Fragmented

by Colleen Connally

  Cameron sat across from him and hadn’t uttered a word of complaint. She waited patiently, but Darren wondered what she thought.

  Dr. Levy had been correct in his assessment: that her thought process put others first before her own welfare. The only deal she sought had been for her brother. On that part, she steadfastly held he would walk away without consequence. In the same breath, she hadn’t asked for herself, but he had made sure she had been included.

  Brophy had been correct. He had gone at her more aggressively than he would have another in her position. But with this deal, her friend, Neslund, wouldn’t have anything to worry about as long as no one lied to him this time.

  His cell phone rang. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Wait. Don’t go in without me.”

  He sighed. He turned to Cameron. “Your friend will be here soon and I have to leave. You haven’t asked any questions.”

  “I’m sure Karl will have plenty. Doesn’t matter, does it? I don’t feel I have much control at the moment. You tell me what I need to do. Karl will come in and tell me how brainless I’ve been about the whole situation.” She shrugged. “Honestly, I’m trying not to think about it.”

  A wave of guilt swept through him. “You are a trusting sort, aren’t you?”

  “Am I not supposed to trust you?” she asked. Then she paused and stared up at him. “You’re right. I suppose I shouldn’t. I don’t know you well enough, do I? Although I have a feeling you know almost everything about me.”

  “Given the circumstances, it’s inevitable.”

  “I guess. Like I said, it doesn’t matter now, anyway, does it?”

  She broke her gaze and lowered her head. He didn’t respond. He didn’t have an answer.

  She looked back at him. Hesitating for a moment, she spoke in a low voice. “If you have wondered, I haven’t said anything about you. I mean…that night…obviously it was just once…and didn’t”—she choked on her words—“mean anything…anyhow, I just wanted you to know.”

  For a moment, he couldn’t say a word. In that span of time, comprehension swept through him. Not only did she think she was protecting him, but he had hurt her. He could hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes. What a bastard he had become.

  He rounded his desk. The whole outer office could see into his office with his blinds open. He couldn’t draw them without suspicion for why he had done so. He paused. For once in his life, he didn’t know what to say. He glanced over her shoulder and edged down on the couch beside her.

  “Cameron, you don’t have to protect me. I wish the situation was different, but it is what it is,” he said. “I have my job to do. I have no choice, Cameron. I have to put my responsibilities to that job first. I’m sorry.”

  He wanted nothing more than to say, I never wanted a one-night stand with you. Good Gawd, it’s what’s making everything so confusing now. I shouldn’t even be on this case, but you’ve made me so damn mad for being involved, ruining what I wanted because I had no intention of that night being the last time I made love to you.

  Instead, he said nothing. She stared at him and nodded slightly. From behind her, he saw her roommate walking through the door. Every instinct in him shouted not to let her go. They could come up with another plan. Instead, he greeted Karl Neslund as graciously as he could. Shortly after, he watched her walk out of his office.

  * * * *

  Wellesley was a quiet, quaint town, a western suburb of Boston, home to sprawling mansions over rolling hills. Walking the streets of the town, one could smell old money. Huge old trees lined the road, expanding to the well-manicured lawns of the manors…even in the dead of winter.

  Brophy turned in to the driveway of one of those magnificent homes. His phone rang. He hit Ignore. Lauren again. Lauren had called him this morning. He hadn’t been able to get back to her yet and wouldn’t anytime soon. He knew before even taking the call it had to do with the kids. God, he missed them, but with the schedule he was keeping with this case, it made it hard as hell to get a chance to see them.

  He pulled to a stop, along with a couple of patrol cars behind him, to execute the search warrant. He exchanged looks with Waters. They wanted to get their hands on Halliday before he called for his lawyer, which was going to take a lot of luck.

  Waters knocked on the door. No sooner had the door been cracked open by the housekeeper than Waters pushed his way in, the search warrant held tightly in his hand. “Boston PD.”

  “Excuse me. Excuse me,” a voice called from the top of the winding mahogany staircase. An elegant young woman dressed in a classic style hurried down the steps. Her blonde hair was pulled back in an immaculate bun; a pale blue designer dress was tailored to her body. A string of simple white pearls hung from her neck with earrings to match. A gigantic diamond adorned her hand. She looked like a walking advertisement for a jewelry store.

  Waters stopped in the middle of the marble floor foyer. “Detective Albert Waters, ma’am. We have a search warrant. If you would care to stand back, out of our way.”

  “This is my home, officer. I’m Allison Halliday,” she said anxiously. Her eyes fixed on the uniform policemen who stormed her house. “Oh, don’t touch that. Do you know how much that cost? More than your salary for a year. Oh, my.”

  “Please stand back, ma’am. We are looking for a couple of items. If you know where they are, we won’t have to turn your house upside down,” Brophy said. He stepped closer to the woman.

  Allison Halliday eyed Brophy with disdain. “What are you looking for?”

  “It’s in the warrant,” Brophy said, dismissing her question. “Where’s your husband, Mrs. Halliday?”

  “He’s upstairs with his mother,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder.

  Brophy walked past her, up the stairs. Walking quickly, her heels clicked behind him.

  “You can’t go—” she began.

  “Watch me.” He stomped to the balcony. “I’ll just check every room.”

  “Wait,” she commanded. “I’ll take you. My God, where did you ever learn your manners?”

  Brophy smugly smiled. “Must have left them in my other suit. You have one minute before...”

  “This way.” She crossed awkwardly in front of him.

  She led him down the hall, opening the last door into an elegant bedroom suite. The large room seemed to be an extension from the woman’s bedroom. The walls were papered in a pale blue sky French scenic view. An antique, hand carved desk sat close to the huge widespread window overlooking the gardens below. Matthew Halliday stood staring at the woman with open hostility. He rubbed his head, his eyes.

  “Allison, dear, who let these men in here?” An older woman, in her late fifties, addressed the young Mrs. Halliday. The woman—tall, slim, dressed in classic cut slacks and a cashmere sweater, which did nothing to smooth her cold expression—seemed used to getting her way, in a patrician manner. Her eyes bore a hole in Brophy; her jaw set firm.

  “I’m Ruth Halliday. I’m afraid I have to ask you gentlemen to leave. Immediately.”

  Brophy ignored the woman. He didn’t think he could meet anyone more irritating than the young one, until now. Waters came up behind him. If they gave him any problems, he would let Waters take care of them. He figured he could hold them off at least until he got out the door.

  The man he came for stood before him, Dr. Matthew Halliday.

  “Dr. Matthew Halliday?”

  “Yes, is there a problem?” His face fell. “Oh…not Cameron.”

  Brophy ignored his question and held out his badge. “Boston PD. Do you mind coming with us? We have a few questions for you. We are executing a search warrant.”

  “About what?” he asked. His eyes looked confused; his eyebrows twitched. “What is going on?”

  “It’ll be better to discuss this down at the precinct,” Brophy said. He walked over to the doctor’s side. Wasn’t hard to see what attracted the women. Dr. Halliday stood over six feet, sky blue eyes, blonde hair, and a rich doct
or. But it meant nothing to Brophy. He placed his hand on Halliday’s shoulder. “If you don’t mind.”

  Matthew Halliday stepped with Brophy.

  “Matthew, don’t you dare. You stay right here until I talk with Oliver,” the elder Mrs. Halliday said harshly. She walked briskly in front of her son.

  Matthew looked at his mother. Revulsion poured out of his eyes. He shook his head. “I haven’t done anything, Mother. What will be the issue? Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be cleared up.”

  “Matthew,” she reprimanded him.

  “Mother, I’m not a child,” he said. He turned to Brophy. “Can we just get the hell out of here?”

  Brophy shrugged as he held back a smile. He exchanged looks with Waters. Allison stood back, not saying a word. Matthew didn’t even look her way. He walked willingly out the door. In the hall, he turned back to Brophy.

  “Does this have to do with Cameron?” he asked earnestly. “Of course it does. I knew something was going on. What are you looking for? You can’t believe I would do anything to her.”

  “We are working off a couple of leads. Just need your insight,” Waters offered. “We’ll go into it as soon as we get to the station.”

  Brophy wished all his suspects were as willing to talk. He couldn’t get Dr. Halliday to stop talking. He only hoped he kept it up once they got him in the room. Apparently they didn’t have much to worry about—Dr. Halliday never shut up.

  “Look, guys, I haven’t done anything. I know that her brother is being investigated. A couple of other detectives talked to me. I’m just confused,” he said. “Like I said before, I don’t have anything to hide. Tell me what you are looking for and if I can help, I will.”

  Brophy shrugged; he wasn’t going to argue with the guy if he wanted to help their case. “Okay, Dr. Halliday, if you want to help.”

  Darren watched from behind the two-way mirror with Centrello, Dr. Levy, and Agent Dunn. Dr. Matthew Halliday was a confusing sort. He had offered up the pictures, admitted to having a key to Cameron’s apartment, and sat there, confident he was going to walk out the door.

  “I just want to get your story straight. Your mother received these pictures in the mail. You broke your engagement without looking at them. Didn’t talk with your fiancée. Then discovered they were fake and decided you wanted her back, even though in between you married someone else,” Waters stated. “Look, Dr. Halliday, this stuff is real good. I don’t think anyone could make this stuff up.”

  “Don’t laugh at me. You don’t know my mother. She never recognized I was engaged to Cameron. She was out to save me, in her opinion. You met her,” Matthew explained. He gestured his frustration with a wave of a hand. “You think I haven’t regretted every moment I let Cameron go? I have had no peace. I let my mother manipulate me. I don’t have any excuse. Look at those pictures. If you’re in love with someone, really in love… It cut right through me.”

  Brophy nodded. The pictures were, to say the least, compromising—if they had been Cameron. In honesty, glancing at them, at first he thought the same thing as Matthew had. He could understand how these pictures would upset a fiancé of a woman who made these pictures, one where a naked young woman lay in the missionary position, other disturbing pictures with other women, and a couple in bonds, dressed in leather. But a closer look, even with the naked eye—there was something wrong with the enhancements.

  The lab confirmed the pictures were definitely doctored…without question…amateurish.

  “Definitely not a professional photographer. Anyone could do it with a computer,” Adele down in the lab stated. “Somebody wanted to discredit the young lady. It would be a start.”

  Brophy stood with his back against the wall. He eyed him carefully. Then he stepped toward the small table. He took a seat by the man. “I believe you, Dr. Halliday. I understand how you became jealous. If I thought my fiancée posed for these pictures...”

  Matthew shook his head. “But you don’t understand. I knew. I knew she could never have posed for those pictures. It wasn’t Cameron.”

  Brophy nodded. “Everyone wants to believe the best in the ones they love.”

  “You just don’t understand.” Matthew sighed. “I ruined everything for her. She wanted to elope. She didn’t want a huge wedding. Just her and me. I talked her into waiting, getting an apartment. I wanted more time to convince Mother. Then, with the first sign of a problem, I abandoned her.”

  “I don’t understand how you could be so certain,” Waters pushed. “You have so much faith in her now, but not then?”

  “Those pictures would have had to been made before we met. And seeing the pictures, studying the pictures, I know better than anyone else it wasn’t possible that she could have been in them,” Matthew said bluntly. “I didn’t realize it, or put it together until recently.”

  Brophy paused. He wasn’t certain he should state it out loud. To what end would it serve? He pressed on. “How could you just figure out that it couldn’t be Cameron, if what you’re saying is true? You’re saying she hadn’t been with anyone before you, Dr. Halliday, if I’m to understand you.”

  “You know, I made quite a lot of mistakes here. I didn’t look at all the pictures. I saw that one.” He pointed to the one where the woman posed nude, spread eagle on a bed. “My mother did the rest. I was convinced I had been wronged. I didn’t realize the full extent of her influence. I certainly didn’t realize she had taken Cameron’s furniture. I have a lot to make up for in Cameron’s eyes.”

  Brophy tried to contain his surprise. He would even suppose Cameron would forgive him? He bit his tongue. “Let’s go back, Dr. Halliday. How did you discover your mistake?”

  Matthew hesitated. “My precious wife discovered them. She didn’t know who the pictures were supposed to be of. She thought it was just porn. She laughed at the pictures. It was the first time I had looked at them. Studied them. Then I knew without a doubt. The body that’s supposed to be Cameron’s—it didn’t have a mole. Cameron has a mole on her back. Here.” He pointed to just below the girl’s waist on her back.

  “When was that? Just over six months ago? And the key to the apartment?” Waters continued.

  “Typical Cameron, she never changed the locks,” Matthew answered. “Look, I’ve been worried about Cameron since I’ve been trying to reconnect. That’s why I asked Nevy to help me.”

  “Why, Dr. Halliday?” Brophy asked.

  He didn’t get another chance to ask a question. A gray-haired older gentleman dressed in a tailor-cut suit opened the door. “This is over, gentleman. I’m Oliver Stanton, his lawyer. Come on, now, Matthew.”

  “Wait just a minute, Oliver. Cameron is in trouble. I need to help her. After all we’ve done to her, we owe her. I don’t have anything to hide,” Matthew said stubbornly.

  Oliver Stanton turned to his client. “Keep your damn mouth closed. Have you not figured out they’re trying to hang a murder rap on you? Are you still interested in helping?”

  Matthew looked at Brophy. He hesitated as he stood.

  Stanton walked out in the hallway and gestured to the doctor to follow him. He turned to Brophy. “Unless he’s being charged with anything, we’re leaving.”

  Darren nodded to Waters to let them leave as he stood in the hall. He didn’t feel he had enough to charge anyone at the moment. They needed more before arresting Dr. Halliday.

  Matthew hung his head as he walked out. He leaned into Brophy so his lawyer couldn’t hear him. “I don’t like her roommates. And she was seeing someone new, a Darren. I don’t know a last name. I hope that helps.”

  “Matthew!” Oliver Stanton had lost his temper with his client. “Let’s go or I’m going to leave you here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  On the road… again. This time Brophy and Waters followed up on a search warrant already being executed on their friend Nevy. The security guard lived in a small one-bedroom apartment in Somerset. Nothing more than a rundown apartment building. The broken buzz
er made no difference in obtaining entrance. The door had been jammed opened, a far cry from the hills of Wellesley.

  Stepping over trash left in the hallways, Brophy and Waters walked down the stairs to Nevy’s basement apartment. A god-awful stench billowed from the apartment the moment they opened the door. Brophy winced.

  “My God!” he cried. “What the hell is that smell?”

  “As far as we can tell, a couple of dead cats in the closet.” Detective Mark Logan greeted the two. “Have no earthly idea why someone would keep dead cats, but we did find something of interest I thought you guys would want to see.”

  Brophy followed Logan into the bedroom. Pictures scattered across the floor, pictures of Cameron entering the hospital, exiting her apartment. Some more were of Cameron talking with peers at the hospital. Brophy bent down and picked up a picture of Cameron exiting a black Lexus. The license plate was clearly in view. He knew it well. He casually slid it in his pocket, not unnoticed by Waters.

  “Sonofabitch,” Waters exhaled.

  “We already have Nevy in custody. I can’t wait to hear his reasoning about this,” Waters said. He directed his attention to Logan. “Anything else?”

  “Found some papers, a certificate from a university in South Africa somewhere. Nevy has dual citizenship. His father was American. Did you know he graduated from medical school? Not that I think for a minute that it was recognized over here,” Logan offered. He held a frame he had taken off the wall.

  “No, Nevy hadn’t mentioned that little fact. I believe we need to have another talk with our friend,” Waters said.

  * * * *

  Brophy noticed immediately that Centrello sat behind his desk drumming his fingers. His boss had just hung up the phone. Looking up at the clock, he motioned for the two detectives to enter. Brophy casually strolled through, followed by Waters. It was a quarter to seven, long past time to go home. Brophy plopped down in a hard backed chair.