The Protector

by Danielle L Davis

  “He was in his office earlier. Let me check Outlook, he might have stepped out for a moment.” She clicked around with her mouse on her computer. “Okay. There it is. Right on the calendar. He had an appointment.” She pursed her lips and frowned. “He should be back any time now.”

  “Thanks. We’ll wait downstairs and catch him on the way in.” I backed out of her office and headed to the elevator.

  Theresa trailed behind. “I hope he comes soon.”

  “Me, too. Let’s give him a little longer.” I sat on the bench near the guards’ alcove—the same bench Bernie and I had sat on while we waited for Tenley to finish his visit with Jamie. Pushing the emotion aside, I focused on Tenley’s situation. The druggie had failed to complete the reunification services the first time, but maybe he’d get another chance and straighten out. I hoped so, for Jamie’s sake. And Tenley’s, too. Theresa and I watched the people come and go for fifteen minutes.

  Theresa turned her wrist over and peeked at the time, and said, “It doesn’t look like he’s coming back or else he’s later than Carmen thought.”

  “Let’s go see if he went home.” I stood and headed to the door. A group of people entered, but I could see the parking lot through the glass. Camp was standing near a Toyota Prius with a woman. She leaned in and kissed him as he pulled her closer. I waved Theresa over and hurried out the door. “Come on.” We squeezed through the crowd.

  “What? What’s going on?” She jogged to catch up. “What did you see?”

  “It’s Camp. Over there.” I pointed to the couple, who were still embracing.

  “Who’s the chick?”

  “I’m not sure if she’s his wife or his sister-in-law.”

  “Whoa.”

  By the time we reached them, the woman was moving away in the opposite direction, rubbing her temples as she went, wobbling on her heels. She held onto a car along the way. Why wear shoes you couldn’t walk in? Camp watched her go, maybe worried she’d fall on her face. She made it to a Ford Fiesta and slid backward into the driver’s seat, glancing our way as she removed her heels before swinging her legs into the car. She was too far away for me to see her expression.

  I stood behind him and cleared my throat. “Camp.”

  He spun, and his expression morphed from concern to scowl in a heartbeat. “What is it now, Detective?” He glanced at Theresa. “And you brought company. Where’s your other sidekick?”

  Mighty cocky today, aren’t we?

  “I ask the questions. Where were you Monday night?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “It depends on the time.”

  “Between seven o’clock and eight thirty.”

  “I was in an adoption class,” he answered, the scowl turning in to a cocky grin. “Anything else?” He tilted his head back and spread his feet wide.

  Well, what do you know? The lion cub has courage after all.

  “What’s an adoption class and where was it held?”

  “It was here. In this building. It’s a class offered to people who are on the verge of adopting a child from the foster care system. We tell them what to expect and provide post-adoption resources.”

  “What time were you there?”

  “From quarter to five until a little after nine.”

  “Can anyone confirm your presence?”

  “Carmen Delgado facilitated it with me and about seventy-five other people were in attendance. Is that sufficient?” The cocky grin became a smirk.

  He appeared to be hiding something.

  “Who was the woman that just left?”

  “My wife, of course.”

  “Looked like Rebecca to me.”

  “I can assure you she was my wife. Now, if you have no other questions, I need to get back to my office. I have work to do.”

  “Go, then. We’ll be right behind you.” I followed him into the building with Theresa by my side. We strolled past an empty guards’ alcove without signing in, rode the elevator with Camp, and headed to Carmen’s office. She confirmed his attendance Monday night, but she said he’d received a phone call and left for about an hour. She wasn’t sure of the time.

  Damn.

  We left Carmen and headed for Camp’s office to confront him with his disappearance from the class, but he wasn’t there. We checked other offices but couldn’t find him.

  After losing Camp, we went to his house. No cars were in the driveway and nobody answered the door. We returned to the station and dropped off the recorder at the crime lab. I asked Rudy, the fingerprint examiner, to check if Patricia left good prints on the recorder and, if so to compare them to any that may have been lifted from the Scrabble tiles. He promised to get it done right away. I then hit my desk for a couple of hours to read the ME and evidence reports before going to the shooting range.

  I needed to shoot some bad guys, even if they were only cardboard silhouettes.

  After the shooting range, I drove to the hospital to see Bernie. I’d spoken to his mother and she informed me his color and vital signs looked good, but he still hadn’t woken up. I peeked into the ICU waiting room, hoping to see Khrystal but didn’t know any of the fearful people who glanced my way, and I continued to the ICU entrance. Bernie’s room was no longer gloomy. The lights had been turned on and the shades opened. I peered at him and he looked back.

  “Hey!” I rushed to the bed and dropped my purse next to the food tray on the sliding table. “You’re awake.” I knew a smile split my face.

  “For a few hours now.” He gave me a weak grin. “What’s going on with the case?”

  “The case? That’s the first thing you have to say after scaring me half to death?” I pulled up a chair and sat. “Happy belated birthday, by the way.”

  “Oh, wow. I forgot.” He ran his fingers through his hair and winced. “I feel like shit.”

  “Hate to tell you this, but you look worse.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think you hate saying it much.” He tried another weak grin and adjusted himself on the pillows. “What happened?”

  “I was hoping you’d tell me. Someone found you unconscious downtown.”

  Again, he felt his bandaged head. “I remember. It was dark, and I heard footsteps, but didn’t see anyone.”

  “Looks like you fought back.” I pointed to his abrasions and broken arm.

  “Yeah, I did. I think.” He frowned. “Someone hit me with something. I blocked it with my arm the first time they tried, but they kept at it, and I went down.”

  “Maybe that’s how your arm was broken ... just like Mac.”

  “How is she, by the way?”

  “Good. Better news is I think we may have a lead on the case.”

  “Excellent. Tell me about it.” He reached for his water, wincing with the movement.

  “I’ll get it.” I poured water from the plastic pitcher into his cup and handed it to him with a straw. I updated him on the case and asked if he heard me talking to him when I visited.

  “I did hear you, but you didn’t tell me all of that.”

  “That’s because it hadn’t happened yet.” I glanced at my watch. “I have to get going. Duty calls, you know.”

  “Right. Maybe I’ll be ready to go home soon.”

  “I hope so. Theresa rode with me when I interviewed Patricia.”

  “Well, don’t get any ideas about replacing me.” He pointed at me with a narrow-eyed glare.

  “Never. You’re irreplaceable.” I stuck my finger in my mouth and mimed gagging.

  “Get the hell out of my room.” He laughed weakly and winced again.

  “I’m glad you’re okay. See you later.”

  I left the hospital feeling a lot better than when I arrived.

  At the station, I called Bernie’s parents to let them know he was awake. I also informed Lieutenant Peterson, and he told the rest of the Detective Bureau.

  True to his word, Rudy had left his fingerprint report on my desk. Harrington’s cell phone log for Patricia’s phone was there, too. I read Rudy’
s report first. Patricia’s prints matched a partial found on a Scrabble tile from Harrington’s pocket.

  Bingo!

  I called to ask Rudy if he’d compared her prints to any lifted from the other Scrabble letters, but he hadn’t gotten that far yet. Then, I grabbed the cell log to read the GPS information. Patricia’s cell phone had been near Harrington’s condo around the time of his attack. Calls had also been made and received around that time.

  Bingo again!

  I grabbed the reports and stopped at Theresa’s desk. “Hey, we have more to go on now.” I waved them at her. “Ready to take another ride out to O’Riley’s apartment?”

  “Sure thing.” Theresa slung her purse over her shoulder and followed me. I gave her the reports to read along the way.

  We rode in silence. It was time to wrap this up—starting with O’Riley.

  28

  I pounded Patricia’s front door until it opened.

  “Lucky me. You’re back.” Patricia sighed deeply. “Why?” She had a small box propped on one hip and packing tape in the other hand. She let out another hefty sigh. “More questions?”

  No, we came to help you pack, lady.

  I gave her my best “don’t mess with me” glare. “Yes. We have more questions.” I stepped forward. “We’d like to come in.”

  “I have to be out of here tomorrow.” She glanced at her watch, a Rolex. A gift from Harrington—or someone else? “I don’t have much time.”

  I didn’t have all day either.

  “May we come in?” I growled, my patience was limited.

  “I guess.” Patricia kicked the door open wide with her foot. It swung and banged into boxes stacked along the inner wall. She shoved a box from a chair onto the floor and dropped into the chair. “Move a box if you want to sit.” Cigarette smoke drifted from an overflowing ashtray. She plucked the cigarette from it, took a long drag, and turned her head to exhale a stream of smoke. Well, at least she had the courtesy to blow it away from us. I was going to stink of cigarette smoke for the rest of the day.

  Great.

  “We don’t need to sit. We’d like you to accompany us to the station,” I said, trying to take shallow breaths.

  “Why? You just left here a little while ago.” She scribbled on the box she’d pushed to the floor and tossed the marker onto the coffee table. It rolled off and she snatched it up and slammed it on the table. “Are you arresting me?”

  If I were, you’d already be in the back of my car on the way to the station.

  “No, but we’d like you to come with us.” I took a step closer. Quiet intimidation works on most people.

  She squinted as she took another drag from her cancer stick. “And I’m not under arrest?”

  “You’re not.”

  Not yet.

  “Okay. Let me get my purse.” She scanned the room. “Oh. There it is.” She grabbed her purse from where it lay on top of a small box on the floor. The purse would be worth more than any money I’d ever be able to put in it. How the hell could she afford it? She wasn’t living in luxury here. Men probably bought things for her—like the phone. But, there was a big difference between a cell phone and a three-thousand-dollar purse and whatever the Rolex cost. She followed us to the door, looking behind her as she stepped outside, shaking her head. “I have so much left to do.”

  She swung her purse as she strutted across the parking lot, heading for her car, which was parked in a different row from ours. She clicked the remote.

  “We’d prefer for you to ride with us.” Theresa approached her. “Someone will bring you back home.”

  Patricia stood by her car a few moments, pursed her lips, and stared at us. Then she shrugged, locked her doors, and sashayed toward us—on her way to the slammer.

  “You can ride in the back with Detective Sinclair.” I unlocked the doors and slid into the driver’s seat.

  Patricia and Theresa got in the back. During the ride, nobody spoke.

  Fine by me.

  We took Patricia to Interrogation. I offered her something to drink, but she refused. Theresa took a bathroom break and I stopped at my desk. Rudy hadn’t gotten back to me about his comparison to the other crime scene prints. I read the cell phone records again and compared it with other phone numbers related to the case. I started with Harrington, Fran, and Camp.

  I took the cell phone records and fingerprint reports with me, bought a Coke from vending, and activated the interrogation room’s audio-visual system from the room next to Interrogation.

  Theresa and I entered Interrogation, and I slammed the thick reports on the table. Patricia jumped. I dragged a chair up next to hers and sat. Theresa read the woman her rights. I sipped my Coke and set it on the table, easing close to Patricia. Theresa stood off to the side and leaned against the wall, arms folded, face blank.

  “I’m going to ask you again where you were Monday night.”

  Patricia flicked a glance at my Coke. She removed a Kleenex from her purse and dabbed at the perspiration beading on her face. “I already told you where I was that night.” She let out a puff of air, blowing her bangs upward. She reeked of cigarette smoke.

  I leaned even closer. Crowding her. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I can’t help it if you don’t believe me.” She watched Theresa. “I’m telling the truth.” Her fingers worked her ring, twisting it.

  I flipped through my notes from our earlier interview. “I asked you this morning if you knew Montgomery Harrington was attacked Monday night.”

  “So?” She’d leaned back and lifted her chin.

  “You never answered the question.”

  “I’m sure I did answer.” She pulled her top away from her body and fanned herself. “It’s hot in here.”

  “Tell me your answer again.”

  “I believe I said I didn’t know.”

  “No. What you said was, and I quote, ‘And you think I did it?’”

  “Okay. Maybe I didn’t say it, but I’m saying it now. I didn’t know he was attacked.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask how he’s doing?” Theresa asked, shifting her position along the wall to move closer.

  Patricia turned in her chair and peered up at her. “Well, I know he’s not dead.” A thin smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

  “How do you know that?” Theresa asked.

  “Because he texted me asking how I was doing.”

  “When?” I asked.

  “Today. I told him I was okay, and I was in the middle of packing.”

  “Did you call anyone, or did anyone call you Monday night?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t remember. Maybe.”

  “Let me refresh your memory.” I flipped through the pages of the call logs, back and forth, pretending I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I hummed.

  “What’s that?” She tried to read upside down, tilting her head to the side like a confused puppy.

  “These are your cell phone records.”

  I’d highlighted the phone numbers from the calls made around the time of Harrington’s attack and dropped one page of the log on the table.

  She glanced at it, then picked it up, but didn’t read it. “How did you get it without my permission?” she snapped.

  “Didn’t need your permission. You’re not the subscriber.”

  “Okay. So?” Patricia tossed the paper onto the table and leaned back in her chair, scowling, the pretty face replaced by the shrew.

  I picked up the call log and paced the room, running my finger down the page. “You received and made calls that evening. Monday.”

  She shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “I say so. Why did Mark Camp call you that night?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “That’s his cell phone number.” I pointed to one of the highlighted calls and put it in her face.

  She looked away. “He didn’t call me.”

  “My information indicates this is Mark Camp’s phone number. It’s an
incoming call to your phone.” I dropped the sheet on the table near her.

  She pulled the papers closer, read them, and snorted. “This is wrong.” She pushed them away.

  “Let’s move on.” I sat on the table and sipped the Coke. “According to the GPS record, your phone was near Montgomery Harrington’s condo around the time he was attacked.”

  “It wasn’t. I was home.”

  “Mark Camp called you, then, several minutes later, your phone was near Montgomery Harrington’s condo. I’m assuming your phone didn’t get there by itself.”

  “I was home all night.” Her expression had closed up, no emotion visible at all.

  “Did anyone borrow your phone?”

  “No. It was home with me—all night.”

  “Saying it repeatedly doesn’t make it true.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. You’re trying to say I hurt him!”

  “If you didn’t hurt him, why was your phone in the area?”

  “I don’t live far from him. It’s a mistake.”

  “I’m not buying it.” I leaned closer and whispered, “You were there.”

  “I wasn’t!” She scooted away, scraping the chair on the floor. Her face had flushed, and she swiped at her sweaty hairline, shoving strands of hair behind her ears. “I didn’t hurt Montgomery.”

  I moved even closer, trying not to gag. “You were there. Why did you hurt him, Patricia?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” She looked around the room feverishly. “Can I have some water?”

  I glanced at Theresa and nodded. She pushed away from the wall and left the room.

  “Have you ever been to Morrison Park?”

  “No. I don’t know where it is.”

  I pulled the chair out and sat, leaning back. “You need to come clean here, Ms. O’Riley.”

  “I’m telling the truth. I didn’t hurt Montgomery.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  She stared at the far corner of the room, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

  And that’s another Bingo!

  “Did you leave your apartment that night? Even for a little while?”