BURN IN BELL

by Jeremy Waldron

  Chelsea saw me rush by and stepped out of the room. She called me over. “I’m still waiting to learn exactly why they have your son here, but he’s doing fine.”

  “I’d like to talk to him.”

  Chelsea nodded and I felt a familiar hand touch the small of my back. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  I twisted around to face King as Chelsea and Erin retreated back into the room to be with Mason. “How dare you not keep your word,” I said in low growl.

  King’s eyes bounced between the walls as he said, “I didn’t know.”

  I closed the gap between us. “You gave me two hours to bring him in myself.”

  “I’m sorry. This wasn’t my call,” he said in low volume. “But really, Sam, people won’t like seeing you here.”

  “My son is here,” I said through clenched teeth. “I have no choice but to be here.”

  King’s fingers extended and reached for my waist, but I didn’t want him to touch me. I was too tense to have the patience to hear him out. “I didn’t even have a chance to speak to him.” I looked up into King’s eyes. “At least tell me why he’s even here.”

  “We just need to get a statement from Mason about what he saw last night—if anything—then he’ll be allowed to go.”

  “Are you sure? Because they came to my house to pick him up. They would only do that if they had evidence to believe he’s been involved in a violent crime.”

  King sighed. “We can’t talk about this here.”

  “Then where can we talk?”

  “Come.” King headed toward an open interrogation room. “Follow me.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Susan didn’t like having to wait inside the police station. She kept twisting the rings around her fingers as her mind continued to play tricks on her, fooling her brain into believing the dull, white walls were closing in around her.

  The unbearably bright overhead lights flickered their way into a sudden headache, and the constant glances in their direction made her feel like she was the one to have done something wrong. It was enough to make her want to leave. Instead, she asked the group, “What do you think it could be?”

  Tristan was busy working through his notes when he lifted the pen off the pad. His eyes scanned the room and the people inside it. “I don’t know, but it’s never good when they make you wait.”

  “Keep the faith, people,” Hazel said as she was answering emails on her phone.

  The eerie feeling from the park followed them here. Susan didn’t have a good feeling about this. Tension buzzed in the air, and suspicious eyes were looking for someone to blame. A cop had been murdered and an arrest hadn’t been made. Everything about hosting tomorrow’s marathon felt wrong.

  “Now, which one of you is Hazel Beck?” an officer asked as he approached.

  “That would be me.” Hazel stood, extended her hand.

  “I’m Officer Lester Smith.” They shook hands. His tone was friendly but his shoulders were weighed down with obvious grief. “Police Chief Watts has asked me to fill in for him. I hope that’s okay?”

  “Is everything all right?” Hazel asked.

  Susan was equally interested to know.

  “Yes. Yes. Everything is just fine.” Officer Smith kept glancing at Tristan like he knew him. “The chief apologizes for not being able to be here himself.”

  “Completely understand.” Hazel introduced the team. Susan and Tristan stood, each offering a hand to Officer Smith.

  “Tristan,” Officer Smith said. “Yes, I remember you.”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t.” Tristan smiled.

  Hazel and Susan shared a look of confusion.

  “You were one of the lucky few I pulled over who got away with only a warning.”

  “And I haven’t forgotten.” Tristan recalled being surprised by Smith yesterday during a traffic stop.

  Smith smiled. “That’s great to hear. And I hope you never will.”

  “So, about tomorrow’s marathon,” Hazel said. “We’ve come up with two proposals for an alternate route around Commons Park.”

  Smith listened but Susan could see something wasn’t right. Then Smith broke the news to them. “I’m afraid that’s why I’m here. Due to a reallocation of resources, we’re going to have to cancel the event.”

  “What? No,” Hazel protested.

  “I’m sorry.” Smith frowned. “Chief Watts will be in touch about how and when we might be able to reschedule the race.”

  “There must be something we can do?” Hazel glanced to Susan.

  “I wish there was something I could do to help, but I’m afraid it’s been decided.”

  “There must be something we can do to change the chief’s mind?”

  “I’m really sorry, but it’s too late.” Officer Smith frowned. “I’m afraid Chief Watts is relaying the message to the press as we speak.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  After a quick check-in with my son, King led me into the open interrogation room next door. “What about Mason’s friend, Jamaal? Is he here?”

  King shut the heavy door behind him and said, “I’m not at liberty to discuss the investigation.”

  I saw that the camera in the corner was off, and I also assumed no one was listening. But I could never be too sure. “Yet you brought me in here to discuss my son.”

  King moved to the table in the center of the room. “Who told you about Angelina leaving that note?”

  “Not until you tell me what this department has on my son.”

  King gave me an arched look that said he didn’t have time for games and dropped several folders onto the table as he lowered himself down into an empty chair. “Mason was caught on camera running from the park about the time the call came in about Avery. Several witnesses have placed him there and we’re curious to know what exactly he saw.”

  My pulse was ticking hard in my neck. “He probably ran because he was afraid.”

  “He made the call, Sam.”

  My eyebrows pinched. “Mason found Avery?”

  King’s half-mast eyes confirmed my worst fears in a single nod. “Mason called from his friend’s phone.”

  I sat at the table across from King. “If that’s all my son is accused of doing, why arrest him and make a show out of it? Mason could have told you that at home.”

  “Normally, I would agree with you. But, since Avery was a cop, everyone—including those at the top—are itching to place blame on whoever might be responsible.”

  “He didn’t do this,” I said.

  “I believe you, but the truth is, Mason ran when he should have stayed.”

  “He’s just a boy.”

  King sighed.

  I lowered my gaze to the table and thought about how Dawson obtained Marty’s photograph to be printed next to my column. I understood the urgency in wanting to make an arrest, but not if it meant having the police department make a mistake.

  King asked, “Now, who told you about Angelina leaving the note behind?”

  “It makes sense, right?”

  “No, it doesn’t make sense.”

  I was taken aback by his defense for his ex. Without asking, he mentioned how he’d just spoken with Angelina outside his mother’s residence. So, while Mason was getting rounded up, King was with Angelina?

  I asked, “Who else besides her knows so much about you and your father?”

  King’s eyes fell to the folder in front of him. “I’m still working on it.”

  “Then while you work on it, think about this,” I said, telling him my theory about how Angelina and Walker working behind the scenes to point out his professional shortcomings.

  King took a moment to shake the ideas around his head, then he asked, “You’ve seen these cases Walker is interested in?”

  “First hand.” I leaned forward. “And you heard what Walker said to Avery when we got caught snooping around Boyd’s house.”

  “Officer Smith told me about it.”

  “Then why isn
’t Walter Walker here being questioned like my son?”

  King continued to stare. “Walker hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  I fell back into the chair and bit my lip. There had to be something I could use to get his attention. “Today, Walker showed me the cold case of yours that was made to resemble what happened to Avery.”

  “How did he know about that?” King brought his hands to the table as he leaned forward. “Sam, did you say something?”

  I raised both of my eyebrows. “If that’s not probable cause, then I don’t know what more you need.”

  King fingered a folder as he stared at his hand. “We had a call come in.” He picked up his eyes and locked his gaze with mine. “Boyd has been spotted.”

  My eyebrows knitted. “You’re still thinking he could be responsible?”

  “We’ve heard he may have threatened harm to officers no more than a week ago.”

  It could explain what happened to Avery, but not Peggy. “Then why hasn’t he been arrested?” I asked.

  “It’s not concrete evidence. Only hearsay.”

  I thought about the window shattering when we were at Boyd’s house, and the fact that his house has been under surveillance since Avery’s death. Boyd had an elusive history with the police department, but did he know enough about King’s past to be our guy? I was skeptical.

  Staring at King’s folder, I said, “I researched Frank Lowe.”

  King met my stare.

  “When I first visited Walker’s office, he had a very thorough map of one of Frank Lowe’s murders and, next to it, an article I wrote.”

  King tilted his head and asked, “What article?”

  I told King which one. “Something about it doesn’t feel right. But, get this, when I went back today, the mind map of Frank Lowe’s crime was gone.”

  “Did he say where it went?”

  I shook my head. “But it was replaced by a photo of Angelina Hill.”

  “And then he told you that she left the note?”

  I nodded—feeling like we were close to zeroing in on our suspect but still couldn’t put a finger on exactly who it was. Frustration built and I was afraid of what Walker might do before I learned what exactly he wanted to prove.

  King asked, “Do you trust him?”

  “No, not at all,” I murmured when a couple taps on the door had both of us standing.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  “No, it’s too risky.” Walker was pacing the room and shaking his head as Gemma looked on.

  “We have to tell her. The evidence is all there.” Gemma stood, leaned over her desk, and made the argument to contact Samantha Bell despite contradicting her earlier statement to move on without her. “Walter, what are we waiting for? If we don’t do this now, we might miss our chance.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Walker abruptly stopped and snapped. “For her to sign the god damn papers.”

  “I don’t care about the investment.” Gemma squared her shoulders. “I just want the truth to get told, and now is the time.”

  “Not until we learn who was watching you.” Walker shook his head.

  They still hadn’t been able to identify the man in the park who Gemma knew was watching her meet with Marty. It made her nervous, but mostly she was scared of potential blowback if their secret got out.

  “We have a name,” Gemma said. “Let’s let Samantha take it from here and finally showcase her talent.”

  Walker’s hands were firmly rooted on his hips. “She’ll never go for it. Not as long as she’s with Inspector King.”

  “This is your fault,” Gemma blamed Walker. “First you ran your mouth then you were spotted in the park.”

  “Don’t you blame me.” Walker pointed at her.

  “It’s too easy when you refuse to do anything until you have full control over her career.”

  Walker ran a hand over his head and glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. We’re both exhausted. Let’s quit before one of us says something we’ll regret.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gemma said lightly, knowing she’d already crossed the line of no return. “But I can’t leave until I have a concrete answer.”

  Walker’s lips flattened. He stared into Gemma’s narrowed eyes before finally giving up. There was no sense in fighting. She wouldn’t be so foolish as to go behind his back but, if she did, he’d make sure there would be consequences.

  Edging the desk, he kissed Gemma goodbye and left their office without another word.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  With Walker gone and out of her hair, Gemma finally had time to think.

  Working beneath the dim overhead light, she promised Walker she’d handle Samantha, get her to agree to their terms. Circumstances had changed. Now she saw no choice but to do this herself.

  She uploaded the photo of the mysterious stranger in the park and zoomed in on his face. The bright screen lit up her face—his reflection shining bright in her eye.

  As she stared into his dark eyes, it was clear he was studying her—looking at her like he knew who she was. But who was he? Was he there because of her? Or was he waiting for Marty? Her guess was as good as anybody’s, but the look on his face had her insides rolling with uncertainty.

  Pushing her chair back, she bent at the waist and opened a desk drawer to retrieve several files she had on Frank Lowe. Spreading them out across her desk, Gemma poured over her notes before glancing back at the man from the park.

  “Do you know Frank Lowe?” she asked him. “Or did my secret get out?”

  She’d scribbled dozens of names down in her notes and she wondered if this man was one of them. But without any photographs to go along with the names, it would be impossible to identify this stranger without outside help.

  There was only one other person who might know if Marty’s intel checked out, and Gemma knew she had no choice but to ask.

  Reaching for the phone, Gemma paused when her eyes landed on the graphic images detailing the crimes Frank Lowe was convicted of committing. Whenever she thought about her reasons for doing what she was doing, she always stopped and used these as a reminder.

  Bringing the phone to her ear, she made the call. “It’s me,” she said when the person answered. “Can we meet?”

  Chapter Seventy

  Mason sat answering questions for four hours without interruption. Chelsea Kennedy and I were by his side throughout it all until the investigators were finished and he was finally free to leave.

  Once the detectives exited the room, King stepped inside. Chelsea gave me a look and I shook my head. King remained professional—not congratulating Mason on a job well done or giving me any hints into what was to come. The only thing he said was, “If there is anything else you think of, give me a call.”

  Mason said he would, then King disappeared.

  Chelsea stepped over to me. “If what Mason said is true, this should be the end of it.”

  I hoped she was right, because I wasn’t sure how much more uncertainty I could take. “Thank you for everything,” I said.

  Chelsea touched my arm, said to give her a call if anything else popped up, and exited the room. I turned to Mason. One look at my son and I knew he was ready to eat a proper meal.

  “Ready to go home?” I asked.

  He was all out of words and could only nod his head.

  I was happy to finally leave the interrogation box and breathe some fresh air, but as soon as we stepped into the hall, we were hit by a wave of shouts exploding around us like a surprise attack of mortar shells.

  “What did you say to them?” a man shouted at my son. “Did you say it was me?”

  I covered Mason’s ears with my hands and stood in awe of what I was hearing.

  The officers wrestled the man forward. When I heard Marty’s name, I knew exactly what was happening. His image was just like what I saw printed in the paper.

  “You’re letting him go?” Marty kept glancing over his shoulders, arguing his defense. He was starin
g directly at Mason like he knew who he was. “He’s as guilty as I am. There are others, too. I wasn’t the only one who was there. Just ask him. I didn’t do this.”

  Though handcuffed, the officers wrestled Marty into a room and shut the door. With my lungs gasping for breath, I grabbed Mason’s hand and hurried to the exit.

  I didn’t stop at the sight of reporters crowding the entrance. They clicked their shutters and asked me for the inside scoop. None of them knew about Mason and I needed to keep it that way.

  Once inside the car, I locked the doors and began to drive. My hands were still shaking from Marty Ray’s attack and I promised to call Allison. But first I needed Mason to know something.

  “You did the right thing in calling for help.” I flicked my eyes to my son. “But why did you run?”

  Mason was staring out the window looking completely broken. I wanted to heal him as quickly as possible, get him back to being a kid again. His next words broke my heart.

  “I’ve never seen a dead body before,” Mason whispered.

  I hoped he never would again, I thought as Mason repeated how he found Avery.

  “That guy shouting at us as we left—” I turned my head to look my son in the eye. “Do you know him?”

  Mason turned to me and nodded. “He showed up at the courts, challenging Paul to a game of ball.”

  “And that’s it? You’ve never seen him before last night?”

  “That’s it, Mom. I swear.”

  Remembering what Allison said, I asked, “What about blood on his shirt? Did you see blood on his shirt?”

  Mason reminded me it was dark and the lights were out. “I didn’t see any of that,” he said.

  Ten minutes later, we pulled onto her street and I curbed my vehicle in front of her house. “I’m going to need you to stay with Heather until I can catch some time off.”