Kraft left them, and Paul began to write up his notes from the arrest. He faltered when he recalled the garbage Cartwright spewed about Cliff. His blood ran hot. “That smug bastard.” He pushed the keyboard away. “I could punch his face in.”
“Would this have something to do with what he whispered as you were cuffing him?”
Humiliation and anger boiled inside him. “That bastard said he and Cliff were getting together at the hotel while I was working and that Cliff had been offered a promotion and they’d be traveling together.”
Shock registered on Rob’s face. “You don’t believe that.”
“Of course not. Just the way he spoke about Cliff disgusted me.”
About to respond, Rob pointed. “Devine’s here.”
Paul pushed away from the desk and stood. “Let’s wrap this up.”
Devine waited by the front, and Paul, limping slightly, with Rob by his side, greeted him. “Mr. Devine. Nice to see you.” They shook hands.
“Detectives, it’s been a while.”
“And I’m sure you wish it could’ve been even longer.”
Laughing, Devine leaned a hip against the desk. “Well, I can’t lie and say it’s always pleasant. But arresting Cartwright?” Devine whistled. “He’s a big fish.”
“Not so much. All show. An empty suit. But you go meet with him, and then we’ll talk.”
No fool, Devine narrowed his eyes as he studied their faces. “You’re too blasé. And unconcerned. Especially you, Monroe. You’re not usually so relaxed. What’re you keeping from me?”
“You calling me uptight, Devine?” Paul laughed out loud. “Go talk to your client, but I can assure you, when we’re all in the room together, I won’t be laughing and neither will you. Or he.”
“Great. Guess my dinner plans are out the window.”
Rob smirked. “Welcome to our world. You can call your fiancée if you’d like.”
A faint flush crept over his cheeks. “Nothing gets past you guys, does it?”
“Come on. We’ll take you back to Cartwright,” Paul said.
He and the defense lawyer walked through the station to the holding cells. Travis, Bear, and Wellie had been transferred to the state prison and were awaiting arraignment.
They stopped in front of the cell where Cartwright paced before the single bed. The moment Devine came into view, he began to run his mouth. “About time you got your ass down here. You better get me out. Now.”
“Have fun, you two.” Paul let Devine into the cell and left them to their discussion. He returned to his desk where Rob sat, finishing up writing his case notes. For the next forty minutes, Paul and Rob put their files in order. His phone rang.
“Detective Monroe? It’s Devine. We’d like to talk.”
“We’ll be right there.”
He smacked the desk. “Let’s go. Time to rock and roll.”
He and Rob grabbed their notebooks, and Paul shoved the file with their evidence under his arm. Cartwright stood glowering behind Devine in the cell, and Paul unlocked the door and led them to one of the interview rooms. They sat facing off, and Paul set the file on the table and turned on the video they used to tape interrogations.
“What would you like to talk about?”
“You realize who Mr. Cartwright is, don’t you?”
Knowing full well the game Devine was playing, Paul decided two could play. He turned to Rob. “Rob, do we know?”
“Yeah. I think so.” Rob flipped his pad open. “He’s someone accused of felony murder and conspiracy to commit a felony—in this case, arson. There’s also insurance fraud and a whole other slew of fun charges we can tack on.” Rob glanced up from his pad. “Anything else, Paul? Did I miss something?”
“Why, no, Rob. You listed everything perfectly.” Paul’s smirk faded, and he glared across the table. “You’re a man who’s going to go to jail for a long, long time.”
“Fuck you.” Cartwright jumped up even as Devine pulled on his arm to hold him back.
“Sit down.” Devine jerked him into his seat. “Detectives. My client is going to plead not guilty. You’re overreaching and listening to the words of some low-level hoodlums who have nothing better to do than make up stories about an upstanding citizen.”
“You’re going to regret starting up with me, Detectives.” Cartwright folded his arms and smirked at Paul and Rob across the table.
“Is that so?” Paul opened his file and pulled out the receipt for the rental car. “Then explain why your client rented an SUV the same make and model as the one seen in the video leaving the scene of the fire. Explain why the fingerprints and DNA of said low-level hoodlums were found in said SUV.” Paul let that sink in for a moment. “Explain, please, why your client is in the footage across the street from the jewelry store during the burglary.” He slid a copy of a still photo they’d captured from the video.
Cartwright paled, his lips pressed together, turning white.
“Explain, please,” Rob said, picking up the story, “why we have a witness, a next door neighbor of one of the suspects, who couldn’t sleep and happened to be out on his porch in his yard the night before the arson. He heard plans being made and said he’d recognize the voice of the man who made all the arrangements and discussed the payments. The witness is a disabled war veteran. He’ll do wonderfully on the stand at trial.”
“You’re lying. Nobody heard me say anything. Why would I destroy my own club?” Sweat gleamed off his brow.
“Because you’re so deep in debt, you can’t climb out. You’re mortgaged to the hilt on your condo, you put up your stock as collateral for your gambling debt, and you used company credit cards for your personal use. You owe the casinos close to a million dollars—money you don’t have. We haven’t even looked into who else you might be in debt to, but the prosecutor will. Sooner or later they’re all going to come knocking. But it got us thinking…a little gay club in a small town, and you have a ten-million-dollar insurance policy on it? Why so much?” Paul allowed himself a thin smile. “All that lovely money, and it only cost you, what? Ten thousand each, we were told, to make it go up in smoke.”
“The hell you say. Lies. All lies.”
“The hell it is.” Paul slammed his hand on the desk. “You planned to torch your club and didn’t give a damn if people died inside.”
“Detectives, my client—” Devine broke in.
“Is a murderer. A cold-blooded killer. He even bailed out the low-level hoodlums we arrested for the Main Street burglaries. Go ahead, ask him.” Paul didn’t know for sure, but it was a guess he was willing to throw out there.
“Fuck you.” Eyes spitting black, Cartwright jumped up, and this time Paul and Rob let him rage. “You’re just mad because I’m fucking your boyfriend. I didn’t pay anyone to start fires. You’re crazy, thinking you’re going to pin this on me because some stupid punks like Travis and Bear said I did it. I never rented any black SUV. I never paid nobody off. You’re lying—lying about everything.”
Letting the comment about Cliff sail over his head, Paul smiled. “Hey, Rob. I don’t remember mentioning any names, do you?”
Rob scratched his chin. “Hmm. Nope. Can’t say that you did. Or the color of the SUV either.”
Paul’s smile grew broader. “Yeah.”
He and Rob sat and watched Cartwright sink into his seat. Devine put a restraining hand on his arm. “My client has nothing more to say.”
“That’s okay.” Paul and Rob stood, and he turned off the recorder. “We’ve heard enough. Good day, gentlemen. Mr. Cartwright will be transferred this afternoon to the state prison to await sentencing.”
They left and nodded to the police officer on duty in the holding-cells area.
“So that’s that.” Paul dropped into his chair and let out a sigh. “Now we have to hope he doesn’t wiggle out of it like so many.”
“I have faith in Trish. And we have the evidence. The rest is in the jury’s hands.”
“I hear you. A
nd now we can concentrate on Remy Ellison’s retrial.”
Rob’s face hardened. “No way is that criminal going to use a technicality to walk free to murder another young girl.”
“He won’t. We’ve been through the trial already, so we know what to concentrate on. It’s been a couple of years, so tomorrow we can pull the files and start looking into the evidence again.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m going home. You should too.”
“About to make that suggestion myself.” With a click, Rob shut off his computer. “I hope you’re not letting what that asshole said in there about Cliff bother you.”
“As if. But I am curious about one thing. He mentioned a promotion twice. And Cliff did say he had things he wanted to talk about. So I’m curious if there was any truth to it.”
Rob heaved himself out of his chair. “So ask him.” Alarm flared in his blue eyes. “You don’t think Cliff would want to move, do you?”
“Don’t worry.” Paul patted Rob’s cheek. “I’ll never leave you. See you in the morning.”
Laughing, he walked out to his car.
* * *
Once home, Paul checked the clock, and seeing that he had about an hour before Cliff arrived, he showered, changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and got to work. He prepped the chicken, made a salad and fresh coleslaw, and got the grill going. Seasoned corn wrapped in foil lay ready to be heated.
Gravel crunched out front, and when a car door slammed, Paul poured himself a Scotch and Cliff an iced white wine in a stemless glass and waited. When Cliff unlocked the door and his face lit up with a smile, Paul knew if Cliff decided to take a job on the other side of the country, he’d follow him in a heartbeat.
“You’re home early.” Their fingers touched when Cliff took the wine. “How did it go?”
“He’s in jail, waiting to see the judge. I’m hoping they’ll see him as a flight risk and not grant bail, but who knows?”
“I would hope they’d see through any bullshit smokescreen he’d throw up.”
“I agree,” Paul said. “But we’ll have to wait and see.”
They sipped their drinks.
“This is nice.” Cliff loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar. “I was thinking about you all afternoon, wondering how it went.”
For the better part of the afternoon, Paul had debated with himself whether to mention anything to Cliff but decided to hell with it. Not about the sex, because Paul trusted Cliff, but about the job offer.
“I thought of you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Cartwright said a few things.”
“Mm, he did? About what?” Cliff kicked off his loafers. “I need to change.”
“That you were offered a promotion. Was that one of the things you didn’t want to mention to me when we talked about him?”
Cliff set his glass on the counter and removed his suit jacket. “Yeah. I didn’t want to mention it because it’s a nonentity. I don’t want to move, and I know you don’t want to either. Plus now, who even knows if it was anything real?”
“I don’t want to be the reason you’d turn down a potential career move. If it is real and you wanted to consider it, I’m all in with you.”
Steely-eyed, Cliff took Paul’s hands in his. “I love our life here. I love this house and having you living with me and making it a home. Our home. I have my parents and my friends. I don’t want to leave. Maybe it’s foolish, but no. I don’t want it.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to say it because you think I want to stay. Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be. Where I want to be.”
“I know.” Cliff rested his cheek against Paul’s for a moment. “And the only place I want to be is here with you. Now, tomorrow, and always.”
“I do too.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” His kiss was butterfly soft and sweet. “I’m going to shower.”
“I’ll go put the chicken and corn on.”
Halfway to the bedroom, Cliff called out, “Okay, and pour me another glass while you’re at it.”
“Okay, boss.” Laughing, he carried the platter of chicken outside to the deck.
* * *
Paul awoke with a start in the predawn hours. Senses tingling, he sat up in bed, listening to the silence for a minute, then untangled himself from Cliff and slipped on his boxers and a pair of pajama pants. Five thirty in the morning was rarely a pleasant time to wake up, and Paul liked it even less when it wasn’t his choice. Too early to get up for work but too late to go back to sleep. He retrieved his gun and crept around the house, checking the windows.
Nothing was out of place or broken, but his cop instinct was sending alerts that something wasn’t right. After doing another sweep and checking the kitchen door, he admitted to himself it might’ve been nothing more than a bad dream.
Continuing to grumble under his breath about his interrupted sleep, Paul padded into the bedroom to lock away his gun while Cliff slept on, unaware. Now wide-awake, Paul decided to take a shower, make coffee, and plan his day.
An hour and a half later, he kissed Cliff good-bye. “See you tonight. Why don’t you invite Ryan and Josh over for dinner?”
Cliff finished chewing his turkey bacon and smiled. “Great idea.”
“Take it slow, lover boy.”
“I am. I’d like everyone to be as happy as we are.”
Paul kissed his cheek again. “Make that the two of us. Talk to you later.”
Whistling, he let himself out the door and walked to his car, where he stopped short. A paper was stuck under his windshield wipers. Paul glanced around the street and cursed himself for not going outside earlier when he woke up. He took out a pair of nitrile gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped them on. When he opened the paper, his breath caught and his stomach turned.
I see you.
DEAR READER
Thank you so much for reading Death Comes to Main Street. I appreciate you taking the time to read my books. If you have a moment to leave a review, no matter how short, it is appreciated. Each and every review is important to an author.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Felice Stevens has always been a romantic at heart. She believes that while life is tough, there is always a happy ending just around the corner. Her characters have to work for it, however. Like life in NYC, nothing comes easy, and that includes love.
She lives in New York City with her husband and two children. Her day begins with a lot of caffeine and ends with a glass (or two) of red wine. She’s retired from practicing law, and now daydreams of a time when she can sit by a beach and write beautiful stories of men falling in love. Although there are bound to be a few bumps along the way, a Happily Ever After is always guaranteed
Stay up to date with my newsletter here:
FELICE'S NEWSLETTER
You can find a complete list of all my books on my website:
WEBSITE
Join my reader group, Felice’s Breakfast Club and share cover reveals, and sneak peeks of works in progress:
FELICE'S BREAKFAST CLUB
Follow me on social media:
BOOKBUB
FACEBOOK
INSTAGRAM
TWITTER
GOODREADS
Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3) Page 26
