Bell to Pay

by Jeremy Waldron

  When King’s eyes landed on mine, I smiled.

  I heard him call out to his fellow officers to treat the area as a crime scene, to comb the place for evidence. There was mild confusion what exactly they were looking for, but they followed his orders regardless. Then he waved me over and said, “Damien wasn’t at his lab and no one knew where he was.”

  I tucked my hair behind my ear. “If you can’t prove this was a crime, LT will put you on nightshift.”

  “I’m already halfway there.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “But I’m not going to take any risks either.”

  “Can I show you something?”

  His smile vanished.

  “But first, let me make it clear that I can’t give you what I’m about to show you.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  I reached behind my back and pulled out the folder Erin found in Collins’s car. Handing it over to King, I watched him file through the papers. He was a quick study and recognized the significance right away.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Inside Parker Collins’s vehicle.”

  King sighed. “Garcia give it to him?”

  I assumed as much. We discussed Allison’s theories, understanding that Collins’s car may have been hacked, but we didn’t know by who. Garcia’s name was all over it, but Damien had the skills. Could they be were working together? It was a conclusion we could agree on.

  “I need these,” King said, holding up the packet. “They’re evidence.”

  The moment he held them up, I snatched it out of his hands. “You can have it after I’m finished.”

  “Finished?” King growled. “Sam, if you take those, it’s obstruction of justice.”

  “I need to see Garcia’s face when I show it to him.”

  “I’ve just declared it a crime scene.”

  My eyes bounced inside of his. I wasn’t about to back down.

  King flicked his gaze to the people working behind me. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper, saying, “Give them to me as soon as you’re done.”

  I thanked him, appreciating his decision to let me hang onto them a while longer, knowing he was putting his credibility—perhaps even his job—on the line for me. But Loxley was smart, clever, and it scared me to know we couldn’t stop him. At least I had enough to hopefully scare Garcia into telling me what he knew.

  “So, without knowing Damien’s whereabouts, where do you go from here?” I asked.

  King peered down when lowering his voice. “According to one of his students, Damien has everything on the line with this hacker event.”

  “Susan and Allison said the same,” I said.

  “If they take the prize money, it will keep his lab open for at least another year.”

  “And if they don’t win?”

  “Tough to say.” King shook his head. “But, get this, the woman who told us this, she said Damien called her Maid Marion.”

  I didn’t blink. My entire body froze. Did I hear him right?

  Loxley.

  Little John.

  And now Maid Marion.

  “Did you know Damien has a past conviction?” King asked.

  I shook my head no.

  “Convicted of stealing corporate secrets via computer hacking.”

  The world around me spun and the contrails of light made me nearly topple over. Suddenly, Damien had the motive and know-how to thrust himself into the Number One suspect slot. With eyes on Rose, we couldn’t afford to lose him.

  But there was only one problem. I also had to learn what Garcia knew before he disappeared, too.

  Then I had an idea. “You want to get Damien first?” King nodded. “I think I know what might get his attention.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Joey Garcia turned off the news radio and parked in a dark corner on the same street as his house. With his hand up by his mouth, he silently stared toward the address in which he began his life with Cecelia nearly a decade ago.

  The window was cracked open and a robin chirped from a nearby tree branch.

  At one time, this was his dream. Everything he ever wanted. All that he needed could be found in that tiny house. Love. Encouragement. Dreams and lofty aspirations. Now, as he stared at that same house that once seemed so bright, he felt only nerves of uncertainty. Joey was afraid of what was waiting for him inside.

  He checked his mirrors, wondering if he was being followed. Were the cops still watching the house, waiting for him to come home? He was deathly afraid of an ambush.

  Seeing Parker Collins’s accident left him shaken. With so much uncertainty, he feared he could be next. He was as guilty as the people he extorted for money. But who was doing this, and why? Joey didn’t know.

  The walls were closing in. Time was running out.

  He had so many regrets. His predicament was his own fault. He knew better than anybody. Joey made bad choices, decisions that he would have never otherwise made had it not been for Katie’s diagnosis. But a man’s choices were dictated by circumstance, and his was particularly bleak.

  After several minutes of watching a quiet street, Joey exited his vehicle and marched toward his house thinking of his wife, Cecelia. With each step, a memory of his past flashed behind his eyes. He visualized the woman he fell in love with—the woman he was still madly in love with—and how he would do anything to keep the love alive.

  That was his biggest regret. It wasn’t fair of him to neglect the importance of his marriage. It meant everything to him. It was all he had. His world. Now he was risking throwing everything away, and for what? To have someone else cover the cost of his own life? His father—may he rest in peace—would be so ashamed of the man he’d become.

  Joey stopped just shy of the front door. He gulped down a couple breaths of air, rubbed his face awake, and put on a face that he hoped Cecelia could believe in—something to fill her with certainty.

  Slowly, he turned the knob and quickly jerked his head back.

  Cecelia was there waiting as soon as he opened the door. They stared in an awkward moment of silence as neither of them moved. He could see the sharp look she was giving him and it made him sick all over again. He loved her more than anything—knew she was the only one for him—but could he dull the knives now cutting his heart?

  “Why would the police be looking for you?” Cecelia’s words cracked the still air like a whip.

  Joey’s eyelids clicked, startled by her tone. The buzz of agitation moved up his spine and he felt every muscle fiber in his entire body flex. “You should have never let them inside the house without a warrant.”

  “Joey,” Cecelia scowled, “they’re investigating a homicide.”

  Joey knew what his wife was suggesting.

  “Did you kill somebody?”

  His eyes widened with a hot flare of insult. Without warning, Joey stormed across the floor, gripped his wife’s mouth between his fingers and clamped down hard. Growling through clenched teeth, he said, “Do you not know me at all?”

  Fear flashed over Cecelia’s soft brown eyes. Soon, Joey saw tears pool in the corners.

  In that split second, Garcia’s chest hollowed and he didn’t know the man he suddenly was. He released his grip, snapped his hand down to his side, and stepped back. Cecelia breathed heavily, holding her chin high, refusing to be intimidated by the man who’d sworn to protect her into eternity.

  A small noise had Joey snapping his neck toward the sound.

  An intense sharp pain filled his chest as he felt his heart shatter once again. His daughter stood clenching her blanky, about to burst into tears herself. Saddened to see his little girl witness what he had just done to her mother, he hurried across the living room floor and scooped her up into his arms.

  Katie wailed into the air, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. “Let me go, Daddy. Stop. You’re scaring me,” she cried.

  Cecelia flew across the room and yanked Katie out of Joey’s arms. “I think it’s bes
t if you leave.” Cecelia shielded their daughter from Joey.

  Joey stared and felt his throat constricting as if a noose had closed off his windpipe. He was too afraid to ask for clarification, but assumed what she meant. He’d taken it too far, scared his little girl, lost control of his actions. There was no taking back the damage he’d caused—what was done was done.

  Flares of hot breath shot through his nostrils.

  His angered heart thrashed in his ears.

  This was his house—she can leave if she wants, he thought to himself. I Instead, he said, “I’ll be gone after I collect some things from the office.”

  Cecelia said nothing. Only held on to Katie as tightly as her muscles allowed.

  An electric buzz of agitation heated Joey’s body. Without a word, he turned to his office, needing to remove himself from the equation before his daughter only remembered him as the bad man who assaulted Mommy.

  As Joey marched down the hall and into his office, he wanted to punch a wall, wail, and blame the world for dealing him a bad hand. Instead, he closed the door softly and slumped in his chair, hiding himself behind his desk.

  Staring at the half empty bottle of whiskey perched on top of a nearby shelf, Joey thought about wrapping his lips around it and drinking his problems away. No he regretted not taking Samantha up on her offer to get the drink he’d proposed this morning. But even that was too risky after seeing her at the scene of the crash. He was still confused why she didn’t mention seeing him, so maybe she hadn’t? Even if she hadn’t seen him drive by, it was better to believe she did. Staying paranoid would help him survive and, God knew, he would take any advantage he could get.

  The bottle tempted Joey again. The amber liquid shined and glowed as it called out to him.

  Joey licked his lips and wondered if Samantha knew what he was up to. Was that why she asked what he knew about Thompson and Counts? Clenching his jaw, his adrenaline was high. Joey doubted his every move—even the decision of whether or not to have a simple drink.

  Taking his eyes off the bottle, he cast his gaze to his desk.

  It was easy to imagine suit-wearing detectives rummaging through his things. A free-for-all. Joey assumed they knew about him and Counts, and soon Collins too. He knew there was no account information here, but the list of clients he extorted was gone, along with the Thompson article he knew was taken from the trash.

  The detectives were building a case.

  Firing up his desktop computer, it loaded. As soon as it did, a message from an unknown sender pinged Joey’s profile.

  Joey’s brow pinched as he hovered his finger over his mouse, thinking it might be from Samantha.

  With nothing left to lose, he clicked the message tab and opened it up.

  A twenty-four-hour time clock popped up in the center of his screen.

  The crease between his brows deepened with sudden confusion. He didn’t know what it was or what it meant, but as he scrolled further down the page, the color drained off his face.

  I’ve been watching your every move. You can run, but you can’t hide. I know what you’ve done. Don’t deny it because I have proof. You have two choices; confess publicly, telling the world of your crimes (preferably through the Times), or pay the ultimate sacrifice. And by that, you know what I mean.

  Joey looked to see who it was from, but there was no signature. His computer dinged when an email hit his inbox. Again, it came from an unknown sender. He opened it regardless of his fears of clicking on a wrong link. The pixels of an image populated his screen and, with it, another message. “I’ll give you exactly 24 hours to decide. After that, I’ll have no choice but to tell the world what you’ve been doing.”

  Now Joey knew he was being watched. The image he was staring at was proof of that.

  Afraid, he retrieved his Glock 17 from the locked desk drawer and dialed Samantha Bell’s cellphone.

  Chapter Sixty

  King and I made a plan to reconvene later tonight. So, two hours after I witnessed Collins’s car get loaded up and towed away, I dropped Erin at her house and headed across town, steeling myself to confront my colleague. I couldn’t believe he called requesting to meet. He sounded better than the last time I spoke to him, and that was a good sign. But Garcia still had an edge to his voice that kept me vigilant. I was starting to doubt who I could and couldn’t trust.

  As soon as I parked outside Garcia’s house, Susan called me back. I got straight to it. “So, will you do it?”

  “I can’t believe you’re asking me to be your pawn.” Susan was clearly upset.

  “We don’t know where he is. Since he asked you out, he clearly has a thing for you.”

  “But he could be dangerous.” Susan sighed. “Besides, I’m still with Benjamin. He won’t like me going out with another man while he’s away. You know how that would look?”

  “Have you already told Damien no?” I pressed.

  “Sam, listen to yourself. What you’re asking me to do is ridiculous.”

  “He’s invited you into his life, sought you out, and you’re the only one who has been given the inside tour of his operation.”

  “Allison, too. She was with me at Backstage,” Susan reminded me. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  I paused, the silence hanging on the line for far too long. I was losing steam and the art of persuasion had me feeling exhausted. I wasn’t sure I had the patience to keep things civil; I just wanted to find Damien Black, preferably tonight.

  “There is another way, you know.” Susan’s voice sang with absolute certainty. “An easier way.”

  The tone in Susan’s voice had me believing I didn’t have to sell her on anything. Maybe she had a better idea—an idea she could go along with. “I’m open to whatever,” I said.

  “He wants to hire me.”

  When she didn’t add anything more, I asked, “But?”

  “But… I still don’t know if I want to do it.”

  “Then just pretend,” I said.

  Susan understood that three people may have died at the hands of Damien Black, and I understood her fears. If Damien was Loxley like we thought he might be, and he discovered what we were trying to do to entrap him, what would he do to Susan? I wasn’t sure Susan was cut out for that kind of battle—I wasn’t sure I was either.

  “Let me sleep on it,” she said and, reluctantly, I agreed. It was the best answer I could have hoped for after dropping the bomb of Damien Black’s possible guilt. Then she told me to stay safe and I told her to do the same before the line disconnected.

  Losing daylight, I gathered my tote and phone and knocked on Garcia’s front door, thinking I still had a chance at solving this tonight. Less than a minute passed before I heard the lock click over.

  A pair of brown eyes peeked through the crack. “Samantha?”

  Cecelia was surprised to see me. We knew each other but weren’t exactly friends. She seemed to be surprised at my arrival.

  An awkward silence hung between us and I didn’t know how to break the ice, so I simply asked, “Is Joey home?”

  Her gaze fell off my face. “You just missed him.”

  My brows pulled together in confusion. Had I misunderstood Garcia? I could have sworn he asked me to meet him here. Then Cecelia gave me the once over—a judgmental glint in her eye that suggested maybe I was here for something other than work.

  “Do you know where he went?” I asked.

  Cecelia was always friendly, but the shimmer of uncertainty grew wider in her sideways glance. It had been a long time since we last saw each other, and I knew the challenges Katie was having. Beyond that, I had no idea how much or how little she knew about me. Did she know I was a widow?

  “Can I ask what you two are meeting about?” Cecelia sharpened her gaze when roaming my face for answers.

  When I put myself in her shoes, seeing couldn’t take offense at her question. The late evening request, the fact that we hadn’t done this kind of thing before. I glanced down my front, happy for onc
e to be looking as disheveled as I did, as haggard as I felt. I laughed. “Oh, no,” I said. “It’s a story I’m working, about people Garcia worked with in the past.”

  Cecelia was slow to nod, and did so only skeptically. But it didn’t take her long to come around after I asked about Katie.

  “It’s not looking good.” She invited me inside, and I followed close behind.

  Joey’s house was both modest and domestic, exactly how I imagined it would be. Katie was asleep upstairs and Cecelia didn’t seem too interested in speaking much about her. So I let it go. Then Cecelia stopped and turned to me. “Can I ask you something?”

  I smiled. “Of course.”

  “How is my husband’s behavior at work?”

  I searched her eyes for meaning. “Professional.”

  She let a tiny laugh escape. “I meant his mood.”

  This was a good sign, I thought. She was worried about him. But it was the first hint that something was off. Something bigger was going on—something I suspected too. I found myself staring at her wedding band when I told her, “He hasn’t seemed himself.”

  “Any guesses as to why?”

  I shared my assumptions: the increased workload and the potential of getting laid off. I told her nothing of what I recently learned, and stood with my spine ramrod straight as I wondered if she would mention King’s visit here earlier.

  Cecelia sighed again. “Joey has been afraid of losing his job,” she admitted.

  She told me to sit, offered me tea, and over the next half-hour we indulged in girl talk. It felt good to finally get to know her, even with the constant reminders of the resentful feelings I was having toward her husband. Soon, Cecelia brought our conversation back to Joey’s work and, not wanting to miss an opportunity, I asked if she knew whether or not her husband had a Bitcoin account.