By the time the conversation took place, only the three of them were left. Carter and Bo, talking about murdering their wives, and Emily behind the desk.
She thought about the character of the two men. By his own admission, Bo was mean when he was intoxicated. He’d confessed to slapping his wife around. He was poor and had several legal challenges. It was possible that things had gone badly when he got home. And if he’d relapsed, he might have had it in him to do the things that had happened today.
But was he smart enough? Emily made it a rule not to give any of them her address or phone number. She knew better than to get too close to anyone at Haven House. Would Bo be smart enough to track her down, make a homemade bomb, and put it under her car? Would he know how to pick a lock? Would he leave the kind of cryptic message he’d left?
Maybe, but Bo seemed more like the kind of person who sat around talking about doing such things, but would never take the initiative to do them.
Carter, on the other hand, had a sly edge. He was a welder, made a little more money, and had a quicker wit. Though he wasn’t that savvy on the computer, and rarely joined them on Facebook, he probably could have figured out how to track Emily down. Though she kept a professional distance between them, he did seem to have a bit of a crush on her. She hadn’t encouraged it. Maybe that was it. Maybe he felt she’d been too dismissive of him. But it was more than that. If Carter really meant to kill Bo’s wife and have Bo return the favor, it was no wonder he’d try to kill the one person who knew the truth.
And when that failed and he was sure that Emily had called the police, he had to figure out a way to discredit her. Pinning the murder of his own wife on Emily with a stolen necklace . . . and the bottle of pills . . . Making Emily look like an active addict had hammered the nail in her coffin. Even her mother and Kent probably had doubts about her now.
She hated herself for not listening to her mother about taking the job at the rehab. But she’d been so careful. There were some residents at Haven House who rode her because she took her job seriously and didn’t tolerate people who tried to smuggle drugs in. When someone violated the rules, she reported them for the sake of those who really wanted to change. But some of those she’d gotten thrown out — especially if that meant they had to go to jail — might hold long grudges. But she couldn’t think of anything she’d done to make Carter or Bo mad. Nothing for which they’d plan so carefully to ruin her life.
She prayed God would clear her name soon. He was the champion of truth, after all, wasn’t he? She wished that knowledge would calm her spirit, help her to sleep in peace. But fear kept her awake, and the threat of tomorrow made her shiver.
Chapter 30
Emily’s problems had Kent tied in knots. Part of him wanted to work 24/7 to find the killer so Emily would go free. But his professional side recognized he had a conflict of interest. If Emily was a suspect in the Cassandra Price killing, then she had to be considered a person of interest in the Devon Lawrence murder. But there was no way, given his relationship with the family, that he could interrogate her like a murder suspect. So he had to make a hard choice.
He sat in his boss’s office with Andy and filled Greg, the chief detective, in on everything he knew. “I think it’s best if I remove myself from this case,” he said. “Emily’s like my own daughter. Her mother and I are close.”
“Real close,” Andy added. “Like, he-has-a-ring-in-his-pocket close.”
Kent shot him an unappreciative look.
“Really?” Greg said. “You gonna propose, Harlan?”
“When the time is right. But everything’s up in the air right now.”
Greg tapped his pencil on his desk in a steady drumbeat. “I can see that. I guess you’re right. We can put Strand on the case. Andy can still work it and fill him in.”
“Strand?” Kent didn’t like that. Strand was a good guy, but he was a brand-new detective, with little experience in homicide. It would take someone with more experience to get the right person behind bars. “Can’t you give it to someone with a few more years under his belt?”
“Hey, Andy’s experienced. He knows everything you know about the case. It’ll be fine.”
“It’s just that . . . Emily’s a good kid. Two years sober. Good student. She didn’t do this.”
“And your bias is exactly why you’re turning over the case. You’ve done the right thing. Now let them work it. You’ll work with Joe while this is going on.”
Joe, Strand’s partner, was a good detective, but he had a chip on his shoulder. Kent didn’t look forward to it. “I’m just saying, I don’t want anybody stopping short of finding the real killer, just because they have somebody to nail it on.”
Greg looked offended. “Are you suggesting anybody on my team would do that?”
“No, of course not.”
“Do you do that?”
“No, never. But psychologically, if you’re not experienced, you tend to jump to conclusions, and the power of suggestion can lead you down the wrong track. Strand may not have the instincts he needs to sort out truth from lies.”
Andy grunted. “’Preciate the vote of confidence, partner. Listen — you have to trust me. And brace yourself for the results of this case, even if you don’t like them.”
Kent left the office feeling sick. Maybe he’d done the wrong thing. Now he had no control.
It was ten o’clock when he went home, where Barbara and Lance were trying to get settled into his house. He found Barbara in the back, changing the sheets on his bed. He liked the way she looked moving among his things. She hadn’t yet noticed him, and he watched her for a moment before saying her name.
When she looked up, her eyes were swollen, bare of makeup, and the frown lines between her eyes seemed more deeply etched. He knew she wouldn’t take his bowing out very well. It had taken hours for her to finally accept that Emily wasn’t coming home tonight and leave the police station. She wouldn’t sleep tonight.
“This house sure is brighter with you in it,” he said.
The comment did nothing to take that look of devastation from her face. “Kent, do they still have to transport her to Birmingham tomorrow?”
He sighed. “Yes. There was nothing I could do about that. A state patrol officer will come to get her.”
She turned away, tucked a corner of the sheet in. “Can I ride with her?”
“No, babe. I’m sorry.”
“Can you ride with her? Or transport her yourself?”
“No.” He stepped up behind her, took her shoulders. “I had to take myself off the case because of the conflict of interest.”
She swung around and gaped at him. “You did what?”
“I had to, Barbara.”
“But why? You may have been the only one thinking clearly! You know all the details . . . how she called you and called the Birmingham police, how she told everything she knew as soon as she figured it out . . .”
“Andy and Strand know that, too.”
“Strand? The new guy? Are you kidding me? You said he’s green, that he doesn’t have the instincts.”
He never should have told her that about a colleague. “He’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.”
She couldn’t even look at him, just turned away and finished making the bed.
“Barbara? Are you mad at me?”
“Yes!” She spun back around. “I was depending on you to get her off. I thought you would work tirelessly to find the killer. That you wouldn’t let this stand.”
“I still won’t.”
“But now she’s at the mercy of Andy and some guy who barely passed the detective exam!”
“I know this is hard, Barbara. But I’m sworn to uphold the law, and when there’s a conflict of interest, I’m duty-bound to give it to someone else. And the last thing Emily needs is some prosecutor claiming she got special treatment and consideration because her mother’s boyfriend was investigating the case.”
“So you’re going to be totally uninvolv
ed?”
“No, I’ll stay on top of things. I’ll still be informed.”
“But they won’t listen to you now! When you tell them Emily is innocent, they won’t believe you!”
“Barbara, trust me. Trust God. Emily’s innocent. I know that. But with that kind of bias, I couldn’t do a thorough investigation of her as a person of interest.”
She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, staring into the air at some unseen horror. “They’re going to treat her like a murderer. All the stuff they said about her two years ago is going to come rushing back into this case, and her two years of hard work on sobriety, and her good grades, and the changes in her life are going to go up in smoke!”
“We won’t let it. We’ll fight this together. I’m not dropping out of her life. Just off the case. I’m still there for her, and for you.”
“But you’re there as another person who has no control. What good is that?”
She pushed past him into the small kitchen, where Lance sat staring at a textbook. Kent followed her, but he didn’t know what else to say. She could barely look at him, much less speak to him.
He felt the ring in his pocket and wondered if he’d ever be able to give it to her now. The possibility that her answer would be no burned in his chest. He’d been presumptuous buying it when he did. He should have waited.
When it was clear she had nothing more to say to him, he said, “Guess I’ll go now.”
Lance looked up. “Where?”
“To your house. I’ll spend the night there. You two make yourselves at home. There’s a little food in the fridge. Clean towels, I think.”
“Why are you even going over there if you’re not on the case anymore?” Barbara asked him coldly.
“Because I’m still a cop, and I still want to catch this guy. If he comes back, I’ll be there.”
“No,” Barbara said. “You stay here, and we’ll go to a hotel.”
“Barbara, this is not negotiable,” Kent said more firmly. “I’m not on the case, but I care about this family. I’m staying at your house, and there’s no more discussion.”
He tried not to slam the door on his way out.
Chapter 31
Emily’s ride to Birmingham the next morning in a state trooper’s car was quiet. Her driver wasn’t interested in chatting with a murder suspect. She sat in the backseat of the patrol car, watching out the window as she rode, wondering if her mother would come to Birmingham, if she’d found her an attorney there, if she had any shot at getting out on bond. And what was Dr. Ingles thinking about her test? Did he think she’d just blown it off, or had he seen something about her arrest on the news? At least there hadn’t been any press waiting when she was picked up this morning. Maybe the Atlanta media hadn’t yet gotten word.
Even if the Birmingham judge set bond, how would her mother pay it? She was just digging out from her debts from Emily’s dark days. Would this set them back again? Or would those pills on the counter convince her mom Emily was using? Would that tough love muscle kick in? Would her mother fight for Emily’s freedom if she had such doubts?
When they got to the jail in Birmingham, Emily braced herself for rough treatment. Her shackles rattled as she walked into the building — heralding the fact that she was accused of a violent crime — and went through the normal booking routine.
A woman with wild, white hair and wilder eyes was being booked, and at the sight of Emily, she began wailing. “She da one!” the woman cried. “She strangled my mama!”
“What?” Emily said.
“Don’t worry about it,” the booking officer muttered in her ear. “Cass’s been here a dozen times. Her mother’s not even dead.”
Emily just looked at the woman whose face was twisted in misery. Why did they have her in jail, when she belonged in a mental hospital?
They took Emily’s mug shots, and on the way out, as they stepped down the stairs, Cass stepped on Emily’s shackles. Emily fell and caught herself on the railing, and the guard reached out to right her. Pain shot through her ankle.
“Step back, Cass!” the guard shouted. Two other guards came running and restrained the crazy woman.
“You okay?” one of the guards asked Emily grudgingly.
“I twisted my ankle, but I’m okay.” She got up, keeping her weight on her good foot. It wouldn’t be good to show weakness in a place like this. Slowly, she put weight back on her left foot, and pain ripped through her.
Sweat broke out on her face as she limped the rest of the way down to the basement. They took her to a small room and uncuffed her hands, though they left her feet shackled. “Sit down,” the guard said. “The detectives want to question you.”
She wondered if it was the same detective she’d spoken to yesterday. She would probably try to trip her up and find inconsistencies in her story. She leaned on the table and prayed that God would help her to be convincing. The truth was her only weapon. If they didn’t believe it . . . what else did she have?
After a few minutes, a man stepped into the room. He looked a little like Matt Damon, and he was young — around thirty — and smiled as though they were friends. “Emily, I’m Noel Gosling. Your mother hired me this morning.”
An attorney! Relief and gratitude flooded through her. She was suddenly self-conscious about how she looked. Her face bare of makeup, her hair stringy and unwashed, brown prison clothes — and brown wasn’t her best color. Quickly, she snatched her thoughts back. How could she be worried about her looks when she was sitting here charged with murder?
She shook his hand. “Is my mother here?”
“On her way. We talked by phone.”
“Boy, am I glad to see you. I really appreciate your coming.” She leaned toward him as he took a seat. “I’m innocent. You’ve got to get me out of this. We’ve got to get this cleared up before it gets any worse. And my family could be in danger. I’m worried about them.”
“I have a feeling the person setting you up for this’ll back off if you’re in jail. He wants them to believe you’re doing all this.”
Thank you, God! He believed in her innocence. “Then my mom told you the story?”
Noel nodded and opened a legal pad. “Yep. It sounds just crazy enough to be true. I also talked to John Stead in Atlanta. He’s a good friend of mine.”
John was an attorney Emily knew from church, who worked with college-aged kids — probably the one who’d given her mother this referral.
“He vouched for your character and integrity since you’ve been in Atlanta. I trust his judgment.”
“It’s those years before rehab that make me look bad.”
“People change. I think your story is inspiring.”
She liked him and began to relax. “Look, I know you’re going to tell me not to talk to the police, but I want to. I want to tell them whatever they want to know, make them understand.”
“That’s why I’m here.” His speech was crisp, with just a touch of southern drawl. “They’ll come in to interview you in a few minutes. I’ll be present, and if I touch your arm or interrupt you, I want you to stop talking.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“Still, don’t tell them anything unless they ask you. The more you volunteer, the more you might get tripped up. They can read things into your statement that you don’t want read into it.”
“But the truth is the truth!” she said. “I won’t get tripped up if I tell the truth.”
“Trust me, Emily. Just answer their questions. No speculation, no extra information. Now, I want you to go over everything with me before they come in. Start to finish. Take your time. They’re not coming until we’re finished.”
Emily drew in a deep breath and told him the story. When she was finished, she studied the attorney’s face. Yes, he seemed to believe her. She watched as he made notes in a small binder. “Noel, is there any chance they’ll set bond so I can get out of here today?”
“We’ll push for it, but if I know this judge, he m
ight not. Especially if he has to let you go back to Atlanta.”
“But there’s a possibility?”
“If we see the judge today, I’ll do everything in my power. Meanwhile, do you want water or anything?”
“That’d be nice. But could you ask them to take the shackles off? I twisted my ankle on the way down the stairs.”
Noel looked down at her foot, rolled up her pant leg, and gasped at the swelling. “Emily, why didn’t you tell me this up front?”
“It’s not the most important thing going on, but it really hurts.”
“I’ll get these taken off right away.”
Noel went out and talked to the police, and in moments they came in and released the shackles and brought her a bag of ice. She propped her foot on another folding chair and tried not to think about the pain.
When the two cops came in — a woman and a man — Emily prayed silently that God would open their hearts and make them believe her. They introduced themselves as Detective Stone — whom she’d spoken to yesterday — and Detective Piper. She dropped her foot and rose slightly as she shook their hands, said yes ma’am and yes sir, and hoped they’d make note of the fact that she was respectful.
“So, Emily,” Detective Stone said in a voice kinder than she’d used on the phone, “you know that you’re here because we issued a warrant for your arrest in connection with Cassandra Price’s death.”
“Yes.”
Stone sipped her coffee. “Where were you when you made that call to me yesterday?”
“I was at school in Atlanta,” she said. “But I came to Birmingham after that to warn Cassandra, because I didn’t think you were taking me seriously.”
Noel touched her hand, probably warning her not to put the detectives on the defensive.
Detective Piper spoke up. “She reported that you were following her yesterday afternoon.” His voice was gruffer, louder, no-nonsense.
Downfall Page 11
