Rogue

by Izzy Gomez

  She looked up in time to see his expression close off. “What?”

  Greg shook his head, looking too innocent. “What?”

  Alarms flared in Amanda’s gut. “What aren’t you telling me? You know what he meant.”

  “Amanda…”

  “Dammit, tell me what it means.” Something he’d said a minute ago tripped her memory. She’d been so upset about the text she’d barely heard him. “You said no one knew she was sexually assaulted. I thought there was no sexual element.”

  He wouldn't meet her eyes. Fury rolled in Amanda’s chest, gripping her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

  “She was raped. We think with a broken broom or mop handle. He cleaned her up and re-dressed her so we wouldn’t notice it right away.” He spoke quietly, still refusing to look at her.

  “Vaginally or anally?” she managed to ask. Her stomach rolled, the fabulous dinner threatening to make a reappearance.

  “Both.”

  She refused to let the image form in her mind. If she thought about it, she’d never stop. “Before or after?”

  He finally looked up, deep lines creasing his forehead. “She was alive.”

  She took several deep breaths, trying to still her inner chaos. “When were you planning to tell me this?”

  He didn’t answer for long, heavy moments. The silence stretched between them until it was palpable.

  “You weren’t going to,” she finally answered for him. “God dammit, you weren’t going to tell me!” She pounded her fist against his chest. “Damn you, I have a right to know. This is my family.”

  He didn’t move, just stood and absorbed her blows. She was strong, but they didn’t have any effect on him. “Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. It’s your family. And it’s not your case.”

  “He made it my case!” She hit him again. It was childish, but she needed to lash out. Everything was happening so quickly and if she kept it inside, it would destroy her.

  This time he grabbed her wrists and held them against his chest. “You really want that image in your head?”

  She refused to look at him. No, she didn’t. But she’d be damned if she would admit it.

  “Do you think your dad, or your sister needs that? I know you well enough to know you’ll feel you have to tell them.”

  Damn him again for being right. The arrogant bastard.

  “Your family deserves to remember how she was alive, not as a mutilated corpse.”

  Yay, lucky her. She was the only one who got to remember Karen with her lips and tongue cut out. And now she would be the only one who would imagine Karen raped with a wooden implement. As much as she might feel she should, she wouldn’t tell her dad about the sexual assault. He deserved that much.

  “Is there anything else you’re not telling me?” Her voice came out bitter, but dammit, she was pissed.

  “You know I can’t tell you everything. Brown would have my neck if she found out I’m talking to you at all.” He looked at her with such sympathy in his face, it only made her more pissed. His brother's murder didn’t give him the right to pity her.

  “This is why she took you off the case. You can’t see it objectively.”

  “I deserve to know all the facts. It’s my fucking family.” She wasn’t usually one to swear, but this was too much. She was at her breaking point.

  What if Hank came after her next? Or what if he was going down the list of people he thought had wronged him?

  Greg reached out and slid his hand behind her neck. Tingles skittered down her spine. The massage felt good. Too good. She wanted to lean into his touch and let him comfort her.

  But he would use it as an excuse to keep things from her again. She forced herself to step away. “I think you should go.”

  “Amanda…”

  His eyes were so kind, so worried, she almost threw herself into his arms. But she couldn’t.

  “Please leave.”

  He studied her face for a long moment. The heat between them was gone, but something else had taken its place. Something calmer and deeper, but no less intense.

  Not willing to think about it, she moved to the front door. Opened it.

  With a sigh, he walked past her onto the front stoop. “I’m telling you as much as I’m comfortable with. I’m sorry that’s not enough for you.”

  Damn him again. Why couldn’t he let her be pissed? Couldn’t he see she needed to be angry? It was easier.

  “Good night, Greg.”

  He took the first step. Then, before she could protect herself, he turned and grabbed her. His lips crushed hers in a hot, desperate kiss. In an instant, the heat between them flared back to life.

  Before she had time to respond, he walked away.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Schreiber.” Voegler pulled out the chair on the far side of the interrogation room table. He held out his hand to the man accompanying Hank Schreiber, a pudgy man with a 70’s porn star mustache. “Detective Al Voegler. My partner, Detective Greg Cole.”

  Greg shook the man’s hand.

  “George Harper, the family’s attorney.” He sat down next to Hank and set his briefcase on the table. “My client can’t tell you anything new. But go ahead with your questions. He didn’t kill his mother, so he has nothing to hide.”

  Greg studied Hank as the lawyer spoke. He didn’t believe Hank had nothing to hide. He was lying about his alibi, and if by some remote chance he didn’t kill his mother, he was still guilty of possession of a metric shit-ton of illegal substances.

  But the evidence was pretty damning that he had, indeed, killed his mother.

  Greg sat down across from Harper. “Let’s go over again where you were last Monday night when your mother went missing.”

  Hank looked at Harper, who nodded.

  “I told you, I stayed late at work to work on a presentation.” Hank didn’t meet either detective’s gaze as he spoke. He stared at the table, a belligerent, annoyed scowl on his face.

  Voegler sat on the corner of the table, crowding into Hank’s space. “That’s funny. We watched the security tape. It shows you leaving at 5:03.”

  Apprehension flashed in Hank’s eyes and his nostrils flared. “There's a mistake. The time’s wrong. I told you, I was there late.”

  “And you were the only one?” Greg asked.

  Hank nodded.

  Why did people made up alibis they knew could be shredded? They had proof Hank wasn’t where he said, yet he persisted. Idiot.

  “The video shows you in the elevator with four other people,” Greg said. “You didn't notice them?”

  Hank’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “The video’s wrong.”

  “I’d like a copy of this video,” Harper said.

  “We’ll get it right over to your office.” Voegler didn’t bother hiding the contempt in his voice.

  “The thing is, Mr. Schreiber, the video shows someone else at your office that night.” Greg sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He rather enjoyed backing assholes into corners. Made him all warm and fuzzy inside.

  From what he could tell, Hank was an asshole long before he became a killer. “Your dad didn’t leave until after 9:00, like he said. And no one else left after him. He said he was the only one there.”

  “He must not have seen me.” Hank’s voice was thin.

  “It’s not a big office,” Voegler said. “And your desk is visible from the entrance. I think it would be hard for your own father to miss you.”

  Hank shrugged but his wild eyes gave away his panic. “I don’t know what to tell you. I was there. Your video and my dad are wrong.”

  Voegler glanced at Greg, eyebrows forming question marks over his narrowed eyes. Greg heard the "are you shitting me?" in his expression.

  The lawyer shouldn’t let Hank keep talking. Harper probably didn’t handle a lot of criminal cases.

  “Can you understand why we might find that a little hard to believe?” Greg leaned forward, arms on the table. Palms up, open. A talk to me p
osture. “Work with us here. Where were you really Monday night?”

  “I already told you!”

  “Gentlemen,” Harper cut in.

  About time. Hank needed to get himself a good criminal defense attorney. Although if he stuck with Harper, it would make the DA’s office happy.

  “If all you’ve got are questions about my client’s alibi, I think we’ll go. That’s hardly enough to hold him.” Harper started to rise.

  “Sit down, Mr. Harper.” Voegler's sharp voice echoed in the small room.

  With a startled expression, Harper sat.

  Definitely no criminal experience. A real defense attorney would have laughed at Voegler’s intimidation tactic.

  Voegler narrowed his eyes at Hank. “The alibi’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Chapter 14

  "There's the little matter of the text you sent your sister last night. From your mom's phone." Greg fought to keep his voice even as he discussed the message that had ruined his night. "It came from your condo."

  “We’ve got you on possession," Voegler continued. "We found enough ecstasy, ketamine and marijuana in your condo to put you away for a good long while.”

  Hank’s eyes widened and his face turned red. “You had no right to search my condo!”

  “I’ve got a search warrant that says otherwise.”

  “I’d like a copy of that warrant,” Harper said.

  Greg ignored Harper, instead focusing on Hank. “Are we going to find you drugged your mom with the ketamine? Did that make it easier to drag her up to the attic?”

  Hank turned to Greg with frantic eyes. “The attic? What are you talking about? I didn’t drug my mother.”

  “So you don’t deny the drugs are yours?” Greg asked.

  “Don’t answer,” Harper said.

  First smart thing he’d said.

  “Did you know one of your kitchen knives is missing?” Voegler continued, ignoring Harper. “It wasn’t in the knife block on your counter or in the dishwasher. One of the four steak knives. I used to have the same set. Ex got it in the divorce, but I remember the steak knives. Damn good knives. Nice and sharp.”

  Hank opened his mouth to respond but Harper held up a hand. “What’s your point, Detective?”

  “The stab wounds that killed Karen Schreiber were made by a knife about the size of a steak knife.” Voegler leaned down, right in Hank’s face. “As we speak, our ME's testing your steak knives against your mom's cuts. What’s she going to find, Schreiber? I think she’s gonna tell us it's an exact match."

  Voegler's words hung between him and Hank in an electric silence. Hank's tense body looked poised to bolt.

  Greg almost felt sorry for him. At least sorry enough to break the silence. "Make this easy on yourself. Tell us where the missing knife is and we’ll go easy on you.”

  “I don’t know where my knife is because I didn’t kill my mother.” Hank shoved his face back at Voegler.

  Harper really should be stepping in again, but hey. Who was Greg to mention it?

  “Those knives were real nice. Cut through the awful hockey pucks my ex passed off as steak like they were melted butter.” Voegler’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet it was real easy to slice into your mom, wasn’t it, you sick bastard? Slid right into her, barely took any effort.”

  Hank closed his eyes and shrank away from Voegler. “Stop it. Just stop! I would never kill my mother. I loved her. She was my mother, for God’s sake.”

  “This is all circumstantial, Detectives.” Harper stood and picked up his briefcase. “We’ll be going now. If you have any further questions for my client, or for any other member of the Schreiber family, you can contact me.”

  A knock on the window captured all their attention.

  Greg rose from his chair. “Wait here a minute. We’re almost done.”

  “We’re done now.”

  Greg held up a hand. Clearly he was playing Good Cop again. “We just need a few more minutes. And we’ve still got the matter of the drugs to figure out. I don’t think Mr. Schreiber is going anywhere today.”

  Greg and Voegler stepped out of the interview room to find Captain Brown waiting for them.

  “Dr. Russell called. The knife is a match. We've got your arrest warrant.”

  “For the homicide, or the drug charges?” Greg knew she meant homicide, but he wanted to make sure. He’d figured out Brown looked for ways to catch Voegler screwing up. Greg wasn’t taking any chances. Not on this case.

  Brown looked at Voegler as she answered. “Both. And there’s no reason to give Amanda all the details. I shouldn't have to remind you, but as far as this case is concerned, she’s a family member, not a detective.”

  Voegler’s glare could reverse global warming. “I haven’t told Amanda shit. So back the fuck off.” He turned and yanked open the door. Keeping his expression neutral, Greg followed Voegler.

  “Stand up,” Voegler barked as Greg shut the door behind them. Voegler's usually grumpy mood had grown downright pissed off after their brief encounter with Brown. What the hell happened to produce such animosity between them?

  Hank looked at Voegler, then at Harper.

  “What is this?” Harper asked.

  “You’re under arrest for first degree intentional homicide, and three counts of possession of a controlled substance.” Voegler grabbed Hank’s arm and yanked him to his feet.

  “The knife was a match to the stab wounds,” Greg explained to a stunned-looking Harper.

  “That’s still not enough to arrest him,” Harper said.

  “A judge says otherwise.” Greg shrugged. “And even if the murder charge doesn’t stick, we’ve got him fair and square on the drugs.” Harper conveniently kept forgetting the pharmacy they'd found in Hank's apartment.

  “If we’re lucky you’ll get the death penalty, you sick bastard,” Voegler snarled as he cuffed Hank. “At the very least, you’re spending the rest of your miserable life in a cell, thinking about what you did to the woman who gave you life. Thinking about how you fucked up your entire family.” He jerked Hank toward the door.

  “I didn’t kill her.” Hank’s voice lost some of its belligerence, replaced by panic.

  “Yeah, you’re innocent, just like everyone else in prison.” Greg stepped aside to let Hank and Voegler pass.

  “Don’t say anything else.” Harper hurried after them. “I’ll call your father. We’ll hire you the best criminal defense team we can.”

  Amanda wasn’t going to be happy about this. She’d known Hank was their primary suspect, but it still wouldn’t be easy.

  It would be a long time before anything was easy for her family.

  “So, can you tell us where you were Thursday around 3:00?" O’Donnell said.

  Stuart Ryder rubbed his hand over his drawn face. Heavy circles ringed his bloodstained eyes. “I worked a double. I was supposed to have the day off, but I switched.” His face tightened. “Shit. I never shoulda switched. If I’d been there, I coulda stopped them. I coulda…”

  “You don’t know that,” Amanda interrupted. If Ryder’s alibi checked out, which she suspected it would, he was a victim in this. He deserved compassion. She understood that now more than ever. More than she wanted. “If you were there, you could have been killed too.”

  They’d liked Ryder for the murder because he had a history of abusing his mother, and was a problem gambler. But that didn’t mean he didn’t mourn his mother’s loss. Families and death and grief were complicated things. Another thing she was learning all too well.

  “I’ll need the name of your supervisor.” O’Donnell shot a glare at Amanda. No doubt pissed she was showing a little kindness toward the dead woman’s son.

  “And you’re going to have to give us a hair sample.”

  She held her tongue rather than remind O'Donnell that Ryder didn’t have to give them anything. They could have that argument later. Besides, Ryder’s hair wouldn’t match the hair they found with Martina’s body. That hair had
been four inches long, dark and wavy. Stuart Ryder’s hair was lighter and cropped close to his head. It couldn’t be longer than a centimeter.

  “I don’t have to give you shit,” Ryder snapped. “You think I killed my mother? That’s fucked up. I told you, I was at work. So leave me the fuck alone and go do your job.”

  Amanda tried not to roll her eyes. O’Donnell’s strong-arm tactics were not going to work on someone like Ryder. “Mr. Ryder.” She leaned across the table. She was used to playing good cop, but this was ridiculous. At least Al knew when to back off.

  “We’ll check with your boss and I’m sure we’ll find you’re telling the truth. But we found a hair on the floor with your mother’s body. We need to verify it isn’t yours. Because you live in the house, there’s the possibility it is. If that’s the case, we don’t want to waste time looking for whoever it does belong to. And if it isn’t yours, it'll give us proof someone else was in the house. So we’re not saying we think you killed your mother. But we need to be able to prove that isn’t your hair.”

  Ryder considered her with a scowl. “Maybe I should get a lawyer.”

  “Do you need one?” she asked.

  “I didn’t fucking kill my mother.”

  “If you’re such a choir boy, why would you need a lawyer?” O’Donnell asked.

  Ryder crossed his arms over his meaty chest and returned O’Donnell’s glare.

  One step forward, two steps back. No wonder O’Donnell went through partners faster than anyone else in the division.

  “As I said, we just need the hair to confirm someone else was in the house.” Please let that be enough to convince him. “In fact, why don’t you wait here and think it over. I’ll go call your boss and we can verify you were at work when your mother was killed. That way you know we’re being straight with you.”

  Ryder stared at her for a long, uncomfortable minute. He had cold eyes. Amanda had been a cop long enough to know those were the eyes of a person capable of violence. She forced herself not to show how much he gave her the heebie jeebies.

  “Fine.” He flipped his hand toward the door. “Call.” He turned his stare to O’Donnell. “You’ll see you’re wasting your time with me.”