Dr. Hernandez’s words gave Cliff a fresh perspective. Maybe it wasn’t a misguided belief in Cliff’s inability to take care of himself that gave rise to Paul’s overprotectiveness, but Paul’s fear of Cliff dying and leaving him.
“About a year and a half. He moved in with me about eight months ago.”
“And you’re engaged, or married, or you haven’t talked about it?”
“No. We haven’t talked about the next step, but Paul knows I love him, and he loves me as well. We’re as committed as if we were married.”
She wrote, and Cliff gnawed at a cuticle.
“I think it would be helpful to tell Paul about the jumpiness. Like I said, it’s common after a sexual assault to experience what you’re going through, and I think your partner, who you admit is supportive, can help you.” She pulled out some pamphlets and handed them to him. “You need to feel safe in your home and your personal space and bring back the level of trust in your ability to care for yourself. You’re used to being in charge, and what happened to you violated that.”
As she spoke, Cliff glanced through the pamphlets. He sighed. “I’m not used to feeling weak. I’m not the type to ask for help.”
Sympathy creased the doctor’s smooth brow, and she laced her fingers together on top of the desk. “You’ve been taking care of yourself for twenty years. But what you have to understand is that asking for help doesn’t make you weak. Admitting you’re afraid doesn’t make you incapable of taking care of yourself. You need to let people in and trust them. If Paul is the type who feels the need to protect, let him help you. You sound as though your relationship is strong.”
“Very. I know we’ll be together forever.”
A smile softened her face. “That’s lovely. So it shouldn’t be too hard for you both to sit down to talk. From your words, I can tell you love each other very much. And love means standing with each other and showing your fear, as well as giving strength. Fear isn’t a sign of weakness. Accepting help isn’t weakness. You knit your life to another person by weaving your experiences together with theirs. Paul wanting to help you is no different than you helping him through the death of his brother.”
“I know. I just don’t know how to let go of it.”
“Maybe you still worry that Paul will leave? Is that possible?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Okay, then we’ll leave that for now. Tell me about the attack.”
His mouth dried. “I thought it was Paul at the door, and it turned out to be the man across the street, who’d been taunting me for months. He pushed me inside and against the wall. My neighbor came in and distracted him, so I kneed him in the groin, and she brained him with a soup pot.”
The doctor’s lips twitched. “That must’ve been a sight.”
Lighter now, Cliff could smile. “It was. And trust me, I’ll never complain about her nosiness again. Anyway, in the chaos, Paul returned and was able to make the arrest.”
“I’m glad. And I’m glad you weren’t hurt further.”
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed, and he saw Paul’s name flash across the screen. It wasn’t uncommon for Paul to text him during the day, but it was unusual enough for him to want to check what it said.
“You can take that if you’d like. Our time is up. I’m very glad we met, Cliff, and glad that you came to see me. I hope you found this helpful.”
“Oh, definitely.” It was true. “If possible, I’d like to make another appointment.”
She stood, as did he, and she led him out of the office and to the front desk. “Rosa will make an appointment for you. Thank you for coming in, and I hope everything works out well.”
“Thank you.” He made another appointment for two weeks later, and before leaving the suite, checked his phone.
Can you come to the station? We want to take an official statement, and we need to discuss a plea deal with Travis, but we need your consent.
His heart banged. Would he have to agree to let Travis go free? Why would Paul want a deal with the man who attacked him? But putting his trust in Paul, Cliff texted back: Be there soon.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and left the office.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Paul wasn’t happy with how he left Cliff that morning. He knew what was going on in his boyfriend’s head. Despite his mild nature, Cliff was more stubborn than he was in many respects, but he thought after their last talk, they’d reached a point where they both knew to lean on each other.
So his mood wasn’t the best when he reached the station, and even seeing Rob eating one of his greasy breakfast sandwiches didn’t lighten his disposition. Normally he’d tease him, but he couldn’t muster the energy. And Rob, having worked with him long enough, picked up on that immediately.
“What’s wrong? I mean, I know the shit that went down last night at your house. You didn’t call to let me know, though.”
There was a faintly accusatory tone to Rob’s voice, but Paul understood why. “I’m sorry. I intended to, but my first concern was making sure Cliff was okay.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. How’s he doing?”
“Not well, but he doesn’t want me worrying about him, so he’s trying to pretend everything’s okay. He was up almost all night. I don’t blame him.”
“But Travis didn’t touch him other than what I read in the report? You have quite a neighbor there, Paulie. Maybe we should hire her.”
Paul chuckled. “Yeah, Judy’s a character.” He sobered. “But I gotta tell you, I was scared shitless. Cliff had bruising on his face, neck, and chest, and it freaked me out. For the first time I thought about putting a suspect through the wall and smashing his face in.”
“I don’t blame you. No one would.”
“You think? Kraft would have my balls and my badge if I’d beaten Travis to a pulp like I wanted to. And rightfully so. But what’s even worse is that I’m going to have to sit across the table from Travis and listen to the lawyers make a fucking plea deal in order to solve the bigger case of the fire and possibly the break-ins. And that makes me sick.”
Concern filled Rob’s eyes. “I get it. If anyone ever touched Annabel, I’d rip their throat out and eat it for lunch. But in this case, you’re getting to the dog by going after the fleas.”
Good analogy. “I know. And that’s what makes me angry. I don’t want Travis to think he’s going to get away with what he tried to do to Cliff because we can make a deal with him on the other issues.”
“So we’ll make sure we don’t let that happen. We’ve already gotten the call from Bratton for a meeting.”
Paul made a face. “Oh, fuck me. Just who I didn’t want to deal with this morning.” Paul tossed his pen on the desk. “That dick.”
Rob let out a belly laugh. “I know.”
With a sound of disgust, Paul turned on his computer. “He’s not going to be able to play his pity game with me. I’ll let him sit while I go over these reports and get them in order. Plus I have to file my own report from last night.”
After all his reports were filed and he and Rob finished lunch, Paul picked up the phone and punched in Legal Aid’s number. “Bratton? It’s Detective Paul Monroe.”
“Oh, hello, Paul.” The smooth, cultured voice of the defense attorney hit his ear. “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“Well, Paul…” At the faintly snide tone, Paul gritted his teeth together. “I was expecting you to recuse yourself from the case. As I read through the file, I saw that the arrest was made at your home.” He waited a moment, and when Paul said nothing, he continued. “And that the person attacked was your domestic partner, I believe.”
“Your point, Bratton,” Paul ground out. “Get to the point.”
“How can you work with us neutrally?”
“Because I’m not the prosecutor, Bratton. Remember? I’m the arresting officer. Are you suggesting I not make the report? Let it slide and l
et a criminal, a potential rapist, go free?”
“You know, Mr. Falk has had a rough start in life.”
“Oh, sing me a song and play it on the world’s tiniest violin,” Paul snapped out. “That doesn’t work with me. Travis Falk has been a neighborhood menace for years. If you want to have a meeting with us on his case for a plea deal, we’ll make that meeting. Your client has knowledge of the Main Street break-ins as well as the fire at the Wild Orchid. I know that for a fact because he told me in a spontaneous utterance, Bratton. So you make sure, when you come for that meeting, that you have all the facts and that you are ready to have a real discussion of what your client is willing to tell us. I’m in no mood for cat-and-mouse games, especially today. Got that?” And he slammed down the phone.
Rob swiveled his chair to face Paul and clapped. “Good on you. While you were on the phone with Bratton, I called the district attorney’s office.”
“God, please tell me we have someone decent.”
A twinkle lit Rob’s eyes. “Oh, yeah. Trish Hancock.”
Paul broke out in a huge smile. “Niiiice. Trish won’t put up with Bratton’s bullshit.”
“That’s what I thought. She was already on her way over to the station to meet with us when I called her. And there she is.” He stood, and Paul followed him. A tall, Black woman waved to them from across the open expanse of the office. She was the DA’s best prosecutor, and Paul knew she wanted that top spot one day. When they reached her, Rob shook her hand first, then Paul.
“Detectives, I’m happy to be working with you again, but Paul, is it true that Cliff Baxter is your partner?”
He might’ve come out to some people, but it still made him uncomfortable to have his personal life on display. He understood in this case that it was a standard question and nothing out of line.
“Yes. Cliff and I live together. We have for almost a year now.” They walked as they talked. “Let’s go to one of the conference rooms in the back.”
Paul closed the door behind them, and he and Rob sat on one side of the ugly metal table while Trish took the seat opposite them. She set her soft-leather briefcase on the table and pulled the file out.
“I have the report of the officers who brought Travis Falk in. The other person on the scene, a Judy Swanson?” She quirked a brow. “The officers stated she’s an elderly neighbor of yours, Paul?”
“Yes. One of the neighborhood nosy watchers, but in this case I’m glad she is.” He relayed what he knew from the moment he came on to the scene, careful not to tell her anything from Cliff’s point of view.
“She certainly sounds like a character, but lucky for Cliff that she was there.”
“Now, here’s the issue, Trish,” Paul said. “We have reason to believe that Travis is involved not only in the break-ins along Main Street, but the arson at the Wild Orchid. We have a witness, another neighbor who lives next door to him, who was outside and heard the arson being planned.” He reiterated Sid’s story, and Trish typed it all on her laptop, her eyes widening.
“Is that so? My, you have such big-eared neighbors, don’t you?”
Paul chuckled. “Many of them are seniors, and the younger people in the neighborhood don’t realize they’re even there and that not all are hard of hearing. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“You got that right.”
“What Rob and I couldn’t figure out initially was why the Wild Orchid.”
“You think it’s a hate crime? That it was directed at them because it’s a gay club?”
“I thought so at first. And I do believe that Travis and his friends are part of a more organized group sending around threatening notes to various businesses, all minority-owned.”
“What kind of notes?” Her lips tightened.
“I’ve gotten some that say ‘I see you’. Others have gotten ones with just a picture of an Iron Cross with a grinning skull inside. All these jokers we’ve arrested have that same tat.”
“Sounds like some charming individuals.”
“They’re scum,” he lashed out, then calmed himself. “We believe that the mastermind behind the arson attack that killed Shelby Groves is the owner of the Wild Orchid, Mackenzie Cartwright.”
“And why is that?”
“Money,” Rob responded simply. “Turns out Cartwright has a taste for gambling. He makes regular trips to Vegas, as he told us when we interviewed him. Once a month, sometimes more. He’s an executive vice-president of the Starrywood hotel chain, but we spoke to the chairman of the company yesterday, and they’re removing him from the company for misusing company credit cards and putting up his stock as collateral to pay his debts. He’ll be gone by the end of the month.”
“Damn,” Trish muttered, hands flying over the keyboard as she took it all in. “Can I presume, then, that the arson was done for insurance purposes? And that he has a large policy on the property?”
“Yes, ten million dollars. Which would very nicely wipe out his debts and give him a fresh start.”
“I see, I see.” A long, red-tipped finger tapped on the desk. “What is the connection between these low-level hoodlums and someone like Cartwright?”
“That’s what we need to find out. Hopefully today.” He worked his jaw, and though it pained Paul to say it, he knew it was necessary. “Last night Travis said he was willing to talk about it, but he wanted a plea deal for the sexual-assault charge. And though I wanted to put my fist through his face, I know that’s something you’re going to have to offer him. But before you do, I’d like you to talk to Cliff and get his okay.”
Her large brown eyes, sympathetic yet determined, met his gaze. “I would never make a plea deal, especially on a sexual assault, without speaking to the victim.”
“Just so you know, I can’t imagine Cliff would disagree, but he needs to have that input.”
“Of course. And now it’s time for the show to start.” Her eyes warmed. “Let’s talk to Mr. Falk. Sherwood texted me that he was on his way, so he should be with Falk by now.”
Rob stood. “I’ll go check it out and bring them here.” He left, and Paul sat with Trish as she collected her notes.
“I’m not going to talk out of school, Paul,” she said. “Your personal life is your own. When I submit my report, I don’t need to mention that you and Cliff Baxter live together. It doesn’t have any bearing on the case.”
As always when his personal life was dragged on display, Paul winced, but he met her eyes directly. “I have nothing to hide. I’m not ashamed.”
“I never said you should be. I just want you to know that you can feel safe with me.”
“Thanks.” His chest felt tight even though he knew Trish meant well. “It’s Cliff I’m concerned about. This shook him up more than he wants to admit, and I’ll be damned if I let Travis Falk think he’s going to get away with hurting someone because we want to solve another case more.”
“Don’t worry,” she said grimly. “He’ll be crying for his mama when I’m finished with him.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Rob walked in, followed by the tall, elegantly dressed Sherwood Bratton and the disheveled Travis. Paul’s gut clenched, and under the table, his hands curled into fists.
“Ms. Hancock.” Bratton extended his hand, and she acknowledged him. He turned to Paul. “Detective Monroe, nice to see you again.”
“Bratton.” He dipped his head.
Paul and Rob shifted to the same side of the table as the assistant district attorney. When they were all settled, Travis sought Paul out. “You said we could talk today.”
“Travis.” Bratton put a hand on the man’s arm. “Let me speak.” He smiled at the three of them. “My client is willing to provide information about some other matters Thornwood Park PD is concerned with, but we need something in return.”
“Come out with it, Bratton,” Trish said, her posture stiff, words clipped. “What are you looking for?”
“We want full immunity for the arson and for you to drop the atte
mpted-rape charges.”
A roaring sound filled Paul’s ears. “You want him to walk? After what he tried?”
Rob grabbed his wrist, and he quieted, angry and ashamed at himself for letting his emotions get the better of him.
“Mr. Falk, I’m the prosecutor, Patricia Hancock,” Trish began smoothly. “I’m the one deciding the plea for the case. Do you understand the charges you face? Their seriousness?”
“I didn’t do nuthin’,” he whined.
“That’s not what I asked. You’re being charged as an accessory to arson, multiple charges of second-degree burglary, first-degree assault and attempted rape—which alone carries a potential prison term of fifteen years—as well as felony murder, which means the death of a person occurred in the commission of a felony. The potential sentence for that is twenty-five years to life in prison.” She showed her teeth in a smile that was anything but friendly. “So you can see, we are dealing with a very serious situation.”
“I ain’t gonna go to prison. I didn’t kill nobody. It weren’t me.”
“Well, who was it, then?” Paul asked, leaning forward. “Who put you up to it and why?”
Travis opened his mouth “I—”
“He’s not answering that until he gets something,” Bratton cut him off, and Paul could’ve jumped across the table to throttle him.
“Something? He wants something?” Paul placed his hands on the table. “Let me tell you something, Travis. We have a witness who’s willing to testify that you were involved in the planning of the arson, which makes you as guilty as if you threw those Molotovs yourself and killed Shelby Groves. So go on and tell me how you want mercy.”
“Paul.” Trish shot him a warning glance, then refocused on Bratton and Travis. “I’m not going to plea down the arson charge, and frankly, it’s up to the victim of the sexual assault to see if he’s willing to let us work out a plea deal. What I’m willing to do is work on the multiple burglary charges. Plus, there’s the matter of sending threatening notes to store owners, which could be classified as a hate crime. We’re willing to work out a deal for that.” She stood, and Paul and Rob jumped to their feet. Trish shoved her laptop into her briefcase. “I’ll leave you to discuss. Sherwood, I’ll be with the detectives.” Rob opened the door for her, and she left the room.
Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3) Page 22
