“You were there beforehand, Cabot. You saw the man. Are you going to pretend he doesn’t exist now because it doesn’t fit your agenda?”
“I have an agenda?’
Cabot was smirking. Thorne lifted his eyes to Barnes.
“Look at his dash cam if you don’t believe me.”
He saw a small nod.
“All right,” Barnes said. “Describe the shooter to me.”
Thorne thought about Blake. His description couldn’t line up or they’d be on to it.
“He’s white. Five ten. Dark hair. Mid 30s. Maybe 190 pounds.”
Cabot snorted.
“Congratulations, Thorne. You just described every man in that roadhouse.”
Thorne ignored him, kept his eyes on Barnes.
“What was he wearing?”
“Blue jeans, black canvas jacket. Boots.”
Barnes pulled a chair over from against the wall, flipped it around and sat on it so the back was in front of his chest.
“You said the man approached you and was immediately aggressive.”
“That’s right.”
Thorne saw a problem in his story as soon as he said the words. If they were in the car talking the drunk would never have seen them. Not unless the interior light was on, and since they weren’t teenagers on a date, that could be pretty much ruled out.
“You were already outside the vehicle?”
“Yes.”
Barnes was sharp. Perhaps he should’ve left it to Cabot after all.
“I see. Why were you in this parking lot in the middle of nowhere at two a.m.?”
“No reason at all. Like I said before, it’d been a long day and we just went for a drive. It was a spontaneous thing. We stopped there because it was far enough and we were going to head back afterward. It was our turnaround.”
“You stopped to use the rest room, is that it?”
Thorne’s eye was drawn to a sticker on the wall behind Barnes.
“No. To have a cigar.”
“You left the vehicle to smoke a cigar?”
“The smell is difficult to remove. Lauren doesn’t like it.”
The deputy nodded, like it was making sense now.
“Where was Senator Ashcroft when the man first appeared?”
Cabot glanced sharply at Barnes.
“Standing right next to me. We were talking when this guy walked up with an attitude. I suggested to James that he go back to his SUV while I dealt with it. I figured the man recognized me from the news or from my TV show, and wanted to take a swing at me. It’s happened before. I wasn’t worried, he was smaller than me and was clearly intoxicated.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know he was armed.”
“You said before Ashcroft was in the SUV.”
“And he was, except at the very beginning. I didn’t think it was important.”
“This is ridiculous,” Cabot cut in. “Admit it. There was no drunk. You fired the shot.”
“You’re saying that I risked my life to save him at the mall so that I could shoot him a couple of weeks later. That makes more sense to you, does it?”
“We haven’t got to the bottom of the shoot-out yet, Thorne. But we will. We’re close. I’m sure that black van will contain all kinds of interesting evidence.”
Thorne said nothing. He’d said too much already.
“Since you mention the TV show,” Cabot continued, “We called some of your coworkers last week. Want to take a guess what they had to say about you?”
Thorne took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had a damn good idea what they said. That he’d been in a fight with a man matching the description of the lead gunman just days before the attack on the Ashcrofts, and that he’d tried to kill him right there in the bar. It would tie him to Blake, at least as much as Coop’s video footage.
“I imagine they said I’m a great guy and a pleasure to work with.”
The lieutenant scowled. “In fact, that’s almost exactly what they said.”
Thorne laughed. He’d had his ups and downs with the cast and crew over the years, but when it came right down to it, they were a loyal bunch. He noticed that neither of the deputies appreciated his laughter, which made it harder to stop.
“I apologize. Please carry on.”
“You laugh, but I’ve not told the funny part yet. Detective Barnes spoke to forty-two coworkers of yours, past and present. Took him nearly a day, running down those names and numbers. They said you are a good guy, you work hard, train hard - some even said you’ve a great sense of humor. I got to say, that surprised me, you don’t strike me as the funny type.”
“What’s your point? Being popular isn’t a crime.”
Cabot shook his head, as if he was dealing with a fool. “You’re not getting it. Forty-two people said the same thing about you. The same words and phrases appear over and over again. That only happens when a story’s been arranged beforehand. They’re lying to protect you, which means you have something to hide.”
Thorne had to stop himself from smiling. The studio had brushed everything under the carpet, possibly floating the idea of a movie version of the show that was reported in the news as a way to keep everyone sweet.
“That’s an interesting theory, Lieutenant.”
“Those people might be in your pocket now, Thorne, but I guarantee you that when I get them in here and start talking about aiding and abetting a murder suspect, you’re going to hear a different story come out.”
“Who did I murder again? I keep forgetting.”
Cabot stood abruptly, his chair falling over backward.
“Don’t push me, Thorne!”
“You going to hit me with your gun again?”
“What?”
Thorne tilted his head forward and parted his hair.
“This ringin’ any bells for you, Cabot?”
“Jesus, boss. What did you do?”
Thorne could tell from Barnes’ face that he believed it. Cabot, meanwhile, appeared frozen between surprise and guilt. He had hit him on the top of his head, just not with any gun. There was more there, crawling under the skin. He’d wanted to do more, but there’d been no time. The paramedics had arrived, pinning him down. He thought of the lieutenant’s dash cam footage. It had been dark in that parking lot with Blake, but by the time Cabot returned there’d been the light from Ashcroft’s burning SUV.
Would the footage reveal if Cabot’s hand had been empty?
“Boss? Say something.”
There was a knock on the door and another deputy came in. When he saw Thorne he flashed a smile. The lieutenant looked up.
“What is it, Summersby?”
“Thorne’s lawyer’s here. She’s demanding to see him immediately.”
“His lawyer?” Cabot swung around. “When did you call a lawyer?”
Thorne smiled. Lauren. She hadn’t believed the lieutenant’s lies. Cabot must’ve told her he’d been arrested, or else she’d figured it out from his absence. He sat back in his seat and relaxed. He’d been against going the lawyer route but now that it had happened, he knew it was the right way to go. Cabot could keep him bottled up here for hours and all the while Kate was out there with Blake who had to be close to cutting and running. An exchange for the painting was the only thing keeping her alive, and that ended as soon as they announced he was arrested. He looked up from the table and found the three cops were watching him, waiting for an answer.
“GET ME MY LAWYER!”
The sudden volume of his voice in the small room knocked them back and the third cop, Summersby, scuttled away without a word from the lieutenant.
“Finally we see your true colors.”
Cabot sounded weak and it looked like he heard the defeat in his own voice, because he flinched after he spoke.
FORTY-FIVE
Thorne heard the lawyer before he saw her. She spoke fast and left no gaps where she could be interrupted. He found himself wondering how she could talk and breathe at the same time. He tracked her pro
gress through the building and up to the door of the interview room. It opened and Barnes stood there with a red face next to the lawyer. She wore an immaculate navy-black pant suit with a white shirt with the first three buttons undone and what appeared to be a man’s tie with a large square knot pulled halfway down. She had a strong masculine look to her face and it appeared she’d decided to accentuate it, rather than soften it. She strode into the room and thrust her hand out toward him.
“Nicky Kaplan, pleased to meet you.”
He shook her hand. It was a solid grip, like she frequently spent time gripping the pommel of a mechanical bull in sports bars. Her eye contact was one hundred percent as their hands moved up and down. She was assessing him. The shake ended and she placed a briefcase down on the floor. As she bent down, her pants rode up revealing boots with a thick Cuban heel, like those worn by Stockton. It wasn’t the only resemblance either, the open-necked shirt was practically his wardrobe.
She turned to Barnes who stood in the doorway watching.
“Are you still here? Piss off.”
Barnes shook his head and left, closing the door behind him.
“He’s actually the friendly one,” Thorne said.
“Don’t you believe it. Give me the old, fat lion any day of the week.” She walked to the door and looked at the switches next to it, then up at the camera. She pressed a switch and nodded to herself. “Okay, we have the place to ourselves.”
She sat in Cabot’s seat, took her cell phone out and placed it on the table between them. Thorne glanced at the screen and saw a voice recorder display. She stated her name, his name, their location and the date.
“I record all my interviews, Mr Thorne. Nothing personal. I don’t take notes anymore, waste of time. I can't read my own handwriting.”
“Are you married?”
She raised her eyebrow.
“You don’t waste any time, do you. Yes, why do you ask?”
“What was your surname before?”
Her eyes narrowed, amusement fading.
“Kaplan. This isn’t the 1950s.”
“Sorry, it’s been a long night. You reminded me of someone when you came in. I thought maybe you were related.”
“A friend of yours?”
“No, he’s an asshole.”
Thorne smiled and Nicky Kaplan smiled back.
“Maybe he is related after all. How about you tell me everything that happened tonight, followed by anything you think is relevant, like the way they’ve treated you.”
He gave her the same version he gave the cops, he saw no point telling her about Blake and the painting. It sounded ridiculous to his own ear now, but she listened and nodded without comment. He guessed that true stories often did sound stupid, unlike events in his TV show, where one thing always built to another with no dead spots. Fiction had become his touchstone for truth and he thought he had a pretty good ear for what sounded believable. The only part of his story she reacted to, was Cabot striking him during the arrest. Here, she interrupted his story to examine his injury.
When he finished, there was a different light in her eyes. She stopped the voice recorder and put her phone back into her pocket. He could tell that she was preparing what to say to Cabot, or someone higher up the food chain.
“I need to get out of here. How long is this going to take?”
“Mr Thorne, if you’re still here in 20 minutes I’ll be very surprised.”
His stay lasted maybe half that, with most of the time taken up by a nurse sowing two stitches into his scalp. He’d really thrown Cabot under the bus with this head wound business but he couldn’t say that he was sorry about it.
After the nurse left, his lawyer came back and stood in the doorway.
“How about it, Thorne? You ready to blow this dump?”
“Very much so.”
“Come on. I have a husband and a labrador to get home to.”
Thorne nodded and got to his feet. Barnes was waiting in the corridor with a sour look on his face. They set off along the corridor, Barnes on his right and Nicky Kaplan on his left. The sheriff’s deputy had the lethargic motion of someone rousted out of their bed just as they were getting to the good part, while his lawyer strode purposefully along the corridor, apparently unfazed by the early hour. Lieutenant Cabot, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen. The big man would be keeping his head down, embarrassed as to the way things had gone.
He turned to Nicky Kaplan.
“So the charges are dropped?”
“For now. They’ll continue to process evidence taken tonight, including evidence from your hands and clothes, but I don’t think you’ll hear any more about it. Their own tests will exonerate you.”
Thorne nodded, although he wasn’t so sure. Getting him released gave the cops more time to investigate him. The 24 hour limit effectively disappeared. Her timely intervention removed the mistake Cabot made arresting him. The speed of his release suggested that the Sheriff’s Office had deliberately not fought to retain him in custody. Now, they could pour over Blake’s van off the clock and find whatever they needed.
“Cabot took my car keys and cell phone, can I get them back?”
“You’ll have to come back for them later,” Barnes said.
At the front, the detective peeled off to unlock the door.
Thorne’s eyes went past Barnes to movement outside.
Two figures stood in the darkness staring at him. Since neither held a cigarette, it was fair to assume they were waiting for him. A curved platform projected out over the entrance like a large thumbnail and the figures were taking limited shelter underneath it from the rain which continued to fall. He knew instinctively that neither figure was Lauren.
“Stay local, Thorne. We wouldn’t like it if we had to come look for you.”
Thorne grunted but said nothing.
“If you need to speak to my client you can contact me at my office. Any other contact will be considered harassment and grounds for civil action.”
Barnes wasn’t listening to the lawyer, he didn’t even look at her. His eyes were fixed on Thorne with an expression that was hard to read. It was the same flat expression people got looking at a television. Blank and emotionless. He’d always sensed that the deputy believed his account of the shoot-out, but the presence of the lawyer now had cost him that.
“Do yourself a favor, Detective. Check Cabot’s gun.”
The gaze dipped. “Already underway.”
Nicky Kaplan was trying to put herself between them, with little luck.
“Don’t say anything else, Mr Thorne. It’s what he wants.”
A smile appeared on Barnes’ face and he stepped aside. The lawyer took the opportunity to guide Thorne swiftly out through the door with her hand resting on the small of his back. In front of them, the two waiting figures lunged forward. A man and a woman. A bright light snapped on and Thorne squinted his eyes. A TV crew, he should’ve guessed. The smaller figure came forward and some of the light lit her face.
Jocelyn Cooper.
“Christopher Thorne, can you tell us what’s happened?”
To his surprise, he noticed his lawyer shrinking back and not closing down the interview. This was his opportunity to reassure Blake, tell him everything was fine and that he hadn’t named him. There was no need for him to hurt Kate, the deal was still on the table.
Thorne looked into the camera. He hadn’t prepared anything, but he knew how he wanted himself to appear. Sincere, upset, haunted even. He knew what to think about to produce the right effect on his face. How to speak.
“Late last night, I went for a drive with Senator Ashcroft. We stopped at a roadhouse, where I became involved in an argument with an unknown man who recognized me from TV. The man had been drinking heavily and for some reason picked me out for special treatment. I suggested he go home and sleep it off, at which point he pulled a gun and pointed it at my head. James Ashcroft, seated in his SUV behind us, saw what was about to happen and drove directly at th
e man to save me. The drunk fired a shot through the windshield, before being thrown up in the air by the vehicle. The SUV then crashed into a wall and burst into flames. When I looked around, the drunk had fled the scene. I pulled the senator from the wreckage and moved him a safe distance away but it was for nothing. The senator had been hit.”
Coop paused for a moment, uncertain.
“Are you saying that Senator Ashcroft is dead?”
The microphone came back over, pointed at him.
It hadn’t occurred to him that they wouldn’t know.
“Yes.”
Jocelyn Cooper appeared to be stunned by this revelation and the microphone continued to point at him, so he spoke again.
“By the time the air ambulance arrived, it was too late. He was gone. James Ashcroft saved my life without a thought for his own.”
He saw a look go across Coop’s face as she realized what everything meant.
“Then what happened?”
“Then Lieutenant Cabot arrested me for the senator’s murder.”
“Why did he arrest you?”
“You’d have to ask him that. He’s been pursuing a vendetta against me since we first met.” Thorne paused, thinking again about Ashcroft’s last moments. “I don’t want to talk anymore about the lieutenant or the things he’s done to me, they don’t compare to the loss of a man I considered a friend. A man who would’ve made a great president one day.”
He glanced at Nicky Kaplan and she came forward.
“My client has been released without charge, however this is still an active case with the Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Office and we must be mindful of their ongoing investigation. Our thoughts and prayers are with the senator’s wife at this very difficult time.”
As if it had been arranged, he and the lawyer walked out of shot and Jocelyn Cooper took their place in front of the camera. The reporter spoke for another couple of minutes wrapping things up but Thorne didn’t care to listen to it. He was tired to the bone. Nicky Kaplan handed him her business card and said she’d be in touch, then walked out to a huge beast of a Mercedes-Benz and climbed inside. She sat there with the interior light still on and made a quick call on her cell phone before starting the engine, reverse-turning and driving away. His eyes moved over the near-empty parking lot looking for Lauren’s car, but it wasn’t there.
Night Passenger Page 39
