Eight
Once I got back out to the parking lot I considered my next move. I had no intention of really going to the sheriff’s department two hours prior to the actual event. Trust me, cops aren’t generally fun party people. You don’t want to spend any more time with them than you have to. Since I already knew Jake was in a terrible mood, I wanted to give him a chance to settle down before I started incessantly poking him for information.
That left Eliot.
I drove to downtown Mount Clemens and slid into a spot at the front of his pawnshop on Main Street. I disengaged the engine of the car and then sat back in my seat and watched him work from a safe distance.
He hadn’t seen me yet, obviously, and I was enjoying the rare glimpse into his life when he wasn’t aware anyone was watching him. He was a fine specimen of masculinity, all hard muscles, bright eyes and soft smiles. He was more, though. I watched as he helped a woman try to decide between two watches in his front display case, offering her an easy laugh and some little tidbit about one of the watches. The truth was, he was a genuinely nice guy. A genuinely nice guy that could snap your neck in three seconds flat, of course.
Eliot’s past was murkier than his present. I didn’t really know a lot about it frankly. It wasn’t that he was especially tight-lipped; he just wasn’t one of those guys that volunteered information out of the blue. And, the truth was, I hadn’t pushed him too hard. I had wanted the relationship to grow organically. Of course, the fact that I kept finding myself in mortal peril – and crossing paths with my ex-boyfriend in the form of the county sheriff – could have something to do with that, too.
Eliot and Jake had a tortured past of their own. I knew they had been in a Special Forces unit of the military together – which I was starting to believe had caused both of them to have a few run-ins with Leonard Turner at some point in time – and that time together in Special Forces hadn’t exactly bonded them. Jake thought Eliot was a bit of a loose cannon and, in turn, Eliot thought Jake was a bit of a tight ass. They both had a point.
Since Eliot had entered my orbit, the two men had started running into each other more frequently. A couple of times, they had even worked together to extricate me from some untenable situation that I had managed to get myself into. There was also an underlying sense of tension regarding my romantic entanglement with Eliot. Jake didn’t come out and say he was jealous, but he acted that way occasionally. On the flip side, Eliot showed flashes of jealousy himself when he saw me interacting with Jake.
It was like a tower of cans that could topple at any second.
I was busy trying to decide how to approach Eliot about my suspicions regarding Turner when I heard a knock at my car window. I jumped, glancing up through the glass, and frowning when I saw Eliot standing there. How did I miss him leaving the store and heading this way?
I rolled down the car window and fixed a tight smile on my face as I greeted him. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing?”
“Debating about getting coffee,” I lied.
Eliot considered me for a second and then shook his head slightly. “How was your meeting with Turner?”
He knew me too well. “It was tense,” I admitted, opening my door and climbing out of the car.
“Tense how?”
I told Eliot about my interview with Turner, including Jake’s abrupt entrance and irritated countenance. I watched him carefully for his reaction. “That sounds about right,” he said finally.
“Why do you say that?”
I saw the set of Eliot’s jaw tighten. “Let’s just say Jake and I both have had some dealings with Turner and leave it at that.”
Like that was going to work. “You know I can’t leave it at that.”
“Well, you’re going to have to,” Eliot said stiffly.
I bit the inside of my lip and looked Eliot up and down. His usually affable demeanor had suddenly gone rigid. This probably wasn’t the time to push him. I would gather some more information and then ambush him later tonight.
“Fine,” I said finally. “I need to get some coffee and get to the press conference anyway.”
“I thought the press conference was this morning?”
“It got postponed. The victim died.”
“That’s too bad,” Eliot said. “So you’re going to the sheriff’s department?”
“Yup,” I said breezily, starting to move towards the coffee shop that was next to Eliot’s store. “I want to get there early. If you’re not going to tell me the deal with Turner, I guess I’ll just have to badger Jake until he does.”
“You really think that will work? That Jake will just bow to your will and give you the information you want?” Eliot didn’t look like he believed in my super power – which was a little disheartening.
“Yeah, well,” I paused in the open door. “I know exactly what buttons to push in Jake to get what I want.” With that parting shot I flounced into the coffee shop. I risked one backwards glance to see Eliot’s reaction and I was rewarded with an open scowl. Good. He deserved it.
I relaxed with a cup of coffee for a half an hour before I headed towards the sheriff’s department. By the time I got there I was forty-five minutes early, but I figured that would give me a chance to push Derrick – and maybe Jake, too – for information before the other media vultures arrived.
I used the main entrance to the sheriff’s department, traded barbed jibes with the officer behind the protective bubble, and then stuck out my tongue at him until he buzzed me into the inner hallway that led to the sheriff’s conference room.
The officer behind the bubble, after telling me I was early, had admonished me to go straight to the conference room and not loiter in the hallway. I had promised I would, but that was a promise I had no intention of keeping.
I headed towards Derrick’s small office first, not bothering to knock on the door, which was partially closed, and instead strode inside like I belonged there. Derrick was sitting at his desk working on paperwork. He glanced up when he saw me and then looked back down at his paperwork before shooting out of his desk chair when it registered who had actually entered his office. “Knock much?”
“Sure,” I said gratingly. “Knock, knock.”
Derrick slid back down into his chair and turned his attention back to his work, but not before shooting me his special brand of stink eye.
“You’re supposed to ask who’s there,” I prodded Derrick.
“I’m not playing your games.”
“You’re a true joy to be around, has anyone ever told you that?”
“You just did.”
I watched Derrick work for a few minutes, dropping a few well-timed sighs as I did. Since Derrick wasn’t biting on the sighs, I decided to push the situation in my own way. Dangerous, yes, I know.
“So, what do you know about Jake’s past with Leonard Turner?”
Derrick actually looked surprised at the question. He stopped what he was doing and raised his chocolate eyes to mine curiously. “Why would you ask that?”
I told Derrick about my run-in with both Turner and Jake earlier in the day and waited for his reaction. It wasn’t what I was expecting.
“You’re kidding.”
“No,” I shook my head. “Are you telling me you had no idea that Jake and Turner were trading verbal punches this morning?”
“I thought he went to the hospital to give his condolences to the shooting victim’s family,” Derrick said.
“Is that what he told you?”
“No, that’s what he implied.” Derrick realized – too late – that he had told me too much. I didn’t let that dissuade me, though.
“So, don’t you think it’s funny that Jake went and orally pulled Turner’s hair?”
“That’s a nice visual,” Derrick grumbled. “I honestly don’t know anything about Turner and Jake. I had no idea they even knew each other.”
Well, that was disappointing. “So, would it surprise you if I told you Eliot ha
d sort of a negative reaction to finding out I was interviewing Turner, too?”
Derrick pursed his lips and considered the statement. “Surprise isn’t the word. It is weird, though.”
“Definitely weird.”
“What did Eliot tell you?”
“He’s being tight-lipped.”
“Is that unusual for him? He doesn’t strike me as the chatty type.”
“He’s not the hiding stuff type either, though,” I pointed out. “Usually, if I ask him a direct question, he answers it.”
“Did you ask him why he wouldn’t answer it?”
“No,” I shook my head. “I just started internally plotting how I was going to trick him into answering it.”
“That sounds like a healthy relationship,” Derrick scoffed.
“He’s already irritated with the Lexie situation,” I replied. “I’m scared to push things too far in case he snaps.”
Derrick narrowed his eyes. Lexie was his baby sister and, while they didn’t always get along, Derrick had found himself in the same rescuing situation with Lexie more times that he could count. “What did she do now?”
“Nothing,” I said hurriedly. “She just drives Eliot nuts.”
“She drives everyone nuts,” be said. “Bonkers nuts. Almonds. Cashews. Peanuts. Nuts. Nuts. Nuts.”
“She has a certain ability,” I agreed. “That’s her super power.”
“Super power?”
“Eliot’s is looking good in the morning. Mine is digging up dirt on people. Hers is driving people nuts.”
“What’s mine?” Derrick asked curiously.
I got to my feet and moved towards the door, glancing back at him teasingly. “Convincing people that you’re tall enough to be a cop?”
I escaped out the door quickly, but not before I heard Derrick swear under his breath. At 5’5” tall, Derrick wasn’t exactly your stereotypical cop – a fact that drove him to distraction. It was also the scab on his psyche that I constantly picked at. Hey, that’s what family is for.
I wandered into the conference room down the hall, helping myself to a cookie and glancing around to see what local news personalities had arrived. I recognized two print reporters from area weeklies, and one of the television reporters from Channel 4, Devon, who had unfortunately been dating Derrick for the past few months. Since she was only about 5’2” tall, Derrick was actually taller than her. I figured that was the appeal.
Devon smiled warily at me. We had a tempestuous past – and it wasn’t entirely based on the fact that print reporters and broadcast reporters generally loathe one another.
“Hi,” Devon finally spoke.
“Hey.”
“How are things?”
“Same old, same old.”
“So, what do you think they’re going to say at the press conference?”
I shrugged. “Press conference stuff?”
“Well, that’s very helpful,” Devon sniped. “Why do you always have to be such a pain?”
“I was born this way. Just ask my mom.”
“Yeah, she does think you’re a total pain in the ass.”
I rolled my eyes. Devon’s constant attempts to ingratiate herself with my family were something akin to nails on a chalkboard – or, more aptly, watered down whiskey. “Yes, well, you would know,” I shot back. “You’ve known my family for a whole, what, four months now?”
“Six,” Devon corrected me.
“It’s been a long six months.”
“It really has,” Devon agreed.
I glanced up when I saw a figure standing in the doorway. If I weren’t already irritated, the sight of the Channel 7 reporter – Shelly Waters – would have sent me right over the edge.
Shelly had only been in the area for a few weeks, but she was already my least favorite television reporter in the market – and that’s saying something, especially since I disdain all broadcast reporters on general principle. The fact that she had been dating Jake for several weeks only added to my hate.
“Avery,” Shelly greeted me primly.
“Shelly,” I grimaced.
“You’re looking particularly . . . casual today.”
“You look like the same bitch I remember,” I shot back happily.
Devon snorted behind me. The one thing we had in common was dislike of Shelly. It was our only bonding agent.
“You have a terrible attitude,” Shelly said stiffly.
“News flash,” Derrick said, stepping into the room behind Shelly. He was eyeing Shelly warily – he had seen us throw down a couple of times before and he looked ready to step in if things spiraled out of control. “She’s had a terrible attitude since we were kids.”
Shelly shot a flirtatious smile in Derrick’s direction. “You poor dear, having to grow up with her. It must have been terrible for you.”
Devon obviously didn’t like the new direction of Shelly’s attention because she stepped between the Channel 7 reporter and Derrick and gave him a brief hug in way of a greeting. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Derrick smiled sloppily.
Oh, jeez. “Shouldn’t this be starting soon?”
“Jake is in his office getting his notes,” Derrick replied.
“Oh, maybe I’ll go say hi,” Shelly said suddenly. I had heard, through the grapevine – yes, Derrick – that Jake had ended his dalliance with Shelly rather suddenly a few days ago.
“Yeah, there’s nothing a man likes more than being stalked by his ex-girlfriend.” I have been repeatedly warned to take three seconds to consider what I’m saying before I open my mouth, but apparently I’m incapable of doing just that.
Shelly turned on me venomously. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’ve been broken up with Jake since you were teenagers and you still run to him whenever you have a problem,” Shelly seethed.
“Run to him? When do I run to him?”
“Oh, I don’t know, a month ago he cancelled a date with me to race to your rescue up north.”
“I was kidnapped by a madman,” I reminded her.
“And whose fault was that?”
I instinctively took a step towards Shelly, visions of huge chunks of her hair in my balled-up fists dancing through my head, but Jake clearing his throat at the front of the room interrupted me. He had stepped up to the podium and was eyeing Shelly and me with moderate interest. “Let’s get started.”
I moved away from Shelly, not entirely of my own volition. Derrick’s hand on my elbow was part of the moving away process.
Jake started the press conference by tacking a photo up of a young and smiling brunette to the board at the front of the room. “This is Carrie Washington. She’s a mother-of-two from Chesterfield Township. She was driving a car along I-94 yesterday afternoon, with both of her children in the vehicle, when an unknown assailant fired a weapon from the Cass Street overpass into her vehicle.”
Jake paused for dramatic effect before continuing.
“In the overnight hours, Mrs. Washington succumbed to her injuries and died. We’ll have specifics of those injuries in a press release that you’ll all be leaving with at the conclusion of this briefing.”
“Has her family been informed?” I glanced over my shoulder and saw that one of the weekly reporters had asked the question.
“They have,” Jake nodded.
“Have you identified the specific weapon?” I chimed in.
Jake met my gaze evenly. “We’re still narrowing down a few things on that front. We do have a ballistics report, though, and it has brought up certain concerns regarding another shooting in Oakland County.”
“I knew it!”
All eyes in the room turned to me. I glanced back up at Jake, silently urging him to pick the press conference back up and save me from being the center of attention.
Jake rolled his eyes in my direction and then turned back to the cameras, making sure he was presenting his best angles as
he did. “The initial ballistics report seems to indicate that the same gun used in a freeway shooting in Oakland County was also used in our shooting yesterday.”
Jake held up his hand to stave off the obvious next question. “We have no information about that victim at this time. We’ll be coordinating with the Oakland Count Sheriff’s Department this afternoon and we will make that information available when we get it. We’ll be having another press conference, a more expansive one, when we get that information.”
“So what’s the next step?” I asked.
“We’re creating a task force,” Jake said simply.
“Do you think there will be more shootings?”
“It’s a possibility,” Jake nodded solemnly.
“Have you ascertained if Mrs. Washington was targeted?”
“No,” Jake said. “Right now, it’s still a guessing game. We’ll be delving into the backgrounds of both victims and moving forward from there. That’s really all we have right now and I have to get going for a meeting with our new task force liaisons so I don’t have time for questions.”
I watched as Jake exited the podium and left the room. So much for questioning him about his association with Turner. I could have asked him at the press conference, but I didn’t want to tip my hand to the other reporters. I’d have to pursue other avenues until I could get Jake alone – or I could verbally torture Eliot into giving up what he knew.
Decisions, decisions.
Nine
For many people, Friday nights are the apex of their week. For me they’re something akin to wading through a mud pit in ballet shoes.
Once I left the press conference, I returned to The Monitor long enough to bang out my story. Duncan had tried to pull me into a conference room to come up with a plan on how to coordinate our coverage of the case. Since I would rather deafen myself with Q-tips than coordinate anything with Duncan, I opted to pretend I didn’t hear him instead. It drove him crazy, which was the point, and resulted in him stomping off amidst veiled threats of another complaint to Human Resources.
Once I was done, I called Eliot to see if he was coming to family dinner tonight. When he didn’t pick up, I had a sneaking suspicion that he was screening my calls – which both infuriated me and filled me with a sense of empowerment at the same time. He could run but he couldn’t hide.
4 Shot Off The Presses Page 6
