“Who paid for your schooling? Couldn’t have been cheap.”
“Dad did.”
“Huh. Well, I’m quite sure that Jake Elliott was the reason for your mother’s financial ruin and that you found him and threatened to expose him unless he gave you money.”
Barker slid down in her chair and shrugged.
Madison went on. “But you didn’t just want one payoff; you wanted to be set for life or as long as he could pull off the con.”
“Whatever.” Barker wiped at her face with a tissue, but the makeup remained unaffected. She still had the wrinkles of an older woman.
Madison relaxed in her chair, and Terry stopped jingling the change.
Madison continued. “More recently, you showed up at Jake’s door under the guise of being his mother and kicked out Morgan Palmer.”
“Whatever.”
“Why after all this time? Was he becoming harder to control?” She paused but Barker wasn’t talking. “And why kick Ms. Palmer out of the rental? Quite sure you two were benefiting from Jake’s cons. That sound right?”
Barker’s gaze danced to Madison’s.
Madison had struck on something there. “Where is Jake Elliott?”
She knotted her arms. “How would I know?”
“Fine.” Madison went into the folder to pull the photo from the crime scene of the GB written in blood, and there was a knock on the door. “Occupied,” Madison called out.
“There’s something you need to know.” It was Cynthia.
Madison stepped into the hall. “What is it? Why aren’t you at the rental or the condo?”
“I came back because I wanted to tell you this to your face. We found Jake Elliott.”
“Where is he? We’ll need to speak with him.”
Cynthia’s face went grim. “His body was in a large chest freezer in the basement of the rental. He was shot.”
Madison stumbled back and leaned against the wall. “Morgan Palmer said he was probably living in his mother’s basement.”
“Interesting.”
A picture was forming in Madison’s mind, and it wasn’t a pretty one. “I wonder if the two women killed him,” she said. “But why?”
“Don’t know, but there are a couple other things you should know. You were interested in the call history on Elliott’s phone from a few weeks back—Terry asked for my help,” she clarified. “Anyway, one of the calls placed on that Friday evening was to a number tied to Gloria Barker.”
“Okay, confirms again that Elliott and Barker were working together,” Madison said. “And with Barker’s and Palmer’s phones, I’m sure we’ll get all we need to prove their alliance.”
“Yes. And there’s something else you need to know. I looked at the city’s video again with a real close eye for who was behind the wheel of the Mercedes SUV. It was a woman with long blond hair.” Cynthia pulled out a photo from a folder she held and gave it to Madison.
Long blond locks. “Gloria Barker.”
“Could be. I haven’t seen her.”
“Oh, no, it’s her. She was at the bar that night because she knew Carson was getting ready to expose Elliott and maybe they’d arranged to meet. Gloria did what she had to in order to protect the free ride she had going. Gloria Barker is GB, I have no doubt.”
“Crazy.” Cynthia shook her head. “But, like you said, why kill Elliott? Carson was out of the way.”
“Could be that Elliott found out what Barker had done. Or he was there.” She felt herself pale and added, “He could con women, but murder might have panged his conscience. He could have become a liability that needed to be silenced.” Madison would be asking Barker, but whether she’d get a straight answer was another thing.
“And you have to wonder what Jake thought of all this. The two women pairing up behind his back.”
“It’s too late to ask him, but it’s fair game, if you ask me. What about the knife that stabbed Carson—have you found it?”
Cynthia smiled. “Someone’s a little greedy.”
“Never hurts to ask. Take that as a no?”
“It’s a no.”
“Thanks for everything, and this.” Madison held up the picture and returned to the room. She slapped the photo in front of Barker.
Barker tensed but recovered her composure quickly. “That’s me. So what? Is there a law against a person driving their own car?”
Madison smiled.
“What?” Barker snapped.
“You’re coming out of Luck of the Irish, a pub on Burnham Street.”
“I know the place. So what?”
“I’m quite sure you attacked this woman outside the pub. Her injuries killed her.” Madison pulled a photo of Chantelle Carson lying just as they’d found her in that shed and smacked it on the table.
“Who’s that?”
Not so much as a glimmer of remorse or even a stab of shock at the sight of a dead body. Gloria Barker was a psychopath. “Ah, too late for denial. You told us you knew her when you were playing your role as Mary Smith.”
A smile that had been playing on the edge of Barker’s lips disappeared.
“But I’ll remind you. Her name was Chantelle Carson.” Madison slapped a photo of GB written in blood in front of Barker. “Chantelle even identified her murderer.”
Barker swallowed roughly, fidgeted, and cried out, “She came at me! Waving a knife around. I just defended myself.”
Madison leaned toward believing that Carson had gone to Luck of the Irish that fateful night with murder on her mind, just not her own. She never did hear if there was any forensic proof to back that suspicion. “You could have called for help, but you didn’t.”
Barker looked at the tabletop. “I was in shock.”
“Uh-huh.” Madison didn’t believe that for one second. She probably didn’t want an investigation that would expose the little operation she had going or for the police to find Jake Elliott. She leaned forward. “Tell me this—was it self-defense when you shot Jake Elliott?”
Terry stopped jingling change and stepped up beside Madison.
“Jake Elliott’s body was discovered in a chest freezer in the basement of the rental house,” she explained to Terry.
“What?” Barker cried out. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Excuse me if I don’t believe you. Doubt a jury will either. You’ll be going to prison for a very long time. You probably shot Morgan with the same gun that you used to shoot Jake.”
“Morgan did that!”
“Easy to blame dead people.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” Tears sprung to her eyes.
“And I guess you two were friends, eh. Probably why she had your car tonight. But tell me, why did you two kill Jake? Did he find out what you did to Chantelle and threaten to turn you in?”
“Last I saw her, she was still alive.”
Madison remained silent.
Barker’s tears dried, and her gaze steeled. “All this is his fault! He was a stupid idiot who didn’t cover his tracks. That’s how Chantelle found us, and she was going to bring a stop to everything.”
“By everything, you mean your payday.”
Barker dramatically rolled her eyes.
“But why kill Jake?” Madison asked. “You stopped the threat.”
Barker’s nostrils flared, and she clenched her jaw.
“He was going to turn you in for what you did to Chantelle,” Madison concluded.
“I don’t need to talk to you anymore.”
No denial, and Madison took that as confirmation. “Well, it was nice of you to hand over the gun. But if you could just tell us where you put the knife you stabbed Chantelle with, that would be helpful.”
“Go to hell. And I want that lawyer!”
Madison smiled as the
left the room. Another case closed, and the killer apprehended. Definitely worth the utter exhaustion seeping in her bones.
-
Fifty-Five
It had been a long ten days. If only people could be their authentic selves instead of hiding behind lies, secrets, and false identities. All Madison wanted was to go home, hug her fiancé—now, that had a nice ring to it—and fall into bed. And with her mind on ring, she lifted her left hand. She couldn’t wait until their engagement was truly official.
She stepped through the door just after midnight. She’d taken a cab from the station and cursed the entire way home about how slow the driver was going. She tried to tell him if he got pulled over, she’d make the ticket disappear, but he wasn’t having any of it. Probably a good thing, since she didn’t really have that authority.
The house smelled like vanilla, and candles flickered throughout the living room.
The TV was on at a low volume. Hershey lifted his head and padded over to greet her. He barked, and Troy stirred on the couch but didn’t get up. He must be asleep.
She grabbed a throw from a chair and started to drape it over him. He reached up and snatched her wrist. It scared the crap out of her, and she squealed.
“Sorry.” Troy laughed. “I didn’t mean to…” He shuffled into a seated position. “Do you like the ambiance?”
“I might be a little tired to truly appreciate it, but, yes, it’s nice.” She sank onto the couch beside him. “What’s the occasion?”
He got onto one knee in front of her. “There’s something I should have done a long time ago.”
She winced. “If this is a proposal, you’re too late. I’m already spoken for.”
“Just let me do my thing.”
She smiled, held up her hands, and said, “Sorry, go ahead.”
He reached into a back pocket and came out with the ring box. “I just want to be clear on something.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” He opened the box, and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He slipped the diamond ring on her finger and leaned over to kiss her, sealing the deal and making it official. She was ready to tell the world. But it was after midnight…
“I would have enjoyed seeing your expression when you first saw your ring, but do you love it?”
“I do, but not as much as I love you.”
She let him lead her to their bedroom where they made love, and time seemed to stand still. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and she enjoyed blissful dreams only to wake with intense cramping.
She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Troy. The alarm told her it was five thirty in the morning.
She padded down the hall toward the bathroom. She had to stop twice as cramps stole her breath. Once she made it to the bathroom, she pulled down her underwear and screamed out, “Troy!”
The emergency room doctor came to the end of her bed. He didn’t have to say a word as his face said it all, but he put it out loud anyway. “I’m sorry to inform you that you’ve lost your baby.”
Madison cried, the sobs taking over of their own accord. She’d bucked against the idea of being a mother most of the pregnancy. Had she willed it from her womb? Was this her fault? She’d only started to truly accept that she was going to have a baby in the past twenty-four hours. It was because of Troy. Whenever she was with him, she felt confident enough to take on this new chapter in life. Somehow, she felt she’d be able to adjust, still make her job work.
Troy was squeezing her hand and kneading it, and rubbing her shoulders, his arm around her. “I’m sorry, baby.”
She couldn’t bring herself to speak. She was such a jumble of emotions. She hated that among them was also relief. Her life would mostly go back to the way it was—other than being engaged—but this wasn’t how she ever would have wanted things to play out. She was angry. “I was in an accident earlier in the week.” She paused, sniffled. “The doctor said the baby was fine afterward. Could it have been due to that? Did the accident hurt the baby?”
“There’s no absolute way of knowing,” the doctor said. “But sometimes these things happen, and there’s no way of knowing why.”
Had she stressed the baby with her refusal to rest? She should have just stayed home and watched TV. “Is it because I didn’t stay in bed? I mean I didn’t do anything…” But she had. She’d tracked down leads, orchestrated efforts to get corrupt cops off the street and to identify the mystery woman, and faced off with a killer. “Could stress have done this?”
“It’s possible, but very, very unlikely. Sadly, many women lose their first baby. I’m sorry I don’t have better news, and I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
The doctor left the room, and she was numb. Troy was balling his hands into fists and then unfurling them.
“I’m so sorry.” She swallowed roughly, and he stared in her eyes. “If you want to call off the engagement, I’ll understand.”
“Madison, when are you ever going to get it through your thick, stubborn-ass skull that I love you? I want to be neck-deep in your trouble. Besides, if I was going to propose because of Peanut, I would have done that at the hospital when we first found out.”
“Peanut, huh?” She recalled thinking of the baby that way too. A fresh batch of tears came. Maybe her becoming a mother wasn’t too far out there, but it was several years away.
“You’re angry,” she said, stating the obvious. His neck was red, and he was still making fists.
“Damn right, I’m angry, and I’m going to—” He started off toward the door. She jumped from the bed and snagged his arm. “Madison, let me go.” His nostrils were flaring.
“No.”
“Just let me—”
“No,” she repeated with more force. “We’re in this together. Remember? That’s what you told me.”
He held her gaze, then pulled her to him and hugged her tight. He wasn’t crying outright, but she was quite sure he was in his heart. And for that alone—her own grief aside—the Mafia would pay dearly, and so would every corrupt cop in the city of Stiles.
-
Fifty-Six
It took the better part of four days from the time Troy had his conversation with Murphy, but eventually he’d found his way to Joel Phelps in a coffeeshop outside of town.
Madison stood in the observation room with Troy and Police Chief Fletcher while Terry handled the interrogation next door. She watched and listened as the conversation came over speakers.
The subject being questioned was Joel Phelps.
“When first asked about your GMC Sierra, you said that it was in your driveway for the entire week of…” Terry went on to provide the date of the hit-and-run, which was part of the week Phelps had referenced.
“It was.”
“You sure about that?” Terry paced the room, jingling the change in his pocket.
“Obviously, you think you know something.”
“I’ll get to that.” Terry stopped moving. “Now, you often lend out your truck to your brother, Dustin. Is that right?”
“And if I do?”
“So you’re not denying that?”
“Why would I?”
“Okay, then. And you for sure didn’t lend it out to him on that day I asked you about?”
“Nope.” Joel shook his head.
“Well, I have witnesses who can testify to seeing no vehicles in your driveway that day.”
“Who?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t work that way.”
“Well, they got it wrong.”
“See, I don’t think they did.” Terry pulled a photo from a folder. Madison knew it would be the one she took of his chrome grille guard, showing the blue paint speck.
“Wha
t’s that?”
“I’m quite sure you know, but to clear it up, it’s the chrome grille guard from the front of your pickup.”
“Uh, no. I showed my truck to Detective Matthews.”
In the observation room, Madison squeezed Troy’s hand, and he reciprocated.
“He saw there was nothing wrong with my grille guard.”
“So? You had it fixed by then.”
“Not quite sure whose grille guard that is, but it’s not mine.”
“Want to look closer at the picture?”
Joel squirmed in his chair. “What about it?”
“This is your license number?” Terry rattled it off. “You can make out some of it in the picture there.”
“Yes,” Joel seethed.
“And that—” Terry pointed at the picture “—is a fleck of blue paint.” He spoke as if he had a piece of paper from some lab confirming that information.
“If you say so.” Joel’s forehead was coated in a sheen of sweat.
“Oh, it’s paint. Matches perfectly with Madison Knight’s Mazda 3.”
The play here was the picture of the grille guard and partial plate should have been enough to unnerve him. Then when presented with the blue fleck and a lie, it would hopefully get Joel to start talking.
“Coincidence.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I told you my truck was in my driveway all day.”
“You know something interesting?”
Joel extended a hand as if to say, By all means, continue. You’re going to anyway.
“You have one neighbor who even remembers seeing your brother leave in your pickup that afternoon.” An outright lie, but again Terry was convincing. Madison rarely got to see her partner’s interrogation skills, but she was impressed.
“What? No, that’s not right.”
“They ID’d him from a photo array.” Terry shrugged nonchalantly, carrying on the charade.
“They’re mistaken.”
“Your brother’s looking at jail time. He’ll lose his badge.”
“On one person’s say-so?”
“Turns out your brother’s not exactly true blue. There’s been other infractions. Not that I’ll be getting into them with you.”
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