Deadly Aim

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Frank was doing better. His color had returned, and there was talk of him going home in a day or two. He’d been placed on medical leave and wasn’t too happy about it. Angel doubted they’d let him come back to work at all.

  Most of the guys she and her dad worked with had come in at least once, bringing cards, balloons, and flowers and trying to lift his spirits. Detective Riley had been in once as well. He’d told her he had some questions but that they could wait until things settled down. Then in an act of supreme kindness, he’d driven her to her apartment to get her car and had gone in with her. He’d offered to help her clean up, and they spent the better part of two hours picking through the mess. There were a few salvageable items they were able to put away, but most of it would have to be dumped—something she set aside for another day.

  The media had picked up the story about Angel’s father, and for a while at least, not one of them had bothered her, not even when she’d gone to her parents’ place to shower and wash her clothes. They had taken to reporting other events, other tragedies, but every day the newspaper managed to run an article about some aspect of the case.

  In the latest, the one she’d thrown to the floor only minutes before, the writer had titled his piece “Angel Gone Bad?” He’d cited Angel’s exemplary work with the police force, how as a woman officer she had beaten the odds, and how she often came into domestic violence situations and helped abuse victims find a way out. “Will one black mark destroy her career?” he had asked. Although most of the article had put her in a positive light, the title more than hinted at her guilt.

  Susan picked up the paper Angel had dropped.

  Angel glanced up at her sister-in-law. Sweet and attractive, Susan had been married to Tim for thirteen years now. They had two girls and one on the way. Susan placed a hand on her slightly rounded tummy as she straightened.

  “You didn’t have to pick that up. I’m sorry.”

  Susan shrugged and grinned. “Habit. Tim is always leaving newspapers lying around, and I’m always picking them up.”

  “Make him pick up after himself. He always was a slob. First Ma and now you.” She sighed.

  “Angel.” Susan reached for her hand. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you. I really wish I could help.”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do now but wait until the investi-gation is over.”

  “And that could take a while.” Detective Riley sauntered up to them, looking like he wished he were anywhere else. He rubbed his eyes and lowered himself into the chair across from Angel. “I know this is a bad time, but we need to talk.”

  “Right. You had some questions, and I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. I haven’t been avoiding you, it’s just...”

  “I know. You’ve been through more than your share.” His green gaze locked on hers. “We have a problem with the investigation involving you and the Hartwell kid.”

  Susan patted her hand. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she said as she headed for the doorway.

  Angel sat up straighter. “What’s the problem?” From the look on the detective’s face, she could tell the news wasn’t good.

  “The evidence is missing.”

  “What evidence? What are you talking about?”

  “Your duty gun and magazine, clothes, and everything else that was collected in regard to the shooting. I put it in one of the temporary evidence lockers at the station on Sunday night with instructions that it be sent to Portland first thing Monday morning. The clerk says she never saw the note or the evidence, which means someone took it.” The detective leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, his eyes assessing hers.

  “Took it? But that doesn’t make sense.”

  “That’s what I thought at first.”

  Angel stared at the painting on the wall, a copy of Monet’s “Waterlillies,” barely able to assemble the unsettling news. “But why? Who would do such a thing?”

  Riley leaned back, his gaze never leaving her face. “You.”

  Angel bounced out of her seat and went to stand by the window. “You can’t be serious. What reason would I have? The evidence would just tell you whether or not the bullets that killed Billy came from my gun. It’s not like I’m a suspect in a murder investigation.”

  “Think about it. You’d be the only one to benefit from the missing evidence.”

  Angel folded her arms, refusing to look at him or into his accusing eyes. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  He got up and came to stand beside her. She found his closeness intimidating and unnerving. “Without your gun and magazine, we can’t prove the bullets that killed that boy came from your gun. All we have is circumstantial evidence.”

  “And my testimony. I admitted to shooting him. I’m not trying to get away with anything here.”

  His eyes bored into hers. “And that would be the testimony where you said you’d fired only one of the three shots?”

  Angel tore her gaze from his and, wrapping her arms around herself, turned back toward the window, which offered a view of the parking lot and a tree-lined sidewalk. Several hospital workers in colorful scrubs stood near a tree, smoking.

  Riley was waiting for an answer, arms folded, looking frustrated and angry. She didn’t blame him. Vital evidence was missing, and he’d been responsible for it. She couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t put the pieces together. Who would have stolen the evidence? Did the detective really believe her capable of doing such a thing? The thought made her nauseous.

  “What do you want me to do?” she finally asked. “I could tell you I fired all three shots, but I honestly don’t remember doing that.” She frowned. “What I can tell you for certain is that I did fire at Billy, but I didn’t intend to kill him, and I certainly didn’t steal any evidence.”

  Angel looked so cold and lost, her arms folded close to her chest. Callen wanted to believe her. While part of him said to keep badgering her for answers, another part yearned to pull her into his arms. Unwilling to do either, he went to the coffeemaker and poured himself a cup then stirred in sugar and cream. Distancing himself from Angel and taking a couple sips of the brew brought things back into balance.

  “When you fired at the kid, did you pick up your casings?” he asked.

  She swung toward him, apparently confused by the sudden change of direction. “What?”

  “The casings. You know, the shell that flies out of the chamber when you fire.”

  She looked horrified that he had even asked. “No, of course not. All I could think about was Billy and trying to stop the bleeding.”

  “There were no casings found around the body.” He peered at her over his cup. “Any idea where they ended up?”

  “Maybe someone kicked them away when they came in.” Angel turned away from him as tears rose in her eyes and threatened to spill. “I don’t remember seeing them.”

  “Do you still have your key to the evidence locker?”

  She closed her eyes and bit her lip. “No. I turned it over to Joe the day of the shooting.”

  Her name was on the list as still having it. But although he had to consider her a suspect in the theft of the evidence, he doubted she had done it. Seeing her reaction confirmed his gut feelings. If she had turned in the key as she’d said, there had to be another player. “Who besides you wouldn’t want the crime lab technicians sorting through the evidence?”

  “I have no idea, unless...” He noted a change in her when she came toward him. Her eyes seemed brighter. “Unless there was another shooter.”

  Callen had to admit that Angel’s first mention of having fired only one shot had left him full of doubts. Now, in light of the missing evidence, the second shooter theory was beginning to make sense.

  If there had been another shooter, that person wouldn’t want Angel’s gun examined, because that would prove she had indeed fired only once. He thought of the Monroe kid, whose body he’d found on the wharf, and wondered if by some strange coincidence there might be a con
nection. Callen had worked on complex investigations before, but this one had more twists and turns and dead ends than a maze.

  Angel placed a hand on his arm, her eyes moving up to meet his. “Please believe me. The last thing I’d want to do is compromise this investigation.”

  The look in her eyes was almost his undoing. His arms ached with the desire to hold her, but he couldn’t—for way too many reasons. He was supposed to be an objective investigator. He had to remember that. He straightened, and in a voice that sounded harsh even to his own ears, he said, “For your sake, I hope not.”

  Her arms fell to her side and her shoulders slumped. Callen could only imagine the depth of her despair. He cleared his throat. “Joe Brady asked me to tell you to come in.”

  “Now?”

  “As soon as possible.” He hated doing this to her. She’d been through so much already. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Joe, just before coming to the hospital, and could barely conceal his anger.

  Angel went back to the chair she’d been sitting in to retrieve her bag. Her heart raced for fear he’d read her thoughts. That he’d see she was holding back information that could be vital to the case. She didn’t want to tell him the name that had popped into her head when she’d talked again about the second shooter. She couldn’t tell him about the one man who would do anything to protect his little girl. The man who had been at the scene and left.

  “You should call your lawyer. Have him meet you there,” Detective Riley said.

  “You’re right.” She dug into her bag for Randy Grover’s number, then pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll call, though I’m not sure it’ll do any good. He lives in Portland, and I doubt he’ll be able to get here soon enough.”

  “Wait for him.” He made it sound like an order.

  “I thought you said Joe wanted to see me right away.”

  “He can wait.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Angel didn’t like the worried look on his face.

  “Anything I tell you would be speculation on my part. I’m just saying that you need your lawyer there just in case...”

  “In case?” Fear gripped her, turning her stomach inside out. “In case they arrest me? Could they do that?”

  He hesitated a few seconds too long.

  “They’re going to arrest me?” Angel couldn’t seem to stop the panic rising up inside her like bubbles in a shaken-up can of soda.

  “Angel, stop.” The detective guided her to a chair. “Sit down.”

  She sat, her hands gripping the wooden arms.

  “First of all, I don’t think you’re going to be arrested.” His voice was firm and strangely reassuring. “I doubt Joe would go that far. There’s a lot of political garbage going on here, and the district attorney is talking about charging you with man one.”

  Angel sat straight and stiff. She didn’t want to believe that Joe would let this happen. Man one, manslaughter first degree, was the taking of a human life while displaying extreme indifference. “How could he do that? The last thing I feel toward that kid is indifference. I’ve never felt so terrible about anything in my life.”

  Two hours later, Angel parked near the entrance of the Sunset Cove Police Station and went inside. She had taken Detective Riley’s advice about calling Randy, who had promised to meet her at the station at 12:30. She had spent two hours shopping for clothes and had gone back to her parents’ house to shower and change. She’d found a sale at the outlet stores in Lincoln City and purchased jeans, slacks, and three tops. She had thought about going home but couldn’t bear facing the huge pile of garbage. Tomorrow, she promised herself. She’d go home and finish cleaning up things tomorrow. Provided she wasn’t sitting in jail.

  Rosie Gonzalez, the receptionist and Joe’s assistant, glanced up from her computer when Angel walked in. “Hey, doll,” she said in that mellow southern drawl of hers. “How are you doin’?” Rosie buzzed Angel in, and while she waited for Angel to come through the security door, she swiveled around in her chair, preparing to give her a hug.

  Usually, Rosie’s hugs were wonderful. But this particular one was Angel’s undoing. Her throat clogged, and she couldn’t answer.

  “It’s okay, sugar.” Rosie handed her a tissue. “Bet you haven’t had a good cry since all this started.”

  Angel dabbed at the corners of her eyes and blew her nose. “Thanks. I’m trying not to.”

  Rosie shook her head, giving Angel a look of concern. “Cryin’ is good for the soul. Lets all that poison out of your system.”

  “You’re probably right.” Angel grabbed a tissue from her bag and blew her nose. “Just not right now.” She needed to rein in her emotions before talking to Joe.

  “How about I buy a half gallon of chocolate-chip mint ice cream and you come to my place tonight. We can eat and talk and cry and have ourselves a great time.”

  “Thanks.” Angel chuckled. “Sounds like fun, but I’ll have to take a rain check.”

  “Sure, honey. Say, how’s your daddy doing?”

  “Better.” Angel frowned as her suspicions surfaced again. And with the suspicions came guilt. How could she suspect her own father? He was an honest man. She refused to entertain the idea that he could have been there, backing her up and later stealing the evidence.

  “We sure do miss him around here.” Rosie tapped her artificial pink nails on the counter before going around to the office side.

  Angel had known Rosie since tenth grade, when Rosie and her parents had moved up from Texas. Rosie had immediately fallen in love with Angel’s brothers—all of them. In high school, she’d swooned over Luke. After he left, she turned her attention to Tim and actually cried at his wedding. The last Angel had heard, Rosie was ready to settle for either of her twin brothers, Peter and Paul. In fact, only last month she’d taken Angel aside. “If those bachelor brothers of yours ever get serious and start looking for a wife, tell them I’m still available.”

  Rosie hadn’t mentioned Peter or Paul lately, and Angel soon discovered why. Nick Caldwell ambled in, and Rosie’s cheeks flushed.

  “Hey, Angel.” Nick Caldwell leaned on the counter. “How’s it going?”

  She shrugged. “All right, considering.”

  “Good.” Nick turned to Rosie and winked before heading out the door.

  Just then, Angel’s attorney came in. “Hello, Angel. Hope I’m not too late.”

  “No, I haven’t talked to Joe yet.”

  “I’ll let him know you’re here,” Rosie offered. She spoke on the phone for a moment with Joe, then buzzed Randy in.

  Joe was leaning against his desk when they walked into his office. “Have a seat,” he said.

  Angel sank onto one of the straight-backed wooden chairs. Randy took the one beside her.

  “Detective Riley said you wanted to see me.”

  “Yeah.” He hitched a leg up on the corner of his desk. “I’m not going to beat around the bush here, Delaney. The DA is getting pressure from the mayor and the governor’s office to press charges against you. If they go ahead with the arrest, you’ll be brought up on charges of manslaughter first degree.” He stood and went around to his chair, putting his desk between them. “It isn’t formal yet, so we won’t be arresting you.”

  “Why? Giving me a chance to skip town?” Sarcasm dripped from every word; anger was quickly replacing fear. How dare they even think about charging her with anything?

  Randy cleared his throat. “That’s not something to joke about, Angel.”

  Joe glared at her. “Don’t even think about going anywhere.” He sat in his chair and sighed. His shoulders sagged as he clasped his hands on his desk.

  Randy tapped his pen on his pad. “I’ll talk to the DA and see what’s going on. Maybe we can get him to go for criminally negligent homicide. In any case, you won’t do jail time. Just turn yourself in and pay your bail, which would be one hundred thousand dollars with 10 percent acceptable—”

  “And get printed and mugged
like a criminal. But I haven’t done anything wrong!” Angel clamped her mouth shut before she said something she’d regret.

  “Listen, Delaney, I wish we could make this business go away,” Joe said. “I think eventually it will. In the meantime, all we can do is appease the public and let justice take its course.”

  “I’m not sure I trust the system,” she retorted.

  Joe’s frown told her he didn’t either.

  “Detective Riley told me about the missing evidence,” she said. “I told him I’d turned my key over to you.”

  Joe frowned. “Did you? I don’t recall.”

  “How can you not remember? Detective Riley thinks I took the evidence. Now you’re saying you lost the key?” She should have watched him log it in and gotten a receipt.

  “Hold on, here. What evidence? Care to enlighten me?” Randy leaned forward.

  Joe filled him in on the details while Randy drew boxes in the margins of his legal pad.

  “Without evidence, the DA doesn’t have a case.” Randy put his pad into his briefcase.

  “We have witnesses and Angel’s testimony.” Joe rubbed a hand over his bald spot and turned to Angel. “There’s something else. Even if the DA decides not to charge you, it isn’t over. The kid’s family has talked to an attorney. They want to bring a civil suit against you and the city for fifty million dollars.”

  “Fifty million.” She closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Then she turned to Randy and asked, “Did you know about the civil suit?”

  “Yes. I got a call this morning. I was planning to talk to you about it. Maybe we could have coffee.” He looked uncomfortable and probably didn’t want to talk in front of Joe.

  Joe pushed his chair back and got to his feet, apparently ready for them to leave. She stood as well. Randy leaned across the desk to shake hands with Joe. “We’ll be in touch.”