Injustice For All

by Robin Caroll

  Per Alphonse: Wrap things up and get back here.

  Rafe stared at Hartlock’s e-mail, rereading it for the twentieth time, then stared out the motel’s window. How could his boss expect him to dive into the case by rushing? Or did Jackson want him to fail? Would make sense. Could they let him go if he messed up? If not, they’d have grounds for corporate to send him on his way. No secret Jackson didn’t want him in Little Rock. Neither did Ed Major.

  He clicked out of the mail program without replying and shut the laptop. Perhaps his supper with Simpson would render something else. Anything at this point would be a plus. He hadn’t felt this frustrated over a case in a long time.

  As he gathered the case documents and shoved them back in the folder, he couldn’t help but wonder what Hartlock would think of him showing Simpson the file. He’d probably disapprove. But Rafe didn’t have a choice—he was shooting in the dark and running out of time. And he was doing it all alone.

  Man, he missed Darren. His partner had a way of seeing through the misdirections to the basic facts. Wait, make that his former partner. In a way, being away from Darren eased his guilt. Put some perspective in place.

  Rafe ignored the emotions punching inside of him and strode to his car. He glanced down the block to the neon light flashing the announcement of the diner. The two-by-two strip of grass between the curb and the sidewalk was full of cardboard election signs. Walk or drive? It was only a block to the diner, and the evening weather held a hint of chill. Might clear his head and open his mind.

  His cell rang before he’d even stepped off the motel’s parking lot. He flipped it open. “Baxter.”

  “Hey, buddy.” Darren’s voice brought a smile to Rafe’s face. Even in toughest times Darren’s friendship had been a rock.

  Sometimes that friendship was stronger than any other emotion. Rafe swallowed back the memories. “Hi, there.” Darren’s tone was too upbeat for there to be bad news about Savannah. “What’s up? Why aren’t you calling me from your cell?” He shoved the folder under his arm as he strode down the sidewalk.

  “Just checking in with you. Forgot to charge mine, so I’m borrowing a friend’s. Wanted to let you know the doctors said Savannah’s doing great, all things considering. How’s everything with you?” But something in Darren’s tone . . . not Savannah, but he had something on his mind.

  “On my way to speak to . . . a person of interest in this case. Might be a break.” If he was lucky.

  “That’s great. Knew you’d fit right in. You’re a good agent.” The hesitation hung over the connection.

  “What’s wrong, Darren?” Just outside the diner Rafe paused, gripping the phone tighter. “I can tell by your voice something’s off.”

  Darren gave a stilted chuckle. “You know me too well, my brother.”

  “So, what is it?”

  “It’s about your house.”

  “What about it?” Had he missed a call from the Realtor? Man, he hadn’t even called her since he’d left Little Rock. He wasn’t quite ready to have a legitimate offer on his house. He was still coming to terms with his move being permanent.

  “Someone broke into it last night.”

  He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. “What?” Why hadn’t anyone called him?

  “The police didn’t have your cell number, so they had to find where you worked. They called the office a little bit ago, and Nick called me.”

  Why would someone break into his house? “There isn’t anything there to steal. Was it a vagrant?”

  “Maybe, but they vandalized the place.”

  Rafe slumped against the outer wall of the diner. “How bad?” He’d just hired painters to do a full interior touch-up after he moved out. Eleven hundred bucks down the drain if there was any vandalism in the house.

  “Dunno. I’m getting a copy of the police report e-mailed to you as soon as they get it done.”

  Why did it all have to hit him at the same time? Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Rafe. I’ve got your back. I’ll take care of it.”

  But Darren couldn’t afford the time away from work and Savannah. “Once I get the police report and hear what my insurance says, I’ll get somebody to oversee any repairs.” Something else to handle. Maybe Maddie or Riley could pitch in . . .

  “Savannah’s supper just got delivered, so I gotta run. We’re having, uh, mystery meat and veggies. I’ll call you if I hear anything new.”

  “Thanks, Darren. Give Savannah a hug from me.” He snapped the cell closed and slipped it into his pocket, then cast his eyes to the sky.

  Am I being punished for my breaking a commandment?

  Tires grated against asphalt.

  Rafe opened his eyes to meet the confused look of Hayden Simpson stepping out from behind the wheel of a Hopewell Police Department cruiser.

  The police commissioner cocked his head. “Everything okay?”

  “Just asking for a little direction.”

  Grinning, Simpson ambled to the diner’s door. “I hear ya. Been doing a lot of that myself lately.”

  Rafe followed Simpson as he made his way to the same table he’d occupied with Bella Miller. Must be his regular.

  The delectable aroma of fried bell peppers assaulted Rafe’s senses, causing his mouth to water while he continued following Simpson. Several of the diner guests called out to the police commissioner with a friendly wave as he wove through the group. It was obvious he was liked and respected by—

  An older man in the corner narrowed his eyes as Simpson meandered to the corner booth. Pure venom shot from his glare at Simpson. His gaze then snagged on Rafe’s for a moment before he returned his attention to the newspaper spread out on the table before him.

  So, not everyone was wild about Hayden Simpson.

  Rafe lowered to the bench across from Simpson. He motioned to the man with his chin. “Who’s that?”

  Simpson twisted to look, then turned back to Rafe. “Ah, that would be Caleb Montgomery, Hopewell city councilman.”

  No mistaking the animosity in his voice. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” He tented his hands over the cracked table.

  “He just thinks he deserves special law-enforcement treatment because he’s a city councilman is all.” Simpson shrugged and motioned for the waitress. “And I disagree.”

  “I see.” But was it more than that?

  The aroma of grease and onions penetrated the diner and for the first time in a long time, almost turned Hayden’s stomach.

  Why did Caleb have to be here tonight of all nights? Why wasn’t he at home, gorging himself on something his wife picked up and pretended she cooked herself? No, Hayden couldn’t be that lucky. Caleb had to sit in the diner, glaring at him. Now the FBI agent would ask questions about his relationship with Caleb. The whole story about his contract being up would come out.

  Hayden held his tongue while the waitress poured them large glasses of iced tea, took their orders, then shuffled away. He sipped the sweet liquid and then stared across the table at Baxter. Hayden could barely sit still with the anticipation tightening his muscles. “So, what do you have on the case?”

  “Not a lot. You were my only fresh lead.” Rafe slid a folder across the table. “But maybe you’ll see something that will ring a bell or you’ll recognize.”

  Doubtful, since he just learned about Daniel Tate last night, but Hayden couldn’t deny the rush of excitement coursing through him.

  The folder was creased in various areas, as if the FBI had viewed and reviewed the information several times over the years. He opened the file and his breath caught on the photo staring up at him.

  It was like looking at himself at fifty-something years.

  He’d never wondered how he’d look as
an old man before. For some reason, in his mind, Hayden just assumed he’d look like a cross between him now and his dad. Boy, looking at this picture, he was dead wrong.

  Or perhaps, dead right. He was the spitting image of Daniel Tate.

  How had Dad never noticed that Hayden didn’t resemble him at all? Hayden looked nothing like Mom. Didn’t anybody notice?

  He shook his head and flipped over the photo. The next was a picture of his—Daniel, about in his forties with a young teenager. A ceremony . . . ah, his swearing in as a judge. The somberness in Daniel Tate’s face was offset by the pure joy in the girl’s. Something about her smile . . .

  “I’m sure this must be difficult for you.” Rafe’s voice broke in. “I’m sorry to have dumped everything on you at once.”

  Hayden turned to the next photo as he smiled. “It’s hard, yes, but I’m glad I know the truth. At last.” He dropped his focus back to the file.

  Another picture of Tate and the girl, now a slight young woman with long, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. This time the girl wore the serious expression.

  Lifting the photo, Hayden waved it across the table so Rafe could see. “Who is this woman?”

  “That’s Tate’s goddaughter, Remington Wyatt. He raised her.” The agent took a sip of tea. Ice rattled against the glass. “That photo was taken eight or nine years ago, I guess. Right after she became a consultant for the FBI. She’s a forensic psychologist. One of the best.”

  Hayden studied the photograph. The young lady was beautiful, no denying that, but there was also something else. Something vaguely familiar.

  “She’s also a suspect in Tate’s murder.”

  No way. This woman? “Wow.”

  “Yeah. It’s there in the file.”

  Hayden skimmed the information and case process, all the while feeling Rafe’s burning attention. When the waitress appeared table-side with their plates, he welcomed the intrusion.

  Hayden blessed the food for both of them, then began to eat. He took his time scanning the case details. The murder was clean . . . organized. No evidence left. Not a single tangible lead. A nightmare of a case. He reached the end of the file just before his last bite.

  Already finished with his meal, Rafe sat with his arms crossed, staring at him. Hayden wiped his mouth and laid the napkin over his plate, then closed the file and slid it back across the table. “This is quite a case.”

  “Yes.” Rafe waited until the waitress refilled their glasses and cleared their dirty plates before continuing. “Any thoughts?”

  “The agents who handled the case—”

  “Hartlock and Devane.”

  “Yes, them . . . they believe the goddaughter is a murder suspect?” Because there was something about her that made Hayden want to believe in her innocence. Made no sense why, but he just felt that way.

  “They do.”

  Hayden leaned forward, letting the information wash over him. “And you? What do you think?”

  Rafe let out a burst of breath. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “She could have done it. She was trained enough to have done it. She fled the scene and hasn’t been found since, even though the bureau’s looked for her.”

  “But?” Hayden couldn’t explain why he pushed the issue, but something nudged him to keep on.

  “I don’t know. There’s no motive.”

  “Okay, I’ll play devil’s advocate. Case file said there was an emptied safe. She could’ve stolen something, right?”

  “Why would she need to? According to everything I’ve read and uncovered, she had full access to all of Tate’s finances and assets.”

  “So maybe what she needed was in the safe and she didn’t have full access to it.”

  Rafe shook his head again. “Doesn’t make sense. Why give her full access to everything, even name her beneficiary to everything, but not give her the combination to his safe? Seems out of character for him. At least as far as I can tell.”

  Hayden had run out of arguments for theft. “We both know people kill for only a few reasons: love, revenge, greed, or to protect themselves. If we’ve ruled out greed, what’s the next angle? Love?”

  “I think we can dismiss that altogether. They loved and respected each other like a parent-child relationship. Everyone said so.”

  Hayden thought about Emily. “What if she’d started seeing someone he hadn’t approved of? After all, he was a federal judge. What if she started seeing a married man or a criminal? That would put them at odds with each other.”

  Rafe chuckled. “He disapproves of her boyfriend so she shoots him? I can’t see that.”

  But Rafe hadn’t heard all the details about Daniel. Like how he took advantage of a minor girl, then didn’t man up. “He could’ve threatened to expose the boyfriend. Or cut her out of his will.”

  “She didn’t need his money. She’d made some good investments and done well with her own income.” Rafe tapped the folder. “She didn’t take the money when she ran, and her balances right now are over seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  Hayden drained his tea. “So that leaves revenge and protecting herself.”

  “I can’t see revenge. He’d been her legal guardian for years, put her through school, encouraged her. He was even the one who introduced her to the bureau. Revenge doesn’t make sense.”

  No, it didn’t. “We’re down to protecting herself.” But he hadn’t any idea how that could be a motive.

  Rafe popped his knuckles. “I’m not liking motive as self-preservation. There’s no basis. Not in this case.”

  “So, there’s no motive.”

  “No motive, which is why I don’t see her as a viable suspect.”

  Hayden took a deep breath, his mind racing over the facts. “That leaves us with the burning question—if she didn’t murder Daniel Tate, why did she run?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Life is an adventure in forgiveness.”

  NORMAN COUSINS

  Every important aspect of his life had been documented, and Hayden was completely clueless.

  Bella flipped through the file she’d kept hidden for the nearly three years she’d been in Hopewell. The photographs of Hayden smiled back at her—his football pictures, prom, his first car, bagging his first buck, his high school graduation . . . all snippets of his life that Daniel had stolen and harbored in his safe. Stacks of documents were woven in with the pictures: copies of report cards, immunization records, even a copy of Hayden’s social security card.

  At the bottom of the box were two envelopes. One was unsealed, filled with receipts to the private investigator Daniel had hired to acquire this invasion into Hayden’s life. The other envelope was sealed and taped, with Hayden’s name scrawled across the front in Daniel’s chicken-scratch handwriting.

  A letter to his son? Cashier’s check for a secret inheritance?

  How often over the years had she stared at that single envelope and fought the urge to rip it open? Curiosity wasn’t her only motivation. Many times she’d felt the scratch from the claws of the green-eyed monster. Daniel had been her godfather . . . her parental figure . . . the person she loved and looked up to. She’d been the one there for him as he was sworn in as a federal judge . . . the one he took hunting and fishing . . . the one he’d named as his next of kin.

  But Daniel was Hayden’s biological father.

  Why hadn’t Daniel trusted her enough to tell her about Hayden? She wouldn’t have betrayed him. Even now, she still kept his secrets.

  She slammed the envelope back into the file and closed the flap. She stared out the window overlooking the bayou. Darkness had descended and filled the air.

  Daniel’s murderers were still free. No one was going to bring them down. Not unless she gave herself up and went public with what she knew.
/>   Which would put her life in danger.

  Chubbers nudged her with his nose. She smiled and absently stroked the Lab’s head. As much as she hated to, she knew what she had to do. It was time. No, it was past time. This was something she should have done three years ago.

  Bella grabbed her cell and opened the text-messaging feature. She sent a message to Hayden, asking him to come posthaste to her house, telling him it was important. When done, she tossed the phone onto the couch beside her. He might be too busy. He might ignore her. After all, he was furious with her.

  The phone lit up. She accessed the incoming text message.

  On way

  Bella let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding and dropped the phone to the couch again. She set the file on the coffee table and stood, almost stepping on Chubbers. Her stomach coiled into a tight ball. The nightmare she’d been scared of facing for three years had come full circle and stared her in the face.

  She could do this. For Hayden. For him, she’d swallow the panic. She’d endure his wrath at her. She would be there for him, no matter what.

  But she didn’t have to like it, and she was prepared to run if she had to. Her duffel was already in the truck, and she’d drop Chubbers at the kennel. The vet had Hayden’s number in the event of emergency, so they’d call him when she didn’t show up to pick up the dog. Despite anything he’d feel against her, he loved her dog.

  Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to run. It was possible Hayden could understand and help her get justice for Daniel without putting her life on the line.

  Her steps trenched a path in the rug on the hardwood floors. Every ounce of peace she’d ever thought of having seeped into some locked-away vault inside of her. Once upon a time she’d have found strength and calmness in God, but she’d given up on that fairy tale years ago.

  A good and loving God didn’t let little girls’ mommies die before they get to know them . . . didn’t let daddies get shot in the chest in drive-bys . . . didn’t let those little girls lose every person they ever loved.