Will tossed the trash into the garbage can. Stainless steel, just like the appliances. He wondered if Amanda had used her own money.
Faith needled, “Jared, Sara’s stepson by her dead husband who she thinks Lena got murdered.”
The red light started flashing on the coffee machine. Will pressed down the handle on the pod. He tried the weather thing. “I think it’s going to rain today.”
Faith groaned. “You’re a dumbass, you know that?”
He grimaced, mostly because he couldn’t contradict her.
“It’s not the case that’s going to piss Sara off, it’s the cover-up.” Faith paused, but only for breath. “Actually, it won’t piss her off. It’ll hurt her. Devastate her. Which is a hell of a lot worse than her being mad. People get over being mad.”
Will scooped up the three mugs in his hands. “Amanda’s waiting.”
Faith trailed him out of the kitchen. Will hunched his shoulders against the disappointment radiating off her, but she was blissfully silent as she followed him to Amanda’s office. He knew better than to think this was over. Faith was probably itemizing in her head all the different ways she was right about this.
Sadly, there was nothing Will could say, because Faith was right. Sara wouldn’t be angry. She would be hurt. She would be devastated. And then she would probably inventory the steaming load of crap Will had brought into her otherwise normal life and decide it wasn’t worth it. His Dickensian childhood. What had happened to his family. His ardent desire not to discuss either topic no matter how gently Sara pressed. There just wasn’t much to recommend him. Will had almost been kicked out of high school. He’d been homeless. He’d barely graduated from college. And this didn’t even touch on Will’s hateful wife, who had evaporated off the face of the earth the minute he’d filed divorce papers, yet still somehow managed to leave the occasional nasty message tucked under the windshield wiper of Sara’s car.
Caroline was still at her desk. She helped Will move the mugs around, taking the one with cream. He realized he’d screwed up the orders at the same moment he realized he didn’t care.
Unbelievably, the tension in Amanda’s office was thicker than when Will had left. Amanda’s jaw was set. Denise Branson’s body was rigid, her hands clenched into fists. The pissing contest was far from over.
Amanda’s tone could’ve cut through steel. “Major Branson, this is Special Agent Mitchell.”
Oddly, Denise Branson smiled warmly at Faith. “I worked with your mother when I was a rookie. I hope she’s enjoying her retirement?”
“Yes.” Faith shook the woman’s hand. “I’ll tell Mama you asked after her.”
Branson continued, “Evelyn was always the consummate professional.” She still didn’t look at Amanda, but they all took her meaning. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to look her up while I’m in town.”
Faith’s perfunctory smile and lack of response made it clear she wasn’t going to be so easily charmed away from Amanda’s side.
To break the awkward moment, Will passed out the coffees. Amanda held the mug to her lips, then recoiled when the smell hit her. Branson noted the gesture and placed her mug on the desk.
Amanda said, “Let’s try to keep this brief. We all have work to do.”
Will waited for the women to sit, then leaned against the windowsill, feeling—literally—like the odd man out. He was used to being surrounded by women, but there was something about this particular group that made him feel the need to cross his legs.
Amanda began, “All right, let’s start with this officer-involved …” She searched for the appropriate word. “… hammering.” She smiled on this last bit, though Will had seen firsthand why the observation wasn’t funny. “Denise, any leads on why Adams and Long were targeted?”
“We have some theories.”
They all waited, but Branson didn’t share them.
“All right,” Amanda said. “We’ll need to review all recent case files, talk to their partners and team members and see if they can come up with any—”
“We’ve already done that,” Branson interrupted. “No one stood out. They’re police officers. They don’t get thank-you notes for arresting people.”
Amanda did not demure. “And yet they were targeted for a reason.”
“We’ve reviewed all of Adams’s cases going back twelve months. Same for Long. They’ve been doing mostly routine stuff. No dangerous work. Nothing that would draw this kind of attention.”
Amanda smirked. “Fascinating you were able to reach that conclusion in less than six hours.”
“We’re a crack team down in Macon.”
Amanda analyzed the woman. So did Will. Branson obviously relished the game, but her lips quivered at the corner when she was hiding something. It was almost as if she was fighting a smile.
Amanda asked, “You’ve met Charlie Reed?”
“That’s your forensics guy?” Branson shook her head. “Didn’t have a chance. Per your request to my chief, the house was sealed immediately after Jared Long was taken to the hospital. It didn’t seem like a good use of my time to drive over there and wait for your boys to mosey on down.”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Major. I’m sure it will help our investigation run more smoothly. Too many cooks and all that.” Amanda stopped to offer a canned smile. “The lab knows to rush any trace Charlie finds. He’ll report directly to me, and I’ll share anything relevant with your department. Faith is taking point on the investigation.” She told Faith, “Let’s be sure to keep Macon in the loop.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Faith took out her notebook and turned to a fresh page. “Major, what can you tell me?”
Branson had obviously come prepared. She told Amanda, “Go ahead and pull up those photos on the zip drive.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow at the order, but she still complied, moving the mouse around, looking at the TV set as if she expected something to happen. The screen stayed static. “Why isn’t this working?”
Will kept silent, but Faith asked, “Is it on?”
“Of course it’s on.” Amanda picked up the remote and pressed the red button. The screen flickered on, then a photograph came up. Will guessed he was looking at Jared Long’s employment photo. He’d met the young man once before. Long was a handsome kid with the kind of charming self-confidence that made him a natural leader. From all reports, he was a lot like his father.
Branson provided, “Jared Long, Lena Adams’s husband. He’s a motorman, been on the Macon force seven years. Good at his job. Likes being on the bike. No red flags. Stellar officer.”
Faith mumbled, “Unlike his wife.”
If Branson heard the comment, she chose to ignore it. “Long is out of surgery as of half an hour ago. It’s touch-and-go, but that doesn’t change anything on our end. An officer was shot. Another was almost murdered. Someone put the hit out. Next picture, please.”
Amanda clicked the mouse. She stared at the screen, waiting for the image to change. “Oh, for the love of—”
Faith said, “Hit the space bar.”
“That won’t work.” Amanda tapped the space bar. The picture changed. The new photo showed an older man with a pockmarked face and squinty eyes. He was dressed in an orange prison jumper. There was a placard under his chin with his name and inmate number.
Branson supplied, “Samuel Marcus Lawrence, the first assailant who entered the house, DOA shortly thereafter. He’s our first shooter. Mid-level thug with a couple of assaults that put him inside for two and three years, respectively. Early parole for good behavior, times two. He told anyone who’d listen that he was an ex–Hells Angel but there’s no evidence he ever patched in.”
Faith kept writing in her notebook as she asked, “Drugs?”
“Meth. He had more sores on his face than a backseat whore.”
Amanda said, “Either way, he’s dead now.” She tapped the space bar again. Another mugshot came on screen. The man was about the same age as the first, with gray h
air and the faded tattoo of a cobra’s head folding into the turkey gizzard of his neck.
“Fred Leroy Zachary,” Branson provided. “He did eight years for assault with a deadly, then pulled a full dime off a kidnap and rape. Known around town as a muscle for hire. He’s alive, but just barely. His jaw was broken. Spine fractured. Ribs broken. Whole body’s in a cast. Mouth’s wired shut. He can’t talk, and even if he could, his lawyer won’t let him.”
Amanda said, “Well, you can’t accuse Adams of not being thorough. What did she have to say for herself?”
Branson turned cagey again. “Not much. Doctors said she was in shock. They had to treat her at the scene. She sketched out the highlights—one armed male breached the house. Long was shot in the back. Sawed-off shotgun, so the pellets spread. Adams took the hammer out of Long’s tool belt and defended herself. A second armed male came at her. There was a struggle, but she managed to neutralize both intruders.”
Branson seemed to be finished. Amanda asked, “That’s it?”
“Like I said, Adams was under medical care for severe shock. She saw her husband get shot. Fought for her life. His life, too, come to that. We’ll go back at her later, but from where I’m sitting, she’s earned some breathing room.”
Amanda silently steepled her fingers together underneath her chin. Faith kept writing in her notebook, but Will could practically see her ears perk up. There was a big piece missing from the end of the story. Either Lena had lied about Will being at the house or Branson was lying about what Lena had told her.
Amanda said, “Faith will go back at Adams. She’s had enough breathing room, I think. We need to know exactly what happened last night. You may not like it, but it’s our case and that’s how it’s going to be.”
Branson’s jaw tightened, but she gave a single nod of agreement.
Faith broke the tension this time. “Major, maybe you can fill in some basic details for me?” She turned to a fresh page in her notebook. “We’re talking a residential area?” Branson nodded. “A shotgun goes off in the middle of the night. Anybody see anything? Hear anything?”
Branson apparently shared Amanda’s habit of answering questions she didn’t like in her own sweet time. She paused a moment longer than necessary, then said, “The neighbors weren’t sure at first. It’s a fairly rural area. Just past midnight, you hear a shot, maybe it’s poachers, a car backfiring. The area’s heavily wooded. Houses are on five-acre lots. We’re not like y’all here in the city, stacked up on top of each other like rats.”
Faith nodded, ignoring the dig, or maybe agreeing with it. “Who called the police?”
“A neighbor who lives four doors down. You’ve got her name and statement on the zip drive if your boss can figure out how to open it.” She glanced Amanda’s way, then turned back to Faith. “There’s two other cops on that street. One’s married to a paramedic, the other lives with a firefighter. That’s the only reason Long didn’t die at the scene. His heart had stopped by the time they got there. They took turns working on him until the ambulance arrived. Took almost twenty minutes.”
Amanda said, “If Long comes around, Faith will interview him to see if his statement matches his wife’s.”
Branson waited another long moment. The corner of her lips quivered, then curved into a smile. “Aren’t you curious how I know for a fact that your boy over there was in that house last night right when the murders went down?”
Will supposed he was the boy in question. He thought about the hammer, the way the blood was still warm when he grabbed the metal with his bare hand. The sworls of his fingerprints in the dried blood would’ve been like a neon light to a cop as seasoned as Denise Branson.
Amanda breathed out a heavy sigh. “I think we can call Will a man, since he’s the only thing that stopped your detective from hammering a suspect to death. A second suspect, that is.”
Branson snapped, “You think so?”
Amanda made a calculated guess. “I gather that despite my orders to keep your people out of my crime scene, you ran fingerprints?”
Branson straightened her shoulders, as if bracing herself for a fight. She’d probably sent a team to Lena’s house the minute Amanda gave the order to lock it down. Will could only imagine the major’s rage when his GBI file popped up on her computer. He couldn’t blame the woman. Nobody liked realizing they’d been fooled.
“All right.” Amanda turned to Will. “Our turn to share. Run down your evening for the major, please.”
Will hadn’t been expecting to contribute, but he said, “Last night, I was approached by a contact I’ve been working as part of an undercover operation. He told me he needed a lookout on a house robbery. No violence involved, the occupants weren’t home. Obviously a lie on both counts. It looked like a good way to get inside the group, so I said yes.”
“You just happened to be in Macon?” Branson smirked when no one answered. “This contact got a name?”
Amanda supplied, “Anthony Dell.”
Branson didn’t acknowledge the answer. She prompted Will, “So, Dell said he had a job. What next?”
“We went to the job. Dell dropped me at the end of the street and told me to call on his cell if anyone approached. He drove down and parked in front of a house with a steep driveway. A light gray van was already parked on the street. Two males got out—I assume Zachary and Lawrence. They entered the house. Dell stayed outside by the van. I didn’t see that they were armed, but I was about fifty yards away.”
“That’s half a football field,” Branson noted. “Did you get the plates on the van?”
“It was midnight.”
“Full moon.”
“No streetlights. All I could see from where I was standing were shadows.”
Branson kept studying him, like she was trying to suss out a lie. Finally, she said, “The Kia that Dell was driving was still on scene when our units rolled up.”
Will felt his stomach drop. He had forgotten all about Tony’s car.
Branson continued, “We woke Dell up at his house this morning. He seemed real shocked that his car was missing from his driveway. Wanted to file a stolen vehicle report ASAP. We checked him for gunshot residue, ran his sheet, which was packed with low-level bullshit—but I’m sure you know that.”
“You let him go?” Amanda asked.
“What am I gonna hold him on? You gotta witness puts him at the scene?”
Will saw Amanda’s nostrils flare.
Branson continued, “I noticed Dell’s car’s got a sticker on the windshield—Macon General employee parking. Now, that rang a bell for me, because we did an investigation last month on some pills missing from the hospital pharmacy. Never did get any solid leads, but I know the GBI gets a copy of all reports pertaining to the theft of controlled substances. I made a trip to the hospital this morning to check out Dell’s co-workers.” She asked Will, “How do you like your job at the hospital?”
Amanda managed to sound both irritated and bored. “Yes, Major, excellent work. Bully for you. Where is Dell’s Kia now?”
“It’s in our garage. You told us to seal the house, not the street.” She seemed to take great pleasure in telling Amanda, “I’ll make certain to share any relevant information with your department.”
“How kind. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Branson turned her attention back to Will. “Two males went inside the house, you and Dell stayed in the street. What next?”
Will had to think a second before he could pick back up where he left off. “I heard the shotgun go off. I ran toward the house.”
“Half a football field away,” she noted. “And then?”
“Dell tried to stop me from going in. We struggled for a while. I don’t know how long, but he’s stronger than he looks, and he was obviously freaked out. Several more shots went off while we were fighting.”
Branson gave him the once-over. “You don’t look like you’ve been in a fight.”
“He was trying to stop me f
rom going inside, not knock me out.”
“Nice guy.”
Will shrugged, but in the criminal world, Dell had been doing him a solid. He’d been trying to get Will to leave instead of running into a firestorm.
Will continued, “By the time I made it into the house, both men were neutralized. Lena Adams recognized me, or at least it seemed like she did. I got her to drop the hammer, then I went back outside. Dell was gone. The police were close by. I could hear the sirens. I went behind the house, jumped the fence into the woods, and walked away.”
Will tucked his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the window. Technically, he hadn’t walked, but they didn’t need to know that Will had bolted through those woods like the hounds of hell were at his back.
Branson asked, “Have you had any contact with Lena Adams since you and your partner investigated her a year and a half ago?”
Will told the truth. “Neither one of us has laid eyes on Lena since the investigation ended.”
“Have you talked to her since last night?”
Will shook his head, his mind flashing on the image of Lena’s face when he’d put his finger to his lips, told her to be quiet. She’d apparently taken it to heart.
Branson said, “I find it interesting that without any coordination, Detective Adams chose to maintain your cover.”
Faith pointed out, “It makes her look good, doesn’t it? Instead of Will stopping her from braining guy number two, she stops herself.”
Branson wasn’t about to publicly pile onto one of her officers. “I’ll put a BOLO on the gray van and get it out to the news stations.”
“Late model,” Will supplied. “Probably a Ford. No windows on the back or sides. Light gray, not dark.”
Branson took her BlackBerry out of her briefcase. “And nothing on the license plate, even though you were right up on it before you went into the house.” She started thumbing the information into an email.
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