by Laura Snider
Genie shook her head and left to bus Jack’s table.
Katie narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, Jack? That was a dick move.”
“You know what I heard?” Jack said to George.
He was back to ignoring her. She didn’t honestly give a damn what Jack had “heard.” It was no doubt another one of Jack’s conspiracy theories. But it irked her that he dismissed both her, Genie, and his wife so readily.
“I heard that that there Ashley Montgomery was payin’ jurors to get that child rapist outta jail.”
“Yeah?” Katie said, lifting an eyebrow. “And who did you hear that from?”
Jack sneered. “My sister-in-law’s aunt’s friend was a juror. She say Ashley told her she’d give her five hundred bucks if she said ‘not guilty.’”
“One,” Katie said, raising a finger in the air, “Petrovsky wasn’t acquitted. He was found guilty of a lesser included offense. Those are two different things.”
Jack glared at her, but she’d had enough of his bullshit. She couldn’t play nice with this sleazeball any longer. “Second, your sister-in-law’s aunt’s friend is way too far removed to be reliable.”
“It isn’t nei—”
Katie cut him off, shouting over him. “Third,” she slammed a twenty-dollar bill down on the table, “I’m going to cover your portion of Genie’s tip since you’re too cheap to do it.”
“Cheap!” Jack yelled. “I’m not cheap. My eggs were cold.”
“Bullshit,” Katie growled.
“All right, all right,” George said. “Let’s not get all worked up here.” He shot Katie a look that said she should keep her mouth shut.
Katie wanted to continue the argument. She wanted to jam Jack’s boot so far up his ass that he couldn’t sit for a week, but George was technically a superior officer, since he’d been on the force far longer than she had, so she followed his lead.
“Thanks for the information, Jack,” George said, standing and clapping Jack genially on the shoulder. “I’ll follow up on that. I’ll be in touch with you in the next week. For now, I think it’s time you move along.”
Jack nodded and tipped his hat to George, then left.
Katie snorted and crossed her arms, watching Jack’s thin, wiry frame disappear down the street. Jack was born and raised in Brine. He’d been a farmhand for Clement Farms since he was a teenager, and he seemed to think that gave him the perpetual moral high ground. Like working for the prosecutor’s family gave him the ability to act and treat others any way he chose.
“I don’t like that guy.”
“Give him a break,” George said. “He’s had a hard life.”
It wasn’t an understatement. Born with fetal alcohol syndrome, Jack Daniel was far smaller than the average man, and named after his parents’ favorite alcohol.
“That isn’t an excuse to act that way.”
“I’m not excusing his behavior. I just want you to try to understand him. Show some empathy.”
“Whatever. I’ll show him some empathy when he treats his wife with empathy.”
“Let’s get back to the Arnold Von Reich investigation,” George said.
Katie took a deep breath, then nodded. They both knew the conversation about Jack wasn’t going anywhere. They’d had discussions like it at least a dozen times, and it always went like this: Katie would call Jack a chauvinist, and George would tell her that she needed thicker skin. Katie would then say that women were paid seventy-five cents on the dollar compared to men and that it was people like Jack who perpetuated the unfair treatment. Then George would say that Jack wasn’t deciding pay scales for anyone, not now, and not ever. They’d go back and forth a few more times, then the conversation would end with both Katie and George feeling unsatisfied. There was no need to rehash the same old argument today.
George picked up the medical examiner’s preliminary report and handed it to Katie. “Time of death was approximately midnight.”
“So.” Katie set the report down and picked up a stack of photographs.
The first picture was of a bright red BIC lighter. It was found in the alleyway near Von Reich’s body. She’d sent it off to the lab for fingerprinting. She hoped there was at least one print fit for comparison to the database of criminal offenders. It was too early for a report yet.
“So,” George repeated.
“What do we know?”
“Jack shit.”
George was only partially right. There was very little evidence left at the scene of the crime, but that didn’t mean they had nowhere to start.
“Not exactly,” Katie said. “We have the BIC lighter. We also know the cameras in Mikey’s Tavern malfunctioned during the time frame that Von Reich died.”
Mikey’s Tavern had two cameras, both indoor. One faced the front door and the other faced the cash register. Both cameras went blank at exactly 11:30 p.m. on December 9th. They didn’t come back online until 7:00 a.m., December 10th. Von Reich’s time of death was somewhere around midnight, which placed his death and the 3:00 a.m. discovery of his body firmly within the blackout period.
“Suspicious, but we need more.”
Katie nodded. “I agree.”
“Who has control of that camera system?” George asked.
“Mikey ‘Money’ Johnson is the sole owner of the bar. He is the only one with access or control of the video system.”
“Who was the bartender?”
“The regular bartender has been off for medical reasons. Mikey’s grandfather has been helping out for the past couple weeks,” Katie said. “We should follow up on that angle.”
“All right.” George took a sip of coffee. “But that is most likely a dead end. Mikey isn’t the most stand-up guy, but it isn’t good for business that someone was murdered outside his bar. If Mikey is anything, he’s a businessman.”
Katie chewed her lip. Maybe George was right, maybe not. “We also know that the murderer slit Von Reich’s throat.”
“Yeah.” George’s eyes slid to the photograph of Von Reich’s body. “Pretty thoroughly, too. Poor guy was practically decapitated.”
Katie snorted. “Poor guy. Let’s not go that far. Von Reich was a terrible person. What happened to him was wrong, but that’s no reason to get amnesia about his past.”
“True,” George said, chuckling.
He looked down at his plate, forking a piece of biscuit. He ran it through a patch of gravy and popped it into his mouth. Katie’s stomach churned. She didn’t know how he could eat with gruesome photographs strewn across the table.
“So,” Katie said, pointing to a close-up photograph of Von Reich’s neck wound. “This was a personal crime. The murderer knew Von Reich and wanted to watch him die.”
Katie didn’t have to say Erica’s name to explain who she meant when she said “personal.” Erica made her dislike of Von Reich crystal clear. And Erica’s rhetoric increased dramatically after Von Reich’s acquittal. She’d calmed down toward Von Reich some in the past six months, but that was more out of distraction than forgiveness. Erica’s son was sexually assaulted by Victor Petrovsky, and she didn’t have enough time or energy to properly hate them both at the same time. For now, Petrovsky was the subject of her ire. Well, Petrovsky and Ashley Montgomery.
“This is a small town, Katie,” George said with a sigh. “Everyone knew Von Reich, and everyone wanted him to die. Including me.” He tapped an open palm against his chest. “Probably you too.”
Katie shook her head. That wasn’t what she meant. There was a difference between disliking a guy for his criminal behavior and hating someone enough to kill. “Think about it. The murderer had to have been so close that he could feel Von Reich’s breath and see the life leave his eyes. That is intimate.”
“Maybe,” George conceded. “But then again, the killer could just be sadistic.”
Katie frowned. She knew he was playing the devil’s advocate, but he tended to take that role too far. It made her feel like she was constantly ingrained in a
battle. Sometimes she just wanted him to agree with one thing she said.
“What about Christopher Mason?”
Christopher was a townie, a lifetime resident of Brine. He was Von Reich’s only friend, but that relationship ended along with Amy’s life. It was rumored that Christopher and Amy were having an affair prior to her death, but Christopher wouldn’t talk to the police, so Katie could never prove it.
George sighed. “I arrested him for domestic assault this morning. Remember?”
Katie nodded. “But that was at seven thirty. Long after the murder.”
With such a small police force, it was common for one of them to be called away to deal with a different crime while in the middle of an active investigation. That was what had happened with Christopher. George had dealt with him and his wife, Brooke, then met Katie at Genie’s Diner to focus back on Von Reich.
“I doubt Christopher had anything to do with it. He hasn’t made any threats to Von Reich. He never seemed to care about Amy’s death. He just stopped hanging out with Von Reich, that was all.”
“Ugh.” Katie rubbed her hands over her face.
George shrugged and flashed his characteristic smile. “Don’t get frustrated.”
“I’m not,” Katie answered, a little too quickly to be true.
“I just think we need to consider other possibilities.”
Katie groaned. There were so many possibilities. So many avenues to investigate. They needed a police force the size of Texas to solve this crime.
“Fine. Then let’s talk about the planning that had to go into this.”
“Okay,” George said. “Let’s talk about it.”
“The killer had to have known Arnold Von Reich and his habits.”
George shook his head. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“No, think about it. Arnold Von Reich is a name well known in criminal circles. He is no stranger to violence, but he didn’t even put up a fight. The killer caught him off guard, surprised him somehow.”
“Maybe. But Von Reich was drunk. His blood alcohol level was above point-two. Maybe he was too intoxicated to know what was going on around him. Besides, you don’t even know if Von Reich was a selected target or if he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Katie narrowed her eyes. “He was a target.”
George shook his head. “Don’t be like that, Katie. Don’t start jumping to conclusions. You’ll get too excited and you’ll miss things. You are already too emotionally involved in this case. You cannot do that. That’s part of the reason why Petrovsky is getting away with a lesser offense.”
Heat rushed to Katie’s face. Katie bit her cheek and pressed her hands to her mouth. Petrovsky was a wound far too fresh, and George was rubbing salt into it. She’d expected a comment like that from Ashley Montgomery. But she hadn’t been prepared for George’s criticism. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she fought to keep them at bay. She didn’t want George to see her cry. Police officers were meant to be strong. In a profession dominated by men, crying was a weakness.
“You know what,” Katie said, jumping to her feet, “I’ll see you later.”
“What? Where are you going?”
Katie’s hands balled into fists so tightly that her nails cut into the palms of her hands. “Somewhere else.”
“Come on, Katie. I didn’t mean it. I just want you to learn. I want this to go right. For you.”
“Sure.” She bit her lip and reminded herself not to cry in public. She would keep it together. At all costs.
“Calm down, Katie.”
George’s voice was soothing, but his words felt patronizing. Who was he to tell her to calm down? She wasn’t even doing anything that could be considered an outburst. Yet he still acted like she was hysterical. It was infuriating, which was an emotion that was far less complicated than sadness.
Katie slapped an open palm down on the table. “Don’t talk to me like that. You aren’t my goddamn husband! And this isn’t the forties. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” She held his gaze for a long, tense moment, then threw her arms up and marched toward the door.
“Where are you going?” George called from behind her.
“Outside,” Katie said, her breathing heavy, “to cool off.”
“Katie…” George’s voice trailed off.
She stopped then and turned back to him. “What?”
He swallowed hard. “You will be at Petrovsky’s sentencing hearing later today, right?”
Katie sighed. She didn’t want to go. But she had to. She had to face her mistakes. To let the victims confront her. It was her fault that Petrovsky would walk. Free to terrorize others. She’d been the one who had screwed up the search warrant. She was the reason that most of the evidence was inadmissible at trial. She would not hide from it.
“Yes. I’ll be there.”
3
Ashley
December 10th – 9:00 a.m.
Ashley rang the buzzer outside the jail. The wind whipped around the corner, tugging at her hair, and biting at her cheeks. Nobody answered. She pressed the button again and hopped from one foot to the other, blowing in her hands. The sky spit large, thick snowflakes. They were wet and heavy, clinging to her hair, seeping into her clothes. Snowdrifts were beginning to collect along the curve of the building. If someone didn’t come soon, she was going to freeze to death.
“Hello?” Ashley called. She pushed the buzzer multiple times in rapid succession. It wouldn’t make the jailers come any faster, but it made her feel like she was doing something.
“Sorry, Ashley.” A voice crackled through the intercom. “I’ll be there in a second.”
Ashley hopped a couple more times from one foot to the other. Then there was the all-too-familiar click of a lock, and the jail door swung open.
“Come in, come in,” the jail administrator said.
“Thank you, Tom,” Ashley said through chattering teeth.
Tom closed the door behind her and flashed a perfectly symmetrical grin. Ashley’s cheeks flushed and her heart raced, but it had nothing to do with the temperature change.
“I’m so sorry,” Tom said, ducking down so he was eye level with her. His bright blue eyes sparkled. “We are short-staffed today, and I had to finish booking a new inmate before I could get the door.”
“The new inmate wouldn’t happen to be Christopher Mason, would it?”
A former client named Martisha, an acquaintance of Christopher’s, had called Ashley on her way to the jail.
Christopher is back in jail, Martisha had said. She pronounced his name in three separate syllables. Chris-ta-fir.
What for?
Ya know. The usual.
Brooke? Ashley had asked.
Yeah. The boy can’t keep his temper.
That was an understatement. When it came to Christopher’s wife, Brooke, Christopher’s temperature gauge could go from zero to one thousand in a split second.
Anyway, he wants to talk to you.
Ashley had thanked Martisha, then hung up with no intention of seeing Christopher. She didn’t have time.
Tom nodded, and his gaze shifted to the floor. “Yeah. It’s Christopher.”
They both knew Christopher from before. Back when they were in high school and life was a whole lot less complicated.
“I know. It isn’t easy,” Ashley said.
Ashley had been back in Brine for nearly ten years, and seeing former classmates in chains never got easier. That was part of the challenge. Some people got jobs and educations, moved on, while others didn’t. Ashley and Tom fell into the former category. Christopher fell into the latter.
“It’s the worst. I worshiped Christopher in high school. But now.” Tom gestured around him.
Ashley nodded. Christopher had been a senior when Ashley and Tom were sophomores. He’d been an all-state football player. He was on track for a scholarship to play for KU but lost it after his first two arrests for drug charges. It was downhill from the
re.
“I’d like to talk to him, but I’ll have to come back and see Christopher tomorrow. I only have time for Victor this morning.” She turned her attention to the long corridor that led to the booking area of the jail.
“That’s fine,” Tom said, jamming his hands in his pockets. “He needs to dry out before he sees anyone anyway.”
Ashley cringed. Nothing like a night in the padded detox room to get Christopher all riled up. Her eventual visit with him was going to be a blast.
“I’m sorry. You’re busy,” Tom said, misunderstanding her expression. “Here I am chatting away, and you’re probably on a time crunch.”
He was partially right. She was short on time, but she always enjoyed their conversations. She told herself it was because he treated her like a human being. Unlike so many others in town. In truth, it was something far deeper than that.
Tom led her into the bowels of the jail, still talking as they walked. “I heard about Von Reich.”
“Yeah.” Ashley didn’t know what else to say.
She had heard, too, but it was no great loss to her. Von Reich was her client, but that was it. They’d never developed any kind of a friendship like Ashley did with some of her other clients.
“Are you worried?” Tom asked in a way that seemed as though he was worried. “I mean that a killer is on the loose and…” His voice trailed off.
“That I’m everyone’s favorite lawyer?” Ashley finished for him. “Nah. I’ll be fine.” Her words came out with less conviction than she’d intended. If she was honest, she was worried, and that feeling was intensifying as the minutes ticked by.
They continued walking. The hallways were barren. Beige-painted cinder block walls and unadorned cement floors. Nothing distinguished one hallway from another. No posters or pictures. No windows or doors. Just corridor after empty corridor until they reached the attorney-client rooms. Ashley nearly sighed in relief when she saw the familiar door.
“Door B3. Open door B3,” Tom said into his radio.
