Jen jumped out of the chair. “What are you talking about?”
The examiner leaned back with a smile. “Your so-called sprained ankle, the one you made sure to limp on so Mr. Jewell would treat you like fine china. Ha!”
She leaned on the desk. “It healed, okay? I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
A policewoman opened the door. “The brick.”
Tanner hefted his weight from his chair and took it from her. “Ah… clever. The note. A bunch of expletives from Sherry Mendoza, the supposed email stalker. What do you have to say?”
Jen clenched her fist behind her skirt. “I need to make a phone call. My roommate’s name is Sherry. If she’s not home, she could have thrown the brick.”
“Sure, good thinking.” He pointed to the phone on his desk with an undisguised smirk. “Help yourself.”
She cleared her scratching throat and dialed the number to her apartment. A woman answered after the fifth ring. Her voice had an alto quality and was not as squeaky as Sherry’s.
“May I speak to Sherry?” Jen put on an overly cheerful voice.
“She’s sleeping. Who are you?”
Ire surged in Jen’s stomach. Forget the fake cheer. “I’m her roommate and the holder of the lease. Jen Jones. I need to speak to her.”
“She’s hungover. Give me a message.”
“No message. I want to hear her voice. It’s important. Has she been up this morning?”
The woman yelled. “Sherry, your roommate wants to talk to you.”
Jen sweated. What excuse would she give? Happy Thanksgiving, did you save me a turkey casserole?
Crackling noises came from the line and a slurred voice said, “Yeah? Jen?”
“Hi, Sherry. I’m not going to be home for a bit. Don’t worry about the turkey casserole.”
“What? Sure… ugh. My head’s beating me up.”
“Make sure you clean up, okay? When’s your friend leaving?”
“I dunno. See ya.” Sherry grunted and must have dropped the phone on the counter. Jen heard grumbling from the other woman before the line went dead.
Tanner looked up from his laptop. “So, you’ve eliminated her? Too bad for you.”
Jen’s head hurt and cold sweat laced her brow. “Is Mrs. Bowers going to be all right?”
He switched off the recorder and pocketed it. “I don’t know. They took her to emergency surgery. Mr. Jewell’s been released since you claim to have done the shooting. You were out on bail for murder.”
He wiped his glasses and peered at them in the sunlight. “But you’ll be spending the weekend in jail.”
“Hey wait, I thought you said I wasn’t under arrest.”
His lips stretched in a self-satisfied manner. “That’s so I didn’t have to read you your rights.”
He handed her the phone. “Call your lawyer.”
* * *
Dave walked out a set of double doors at Valley Medical Center. Pete Bowers, Melissa’s husband and CEO of OgleNet, met him at the fountain. His pugnacious face was beet red, and he punched Dave without preamble. “What the hell was my wife doing at your house?”
A security guard yelled, “Hey, hold it down, man.”
Dave held his jaw and rubbed his throbbing forehead. “I had no idea she was there. Someone shot up my living room, and my girlfriend shot back.”
“What were you doing, cheering her on?”
Dave hung his head. “Of course not. Melissa’s my friend. I’m just as worried as you are.”
Pete shoved Dave against the wall. “She has a collapsed lung, and they’re digging buckshot out of her. You’re one hell of a cheeky guy to say you’re as worried as I am.”
The guard yelled, “Take it out of here.”
Pete pushed Dave and strode off. Dave bent his face to the wall. He should never have played with fire. And Melissa was definitely fire, make that molten lava. How much did Pete know? It’s not like he fleeced her. They had a mutual agreement, and he allowed her to make wise investments early and often. But still, what he’d done was a sin and she was hurt as a result.
He called his lawyer. “Phil, I’m in trouble again.”
“Yeah, Owen texted me. Jen shot the wife of OgleNet’s CEO. The gossip network. It’s all over the friggin’ internet.”
“Jen didn’t do it on purpose. She was afraid for her life.”
“What was she doing at your house in the first place? I told you to stay away from her.”
He palmed his aching head. “She’s in danger and it’s my fault.”
Phil sneezed and cleared his throat. “Well at least the thugs were picked up by the police. They had several handguns and a shotgun. What’s puzzling is the message taped to the brick. It was from Sherry Mendoza, another incarnation of your email stalker. The usual expletives against you.”
“Does this mean Sherry and the kidnappers are connected?”
“Maybe, and maybe not. Nick SnotOgler’s blog claims Jen is impersonating your email stalker. So the thugs might have gotten the idea to mislead us, or perhaps—”
“Were they the same ones who kidnapped Jen?” Dave picked at the gauze pad on his right temple.
“Yes, and one of them says he’s your friend from college. Tom Banks, remember him?”
Tom? The one who used his car for job interviews last summer? Dave groaned. Of course. Tom was pissed when he refused to hire him for lab manager. Greta and the team chose Bruce, even though Dave had put in a good word for Tom. But how could he have misjudged him? His dad’s disdainful words percolated, Naïve loser. They don’t even have to pull the wool over your eyes to fool you.
Phil’s voice punctured his thoughts. “Are you listening? Tom’s alias is Barry Blanks. He’s the one Jen called Scraggly Beard.”
Dave’s lungs deflated as if he lost his wind. “Tom? How could he be involved? Are you telling me he took my car and ran over Rey?”
“It’s possible, although a witness claims a young woman with brown hair drove the car away. She could have met up with Tom later, but we have no proof. The perps aren’t talking. At least they’re off the streets.”
Dave grabbed a handful of his hair. “Did the police ID the woman who took the car? Maybe she’s the email stalker.”
“Mrs. Bunney, the witness, couldn’t pick Jen from the lineup. But then, she’s so old and distraught about her dog dying that she’s not considered reliable. She couldn’t understand why all the suspects weren’t wearing the same clothes.”
Dave exhaled through his nose. “So it could be anyone. Why would the police arrest Jen?”
“Look, I’m your lawyer, not hers. If you ask me, I think Craig Pearson, your former study buddy is behind the emails. Anyway, why are you so concerned about the email stalker? It’s just a minor annoyance, no harm done. Unless you think it’s her?”
“Her who?”
“You know, back at Stanford, the teaching assistant? What was her name? Wasn’t it Sherry or something?”
“That’s nuts,” Dave said. “Last I heard she took a canoe to the Okefenokee Swamp, paddling past alligators and water moccasins. That was eleven years ago.” Dave rubbed his itchy eyes. “You don’t suppose Jen’s roommate knew about her?”
“Nah… I already checked out the roommate, dumb as a lug nut. And she’s a skinny blonde, doesn’t look anything like the one you dated, quite an Amazon, that one. Do you think she’s back in the Bay Area?”
Dave massaged the bridge of his nose. Too many loose ends. Too many brown-haired women.
“Look, I gotta do some investigating,” Phil said. “Meanwhile, stay away from Jen. I don’t expect you’d listen to me, but if Mrs. Bowers dies…”
“Mr. Jewell?” A nurse stopped in front of him. “Mrs. Bowers is out of recovery and asking for you. She seems agitated even though we have her sedated. Her husband is also interested in hearing what she has to say, but she won’t talk until you’re present.”
Relief swarmed over Dave, and he gave thanks to Go
d. He ended the call with Phil and followed the nurse.
Melissa lay with tubes in her arms, her head covered with a bonnet. She tried to smile, although her eyes were barely open. Pete glowered at Dave but made room at the bedside.
Dave pulled up a chair. “Melissa, you’re okay. What do you want to tell me?”
She wiggled her fingers, and Dave held her hand, squeezing it lightly, despite her husband’s grunt.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her words slurring. “I-I didn’t… didn’t mean to run over that dog.”
“Dog?” Dave stuttered. Maybe he had a concussion after all. She wasn’t making any sense.
Pete took Melissa’s hand from Dave. “Yes honey, and you already made your circles for the dog’s soul and gave offerings. There wasn’t anything more you could have done.”
“B-but I was driving Dave’s car when I ran over Mrs. Bunney’s dog—a big, black shaggy one.”
Dave’s mouth dried. Had he heard her right? “A dog? You ran over a dog with my car?”
“And I’m sorry you got into so much trouble.” Melissa lips trembled. “Forgive me?”
“But, Mel, why did you take my car?” Dave leaned close.
“You were with… with Claire,” she whispered. “I wanted to play a trick on you.”
Dave rubbed her shoulder, and Pete yanked him back. “What was she telling you?”
“It was a joke.” Dave faked laughter.
Melissa blinked and wiped her eye. “The poor dog.”
Pete clapped Dave on the back. “The police tried to railroad the murder on you because of a big black dog? And here I was worried my Shopahol investment would go up in smoke. I’ll make sure this gets out on the OgleNet Turd Dish Today page. A big, black dog. Unbelievable.”
Dave nodded weakly. One problem solved, but a thousand more loomed. “Melissa, why didn’t you just call?”
She darted a glance at her husband and bit her lip. “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t dream I’d get shot.”
Dave grabbed Melissa’s hand again. “Please don’t press charges.”
Pete stopped her answer. “We’ll decide after we consult with our attorney. Your girlfriend can’t be going around shooting people.”
Melissa’s eyes widened. “She’s your girlfriend?”
Dave glanced at Pete. “Yes, and she was spending the night with me when the thugs attacked. If she hadn’t shot, who knows what they would have done. Besides, she saved the company last night.”
Pete’s grin spread like a grassfire, and he kissed Melissa’s forehead. “See, honey, he has a girlfriend. You didn’t have to worry so much about him.”
To Dave he said, “I heard about your data center burning, but was surprised when the code came up. Speaking of which, I want to make another investment. Mississippi.com reports blowout sales. Every other online retailer wants to order systems before Christmas.”
“You won’t sue?” Dave asked.
“I’ll think about it.” Mr. Bowers kissed his wife and turned to Dave. “If you keep your girlfriend happy and sell us another chunk of stock.”
“Sure thing.” Dave crossed his fingers and glanced at the clock. He was late to the Marketing meeting.
Chapter 28
Jen paced in a corner of the cell, trying to ignore the other occupants. Why hadn’t Dave come to see her? God, please let Mrs. Bowers be all right. Tanner was right. Reckless discharge of a firearm. And now a woman’s life hung on a thread. Maybe Dave was at the hospital, or worse, the funeral home. An aching tightness clutched her throat, but she fanned herself and blew to calm down. No one had charged her yet.
A guard opened the heavy metal door and signaled to Jen. “Your lawyer’s here.”
Owen followed the guard. “We’re going to see Detective Mathews. They called him back from Tahoe to question you.”
“How’s Mrs. Bowers?” Jen limped out of the cell with the guard holding her arm.
Owen wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “She’s okay. We don’t have much time.”
“Are they going to charge me with the shooting?” she whispered.
Owen glanced at the guard. “We’re waiting for the crime scene investigation and ballistic results. I’m going to claim self-defense and reasonable fear of personal injury.”
“What about the guys who shot at me?”
Owen laughed. “You blew out their tires. They were riding on the rims and arrested. Can you believe they were driving Rey’s car? You okay?”
“No. When can you get me out of here?”
“I’m trying, but it’s a holiday weekend. At least you’ll be safe in here.”
Jen swallowed a bitter taste. “Sure, it’s just so cozy with the hookers, druggies, and alkies, a regular girls’ club.”
The guard stopped in front of a door with a frosted glass window and knocked. “Detective Mathews, the prisoner is here.”
Mathews opened the door. His snakelike mustache twitched over his goatee, and he gestured sharply for them to enter.
Jen leaned closer to Owen. “What should I say?”
“I’ll do the talking.” He squeezed her shoulder, and they walked through the door. “Don’t worry.”
Detective Mathews glared at Jen. “So, Miss Jones, we meet again. This time, you better tell the truth.”
He motioned for Jen and Owen to sit and offered them water. Switching on a recorder, he sat across from Jen. “Tell me about your relationship with Rey Custodio.”
Jen glanced at Owen. “He was a friend.”
“Friend?” Detective Mathews stood and bent over Jen so close she could smell the coffee on his breath. “Rey Custodio was your blackmailer. What was he blackmailing you about?”
“Hold on, Detective.” Owen said. “We don’t know if Rey Custodio blackmailed anybody. The calling patterns on his phone changed drastically after Saturday, November 10, 2012. I suggest whoever has his phone now is blackmailing people. Tell her about the other text messages and calls.”
Mathews crossed his arms. “It’s obvious you already know, but your client continues to receive text messages from that phone. Messages with no substance. I wonder why?”
Owen shrugged. “There’s nothing to blackmail her about. Railing about broken builds and calling her names doesn’t implicate her.”
“Exactly, since she’s texting herself as a smokescreen. Isn’t it coincidental that the text messages to Mr. Jewell didn’t start until after Mr. Custodio’s death.”
“W-what? They texted him too?” Jen almost choked on her sudden gasp.
Mathews put a hand on his hip. “Don’t look so surprised. Let me recount the crime to you.”
Jen looked to Owen, but he leaned back with a self-satisfied grin. Jen rubbed her palms on her skirt as a flush of sweat dampened her forehead.
Mathews circled Jen like a leopard regarding a particularly delicious and endangered morsel. “Rey Custodio became inconvenient to you once you set your sights on Mr. David Jewell, CEO of internet sensation, Shopahol. You turn down Rey’s proposal, stalk out of the restaurant and take Mr. Jewell’s car. Rey follows you to your work. You argue with him. He walks with you into the parking lot, and you shock him with a stun gun.”
He stopped and crouched so his eyes were level to hers. “While he’s twitching on the ground, you run over him with Mr. Jewell’s car.”
“No, no!” Jen’s head and shoulders shook.
“I’m not finished.” He huffed. “You take his cell phone and call yourself as a smokescreen to show he was still alive. You copy the code, drive back to Atherton where you drop off Mr. Jewell’s car and contact your buddies for a ride. Only one problem. They upload the code and find it broken, so instead of driving you home, they drop you off at Shopahol to make a new copy for them. For some reason you refused, so they steal Rey’s car, plant the stick on him, and leave you hanging.”
The blood drained from Jen’s head. “That’s not true.”
She tapped Owen. “Tell him. I didn’t do it.”
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Mathews picked up a file. “It’s all here. Your buddies have turned state evidence and told all.”
Owen rubbed his chin and laughed. “With all due respect, they should have left you at Tahoe. Haven’t you read OgleNet’s Turd Dish Today? Release my client immediately or you’re going to have one hell of a lawsuit.”
Mathews’ eyes narrowed. “Cut the jokes. Your client is a danger to society. I suggest she confess. She might receive a lighter sentence.”
Owen pointed to the files. “Do your homework. Have you read Pete Bowers’ statement? Checked out the forensics on the hair and blood? Suggestion: vet the murder weapon before you arrest anyone. Now, let my client go.”
Mathews blinked slowly and switched off the recorder. He picked up the phone. “Take the prisoner back to her cell.”
Jen’s heartbeat quickened. Had there been some news? The guard took Jen’s arm to help her walk.
Owen maintained a stone face until they approached the cell. “I’ll meet you in front of the comm-window.”
The guard shoved Jen into the communication room. She stumbled to the stool and picked up the phone. Owen grinned and gave her a thumbs up.
“So, tell me. Spill it,” she said.
Owen’s face reddened with giggling. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Melissa Bowers took Dave’s car on a joyride and ran over a black dog. Mathews’ case has fallen apart faster than a supermodel’s wedding vows.”
“So, I’m off the hook?”
“I’ll have a chat with the chief of police. Worse case, you’ll spend tonight in jail.” He high-fived her through the glass.
Jen took a refreshing draught from her water bottle. After they said goodbye, she was brought back to her cell. She sunk to the cot and took a deep breath. Mrs. Bowers ran over a dog! Dave was innocent, and by now he knew she was too.
She couldn’t sleep, so she stared at the ceiling. Rey had been blackmailing other people. How did he, a marine who spent the last six years in Iraq, collect so much material? It had to be Rodrigo. Rey had returned only months before Rodrigo’s death. Had Rodrigo blackmailed the wrong person? Rey’s last words, ‘Rod’s death was not an accident,’ rang in her mind.
Broken Build: Silicon Valley Romantic Suspense Page 22
