The next day, Nerd and I had huddled around his monitor, watching Charlie work with the detectives. Steve’s boss looked healthier than I could ever remember, leaving me to think that pushing off retirement had probably been the best thing for him. He’d gathered the team into the large conference room to show the gathered evidence.
“Oh shit,” Nerd said, touching the screen to point out the evidence bag Charlie had pinched between his thick fingers. The image was pixelated and blurred and I couldn’t make it out.
“Hair,” someone in the room had said. Charlie nodded and explained they’d found a sample of short, light-colored hair on the floor of the passenger seat.
“That yours?”
“Might be,” I answered. Then I quickly added, “Easy enough to explain though, since Garrett’s been to our house.”
Nerd sighed—a dry sound. He paced around his desk while Charlie went on about the case. I waited, eyes glued to the screen, to see what Charlie would hold up next.
The meeting room soon erupted in a rumble of chatter, the back and forth of “what ifs” and other speculations as Charlie held up a partial fingerprint. He projected it on the room’s presentation screen, blew up the sketchy black-and-white lines, filling Nerd’s monitor.
“That one yours too?” Nerd asked, circling his desk again, his glare bouncing from the monitor to my hands.
“I honestly have no idea,” I answered, knowing there could have been a hundred partial prints in Garrett’s car. “It’s only a partial, can’t match up unless they already have a print on file.”
They had nothing. That was the last time we had huddled over the case. Days turned into weeks, and while we tapped into our makeshift surveillance system for updates, we were already rebuilding our tiny empire and preparing to start over with a fresh set of cases.
I’d begun to wonder if Garrett’s body might never be found. Some days, I’d even go hours without thinking of him. Eventually, his face would appear in my mind just once or twice.
But the day came when Garrett was back in my life—so to speak. It was a week before Steve and I left for our beach getaway, and the body of a man matching Garrett’s description had been found.
“It’s dead,” Nerd said that afternoon. “Sorry for the pun, but whatever they found, whoever they found, they’re not working it—not from the station, anyway.”
It was Steve who told me the unidentified body was Garrett’s, the day we were due to leave. He said it coldly and distantly, like he was reading casually from a newspaper and was eager to move on to the next story. A thirteen-year-old boy riding his bike along back trails had come across a body. The grave I’d dug was too shallow, and the rains had been sparse, leaving the earth dry and dusty and easily picked up by the wind. It was Garrett’s hand the boy saw first—his fingers sprouting up like stumpy mushrooms.
Steve said nothing more about the finding that morning, choosing instead to make pancakes for the kids before his mother arrived to take them for the weekend. He’d had one or two phone calls with the station—the kind I’d become used to, the kind with short words and his mouth beneath a cupped hand. In the corner of our kitchen, the small television set flashed Garrett’s face, recounting the findings. Then the screen flashed to Summer-red and Charlie. I gave it a cursory glance before Steve turned it off. He told the kids to give me extra hugs and kisses.
I’d asked why.
“Well, I deserved it,” was how he had put it.
A wave crashed onto our feet, causing us to leap back.
“I love you,” I told him, gently pressing my hand against his shooting wound. “And I love that you’ve done so much to change. You’re going to be the best damn district attorney this town has ever had.”
He smiled, closing his eyes as I kissed him again.
Garrett’s murder faded to that place where memories disappear. I decided that I’d search for Needle when we got home, though. Charlie and Summer-red had Garrett’s car, they had his body, and they even had some evidence, but I’d been sloppy. Maybe I’d find my ring atop a mound of earth, perched like a diamond in a jeweler’s showcase—but if she was lost forever then that would be okay too.
A sound came then, but I barely registered it. The gulls trumpeted to one another, and the breaking waves collapsed against our legs. Steve tightened his embrace, encouraging me. I melted into him, dismissing what I’d heard. But then it came again, and Steve’s grip went stiff. Distant voices called across the beach and shoes clopped through wet sand. Steve’s body tensed again, holding me.
“What’s going on?” I asked, confused.
I yanked my shoulder free and turned around in time to see a half dozen people dressed in dark suits and police uniforms.
“Amy . . .” Steve said in a calm tone. But I didn’t hear my husband. “Amy, you’ve got to go with them.”
“Steve! What’s going on?” I cried in a bleating voice.
I spun in the other direction and found Detective Summer-red. I met her eyes and stayed on them as she approached me. The scene looked ridiculous—some of the officers stood in the sand, guarding us, while others waded into the water, blocking me from the ocean. I scanned the beach, looking as far up and down the breaking surf as I could. But the daylight was failing, and there was nowhere to go. Behind me was the ocean, vast and turning rough with the rising tide. There was an opening between the officers, and on it I saw a glimmer of sunlight carving a razor edge of red and orange.
“Amy Sholes?” Detective Summer-red asked while the officers closed around us. I flinched when I heard my name.
Did Steve do this?
I shoved his hands away from mine. He let go. And as he dropped away from me, my heart ripped open. In his face, I saw a man who was torn between protecting me and running from me. His head shook slowly, but not in apology. Instead, his face was mournful and filled with the angst. It reminded me of the way John’s wife had looked at her husband’s funeral. He raised his hands to show he was removing himself from the chain of custody, was passing me off to the arresting officer. I was crushed.
“Amy Sholes, you are being arrested for the murder of Garrett Williams.”
Run! I entertained the idea in a glimmering thought. Chase down the last of the dying sunlight. I was a good swimmer—an excellent swimmer—and could tread the ocean for hours. But even in the dimming light, I could see the officers standing at the ready, their hands on their belts, waiting for a signal to drag me from the surf. I knew what was going on. I just didn’t understand how.
I searched Steve’s face again, and my spirit died. My shoulders quaked with a cry when I saw that he had known they were coming. My legs turned weak as I began to understand the truth behind the reason for our weekend away. He’d told them I’d be here. He’d set this up, orchestrated my arrest.
“Yes,” I answered. “My name is Amy Sholes.”
Steve braced himself, favoring his good leg as he took another step away from me. I was alone. Instinct took over. I lunged for him. The officers jumped forward, my sudden motion triggering them like wild dogs on prey. Detective Summer-red raised her hands. The officers stopped. Two of them cradled the butts of their guns while a third held on to my arm.
“Stand down!” Steve screamed, his voice shaking with emotion.
Detective Summer-red nodded, agreeing with him.
“Babe?” I asked, pleading, begging a thousand questions with one word. “Why?” I was blubbering now and hated that I was crying. I stuck out my chest, forcing myself to stand up straight. But my heart was broken and my insides collapsed like a tidal wave.
“Amy, you have to go with them,” Steve said. His voice deepened as he forced himself to empty it of feeling. He cast his eyes to the sand and turned back toward the ocean. I followed his stare, searching for the man I loved. It was almost completely dark, and the sun had set in the west, leaving us in a fuzzy twilight.
Could I make it to the ocean? Could I drown myself? Disappear?
But there was
only a graying light that would soon become black.
Like our future. My future.
“Amy Sholes.” I heard Detective Summer-red’s voice again.
When images of Snacks and Michael came to me, I shuddered and sobbed and dropped to me knees, too weak to stand. I saw my children’s faces in the ocean’s blank canvas. I saw them alone, and the idea of dying, drowning, was suddenly very appealing. The ocean’s salty kiss broke against my chest.
A little more, I thought, and dipped my head into the surf. A baptism and then death.
But the suited men came to my sides and wrenched my arms back, lifted me to my feet.
“Amy Sholes, you are under the arrest for the murder of Garrett Williams.”
THIRTY-NINE
EVIDENCE. AS THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY explained it, tapping the table with the end of his pen, the evidence against me was apparently overwhelming. A short man with a mop of wiry hair and a heavy pair of glasses, he slipped a curled sheet of paper across the metal table and waited.
Silence.
The interview room was a nearly perfect cube, smelling of stale cigarettes and old coffee. It was empty, save for the metal table and chairs and the one-way mirror that had been framed like a window. I glanced into the glass and saw a woman who’d aged years in a matter of days and who’d begun to look a lot like my mother. I needed a trip to Mr. C’s. I needed Carlos. But there was no sexy where I was going.
My arms had already warmed to the table’s cold touch, and I was in no hurry to sign the next twenty years of my life away. I flicked my cuffed wrist, stretched my fingers until the paper was within reach. The district attorney pushed up on his glasses, the lenses narrowing his eyes into colorless beads. He inched the paper toward me, encouraging me, and placed his pen on top of it.
“It’s the best deal you’re going to get,” the man sitting next to me said. He was my court-appointed lawyer—a lanky man with thinning hair and a face shaped like a skull. His chair creaked as he whispered legal jargon into my ear. I shuddered at the feel of his breath and moved away from him, annoyed. His face reddened, and he donned a sheepish grin.
I could have hired someone better, perhaps should have hired someone better, but I had plans for the Team Two money. Maybe Nerd could have found a decent defense attorney, one who could have worked a deal to plead my case down to a few years for accidental death or something. Any deal would have been expensive, though. Too expensive. Images of Michael and Snacks flashed in my mind like the burning afterglow of the sun. That’s where my money had to go. Nerd would make sure that my share of Team Two—the e-book royalties—would go to them. There was enough for Steve to take care of the house, the kids, and even finish law school. I hoped he would.
Thinking of Steve made my heart ache, and I tried to push him out of my mind. He’d become a ghost since my arrest, wandering the halls of the station, standing outside the interview rooms, talking to the DA and Charlie. I’d seen him from time to time, passing by to ask questions. Once he slowed and nearly peered in. I held my breath and raised my hand to catch his attention, but at the last minute he veered away, closing the door. Closing the door on us. I’d lost him forever. I couldn’t blame him. I’m sure the guilt of turning me in was tearing him up.
And it was Steve who’d turned me in to Charlie. I learned that little tidbit during my time with the investigating officer: Detective Summer-red. Jenna White, I would later learn was her name. She was every bit as beautiful as the day I had watched her on my computer.
Evidence had led them to me. Well, actually, it was what I left behind. Needle. Steve had seen my ring once before, and that was all he needed to make the fateful connection. The days after I’d lost our baby were a blur, but I remembered seeing Steve’s face when he joked about the ring.
Garrett never threw Needle into the darkness. I must have been hearing things—half-conscious, barely breathing, my mind lying. After Garrett had motioned a throw, he’d palmed my ring and stuffed it into his pocket. When Steve saw the evidence bag with Needle in it, he knew what I’d done. He knew I’d killed again.
To the investigators, the DA, and the press, the murder would look like a lover’s quarrel, a torrid affair gone horribly wrong. But I imagined Steve would think back to the homeless man, and then to my mother’s confession. I wondered if he’d dig deeper, seek out Nerd and investigate Team Two. There’d be nothing to find, though. Nerd had made sure of that. The next time I’d see my husband—if I ever saw him again—was going to be from inside a prison.
I had Detective White to thank for the rest of the evidence. Steve turned over my name in connection with the ring. Forensics matched skin cells lifted from Garrett’s neck. It was only a matter of time before the could confirm I’d been with Garrett on the night of his death.
So here I was with the DA telling me that the evidence was overwhelming. I’d killed for the wrong reason, so maybe that was why I was sitting here now. There’d be no jail time or trial. There’d only be the cold holding cell, a trip in front of a judge, and a bus ride to prison.
I picked up the pen, smiling. The district attorney tilted his head, curious. It wasn’t the confession that made me laugh. It was the irony of how I’d been caught. Steve had teased and joked about the ring, calling it ugly, and that had been one of the last times we’d laughed together. Actually, it was the last time I could remember feeling warm and in love and wanting to hear more of his stupid humor.
“Mrs. Sholes, do you need a moment to consult with your attorney?”
I shook my head and pressed the pen to the line. A simple signature would complete my confession. Twenty years. I was signing twenty years of my life away. I eased up on the tip of the pen, taking a moment to glance at the corner of the interview room. We were certainly being watched. The men absently followed my eyes. I looked to the camera in the corner, found a faint green glow reflected on the ceiling. The camera was on.
“We record everything,” I heard one of the men say.
“I know,” I answered, continuing to stare. What the men didn’t know was that Nerd was watching us too. With Becky, he could see the station—the city too—maybe more. I raised my hand. The handcuff’s linked chain slithered over the table, following. I gave a short wave. “Just want to say good-bye.”
“It’s . . . it’s only a recording,” my lawyer added, befuddled. “There isn’t anyone watching.”
“Then it doesn’t matter,” I added.
But he was wrong. Brian was watching, and my gut told me he was hurting. The faint glow on the ceiling turned off briefly and then flickered back on. The men didn’t see the interruption, but I did. I wanted to cry and my chin shook, but I held it in. If he could have moved the camera, he would. A quick blink of the light would do. I blew him a kiss, pursing my lips long enough for Brian to know I was saying good-bye.
“Until next time, my friend.” With his software, with Becky, I was sure he’d find a way to reach me on the inside. It was just a matter of time.
“Twenty years,” my lawyer repeated in my ear. I flinched as if stung by a wasp. “But with good behavior, you’ll be out in fifteen.”
“Good behavior?” I scoffed. Then I lurched forward, pressing my chest against him, screaming in a crazed rage. He backed away, his face emptying. “I’m a cop’s wife. What the fuck do you think is going to happen to me in prison?”
“It’s a good deal,” he insisted again, raising his voice and motioning to the confession. “You could risk a trial—risk the death penalty—I wouldn’t. Take the deal.”
Maybe it was my lawyer’s pushy insistence that made me put the pen down. Maybe it was because Nerd was watching, or because I was thinking of Steve and the kids. I couldn’t be sure, but suddenly, twenty years felt worse than a death sentence. Risking a trial didn’t seem all that bad an idea.
And won’t I be facing death in prison anyway?
“Second-degree murder, twenty years with a minimum of fifteen served,” the district attorney explained again
. “That means—”
“I know what it means!” I yelled, interrupting. My voice shook, disbelieving. “Parole eligibility at fifteen . . . Snacks will be a young woman, and Michael will be a grown man. But I won’t survive to see them.”
I’d asked about claiming self-defense, explained how I’d been too afraid to come forward. I’d even made up a story about how Garrett pulled up to the house, telling me Steve had been hurt. I explained how I’d gone with him, expecting to go to the hospital only to be taken to a deserted field and attacked. But my claim of self-defense was weak—no evidence, no phone calls to support the story. The offer for second-degree was a way to make the case disappear. After all, a cop’s wife killing another cop was the type of scandalous affair that nobody wanted in the press.
“We’ve talked about this,” the DA chided. He put his finger on the confession and pulled it back, his way of threatening first-degree murder charges and the death penalty.
The green reflection on the ceiling blinked rapidly. Nerd was listening and was telling me to sign.
“Wait,” my attorney blurted, jumping as though he’d been kicked beneath the table. “This was a done deal.”
“It was, but she has to sign the confession,” the DA said. The smug tone in his voice turned my gut. He sighed and lifted his hand, adding: “Look, we all want this to go away. It’s ugly all around, and nobody wants a trial.”
I cringed, my stomach turning sour at the notion of what everyone believed to be true. “It wasn’t exactly like that,” I blurted, hating that I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
The green light flashed—Nerd’s warning for me to say nothing.
Affair with Murder The Complete Box Set Page 48