by R. L. Syme
Jeff lowered his voice to a hissy whisper. “A lot of people think you did.”
“A lot of people are idiots.”
A laugh caught Jeff off-guard, and he looked back at Aidan with guilty eyes. “Don’t joke about this.” He sat up straight and whispered, “Shut up. They’re comin’ back.”
Sheriff Randall West and Deputy Allan VonBrandt walked through the front door, deep in conversation with Aidan’s new boss, Bret MacLeod.
Will should have told him the Sheriff was getting involved. Aidan never would have picked the All-Nighter. Good God, Claire was probably still sitting there with his fire burger. In all that mess, he even stuck her with the bill.
What an ass he was.
Bret MacLeod stopped in front of him, his murmur to the Sheriff trailing off. He raised his eyebrows.
“Anything to say in your defense, Conley?”
Aidan chuckled. “I’m innocent.” But inside, something twisted. He wasn’t really innocent, was he?
“He asked for a lawyer,” Jeff said, a pliant, helpful look on his face.
Randall West tightened his high-wattage smile. “Did you give him his phone call, Deputy Young?”
Jeff shook his head. “He didn’t ask for it.”
Sheriff West grabbed Aidan by his shoulder. Allan VonBrandt had to scramble to unlock Aidan’s feet fast enough for the Sheriff to drag him over to the nearest deputy desk, which sat empty. Allan pushed him forward and unlocked his hands, keeping one cuff on and locking it to the metal chair he sat on.
“Call your lawyer, Conley.” Randall West’s voice was calm and smooth, not at all like his campaign ads.
“I don’t have one.”
“Then call someone.”
Before Aidan could pick up the phone, a knock sounded on the glass door at the front of the long, wide room. In all her unassuming beauty, Claire Milton waited for Jeff to motion for her to come inside. She tried to avoid Aidan’s direct stare, and he didn’t blame her.
Jeff’s eyes went wide, and Aidan could have sworn he salivated a little as Claire approached him. All of the men were watching her, and Aidan had a sudden urge to rush to his feet and punch them all in the face for the thoughts he knew they were all having.
Hell, he was having some of his own.
But that was no excuse. They shouldn’t be gawking at her like that, thinking what men think when they see a beautiful woman. Assholes, all of them.
“I have some of Aidan’s personal effects.”
Jeff spluttered a few syllables and got to his feet, putting a beefy hand out. Claire placed Aidan’s keys and wallet in his hand.
“Thanks, um… Miss Milton.”
“Claire,” she said. “Just call me Claire.”
Randall West elbowed forward and took Claire’s hand, holding it like a precious treasure. “Well, Claire Milton. I’ll be damned.” He shook her hand vigorously. “How are your mom and dad?”
“Living in Dallas, still,” she said, extracting her hand. “They haven’t been back to Somewhere in ten years.”
The Sheriff tried to produce a sorrowful look, but his tanned face and wide smile brought it to comedic levels, rather than allowing him the peace of the moment.
“Well, it’s good to see you at least, darlin’.” Randall grinned.
Claire fidgeted with the straps on her purse. “Why are you holding Aidan?”
“I’m afraid we can’t discuss an open case,” Allan VonBrandt cut in when the Sheriff’s mouth rounded like a bass on a line.
“That’s right. Besides, the man killed your sister. You should be thankin’ me.” Randall leaned on Jeff’s desk, and Claire turned away from him. She looked straight at Aidan.
“Do you need me to bail you out?” she asked.
The words stuck in Aidan’s throat, lodged by too many years of being alone.
VonBrandt came to stand in front of Aidan, as though trying to cut off Claire’s visual. “We haven’t even processed him yet.”
“And even if they had, it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to get involved with him, Miss Milton,” Bret MacLeod finally spoke up. “You’re the victim’s sister. You shouldn’t fraternize with the likes of Aidan Conley.”
Claire hefted her purse onto Jeff’s desk with a thud. “Aidan Conley is a hero, whoever you are. And I don’t believe he did anything to hurt my sister. Chief Conley told my parents there was no evidence of malfeasance, so they closed the case. Called it an accident.”
“Nothing’s closed until it’s solved.” Bret crossed his arms.
Aidan sucked in a breath. The case had, for all intents and purposes, been considered closed. They’d found a number of coincidental anomalies at that fire, but nothing so overt that it said for sure there had been foul play.
While Aidan hadn’t been able to officially investigate anything himself, he’d helped in every way he could, and he knew the case file inside and out.
“There’s no statute of limitations on homicide,” Bret continued.
“Murder?” Claire shook her head. “There’s just no way. Aidan was in love with my sister. Everyone knew that.”
The four law enforcement officers exchanged skeptical looks. There had been rumors everywhere. About Claire. About Jane. About Aidan. No one knew who was telling the truth, and in the end, no clear suspect had emerged.
Aidan’s insides tightened as he remembered the night of the fire.
Coming home to find their home was nearly reduced to a pile of ashes. Ambulance and fire trucks everywhere. He’d been drunk after fighting with Jane earlier that night, and everything about his memory seemed tenuous.
Because he’d taken his motorcycle, the truck had been at the house. He could still see the tears in his father’s eyes. The shocked disbelief on the faces of his coworkers and friends revealed their thoughts: They’d all thought him inside, as well.
It had taken six men to pull him back when he broke through the line to get to Jane.
He could still see the lines, scribbled in his father’s crooked script on the incident report. Resident Aidan Conley had to be restrained, insisting the fire was his fault. Subsequent investigations of these claims have exculpated Conley.
But they hadn’t. Not really.
By the next day, he could hardly remember the events of the night at all, let alone vindicate himself completely. But they hadn’t found the evidence to indict him.
Or absolve him.
“Not everyone thinks he’s innocent, ma’am. Begging your pardon.” Randall’s voice was silky, snake-like. Aidan wanted to free his hands and plant a big fist in his idiot face.
Claire peeked around Allan VonBrandt. “You need anything, Aidan?”
“Can you call a lawyer?”
She nodded. “Anyone in particular?”
“Whoever. Just find one and bring him back here.” He swallowed, wishing the room were clear. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
There was no more welcome sound to him at that moment than the smooth, melodic promise that Claire would return.
***
Claire started toward the door, then turned for a long look at Aidan before she pulled on the long bar to open it. Surprised by the fervor of her own conviction, she walked down Main Street to where she thought there was a law office.
The whole time, she replayed the sight and sound of Aidan in her mind. His deep, grateful voice. His discouraged eyes.
She had to know the truth. Claire had always believed in Aidan’s innocence, despite the town’s apparent assumption of his guilt. To see the way he looked at Jane was to see the face of love.
Love wouldn’t do that. Not a fire. What a torturous way to die. So much pain. Aidan couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
She turned down Logan Avenue and saw the black, wrought-iron sign for Steer, Croy, and Mills swinging above eye level, just a block away. Something familiar crossed her mind.
Jack Steer had been her parents’ attorney.
She could trus
t these lawyers. Aidan could trust them.
Less than five minutes later, Claire was on her way back down Logan and on to Main Street, lawyer at her side. They took the stairs quickly up to the offices, where Jeff and the other deputy had finally begun processing Aidan.
Claire pushed through the doors and warmed everywhere at the way Aidan’s face lit up when he saw her.
She was never going to be able to escape the fact that he was her first love, was she? Would she always blush and avert her eyes at the sight of him? She could only hope not.
“I brought a lawyer.” Claire did her best Vanna, and the business-suited woman next to her bowed her head with professional sincerity.
“Have you arrested my client?” Yumi Croy spoke with force and suspicion. Her selling point, aside from her solid handshake, had been that she knew Aidan. He’d put out a neighbor’s house fire several years ago and saved her family’s house—their whole block, really. Her children’s lives. Her husband’s life. Yumi Croy was going to fight for Aidan.
She knew Aidan was a good man.
The Sheriff staggered out of his office, all hands and smiles. “Why, Mrs. Croy. It’s a pleasure to see you again. How’s that son of yours? Hell of a fastball now, I hear.”
Yumi straightened her jacket and allowed the Sheriff a brief, clipped handshake. She stepped back from his attempt to fold her into a bear hug, however.
Claire loved this woman.
“You should call me Counselor,” Yumi said. “And I’ll ask again, because your deputies appear not to be English-fluent. Have you arrested my client?”
“We speak English just fine,” Jeff retorted, but the muscular deputy clapped him on the arm.
“Don’t be an ass.”
Jeff held his meaty bicep and glared at the room, stopping when his eyes landed on Claire. He softened.
“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” he asked, as though speaking through the whole crowd right to her. Poor, sweet fool. He couldn’t see that she only had eyes for Aidan.
Dammit.
She did. Didn’t she?
“I’m afraid we have arrested him. Counselor.” The Sheriff tipped his head in her direction, almost in deference. Or as near as the man could come to it.“
“Sheriff, I’m going to have to ask to speak to my client alone.”
“Please, call me Randall.”
“I’ll stick with Sheriff, if you don’t mind.” She pointed toward the back of the large room. “One of those interrogation rooms should be fine. I’ll only need a few minutes. Also, I want to see a copy of the arrest warrant and I’ll need copies of any new evidence you’ve apparently acquired. You can prepare it for me so I don’t need to send a courier.”
The Sheriff nodded. The two deputies delivered Aidan to the conference room, and Claire followed Yumi inside.
“You can leave us,” Yumi said to them, once they’d chained Aidan to every conceivable surface.
“We’ll be right outside,” Jeff added.
At last, the room was empty. Claire wanted to cross the room and sit beside Aidan, but she wasn’t sure of the protocol.
No matter how many years had passed, or what had happened, she still wanted to be near him.
A knock sounded on the door, and Jeff Young came inside. He handed a piece of paper to Yumi, all smiles. Claire focused on Aidan.
Yumi read the report. “Well, the arrest warrant looks legitimate. And it’s signed by a judge, so there’s no technicality. Let me look at the discovery list.” She flipped another page.
Claire tried to meet Aidan’s eyes, but he was avoiding her. She almost reached across the table. This shift in their attitudes struck her as suddenly odd. When the emergency kicked in, she’d automatically taken up the protect-Aidan stance, but he seemed to have taken up the ignore-Claire stance. What the hell?
“I can post bail if you need it.”
Aidan sighed. “Claire, I owe you… so much. I can’t…”
“It’s not about owing. I know you’re innocent.”
His pained gaze pinned her, and her heart raced like a jockey had caned it. “You don’t know anything.”
“I do. And I told Yumi. If I can get into our old storage locker, I think I can get at some more evidence that will prove you didn’t do what they’re accusing you of.”
Aidan’s dark eyes glazed. “You shouldn’t have so much faith in me, Claire. It’s not safe.”
“Safe be damned. You’re my brother.”
“Ex. Brother in law.”
She waved him off. “Technicality. You’re family. My sister loved you, and you loved her. That means something to me.”
Aidan’s brows drew together, and the tear that had promised to escape finally trailed down his cheek. “You shouldn’t be here.” With a hard swallow, he added, “I’m grateful for the lawyer, but I can’t ask you to be here any longer.”
“You don’t have to. I’m not staying because you asked me.” She reached for his hand, which was barely sitting on the edge of the table, being shackled to the other and to his feet with a long chain. Claire squeezed his hand, and that delicious excitement skated through her again.
“If I can interrupt, just for a moment,” Yumi said. “It appears that they have some evidence they’ve re-examined. So there’s no new evidence, per se, but there is a new report, generated by old evidence.”
“And what does the report say?” Aidan leaned forward.
Yumi turned the discovery documents and placed them on the table in front of him. Claire tried to read upside-down, but couldn’t.
“MacLeod asked them to run a tox report on some of the urine that was extracted during the autopsy.” Yumi’s long, delicate fingers tripped over a few lines on a graph.
“I don’t understand.” Aidan’s face crumpled into tight lines. “What does this mean?”
Yumi pointed to one line on the graph. “These are the drugs that she had taken within less than an hour of her death, given the concentration found in her urine.”
Gooseflesh pimpled Claire’s arms. “My sister was on drugs?”
“These results indicate she had taken two drugs in extremely high doses not long before the fire.”
Claire grabbed the form. “I don’t believe it.”
“They don’t think she was on drugs, Claire.” Aidan’s voice dropped, along with his head. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “They think I drugged her.”
“Yes,” Yumi said, letting out a long sigh. “They think you drugged her, set a time-release incendiary, and went out to the bar to give yourself an alibi. This evidence, along with the statements regarding your behavior at the scene, could be seen to corroborate their theory of the crime.”
Aidan rested his forehead on his hands. His shoulders rose and fell in measured breaths.
“They really think you killed her.” Claire brought a hand to her mouth. Her stomach was about to throw back the half an English muffin she’d choked down deciding whether or not to go after Aidan.
“And I have no way of proving I didn’t.”
Yumi took the report and filed it in her briefcase. “Leave this to us, Mr. Conley. Their evidence is circumstantial. We will find another explanation for the crime.” Her confident tone should have made Claire feel at ease. Instead, she felt the dry heaves coming back.
“We’ll get your arraignment taken care of, post your bail, and then we can start about the business of proving you didn’t kill your wife.”
Aidan finally raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and Claire nearly reached for his hands again. He had to be innocent.
“How will we prove that?” he asked.
“Miss Milton has some evidence we can search out. I’ll hire a private investigator to track down some of the leads she has, and we’ll start piecing together a version of events that we can corroborate with witnesses. I do this all the time, Mr. Conley.”
“You defend accused murderers?”
“I try cases.” Yumi stood and gestured for Claire to fo
llow. “Let us focus on getting you out of here, first. The rest will take care of itself in time.”
Claire followed Yumi’s lead, but felt sick at the thought of leaving Aidan. He seemed so defeated. She couldn’t leave him until he could hold his head up again. Have some hope in the world again.
Of course, who knew how long that would take, and she wasn’t much for jail, anyway.
But Aidan needed her. And no matter what else life was going to throw at them, she knew that she was the only person on his side, and if she could just hang on to what she knew to be true about him, he would prove her right in the end.
She was pretty sure.
Chapter Four
He couldn’t watch Claire leave the jail. Aidan studied the locks on his handcuffs as the lawyer escorted her away.
He sat in the interrogation room for a long time before he saw another face, and all he could picture was the look in Claire’s eyes when she realized there was more to the charges than they initially thought.
Did she believe he was guilty?
He couldn’t tell.
Jeff Young came to retrieve him and mercifully took off his leg irons. He wasn’t even sure why the Somewhere, TX sheriff’s office had leg irons. It wasn’t like they dealt with hardened criminals here. The department wasn’t even qualified to handle big investigations—they had to bring in the Texas Rangers when they’d had that double murder a couple years back.
Aidan flexed his legs and stretched while Jeff waited.
“Sheriff wants to talk to you,” Jeff said.
Aidan glanced up. The look on his friend’s face was guarded, tight. He had spent so many years on the same side as the deputies in the Long Rock County Sheriff’s Department, it was hard to see Jeff as Deputy Young, enemy.
Even Randall West, in his own way, was a friend. As much as you could call a politician a friend.
“He’s gonna come in here?” Aidan gestured around to the interrogation room with the two-way window at one end. But Jeff shook his head. “He wants to see you in his office.”
Jeff reached over and keyed open the handcuffs. “Come with me.”
