Dylan jumps up and goes to the window again, peers out. Macy begins her report, rattling off a short intro, then they play parts of my phone call, which they’ve transcribed on the screen. I listen to my own voice, a voice that the media hasn’t heard before now, and I try to put myself in the shoes of every person out there who will view this today, and try to decide if I’m believable. I don’t know if I am or not.
“That’s good,” Dylan says when they go to commercial. “You did great.” He holds out a hand for me, and I get out of bed, aware of my wrinkled clothes and my bed head. He doesn’t seem to notice. He pulls me down next to him on the couch.
When the news comes back on, he puts both arms around me and rests his chin on my head as we watch. I feel his heart beating against my head as I listen to more of our interview.
The anchor comes back on, along with the normal morning host, and he interviews Macy about her call with me. She tells him that their network is going to be reporting it this morning, that I’m expected to turn myself in today, and according to Chief Gates, there will be a press conference later this morning where he will discuss the things I’ve revealed.
I look up at Dylan. “What should we do? Should we stay here or go somewhere else? Should we call Barbero to come here? Should I go ahead and turn myself in?”
“Not yet,” he says. “Tell him to fly here and you’ll turn yourself in as soon as we hear Chief Gates’s statement and know what we’re dealing with.”
“Maybe you could call Chief Gates now?”
“No. I can’t trust him to be honest with me. What he says to the press will tell us what we need to know. We have to wait.”
“Then let’s stay here,” I tell him. “I think if we go out we risk being seen. Everyone will be looking for us now. They know we’re in town.”
“Yeah, let’s just stay like this. I’m liking it.”
I smile and lay my head back against his chest as they come back from commercial and play more of our interview. When they break again, he says, “I wonder what’s happening with Keegan.”
“I’m sure he’s desperate by now.”
When NBC opens its Today Show, they immediately launch into the same breaking news report. My blood pressure has just shot up a few points, and my heart is racing as if I’ve done a cardiac workout.
But I feel unburdened, and sitting here like this with Dylan is a miracle. I don’t want it to end.
46
DYLAN
I hold Casey as we watch the press conference at noon, crowded with reporters and a bank of microphones for Chief Gates. Every cable news station is covering it live. It is now that we’ll have a sense of what Casey is in for, and whether I will face charges as well. Casey is shaking as we watch to see whether Gates will defend his detectives and deny what’s been reported—trashing Casey more than she’s already been trashed—or do what any clean chief of police would do when his underlings are accused of corruption and murder.
I’ve already heard a report that Keegan is still at large, and I glance toward the window, expecting him to go out in a spray of bullets as he comes after us. But the parking lot is quiet.
I turn back to the TV. As Gates comes down the front steps of the police department, the camera zooms in on him, and I study his face. He looks pale and tired, and he clears his throat as he gets up to the mikes.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming,” he says. He puts his notes on the podium and shoves his glasses on. The man is nervous. His hands are shaking as he straightens a mike. “Last night, I received a call from Macy Weatherow, a news reporter from KTAL, who was planning to go live with an interview she’d just had with Casey Cox. In the interview, Miss Cox stated that she had evidence that two of my detectives, as well as the Shreveport district attorney, for starters, had been involved in an extortion and blackmail scheme and massive cover-up that included multiple homicides. One of my detectives was among the murdered.” His voice breaks off, and he stops to clear his throat.
“Casey Cox claims that she is innocent of the crime she’s been indicted for, and alleges that these individuals were the actual killers. The reporter sent me copies of the files Miss Cox sent her as evidence.”
He stops and looks out at the reporters. The pause almost sends me over the edge.
“He’s going to deny it,” Casey whispers.
Gates goes on. “After reviewing those files and the things Cox said in the interview . . . and after consulting with special agents of the FBI, as well as the Louisiana attorney general and the governor, I have suspended Detective Gordon Keegan pending our investigation, and other suspensions will be forthcoming as we determine who else may have been involved in this alleged scheme. We have issued an arrest warrant for Detective Keegan. His location is unknown, but he is believed to be armed and dangerous.”
Casey leaps up as Gates gives the number for a tip line. “He believes it!” I grab her and swing her around.
“The indictment against Casey Cox is being reviewed by the attorney general, and if needed, we will empanel another grand jury to review her indictment. I’m deferring to the attorney general on her charges.”
I’m still holding her, and I feel her stiffening. “It’s okay,” I say. “He has to do this. He can’t just drop the charges when there’s already been an indictment. They’ll get there.”
Gates pauses, rubs his mouth. “It is not easy to admit that there is corruption within my own police department, and I do not take these matters lightly. But be assured that I will do everything within my power to see that any crimes committed by my police officers will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
That’s just what I hoped to hear. It tells me he’s stepping up, doing what’s right, admitting to the wrongdoing on his force.
“I encourage you not to turn this into a witch hunt. The FBI is now involved in this case—or these cases—and they will uncover the truth, whether it leads to more police officers or back to Miss Cox herself.
“Meanwhile, Miss Cox has agreed to turn herself in to this department. She will be charged with multiple crimes, including evading an arrest warrant, identity theft, and obstruction of justice. I will follow the recommendations of the AG regarding other charges. Please address your questions about District Attorney Phillips to the governor and the attorney general, who will be holding a press conference this afternoon.”
When he leaves the podium without taking questions, I look down at Casey. “I don’t think he’s involved. He seemed genuinely grieved over the whole thing.”
“No defensiveness,” she says. “He met it head-on. And the FBI being involved is a good thing.”
“Right. It’s all public now, and the ones who are involved will be running scared. But I don’t like the charges he said you’ll face.”
“I can handle it,” she says. “It’ll be okay.”
I take her in my arms and hold her tight, absorbing her warmth. I don’t want to let her go. She’s a perfect fit. “You’ll be out soon,” I say against her hair. “They’ll have to overturn your indictment. If they get another grand jury, they’ll surely let you go.”
“I’m just worried about you,” she says. “Gates didn’t mention you at all. And Keegan still wants you dead. He needs both of us dead.”
“You’re right. He’s insane enough to keep trying. But I don’t think even that would get him out of this hot water. Keegan’s ship has sailed. It’s just a matter of time before he gets what he deserves.”
47
CASEY
Barbero and his wife, Marge, flew into Shreveport this morning and hired a wheelchair van. Now the plan is for us to meet them behind the mall. Dylan parks the rental we’re still driving and gets into the van behind me. We take the back seats, and Barbero keeps the van idling and turns his chair around. His mood is jubilant.
“So you’re the infamous Casey Cox,” he says. “Honestly, I knew there was something different about you.”
“You did not,” Marge says. �
�You never said a word.” She looks at me over her seat. “Don’t listen to him. He didn’t have a clue.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” I say. “But it’s all out now.”
“No disrespect,” Dylan says, “but she has to have a criminal attorney.”
“Of course she does,” Barbero says. “I’m not a fool. I’m just a litigator. I don’t know anything about criminal law. But she was right to call me. I’ll do the best I can for you, Liana, and I do appreciate the exposure.”
“Casey,” I correct again.
“Right, sorry.” He laughs with Marge, and I can see that they’re both enjoying this too much.
Dylan doesn’t seem amused. “So how is this going to work?”
“They have an arrest warrant out for Keegan,” Barbero says. “They tried catching him at the private airport last night and at his house. But he evaded authorities.”
“So you think he’s still in town?” Dylan asks.
“I think he’s probably wishing he were somewhere else. His face is all over the news now. He’s gotta be desperate.”
“Don’t underestimate him,” Dylan says. “We need guarantees about Casey’s safety.”
“Yours too,” I tell him, but he ignores me.
“Keegan wants her bad. We need specifics. Firewalls and barriers. She needs to surrender in a closed-off area. Nothing public.”
Barbero laughs again. “I’ll have her protected like the president of the USA.”
Again, Dylan doesn’t respond with a smile. “This is serious. If you can’t take it seriously, we will find another attorney.”
Barbero looks at me. “This fella’s a keeper.”
“That’s the truth,” Marge adds.
Barbero forces the smile from his face and gets his game face on. “I hear you, Dylan. I’m not gonna botch this. I don’t intend to leave here with egg on my face. And I like this girl. I don’t want her hurt.”
Dylan takes my hand, and I see the worry and fear in his eyes, but not for himself. Only for me.
“Dylan, I think it’s you he’ll come after first,” I say. “I’ll be guarded. You won’t. I want you to stay with us.”
“He can’t,” Barbero says, and looks at Dylan. “Chief Gates wants to see you ASAP in his office. Before she surrenders.”
“No!” I say. “Keegan is hoping for this. So are his friends.”
“This is way beyond you two being witnesses,” Barbero says. “He could kill you, but it wouldn’t help. The media has all the evidence, all the witnesses, all the roads leading a couple dozen directions. The DA being involved? That’s massive. No, they have to see that killing you won’t put an end to this.”
“But Keegan’s a psychopath,” Dylan says. “He doesn’t care if it puts an end to it. Neither of us will be safe until he and his coconspirators are caught. I have to find him.”
“No, you don’t,” I tell him. “Dylan, I don’t want you anywhere near him! The entire police force and the FBI are looking for him. It doesn’t have to be you.”
Dylan thinks about it for a moment, then he breaks my heart. “I’ll go see Chief Gates,” he says. “Then I’ll decide what to do next.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “You’re a stubborn man.”
He squeezes my hand. “I solve crimes, Casey. I’m good at it. I can find him.”
I press my thumbs against my tear ducts as the futility of all this overwhelms me. “Then will you try to convince Chief Gates to take care of my family? Hannah and her family and my mother all need to be moved to a safe location while Keegan is still out there.”
“If I still think Gates is with us after I meet with him, then I’ll use his resources to find them a safe house. If not, I’ll find them a place on my own.”
I hug him goodbye, knowing that in the next few minutes, everything is going to change. I may never touch him again. He kisses the top of my head, my forehead, my lips, and I melt in his kiss and pray that it won’t be the last one. It would seem so cruel to have him ripped from me that way, after I’ve discovered the joy of knowing him.
Dylan pulls back and wipes my tears. “We’re going to be together again,” he whispers. “It’ll be all right.”
I can’t speak, but I nod.
He slides his fingers down my arms, across my hands, to my fingertips. He lingers there a minute. Then he reaches for the door, breaking our connection, leaving me feeling untethered. Help me, Lord.
I watch him walk to his rental car. He gets in and looks back, lifts his hand in a wave. Then he drives away.
Barbero has locked himself back into place behind the steering wheel. “Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
As we drive, I pull a small mirror out of my purse and examine myself. I think of putting on some eye shadow or lip gloss, but then I realize that I’m not Grace Newland or Miranda Henley or Liana Winters. I’m Casey Cox.
It’s time for the real me.
48
DYLAN
I have trouble getting close enough to the police department to park. There are news vans glutting the street on every side of the police station, and press are clustered there like flies on a melting candy bar.
They’re all waiting for Casey.
I park in the lot of an insurance company two blocks away and walk to the police station. I push through the media, and a cop tries to stop me before I get to the steps.
“I’m Dylan Roberts,” I say in a low voice. “Chief Gates has asked to see me.”
He makes a quick radio call inside the department, then lets me go by. I trot up the front steps, eager to get this over with so I can be where Casey is when she turns herself in. I pull open the door. There’s a charge of excitement in the air as cops stand in the front room looking out the glass doors toward the media, enjoying the drama. They don’t notice me. I head down the hall toward Chief Gates’s office. The secretary rises to her feet the second she sees me and scurries around the desk and into his office. “Chief, he’s here.”
Chief Gates doesn’t wait for me to come in. He’s at the door in a split second. “Get in here!” he says.
I hurry into his office as the secretary comes back out, and the chief slams the door shut. “Sit down!”
This is not looking good. I almost tell him he has no reason for the attitude, that he should be thanking me for exposing these monsters, but I stay quiet to see where this goes. I take my seat, and he goes back around the desk, drops into his own chair so hard that it slides back a foot. “I could arrest you for aiding and abetting a known fugitive, obstruction, conspiracy . . . But the truth is you’re the blasted hero in all this!” He says it with venom, as if he’s livid. “So do you want to tell me why you kept all this from me?”
I don’t let him ruffle me. “Because I didn’t know if you were part of this or not. It’s kind of hard knowing who I can trust when so much of the police department seems involved.”
“Seems being the key word,” Gates says. “Let me get this straight. You don’t think the chief of police needs to know that some of his major detectives are murderers? That they’re extortion artists? That they’ve made millions blackmailing people? That there are massive cover-ups that reach out to the highest level, including one of my captains and the district attorney? Are you kidding me?”
I sit there—arms crossed—rubbing my finger across my lip, waiting for his ire to die down. “Then you believe Casey’s allegations?”
“Believe them? Most of the world believes them. They came to the attention of the reporter before they came to my attention. How is that proper protocol, Dylan?”
“I told you why.”
Chief Gates looks pained. “We haven’t found Jim’s body yet. I’m hoping you were wrong about his death.”
“I’m not.”
He leans back in his chair and holds his head as if he’s got a splitting migraine. “You can’t tell me that Jim was involved in this.”
“He was,” I say. “He didn’t know about his son’s inves
tigation into it or about them killing him, but he was involved in a lot of the other stuff. They were blackmailing him. I don’t even know how many years this has been going on or the extent of his involvement, or what they were holding over his head. But he told me it was blackmail.”
“I thought I cleaned house when I came on,” he says. “I didn’t know I fell right into his trap.”
“Keegan’s?”
“Yeah, Keegan.” Gates shakes his head and gets back up, walks to the window, and looks out at all the press assembling in front of the building. “He’s really good at what he does. He came to me as soon as I was appointed. Chummed up to me, offered his help in cleaning house, said there were a lot of cops that needed to be let go. Planted suggestions about things they had done. I let him plant those things in my head and it redirected me. Kept me from ever looking at him.”
I’m feeling less antagonistic now that I know he really does believe me. “Did you seriously not get any complaints over the years? Were there no businesses that complained that they were being shaken down? Were there no victims’ families who came forward and wanted to talk to you?”
“Honestly, no. The dry cleaner who died, his wife put in a call to me, but by the time I called her back she must’ve lost her nerve and she never answered the phone. I never could get in touch with her. And Rollins . . . I knew he drank. But it seemed like whenever he was working on a case he was sober, so I just let it go. I did fire four or five guys when I first came on the force, but now that I look back, they were some of the ones that Keegan directed me to fire. He made it sound like he was looking out for the brotherhood, trying to keep everything pure. He seemed like he was at the top of his game, and convinced me he was one of the best ones I had. I’m not proud of being duped that way.”
“So what are you doing about it now?”
“I have arrest warrants out for Keegan, Phillips, and Swayze, and we’re questioning some others that I’m pretty sure are involved, now that we’ve been investigating for the last ten hours.”
If I Live Page 18
