Olivia Cane know who you are?” I ask, half in jest.
“Oh heck, she knows. I reckon that old woman’s been workin’ at the library for as long as I’ve been alive. She remembers me when I was as little as them out there on that swing set. Badge or no badge, she don’t care. What’s right is right in her book.” He chuckles. “I respect that. I live by it, the best I can. Goodness, we need some butter for those biscuits. I’ll be right back.” He heaves himself out of his chair and heads for the door, slowing long enough to add, “Mind them, will ya? Make sure they don’t kill each other.” He doesn’t wait for our answer before stepping inside, the screen door slapping against the frame.
Gracie’s brow furrows.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, handing her a glass.
“He isn’t at all what I expected.”
“What’d you expect?”
“Someone who seems like he might have set up my dad,” she whispers, as if unhappy with the alternative. She may have stepped onto this property with a backbone full of suspicion, but whatever country charm Dolores and George Canning are dishing out, she can’t seem to help but lap up. “I don’t see it. I think you’re right about Kristian being suspicious of everyone.”
“Police chiefs are always under fire for what goes on in their department,” I say, echoing Silas’s words from last week as I place a biscuit on her plate. “I’ll bet you’ve never had a home-baked biscuit before.” I help myself to two, heaping on the marmalade by the spoonful.
Gracie shakes her head at me. “How do you eat so much and stay so . . .” Her gaze rolls over my chest as her words trail off.
“Handsome? Muscular? Fit?” I grin as I suck a glob of the sticky orange jam from my thumb.
“I was going to say ‘scrawny.’ ” She grins, her eyes flashing to the giggling kids.
“Here we go! Give this a quick minute to soften up.” George reappears with a small plate, a thick slab of butter sitting in the middle of it. “And if Dolores asks y’all, I didn’t have so much as a sliver.” The wicker chair crackles under his weight. “So? How’s your uncle doin’, Noah? I had him runnin’ ragged last night. But he’s always doin’ fine, even when he’s not. The man thrives on chaos.”
“He seemed in good spirits this morning.”
“Silas and I have been friends for going on forty years.” George slices off a sizeable chunk of butter for his biscuit. “I was a patrolman and he was a public defender, and we were at odds from the start. He was tryin’ to get a reduced sentence for this young punk I busted for drunk and disorderly. Somehow, we ended up figurin’ out that we’d rather be on the same side of things. Sometimes it feels like we’ve gone to war together, for all the battles over the years.” Canning drops a dollop of marmalade on his butter-laden biscuit. “So, that was quite the doozy I dropped on the city last night, wasn’t it?”
“It was definitely unexpected,” I say slowly, stealing a glance Gracie’s way.
“But in the best way.” She adds, “I never thought I’d hear those words.”
“It’s the least I can do. When Silas filled me in . . .” His brow furrows deeply. “Sometimes the devil gets ahold of good people and they lose their way. I thought that’s what happened to your daddy. Everything pointed to that. But turns out I had the wool pulled over my eyes, just like everyone else. And I’ll be damned if I allow whoever’s responsible to get away with this.”
He takes a long sip of his sweet tea before setting his glass down with a loud thunk. “I didn’t know Abraham well. Not like I knew Jackie. But it only took five minutes of reviewing his employee file to be utterly flabbergasted. The man was a saint on paper. I’ve had to rid myself of a few officers who didn’t fit the mold over my years, but I’d like to think I have a keen eye for certain . . . personalities. The corruptible kind. There were no hints with Abraham. Nothing to make me say that I could have seen that comin’.”
“All the more reason to have believed he didn’t do it,” Gracie says carefully.
“You are right, there, Miss Wilkes. Sorry—Richards.” He sighs. “I put my best, most trustworthy cops on it. Never in a million years did I think . . .” His voice drifts off. “I don’t know what that says about me, how easily I was had. I’m sure my critics will have a field day with it.” He waves it away. “None of that matters, though. What matters is gettin’ to the bottom of this. And making sure you and your mother get some sort of compensation for it.”
Gracie frowns, confused. “Compensation?”
“You’d best believe it. If I have my way, you and your mother won’t have to be worryin’ about money for a long time. Why, look at you, sweet thing.” He chuckles, taking in Gracie’s surprised face. “Most folk these days are just itchin’ to lawyer up and ring every last penny out that they can. But you haven’t even thought of suin’. I have to say, I like that.”
Neither did I, I’ll admit. But he’s right. Gracie and Dina may have one hell of a winnable lawsuit against the APD. Not that it’ll bring Abe back, but at least it will help them finally move forward.
First, though, we need to find out—and prove—what really happened. “So you believe that Mantis and Stapley set Abe up?” I ask.
“The theory is definitely a concerning one, I’ll agree. But after all this, I’m afraid to believe anything unless I have ‘see it with my own eyes’ irrefutable proof.”
“You mean the video.”
“Well, that would certainly lend credibility to this theory about Mantis’s motive. Lord knows where that thing is, though. Your uncle swears up and down that he had asked the tech guys to search Abraham’s computer for it and there was nothin’ there. Unless the tech guys were in on this, too.” He snorts, but there’s no amusement on his face.
“They didn’t find it. Not if Mantis was still looking for it, the night he broke into our house and threatened my mom,” Grace says.
“Right.” Canning frowns. “That’s what the feds are thinking? It was Mantis?”
I throw Gracie the fastest warning glance I can manage, not wanting Canning to see it.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” she says smoothly.
“And what makes you say that?”
“Just my gut, for whatever that’s worth.” She takes a large bite of the biscuit and chews slowly, her face giving nothing away. She can play ambivalent much better than I gave her credit for.
“I think the best next move is to retrace Abraham’s steps as much as we can in those last few days. If that video wasn’t in his house or on his person, then he must have hidden it somewhere where he figured it would be safe. Noah, you may be the key here. You might be the only one old enough and clearheaded enough to remember anything.” Canning’s brow furrows deeply. “Silas said you saw him the day he died. Did he say anything strange to you? Anything at all?”
“No, sir . . .” I shake my head, picking through my brain. It’s all a foggy recollection, though. Hell, I was only eleven. “He came by to talk to my mom, out back, b
ut I didn’t hear them. And then he asked me if I wanted to go to a Spurs game with him that weekend. That was it.”
“Hmm. After fourteen years, we might have to assume that video was lost.” He shakes his head. “But enough about the nitty-gritty details for now. I wanted you both here today so I could personally tell you how sorry I am. And I won’t let it go unpunished.”
“I appreciate that.” Gracie offers him a smile.
One of the children starts crying, having tumbled off the slide.
“Excuse me for a sec.” Canning eases himself out of his chair and leaves the veranda. Just a loving grandfather, checking on his grandchildren.
Gracie’s hopeful eyes watching his every move.
In less than a minute, all three are climbing again, their childish laughter carrying in the warm breeze.
* * *
“Hang back here, just a second, son.” Canning throws a small wave toward Gracie, who’s a few steps ahead, her hands full of leftover biscuits and casserole, courtesy of Dolores. “Hope you don’t mind—I need to borrow Noah. We’ll be in touch soon, though, ya hear?”
With a smile and a nod, Gracie keeps going, heading toward the lake beside the driveway, where the early afternoon sun beats down and those massive sheepdogs laze.
“Do good by that girl, Noah. She’s had it rough.”
“Yes, sir. She sure has.”
“I don’t have a lot of hope for how this case will turn out, but if we can at least give Abraham the clean name he deserves, it should make her and Dina happy, don’t you think?”
“It’s definitely a start. Especially if we can get Dina the help she needs.” True to Silas’s word, I’ve already received a phone call from Desert Oaks, notifying me that Dina’s rehab has been covered for the next two months. I know Judy and Silas have been smart with their money, but that has to have set them back.
“You need to help her move on, so this doesn’t fester.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try.”
“Good. I’m glad she has you.” He drops a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Help her focus on her future, not the past.”
My head bobs up and down.
“Best to just let sleeping dogs lie. They’re less likely to bite.”
The hairs on the back of my neck spike. “Pardon me?”
He frowns with confusion.
“What you just said . . .”
“ ‘Let sleeping dogs lie’?” He chuckles. “Oh, that’s just an expression. You never heard it?”
“Yeah. I have. It’s just . . . not in a bit,” I force myself to finish, my mouth going dry.
“Well, it’s nothing you young folk ever say.”
“No, sir. It’s not.” “He always liked that saying, every time I pushed him. Every time I told him they were up to no good.”
A curious look flashes in Canning’s eyes and I force a smile. “I’m gonna take Gracie home now. Try to get her mind off things.”
He raises his brows. “I’ll bet. Y’all keep in touch. And come straight to me if you remember anything about Abraham, about that visit he paid. Anything at all.”
“Sure thing.” I feel his gaze on my back as I walk, pacing my steps so I don’t seem in a rush. Meanwhile, my mind races with understanding.
Gracie sees me coming and, with one last pat for the dogs, heads for the SUV. “Not that we need more food, but that was nice of Dolores, to pack this care package for us,” she murmurs, opening the paper bag and inhaling deeply.
Cranking my engine, I tap my horn as we pull out, making sure my wave and smile are as big as possible.
Gracie follows suit. “I feel guilty for ever letting Kristian convince me that—”
“Canning knew.” My voice wobbles.
“What? He just told you that?”
“Not intentionally.”
Let sleeping dogs lie.
My mom knew Mantis was corrupt. She must have brought it up with Canning and Canning must have told her to leave it alone, to stay quiet. Let his “hounds” be. Let them keep busting drug dealers for the city, even if it meant they might be pocketing money on the side while doing it.
Let them be, or they might retaliate.
Like they did with Abe.
My teeth gnash against each other. “That son of a bitch knew that Mantis was corrupt, all along.”
CHAPTER 47
Commander Jackie Marshall
April 30, 2003
Canning waves me in, pointing a weathered hand toward a chair, a receiver pressed against his ear.
He still has the silver-framed picture of Wyatt Canning at his police academy graduation sitting on his desk. I feel a twinge of sadness in my gut, looking into those honest, baby-blue eyes. Wyatt was a good guy. What happened to him was plain tragic. Worse is the fact that it’s gone unsolved. Not even Canning’s prized hounds have been able to unearth so much as a rumor, after all these years.
“I want to know how the hell that scumbag made it back out onto the streets. He’s a drug dealer!” Canning’s face is turning beet red as he chews someone out. The man’s going to give himself a heart attack if he doesn’t learn how to contain his frustration. “I won’t let my department get dragged through the gutter because you couldn’t make this stick, Ross. That little girl? Her death is on you, and I’ll make sure every last voter knows it. I can’t wait to see the back of your head. Thank God Reid has the balls to do what needs to be done.”
It’s not hard to piece together what’s going on here. Canning’s tearing a new one into our current DA, Dylan Ross. He’s had it with Ross and thinks my brother will be just what the department, and the city, needs.
Let’s hope the election goes our way.
Canning slams down the phone. “God dammit!”
“The drive-by in MLK?”
“That little girl was five years old! Just sittin’ in her kitchen, eatin’ her cornflakes—” He inhales sharply. “That scumbag should have been behind bars, not allowed to drive around, shootin’ up neighborhoods, killin’ kids right in front of their mothers.” He heaves a sigh, releasing his anger. “What’s goin’ on, Jackie?”
I hesitate.
“Is it about that thing from the other night? Because you know you did right by—”
“No. I’m not here to talk about that.” I want to forget that night ever happened.
He frowns. “Then what? Is it your son?”
“No, Noah’s great.”
“Then what is it? Ashley said it was urgent.”
How the hell do I bring this up? I guess I just come out and say it. “Mantis was seen taking a bag of cash from that Lucky Nine motel bust.”
“What?”
“Mantis was seen—”
“I heard ya.” Canning’s face remains frozen for a long moment as he processes this. “Who saw him?”
“Abe Wilkes, sir. He was at the motel, searching for his sister-in-law.” I give him a knowing look.
Canning leans back in his chair, scowling at the door. A shadow shifts past it. Canning’s assistant, no doubt. “He must be mistaken about what he saw.”
“He’s not mistaken.” Lowering my voice, I tell Canning everything. By the time I’m done, he looks ready for that heart attack.
“It’s probably better for everyone involved that you get IA involved right away. If Abe comes forward with this—”
“IA?” Canning’s frown deepens. “No one’s going to IA about this.”
“But—”
“Think of the big picture, here, Jackie. Think of what will happen if this gets out.”
“Yes, sir. I’m certainly afraid of that.” All the goodwill we work hard to build in the community? It’ll all be undone, buried under a thick layer of public distrust, thanks to one dirty cop.
“If this story leaks, this drug dealer will be back out on the street, catering to gangbangers who shoot up houses with little girls and boys in them. Why would we risk that? Over some cash?”
“Yes, sir. But—”
“Sometimes we have to do things that don’t sit well with our conscience, because it’s for the greater good.”
“I’m well aware of that, as you know, sir.” I give him a pointed look.
“And that’s what being a real leader is about. If you want any hope of replacing me one day, you will help Wilkes see that.”
“I don’t think he can be swayed. At least, not by me. I’m the devil reincarnate, as far as he’s concerned.”
Canning’s gaze flickers over the framed picture of his son for a moment, before meeting my eyes. “Everyone can be swayed.”
CHAPTER 48
Officer Abraham Wilkes
May 2, 2003
“Hey, babe.” I lean over the couch to plant a kiss on Dina’s lips. “Sorry I missed soccer tonight.”
“Did you catch the bad guys?” She peers up at me with those stunning green eyes, the ones she’s blessed our daughter with. She’s not happy about all the extra hours lately, but she’s never openly given me grief about it.
That’s why lying to her about what I’m doing is especially shitty. But I’d rather lie than tell her the whole truth. At least, for now.
“Not yet. Did she go down easy?”
Dina shrugs. “She’s your daughter. Stubborn to the bone.”
I chuckle.
“I’ll bet she’s still holding on to that book.”
“Did you do the gruff voice?”
“ ‘Not like Daddy does it,’ ” Dina mimics Gracie’s childish timbre. “Hey, did you come home at all tonight?”
I frown. “No. Why?”
A worried look flickers over her face. “Just a feeling I had, is all. Like someone had been in here.”
“The doors were locked?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything missing?”
“Not from what I can see. I don’t know . . . it was a weird vibe. It’s probably just me, being home alone so much. Maybe we should get a dog,” she admits reluctantly, and then rolls her eyes at my wide grin. I’ve been trying to convince her to get one for years, with no luck. “You know, Gracie saw this mangy little thing at the park and tried to bring it home with us.” It sounds like an accusation. “I told her that Noah wouldn’t come over anymore if we brought a stray home.”