by Diane Kelly
A second later, she hopped up onto the bed and began to lick Brigit’s forehead with her raspy tongue. Slick, slick, slick. Brigit didn’t like that her head would smell like fish bits, but she appreciated Zoe’s concern. She gave the cat’s face a lick in return.
Oddly, Zoe’s salmon-scented licks were just the comfort Brigit needed. Slick, slick, slick. She felt her mind finally drifting off …
FIFTY-EIGHT
THE UPSHOT
Senator Sutton
She was out like a light. He slipped out of bed and tiptoed out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He made his way across the living room and through the open French doors of his study, shutting those behind him, too.
He dialed the hotel number on his landline. Thankfully, local calls didn’t show up in phone records.
Wu answered on the first ring, sounding shaken. “It’s done.”
Sutton didn’t bother replying. He simply returned the receiver to the cradle, poured himself three fingers of whiskey from the bottle on his desk, and tossed it back, the burn like a cleansing fire.
FIFTY-NINE
EVIDENCE AND THE LACK THEREOF
Megan
With my personal vehicle at the repair shop, Frankie gave me a ride to the station bright and early the next morning. Detective Jackson, my partner, and I took my squad car to the police headquarters downtown, where we headed directly to Chief Garelik’s office. The bulk under the detective’s blazer told me she’d worn her Kevlar vest today. Better safe than sorry, given what happened to me last night.
With the wood paneling, a gun rack, and a number of animal heads adorning the walls, the chief’s office looked more like a hunting lodge than a business space. Brigit looked up at the mounted head of a javelina, a tuft of coarse hair on top of its head, its mouth open to show its pointy teeth, make it look fierce. She issued a soft, rumbling growl. Grrrrr.
The broad, bulky chief filled his high-backed chair, looking more enraged than I’d ever seen him. Every capillary in his face appeared ready to burst, his silver hair like molten metal on his hot head.
Derek was already seated on one of the chief’s imitation leather wing chairs, which he’d pulled up to the side of the chief’s desk, facing us, making it clear he and the chief were on the same side. Given his competitive nature, he seemed to forget that we were all on the same side. The side of truth and justice.
While the detective sat in the other wing chair, I rounded up a plastic chair from the small foyer outside and carried it in for myself, directing Brigit to lie at my feet.
“This can’t stand!” the chief barked without preamble once I’d closed the door behind me. “Something’s got to be done.”
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” the detective said. “Whoever shot at Megan and Paige McQuaid has to be involved in the Molly ring. That’s the only connection between the two of them. The person who’s most likely to be able to identify a suspect is Paige. She wasn’t willing to talk before, but now that she’s become a target herself things could be different. I’m more concerned about catching the shooter who played target practice with our K-9 team than I am in putting a coed behind bars. If we offer her immunity on the drug case, maybe she can tell us who the gunman is, or at least lead us in his direction.”
The chief leaned forward, putting two fists on his desk. “I want Officer Mackey cleared. Completely. You understand me? Any deal has to include a provision requiring that little lying bitch to testify before Internal Affairs about the video she deleted from her roommate’s phone, that it showed Derek didn’t plant the drugs.”
“Agreed,” Jackson said.
The chief sat back in his chair now. “I’d love to put Senator Sutton in his place, too.” He jabbed his index finger in the air. “How dare he insinuate my department is incompetent and unethical! Who the hell does he think he is?”
“We could pursue the evidence-tampering angle,” Jackson suggested. “If Paige says Sutton told her to delete the video, it could be enough to convince the DA to charge him. It would be Paige’s word against Sutton’s, and it wouldn’t be a strong case, but it would be something.”
Chief Garelik frowned. “There’s no way in hell the DA is going to risk his reputation by filing charges against a U.S. senator unless he’s sure they’ll fly. There would have to be more evidence.”
“We’ll see if we can get any,” the detective said. She stood from her chair. “I’ll call the DA’s office right away and get a prosecutor assigned to work out an immunity deal. The Feds will have to agree, but given this violent turn of events it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be in touch once we know more.”
The chief merely nodded in acknowledgment.
I followed Jackson out of the chief’s office. She was already on her cell phone as we climbed onto the elevator. Derek caught up to us and climbed on, too.
While Jackson talked on her phone, her index finger against her free ear to block out stray noise, I softly spoke to Derek. “Why have you been at Flynn Blythe’s place so often?”
He cut a glance my way, one that appeared both annoyed and slightly embarrassed. He let out a resigned huff before speaking. “That asshole’s been in and out of jail so many times I thought it would be easy to catch him red-handed if I popped in on him often enough.”
That was all he said, but I could fill in the blanks. He’d been looking for an easy arrest to better his stats, a chance at redemption for losing the drugs at Panther Pavilion. I suppose I couldn’t fault him too much for that.
By the time we’d made it out to my cruiser, a prosecutor had agreed to contact Paige’s attorney to work on an immunity deal. Soon thereafter, Anthony Giacomo had agreed to meet all of us at Paige’s hospital room at John Peter Smith Hospital.
Officer Spalding was on my bodyguard detail this morning, and he trailed my cruiser in his own as we made our way to the hospital. We took spots side by side in the parking garage, and he silently followed me, Brigit, and the detective inside. All of us kept an eagle eye out for anyone who might have trailed us with the intent to do us bodily harm. If such was the case, at least we’d be in proximity to medical care.
Jackson and I took seats in a small lobby near the intensive care unit to wait. Brigit plopped down at my feet, while Spalding stood near the doorway where he could keep an eye on the hall and those coming out of the elevator and stairwells. If someone showed up with the intent of trying to finish the job they’d started last night, Spalding would ensure they didn’t get the chance.
The prosecutor was the first to arrive. She was a tall, middle-aged woman with brown hair shot through with a gray that matched the color of her pantsuit. The detective and I stood to greet her. Brigit rose from the floor, as well.
“Good morning, Detective Jackson,” the prosecutor said, extending her hand.
After they greeted each other, Jackson turned to me. “This is Officer Megan Luz and her K-9 Brigit.”
The woman shook my hand now. “I understand you two went undercover at the university and busted up the Molly ring.”
I nodded in agreement, feeling a little bit like a fraud. We might have busted up the ring, but we hadn’t been able to actually bust anyone. It was unsatisfying. Like going to a party and having a good time but coming home without a goody bag.
We resumed our seats and the two women chatted about other pending trials as we waited for Anthony Giacomo to make the thirty-mile drive over from Dallas. A half hour later, he swept into the room.
Giacomo was a small man with dark hair and dark eyes that were simultaneously bright with intelligence. He had a flashy fashion sense, today wearing a teal-colored shirt under a black suit and a black-and-teal diamond-print tie. A small gold hoop hung from one earlobe. He was like a stylish pirate of jurisprudence. I bet he made good legal arrguments.
“Hello, lovely ladies of the law.” He shook hands all around and we exchanged introductions. When we were done, he held out a hand to indicate the way to Paige’s room. “Let�
��s go make sure my client’s ass is covered,” he said, “metaphorically speaking, of course. Those hospital gowns leave nothing to the imagination.”
We followed Giacomo to Paige’s room, where Spalding posted himself just outside the door.
While only one or two people at a time were normally allowed into the rooms in ICU, the doctors had granted an exception under the circumstances. Paige’s mother and father, both red-eyed, sat next to the bed. She lay propped on one side on the mattress, the white sheets bunched up around her. Without her makeup and attitude, she seemed smaller and younger, a child even.
As we stepped in, her eyes sought mine. While I would have expected them to hold anger and resentment, maybe even some betrayal, they only held regret and shame and loss. “Hi, Morgan.”
“It’s Megan, actually,” I said. I held up my partner’s leash. “This is Brigit.”
She offered a wan smile at that.
I eyed her closely. “You look better than I’d expected after taking three bullets.”
“I had two textbooks in my backpack. They slowed the bullets down.”
She’d gotten lucky. Good thing she hadn’t opted to access the books online instead of buying print copies.
Giacomo held out a hand to the prosecutor. “The immunity agreement, my dear?”
She pulled a thin document out of her briefcase and handed it to him. He sat down at the foot of Paige’s bed and spent a moment perusing it. “Looks good.” He signed in his designated spot with a fancy flourish and set the paper on the rolling table for Paige, next to the remnants of her early lunch, handing her the pen to sign. “Here you go, hon. Last page.”
Paige signed the document, too.
Giacomo picked it back up and handed it to the assistant district attorney before turning back to Paige. “You going to eat that blue Jell-O?” When she shook her head, he picked up the bowl and spoon and nodded to me and the detective. “Okay, ladies,” he said. “Have at my client.”
While Giacomo poked at the jiggling dessert, Paige’s father stood to give Jackson his chair at the head of Paige’s bed.
Once the detective was seated, she whipped out a notepad. “Who shot you, Paige?”
Paige shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “I have no idea. I didn’t see the person. I didn’t even know what was happening at first. I heard a popping noise and thought someone was setting off fireworks. It wasn’t until I was hit that I realized someone was shooting.”
“Could it be someone Chaoxiang knew?” Jackson asked. “Maybe a friend or acquaintance of his?”
Paige looked sick at the thought, her already pale face growing even more pale. When she replied, she spoke softly, sounding even less sure. “I don’t know. Chao didn’t introduce me to any of his friends.”
She’d been his dirty little secret, a thing he kept on the side. Someone he’d used for his own selfish purposes, going so far as to ditch his stash in her bag at the pool party, leaving her to suffer the consequences in order to save his own skin. Poor girl.
“How often did you use Molly yourself?” Jackson asked.
Paige looked down. “Not very often,” she said softly. “Usually only when I was with Chao.”
Or when Chao tossed her aside for another girl, like he’d done that night at Club Bassline. I interrupted, curious. “What about Alexa? Did she use Molly, too? Did she know you were helping Chao sell it to other students?”
Paige shook her head. “No. Alexa had no idea what I was doing. She drinks sometimes but she’d never take drugs.” Her voice quavered with emotion as she finished the thought. “I’m not sure she would have wanted to be my friend if she knew.”
I suspected Alexa had put the clues together and knew more than Paige realized, but there was no point in correcting her. Paige had been lucky to have a friend like Alexa looking out for her and sticking by her.
“What about Miranda Hernandez?” the detective asked. “Did Chao sell Molly to her?”
Paige nodded.
“Colby Tibbs and Ashleigh White, too?”
She nodded again.
Good. The fact that Chao had sold to all of these students told us that there may not be as many dealers out there as we’d feared.
“How did you first meet Chaoxing Wu?” Jackson asked.
“At Senator Sutton’s office,” Paige said. “He came in one time with his father. His dad’s some kind of government official over in China.”
“Why didn’t Chao just sell the drugs directly to the other students? Why use the e-mail and post office boxes?”
“He didn’t want anyone to know who they were buying from,” she said. “He thought there was less chance of getting caught if nobody saw him face-to-face. He knew if he got arrested he’d be sent back to China and it could make things bad for his father.”
Over the next few minutes, Detective Jackson peppered Paige with more questions. Was anyone else helping Chao sell, maybe a guy named Graham Hahn? Paige didn’t know, and she didn’t recognize the name. Chao had never mentioned anyone else, but it was possible. How long had he been selling Molly at TCU? She wasn’t sure. Why and how did she get involved in his nefarious scheme?
“Why?” Tears formed in her eyes. “Because I was stupid. I thought he really cared about me.”
That comment caused her father to yank the door open and storm out of the room in rage. Clearly it wasn’t easy for a man to see his daughter taken advantage of and manipulated by a boy, especially when that manipulation put her at risk of serving jail time and ending up with a criminal record that would haunt her for life.
Paige grimaced as the door swung shut. Clearly it wasn’t easy to know you’d majorly disappointed your parents, either. She turned back to the detective. “Chao and I went out a few times before he mentioned Molly. He asked if I’d ever used it. I hadn’t, but he said it was an incredible experience and that I should try it and find out for myself.”
I wasn’t this girl’s parent, but it took everything in me not to ask the quintessential parent-of-a-kid-who-did-something-dumb question. If he’d suggested you jump off a bridge, would you have done that, too?
Jackson jotted some notes on a pad. “What was the extent of your involvement in the drug sales?”
“I wrote the phone number for the cell phone in the girls’ bathrooms in all of the dorms,” she said. “Occasionally I’d pick up money for him. I answered a few of the e-mails, too.”
Jackson nodded. “We traced the IP address for the e-mail response sent to Officer Luz to the campus library. Did you always respond to the funtimemolly e-mails from there?”
“Not always,” she said. “A couple of times I responded from my computer at work.”
“At work?” I repeated, reflexively taking a step closer to her bed. “You mean at Senator Sutton’s office?”
“Yes.”
Jackson and I exchanged glances. She lifted her brows in a subtle signal that I could ask the question that was in both of our minds now.
“As you know, Paige, I overheard you and Alexa arguing after you deleted the video from Alexa’s phone. It’s my understanding that Senator Sutton knew of the video and told you to see about having it deleted. What about the e-mails you sent from his office? Was he aware of those?”
She hesitated a moment, probably realizing the deep doo-doo her response would put her former boss in. She looked to her attorney for guidance. Having secured her immunity, however, he was much more interested in his client’s dessert than his client herself. He continued to spoon blue gelatin into his mouth and didn’t even look her way.
“You’ve made a deal, Miss McQuaid,” Detective Jackson reminded Paige. “If you don’t answer the questions we ask you, you’re back to square one and you lose your immunity.”
Giacomo finally looked up from the Jell-O and motioned with the spoon. “Spill your guts, honey.”
Paige nodded and reluctantly turned back to the detective. “Senator Sutton called me to his office on Sunday afternoon. He made me
delete the e-mails from the account, wipe it clean. He also made me delete my browser history.”
Jackson and I exchanged glances again. This was big news, HUGE even. But the question was, would it be only Paige’s word against his again? Or would we be able to prove Senator Sutton was directly involved in the evidence tampering?
“Walk me through what happened on Sunday,” I said. “Step by step.”
“Okay,” Paige said. “The senator called me around two o’clock and said he’d heard I’d been arrested and that he’d like me to come to his office to talk about it. When I got there, he let me in—”
I interrupted her. “You don’t have a key to the office?”
“No,” she replied. “Interns don’t get keys. Only the full-time staff.”
“Okay,” I said. “Go on.”
“After he let me in he took me back to his office. He made me sign in to the system and show him my browser history. When he saw that I’d logged in to Gmail he went on a major rant about how the staff is not supposed to use our office computers for anything not directly related to our jobs.”
“And then he asked you to delete the e-mails and your browser history?”
“Yeah.” She frowned, her lips forming a pout. “He wasn’t very nice about it, either.”
“Of course not,” the detective replied, giving the girl a reality check. “You violated office policy and put his entire career at risk.”
Paige looked at the detective and blinked, fresh moisture in her eyes. Her stomach began to lurch, as if she were fighting back a sob.
“You mentioned you were in his office,” I said, trying to move the conversation forward before Paige could start crying outright. “Did you use his computer to delete the e-mails and browser history?”
She blinked again, three times in quick succession. “Yes.”
“Is it a laptop or desktop?”
“Desktop.”
“And I assume you each have your own user ID and password?” After all, that was standard office procedure.
