Reading Between the Crimes

by Kate Young

  * * *

  As I walked through the dark, dingy parking garage, my heels echoed loudly, giving me a nervous alone feeling, and I sped up my pace. I’d never been a fan of parking garages and took a deep breath as the clear, bright blue sky greeted me. My thoughts drifted back to the case. If Felix had turned over the purse, what did the police need the search warrant for?

  I spied reporters and a couple of uniformed officers standing around the front entrance, and my stomach lurched. The uniformed officers were doing their best to move the group back from the double doors. Slowly, the group begrudgingly retreated several yards back from their original position.

  Come on, Lyla. I shoved my anxiety aside. Zipping my phone into my purse, I pulled my scarf up, put on my sunglasses, and made my way toward the crowd, being careful to keep my chin tucked down. As the entrance neared, no one stopped me, and my guard began to slip. Then a dark-headed woman shoved her phone in front of my face. “Miss Moody! Why did Mrs. Richardson murder her husband?”

  Keep it together. I steeled myself, pivoted, and went to the left.

  “Did Mrs. Richardson try to kill herself?” Oh sweet Jesus. Another pivot.

  They swarmed, and I felt like a character in The Walking Dead, trying to make it to the safety of the building. “Is your family concealing evidence to protect a killer?”

  “No. And I was under the impression that in this country a person is innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Is the Richardson family involved in communal living?” someone shouted.

  I got bumped but managed to remain upright. “No. What sort of question is that?” People were losing their minds.

  “What does your mother have to do with this case?” Phones and microphones moved closer to my face. Lights flashed in my eyes.

  With my hand up to block the flashes, I fought through the sea of extended arms. “Other than hosting a benefit, nothing.”

  “Is it your statement that your mother has no prior involvement with Mr. Richardson? Were they lovers?”

  The world had gone mad! Enough. I halted my advance and faced off with the reporters. There was no way I was going to allow these vermin to muddy my upstanding mother’s reputation. “No. Absolutely not. Lady, you need to get your facts straight.”

  I spied Charles Hammond off to the side, watching. Wow, they must’ve flown here. He popped a stick of gum into his mouth. I didn’t see Piper, but she must be close by and waiting for her opportunity to pounce. I bet all these reporters beating her to the punch chapped her hide. I waded closer to the entrance, where a man stood in a red ball cap, glancing around suspiciously, his hands in his pockets. I thought he looked like LJ, but I couldn’t manage a better glimpse.

  News cameras swung in my direction. “Lyla! Lyla! Are you helping the defense?”

  “No comment. Come on, people. I need to get through.” I weaved my way between a shorter gentleman and a taller woman about my height, ignoring their questions.

  My steps sped up as I navigated around reporters. The officers were seriously understaffed here—utter chaos.

  Finally, the double doors were a few yards in front of me. The reporters were mostly held back, and I could breathe a little better. That was, until Charles faced me. I could see the whites of his eyes. His mouth opened wide. I stumbled and tried to discern what was going on with him.

  He leaned forward, his arms pumping as he went to the balls of his feet. What was he doing? He started yelling. His hand flung forward as he pointed.

  A loud shout went up to my left, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I turned to see Quinn running toward me as well. Odd, because I’d thought he was ill. What in the world?

  Screams echoed around me as I turned to see who Charles had been pointing at, and before I could figure out what was going on, a man in a black ski mask barreled into me, holding me upright. Stale breath hit against my face. “Strike at the shepherd!” Something stuck into my side. Every muscle in my body seized up like a full-body charley horse. My teeth rattled in my head a microsecond before everything went dark.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You seem okay.” The ER doctor said, and clicked his little light off. “No signs of a concussion that I can tell. But a scan will tell us more. Sit tight.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” I held the ice pack to the side of my head, where a rather large egg-sized knot formed, while he pulled the curtain closed behind him. The paper-lined table made a crinkling and crackling sound as I gently lay back down. My head was seriously thumping, and I waited for the painkiller they gave me to kick in. I closed my eyes for a second and saw the man in the ski mask. I shuddered.

  “Lyla.”

  I jumped.

  “Y-yes?” I gripped the ice pack.

  “It’s me, Quinn.”

  “Oh.” I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Hey.” I struggled to sit up as he pulled the curtain back and peeked inside. The room spun a little, and for a minute I thought I might be sick.

  His deep blue eyes were filled with concern. “You want me to get someone? A doctor or nurse. You don’t look so hot.”

  I put the melted ice pack to my face, willing my stomach to settle. “The doctor just left.” I let the pack drop to my lap. “I’m okay. You don’t look so hot yourself.”

  “I’m fine. You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I think so. And”—I held up my hand, attempting to forestall him—“I don’t want to be rude, but if you’re sick, keep back. The last thing I need to deal with is a stomach bug.”

  “I kicked it. But I’ll stay back.” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his slightly graying black hair. “No real injuries?”

  Quinn and I had a complicated relationship. We’d gone out a decade ago, from my late teens into my early twenties. He’d made noises about us giving it another try, but I wasn’t keen on the idea. I’d been straight with him, which he seemed to be okay with. We were trying to find a balance in our working relationship.

  “I don’t think so. Other than a bump on the head, a scraped arm, and my hip being sore.” I examined the abrasion on the side of my right forearm. “I’ll probably have an ugly bruise.” I glanced down at my picked-up skirt—nothing to be done about that now. At least my high boots had protected my legs. “They’re going to run a CAT scan to be sure.”

  He nodded.

  I swallowed and met his gaze. “The guy used a taser on me?”

  “Yes.”

  I closed my eyes. “I had no idea how awful that could be. Did they get him?” My shoulders slumped forward.

  Quinn nodded. “Yes. That Hammond fellow reached him before I did. He gave the guy a solid slug to the jaw. Slowed him down a bit and gave the Atlanta PD time to snatch him as he rounded the corner, attempting to flee.”

  I thought back to Charles running toward me. Charles kept turning up everywhere I went, but this time I felt gratitude. “Why’d the perp say he attacked me?”

  “He isn’t saying anything. He pulled a knife on an officer, shouting nonsense and threats that broke out into a brawl. They had to use force to restrain him.” Quinn shrugged a shoulder. “He’s unconscious now and in the hospital.”

  “This hospital? Never mind—he would be.” I rubbed the space between my brows. I felt discombobulated.

  Quinn cleared his throat. “It got crazy after you dropped. I went straight for you, or I would have grabbed the perp myself. Reporters scattered and visitors were screaming. It was bedlam.”

  I winced. “Oh my God. Reporters.”

  “Don’t get upset.”

  My phone rang, and I scanned the room, relieved to see my purse over on the chair in the corner. “I bet my assault is all over the internet now.” I’d seen, on a video Uncle Calvin had me watch, how someone losing muscle control looked after being hit by a taser. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  Quinn gave his head a shake, and he stepped between me and my bag. “Don’t be. And leave the phone for now. Let’s make sure you didn�
��t do some serious damage when your head hit the pavement, before dealing with incessant reporters.”

  Sound advice. I settled back on the table.

  “You still need to give a statement. The officer is outside. You ready?”

  “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.” No point putting it off. The sooner they had my statement, the better. That nutjob needed to be off the streets and away from people for good.

  The curtain pulled back, and I realized that Quinn had meant ‘outside’ in the literal sense. I felt odd that the Atlanta officer probably overheard our entire conversation. Well, it couldn’t be helped now. And in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter.

  The officer smiled, her big brown eyes softening. “How are you, Miss Moody?”

  “I’m alive.”

  The officer smiled and began her questions, which I answered in a monotonic, almost absent voice. “One minute, I was fighting reporters to get to the entrance, and the next, the man had a vice-like grip on my arm and tased me.”

  “What did he say before he hit you with the taser?” The female officer had high, sharp cheekbones and seemed young. From the way she questioned me, I got the sense she did many of these types of interviews and felt extremely comfortable doing so. For as young as she appeared, that told the tale of the crime rate in the city.

  I shook my head and, when the room spun, instantly regretted it. “I’ll never forget it.” I put the ice pack to my head and wished for a new, colder one. “‘Strike at the shepherd.’” A shiver ran up my spine.

  “That goes along with what he yelled at the police.” She showed me an image on her phone. “Have you ever seen this man before?”

  The mugshot of a twenty-something Hispanic male with a large spiderweb neck tattoo stared back at me. His hair stood up all over his head, and his eyes looked bloodshot and vacant. I said with all sincerity, “Never seen him before. Who is he?”

  She clipped her phone back to her belt. “The perp’s name is Geraldo Morales. He’s got a rap sheet half a mile long for breaking and entering, assault, and possession of narcotics with intent to distribute.”

  I glanced up at Quinn, who’d moved to the corner of the room, with arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t look happy.

  I glanced back at the mugshot and then at the officer. My scalp crawled, and I wrapped my arms around myself. “That’s an odd rap sheet for a random attack like this one.”

  “It is and it isn’t. His street name is Spider,” the officer said. “He has an odd background we need to look into more thoroughly.

  “With a street name like Spider, I guess the tattoo makes sense—though getting it was not too bright if he didn’t want to be identified. I guess that’s why he wore the ski mask. I still don’t understand why he attacked me.”

  “Well, he’s also been in and out of the hospital for psychotic episodes.” The officer kept her tone even.

  “Oh.” I shifted on the table, the paper crinkling with my movement.

  “It isn’t uncommon when a long-term drug user goes without a fix to act out violently, especially with a background of delusions. We won’t know for certain his intentions until he wakes up. Charles Hammond clocked him pretty good. And then, after he attempted to knife the arresting officers, things got ugly. One of the officers had to have twelve stitches on his forearm.”

  “Oh my God. The man must be a lunatic to go after the police that way.”

  “Yeah. Well, the perp’s not in good shape.” She took a step closer to me. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. But don’t you worry: this guy will get time. The Chief gave us your contact information, and we’ll be in touch if he wakes up.”

  That sounds ominous. I felt better knowing he would do time and not be out there tasing or stabbing people.

  “We also thought that once you’re discharged, we’d coordinate your exit.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t expected that. “I hadn’t really given that any thought. With the press outside, that’d be kind. Thank you.” I smiled at her and she nodded, handing me a card.

  “Just hit up that number when you’re ready to leave. Mr. Cousins—I believe that’s your uncle.” When I nodded, she continued, “He’ll be picking you up.”

  I thanked the officer again before she ducked out of the room.

  “Calvin’s reach is vast.” Quinn didn’t sound as if he resented the fact, just that he recognized how plugged in Calvin was.

  “Lyla, I …” Quinn got an odd expression on his face after the officer left. He rubbed the back of his neck and kept glancing over at me. He appeared to be struggling with finding the right words. One of the things I’d learned from my uncle, since the conception of our business relationship, was never to rush to speak. To always listen and listen not only with your ears; body language spoke as loudly as a verbal communication. Quinn’s brows were drawn, his face taut with emotion.

  A different kind of anxiety settled in my gut like a stone.

  “It scared me.” The words came off soft and thick. The strong, reassuring chief was showing vulnerability.

  My pulse sped up. For all we’d been through together, and even though we hadn’t worked out and Quinn could be a consummate ass at times, I could see he cared about me, and I didn’t want to be rude to him. “It scared me too.”

  “Seeing that asshole charge toward you like the grim reaper and knowing I couldn’t get to you in time. I thought he—”

  “Quinn—”

  He raised a hand and leaned forward. “No. Let me finish.” He softened his tone. “Please.”

  I waved my hand as if to say “Continue,” while I shifted on the table, dreading where this dialogue might lead.

  Quinn ran his hand over the goatee on his chin. “I know we butt heads.”

  I raised my brows as if to say, Can’t argue with you there.

  “What happened last year with Carol Timms was eye-opening.”

  I pursed my lips.

  He put his hand on his chest with a thud. “For me. It was eye-opening for me. What I’m trying to say is, the case showed me how capable you are. You have every right to choose the investigative line of work. And you have a nose for it. I’m admitting that. It was wrong of me to attempt to sway you.”

  I let out a long breath. Quinn had done his best to discourage my career choice. Before, he’d agreed with my mother about where she saw my life heading. Well, not precisely, but close enough for me to be turned off to his affections. I’d also learned a lot about Quinn during that time.

  “This is an odd time to have this discussion,” I said. Quinn and I would never be an item again. And I thought he knew where I stood.

  “I know. I just … just needed to clear the air.” I caught his meaning. In case I hadn’t made it, it would have been on his conscience. God.

  Fine. We’d do this then. One and done. “I won’t lie. I learned a lot about you as well during the investigation.”

  “Right. My past. I explained it.” Last year, he and I had agreed to put our past behind us. He’d done some things, exchanging favors, that, although not technically unethical, were close enough to being so for me to be put off. We both had to live and work in our small town, and in my chosen profession, our paths would cross from time to time.

  I moved the pack to my forehead. “You did.”

  “And what I’m getting at is, I want us to be able to work together.”

  “Me too.”

  He smiled hopefully. “And maybe become closer friends.”

  “Friends.” I tested the word. Friends would be good, just not close friends. That was stretching the limits too far. “Does that mean as friends we trust each other? Help each other professionally when needed.”

  To his credit, he didn’t shy away. “Yes. When I can.” He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Everything is about work with you. You were just attacked, and you’re still focused on your job.”

  “And you needed to clear your conscience right after my attack.” I lif
ted my shoulders.

  His face flushed slightly. “Okay, and I’m sorry and I accept your terms. I should let you get some rest.”

  “Wait. Tell me about Harper first.”

  He hesitated. “We aren’t exactly working together on the Richardson case. And I do wonder how you found out about her transport to the hospital.”

  “How did the crowd of reporters find out?” I gave him a level look. He would never know that Rosa had been the first one to inform me of the incident. Thinking about work and my friend would help me get over the trauma of my attack. I’d rather concentrate on something I could affect.

  “That doesn’t explain why you came here. Why would you think they’d allow you to see her?”

  “Harper’s attorney called Calvin. We’ve been asked to consult. I’m here because I want to help.”

  He studied me. “Help how?”

  “Come on, Quinn. Just give me something.” If things went the way I believed they would, he and I would be working on opposite sides of this case. If he told me anything, it would be because he wanted to prove his previous point of having a trusting friendship.

  “She’s alive. She took something before her arrest. She nearly overdosed.” He leaned against the wall, looking tired. “They rushed her here straight after processing.”

  “Oh my God.” I glanced up at him a little too quickly, and my head spun again.

  “The doctors pumped her stomach just in time. The doctors said maybe thirty minutes later she’d have been dead.”

  Harper had seemed depressed when we were with her, but she’d begged for my help finding her aunt. If she’d meant to kill herself, why would she bother asking? Then I thought of the Richardsons all standing by idly without a care that she was being arrested, and shivered. Could they be that callous? Did they all hate her that much? Enough to poison her?

  “It isn’t unheard of for a suspect to decide to end it once they’re caught. Her attorney is on his way here, I believe.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, given the time lapse since your attack, I bet he’s been here and gone.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. Or maybe he’d heard of my attack and stuck around. One could hope.