“God, I hate this,” she said fervently.
At least she didn’t argue with him about not intervening in the coming proceeding. It had been a calculated risk not to brief her on the plan, but Roger Hilton and the district attorney had agreed with Reese’s assessment that Jordana wouldn’t agree to play along with it.
He said quietly, “Call Clint. Ask him to come over and give you some moral support. And in the meantime, a bunch of your siblings have gathered in that back corner. Why don’t you go hang out with them? I’ll handle the questions from the press directed at us police that Roger can’t answer. It would probably be best if a non-Colton detective fielded questions about the Fitz Colton investigation.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks for taking the bullet.”
He winced. A bullet indeed. He had no doubt she would want to empty a whole clip of ammunition into him by the time this press conference was over.
Whew. One Colton sister handled. Now, if only Yvette would get here so he could coax her to go down to her lab and avoid this whole show. Because a show was exactly what they had planned for today.
* * *
Yvette turned in to the police department’s parking lot and stopped her car. The entire lot was crammed with vehicles, and the whole front of the thing was lined with television broadcast vans with network names sprawled over their sides. Many of them were major national news outlets.
Oh, God. This had to be about her father.
Panic erupted under her breastbone. Not good. So very not good.
She drove around to the auxiliary parking lot behind the building and found a spot in the very back of the lot, tucked in a corner next to a huge snowbank that butted practically right up against the side of her car. Good thing she was tiny and could squeeze out of the few inches she could get her door open.
She slipped and slid across the icy parking lot, skating her way into the police building. She was sorely tempted to bolt down the back stairs and hide in her lab, far from the cameras and noise. But her whole family would no doubt show up to support her father, and her absence would be glaring, not to mention disloyal.
Reluctantly, she headed toward the front of the building. Fitz had always been an intimidating figure in her life. She didn’t know him very well—he worked long hours through her childhood building his beloved company, and he had a naturally gruff personality. He hadn’t been a bad father. He just hadn’t been a good one.
As she emerged into the main lobby, she gaped at the mob crammed into the large space. Good grief. She recognized every face in the entire front row of reporters crowding the podium. All the national news shows were here. Ugh.
Why couldn’t a tsunami have hit or a volcano have erupted somewhere else in the world today to sweep the Colton Construction arsenic story out of the news cycle? Not that she wished a disaster on anyone else, of course, but she hated this with every cell in her being.
She spied Reese’s familiar back in front of her and moved toward him. He turned as she approached, his worried eyes lighting with a brief, intimate smile for her.
“There you are,” he murmured. “I was wondering if you were going to get here before the big show begins.”
“This is awful. Isn’t there anything we can do to get these people to go away?”
He shrugged. “It’s a free press. They can cover whatever they deem newsworthy.”
“And the fall of a rich, powerful man makes for a great headline,” she said bitterly.
“I’m sorry about all of this, Yvette. I would shield you from every bit of it if I could. In fact, why don’t you just go on down to your lab? I’ll text you when this is over—”
“I’m a Colton. We stick together.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that. It was worth a try, though. Your brothers and sisters are gathered in the back.” He pointed toward the left back corner of the room. “That way.” He added, grinning slyly, “Since you can’t see them over the crowd.”
“You’re hilarious, Jolly Green Carpenter,” she shot back, grinning.
She stepped away from him and her petite frame was swallowed by the mob. He was still trying to verify that she’d made it back to the cluster of Coltons when a ruckus erupted by the front door behind the crowd. Lights went on, cameramen turned their equipment to face the back of the room and journalists talked into their microphones.
He spied Lilly Colton’s red hair first, as she was climbing out of a black Town Car. He did feel bad for her. She was a kind person, and this scandal had to have been hard on her. Her natural compassion couldn’t have been at ease with the idea of her husband and his partner sickening and killing some of their employees.
Fitz climbed out of the car behind her. The vehicle pulled away from the curb. They must have hired someone to bring them down here. The blackout windows would have kept rotten vegetables from being lobbed at them as they drove through Braxville, at any rate.
Predictably, the press rushed Lilly and Fitz as they headed for the building, stopping them from even reaching the front doors of the police department. Reese sighed and spoke into the microphone clipped to the collar of his suit coat. “Can we get a few uniforms outside to usher Mr. and Mrs. Colton into the building?”
Quickly, several cops cleared the way, and the couple stepped inside. Lilly peeled off to join her children—thank God. At least she would be surrounded by loved ones when the feces hit the fan. Of course, unlike her children, she knew what was coming.
The district attorney hadn’t wanted to tell her what was going down today, but Fitz had rebelled at the idea of keeping her in the dark. He’d complained that his marriage was already in the toilet and keeping this secret from her might push Lilly over the edge. The DA had caved, but only if Fitz made sure Lilly swore not to warn her children about it in any way. This plan relied heavily on genuine reactions out of the family.
Fitz made it to the dais and stepped up to the podium. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his suit coat and spread it out before him. The room went expectantly silent as he cleared his voice.
“Thank you for coming today, ladies and gentlemen, although I hardly think this moment warrants such attention. At any rate, as you all know, Colton Construction, in which I’m co-owner, stands accused of using arsenic-laced wood products, obtained from China some years ago, in one of its construction projects. In the ensuing years, several employees have become sick, and a few have passed away from complications likely related to exposure to this toxic wood.
“I am here today to turn myself in to the police to face charges relating to these sad events. Furthermore, as the majority partner in the firm with a fifty-one percent stake in the company, I would like to announce that I have decided to sell Colton Construction. In accordance with a plea deal I have struck with the Braxville District Attorney’s office…”
Reese tuned out as the statement droned on. He’d been in the room when Fitz’s statement was drafted and agreed upon, and he knew that a detailed explanation followed of how the proceeds from the sale of the business would be disbursed through a neutral, third-party attorney agreed upon by Fitz and the DA.
While Fitz read on, Reese craned to see over the crowd, to find Yvette’s face in the melee, to check in on her and make sure she was doing all right. Of course, this wasn’t the part where things would get ugly.
There she was. She looked pale, her features drawn in stress. Did she feel bad for her part in proving the wood from the Colton project was the source of the arsenic that had poisoned the Colton workers? He sincerely hoped she didn’t feel guilty for helping put her father in this uncomfortable situation. He’d done that to himself when he’d gone along with Markus’s plan to cut financial corners and use the cheap Chinese wood that was known to be treated with toxic chemicals.
The arsenic acted as a pesticide to protect the wood from insect damage, but was outlawed for use in
the United States for precisely the reason that it caused cancer in the people who handled it and worked with it.
He tuned back in to see where Fitz was in his statement.
“…and all remaining proceeds of the sale will be put into a trust fund administered by a neutral third party. Its funds will be available to pay for medical bills and expenses for the affected employees and their families, including the survivors of deceased employees.
“I will also personally be establishing a scholarship fund for the children of the affected employees to defray the costs of their higher education. I regret the decisions that led to this tragedy and accept responsibility for my part in it. I promise to do everything in my power to make it right for the affected Colton Construction employees and their families.”
Fitz had balked at promising anything, but the DA had stood firm and insisted that the verbiage be in the statement. He wanted Fitz on the record with his word of honor.
Assuming that’s worth anything. Reese wasn’t so sure of that, anymore. At least Yvette didn’t seem to have inherited her father’s…flexible…sense of right and wrong. Besides, it wasn’t like Fitz could ever make it right for the employees who’d died.
As soon as Fitz stopped speaking and looked up from the paper before him, the journalists shouted all at once, yelling questions about how much money would go to the employees, whether or not he was going to serve jail time, and whether or not the plea deal included any further admission of guilt.
To Reese, standing just to one side of the podium, the din was deafening. And it wasn’t even directed at him. Dang. No wonder people talked about the press going into feeding frenzies.
The police chief stepped up to the podium and held up his hands for silence. It took a while for the reporters to settle down. He made a brief statement that the Braxville Police Department was committed to seeing the law enforced and investigating the charges fully and impartially. Then he said, “I’ll pass any questions you have to the officer in charge of the investigation, Detective Reese Carpenter.”
That was his cue. Reese stepped forward. Here went nothing.
He spoke into the microphone. “The arsenic investigation is an active case, and therefore, I’m not going to be able to answer any specific questions about evidence or the details of the case. I can tell you we have passed the case to the district attorney for review and that Mr. Colton has cooperated fully with the investigation so far. Before I take any questions, I would also like to speak for a moment about another major investigation the Braxville Police Department is involved in. As many of you are already aware, several months ago, the remains of two individuals, a man identified as Fenton Crane, and a woman, Olivia Harrison, were discovered hidden in the walls of another Colton Construction project. Today, not only will we be arresting Mr. Colton for the arsenic poisoning, but we will also be arresting him in connection with those murders—”
He was drowned out by a shout of surprise and a spate of questions that erupted from the crowd in front of him.
More important, many of the cameras swung around to capture the reaction of the Colton family to that shocking announcement. It was exactly why he hadn’t told Yvette or Jordana what was coming today, and why only Lilly had any warning at all in advance of the announcement of Fitz’s arrest for murder.
Predictably, the family looked equal parts shocked, alarmed and furious. Their expressions of dismay were everything he and the district attorney could have hoped for. Lord, he hoped those reactions were enough to convince Markus Dexter that Fitz Colton had really been arrested for the Harrison and Crane murders.
Otherwise, he’d just put that poor family through hell for nothing.
Eventually, the lights and cameras swung back to him.
He squinted into the blinding lights, trying desperately to see the Colton family’s reactions, trying at least to find Yvette’s petite silhouette in the cluster of siblings, to give her what silent moral support he could. But he couldn’t pick her out at all. All he saw were black silhouettes before him. He couldn’t make out any faces past the front row of reporters.
Someone called out, “Do you have proof that Fitz Colton killed that couple? What is it?”
Reese answered, “The Harrison-Crane case is also an active investigation, and I’m not at liberty to comment on any specific evidence we’ve collected regarding the case. Also, I’d like to remind everyone that, while we know the identities of the two victims, we know very little about their past lives or what circumstances brought them to their tragic ends. We cannot speculate on whether or not they were a couple or even if they knew each other. The Braxville Police would like to ask anyone in the public with information regarding the final days of Ms. Olivia Harrison or Mr. Fenton Crane to contact the Braxville Police Department.” He recited the phone number for the tip line and gave out the general email address of the department.
He spent the next fifteen minutes repeating himself over and over that he couldn’t share any details of the evidence on either investigation while reporters tried every way they could to trip him up and get him to reveal some new morsel of evidence.
Finally, the question he’d been waiting for was asked. A reporter called, “Where’s Fitz Colton’s partner, Markus Dexter? Is he going to be charged in the arsenic investigation and murder case, too?”
Reese leaned in to the mike. “Fitz Colton is the majority partner in Colton Construction, and with regard to the arsenic case, the responsible party for any actions taken by the company as a whole. As for the murder investigation, we’re uncovering new evidence on a daily basis. Dexter is not the person we’re looking into right now with regard to the Harrison-Crane murders.”
“And that evidence implicates Fitz Colton?” the reporter followed up. “Hence his arrest?”
He smiled and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I can’t comment on that. I can only repeat that Mr. Colton will be questioned after this press conference with regard to the Harrison-Crane case.” He made darned sure to give the answer in a tone indicating that the evidence did, indeed, point to Fitz as the killer.
Time to wrap up. “Thanks for coming today, everyone. If you have any further questions, you can contact the public affairs officer for the City of Braxville.” He turned off the microphone and stepped off the stage, craning to search over the crowd for Yvette.
He didn’t need to see her face to know exactly how she would have responded to the surprise arrest of her father for the Harrison-Crane murders. She would be livid. She knew better than anyone that the evidence so far didn’t point at her father, but pointed squarely at his business partner.
Fitz had agreed to play along with this charade in an attempt to coax Markus Dexter out of hiding. If Dexter believed he’d been cleared, the hope was that he might return to Braxville, or at least show his face to law enforcement wherever he was. A nationwide BOLO—be on the lookout—for Dexter had already been issued.
As it turned out, Fitz had been eager to help smoke out his old partner. He was pissed as hell at Dex for getting him and his beloved company into the arsenic mess by talking him into purchasing the tainted wood, and he wanted to see Dex hang if he’d actually committed the two murders and used a Colton building to hide the bodies.
Predictably, Reese was mobbed after the press conference by reporters trying to get a scoop and to trick or bully him into revealing something he hadn’t during the press conference. He finally resorted to answering every question with a blunt “No comment,” as he pushed through the crowd toward the back of the lobby.
He had to find Yvette.
CHAPTER 10
Yvette’s face was on fire. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest had an iron band around it.
Holy cow. This was a panic attack. She had to get out of here, away from all these people. And at all costs, she had to avoid Reese. What in the heck was he doing, accusing her father of murder? She knew all the evidenc
e in the murder cases—she’d personally logged in most of it in the stupid investigation. Even though she’d passed the most important testing off to other labs to avoid any appearance of conflict of interest and to avoid accusations of her tainting the evidence, she did know the results of all that testing.
And one thing she knew for sure: n o way was her father the killer.
It was a wild miscarriage of justice.
Her brothers and sisters murmured angrily among themselves, and she became aware that they weren’t talking with her. Of course not. To them, she was the Judas. The forensic scientist who’d apparently—and secretly—set up their father for a crime he hadn’t committed. She felt their emotional withdrawal as acutely as she felt their physical withdrawal from her.
It was subtle, but all of her siblings had moved away from her, circled around Lilly, turned their backs to her just enough to shut her out of their mutual circle of concern for their dad and of support for their mom.
Miserable, she turned and wriggled into the crowd, using her small stature to slip between reporters in the crush of bodies. She had no idea where she was headed. Just…away.
“You’re Fitz Colton’s daughter, aren’t you?” a reporter asked, shoving a microphone under her nose. “Do you have a comment on your father’s arrest?”
“Uhh, no,” she stammered.
Another journalist closed in on her. “Hey, aren’t you the forensics chick for the Braxville Police?” To the first reporter, the second one said, “She’s Fitz Colton’s kid, you say?”
Both journalists turned on her. “You investigated your own father? Proved he’s a murderer? How does he feel about that?”
“No comment.”
“Hey, guys! Colton’s own daughter is the one who put him in jail for the double murders! This is her!”
And it was on. The press corps mobbed her, hemming her in so tightly she couldn’t move and could barely breathe. Lights glared in her eyes, microphones were shoved in her face and a cacophony of voices shouted in her ears until she couldn’t make out anything anyone said. Which was probably just as well.
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