Fatal Evidence

by Kari Lemor

“Not much we can do at this point,” Keith answered. “It’s illegal to interfere with a criminal investigation. He needs a good lawyer.”

  Unfortunately, due to the holiday weekend they hadn’t been able to contact one yet.

  “Illegal for you law enforcers.” Nick tilted his head at Keith, Drew, and Chris. “But I don’t work for the government or answer to any of them.”

  “Do you really not care about getting arrested—or worse, killed—Nick?” Chris asked, his eyes on his wife, who carried more food to the table.

  Nick shrugged. “Need to help my friends. That’s more important than myself.”

  Heather wondered about their friend, Nick. She’d only met him a handful of times but he seemed like a bit of a rebel. Scott never said too much about Afghanistan but had hinted that something had happened to Nick to make him this dark and reckless. Did Scott have trauma in his past too? War was hell on everyone. Would she ever get the chance to ask him?

  “Any plans to help your cousin, Jack?” Nick directed his stare across the table.

  Setting Jonathan into a high chair, Jack cut up some of the food on the child-size plate. “I’ve got a call into some friends at the Bureau. They plan to look into this Carla Findley, who Scott supposedly hurt. We’ll see what her background is and who she associates with.”

  “You got the woman’s name? Drew wouldn’t give it to me.” She glared at Drew accusingly.

  He looked down at his plate and took a deep breath. “I hated not being able to divulge the information but it could cost my job. If Jack discovered it some other way, that’s a different story.”

  “I can do a little checking myself,” Chris offered. “Though I can’t dig too deep if she’s not on my caseload, but I can run a general background check.”

  His wife, Meg, placed her hand on his arm. “If you lose your job we can always live on my salary. You know we teachers really rake in the dough.”

  “Except you don’t even start for another few months, sweetie.” Chris leaned over to kiss her.

  Heather was beginning to like Scott’s friends. They were loyal. She hated to admit she was a bit envious of Jack and Callie, Chris and Meg, and how in love they all seemed. At some point in her life she wanted that. It used to be far away, but the more she saw it, the closer it got on her radar.

  But for now she had to focus on making sure the mill project stayed on schedule and Scott could get off these ridiculous charges. Carla Findley. Yes, Chris and Jack had people checking her out, but was there anything she could do? Her father certainly had resources. Probably not better than the FBI.

  What about street resources? An idea came to her, but she pushed it aside. No, that would never work, plus it was dangerous. But then again…Jian owed Scott a life debt, and it seemed like the man was willing to pay. Would he be able to get more information on this Carla and why she had it out for Scott? How could she get in touch with him? She could hardly stroll into the south side of Hartford asking around for him. From what she understood, there were numerous gangs who hung out in that city. Like the ones trying to rape Jian’s little sister. God, talk about evil. No, she couldn’t do that.

  But she could go check on the building. Scott had planned to do that this weekend at some point. She was co-owner, it was her responsibility to keep things running too. Perhaps some of Jian’s men would be there and they could get a message to him. To meet her somewhere.

  Scooping some potato salad onto her plate, she listened as the others chatted about a variety of things. She’d hang out here for a few hours and help Callie clean up. But once things calmed down she’d take a visit to the project. It might not be the smartest thing she ever did, but Scott had said being dubbed his lady would keep her safe.

  Chapter 11

  Scott shifted on the lumpy mattress again and peeked over the edge. Halfway through yesterday he’d gotten a roommate. The man, Billy Chadwick, was in his mid-thirties, but looked like he’d been around a lot longer than that. Apparently he’d been here before if the interaction with the guards was anything to go by.

  The foul smell from the toilet drifted up and he tucked his nose into the less than fragrant mattress. He’d happily given up the bottom bunk when Billy had started heaving and crapping on the toilet. No way did he want the man puking over the side of the bunk from the top. Or shitting his pants as he tried to climb down to get to the toilet. The guards didn’t care that Billy had some stomach issues.

  Right now he should be at Jack’s having a cold one and roughhousing with Jonathan. Or shooting the shit with Nick, Keith, Chris, or Drew. Or attempting to get Heather backed into a private corner and messing with her mind. The way she totally messed with his.

  “They’re gonna come get me,” Billy wailed from below, his scratchy tone like fingernails on a chalkboard. He’d been spouting off dire warnings since he’d shown up twenty-four hours ago. “Don’t let them take me.”

  “I think I’d be happy for them to take you right about now,” Scott muttered under his breath. Aside from a few stretches, he hadn’t slept the last two nights. The first night had been constant lights flickering on and off every half hour while inmates randomly yelled profanities at the guards as they did.

  “They’ll get you too.” Apparently Billy had heard his words. Like he cared what some nutjob ranted about. If someone wanted to take him away from here, he’d welcome it.

  “Throw you in a hole. Keep you there with no light or food. All tangled up in your own nightmares.”

  Scott tried to ignore the rantings, but some of what the man said struck a nerve. There’d been a time he’d been stuck in a hole with no light or food. Afghanistan. It was during the shelling of a village they’d been working to evacuate. The whole damn building had fallen down around him and some other men from his unit. He’d been wedged in between concrete walls, his arm twisted underneath his body, unable to move.

  Sitting up, he shook his head and tried to get the images out of his mind. Not that the images were clear. It had been pitch-black for the two days he’d been stuck there. Sound, though. There’d been plenty of sound. More shelling, letting him know his unit wouldn’t be able to get to him until it stopped. Groans and screams of others who had also been trapped nearby. More injured than him. Like Todd.

  They’d been working together when the shelling started. Todd had pushed him ahead as the rubble rained down. Hadn’t mattered. They’d both been caught in the debris, buried under tons of concrete and steel. Civilians had also been trapped, their cries of pain echoing throughout the destroyed walls.

  Two days of listening to the sounds of agony and despair and having it slowly stop as each person succumbed to their injuries. That had been almost more painful to hear. Praying these people were simply unconscious but knowing the real possibility of what had happened. He’d managed to get out with a broken arm, a few broken ribs, a slight concussion, and dehydration. Guilt too. Tons and tons of guilt. For living when many others hadn’t.

  Staring through the bars out into the cell block, he gave thanks that he had that view from this tiny space. He’d found small enclosed areas now sent him into a place he didn’t like. Made him feel weak and vulnerable, like he’d been while trapped in the rubble. This room was small, but at least it had the open front. Sure, that wasn’t a ridiculous thought. He was somehow thankful for iron bars locking him in. But at least it gave the illusion of being able to get out, breathe.

  “Aarrgh.” Billy groaned and hefted himself to the toilet again.

  Scott tried to block out the sound of the man’s distress. The smells from the unit were bad enough without his roommate adding even worse to this small space.

  The rustle of fabric preceded a few choice swears.

  “They shut the damn water off.”

  “What?” He twisted on the bunk gazing down to where Billy stood turning the tap. No water flowed and the toilet was full. Good thin
g he hadn’t been able to stomach much of the nasty lunch they’d delivered.

  “Why would they shut the water off?”

  Billy shook his head as he rocked back and forth. “Bad things happening. They gonna come now. Gonna get us. Get us, get us, get us.”

  The sound of metal doors being opened and inmates rumbling objections echoed down the cell block. What the hell was going on? For the next hour, cells were opened and curses lit the air. All the while the foul smell of the unflushed toilet churned his stomach, reminding him of some of the places he’d served in.

  “All right, we need to search the cell,” one of the guards thundered as he slipped the key into their lock and turned.

  “Search the cell? What for? We haven’t left it since we got here.” What were they looking for?

  “Got a report of a shank in the unit. Every cell, every inmate has to be searched.”

  “Every inmate?”

  “Shut up,” the guard snapped pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. “I don’t like doing strip searches any more than you’ll like it, but it’s regulations.”

  “Strip search?” Shit, it had been bad enough when they’d patted him down at the police station. “I thought someone in ‘safe keep’ couldn’t be strip searched because we haven’t been arraigned yet.”

  “Not without probable cause, but a shank in the unit is enough reason. Both of you step outside.”

  Billy scurried past him and stood in the hall while Scott moved behind him. Four more guards stood there surrounding them. Another set of guards did the same thing on the other side of the block. The first guard went in, flipped up the mattresses then looked inside the toilet tank, avoiding the bowl. Yeah, he totally understood that. The contents were vile.

  “Okay, Billy, you first. You know the drill. Everything off, one piece at a time, and hand them to me.”

  Billy walked back inside the cell and pulled off his shirt, throwing it to the guard inside, who then patted it down to examine before he handed it to another guard. Scott turned away, attempting to give the man some privacy. The guards didn’t seem to have the same decency, but then it was their job to make sure everything was safe.

  “Why do you shut the water off when you do this?” he asked the guard closest to him.

  “So you can’t flush something down the toilet.”

  “Like I’d even go within twenty feet of that toilet after he’s been using it all day.”

  The guard’s eyebrow rose, his lip curving up. “The cell’s only seven-by-ten.”

  He kept himself from rolling his eyes. It was only a saying.

  “All set, Billy. Out in the hall. Your turn, Holland.”

  Scott walked into the cell, holding his breath from the stench. “What do I do?”

  “Stand right there and remove your clothing, one piece at a time. Don’t take off the next one until I tell you to.”

  Reaching for the collar, he pulled the shirt off. When he handed it to the guard, the man turned it inside out then gave it to another guard, who dropped it on the floor near his feet.

  “Boots next.”

  When he started to sit, the guard poked him, shaking his head. Great, he couldn’t even sit to remove his boots. He bent, untied them, then passed them over. They’d already checked these when he came in a couple days ago.

  “Pants.”

  The pants dropped and he kicked them in the direction of the guard, who snarled, picking them up to examine them. This wasn’t too embarrassing, standing here in his boxer briefs in an open cell with five guards standing around.

  “Socks.”

  The floor was chilly against his bare feet. God knew how many germs were jumping on for a ride right now.

  “Shorts.”

  Swallowing, he pulled them down, tossing them over. Shit, this sucked big time.

  “Hands on your head. Open your mouth.”

  Open his mouth, what the fuck? But he complied and the guard stuck his fingers inside and swept around.

  Whistling came from the cells across the hall and his cheeks heated. Great, he had an audience. It might be a good thing he couldn’t leave the cell. He had a feeling from the expressions of some of the other inmates, he’d be popular in the shower.

  Over the calls of “pretty boy,” and “you’re mine,” Scott said, “The least you could have done was put on a new pair of gloves. Those things were all over Billy’s clothes.”

  The guard growled. “Yeah, life in here sucks. Turn around and bend over with your hands on the bunk.”

  God, could this get any worse? Hands cupped his junk then swiftly moved away. His clothes were tossed back at him with a gruff, “Get dressed.”

  All eyes were still focused on him while he slipped into the lovely orange ensemble then was hustled back into the hall. Two more guards went in and did another, more thorough search.

  “Found something,” one of them called out. The guards in the hall surrounded him and Billy, while the first guard took what looked like a piece of bent metal and held it up.

  “Either one of you going to take responsibility for this?”

  Shit and fuck. Did he have no luck at all? It had to be Billy’s, but the man was three fries short of a Happy Meal. Who knew what he’d do.

  “No, no, no,” Billy wailed, starting to rock back and forth. “Don’t want to go in the hole. No hole for me. No.”

  “You know the rules, Billy. Is it yours?”

  Still rocking back and forth, the man muttered, “No, no, no.”

  “Yours, Holland?”

  “Are you kidding me? Where would I get something like that? And why would I even have it? It’s not like I’m allowed to wander around this lovely establishment. It looks a little too big to clean my teeth with.”

  The first guard sighed, looking like he wanted to slap Scott’s fresh mouth. Damn his sarcasm. Too often he forgot to check with his brain if it was an appropriate time.

  “Hands out.”

  Billy thrust his hands in front of him and Scott followed suit. Handcuffs were slapped on then another guard came over with leg irons. Seriously? Leg irons. What the fuck did they think he could do in handcuffs that leg irons would prohibit? These people watched a few too many action flicks. He may have been in the Army, but if they thought he could take on these five guards and the five across the way, all with sticks and bulging muscles, they were sadly mistaken.

  After his legs were encased in the metal, they led him and Billy out of the unit into a small hall nearby with several doors. Two of them were opened and they were each ushered inside. No slot for them to remove the restraints on this door. That didn’t bode well.

  “What is this?” Scott dared ask, as the guard started to close the door.

  “Segregation. Regulation for when something is found in a cell.”

  “It wasn’t mine, I swear. I just want to stay quiet and get to my arraignment without any trouble.”

  The guard shrugged, his face slightly apologetic. “I gotta follow the rules. Doesn’t matter what I think. At least you won’t have to smell Billy and his mess anymore.”

  “How long am I in here?”

  “Until you get arraigned.”

  “Will this go against me at my arraignment?”

  “Nah, it’s just a policy. Enjoy the quiet.”

  Scott glanced around the small room as the door closed. Was it even smaller than the one he’d come from? No bars on the front making the place seem more open. No windows, except for the one in the heavy door. One bunk and the toilet combo. Nothing else.

  Sliding onto the thin mattress on the bunk, he pulled up his legs as best he could and thrust his hands into his hair, the handcuffs clinking. Hair that hadn’t been washed or combed in two days. Like the rest of him.

  One dim bulb lit the tiny enclosure, casting shadows on the walls. Small. Closed in
. Suffocating.

  No, he could breathe. He took a few deep breaths to prove to himself that he could. Why was he feeling jittery? He could do this. He only needed to get through another thirty-eight hours and he’d be out of here.

  But would he actually be free to go home? Best-case scenario was the police had discovered the truth and the blue-haired chick had come clean. He’d be exonerated and allowed to leave and continue his life.

  Worst case? He didn’t even want to think of the worst case. Because it involved being labeled a sexual predator, a woman beater, and spending way more time in a place like this than he ever wanted to think about. He’d gotten through the last couple days. It hadn’t been great, but he’d certainly managed. But what if he needed to stay here for any length of time? Having strip searches whenever something seemed off. Being ogled by other inmates or surrounded in the shower. He’d heard stories, knew what happened. In a one-on-one fight, he could take care of himself, but if there was a gang, he wouldn’t stand much of a chance.

  And what of Heather and their project? Something was going on, and putting him in prison wouldn’t keep someone from going after Heather if the building was what they wanted. He needed to get out of here to protect her.

  Jack would keep an eye out for her. He could count on the other guys to check things out too. But they had their own lives and couldn’t be with her all the time. Not like he could. Or wanted to. If anything happened to her because he wasn’t around to help her, he’d have even more guilt piled on the shit that already overwhelmed him.

  Being alone, not having to listen to Billy ramble and shit, gave him too much time to think. Think about being here permanently. About Heather and how much he wanted to spend more time with her. The verbal sparring they participated in got his brain warmed up, and what it did to his body…Don’t go there. Or to the memory of her body. Dangerous territory.

  Hours later when the lights flickered and went out, Scott finally allowed himself to recline on the bunk and close his eyes. It was a good way to pretend he wasn’t in a tight space with a locked door he had no way of opening. The chains on his hands and legs were a bit harder to imagine away. Not that he hadn’t fantasized about Heather in handcuffs, but they were both wearing a lot less than his orange prison suit in those dreams.