A few seconds later, Joni’s grip grew weaker and she pulled back. Her eyes were now red and full of tears. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without him.”
“I’m here for you. We’re all here for you.” It sounded like such a pathetic offering.
“If it weren’t for the likes of you in the first place, my daughter would still have her husband,” said the woman who had answered the door.
Now it was very clear why they’d received such a cold reception. This woman was like Madison’s mother—against the job because of the sacrifices it required. The blood sacrifices, as her mother had put it once.
“Mother, stop that!” Joni barked. “Barry was happy being a cop, and we’ve been through this.”
Here Madison was thinking her family was dysfunctional, yet even in the face of such a devastating loss, this one insisted on pointing fingers.
“I told you from the beginning. Being a cop is no job for a husband and father.” The older woman’s face had turned a bright red by this point.
Madison sensed Terry shrinking behind her, either wishing to get out of here quickly or doing his best to steady his own temper. Not long ago, Terry had fought with the same issues. His wife had wanted a baby, and he had been worried about having a family due to the nature of the job.
“You’re not married, are you.” It was a statement, not a question, as the woman maneuvered to see Madison’s ring finger. Madison did her the favor of holding up her hand.
“Good. See, that’s who the job is meant for.”
Ouch…
“Mother, stop it right now. Madison is a friend of mine, and she was—”
“A friend of Barry’s? He’s gone—”
“Moth—” Joni’s word froze there, and tears fell down her face.
“Now look at what you’ve done, Gail.” This came from one of the older men. He had a full head of gray hair and deep creases etched into his face. Madison assumed he was Joni’s father.
“Well, I’m sorry, I’m just saying what I feel,” Gail said, her hands flailing.
“We all know how you feel.” The man sliced a cold glare at his wife.
Joni dabbed her nose with a tissue she must have pulled from a pocket when Madison hadn’t been looking. “If you haven’t guessed already, these are my parents, Gail and Albert.” Then she gestured toward a man with dark hair and pleasant hazel eyes. They seemed vacant, though, as if touched so deeply by grief that his soul had withdrawn. “And this is Barry’s dad, Myron,” Joni added, but then paused for a moment.
Madison could only guess what she was thinking. It would be hard to know what tense to say that in. Technically, the man would always be Barry’s dad.
“And everyone,” Joni continued, “this is Madison and Terry.”
Terry held up a hand to the room, and the three older people dipped their heads in acknowledgment.
“All of you worked with my son?” Myron asked.
“We did,” Terry responded. “He was a wonderful man.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” Myron seemed to attempt a smile, but it fell short.
“No, I suppose I didn’t… But I wanted to.”
Madison wondered where Barry’s mother was, but just as the thought entered her mind, she turned in the direction of the sound of feet padding toward her along the wood floor. A woman who looked like the female version of Barry was standing next to Madison now, carrying a mug with a tea bag string dangling over the edge. Her eyes were clear. Of the four parents, this woman seemed the most composed. Madison would wager she was still in denial over her son’s death.
“Mom, this is Madison and Terry,” Joni said to the woman.
Both her hands were cupping the mug, disclosing her discomfort. “I’m Elise.”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Terry offered.
Elise made eye contact with him. “Thank you. You two should hang up your coats and stay awhile.” She then entered the room and squeezed onto the couch between the two men.
Madison supposed this was a good time to do what else she’d come here to do. She glanced at Terry, and he nodded, having received Madison’s silent communication.
“Barry had such a great sense of humor,” Terry began as he took steps toward the parents. “This one time…” He left Madison standing alone with Joni in the doorway to the living room.
Madison touched Joni’s arm. “Can we go somewhere to talk in private?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’d love some fresh air. Do you want to go for a walk?”
As tempting as that sounded, Madison thought it best to stay near the house, or even better, on the property. “We could.”
“I sense you want to stay around here for some reason?”
Madison nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
Joni signaled for Madison to follow her toward the door to the back patio. Out of earshot of her parents, she said, “I’ve started smoking again, and I’m dying for a cigarette.” Her face fell. “Horrible choice of words… Let’s step out into the yard.”
That was a suitable alternative to a walk. It would get Joni the fresh air she desired and provide privacy for their conversation. Madison wasn’t even going to focus on the irony of fresh air combined with smoking. “Let’s do that.”
Madison grabbed her shoes from the front mat and carried them to the back door.
“Hey, Maddy.” Allison, the Weir’s eldest daughter, came to Madison and wrapped her arms around her.
Madison held her tight. When Allison pulled back, Madison ran a hand over her hair and kissed her forehead.
“Where’s Troy?” the girl asked.
The question had Madison stumbling backward. He still hadn’t come by? Allison’s blue eyes were peering into Madison’s. “I’m sure he’ll be around as soon as he can.” It took all her willpower to keep it together. She was angry that she’d been placed in a position to make him look good, especially when he wasn’t looking so good to her right now.
“Let him know I’d like to see him.”
If I’m talking to him…
“I will, sweetie.”
Allison bit her bottom lip and headed for her bedroom. The other two girls must’ve been in their rooms already.
By the time Madison turned to Joni, she’d already gotten herself into a jacket and a pair of oversize shoes.
Joni followed Madison’s gaze down to them. “They were Barry’s.”
“That explains it.” Madison smiled, confident the expression showed based on the reciprocated flicker in Joni’s eyes.
Joni slid the patio door open and led the way into the yard and around the side of the house. She took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “You want one?”
Madison held up a hand. “No, thanks. I gave that habit up a week after I started.”
“When was that?”
“I think I was sixteen.” The smoking phase of her life was just that, brief. It was the cool thing to do in high school. Everyone who was anyone hung out at the back of the school, puffing away and gossiping about everyone else who didn’t smoke. Madison had taken the plunge and actually found she’d liked the way it made her feel. She’d even liked the smell in mild doses, truth be told. She didn’t like the nicotine-yellowed windows and walls, though, and butts built up in ashtrays, and bars that allowed smoking on their patios where everyone reeked of cigarettes.
Joni slid one out from her pack and lit up. She took a puff. “I feel like a teenager again”—she motioned with the cigarette, creating small arcs with the orange glow—“like I need to hide this from them.”
“I take it your mom especially wouldn’t be happy.”
Joni rolled her eyes. “Isn’t she a piece of work?”
I’m not going to touch that…
“She thinks she can still control my life and I’m thirty-eight years o
ld, for crying out loud.” Joni took another inhale, followed by a long exhale.
Just watching Joni smoke was melting away Madison’s tension. Maybe one drag wouldn’t hurt… When Joni put the cigarette to her lips again, it took all of Madison’s willpower not to reach out for it.
“Are you close to knowing who did this?” Joni looked over at Madison, her eyes full of sorrow. No doubt they would remain that way for a long time before life came back into them.
“We have some leads.”
“Better than nothing, I guess.” Joni had gone back to looking straight ahead, leaving Madison to view her profile.
“It is,” Madison consented. “But I promise you I’ll find who did this to Barry.”
“You did promise me.” Joni made eye contact with her.
“I did, and I will make good on it,” Madison said again, her heart beating off rhythm. All those at the Stiles PD were essentially her, were they not? If any of them solved Barry’s murder, that, by extension, meant she had kept her promise. But she’d love to be the one who personally took the bastard down.
Joni’s cigarette was almost gone, the amber glow not far from reaching her fingertips now. “What did you want to talk about?”
Madison stood in front of Joni. She swallowed the emotion that welled up in her throat.
This isn’t going to be easy…
Should she say something in an effort to prepare Joni for what was coming next or just present the card? She reached into her coat and pulled it out. It was no longer in a plastic evidence bag but inside the white envelope that would have come with it.
Joni eyed the envelope skeptically, flicked the cigarette to the ground and extinguished it with a twist of her shoe. “What is that?” she asked.
Madison nudged it toward Joni until she seemed obliged to reach for it. “This was found on the passenger seat of Barry’s cruiser.”
Joni glanced at Madison, and then she slid a finger under the edge and opened it.
Madison pointed to the deck stairs. The wood would be a little cool to sit on, but Joni probably should be seated when she read the note from Barry. “Actually…” Madison put her hand over Joni’s. “Why don’t you look at it later? Maybe when you’re alone?”
Joni’s eyes grew wet with tears as she scanned Madison’s face. “This is from Barry, isn’t it?” She said it in such a way that she didn’t need an actual answer.
“It is.”
Joni stopped pulling out the card and pushed it back inside the envelope. She sniffled. “We should probably get back.”
Madison waited a few seconds and nodded.
“Thank you.” Joni touched Madison’s wrist, and with the contact, Madison absorbed the woman’s heartbreak. There would be no bringing back the man she loved, even if his killer was found. She’d have to move forward without Barry, comforted only by the memories and the love they had shared.
Madison wished, as she had many times before for the families of murder victims, that she had the power to resurrect them or somehow reverse time and circumstance. But instead, she had to surrender and tackle what she was capable of doing: finding their killers.
-
Chapter 19
MADISON STORMED INTO THE POLICE STATION. Terry was next to her, keeping up with her strides now. Her drive had been reignited from their visit to the Weirs’ house. A part of her would love to punch Troy in the nose for not going over there yet, but another part knew he was hurting too much to realize just how selfish he was being. Maybe it was this pain that blinded him to how he was treating her, but she found that thinking harder to accept.
She headed straight for the room where Erica Snyder would be consulting with the sketch artist, assuming she wasn’t finished. Two hours had already passed.
“I better check in at home after this,” Terry said.
Madison glanced over at him. She wondered how much Gail’s comment about being a cop and a husband and father had affected him. “Why don’t you give Annabelle a call?”
“I did that when you went after Troy.”
It was there in the tone of his voice. He knew something had happened between them. If her partner were a woman, this would likely turn into a big ordeal. Women tended to dig deeper, cull out underlying feelings more than men. It wasn’t sexist; it was nature. She’d have observed a change in Madison’s attitude, sensed her heartbreak, and poked and prodded until Madison burst into tears. Thankfully, Terry was letting her off without giving her too much trouble. He was still a detective, though, and she could tell he’d figured something was wrong, but he was smart enough—or just male enough—not to dig into it, and she took advantage of the pass.
Madison opened the door to the room, and the artist looked up at her. He was bent over, putting his things away in his satchel. “Detectives—” he came to a full seated position “—we’ve actually just finished up here.” He held up a tablet, and on the screen was the sketch of a young adult, Caucasian male wearing a hoodie. His nose was bulbous and wide, and his eyes were shadowed.
Madison looked over at Snyder. She was sitting back in her chair, one hand holding a soda can.
“You meant what you said, right? I’m safe?” Snyder asked.
“It’s being worked out.”
Snyder sat straight up, panic lacing her features. “What do you mean ‘worked out’?”
“Just that.” Madison turned to address the artist. “Make sure a copy of that gets out to everyone.”
“You’re kidding me,” Snyder sulked.
The sketch artist spoke over her, to Madison. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” He got up, gathered his bag, and put the strap over a shoulder. “You both probably already have the e-mail with the photo on your phones.”
Terry pulled his out, seemingly to see if that was the case, but the artist left the room before her partner could confirm.
Madison focused on Erica Snyder. “You’ll be staying in a safe house.”
Snyder’s shoulders seemed to relax.
“But there’s something that isn’t sitting well with me,” Madison said. “You told us that you didn’t recognize the shooter.”
Snyder stared into her eyes. “I didn’t.”
“But you’re absolutely terrified to go home.” Madison sat down in her chair. “Here’s what I’m thinking. You do know the people behind the shooting. You saw either them or people similar to them in your neighborhood before.”
Snyder glanced away.
“Street gangs adopt symbols that represent them.” Madison paused, waiting for Snyder to react. “Do you get where I’m going with this?”
“You think I’ve seen the decal you showed me.” Stated without emotion.
“That’s right.”
“I might have seen it before…in my neighborhood.”
“Where exactly did you see it?”
“No, no.” Panic flashed in Snyder’s eyes, and she started shaking. “You’re going to go there and somehow they are going to know that I snitched on them.”
Madison balled a fist under the table but managed to keep her tone calm. “You do know these people.”
“No.”
“A cop is dead. He was my friend. My brother.” Emotion was turning her voice gravelly, and Madison gestured to Terry. “His friend. His brother.” She made a circle with her arm to indicate the entire police department. She took a deep breath. “We need your help. Tell us where you saw the decal.”
“It might not even mean anything.”
“We’ll determine that. Now where was it?”
“The next street over from where I live. Chestnut. It’s a beige-sided house, two stories. It was on the side of a jalopy that was parked in the yard, up on blocks, but I could see it from the sidewalk.”
“And you’re absolutely certain this was the decal you saw?” Madison pulled the photo up on her
phone.
Snyder looked at the screen. “I swear to you.”
“When did you see it?”
“Last week.” She glanced at Terry, then back to Madison, and she hitched her shoulders. “I braved a walk.”
“And that’s all. You’ve only seen it the one time, and it was last week?” Terry asked incredulously.
“That’s right.”
Madison narrowed her eyes at Snyder. For some reason, she believed the woman. And if the woman was telling the truth, they just had their first real lead.
TROY WAS AT HIS DESK working through Weir’s arrest history, on the lookout for any addresses in the vicinity of Rico’s and so far not striking any gold for his troubles. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around to find Sergeant Winston staring down at him.
“What are you doing?” Winston asked, his tone hard.
“I’m working.” Troy went back to his scrolling.
“I thought you excused yourself to get some rest.”
“I did. And now I’m rested.” Troy let go of the mouse and sat back, clasping his hands in his lap. “I’m good.”
“No one asked if you were, but I’m glad you are…”
Troy ran his hands down his face. He was exhausted. His eyes caught the clock on the wall. Eight going on midnight… He just hated the holding pattern he was currently stuck in.
Winston pointed at the screen. “What are you looking for?”
“The shooter’s car didn’t have plates.”
“Not a new revelation.”
“Well, I don’t think they’d drive too far without plates and risk being stopped. I think they either came from a neighborhood near Rico’s or removed them in that area. I’m looking to see if Weir’s history pointed to anyone in that vicinity.”
“Unless Weir wasn’t their target.” Winston raised his eyebrows. “They could have been happy with any cop they came across.”
Troy hated to admit to that possibility. It would make narrowing things down near impossible.
After a few seconds, Winston consented. “I’ll play along. Say Weir was the target… Still, maybe the car never had plates to start with. They might not have cared about that risk.”
In the Line of Duty Page 12
