Broken

by Vanessa Skye

“Of course not!” Elizabeth threw her hands over her chest. With her mouth slightly gaping, she was the very picture of outrage. “Look, this chat has been lovely, but I have a lot of work to catch up on. Goodbye, detectives,” she said.

  Berg stood, looking at Elizabeth’s spotless desk. There wasn’t a single scrap of paper anywhere on its surface, and she doubted the woman had ever done any of her own work at all. “Of course. We don’t want to take up any more of your time, do we?” she said, directing the last remark to Arena.

  Arena also stood.

  “And in future, if you want to know what’s in my desk, all you have to do is ask. I have nothing to hide,” Elizabeth said, smiling.

  Berg and Arena turned to leave.

  “You know,” Elizabeth said, grabbing the detectives’ attention once more. “I heard gossip around the courts about a couple of local detectives who nearly let a killer walk free because of bad police work. I do hope the department’s not becoming rife with that kind of thing. I can’t imagine that’s been good for their careers, can you?” She smiled sweetly.

  Berg laughed softly, all semblance of civility gone. “I’ve heard that story, too. Turns out that murderer’s appeal was quashed two weeks ago. He’ll be serving two life sentences, right where all murderers end up if I have anything to say about it.”

  The detectives walked out of the office without waiting for a reply.

  Berg seethed. Elizabeth had drawn a line in the sand and was daring her to step over it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Even flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies.

  Oh, he don’t know, so he chases them away.

  Someday yet, he’ll begin his life again.

  –Pearl Jam, “Even Flow”

  “Bitch!” Berg stepped onto the elevator and slammed her fist into the button for the ground floor.

  “Yeah, wow. She’s a piece of work.” Arena scrubbed his chin and sighed. “I can’t believe she rubbed Feeny in our faces!”

  Berg swore again.

  At least the Feeny bit was true.

  Carla had presented the new evidence to the judge—albeit through gritted teeth because of where it had come from—which had actually rendered Feeny’s asshole lawyer speechless, and Feeny’s appeal claiming a coerced confession had been thrown out. Thanks to the statement from the shooter, his testimony, plus corroborating voice recordings and CCTV footage of the money exchange from a nearby gas station, the appeal had never even gained traction. It had been a satisfying moment, which would have been improved only by seeing Feeny’s face when he’d gotten the news. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been in court seeing as he was still in protective custody in an out of state prison under an alias, where he’d remain for the duration of his life to shield him from gang reprisals.

  Leigh cackled with laughter inside her head.

  “I’m thinking you might be on to something with this Elizabeth thing,” Arena said.

  “In my mind, I just saw all I needed to confirm she did this,” Berg replied.

  “Like what?”

  “See how she passed off her work?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Sociopaths often use, manipulate, cajole, fuck, or outright blackmail other people to do their work for them. They take credit for it and have an inflated sense of their own importance. I have no idea how she got that position in that firm so quickly, but I guarantee it wasn’t by doing any work—unless it was on her back. Plus, when I saw her at her parents’ house, she was boasting about her agent, her celebrity trainer, and some kind of bidding war between movie studios for Emma’s story. And that crap about Harvard? Please!” Berg scoffed. “She’s a complete narcissist.”

  “What about her story about Emma abusing her?”

  “Bullshit. It has to be. I’ll bet you money it was the other way around.”

  The elevator dinged and stopped at ground level that, judging by the delicious food smells, was some kind of building cafeteria.

  Berg’s stomach rumbled.

  A young man with his cell glued to his ear stepped inside, hit the button for fifty-two, and continued chatting animatedly. “Yeah, I’m here,” he said. “I just got on the elevator, so if I lose you, I’ll call you back when I get back to fifty-two. I’ve taken as long a coffee break as I can—anything to delay getting back to that insane wench.” He looked up, waiting for the doors to close, and chuckled at the conversation coming from the other end.

  Berg nudged Arena, slid back a couple of steps, and looked pointedly at the man. She leaned back against the wall and nonchalantly listened in.

  “I don’t know, man.” The man shrugged. “She has a bigger office than some of the partners, but she keeps palming off her work to the first-year associates. Grant, do this! Grant, do that! I’m so over it.” He sighed. “She came on to me the other day just so I would do a brief for her. I nearly threw up in my mouth. I told her I’d do it just so she’d stop touching me. Let’s go to Finn’s tonight, I need to get hammered—”

  The elevator stopped at fifty-two, and the associate stepped off.

  “You think he was talking about Elizabeth?” Arena asked after the door closed and headed back down.

  “Yep. How many psychotic wenches can there be on the fifty-second floor?”

  Arena cocked an eyebrow and chuckled. “We should go and check out that club tonight, see if we can’t get some associates lubed enough to spill.”

  “Good idea. I’ll go and do that. Why don’t you become familiar with Realm of Blood?”

  “Jesus. Do I have to? My hotness factor went down a million percent just talking about it.”

  “Well, you can do that, or you can rub up against male law firm associates to get information—your choice.” Berg smiled.

  “Gamer geek, it is.”

  They climbed back into the car.

  “Where to?” Arena asked.

  “Lake Shore. I want to speak to Hudson again.”

  The father of Emma’s baby, Tim Hudson, let them into his office once again without complaint.

  The receptionist asked politely if they would like tea or coffee.

  Berg ordered a coffee, figuring she would need the hit if she had to go clubbing later.

  Hudson looked exhausted.

  The photos that had been on his desk of his family had been replaced by photos of his dark-haired son and a single picture of him and Emma. His ring finger sported a fresh, vivid tan line.

  “Your wife wants a divorce?” Berg asked.

  “Yes. She kicked me out. Who can blame her, really?” Tim replied sadly.

  “I wanted to clarify something you said about Emma the last time we were here,” Berg said.

  “Sure.” Tim lowered his head but not before she saw the glistening in his eyes. “I’m happy to talk about Em. My daughter’s going to be born soon, but then . . .”

  “We know,” Arena said sympathetically. “Elizabeth told us they’re switching off Emma’s life support.”

  “Yes. I’m not her husband, so I have no say in it. I’ve been visiting her and the baby every day, but . . . I’ve worked out a joint custody arrangement with Alex and Marilyn, so I’m trying not to shake things up too much. I know Emma’s gone. We had such plans . . .” Tim’s voice broke and red flooded his cheeks as he turned away, embarrassed.

  “About that.” Berg pulled out her notepad and flipped through the pages. “The last time we were here, you said that Emma—and I quote—was ‘so happy to be getting out of that house,’ end quote. What did you mean?”

  Concern replaced tears on Tim’s face. “It’s not really my place to say anything. As you can imagine, I don’t want to put the future custody of my daughter in jeopardy, and it’s all irrelevant now anyway,” he said stiffly.

  “Of course, we understand,” Berg replied. “And if Emma was physically abusing Elizabeth or had some kind of mental problem, then you naturally wouldn’t want that to be public knowledge.”

  “What? If anything it was the other way aroun
d! Who told you that?” Tim looked flabbergasted.

  “Who do you think?” Arena asked.

  Tim pursed his lips and inhaled slowly, holding on to it as a frown settled deep in his brow. As he exhaled, his fists tightened as he muttered to himself.

  “We couldn’t agree more,” Berg said. “Which is why you need to tell us what exactly was going on in that house.”

  “You don’t understand. I want to be involved in my child’s life!”

  “I’m assuming you also want justice for the woman you loved, yes?” Berg asked.

  “What justice? The guy’s dead!” Tim blurted, confused.

  “We don’t consider a case fully closed until we get a full profile of the victim’s life leading up to the crime,” Berg said deciding there was no reason to tip her hand concerning Elizabeth’s involvement. She felt it in her gut but she had zero evidence to back it up, and a slander case wouldn’t help anything at this point. “Do the right thing by the woman you love. Not to mention your daughter, who’s going to be living in a house where Elizabeth will often be, don’t forget.”

  Tim bit his lip. Apparently, he hadn’t considered that. “Look.” He sighed. “Emma told me very little. What I do know, I pieced together from things she let slip over the last year.” Tim took a deep breath. “One night when we were together, I noticed she had a lot of bruises. She tried to put it down to some gym accident, but I kept pressing. She only ended up telling me because I was going to go over to the house and confront her father. I thought it was him, you see . . .”

  You’re not the only one.

  “But she said it was Elizabeth.”

  “Not in so many words, but yes, and I got the feeling that it wasn’t the first time. Apparently, Em’s parents gave her some money to buy nice clothes for work, and Elizabeth took exception. She pushed Emma down a flight of stairs in retaliation.”

  “But Elizabeth works in a blue-ribbon law firm.” Berg widened her eyes, shocked. “She’s making more than me!”

  “It doesn’t matter. If Emma had it, Elizabeth wanted it. Emma said she begged her parents not to give her the money—or anything else for that matter. She knew what would happen. Her parents thought they were helping, though. They adored Em and were willingly blind to everything else.”

  “Did you ever witness any of this abuse?”

  “No. In fact, I only met Elizabeth once. She turned up at one of our secret dinner dates. Smug about it, she was, too. Emma didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was terrified of her sister and what she might do with the information—Alex never would have approved of us dating. Elizabeth even made a pass at me that night. Right in front of Em—like she was daring her to do something about it. Anyway, Em begged me not to say anything about the bruises, said it would just make it worse. Later, she told me that Elizabeth blackmailed her into cleaning her room every day, in exchange for not telling their parents about us.”

  Berg nodded. She remembered Elizabeth’s room in the old house had been spotless. “So when she got pregnant and you decided to be together, she was pleased to be getting out?”

  “So pleased. Alex wouldn’t let her move out on her own, or even live with a boyfriend—he’s traditional that way. I guess she figured that a pregnancy would force him to accept that she was leaving.”

  “Do you think that was her game plan?” Arena asked.

  Tim looked around the room as though the answer were there. “Maybe . . . but unlike her sister, Emma was completely guileless. She hated how her sister manipulated people. Unfortunately, I got the distinct feeling that Emma had to follow in her sister’s wake all through school, trying to mend relationships and prove she had her own personality, separate of her despised sister’s. She once said that she felt like she would be paying for her sister’s behavior forever.”

  “Do you know if she told Elizabeth she was leaving?”

  “I don’t know, but I doubt it. I think Elizabeth wanted to keep Emma under her thumb indefinitely. She ran that house like her own personal Auschwitz.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sometimes it lasts in love,

  but sometimes it hurts instead.

  –Adele, “Someone like You”

  Berg and Arena made a beeline for Jay’s office upon their return, excited to update him on their new leads and inform him of their intent to obtain search warrants to seize Elizabeth’s personal and office computers, check her cell records, and search her new home.

  Berg suspected that Elizabeth was smart enough to hide her tracks but felt sure there was some kind of evidence linking her with Buchanan—Realm of Blood activity on her computer, phone calls, e-mails . . . anything.

  The detectives knocked and strode into Jay’s office, and Berg noted Maroney was once again perched on the corner of his desk like a freaking paperweight. She clenched her jaw and ground her teeth together to stop herself from asking the ASA if she even had her own office.

  “It’s actually great you’re always here,” she said to Carla. “We need a warrant.”

  “What for?” Jay asked, looking up.

  “We think Elizabeth Young either hired or coerced Buchanan into murdering her sister,” Berg said matter-of-factly.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Carla threw her hands up, clearly exasperated. “That’s ridiculous. She’s become the face of victim advocacy since the attack.”

  “I was speaking to Jay!” Berg replied, her voice rising.

  Jay motioned for Berg to continue.

  Berg filled him in on her suspicions including the photo, her profiling, Hudson’s interview, and the Realm of Blood handbook in Elizabeth’s desk, which Berg conceded was not admissible.

  “So do you have any actual evidence to give us probable cause?” Carla asked. “Or just your usual wild, baseless accusations?”

  “Excuse me, but when did you start making the decisions around here?” Berg asked, wishing she could punch the woman in the throat.

  At least then she’ll shut the fuck up.

  “Carla raises a good point,” Jay said. “Do you have any evidence?”

  Berg bit down on her own tongue to stop herself from screaming. “No, but if we could get the warrant we will go get you some,” she said.

  There was a time when Jay would be right there with her instead of playing devil’s advocate, as he had steadfastly been doing since moving into the glass office and taking up with the blond ASA.

  Carla laughed snidely. “No judge on earth will give you a warrant based on that. Not to mention the fact that you want to stalk into a law firm and take away their lead paralegal’s computer. Are you two high?” She was practically shrieking. “Even if a judge gave you a warrant, we would be buried in appeals and objections faster than you could blink. No way we’re getting anywhere near that firm’s computer.”

  Berg sighed inwardly—Elizabeth was probably counting on that.

  “Jesus. It’s a miracle anyone gets convicted if this is how you operate.” Carla rolled her eyes and looked at Jay.

  One glare from Jay and Carla fell silent.

  Berg opened her mouth, intending to invite Carla to go be a detective if she thought she could do any better, but found herself concentrating on keeping her lunch down instead.

  “Do you have anything not resulting from an illegal search linking Elizabeth to Buchanan? Any sightings, communications, anything? Any specific threats from Elizabeth to her sister? Witnesses? Anything we can use apart from speculation and hearsay?” Jay was clearly looking for a reason to approve the request. “Berg?”

  Knowing she’d lose it if she opened her mouth, Berg flashed a glance in Arena’s direction.

  Taking the hint, he nodded and stepped forward. “Nothing firm. We put in a call to Emma’s doctor and there are, in fact, healed fractures all over Emma’s body—the kind he would usually put down to growing up in an abusive home—which corroborates Hudson’s accusations. But when he asked about it, Emma’s parents put them down to gymnastic training when she w
as young. Without Emma to say otherwise . . .” Arena left it hanging, he didn’t need to tell Jay and Carla that they couldn’t use it.

  Berg turned a pale shade of green, dove for Jay’s small trashcan, and promptly, and quite noisily, lost everything her stomach held.

  Carla stepped back in disgust.

  “Berg! Are you okay?” Jay and Arena both asked, moving in from opposite directions to comfort her.

  Under the pressure of Carla’s intense stare, Jay stepped back and let Arena peel Berg off the floor.

  “Thanks,” Berg croaked as Arena put his huge arms around her, wincing when he made contact with her chest. “I’m okay. I’m never getting pizza from that place again, though.” She tapped Arena’s arm, awkwardly thanking him again before she grabbed the trashcan and stumbled off to the bathroom.

  “I can’t approve you seeking a warrant based on what you have now,” Jay said to Arena. “Sorry. After Feeny . . .” He shrugged.

  Arena nodded as he watched Berg weave her way toward the bathrooms, more concerned about her than anything Jay was saying, but the captain’s meaning was clear. He and Berg had lost credibility after the Feeny debacle, within the station and in the state’s attorney office. No judge was going to sign a warrant based solely on anything they had to say right now.

  But he knew Berg was right.

  Dammit! Berg’s always right. She’s the best cop I’ve ever worked with. Not to mention hot . . . and amazing . . . and strong. Shit.

  He was in an impossible situation and had no idea what he was going to do about it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Everything you know,

  and never knew.

  Will run through your fingers,

  just like sand.

  Enjoy it while you can.

  –Faith No More, “Last Cup of Sorrow”

  Berg refused to go home when Jay had tried to insist through the bathroom stall door ten minutes after she’d thrown up in his office. Instead, she’d stayed at the station trying to think of something, anything, to get probable cause. They needed evidence to get a warrant, and since Elizabeth obviously wasn’t foolish enough to incriminate herself, Berg only had one option, and it wasn’t an option that she cared to consider.