Cry For Help

by Wendy Dranfield

  “Holy crap. Sounds like you’re messing with something big, Nate.”

  He nods. “Yeah, I get that impression too. When you find someone, send me their details and I’ll call them. I’m heading to Lost Creek PD as soon as I’ve had something to eat.”

  “Are you staying in a motel?”

  “No, a dead woman’s house.”

  “Wow.” Rex pauses. “I’ll want full details when things have calmed down.”

  “Sure thing. Any update on Father Connor?” Nate asks the question every time he speaks to Rex, because he’s been helping him track the asshole down.

  “Nothing. He’s obviously lying low for the time being.”

  Nate rubs his jaw. “Keep me posted.”

  He realizes he’s sweating, despite having just had a shower and the morning being cool. It’s the thought of Madison having to serve another prison sentence. It puts him right back on death row as he imagines how he’d feel in her situation. This morning she’s waking up in a cell again through no fault of her own. She must be going out of her mind.

  He rubs his nose and thinks of the tempting white powder hidden in his shoe.

  For now, he resists.

  18

  The time ticks by agonizingly slowly for Madison as she lies on her bunk staring at the dirty white ceiling. She can’t shake the feeling that she’s never going to be able to clear her name or find Owen. When she hears voices, she sits up. Someone is making a lot of noise as they approach.

  “Listen, she’s my client and I have the right to talk to her in private, so with all due respect, take a hike, son.”

  A white-haired guy in a navy suit who looks to be in his fifties is squaring up to a male uniformed officer.

  The cop relents. “You have thirty minutes at most.” He opens Madison’s cell door and lets the guy in before locking the door behind him and walking away with a disgusted look aimed at her. Madison knows that if the cops are still holding a grudge against her, the locals will be too. She tries not to think about what will happen when news breaks she’s back in town and has been arrested for another murder.

  She stands up as the white-haired guy winks at her.

  “Hi. I’m Richie Hope, your new attorney.” He holds his hand out and she can’t help but smile. When she reaches to shake it, he unexpectedly pulls her in for a hug. It feels strangely reassuring, even though she doesn’t know him. It’s like being hugged by a father; someone who’s going to take control of the situation for her.

  “You’re a popular lady!” he says, sitting on her bunk and pulling out a laptop from his battered briefcase. “I had two answerphone messages on my office phone this morning telling me I should not represent you under any circumstances.” He smiles broadly. “That made me want to sign you up immediately.”

  She sits next to him, relieved to have a friendly face helping her but shocked that someone’s trying to intimidate lawyers. “Do you know who left the messages?”

  He waves it away. “Oh please. Who cares? What’s important is that they were followed by a call from a guy named Nate Monroe. I take it you know him?”

  She nods, and finds herself smiling again. She knew Nate would come through. She realizes it’s probably time she started trusting him with some information she’s been holding back.

  “I don’t come cheap, though, and Mr. Monroe is paying me, so you’ve got a good friend there.”

  She wonders how she’ll ever repay Nate, and not just financially.

  “So, Mr. Monroe’s clearly worried about you being in here, and looking at your rap sheet, I can see why.” He rummages through internet printouts. She sees her name littered throughout. He looks up at her. “I just need to know two things, and time is tight, so give me a yes or a no to both questions. Got it?”

  She nods.

  He leans in. “That wasn’t one of the questions, by the way. So maybe I should’ve said I had three questions. Sorry.”

  She laughs for the first time in what feels like ages.

  He looks delighted that she’s enjoying his sense of humor. “Okay, question one: did you shoot and kill Officer Ryan Levy on the night of September eighteenth 2012?”

  Madison doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

  “Good. Question two: did you fatally stab Stephanie Garcia on the evening of July second this year?”

  “No.”

  He smiles. “Phew! Thank God for that.” He leans in and winks at her again. “Less work for me. Okay, in that case I need to get you out of here. Nate’s filled me in on the background as to where you’ve been for the last few weeks, and I understand you only arrived in town hours before being arrested.”

  She nods. “Right. Someone’s obviously afraid of what I’ve come back for if they’re willing to frame me for Steph’s murder.”

  He’s making notes, tapping away on his laptop. “I agree. You’ve rattled cages. You need to be careful. Have you got somewhere to stay while you’re in town?”

  She thinks of Stephanie’s house. It feels wrong to go back there, but legally it’s hers, and she’s guessing that if lawyers are being told not to work with her, other businesses in town will have been told the same, so a hotel is out of the question. “Stephanie left me her house in her will. I have the keys.”

  “Perfect. They can’t argue with a will. Well, unless someone in her family contests it, of course, which they probably will if the media convince them you killed her.”

  Madison opens her mouth but doesn’t know what to say. The thought of the media getting wind of her arrest is horrifying. She’s experienced trial by media once; she doesn’t need it again. But would news reach as far as Washington state, where Steph’s parents live?

  Richie sees her fear. “Let’s cross that bridge if we come to it. Now, when you get out of here, go straight to your new house and get security.” He looks at her over his glasses. “You know what I mean by that?”

  She does. “I have a gun back at the house.”

  “Good. Is it licensed?”

  She smiles. “I plead the Fifth.”

  He laughs.

  “Plus, we have a large dog.” She remembers that he’s here too. “Actually, Brody was seized last night because he was overzealously defending us. They have him here somewhere. Can you get him off too?”

  Richie smiles at her. “Ms. Harper, I can get anyone off.”

  She feels her shoulders relax as she takes a deep breath, feeling better in his capable hands. Until she hears voices approaching.

  They both look up and she sees Detective Douglas scowling at her. He looks like he wants to shoot her as he opens the cell door. “Time to go upstairs, Harper. Chief Sullivan wants a reunion.”

  19

  Being led through her old police station by Douglas feels shameful. But knowing she hasn’t done anything wrong, Madison keeps her head held high and glances around the cubicles to see if she recognizes anyone.

  The office is fuller than when she worked here, but most of the staff are busy concentrating at their desks or talking on the phone. Her old desk is gone, replaced with filing cabinets. She spots a large potted plant she bought years ago in order to spruce the place up a little. It’s withered and brown, in desperate need of some attention. Seeing that makes her feel strange. She can picture herself as she was when she worked here, enthusiastic and happy. Sure, work was stressful most of the time, but she truly loved her job, and getting a promotion to detective was one of the best things that ever happened to her. It’s just a shame it only lasted five days.

  The phones are ringing non-stop. She’d forgotten about the constant phone calls: victims wanting updates, families of victims wanting updates, the press and DA’s office wanting updates. It never ends. And she’d give anything to be back.

  The chief’s office hasn’t changed much since she last saw it. Although his old desk, which was missing half a leg and balancing on books, has finally been replaced, it’s still covered in paperwork, and the same sun-faded and smudged photo of his wife and kid
s sits facing away from him. The room smells of perfume. Sullivan always liked his designer cologne. Probably to try and mask the smell of cigarettes.

  Detective Douglas steps aside as he motions for Madison to sit in one of the seats opposite Sullivan’s desk. Mike has joined them. He squeezes by Douglas and takes a seat off to the left. Her new lawyer sits next to her and pulls out his laptop again.

  After a few minutes of awkward silence, apart from the sound of Richie tapping away on his keyboard, Chief Sullivan enters with a coffee in his hand. The strong aroma makes Madison’s empty stomach rumble loudly. She’d give anything for a drink of water even. Mike hasn’t produced the coffee he promised her.

  The chief sits in his chair, sips his coffee and avoids eye contact with her. The smell of tobacco quickly follows him in, making her crave a cigarette. She takes in his sharp suit and navy tie. His dyed black hair is styled precisely and his nails are manicured. She looks more closely at his shiny forehead. Is he getting Botox?

  Douglas makes her jump when he speaks from behind her. He’s still standing, probably an intimidation strategy.

  “I arrested Ms. Harper based on witness testimony that suggests she was in town when her ex-girlfriend was savagely murdered, despite claiming the contrary.”

  Richie glances at her and rolls his eyes. “What ‘witness’ would that be?” he asks.

  “And you are?” says Chief Sullivan.

  Richie half stands, clutching his laptop with one hand and leaning across the desk with the other outstretched. Sullivan is surprised into shaking it. “Richie Hope. Ms. Harper’s attorney.”

  The chief eyes him suspiciously. “Are you local? I don’t recognize you.”

  “I’m not from the good town of Lost Creek, no. My office is based just north of Prospect Springs. Feel free to drop by for a consultation and the best coffee you’ll ever have.” He grins. “I don’t charge for the first hour’s advice, but I do charge for the coffee.”

  The chief rolls his eyes. “Tell him what you’ve got, Douglas.”

  Madison’s listening, but she’s exhausted, and anxious at being this close to her old boss. She just wants to get the hell out of here. She keeps her eyes down.

  Douglas clears his throat. “A local person saw the suspect driving away from the crime scene the night Stephanie Garcia was murdered.”

  Madison shakes her head, then laughs, because this whole situation is just farcical.

  Chief Sullivan addresses her for the first time. “Something funny, Detective?”

  She looks up at him in shock and watches as he realizes he’s addressed her incorrectly.

  His cheeks redden and he tries to gloss over it. “Where were you the night Stephanie was killed? I assume you have an alibi lined up?”

  She thinks back to when she took the call from Mike. She was sitting in Nate’s car with him and Brody. A surge of energy perks her up. “I was in Shadow Falls, California, sir. Thirteen hundred miles away. I believe I was with Trinity Creek PD after assisting them in finding a missing child when Mike called to inform me of Stephanie’s death. I’m sure if you call the department they’ll verify my whereabouts.”

  Douglas scoffs. “As if a police department would hire a convicted cop killer to help them with a case.”

  She has to resist the incredibly strong urge to verbally attack him. “Ask for Chief Hennessy. The facts don’t lie. Also, I don’t own a vehicle, so I don’t see how a witness could have seen me drive anywhere. Plus, I don’t have a penis, so I clearly didn’t rape Stephanie.”

  Richie looks over his reading glasses at her with bemusement before glancing at Sullivan for his reaction.

  Sullivan looks to Douglas.

  “Then whose car was that at the house last night?” asks Douglas.

  “My employer’s. You met him when you arrested me. I haven’t owned a car since I was framed for Officer Levy’s murder.”

  No one says anything for a minute, but Chief Sullivan gives Douglas a pissed-off look. It’s painfully clear that there was no witness and Douglas is just a bent cop.

  Richie claps his hands together and closes his laptop. “Okay then. That’s all cleared up, so my client and I will get out of your hair and leave you to work on finding Stephanie Garcia’s actual killer.”

  He stands up, but Madison stays where she is. Surely they won’t let her go this easily? They must have something more than that. Richie makes eye contact and nods to the door. She looks at Chief Sullivan for permission.

  Sullivan looks away and shuffles papers on his desk. “We’ll be checking your alibi. If we find anything else, you’ll hear from us.”

  She shakes her head in disgust and is about to tell him they can’t get away with pulling her in every time they come up with a new lie, but Richie gently tugs on her arm.

  “What about Brody?” she asks as she stands.

  Douglas gives her a look of pure hatred. “That dog is dangerous.”

  “If you have evidence the dog harmed anyone, I’d love to see the photos and medical reports,” says Richie. “Otherwise, we’ll be taking him with us.”

  Sullivan glances at Douglas, who gives a barely perceptible shake of his head. The chief sighs. “Wait out front. I’ll have an officer bring him out.”

  Madison smiles at Richie and follows him out of the office. Douglas has to lead them through to the front desk area, but he doesn’t say a word as the door slams shut behind him.

  “Well, he’s a pleasant guy,” says Richie.

  Madison laughs. She hasn’t felt this relieved since she left prison.

  20

  Nate pulls up outside the police station, which is smaller than he expected. He sees Madison walking toward him. She looks tired, but she’s beaming, something he hasn’t seen her do much. As he gets out of the car, she comes straight in for a hug.

  “Thank you so much for hiring Richie,” she says into his neck. “I promise I’ll repay whatever he costs.” She pulls away.

  “No problem.” He knows she won’t be able to repay the lawyers’ fees, but he goes along with it. “Rex found him.”

  A suited older man leans in for an enthusiastic handshake. “Richie Hope. Good to meet you, Mr. Monroe.”

  “I told you on the phone, call me Nate.”

  “Then call me Richie. You did the right thing contacting me. There’s something going on with them,” he nods to the station, “that I don’t understand, but if it gets any worse, you could both be in need of a lawyer.”

  Nate frowns. “Why would I need one?”

  “For helping your friend here. Make no mistake: if a cop wants someone behind bars, they’ll make it happen one way or another. Believe it or not, they’re not all good guys.”

  Nate looks at Madison and they smile. Richie means well, but he has no idea they’ve both already learned that lesson the hard way.

  The door to the station swings open and he watches Brody excitedly run out, pulling an officer behind him. The officer gives up and lets go of the leash.

  “Brody!” calls Nate.

  The dog notices them and runs up to him, jumping up with his front paws on Nate’s chest. When he jumps down, he enjoys a back-scratch from Madison.

  “What a handsome dog,” says Richie. “Looks like a wolf. I’ve heard about this mix. They call it a shepsky; half German shepherd, half Siberian husky.”

  Nate smiles at the word.

  Madison stands up. “I can’t thank you enough for today, Richie. If you hadn’t ignored the phone threats, I have no doubt I’d still be sitting in that cell.”

  Richie waves away her thanks. “That’s my job.”

  “I’m dying to know,” says Nate. “Is Richie Hope your real name?”

  Richie winks at him. “That’s between me and my lawyer.”

  Nate suspects it’s not, but it doesn’t matter because he’s clearly good at what he does. Checking his watch, Richie raises his eyebrows. “I have to be in court soon, so I’d best be off. It was a pleasure meeting you both.”
>
  Nate stops him. “Are you not concerned that the person who left the messages is going to make good on their threats?” He doesn’t know how this good-natured middle-aged lawyer would defend himself if someone turned up at his office to hurt him.

  “Oh, I get death threats almost every day. It’s part of being a lawyer. But so far no one’s been crazy enough to follow through.”

  Nate almost winces at his blasé attitude. He believes in tempting fate, and Richie just did exactly that. He watches as the lawyer waves goodbye and pulls out of the station’s parking lot in a brand-new Mercedes.

  Madison turns to him. “I seriously need to eat.”

  He notices a satellite truck over her shoulder. It’s pulling into the parking lot, fast. “Shit.”

  She turns to see what he’s looking at. “News trucks? Already?”

  He touches her arm to get her attention. “Madison? Someone in there must have tipped them off.”

  The satellite truck pulls up alongside them and the smartly dressed female reporter they saw on the news earlier doesn’t even wait for it to stop before she’s out and running toward Madison. Only seeing Brody step forward makes her back off slightly.

  “Madison,” she says. She has a mic in her hand. “I’ve only just heard you’re back. Someone tipped us off that you’d been arrested again. Is it true?” She shakes her head as if forgetting her manners. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. First of all, how are you?”

  Nate looks at Madison. These two obviously know each other. Perhaps the reporter covered her last arrest.

  Madison goes in for a hug. “I’m doing okay. How are you?”

  “I’m good, but what are you doing here? Is it true you were arrested?”

  Madison glances at Nate to explain. “Kate and I are old friends from high school.”

  The reporter looks at him and holds out her hand. “Kate Flynn. I work for the local news station.” She has the look of a TV reporter: a clear complexion, perfect white teeth, her wavy brown hair perfectly styled. She’s wearing a pant suit, but instead of heels she’s sporting sneakers for comfort.