Deeper

by Ronica Black

  “Elizabeth Adams. This is the Valle Luna Police Department.” Static came screeching back.

  Straightening, Patricia was surprised to see Detective Jeff Hernandez next to her instead of Gary Jacobs. He pointed to the mounted security camera located on the wall above them. “It hasn’t moved.”

  “Is it supposed to?”

  “If she wanted to get a good look at us, it would.” He indicated another camera farther down on the wall that surrounded the property. “That one hasn’t moved either.”

  Stewart coughed and lit a cigarette. He was back to smoking again. It seemed every time he tried to quit he started back up, smoking even more than before. He shook the gate with his meaty hands and then tried to pull the two sections apart.

  “Easy there, He-Man,” Patricia said. The situation was bad enough. The last thing she wanted to do was give Stewart mouth-to-mouth when he had a heart attack from overexertion.

  She approached her car and leaned on the open door. She couldn’t believe she was here again. Elizabeth Adams just couldn’t seem to stay away from trouble. The woman was dangerous, Patricia had been singing that same song for a long while now. She didn’t need a trial and conviction to prove it.

  “What makes you think she’ll come with us without a warrant?” Gary asked.

  Patricia slid inside the car and placed her hands on the steering wheel as he rustled open the morning paper and sipped his coffee. He was forever composed and calm, as patient as a patron saint. This morning his serenity was more annoying than assuring.

  “She’ll come.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “We’re not exactly her favorite people.”

  Patricia focused in on the house in determination. “All we’re going to have to do is say three little words.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Patricia narrowed her eyes. “When it comes to Elizabeth Adams, I usually am.”

  Chapter Four

  Erin jerked as Liz suddenly stilled. Her flesh was aching, starving. She started to move her hips, needing more, but Liz’s breathing had changed. Instead of determined and hurried with desire it was clipped and sharp. Erin focused, her heart and body pounding, as they both sat up.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The alarm.”

  “What?”

  The dogs started barking from beyond the closed bedroom door. Liz stumbled from the bed, turned on the bedside lamp, and slipped on flannel pants and a T-shirt. Bright light pierced Erin’s eyes. Blinking, she got to her feet and quickly dressed. Liz examined the illuminated security keypad. Concern furrowed her brow. “Someone’s trying to get in the gate.”

  “Who? Douglas?” Erin hugged herself, battling an anxiety she hadn’t felt in over a year and hoped she’d never feel again.

  “No, he wouldn’t keep trying. He’d just come back later.”

  “Who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know, but you stay back, okay?” Liz squeezed Erin’s hand, ever the protector. Her eyes were bright and alert.

  Erin smiled at her. “I was once a cop, remember?” It seemed like years ago, now, but she’d once been a damn good one, especially on undercover vice.

  “How could I forget?”

  The beeping continued to echo from the speakers that were wired throughout the house and property. Erin hurried after Liz down the hall beyond the front door and sunken living room, past the kitchen to the opposite wing of the house. They entered the study where the security monitors were kept. Erin heard her curse loudly.

  “What? What is it?”

  Liz’s face was stern and, Erin noticed, still unusually pale. “It’s the cops.”

  “The cops? What could they possibly want?” Erin asked, feeling a bit sick to her stomach.

  Liz punched in her code on the nearest keypad and silenced the alarm. Then she typed some more, opening the electric gate. She stalked to the large front door and shooed the two Dobermans.

  “Liz?” Erin stepped up next to her, wanting to give and receive some sort of reassurance. But none was forthcoming.

  Liz jerked the door open and stared with unmasked hatred as two police cruisers squeezed past the opening gate and screeched to a halt on the circular drive.

  A rush of cool morning air pressed against Erin’s clothes and blew Liz’s dark hair away from her shoulders. The police cars sat in silence with their windshield lights flashing in the early dawn light. Erin trained her gaze on the small group of detectives heading up the walkway.

  They all looked eerily the same, as if she’d just seen them the day before. Only these people were no longer her colleagues, and that fact was evident in the way they avoided her stare. The way they were acting, they might as well have been perfect strangers.

  “Elizabeth Adams?” Detective Martin Stewart shoved his badge in their faces.

  “We’ve met before, Detective,” Liz said.

  Erin’s cheeks heated as she took in her former colleagues. Their stares were hard and unfriendly, aimed at Liz. The chill from the spring air suddenly seemed nothing in comparison to their intent.

  “We would like to take you in for questioning,” Detective Patricia Henderson said. Her tone was one of complete indifference.

  “Is that why you were once again trying to break open my gate?”

  “We didn’t break it last time. The electricity was cut,” Stewart interjected.

  Liz glared at him. “Which I’m sure was your next option this morning. Seeing as how your lame attempts to pull it open failed.”

  “What’s this about?” Erin asked, wondering what Liz had seen on her security monitors. What the hell were they doing here? Just when she’d thought they were finally going to be left alone. “You said yourself, Patricia, that Liz is free and clear of any charges.”

  Patricia had been there during those final moments when Kristen Reece confessed to all the killings. She’d shot Reece, saving both Liz and Erin.

  “There’s been another murder,” Patricia said, her blue-green eyes fierce.

  “What?” Erin said in disbelief.

  Stewart thrust forward a photo taken at a crime scene. Erin grabbed it and scanned it quickly. She inhaled sharply at the familiar scene, this one a deceased male, discarded in the desert, his pants yanked down, his genitalia stabbed.

  Liz leaned in and examined the photo with her. “This doesn’t explain why you’re here,” she grumbled, scowling. “Get off my property.”

  “Look closer,” Patricia demanded. “Look at his face.”

  “What?” Anger etched Liz’s perfect features.

  Erin focused on the dead man’s face. Liz pressed against her and Erin felt her body stiffen as recognition settled in. Liz plucked the picture from her hand and stared at it long and hard. When her hand began to tremble, she forced the photo back toward Patricia. Erin squeezed Liz’s hand, terror and shock rushing through her.

  “Joseph Gillette,” Patricia said. “He was working for you, was he not?”

  Liz stood taller but Erin could feel her unease. “Yes.”

  Erin fought back tears. Joe Gillette was an actor Liz had hired for one of her new gay films. He was young and handsome but also cocky and stubborn. Seeing him dead and mutilated hit her down deep, even though she’d seen some dead bodies in her time. Seeing a dead person you knew was a whole different experience.

  “We need you to come with us for questioning,” Patricia said.

  Liz stared at each detective with what Erin recognized as shock and disbelief. Eventually, when no one said a word, Liz looked away and her posture softened but her face remained hard. Erin had only learned to read her lover’s subtle body language after months of being intimate with her. To everyone else Liz would seem calm and indifferent, but Erin knew she was hiding her fear.

  “When did this occur?” Erin asked.

  The detectives exchanged looks. Jeff Hernandez still refused to meet Erin’s eyes.

  “The body was discovered yesterday,” Gary Jacobs said in
his matter-of-fact tone.

  “Time of death?” Erin shot back.

  Stewart grumbled something inaudible.

  “The coroner puts the time of death between seven p.m. and two a.m. the night of the fourth,” Patricia replied after a brief pause.

  Erin’s mind raced. “That was Saturday. Liz was with me at the club. And then here at the house.”

  “You got a way to prove that?” Stewart asked.

  “You know we do,” Liz let out, smooth and deep.

  Erin nearly cringed at the video surveillance her lover was referring to. It had proved Liz’s innocence once before but had exposed them as lovers to the entire department.

  “Oh, yeah.” Stewart’s eyebrows rose. “How could I forget?”

  Liz took an angry step forward, but Erin gripped her wrist.

  “Good, because we’ll need to check,” Patricia snapped. “Now in the meantime, get changed, we’re taking you in for questioning.”

  “You have a warrant?” Erin asked.

  “It’s processing.”

  “Then she’s not going anywhere.”

  “Witnesses say you fought with Gillette on Friday.” Jacobs stared at Liz as if he expected an instant confession.

  Liz didn’t respond but Erin could see the skin darkening at the base of her neck.

  “In fact,” he pressed her, “we’ve heard you two fought a lot. Did those fights ever turn physical?”

  “You son of a bitch,” Liz seethed, ready to attack. When Erin pulled her back again, Patricia spoke.

  “Jameson Marie Adams.”

  Both women tore their gaze from Jacobs to Patricia. Erin felt a shudder pass through Liz’s body.

  “What about her?” Liz asked.

  “I thought she didn’t exist?” Patricia taunted with venom. “Well, it seems she does indeed exist, even if Arcane, Alabama, has no legal record of her. I saw her with my own two eyes as well, of course.” She paused a moment, seemingly for effect. “She was named after your grandfather, wasn’t she?”

  “Just tell me what you want, Detective.”

  “Come downtown, Ms. Adams,” Patricia said. She turned away from them, unwilling to discuss it further, and headed back to the vehicles. After long, questioning stares aimed at both Erin and Liz, the other detectives walked after her.

  Erin watched them in silence and closed the door. “You don’t have to go.”

  “No, I don’t. I can go out there and tell them to fuck off, to get off my property, even bang up their cars a little. But we both know they’ll just come back in a few hours with a warrant. We’ve been through this before.”

  “But Jay didn’t do this,” Erin stammered.

  Jay, Liz’s sister, had been on the run for months. She couldn’t have done it. Liz had sworn that Jay didn’t kill, couldn’t kill. Erin had to have faith in that. It was the only way she slept at night.

  Liz stared down at Erin’s fingers, still locked around her wrist. Her face was drawn. “Obviously they think she did, or she might know who did.”

  “But she’s gone, right? I mean if she’s gone and you don’t know where she is…what would they want with you?” Oh, God. No, please. Not again.

  “You saw the photo, Erin. I have to go.”

  Erin knew how much Liz loved Jay and how she’d protected her in the past.

  “You don’t know where she is, do you?”

  “No.” Liz detached herself from Erin’s grasp. She turned and headed down the hallway.

  As Erin watched her walk away, she hoped with all she had that Liz was telling the truth.

  Chapter Five

  Even though it was different than the one she’d been in before, the stifling interrogation room looked exactly the same, even smelled exactly the same. Like coffee that was way too strong and stale cigarettes. She hated both. The carpet was worn and charcoal gray, the walls a faded yellow-white, as if a thick layer of criminal filth covered it all.

  The door opened and Liz released a long-held breath as her attorney, Cynthia Carmichael, eased into the room. Her arrival felt like a rush of fresh air. Impeccably groomed and levelheaded as always, she pulled out the ancient chair and sat down across from Liz. “Nice room,” she said wickedly.

  Liz sighed. The room was small, and there was no two-way mirror, ensuring their privacy.

  Cynthia drummed her red nails on the table. She looked gorgeous in a dark gray skirt and jacket, red silk blouse underneath. “Sorry I’m late, but I had a facial at eleven.”

  Liz laughed softly, knowing she was only half kidding. “You’re such a princess.”

  “That’s right, but this princess takes shit from nobody.” Cynthia smiled. “So what’s new?”

  “Not a damn thing. These cops are on my ass again.”

  Cynthia studied her through well-made-up eyes. “They gave me the rundown. They don’t have anything in accordance to you. Erin gave me the tapes from the club and house and they confirmed your alibi.” She paused and stopped drumming her nails. “You two have quite the sex life.”

  Liz stiffened.

  “Don’t worry, I only gave them what they needed and I only saw enough to make me want to head straight to the bakery.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  “Don’t push it, Carmichael.”

  Cynthia patted her hand. “Let’s go. You’ve been here long enough.”

  “I don’t think they’re finished with me yet.”

  Cynthia raised an eyebrow. “Since when does that matter?”

  “I can handle them.” Liz knew these cops just as well as they knew her. Speaking with them didn’t frighten her. She’d always been able to hold her own.

  Cynthia sighed in obvious frustration. “Why the hell is it you pay me, Adams?”

  Liz smiled. “To handle things when I can’t.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “You didn’t have to come down here.” Liz had called her before she left for the police station as a formality and at Erin’s insistence.

  “I’m your lawyer. You call, I come.”

  “I can handle them. Just like I did last time.”

  Cynthia stared as if she were completely baffled by her. “They kept you for hours on end last time. Why in the hell you let them do that is still beyond me. You should’ve let me handle it.”

  “I was fine.”

  “You call getting yourself charged with murder fine?”

  “I was innocent.” She’d been at Patricia Henderson’s that night a year ago, but she wasn’t the killer the police were looking for.

  “What about now, Adams? Do you know where Jay is?” Cynthia leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “Because if you really don’t, then you’d tell the cops to piss off and leave.” She narrowed her eyes. “But if you do know where she is, you might play dumb just long enough to find out how much they know. Which I suspect was what you were doing the last time you were questioned.”

  Liz returned her stare. “You’ve got one hell of an imagination.” Cynthia was the best there was and she was continuing to prove it.

  “That I do.” Cynthia pressed her dark red lips together. “You ever hear of attorney-client privilege?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You can talk to me, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Then how ’bout it? Why not let me earn those big bucks you pay me?”

  “I don’t know where she is.”

  Cynthia again raised an eyebrow, waiting for Liz to continue.

  Liz took a deep breath. “They know too much. Things I thought no one could ever find out.”

  “They’ve been investigating her for a while. You know that.”

  “I’m afraid for her. If she gets caught, she’ll get hurt. She won’t understand. She’ll never make it in a prison. All she’s ever tried to do is protect me. Why can’t people see that?” Liz closed her eyes, more afraid of facing her emotions than she was of exposing them to Cynthia.

  “J
ustice is blind,” Cynthia whispered. “Literally and all the way around. All law enforcement sees is what she’s been involved in. They don’t care why.” She patted Liz’s hand again. “That’s the way it works.”

  Liz opened her eyes and stared so hard into the wall she almost thought she could bore right through it. Then, her voice on edge, she said, “Let’s go.”

  They stood and Cynthia smoothed down her skirt. Liz held the door for her. As they exited, Patricia and her superior, a short man in glasses, stood waiting.

  Cynthia offered a practiced smile. “I think we’re done here. My client has generously volunteered her time to answer your questions. Now she wishes to return home.”

  Patricia pinned Liz with a hard look while her sergeant stormed away. “Sooner or later, we’ll find her,” she said, her voice low but controlled.

  “With this force, I’ll bet on later,” Liz responded, just as cold.

  Cynthia cleared her throat. “Have a nice day, Detective.” She linked her arm with Liz’s and escorted her out of the building.

  Liz squeezed her fists, still fuming over Patricia’s remark, over the whole damn thing. Her heart sped up as she thought back to the graphic crime scene photos they’d shoved in her face. She forced them from her mind and squinted in the daylight.

  Ahead of them, parked at the curb, Cynthia’s silver Mercedes shimmered in the sun. Cynthia rested a hand on the roof and slipped on her shades.

  “You know where she is, don’t you?”

  Liz looked beyond her to the busy street.

  Cynthia took her silence as a yes. “When’s the last time you heard from her?”

  Liz didn’t respond.

  “Do you think she’s involved?”

  Liz brought her fierce gaze back to her longtime attorney. “Absolutely not.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I know her. I know her better than anyone.”

  “You thought you knew last time too.”

  Liz felt her skin heat. “She didn’t kill anyone.”

  Cynthia opened the driver’s side door. “If you’re so sure, then you better get in contact with her.” She slid inside and started the engine. “And, Adams?”