The insinuation about her father and the possibility of someone pinning something on her had her head jumping everywhere. Now they had the woman, maybe, or were these two cops just spinning their wheels? And that gun—she wanted to say something to Llewellyn about what she’d seen him do, but instead she said nothing as she waited for them to tell her about Zoe.
Neither cop said a word as Llewellyn stepped forward and leaned down on the table, so close to her that she could smell his breath, the coffee, the sweat, the heat. “She ain’t your concern. You don’t talk about this. You go on home now, and you just keep everything about what you think you saw tonight to yourself.”
His voice was low, but his meaning was clear. She took in the iciness in his stare, the unfeelingness. She didn’t have to look over to Hargraves to know he was on the same page.
She wanted to yell to everyone about how she’d seen Llewellyn stick the gun in the belongings in the cart. She wanted to scream it out to the world and anyone who would listen, but the door was right there, her only freedom. So she pulled her arms across her chest and said nothing as Hargraves opened the door and she saw the light in the hall and stood on shaky legs, shivering, but not from cold.
She made her way to the door, seeing the cops, the people in suits, and she didn’t stop until she was out the front door of the station, in the dark, without her purse, her phone, or her keys.
Chapter 4
Tony Martin was outside the Waverly. Four were confirmed dead: two black men, one Hispanic male, and a woman of unknown origin. There were no other injuries, which was an odd thing with a drug war gone wrong. Usually with bullets flying there would be a bunch of casualties, but every one of the confirmed dead had a kill shot, two in the chest, one in the back of the head, and the woman with a knife wound, throat slashed. The knife had been found by the hand of one of the dead black men. He was puzzled by the woman. She appeared white, with brown eyes, but she was wearing a dark hijab around her hair. She would have been dead in minutes.
The bullets had come from the same 9 mm, the very same pistol that had been found stuffed in a bag in a shopping cart next to the belongings of Zoe Doucette, out back against a fence. Two women had been hiding beside the cart and had been taken into custody. The kids who were also there, seven and nine, were now in the care of the state.
He had his flashlight out and was walking the scene when he spotted a brown purse in the bushes. He reached for it and unzipped it to pull out a wallet and license, flashing over the name Claudia McCabe. For a driver’s license photo, the woman was pretty, with red hair, freckles, and brown eyes. He’d take it to the station to see if it had been reported lost. Something should have been reported, considering what had gone down here. He started to his Chevy sedan and spotted the headlights of an unmarked approach. It was Hargraves, one of the detectives. The passenger door opened, and a young women stepped out. She had long red hair, a scrape on her face, and blood covering her light tank top. He was pretty sure this was the same woman from the ID he was holding.
Hargraves rolled his window down. “Just dropping off Ms. McCabe. Says she dropped her purse around here. You didn’t find anything…”
Tony held up the purse. “Right here. Found it in the bushes over there,” he said, taking in the frown on the young woman’s face, the mascara smudged, the way she rubbed her wrists, which appeared raw in the headlights as she walked around the front of the cruiser. “You must be Claudia McCabe,” he said as he held out her purse and license.
She said nothing as she reached for both and started rummaging, maybe to see if anything had been taken. Unhappy, pissed, and angry were the only emotions she was sending his way.
“Claudia, don’t go anywhere in case we have more questions,” Hargraves tossed out to her, and Tony took in how Claudia tensed and sent a scorching glance to Hargraves that should have left him with burn marks. She said nothing still, didn’t acknowledge him or answer or even nod as she stepped around Tony, and he took in the way Hargraves watched Claudia much the way any of them did a suspect who was hiding something.
“You let her go. What gives?” Tony asked, and Hargraves gestured toward her.
“College kid. Best we can figure, wrong place at the wrong time is all. Don’t know for sure, though, considering she was with the spic we grabbed, where the gun was stuffed in the shopping cart. She says she doesn’t know her.” Hargraves shrugged, his hand resting on the wheel, the engine idling.
“So you have ballistics back. Do we know who it was?” Tony asked, and Hargraves just shrugged again.
“Llewellyn was there. Either this one or the homeless wetback. My money’s on the wetback, since the gun was found stuffed in her belongings. College kid, don’t think so. She said she was running from the shooting, trying to get away. You found her purse where?” Hargraves asked.
“Over by the bushes. She must have dropped it,” Tony said. “What about the gunpowder residue? You tested her, both of them?” He glanced over his shoulder to the McCabe girl walking toward a light Toyota Camry, looking in her purse, and then pulling on the door. She seemed frustrated. Locked. She rummaged in the purse again, and Tony turned back to Hargraves.
“Nothing on the McCabe girl or the other one. Llewellyn found a glove with traces stuffed in the cart.”
He took in the scene, the loss of life. He’d arrived on shift only an hour ago and was playing catch up as to what had gone down. “So what do you figure happened here?” It was senseless, all of it.
“Would say, if I’m a betting man, turf war, drugs. My money is on the homeless lady, probably some junkie trying to rip off a drug dealer and his crew. Two black men, one Hispanic, have to be linked to drugs. Worthless.”
He stared at Hargraves, wondering why it sounded too easy as he took in the scene again, wondering how the dead woman fit in with her throat slit. As the detective rolled up his window and pulled away, Tony noticed Claudia walking the other way. She had on just a tank top and jeans, sandals on her feet, and she was a mess. He jogged up behind her. “Ms. McCabe, just hold up a second,” he called and noticed the moment she tensed again.
She didn’t turn around as she stopped. Then, so slowly, her head turned and she stared up at him. He took in the freckles, the smudged makeup, the scrape on her chin, her cheek, and the stubborn set of her honey brown eyes. She was a looker under all of that, and pissed. She said nothing as he stepped in front of her.
“Is that your car?” he asked. For a minute, he didn’t think she would answer.
“Yes,” she said and nothing else as he took in her hand around her wrist again, rubbing. It looked sore. It had to hurt quite a bit. This time he could see under the streetlights how red and welted the lines around her wrists were from the cuffs biting into her. Someone had been a lot rougher than necessary.
He waited, but she said nothing else other than lifting her chin, maybe daring him to say something.
“You locked out?” he said, and this time her eyes flashed with something—hate, anger, fury, or all of it. He’d seen the look before, experienced it from women before.
“And if I am, are you going to toss me down on the ground and cuff me, maybe throw in attempted theft? Oh wait, I can’t really steal a car that I own, can I? But then, that wouldn’t stop you from detaining me and creating more problems for me, now, would it?”
Beyond angry, she was downright pissed. Maybe she had a right to be, to a point, but better for her if she let it go. “I get that you’re angry, but being found near the weapon who killed three people, it only stands to reason you were taken in. I would have done the same,” he said, wondering what it was he saw in her face as she paled and seemed shaken.
“Three?” Her voice squeaked, and the fury that had been directed his way seconds ago was suddenly gone.
“Yeah, sorry. Three killed with the gun.” The fourth had her throat slit, but for some reason he kept that to himself.
“You sure it was that gun?” Her eyes narrowed, and she had the
expression of someone thinking, considering something.
“Yeah, ballistics were a match.”
Then her lips firmed, and she slid her purse strap over her shoulder, tightening her grip and stepping around him.
“Hey, wait. Where are you going?” he asked. This time, as she glanced his way, he saw something else there that he hadn’t before. She seemed uneasy.
“I’m going home,” she said.
Chapter 5
He wasn’t a pretty boy. The cop standing in front of her had one of those serious bad-boy bodies with a wide chest, broad shoulders, and arms that let her know he spent time in the gym. He was tall, with short dark hair and a square jaw, and he reminded her a lot of Vic in some ways and Aaron in others. She figured from the way his thin T-shirt settled over him that he most likely had an impressive set of abs under there. His badge was tucked in the waistband of his jeans just like all the cops she’d seen tonight who weren’t in uniform. Just another scumbag cop, she figured, who could do what he wanted. Then he made a face and glanced away as if she’d said something funny. It took everything in her to rein in her urge to kick him.
“Please get out of my way,” she said through clenched teeth, feeling the pinch of her jaw as she clamped down, trying to keep it together.
“But you said that’s your car over there.” He gestured with his thumb to her Camry.
Claudia wanted nothing more than to put a lot of distance between herself and this nightmare of a night. She’d lost her phone and her keys, obviously dropped in all the chaos. “It is, but it’s locked. You found my purse but evidently not my keys. Now excuse me, please. I have a long walk home.”
She went to step around him when his hand slapped around her upper arm. Her eyes had a mind of their own, going right to the large warm hand that had settled there as if he had every right to touch her. He slowly dropped his hand, stepping back, lifting his palms as if he knew.
“You don’t need to walk. I’ll drive you,” he said, and she just stared at him, wondering what his game was.
“Thanks, but no thanks. Had enough of cop overreach tonight. I think I’d rather take my chances on the street with the thugs and lowlifes. Pretty sure it would be much safer.” She went to step around him, but he was in front of her again.
“You know, Claudia, I’m getting the distinct feeling there’s something more you’re not telling me.” He was beside her now as she started walking, wishing she had her cell phone at least. She could call her dad—no, her mom. Whatever her dad had done that had his name coming up in that concrete interrogation room, she figured he was the last person who should be coming down to get her. Better yet, maybe she could call a cab. She opened her purse and pulled out her wallet to see eleven dollars and change. Maybe just enough, barely, or she could get her parents to pay the cabbie when she pulled up. Looking the way she did, considering the throbbing hadn’t eased on her chin and her cheek, a lot of explaining would be needed, and then what? Her dad would freak, cause trouble. And her mom…although she was together now and on medication for the depression she’d suffered for like forever, this could put her over the top. Maybe she should keep this to herself.
“Are you telling me I have to talk to you? Or maybe you want to toss me on the ground, slap cuffs on me so tight that you provide me with more welts and bruising, and once again lock me in a concrete room, chained to a table, ignoring my numerous requests to make a call, call a lawyer—”
“Whoa, wait!” he snapped and held his hands up in front of her.
She stopped and took in the change in this cop, totally intense now, and there was nothing about him that told her he found this even remotely amusing or was toying with her. But then this could be just another ruse to, what, mess with her? She didn’t know what to make of it.
“Are you telling me you were held in an interrogation room and cuffed to a table? For how long? Were you read your rights?” He stepped closer, and she could see the tiny lines around his eyes, the dark stubble that said he needed to shave.
“Well, you do the math. How long ago did the shooting start? I was held until I was dropped off by that other detective just now. That was the amount of time I was cuffed, stuffed in the back of a cop car with the other woman, dragged into your cop shop, fingerprinted… Oh, yeah, and I had my mouth swabbed for DNA, you know. Not once did I hear anyone tell me my rights, which had me wondering whether I could ask for a lawyer. I’ve never been questioned, arrested, or set foot in a police station, period. Then I was interrogated. I’m pretty sure that was what happened, and after the third or maybe forth time, I think, that I asked if I could have a lawyer or make a phone call, I was finally told I wasn’t under arrest. Now get the fuck out of my way, or is saying that going to get me arrested, I don’t know, for mouthing off to a cop, dropping the f-bomb, you fucking prick, or maybe something else you can fabricate because you don’t like my attitude?”
She was furious and shaking inside, the same way she’d felt when Hargraves had called out to her outside the front of the station and made her get into his car to drive her back to the scene of the crime for alone time so he could drive the threat home. If she knew what was good for her and her family, she’d forget everything about this night. Yeah, she got it, and she knew every cop out there was watching her.
This time, as she stepped around this detective who she didn’t know anything about, he didn’t try to stop her.
Chapter 6
He could see her in the distance, the way she dug in with each step. Soon she would be in complete darkness. He couldn’t really let her walk all the way home, considering, from the glance he’d taken at her license and address, doing so would likely take her a little over an hour in the dark.
He climbed into his car with his cell phone to his ear, trying to make sense of some of what had happened. He started the engine and pulled out just as Llewellyn answered.
“Hey, Martin here,” Tony said. “Tell me about the McCabe girl you just let go. Did you really hold her in interrogation for hours, cuffed to a table, without reading the girl her rights?” She’d asked for a lawyer and a phone call, too, and neither had been provided. Not that they all hadn’t pushed it with a suspect and crossed every line to trip them up and get them talking, but he couldn’t shake the fact that this had gone a little further.
“Are you kidding me, Martin? We held her, questioned her. We’ve all done it. She’s not under arrest yet, but the fact that she was there next to the gun in the shopping cart, right where she was with Zoe Doucette, whom she claims she doesn’t know…”
Right, the other one. That arrest also seemed a little loose. “So have you charged Zoe Doucette? I heard a glove was found in the things she owned in the shopping cart.”
“Afraid so. The gun is a match to the glove, too. We’re just waiting for the DA, and then charges should be filed. Should be pretty easy, this one. Homeless, so she’ll never make bail. She’ll get a public attorney, and this could be a death penalty case if we can get it all to stick.” He heard tapping in the background and was looking for the McCabe girl, his headlights flashing on her. She had already covered a few blocks and was moving fast. “The McCabe girl making trouble?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Was just curious as to what happened. You guys were a little rough on her, I noticed,” he added and heard the chuckle in the background. Llewellyn could be somewhat of a prick at times.
“She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and was lucky she didn’t get shot. Anything else?” Llewellyn asked. “You sure she didn’t shoot off her mouth about anything?”
Now that was curious. Unusual, really. “Like what?”
There was a squeak in the background, a chair, maybe. “Nothing I can think of. You know suspects sometimes, how they whine and carry on about how they’ve been victimized.”
Yes, he did know, but something in his gut seemed off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Had to be this whole scene where it had happened, an apartment that had college
kids and tons of parties. “Hmm” was all he said to that, seeing Ms. McCabe right in front of him now. “Listen, Llewellyn, keep me in the loop. If there are any developments, give me a call.”
He disconnected and pulling over in front of Claudia so she had to stop. He jammed the car in park and stepped out, headlights still on.
“What now?” She sounded mad.
“Get in. I’ll drive you home.”
When she made no motion to move, he started around the front of the car, seeing the way she stepped back, her arms crossed in front of her.
“Look, I already told you I have no intention of having anything more to do with the police tonight—or is this where you try to drive the point home, remind me that I’m not to speak of tonight and forget everything I saw? Or maybe you’re thinking of hurting my family, my mom, my dad, me. Another reminder? Another threat, maybe.”
What the hell was she talking about?
“Did someone threaten you?” he said and took another step closer.
She glanced to the side. “I don’t like games, so stop fucking with me. I got the message loud and clear, so stop already with seeing whether I understand how things work. I do. You all are watching me to see if I talk, say something you’re not going to like, and then…” She gestured and then took another step back, and he wasn’t liking what he was hearing. He could see she was scared.
“I’m just trying to give you a ride home. I get that you’re a little pissed off.”
She shot him a look that could have melted ice.
“Okay, a lot pissed, but what would ever make you think I’m trying to intimidate you, and who told you to forget about tonight? I get the part about not talking about what happened just in case you could be called as a witness, but I think you’re completely misunderstanding a lot of things.”
Don't Leave Me Page 3
