Little Broken Things

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “Do either of you want another drink, or more snacks, or anything?” I asked.

  “I’ll take another Mars bar,” Sunny said. “Jasmine likes salt and vinegar chips. Have any of those?”

  “I don’t want anything,” Jasmine said. “Not right now.”

  I left my office, grabbed a Mars bar for Sunny and a couple of Sprites, figuring the fizzy drink would help settle Jasmine’s stomach. I was on my way back when Blackwell grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side.

  I shrugged him off and said, “Don’t. Just because we’re working together right now doesn’t mean you have the authority to put your hands on me.”

  He blinked at me like he thought I was overreacting. “You’ve been in there a while. I want an update. What did the girls say?”

  “I’ll fill you in once we’ve finished talking.”

  “You’ll fill me in now. What’s so pressing they had to talk to you today?”

  Realizing the next words out of my mouth would be a lot snarkier than anything I’d said to him so far, I ignored the question and started for my office.

  Blackwell sprung forward, grabbing my arm again. He jerked me back, much harder this time. It seemed he’d decided I was a wild horse he was determined to break. Before I had the chance to strike back, a male voice said, “Remove your hand from Detective Germaine.”

  I spun around, coming face-to-face with Giovanni.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “When did you get back?”

  “I flew in about an hour ago. I thought I’d surprise you, see if you were available for lunch.”

  “I have a busy day today,” I said. “Can we make it dinner instead?”

  He nodded. “Six o’clock?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “My place or yours?”

  “Yours.”

  Angered, Blackwell cut into our conversation, turning toward Giovanni and saying, “Excuse me. Who are you?”

  Giovanni took a step toward Blackwell, bringing the gap between them to mere inches. “Who I am doesn’t concern you as much as who you are concerns me.”

  In a smug, commanding voice, Blackwell said, “Ivan Blackwell. I’ve just received a phone call confirming I’m the new chief of police for San Luis Obispo. Before that, I—”

  “Your history is irrelevant. My concern is the lack of respect for those working for you. Being the new chief of police doesn’t give you the right to speak down to others, and it damn well doesn’t give you the right to place a hand on Georgiana or anyone else who works here.”

  Blackwell glared at Giovanni like he was about to boil over. “I may not know your name, but since you know mine, I’d suggest you make good use of it. Ask around and you’ll learn about my reputation. You should know … I have friends in high places—friends who would come to my aide under any circumstances. All it takes is one phone call.”

  Worried what might happen next, I reached out, squeezing Giovanni’s hand. “I need to get back to work. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

  He looked at me, his eyes soft and kind, and I knew I didn’t need to worry. He’d sensed my concern and would back off—for now. He nodded and started walking toward the front door. All eyes in the police station were on him, most with admiration, like they wanted to high-five the man who had just put Blackwell in his place. Before he reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder at Blackwell and grinned. “My name is Giovanni Luciana, and I believe it is you who needs to learn about my reputation.”

  Chapter 44

  I headed back to my office feeling a nervous pit developing in my stomach. On one hand, I was glad Giovanni put Blackwell in his place. On the other, I’d kept Giovanni’s personal life under wraps. Sure, everyone knew his name and knew we were dating, but up to now, it had all been surface stuff, nothing more.

  I had a feeling it was all about to change.

  I entered my office and set the candy bar and drinks down on the table.

  Sunny snatched the Mars bar and said, “Who’s the guy in the suit? Is he your boyfriend?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “He’s hot for an old guy.”

  “Just because we’re older than you doesn’t mean we’re old.”

  I sat down and looked at Jasmine. “How are you doing? Ready to talk?”

  She cracked the tab on the soda and took a few sips. “No, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. But I’ll do it anyway.”

  “Take your time. There’s no rush. Okay?”

  She took a long breath in, breathed it out, and began. “Last year I was driving home after cheer practice one night, and I got a flat tire. I pulled to the side of the road and was going to call my dad, and Mr. Bartlett drove by. He parked behind me and offered to change the tire.”

  “Was this before or after the bikini photos were sent?” I asked.

  “After. A month or two after, I guess.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I told him I was just going to call my dad, and he said he grew up working in his father’s auto repair shop. He could have the tire replaced in minutes. I knew it would take my dad at least a half hour to get there, so I let Mr. Bartlett change it. He was right. It didn’t take long. I thanked him and went to leave, and he made a comment about how great the interior looked on my car, considering it was a classic.”

  “What do you drive?”

  “A ’56 Mustang.”

  “Nice. I drive a classic myself.”

  “Sweet. Yeah, so, we talked about my car for a minute and then he got into the passenger seat and started checking everything out. He seemed fascinated with it. I thought if I got in and started the engine, he’d get a clue and get out, but he didn’t. Not right away, at least.”

  The way she was fiddling with her braids told me we were nearing the point where Bartlett crossed the line from a teacher lending a helping hand to a full-fledged pervert.

  But just how far had he crossed it?

  “What happened when he was in your car?” I asked.

  “He put the radio on to a station playing ’90s music, sat back, and started singing along, telling me how great the song was, how many memories it brought back. He had a finger in the air, and he was waving it to the beat of the song. The song ended, and he brought his finger down and used it to outline one of my breasts. And I just … I was shocked, I knew I should have done something, but I didn’t. I just sat there and allowed it to happen. I’m such a flipping idiot.”

  A single tear trailed down her cheek.

  She wiped it away.

  “Listen, what happened isn’t your fault,” I said. “You’ve done nothing wrong here. You have nothing to feel bad about. If this is too hard, we can—”

  “It is hard, but I need to do it. If I walk out now, I’m not sure I’ll get the nerve to come back here again.”

  Sunny wrapped her arms around Jasmine and said, “I’m so sorry. I won’t let you do this alone. Forget about what I said earlier. I’ll tell my story too. Let’s take this asshole down before he tries this crap with anyone else.”

  Relieved, Jasmine looked at Sunny and nodded. She took another long breath in and continued. “So … when I didn’t tell him to stop, he took his other finger and did the same thing to my other breast. Then he squeezed them with his hands. He was looking me right in the eye, smiling the whole time. He asked if he could see what the bra I was wearing looked like. I wanted to say no, but I didn’t say anything, so he lifted up my shirt. At first, he just stared at my bra. Then he pulled the straps down so it exposed my breasts and he … he put his hands, you know, well, he touched them.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Another car turned up the road, and he ducked down in his seat. After it passed, it was like he realized he could have just gotten caught, and he got out of the car and took off without saying another word. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the school year.”

  I thought about Kennedy Nixon and whether her suicide may have had anything to do with Scott Bartl
ett. And then I thought about Olivia. Could Bartlett have been the man she was referring to in her poems? Had he raped her, gotten her pregnant? To think of him now, of what else he’d done, sickened me. I didn’t just want to take him down, I wanted him to suffer in the same way he made all the young women he’d messed with suffer.

  “I’m proud of you, Jasmine,” I said. “You’re a lot braver than you think. Most girls wouldn’t be able to tell the story you just told me.”

  “How long until you arrest him?” Sunny asked.

  “I’ll be speaking to the chief of police as soon as we’re finished here.”

  “Guess I need to tell my parents,” Jasmine said.

  “We both do,” Sunny said. “And we’ll do it together.”

  Chapter 45

  After I conveyed my conversation with Sunny and Jasmine to Blackwell, he seemed a little less irritated about what I’d blurted over the high school intercom the day before. He called Officer Higgins into his office and told him to grab Officer Decker and head to the high school to make the arrest. He also ordered a warrant for the search of Scott Bartlett’s house.

  While I’d been with Sunny and Jasmine, Blackwell had taken the time to look Giovanni up on the internet. He found several articles on him—articles he wasn’t happy about.

  “You know you’re dating a criminal, right?” Blackwell said.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  In truth, I was aware of bits and pieces of Giovanni’s past. I just wasn’t sure what to say about it. It was a part of Giovanni I’d compartmentalized, pushing it so far off to the side I didn’t have to think about it, didn’t have to deal with it. And I didn’t want to deal with it now.

  Blackwell took it upon himself to try to fill in the blanks. “The man’s the suspected head of his mafia family.”

  “He’s not the head of a mafia family. He’s retired.”

  “You sure?” Rockwell angled the laptop so we could both view the screen. “I’m not sure where to begin with the headlines …” He then began rattling off a few.

  * * *

  “New York Crime Boss Suspected of Murdering Rival Family Member Rocco “The Rock” Romano.”

  * * *

  “New York Journalist Threatening to Expose Mafia Secrets Found Dead in his Apartment.”

  * * *

  “Mafia Boss Gunned Down in Hail of Bullets Outside Comedy Club.”

  * * *

  “Take your pick,” he said. “They’re all bad.”

  “Are you finished?” I asked.

  “Your boyfriend’s name is associated with every single one of these articles.”

  “Giovanni may have been a suspect in the past, but he’s never been convicted of a crime. Not once.”

  “Gee, I wonder why. Doesn’t mean he’s not guilty. I know it, and I’d be willing to bet you know it too.”

  “And what of your crimes?” I asked. “You’re quick to point the finger at him, but how about pointing a finger at yourself while you’re at it?”

  He leaned back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Tyler Gibson, the boy who was gunned down for holding a wallet in his hand. Let’s start there.”

  Blackwell shrugged. “What about him?”

  “You fought to make sure Officer Williams not only kept his job but served no time for his involvement in the boy’s murder.”

  “Murder? Who said anything about murder?”

  “I did. I’ve read the police report, the one filed by Williams’ partner, Simone Bonet.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Her report is nothing more than an exaggeration of the truth. Officer Williams told a different story, and I, for one, believe it.”

  “Given everything I know about you so far, I’m not surprised.”

  “This crap you’re going on about isn’t important. What’s important is knowing my lead detective has ties to the mob. I need to know what you plan on doing about—”

  I stood. “I’m not talking about this with you. My personal life is just that—personal. Since you took the time to look up his history, I’d suggest you look up mine. Or let me save you some time. You won’t find a single smudge in my record because there aren’t any—not as a cop and not as a detective. Right now, I have a job to do, a murder to solve, so excuse me while I get back to it.”

  Chapter 46

  I headed to Barb’s house knowing my mind wasn’t where it needed to be. Blackwell was the new chief of police, a fact I found hard to accept. I tried not to think about him or his asinine accusation of me having mafia ties because of my relationship with Giovanni. I tried denying my affiliation with Giovanni linked me to his life, both past and present, even though it did.

  It was a part of his life I knew so little about.

  How did I feel about that fact?

  And, what’s more, was the Giovanni I knew the same Giovanni everyone else knew?

  In truth, I didn’t know.

  He seemed almost no different to me now than he had when we attended college together. And even though we’d been absent from two decades of each other’s lives, when we came together again, we’d picked up right where we left off as if no time had passed between us.

  I forced myself to focus on something else, anything else, and I thought about Scott Bartlett. I wanted more than anything to put the blame for Olivia’s murder on him, but something still didn’t feel right, and I needed to figure out why.

  I pulled into Olivia’s parents’ driveway, checked the time, and took out my cell phone, giving Giovanni a quick call before heading inside.

  “Hey, we’re still on track for six o’clock tonight,” I said. “I’m at Barb Spencer’s house. I need to update her on the case, and then I’m going to head out to their family cabin in Templeton. Shouldn’t take too long. I’ll give you a call if I’m going to be late.”

  He paused, then said, “What’s wrong?”

  I wanted to say nothing, but nothing was a lie, and we’d just embarked on a total honesty policy with each other.

  “I spoke to Blackwell after you left the police station,” I said. “He did a search on you and found some dodgy newspaper articles from your past. He accused me of having ties to the mob because we’re in a relationship. Can you believe it?”

  Another pause, and I had my answer.

  He could believe it.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “My head’s all over the place. I’m about to tell Barb and Chad some things about their daughter that they’re not going to want to hear, and I need my focus to be on them right now.”

  “I understand. I’m sorry for what Blackwell put you through today, and I look forward to seeing you tonight. We can talk more then.”

  I ended the call, reached for the water bottle I always carried with me, and sucked down every last drop. I walked to the front door and knocked. Chad opened the door and invited me in, chatting away about the excess of food they’d received from friends and family since Olivia’s funeral.

  “I don’t see Stuart and Chelsea’s car outside,” I said. “I think it’s the first time I’ve been here and they haven’t.”

  “Chelsea’s been a bit mopey since her last visit. Been a nice change to tell you the truth. She was smothering Barb. We all needed a breather.”

  “Where’s David?”

  “Took off for the day with a friend.”

  “By friend, do you mean Abigail Nichols?”

  He nodded, a slight smile forming on his lips. “That’s the one.”

  I was happy for them, but I had hoped David would be there when I arrived and could accompany me to the cabin. I wanted him to point out the location of the tree where Olivia had carved something into the bark. Looked like I’d have to figure it out on my own.

  Barb rounded the corner. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked like she hadn’t showered since the funeral. She suggested the three of us gather around the kitchen table
. We all took a seat, and Barb said, “What’s the latest on Olivia’s case? Are you any closer to figuring out who’s responsible for her death?”

  It was a loaded question, one which didn’t have a definitive answer yet.

  “Maybe,” I said. “We’re bringing a suspect into the police station for questioning. Ivan Blackwell, the new chief of police, will be interrogating the suspect first while we wait on a warrant to search his house.”

  “Well …?” Chad said. “Are you going to give us the suspect’s name?”

  “Before I do, you need to understand this man could have been involved in Olivia’s death. Keep in mind, we still aren’t sure whether he’s guilty or innocent, at least where Olivia is concerned.”

  “Sure, sure,” Chad said. “We get it. So, who is it? Do we know him?”

  “You do. The man we’re questioning is Scott Bartlett.”

  Chad repeated his name several times, as if he was trying to place him.

  Barb said, “Do you mean Mr. Bartlett, the math teacher?”

  I nodded. “A few of Bartlett’s students have come forward, alleging inappropriate behavior.”

  “What kind of inappropriate behavior?” Barb asked.

  “He’s made inappropriate comments to some of his female students, solicited photos from them, and one student said he fondled her breasts on one occasion. There have been no allegations of sex with a student so far, and no one has accused him of rape.”

  Barb froze as if in shock, and then her jaw dropped open. “It just occurred to me … in one of Olivia’s poems, she said one day soon everyone would know what he’d done. Do you think Mr. Bartlett raped her, and she kept it quiet all this time? She was planning to leave this place after she married Casper. Maybe the thought of leaving empowered her somehow. Maybe she planned on exposing him, but before she could, he found out about it.”