“Mrs. Hartwell, I’m Angel Delaney.”
“I know who you are.” She glared at Angel. “I’d like you to leave.”
“Please, ma’am, I’d like to talk with you. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Billy.”
“A little late for that, isn’t it?”
“Mavis?” a gravelly voice called from inside. “Where are your manners, girl? Invite the woman in.”
Mavis stepped back, her chest rose and fell in resignation. “Come on in, then.” She opened the door. “I’m sorry for being rude. Isn’t the least bit Christian, is it?”
Angel stepped inside. The living room was neat and tidy despite the shabby furniture. An older woman, most likely the owner of the voice she’d heard earlier, sat in a rocker, a shawl over her shoulders and a crochet hook and yarn in her arthritic hands. The woman’s handiwork was evident in the many afghans and doilies lying about the room.
“That’s my mother, Emmie Broadman. Mama, this is the woman who shot Billy.” Mavis said it like she was introducing the Avon lady.
Angel’s mouth opened. She wanted to refute the statement, but it didn’t seem right. Even though her shot wasn’t the one that killed him, she was in part responsible for his death. If she hadn’t fired the first time, maybe he’d have gotten away.
“I’m going to fix me a cup of coffee.” Mavis nodded toward the older woman. “You want something?”
“Tea.” Emmie went back to whatever she was working on. “Some of that passion fruit stuff you brought home the other day.”
“How about you?” Mavis fixed her dark gaze on Angel.
“Coffee would be fine, thanks.”
“If you’re fixing to stay a while, you might as well have a seat,” Mavis called out as she walked into the kitchen.
Angel settled on the end cushion of the sofa. The original green fabric showed definite signs of wear, but it had been covered with a pale pink chenille bedspread. The little boy she’d seen on the porch peeked out from behind his grandmother’s chair. His dark eyes seemed to take up a quarter of his face. Angel offered a tentative smile, but he ducked out of sight.
“Angel.” Emmie sucked in her lower lip and released it several times. She had a round face that was drawn in at the mouth. “That’s a good name.”
“Thank you.” Angel glanced toward the kitchen and could see Mavis pulling down three cups. She wondered at the wisdom of coming here.
“Your mama have a reason for calling you Angel?” Emmie asked.
Angel snapped her head in the woman’s direction, caught off guard by the question. “I... I was born on Christmas Eve, and my mother heard the carolers singing ‘Angels We Have Heard on High.’”
Emmie chuckled. “Good a reason as any. You a Christian then?”
“I was raised a Christian.” Angel rubbed the thumb of her right hand.
“Now, that isn’t exactly what I asked you, is it?” Emmie lowered her crocheting and leveled a long, hard look at Angel.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do. You got a lost look about you. I’ve seen it too many times. You’ve lost your way, honey. But don’t you worry. The Lord’ll bring you back to the fold.”
Mavis came back into the living room with a tray. “Mama, are you preaching again?”
“Just making an observation.”
After handing Angel a cup, Mavis set the tray down on an end table beside her mother.
“She’s come to say she’s sorry,” Emmie said.
“I heard.” Mavis peered over at Angel and set her cup on the scarred coffee table atop a crocheted coaster. “I know the right thing would be to forgive you, but I’m not ready to do that just now.”
“I don’t expect you to.” Angel bit her lip. “I’m not going to make excuses, but I’d like you to know what happened. I... I thought he was one of the gang members who broke into Bergman’s Pharmacy. He’d been in trouble before. I thought your son had a real gun.”
“He wasn’t a gang member,” Mavis insisted loudly, then fell silent for a moment. “I guess I can understand how you might have thought that, though. Billy was heading down the wrong road for a while. But lately he’d been doing real good. Partly because of that police officer who’s been working with some of the neighborhood boys. Bo Williams, I think Billy said his name was.”
“Bo was working with Billy?”
Mavis nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “Truth be told, I blame myself for that morning more than I blame you. I never should have sent him out alone.”
Emmie set her handiwork aside and began stirring sugar into her tea.
“It doesn’t help to blame yourself,” Angel said. “You couldn’t have known about the robbery. If what you say is true, then Billy was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Emmie shook her head. “I think it’s us who ought to be apologizing to you,” she said. “Them boys who vandalized your place and busted up your car—and this lawsuit business. We didn’t want any part of that.”
“That’s right.” Mavis nodded. “We had nothing to do with that. We didn’t know half the people at my boy’s funeral. My brother decided to file the lawsuit. I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s got this idea in his head that you’re a racist and got to be punished.”
Angel took a sip of coffee. “If you feel that way, why not drop the case?”
“It’s not that simple.” Mavis sighed. “It’s not our fight anymore, and besides, when Ray decides to do something, there’s no stopping him.”
Angel rubbed the back of her neck. “I see. Do you think it would help if I talked to him?” She blew out a long breath. She shouldn’t even be here talking to these people. Rachael would have a fit. Not the smartest thing you’ve ever done. Too late to think about that now, though. You’re here.
“You could try, but he’s not the type to listen.”
The room was silent for an awkward moment. Then Emmie piped up. “Why did you come to the funeral?” she asked. “You sure managed to stir up a hornet’s nest.”
Sudden tears filled Angel’s eyes, and she blotted them with her fingers. “I wanted to say good-bye to Billy. I’ve never had to shoot anyone before, and believe me, I never wanted to hurt your son.”
Angel thought about telling them that she had fired only one of the shots, but would they believe her? She doubted it. It would be best to wait until she had proof.
As she put her coffee cup down and got ready to leave, the door flew open. A large shadow filled the doorway. Ray Broadman’s furious gaze flitted to her then fastened on Mavis. “What’s she doing here?” His voice was deep and threatening as thunder.
Angel had heard that voice before. Ray Broadman had been the obscene caller.
“She came to offer her condolences and say she was sorry about what happened.” Mavis leaned back, looking almost as frightened as Angel felt.
“And you believe her.” Teeth clamped, he snarled at Angel. “Get out. You got no business being here.”
“Ray, this is my home.” Mavis stood up and took a step toward him. “I have—”
Ray pushed her aside.
Angel didn’t want to cause Mavis any harm, so she moved toward the door. “It’s all right, Mrs. Hartwell, I should be going anyway. Thanks for the coffee.”
“I’ll be praying for you, child,” Emmie called after her. “Lord knows you need all the prayers you can get.”
“Ain’t nobody going to pray for that killer.” Ray raised his fist and shook it in Angel’s face. “Get out!” He swung at her and would’ve hit her jaw if she hadn’t turned away from him. His fist connected with her shoulder, sending her out the door and onto her knees. His eyes flashed as he stood over her, poised to strike again.
Angel scrambled to her feet. The door slammed shut, but not before she heard Broadman turn his rage on Mavis and Emmie. It would serve him right if she had him arrested for assaulting her, but she doubted the charges would stick. Likewise on the obscene phone call.
He answered on the second ring.
“Are you on duty?” Angel asked.
“Yeah. What do you need?”
“I’m going back to the old cannery where I found Billy.”
“Why?”
“Meet me there.”
“Okay, but why?” Eric didn’t sound too pleased.
“I’ll tell you when you get there.” Angel tossed her bag into the backseat and jammed the key into the ignition.
Eric hesitated. “I wish you wouldn’t. It’s not safe.”
“That’s why I called you. If you’d rather not go, I’ll go in alone.”
“I’ll be there.”
She hung up and arrived at the cannery five minutes later. While she waited for Eric, she let her gaze roam over the brick exterior. The building was awaiting its final sentence—be destroyed or be remodeled. Plans had been put before the city council to turn it into a unique waterfront shopping mall. The contractor wanted matching funds from the city. The city in return would get 50 percent of the rent. Not a bad deal for all concerned, if the venture was successful. In light of what had happened there, Angel doubted she’d ever frequent the place. Even remodeled, it would always be the dark, dank warehouse where Billy Dean Hartwell had died in her arms.
Eric pulled up beside her. Jumping out of his car, he looked over at her and frowned.
“Brandon’s car?”
She nodded. “He’s letting me borrow it.”
“Nice.” He walked with her to the entrance and paused. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I want to have a look around.”
He opened the door and peered inside. “Why?”
“I just do.”
“I don’t understand why you keep punishing yourself like this, Angel. It happened. Let it go.”
“I can’t.” Inside, the floor still bore dark brown stains of Billy’s blood. The memory and the stench almost made her vomit. She pressed a hand to her stomach and ducked back outside. She gulped in fresh air and leaned against the building, letting it support her rubbery legs.
“You don’t have to do this. Coming here isn’t going to prove or disprove anything. Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee instead?”
“No. I want to go through the place, see if I can piece together what really happened.”
“He threatened you. You shot him in self-defense. Don’t forget that. It doesn’t do any good to go back over it. It happened. At some point you have to accept that and move on. Besides, the grand jury will never indict you on this. They’ll clear you, and you’ll go back to work.”
Angel raised her head and looked into Eric’s eyes. “I wish I could be as sure of that as you are.” She took a deep breath and went back inside to the stairs, where she had been standing when Billy brushed past her. Eric followed her.
She envisioned the scene again, going through the motions. “I heard him go upstairs and started to follow him. All of a sudden he’s tearing back down, he pushes past me, and I yell for him to stop. He turns around to face me, raises his gun...”
“And you shot him,” Eric finished.
“He raised his hands, but what if he wasn’t going to shoot? What if he was giving himself up? He was terrified, Eric. I remember that.”
“You said he had the gun in his hands,” he reminded her. “If he were giving up, he’d have put the gun on the floor.”
“An adult would have. But he was a scared and confused kid.” Shoving a hand through her hair, she closed her eyes. She’d fired once and hit him in the shoulder. She clearly remembered the look on Billy’s face. His eyes were not focused on her but on something or someone behind her.
She turned around, peering into the dimly lit structure. She’d been facing the door. “He must’ve been standing at the back of the warehouse, in the shadows.”
“Who?” Eric rested his hands on his hips.
“The other shooter.”
“Are you back on that again?” He shook his head.
“I know for certain now that I fired one shot—the medical examiner’s report confirms it.” Angel told him about the medical examiner’s findings. “My shot went into his shoulder. The second two shots went into his chest and stomach at a different angle. There had to be someone behind me.”
“Okay, suppose there was another shooter. What happened to him? How did he get away? We had this area pretty well covered.”
“I don’t know. Do me a favor. Stand here. I want to check something.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Angel went under the stairs and walked a straight path back to the wall. She turned around to face the stairs then moved to the left until she had a clear view of Eric and the place where Billy had been standing. She raised her hand and pointed her finger in Eric’s direction. From that position the shooter would have a straight shot at Billy.
Or at me.
A strangled sound escaped her lips.
Eric started back toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been trying to come up with an explanation as to why someone would fire at Billy. I’ve been thinking that maybe one of the gang members shot him to keep him quiet.”
“That’s possible.”
“But what if the shots weren’t meant for Billy at all? What if they were meant for me?”
“Whoa, partner. That’s a pretty big leap.” Eric rubbed his chin. “But you might have something there. Say there was someone here—one of the gangbangers we were after. Either scenario would work. Kill Billy to keep him from talking, or kill you because you’re a cop.”
“But how could he have gotten by me?”
“Well, there are several possibilities.” Eric pointed to a door to her right. “He could’ve waited in the back, knowing that the shots would bring most of the officers in the area in here with you. We all thought you shot the kid, so there wouldn’t have been any reason for us to look for another shooter.”
“So he waits until everyone is here and sneaks out the back?” She started to open the door and stopped. Fingerprints. She doubted the crime lab guys had bothered checking the area back here. Like Eric said, they had no reason to, since the shooting had happened up front. “Do you know where this goes?”
“To the receiving area. The place used to be a processing plant. Boats would come right up to the dock. They’d empty their holds into bins and the fish would be sorted, cleaned, and packaged.” His beeper went off. He looked down at it then called dispatch.
“Sorry, Angel, I have to go.” He started to leave. “You coming?”
“I thought I’d take a look at the second floor.”
“You won’t be able to see much. The place is boarded up tight. There’s no electricity. And in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s getting dark outside.”
Angel glanced up at the windows. The sky had gone from a cornflower blue to a hazy gray. She could barely make out the stairs and the exit beyond. Whatever exploring she wanted to do would have to wait until tomorrow. Besides, she wasn’t crazy about wandering through the place on her own.
They walked out together. Once inside her car, Angel rolled down the window. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“No problem.” Eric climbed into his car, backed out, and headed south.
There were no reporters at her apartment, so she parked in her usual spot. But when she got to her door, she stopped cold. It was slightly ajar. “Oh no,” she moaned. “Not again.”
Angel heard voices inside the apartment. Whoever had broken in was still there. She backed away from the door and pulled the cell phone from her bag.
“That has got to be the most delic
ious pasta sauce I’ve ever tasted.” The voice was a man’s and sounded vaguely familiar.
Angel frowned. Since when did crooks break in to eat pasta?
A woman laughed. “Yes, but making it was the best part.” That voice belonged to her mother.
“Glad to oblige. We work well together.”
A strange man in my apartment with my mother?
Angel slipped out of her jacket and hung it in the closet.
“Angel, is that you?” Anna asked.
The man who stepped into the hallway took Angel’s breath away. Callen had traded his suit for a teal shirt with long sleeves, folded to three-quarter length, and khaki slacks. She told herself the reaction was just one of surprise, nothing more. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to see you. Your mother was kind enough to let me wait.” He winked in Anna’s direction. “She even invited me to dinner.”
“How could I not? He brought dessert,” Anna chuckled. “Come in and sit down, honey. You’re just in time.” She waved a spoon in her direction. “Callen has been helping me cook.”
Angel must have looked as confused as she felt.
“It’s all right,” her mother explained. “I wouldn’t let just anyone into your apartment. Callen is a police officer.”
“A detective,” Callen corrected.
“Whatever.” Anna waved her hand.
“I know who he is.” Angel frowned. “But what are you two doing here? Cooking. Together.”
“I think I can explain.” Callen pulled a chair out for Angel and guided her to it. “As I said, I came to see you.”
“He brought food, Angel. Wasn’t that nice?”
Angel rubbed her eyes. “Wait. I’m having some kind of weird dream, aren’t I?”
“No dream.” Callen leaned down and whispered, “If it was, your mother wouldn’t be here.”
Her stomach fluttered. From hunger, she told herself.
Yeah, right. Who am I kidding?
She jerked away, ignoring the teasing look on his face. “Why did you bring food? And Ma, why are you here?”
“I brought groceries.”
“Why? Do I look malnourished?”
“Honey, I know how you are when you’re worried. You don’t eat. You don’t take care of yourself.”
Deadly Aim Page 22
