Cry For Help

by Wendy Dranfield

Nate leans back, clearly frustrated. “Did the gun safe also have an electric key code?”

  “No. The only way to access it was with the key, which I still had in my possession after the shooting.”

  They sit in silence, eating pizza. Nate stops every now and then to make notes.

  Madison smiles. He’s clearly desperate to solve this for her. “I know cold cases are notoriously difficult to investigate, so I just want to tell you how grateful I am that you came all this way with me when you could’ve worked on something fresher.”

  He looks up and drops his pen. “To me, cold cases are the same as regular investigations except they’re frozen in time because someone gave up on them. They just need a fresh set of eyes to defrost the evidence.” He smiles at his cheesy analogy.

  “And that would be you, of course,” she says, happy to play along.

  “It would. You’re not the right person to solve your own case. You’ve had too long to think about it and you’re too close to see the overall picture.”

  She nods, knowing he’s right. She’s so sick of thinking about it all and is happy to let him do the investigative work on her behalf. But that doesn’t mean she can’t look into Stephanie’s murder to see if there’s a link. “How much am I going to owe you for all this when the time comes?”

  He smiles wider. “Oh, it’ll be a lot. My skills don’t come cheap.”

  She laughs, knowing he’s joking. Or at least hoping he is. “You’ll have to take it out of my future earnings.”

  Brody sits up, sniffing the leftover crusts in the pizza box. Nate’s about to hand him one, but the dog steals them all in one bite.

  “Tell me about your history down here,” he says. “About your family.”

  She tenses. She hates talking about them, because there’s not really anyone left. “I have a so-called sister who I haven’t seen or spoken to in about eighteen years because we have absolutely nothing in common. But my wider family are dispersed across the country: aunties, one uncle, and grandparents, although they might be long gone by now. I wouldn’t know. My mom kept in touch with them all, but she passed away when I was in my twenties, and communication with the rest of the family just kind of fizzled out after that. I wasn’t able to let any of them know I’d been arrested because I didn’t know how to get in touch with anyone by then.” Something she bitterly regrets, as it would have been nice to have some family support over the years. “My dad moved to Alaska after leaving my mom for another woman when I was still in high school. Last I heard he worked for the Alaska Bureau of Investigation, but he’s probably retired by now.”

  Nate raises his eyebrows. “He was a fed? Is that why you became a cop?”

  “What, to gain Daddy’s approval?” She laughs. “Please don’t try to psychoanalyze me. We’ll be here all day.”

  Nate smiles.

  “After Steph and I split, my family consisted of just me and my son.”

  “Were you still able to see Owen after your arrest?”

  “Rarely. He came for a couple of supervised visits while I was being held at the police station, but I could tell he found them upsetting so I made the decision that he shouldn’t come anymore. That kind of thing can scar a kid for life. He wrote me lots of letters at first, when he was still in the care of child services. I kept every single one of them, but Troy stole them from my cell the night before I was released and burned them.”

  “Troy Dunn? The guard who raped you?”

  She nods and takes a mouthful of wine. “I put in an official complaint to the Department of Justice about his abuse of power once I was released, but I never heard anything. No one cares about the accusations of a convicted felon.”

  Nate nods sympathetically.

  The fact that he’s experienced similar injustices is one of the reasons she thought he would be the right person to help her. No one else can appreciate how it feels to want justice after a wrongful conviction. When they first met, she told him how she deliberately sought him out to help her with her case. It made him uneasy, which was understandable. But she’d watched his battle for exoneration play out on TV while she was incarcerated, and cheered for him when she saw the footage of him emerging from the prison, dazed and fearful. It gave a lot of her fellow inmates hope that they might get their less serious sentences overturned. Madison, although determined, was a little more realistic. It’s not an easy process, which is why she needs help.

  “Once you were convicted, what happened to Owen? Did child services keep you updated?”

  She leans back in her chair and tries not to get emotional. “They were a massive disappointment. They should have facilitated more communication between us, but they didn’t tell me anything. It was like there was a conspiracy to keep his whereabouts from me. My lawyer told me at the time that I had a legal right to know whether he was being fostered or adopted, but not who by, and child services should have been providing me with regular updates. But I was told nothing until the decision was made that I couldn’t see him anymore. That was decided by a family court judge, who said it wasn’t in Owen’s best interests to stay in touch with a murderer. My legal team were looking into whether he was going to be adopted, but I couldn’t afford to keep paying them and I couldn’t find anyone to take it on pro bono.”

  Nate appears angry on her behalf. “Was his dad ever in his life?”

  She shakes her head. “No. His father never knew I got pregnant; Owen was the result of a one-night stand.” She looks him in the eye. “I genuinely believe this was about me, not Owen. Someone hated me so much they wanted me out of town.”

  She goes back to watching the news. It looks like they’re analyzing the Nikki Jackson case. If Nikki’s supposed suicide is headline news, Madison knows the knife must still be missing. If she were in Mike’s shoes she would have stepped things up a gear by now and started treating it as a homicide investigation while the trail is still hot.

  Nate clears his throat and suddenly looks on edge. Before he speaks, she already knows what he’s going to say.

  “It’s time for you to level with me, Madison.” He leans forward. “I think you’re holding out on me. Would that be a fair assumption?”

  She takes another sip of wine and then places her glass on the side table. “I don’t know anything for sure, but I may have brought you here under false pretenses.”

  He clearly wasn’t expecting her to say that, because he suddenly looks like he’s been badly betrayed. “In California you told me you had nothing to do with Officer Levy’s murder and that you suspected your police department framed you for it. That’s why you wanted my help in particular: because you know I hate corrupt cops.”

  Brody sits up. He’s licking his lips but he’s alert to the change in Nate’s voice. He looks from Nate to Madison and then back to Nate again.

  “Have you been lying to me this whole time?”

  Madison’s worried about his reaction, but she has to tell him everything. He’s done so much for her that she can’t mislead him anymore. She pulls her feet out from under her and straightens up. “Kind of.”

  24

  Nate’s anxiety is kicking in. Has he really travelled all the way to Colorado for nothing? Did his judgment fail him in taking a chance on Madison and trusting her when she was at her lowest? He can’t imagine what part of her story is a lie, but if she’s about to tell him she did kill Officer Levy and he’s been helping a bent cop, then he’s going to drive right on out of here. “What did you lie about? Are you just like all the rest?”

  His words clearly sting her, as she looks crestfallen.

  “No, Nate. I didn’t kill my friend. Everything I’ve told you is true except that… well, I don’t really believe I was framed by someone from my police department.” She looks sheepish as she says it.

  “Then why the hell did you tell me that?”

  She sits forward in her seat and pushes her hair behind her ears. “Listen. Detective Douglas certainly jumped to the wrong conclusion and rolled with
it, which isn’t unheard of for a detective who wants a one hundred percent success record, but do I think he’d frame a fellow detective for murder? My instinct says no, because that means he would have had to kill Ryan himself, and I don’t think many cops would be able to do that. Even him. There was just no motive. His general attitude toward me could suggest he’s homophobic, but is that reason enough to target me?” She rubs her face. “I don’t know who killed Officer Levy; I just know it wasn’t me. If I thought I could find the real killer on my own, obviously I would have preferred to do so. But I was practically fresh out of prison with no money, no means of transport and no support. And you’d been through something similar so I thought you’d have the motivation to want to help me, but only if I told you I thought the cops were involved somehow.”

  “How are our stories similar?” he says angrily. “Seventeen years on death row is a lot different to six years in a women’s prison, Madison.”

  She looks down, her cheeks burning red. “I know, I didn’t mean that. I just meant that we’d both been framed.”

  “You’ve basically been using me as a free investigator, haven’t you?” He’s bitterly disappointed. “That crap you told me when we met about wanting to work with me on other cases was all a lie to get me down here.”

  She looks up at him. “No, it wasn’t. No one else would hire me in any job that I could feel proud of. I helped you find the missing girl in California, didn’t I?”

  She looks miserable but he’s not sure he cares. He doesn’t know if he can trust her anymore.

  “I didn’t think you would travel all the way to Colorado with me for a cold case I couldn’t pay you for. When I first approached you, you didn’t seem keen until I mentioned the possibility of the police being involved, so I guess I played that up a bit. I know you believe all cops are bad because of your terrible experience, but that’s really not the case, Nate. I’m sorry for misleading you. And I’m so appreciative of you coming here and helping me. I promise I will pay you for your time.”

  He looks away from her. His craving for a line of coke is overwhelming right now. He feels like he’s been duped. Trust is so important to him, but she’s broken it.

  Shaking his head, he stands up. “You were out of line. How can I believe a word you say after this? I need to get out of here.”

  She jumps up and blocks his exit from the living room. “Please don’t leave, Nate. I still need you. And where would you go? You don’t even know this town.”

  “Move out of my way.”

  Brody barks at her.

  She ignores the dog, but she must see the disappointment in Nate’s face because she visibly slumps. “Fine, but please don’t do anything stupid.”

  He pushes past her, into the dark, slamming the front door behind him before either she or Brody can follow.

  25

  Mike wakes up in a foul mood. His headache from yesterday is still lurking and the local news is repeating the speculation around Nikki Jackson’s death. That means the whole town will have seen it by now, and after Stephanie Garcia’s murder, they’re going to assume there’s a killer on the loose. It’s his job to quash the rumors before they gain traction, and the best way to do that is to close the case as fast as possible. With that in mind, his first job is to visit the morgue.

  When his garage door opens, he sees Kate Flynn waiting on the road outside, next to her car. He rolls his eyes. “Great.”

  There’s no sign of her satellite truck or camera guy. She’s looking at her cell phone when he pulls up next to her.

  “Morning, Mike. Any update for me?” She leans in to his open window.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing, seeing as you’re reporting things I’ve not confirmed. Who’s been telling you the knife is missing?”

  She shrugs and then pulls out a compact to check her makeup. She doesn’t need it; Kate always looks camera-ready. “What can I tell you? People like talking to me.”

  “Only because they think they’ll be on TV.” He sighs. “Just level with me. Do you actually believe there’s something in the suicide pact theory, or are you just trying to fill airtime?”

  “I’m repeating what I’ve been told by Nikki’s coworkers.” She flips her compact closed and looks at him. “Where’s her boyfriend right now? Have you tried tracking him down? Have you had the results of her autopsy? You’re not giving the press much to go on.”

  “Listen. To me, all signs point to suicide and you and the other media people are upsetting the parents by suggesting otherwise. I’m heading to the morgue next. As soon as I can confirm this was suicide, I’ll let you know. Just stop stirring trouble in the meantime.”

  She stands up straight. “I’m not stirring trouble, Mike. I’m doing my job. Let’s not have the same argument every time I try to report the news and hold the police accountable.” She spins around, gets in her car and drives off ahead of him.

  His cell phone rings before he can pull away from the house.

  “Detective Bowers.”

  “Mike? It’s Davis Levy.”

  Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse. Davis is Officer Ryan Levy’s father, and owner of the local shooting range. He has a domineering personality and friends in high places. If Mike never had to speak to him again, he’d be happy. Their conversations always leave him feeling emotionally drained. He leans his head back against the rest.

  “What’s this I’ve been hearing about Madison Harper being back in town?”

  “Who told you that?” asks Mike.

  “Doesn’t matter. Is it true?”

  He sighs and rubs his temple. “Yeah, she’s back.”

  “When my wife and I were told she was being released early, it made me want to vomit. It’s disgusting that she only served six years and now she’s back in town to flaunt her freedom.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Mr. Levy. But a voluntary manslaughter conviction doesn’t carry the same sentence as murder.” Mike’s starting to feel like all he does lately is defend Madison.

  “She executed my son!” Davis’s voice is rising now. “How is that manslaughter? I don’t care what the jury decided; they were wrong. And now she has the audacity to return here. How dare she? Does she have no shame?”

  Mike takes a deep breath. There’s no point trying to appease the man. They’ve had this discussion many times before, and Davis has every right to be upset. Mike feels deep sympathy for what he and his wife went through, but he can’t give them what they want, which is for their son to be alive. Ryan was their only child. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it clear she needs to stay away from you and Jane.”

  “You should know that if I bump into her, I won’t be holding my tongue. And I’ll be armed, seeing as she likes to play dirty.”

  Mike hopes it’s an empty threat, but you never know in this town. Gun ownership is on the rise. So is vigilantism. “Don’t be making threats, Mr. Levy. You have to remember who you’re talking to. Just steer clear and leave her to me. She only came back to bury Stephanie Garcia.” He suddenly remembers that he has to break it to Madison that Stephanie has already been cremated. “I’m sure she won’t stay for long.”

  “She better not. Jane doesn’t need a daily reminder of what happened to our son. And Garcia got what was coming to her for associating with a cop killer.” He hangs up.

  Those last words are chilling. Could Davis have killed Stephanie in retaliation for Madison being released early? As a warning that she shouldn’t come back here?

  Mike slips his phone into his pocket. Things are getting way too heated around here, and everything appears to revolve around Madison Harper.

  When he arrives at the morgue, Lena offers him a coffee.

  “Thanks, but it would be weird.”

  “Why?” she asks, bemused.

  “Eating or drinking anything in a morgue feels wrong.” He looks around the room. It’s sterile and clinical. It’s cold in here too, for obvious reasons, although that’s a welcome r
elief from the temperature outside. “It just feels like this place is riddled with the germs of dead bodies. You know, maggots and shit.”

  Lena laughs. “If you say so, Detective. But it’s actually clean enough to eat your dinner off any surface.”

  She walks him over to Nikki Jackson’s body. Lowering the sheet that covers her, exposing her head and shoulders, she says, “Okay, so here’s a copy of my report.”

  He takes it off her. He can never understand all the medical terminology in these things.

  “To summarize: I found fourteen hypertrophic scars on her thighs and six on her stomach, all consistent with self-harming behavior. But they were faded, which suggests they’re old, maybe over five years old, which further suggests she’d sought help for her issues and stopped using cutting as an emotional release. Having said that, I believe she died from self-inflicted lacerations to her wrists. We call it suicidal DWI—deep wrist injury. She bled out after severing the radial artery in both wrists.” She crosses her arms. “I would estimate she slipped away between midnight and two a.m.”

  Instead of looking at the report, Mike glances at the girl. Her eyes are closed but she doesn’t look asleep. The gray, mottled pallor of her loose skin ensures no one could make that mistake. Her head is intact, so Lena didn’t check the brain. The blood that was previously smeared across her face has been cleaned away. “Could it have been a self-harming incident that went wrong, or do you think this was intentional?”

  She pulls out Nikki’s left arm from under the sheet and points to the wound. “I don’t think it was an episode of self-harm, because there are no old scars on her forearms or wrists, and she pressed hard enough to reach the artery. That would have been extremely painful for her, so to carry on and cut the second wrist after experiencing that level of pain and nerve damage suggests to me that it was an intentional act.”

  Mike winces as he leans in for a closer look. “What about toxicology? Was she under the influence of anything?”