“Jessie?” Sam said softly.
“Don’t,” she answered. “Just don’t.”
Rufus patted her hair and led her to the couch. “Sit,” he said. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
She wiped her sleeve over her face and folded her legs underneath her. Sam sat down beside her. “I’m sorry this happened,” he said. “We told Nick we’d question him again tomorrow. He seemed okay. There was no way we could have predicted this.”
She cleared her throat. “You don’t have to make excuses. I’m not blaming you. But what happened today? You at least owe me that.”
“You’re right. I do.” He leaned back and drew in a long breath. “He finally admitted that Hart had called him that night and asked him for help with something, but Nick says he couldn’t understand what Hart wanted and he hung up and continued on to Boston City to see you.”
“That’s what he told me. Tonight, he said I had to change my statement, tell you that he was at the ER before the ambulance arrived.” She shook her head. “He may have been, but as I told you, I didn’t see him. I couldn’t say that. He was unhinged when I refused. I was afraid and then—miracle of miracles—Rufus let himself in.” Her eyes rested on him as he returned to the room. “He saved me. I owe you everything, Rufus.” She stood and wrapped her arms around him.
“Now, now,” he said, gently extricating himself from her embrace and pushing her back onto the couch. “Drink this and rest.” He passed her the glass of water. “I think it’s probably a bit of whiskey you should be drinking, but have this for now.” He winked and turned to go. “I’ll be right downstairs, Jessie, and I’ll be holding onto these,” he held up the key she’d given him and retrieved his bat from the floor. “You’ve put a spark back in an old man’s life, that’s for sure.”
An uncomfortable silence descended on her small space once Rufus was gone. She could tell that Sam had questions, but she wanted him to get the hell out. She didn’t want him here. She just wanted to be alone.
“Jessie?” he said, his eyes shimmering in the light. “You know, I have to ask you some questions, and they’ll want you to go down to the station to press charges. They can hold him overnight, but they’ll still need your statement.”
“I’m not making any more statements. I have nothing to tell them. I’m not pressing charges either. You saw him. He’s in enough trouble as it is, and he knows it. I won’t add to his problems. Just tell me what he’s done.” She had no idea why she was so angry at Sam. He hadn’t done anything except being right about Nick all along. But she needed someone to blame and he was there. She paused to steady herself. “Tell me all of it.”
“There’s nothing to tell until he comes clean, or we get his phone records. The only thing I have right now is the transfer to Southie that he requested right after the shooting. He asked for an emergency transfer to be closer to his dad who was ill. If anyone had checked, they would have seen that his father died years ago.” He cleared his throat. “My guess is that he did it to be closer to you, to keep an eye on you.”
She closed her eyes. “Why?”
“I don’t know for sure. I can guess. He wanted to make sure you weren’t seeing anyone else.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not exactly a crime, is it?”
“No, but he had your work schedule in his wallet.”
“My work…” She stopped, her jaw dropping open. “It was missing from my fridge. I thought I’d lost it. But why?”
“To keep tabs on you.”
“I was transferred to the ICU for a week.” She paused again, her brain on rewind remembering, or trying to. He’d called her from the ER one night, wondering where she was. “He took my schedule. He must have been breaking in here. More than once, my lock was loose, my door unlocked. I haven’t had any trouble since I got a new lock.” She dropped her head into her hands. “How could I have been so wrong?”
“You couldn’t have known, Jessie, and you had no way of knowing he has a record of complaints in his file: drinking at work, assaulting a bystander who’d tried to film him, threatening a driver who’d cut him off. There’s more, nothing too serious, and the complaints always seemed to disappear before Internal Affairs could make a case. I couldn’t tell you until tonight. He was monitored for a time and he was fine. Seemed like he’d worked out his demons. Until this mess.” He shook his head sadly.
Jessie finished the water and set the glass down. “That was why you said he was a rogue cop?”
“I did. Should have kept my mouth shut.”
“Me too. I told him what you said.”
A line creased his forehead. “That couldn’t have helped.”
“He won’t get out tonight, will he?”
“No,” Sam said. “He’s in for the night. Tomorrow, he’ll be back at headquarters for more questioning. After this, he might be more amenable to answering those questions.” He stood, his jacket swinging open to reveal a gun and his gold shield hooked to his belt. “I’m going to head home, Jessie. I’ve got a patrol car out front to watch over you tonight.”
In spite of herself, she smiled. He’d used that same phrase the night of the Hart shooting and it had given her then, and now, a feeling of safety that was hard to explain. It was exactly what she needed.
Especially tonight.
Chapter Forty-One
Jessie slept fitfully and at the first trace of daylight seeping in through her blinds, she rose and checked her watch. Seven-thirty. She called the ER and asked for Donna.
“Hey, I heard you were sick. Do you need some time off?”
And for the first time, Jessie choked up. Donna’s kindness spoke volumes. She was so different from Sheila, who would have advised her to get her ass to work. Thank God she was gone. “I’ll need a few days.”
“Take your time, Jessie, and let me know if you need anything.”
Her next call was to Sam. “Sorry to call so early, but any news?”
“Nothing yet. I can let you know how things go later.”
“Can I come in to see him?”
There was a silence that seemed to last forever. “I can’t help with that. The best I can do is let you know how today goes.”
Jessie went down to Rufus’s and knocked on his door. He pulled it open and drew her into his arms. “You poor girl. What a night.” He took her chin and looked into her eyes. “You’ll be okay, Jessie, and I’m here to watch out for you.”
She kissed his cheek and padded back upstairs, slid the lock into place and crawled back into bed and slept until Sam called. It was three o’clock. “We’re just taking a quick break, Jessie, but I wanted to let you know Nick’s talking. He feels terrible about last night, and asked if he could see you.”
“What did you say?”
“I’m not in the room with him, I’m watching from a monitor down the hall, but he was told that it depends on the DA and whether he charges Nick or makes a deal. You’re still considered a material witness, so no contact until his case is settled.”
A bead of sweat ran along her forehead. “How long?” She should have been furious at Nick, but instead, she felt sorry for him. And for herself. Once more, true to form, she’d chosen the one person she should have stayed away from.
“Can’t say. With any luck, we’ll have an idea by the end of the week. He’s got quite a story.”
“Oh, Jesus, he didn’t shoot Ann Hart, did he?”
“No, but he knows who did.” She could hear muffled voices in the background as if he was covering the phone with his hand. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Do you need anything?”
“No,” she answered. “You know I’m scheduled to start with you guys in two weeks, right?”
“Yeah, you’re all set. They’re making an orientation schedule for you.”
“This stuff with Nick won’t be a problem?”
“No, it’ll all be over by then.” He sighed and then added, “At least, I hope it will. I’ll be in touch, Jessie.” The click on his end let he
r know the call was over.
He didn’t call back until Friday, three long days. She called in sick for each of them. The news about Nick was leaked to the press, and the Herald and Globe started running stories about the unnamed cop who’d helped Rob Hart cover up Boston’s infamous murder. Each day, the headlines were more salacious. “Hart-less Hart” seemed the favorite nickname, but there was no satisfaction for Jessie in having been right. She’d been wrong about too much else. And Rob Hart was still out there somewhere, though maybe not for long.
“The DA’s just announced a warrant for Hart’s arrest for the murder of his wife,” Sam said, satisfaction in his voice. “And we’ve got a deal with the DA for Nick. Details will be released tonight, but he’ll be pleading guilty to accessory after the fact, obstruction of justice and interfering with an investigation. Because he cooperated, even handed over his phone without a warrant, he likely won’t get much jail time, but that’s up to the DA. That’s probably it for him.”
Jessie sighed. “So, it’s over?”
“Not until we find Hart, but for Nick, it is.”
“It’s hard to believe he was involved.”
“Some of Nick’s interview tapes will be released later with the announcements, which means they’re in the public domain now. Want to see them?”
“Hell, yes!”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. If anyone asks, it’s part of your orientation.”
Jessie called Donna and filled her in. “I just wanted you to know. It’ll be on the news tonight, so if it’s okay, I’d like to take a few more days, and come back to work on Monday.” It occurred to her that Monday would be four weeks since the Hart shooting—four weeks since the world changed.
“Take your time, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
Jessie slept well that night, and might have slept through the day but for Sam’s call. “It’s snowing again. I can pick you up,” he said. And though she didn’t want to rely on him for anything, she accepted, huffing out a curt yes, and then she could have kicked herself for being such an unrelenting bitch. But she’d always done that—chosen the wrong guy, and when things didn’t turn out the way she hoped she’d treated the good guys like crap. On the plus side, at least it meant she was back to normal.
By the time Sam pulled up in front, the snow had turned to sleet, the streets slick with a fresh coating of ice, and the car slid all the way to headquarters. Aside from hello, Jessie hadn’t said a word to him. She wasn’t sure what she should say. Sorry was probably appropriate, maybe even thank you, but she just wasn’t ready yet to say either.
He led her to the room where the live feed of Nick’s interview had played. She slid onto one of those barely padded folding chairs. She leaned her elbows on the table, clearing a path through the old coffee cups, crinkled-up pages of notes and a cup filled with pens.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Before we start—coffee, water?”
She shook her head. “But I have a question. Have you spoken to Hart’s girlfriend, the woman he was having an affair with?”
“We have. She’s cooperating. She knew that Rob was married, but he’d told her they were separated and his wife had been having an affair. He told her in no uncertain terms that he’d be single again soon. She thought he meant divorce. When the shooting happened, she was too afraid to come forward.” Sam shrugged out of his suit jacket and placed it on the back of the chair. “He’d called her twice from the hospital, asking her to keep quiet about their relationship. Prince that he is, he told her that it was to protect her from public scrutiny. He also asked her to get him a couple of those burner phones from Walmart. As far as she knew, he wasn’t a suspect, and the public, present company excluded, still saw him as the grieving husband, so she bought the phones and met him at the hospital when he was discharged. She gave him three hundred dollars in cash, and dropped him off near the Boston Common. Interesting, huh?”
“That’s, like, a few blocks from City Hall, right?”
Sam nodded.
“Has she heard from him? Does she know where he is?”
“She says she hasn’t heard a word from him, but we’re keeping her and her phone under surveillance. If he gets in touch with her, we’ll know about it.”
“Did Nick know her, the girlfriend?”
“No. They both deny that, and there’s no evidence to suggest they even knew of one another. Rob was a secretive man.”
Jessie exhaled slowly and slumped down in her chair. “Okay. I guess I’m ready. Can you play it, Sam?”
She watched as he fiddled with buttons on a computer and suddenly the screen filled with a video image looking down on an almost identical room—metal table, folding metal chairs, empty until a scowling Nick, in rumpled clothes and uncombed hair, was walked in, a detective on his heels, another man—his lawyer, probably—following.
“I’m going to fast-forward through this. These are just the introductions, explanations, Miranda reading. You don’t need to see any of that right now. In the future, you’ll need to be familiar with that, but not right now.” The video raced forward until Sam hit pause. “You ready?” he asked.
“Ready? I don’t know, but I need to see this, so go ahead.” She folded her arms tight across her chest and focused her eyes on the screen. When the video started to stream again, she saw that Nick had been sitting much the same way as she was, arms folded, angry and defiant. She uncrossed her arms and pulled at her hair, twirling her finger around a tendril of curls until it was hopelessly tangled.
The video began again, this time with the squeak of chairs as the detective, his tie loose, his long sleeves folded up, pushed his chair back, and nodded. “So, tell me again what happened. Exactly as it happened, this time.”
Nick leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “I told you. I left the station and was headed to Boston City to see a nurse there.”
“Yeah, I heard that. Try again, and start with the call from Rob Hart. You knew him, correct?”
Nick nodded and seemed to stiffen. “Me and about five hundred other kids in Charlestown. I don’t know him now.”
The detective picked up a folder and seemed to be reading. “You were the officer who responded to the scene of a minor accident in West Roxbury last year, correct?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He just rushed ahead. “Your report on that date supported Hart’s claim that he was cut off by another driver and he couldn’t help but rear-end the other driver. Sound familiar?”
Nick nodded.
“So, we’ve established that you saw him within the last year. We don’t have his phone, but we have the records from that phone.” He waved a paper in the air. “We know that he called you the night of the shooting, a full eleven minutes before he called nine-one-one.”
Nick looked away and slumped in his seat, sighing heavily. He didn’t move for what seemed like minutes, and then he swiped a hand across both eyes and sat a little straighter. “How much do you know?”
“How about you tell me what you know.”
The door opened and another detective walked in and whispered to the other who stood. They both walked out, leaving Nick to squirm in his seat. His lawyer reached a hand to his shoulder. Nick shrugged it off, stood, stretched and walked to the door, leaning against it, listening before sitting back down. The lawyer whispered something to Nick, who shook his head angrily.
“What’s going on?” Jessie asked.
“They’re making him uncomfortable. You can bet they walked back here to watch him, see if anyone here had any thoughts or questions. It’s uncomfortable for the person being questioned. He likely wondered if they already knew everything. His lawyer was trying to advise him, but Nick didn’t seem to want to hear it.”
Jessie turned back to the video and watched as both detectives returned to the room. One sat on the edge of the desk, the other on the chair. The one who’d just arrived leaned close to Nick. “Just come clean, Nick. We might be able to help you.”
“How can you h
elp me?” Nick asked, clasping his hands over his head and leaning back in his chair as though he was the one in charge. His lawyer frowned.
“Tell us what you know. Was Rob Hart involved in his wife’s murder?” The detective put his hand out in a stop motion. “Before you answer, consider that right now, you’re an accessory, before or after is the question. Protect yourself, Nick. Think of that before you speak.”
Nick’s swagger faded away. His head down, he slouched in his seat, his eyes seemingly focused on his feet. He leaned forward and held his head in his hands for what seemed an eternity before he cleared his throat and raised his head.
“He did call me that night. I could hardly understand him. He was shouting, or maybe crying. He said he needed me, that I had to meet him right away, that he was in trouble. I was aggravated. He’d never called me before, never answered my calls when I came back from Iraq, and then he calls me late at night, said I had to help him. He said he was in an alley off Warrenton Street. I wasn’t far. I was off duty and on my way to see Jessie at the City ER. I’d been meaning to do that for a while, so I said I’d stop, but only for a minute.” He paused, took a sip of water and ran his fingers through his hair, one tuft sticking up.
His lawyer tried to intervene. “My client…” he began, but Nick stopped him.
“Go on,” one detective urged Nick. “How did you know where to find him?”
“He told me exactly where he was, and when I pulled up, I could see him motioning to me from the edge of the alley. I was in uniform, and I still had my gun, but it wasn’t my district, so I hurried over hoping I wouldn’t be seen. He shoved a gun, a wallet and his phone into my hands. I remember I asked him what the fuck was going on. He said he couldn’t tell me anything, just to get rid of them and get out of there. He said he’d fill me in later. I said I’d call it in, and he pushed me away and said to get the hell out. And that’s when I caught the scent of flowers. Weird, you know? He’s giving me a gun and other stuff, and I could smell flowers. I remember hoping that scent wouldn’t cling to me. Then he turned, and I thought I saw blood on his jacket, and I tried to follow him. I pulled at him and he sneered at me, told me to get out fast and get rid of what he’d given me, so I jogged to my car.
Dead Girl Walking: Absolutely addictive mystery and suspense (Jessie Novak Book 1) Page 24
