by Sharon Dunn
Tyler ran his hand, through his blond hair and cleared his throat. “As you know, several times I have been out to where the Emerys lived, trying to track down this ‘Andy’ that Lucy refers to. We’ve found several people who go by that name or a similar-sounding name, but when we show Lucy a photograph, she shakes her head.”
Jackson picked up on the frustration in Tyler’s voice.
“What about a kid who goes by that name? Maybe from the playground or day care in that neighborhood,” suggested Jackson.
“Covered those bases,” Tyler said. “Also looked into the possibility that it was a senior citizen she might have had contact within the neighborhood.” Tyler shook his head. “I feel like I’m at a dead end.”
Detective Nate Slater spoke up. “We really need a break in this case for Lucy’s sake. I need to know my little girl is safe.” His voice filled with intense emotion.
Jackson clenched his teeth. When was this case going to break? “I agree. This thing needs to move forward. If we can’t track down this Andy guy, maybe Darcy can get something usable off the fiber from the crime scene.”
Gavin thanked Tyler and excused everyone from the briefing, reminding them to stay safe. Officers with K-9 partners dispersed in different directions. Jackson was walking past the front desk counter, where Penny MacGregor typed on a computer keyboard, when his phone rang. He recognized the number as Darcy’s.
He pressed the connect button. “Darcy, how are you?”
“So, I thought you might want to know that the gun you found in the trash can in Prospect Park is a ballistics match for the one that killed Griffin Martel.”
“That’s good news, right? It’s a step forward in that case.” He’d detected a slight lilt in Darcy’s voice that he had not heard before.
“That’s not what has me bent out of shape, though. I also got a print match off the gun.” She hesitated for a moment. It sounded like she had taken in a sharp, quick breath. “You’re not going to believe who it belongs to.”
Even through the phone, he detected a level of tension. “Try me?”
“Reuben Bray.”
It took Jackson a moment to process what she’d said. When the information sunk in, it was like a slap across his jaw. “You mean the guy who is sitting in jail right now and has been for months?”
“The press is going to have a field day with this,” Darcy said. “But I can’t avoid it. I have to hold a press conference. They already think I didn’t do my job with Reuben’s case.” Her voice filled with tension. “I can’t prove it, but my gut tells me the evidence was planted to make me look bad. Griffin Martel’s death somehow connects back to Reuben Bray—and not because Reuben killed him. That would be impossible. Someone is trying to set me up to look incompetent. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“The trial is soon, right? There’s a potential that the whole thing could be thrown out because of this,” Jackson noted.
“Exactly, maybe someone is trying to bungle the trial so Reuben walks,” she said. “The one bit of forensic evidence that supports my theory is that the fingerprints were a match, but they were partials. There was some smudging and smearing, which makes me think that someone wearing gloves could have fired the gun after Reuben held it.”
“Is that something that could be brought up in court for Griffin Martel’s case?”
“It’s a stretch. We really need more to go on,” she said. “Plus, it’s not the Griffin Martel case I’m worried about. It’s Reuben Bray’s that this taints.”
“When is your press conference?”
“Toward the end of my day. We’ve already sent out notice to the news outlets. We’re holding it inside the lab so there is no chance of that woman shooting at me from far away. There’s a small conference room at the end of the hallway.”
Although he was sure security measures were in place, the press conference meant lots of strange people milling around the lab. A fake press pass could be used easily enough if it wasn’t examined closely. Darcy would still be in danger. “I’ll still be on shift, but I’m sure Gavin will let me be there for protection as long as Smokey and I are not out on a call.”
“That makes me feel a little better,” she said. “This is going to be a long day.”
“If you are feeling up to it... Maybe when you’re done with the reporters, we can go out to Rikers and talk to Reuben. He could have set this whole thing up from his jail cell.”
“Oh, I’m more than feeling up to it. I want this resolved. There is no way I will let Reuben Bray walk out of that jail a free man. See you later today.”
“If I can’t be there for the press conference, I’ll make sure someone from the unit is, Darcy. We have your back.”
“You have no idea how good it is to hear that.”
He clicked off the phone. Stirred up by the news that Darcy had given him, he and Smokey headed out to the patrol SUV. He made the decision that when he went over to provide protection for Darcy, he would try to commandeer the help of at least one other K-9 officer.
* * *
Darcy’s stomach did flip-flops as she watched the security screen in the lab that provided a view of the parking lot. Several press vans had already pulled in. “They’re early.”
Harlan cupped a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll point them toward the conference room. You don’t have to make an appearance until your protection shows up.”
“Thanks, Harlan.”
Harlan stepped toward the door. “Lock the door behind me.”
Her throat tightened a little. They both were acutely aware of the danger she faced 24/7. After Harlan left, she returned her attention to the security screen. Two more cars with news logos on the side pulled into the lot. She watched the screen, hoping, praying, that it would be Jackson and Smokey standing by the podium with her.
A dog and his handler came on-screen—Vivienne Armstrong and her border collie, Hank. Then a second K-9 pair, Detective Bradley McGregor and his Malinois, King, came into view. They were followed by Belle Montera and her German shepherd, Justice. Finally, Jackson and Smokey appeared on-screen, as well. Darcy thought she might cry. They really did have her back.
She watched as the two female officers stopped the first reporters before they could enter the building. Vivienne, Hank heeled at her side, checked their credentials and did a pat-down for weapons before the reporters were allowed to enter. Belle and Justice stood by. Darcy knew from having interacted with the K-9 Unit that Justice was trained for protection.
A few minutes later, there were five knocks on the lab door, three fast and two slow. Jackson’s code. She pressed the security code to unlock the door.
Jackson, dressed in full uniform, stood there with Smokey. “I’m here to escort you to the conference room,” he said, adding, “One officer and his K-9 are in place in the room already. King, Detective McGregor’s Malinois, is trained in protection, so you are in good hands. Officer Vivienne Armstrong and Hank, along with Belle Montera and Justice, will guard the outside door, controlling who gets in.”
Her heart swelled with gratitude. “I saw how many officers showed up to help. Thanks, Jackson.”
She stepped out, making sure the lab was locked behind her. Jackson had thought of everything to keep her safe.
She smoothed over the front of her tan blazer and then glanced down at her polka-dotted pumps. The shoes made her smile.
They walked together down the hall. All eyes were on her as she entered the room and took her place behind the podium. Jackson and Smokey stood to one side, while Bradley and King were positioned by the door.
Darcy laced her hands together and rested them on the podium. She looked out at the eager faces waiting for her to speak and took in a breath that she hoped would quiet her turbulent stomach.
“As you know, the killer of Griffin Martel is still at large. We had a breakthrough in the ca
se today. On the night the body was located, Officer Davison of the Brooklyn K-9 Unit found a gun in a nearby trash can, after chasing an unknown person who’d been hiding in the foliage near the victim. We don’t know if that person was involved in the homicide of Mr. Martel or who the gun belonged to, but we do know it was the murder weapon.” She turned her head slightly toward Jackson and Smokey.
Ever the professionals, they both stood at attention, focusing on the crowd of gathered reporters.
She looked out at the journalists while cameras flashed. “The bullet that killed Griffin Martel is a match for the gun we found. The gun was not registered, which means it was probably obtained illegally.” She stared down at the podium for a moment before taking a breath and looking up. “There was a set of prints found on the gun. Those prints belong to Reuben Bray.”
She braced for the barrage of questions and accusations.
“Aren’t you set to testify in his trial this week?”
“Yes,” she said. Her heart raced and her stomach felt like it had rock in it.
“How can a man sitting in a prison cell commit a murder?”
“He can’t.” Darcy knew she wasn’t allowed to offer her theory that she was being set up to look like she couldn’t do her job. She had to deal in the facts. She reiterated the evidence that had initially led to Reuben’s indictment for murder.
“Do you think you might have made in a mistake analyzing the evidence that sent Reuben Bray to jail for murder in the first place?”
“No, I do not.”
A female reporter, who Darcy recognized from a regional television station, took two steps toward her. “Miss Fields, since the Brooklyn K-9 Unit was involved in Reuben Bray’s initial capture, maybe you were feeling some pressure from them to bring forth some evidence to put him away.”
“That is not the case.” Her voice rose half an octave. She swallowed and gripped the sides of the podium to try to regain control of her emotions. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jackson twitch. The accusation bothered him, too. “I assure you that Forensics works with all of the units in the NYPD with the utmost integrity.”
A male reporter interjected, “So the trial of Reuben Bray will go forward?”
Motion at the back of the room by the door caught Darcy’s attention. A blonde stepped out from behind a camera being operated by a man. She looked right at Darcy and then stepped through the door. A chill ran down Darcy’s spine.
“Miss Fields? Are you going to answer the question?” another reporter called out.
The blond woman had been dressed in a suit and had a press pass around her neck. The look she had given Darcy had been filled with malice. Darcy’s heart raged in her chest.
Jackson must have picked up on her alarm. He and Smokey moved toward her and, wrapping his arm across her back, Jackson led her away from the podium. “I think Miss Fields has answered enough questions today.”
“You’re from the Brooklyn K-9 Unit, aren’t you? You and Miss Fields seem very cozy,” a female reporter, who Darcy knew to be from a local newspaper, quipped.
Jackson’s jaw turned to granite. “Miss Fields has had threats against her life. She requires protection.”
One of the reporters spoke under his breath. “This whole thing stinks of collusion.”
More than anything, Darcy wanted to respond to the accusation, but she knew silence was the more professional choice.
Jackson led her through the crowded room toward the conference room door as the peppering of questions continued. Smokey remained close. Once they were in the hallway, the reporters followed them to the lab.
Harlan was waiting for them, holding the lab door open. They slipped inside while the lab tech stood in the hallway to answer the reporters’ questions.
Darcy turned to face him. “Jackson, I saw her. She was at the news conference at the back of the room. I know it was her.” It had been at least five minutes since the woman had left the room. There had been no opportunity to tell him earlier with the reporters crowding them.
Jackson’s eyes grew wide. He pressed the call button on his radio. “Suspect on the run just outside the forensics lab.” He clicked off the radio. “What did she look like?”
“Blond, dressed in a navy suit. Press pass.”
Jackson relayed the information.
She could still hear the commotion of the reporters on the other side of the door though it sounded like it was dying down a little.
Darcy glanced at the surveillance screen. Some of the news vans were pulling out of the parking lot. She watched as Vivienne ran across the lot with Hank and disappeared.
A moment later, her voice came across Jackson’s radio. “I found a blond wig and a press pass in the garbage.”
“She’s probably long gone.” Darcy sighed, trying not to give in to despair. She had a feeling the woman had also been wearing a wig when she’d thrown off the baseball cap after fleeing the museum. The Manhattan forensics lab was testing it for DNA, but Darcy didn’t hold out too much hope that the perp would be ID’d that way.
“We’re not giving up that easily,” Jackson said. “At least we can use the wig to put the tracking dog onto her. If she’s close by and hasn’t gotten into a car, we might still have a chance at catching her. She might be hiding somewhere close waiting for her chance to get at you.”
Darcy allowed a realization to sink in. “I think all of this is connected to Reuben Bray and his trial. The gun was planted to make me look incompetent. And that woman...” She shook her head. “I think she’s trying to stop the trial either by getting it thrown out or by killing me.”
“You might be right,” Jackson conceded. “One thing is for sure. We have to get out to Rikers and talk to Reuben Bray. We need to find out who she is and if she has a connection to Reuben.”
“Let’s go,” Darcy said.
They passed through the door as Harlan entered the lab. A trickle of reporters remained in the hallway and in the parking lot. As they hurried to Jackson’s SUV, some continued to snap pictures of Jackson and Darcy together. Darcy knew she couldn’t control the press’s fixated narrative, though it bothered her that a cloud had shadowed her work and that of the Brooklyn K-9 Unit for unfair reasons.
TWELVE
After informing Dispatch where he was going and why, Jackson focused on driving to the prison. The report came across his radio that the search for the woman Darcy had seen at the press conference had yielded nothing.
That meant she was still at large. The tracking dogs would have located her if she had remained anywhere close. As long as she was out there, he had to assume that they both were still under threat.
Darcy’s phone rang. She clicked it on and gave short one-word answers to whomever she was talking to on the other end of the line. “Thanks, Harlan.” She ended the call and told Jackson, “So the judge was informed about the fingerprints on the gun before I held the press conference. He just sent us a response. He wants to go forward with Reuben’s trial. He regards the Griffin Martel murder as a separate case.” He picked up on the distress in Darcy’s voice. She turned and stared out the window.
“Legally, that’s true, but the press won’t treat it that way.”
Once they arrived at Rikers, they left Smokey in the SUV with the air-conditioning on and the doors locked, a feature he appreciated, and walked across the parking lot to the entrance of the prison.
Jackson explained to the desk clerk that they needed to speak to Reuben Bray. They were searched and led through a series of security gates into a room where they were instructed to sit at a desk separated by a wall of glass with another desk on the other side. Reuben was only allowed non-contact visits. Less violent prisoners could sit at a table with their loved ones and lawyers. There were at least ten visitor stations in this room. Only one station on the far side was occupied by a gray-haired woman who clutched her purse
and spoke to a twentysomething man on the other side of the glass.
Jackson retrieved a second chair. He patted Darcy’s hand where it rested on the desk. She glanced at him, smiling. A door at the end of the room opened and Reuben Bray was escorted by a guard. He took his seat at the desk opposite them. The guard stood behind him.
“Darcy, how good to see you. And I see you brought a friend.” Reuben offered her a hundred-watt smile.
The press might be taken in by his good looks and charm, but Jackson could barely contain his irritation. The guy was a slimy manipulator.
Darcy’s stern expression suggested she wasn’t fooled by his act, either.
“I’m sure you heard—or maybe you already knew—that we found your prints on the gun that killed Griffin Martel.”
Again, Reuben grinned. “Wow, that’s interesting.” He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and leered at her. “How could that happen? I’ve been in this jail cell the whole time.” His tone became sarcastic. “Are you sure you did the fingerprint test right, Darcy?”
Jackson leaned forward, his hand balled into a fist. “Her name is Miss Fields.”
“Look, Reuben,” Darcy said, “the judge made the decision to move forward with your trial.”
A curtain seemed to drop over Reuben’s features and he pressed his lips together. The change was subtle, but Jackson was good at reading body language. Darcy’s news about the trial going forward had upset him.
“Whatever you and your female accomplice were hoping to sabotage by planting that gun didn’t work,” Jackson said.
Reuben’s brows knit together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He burst to his feet. “I’m done here. I want to go back to my cell.”
