Carly enjoyed the drive and tried to relax and take in the scenery while she followed Nick’s truck.
Rocky breakwater walls built in the forties protected the coastline of Las Playas. They were good for business, boating, and houses built along the water, but there was no surf here. Carly shook her head as the flat, sick-looking waves that resulted from the protection of the breakwaters came into view. The ocean was wimpy along this part of the coast. The road ran along the water until it made its way up the Hacienda’s driveway.
Lined with the obligatory palm trees, the driveway ascended gradually, curving inland. The hotel’s buildings came into view abruptly and breathtakingly. Renovation hadn’t taken away the charm and decadence of the 1920s design. Carly was always reminded of Hearst Castle when she looked at the Hacienda. Everything the surf lacked in majesty and beauty, the architecture of the hotel made up for—in spades.
A bellhop in traditional uniform, right down to the little round cap, greeted Nick and Carly. He directed them to the Lilac Room, and as soon as they stepped inside, she sensed depression hanging like an oppressive, heavy fog. Everything about the room reminded her of death. An overwhelming wave of dizziness enveloped her, and for a moment she thought she would faint.
“Carly? Are you okay?” Nick leaned close, and focusing on his voice helped her keep her balance.
“I need to sit down.” With Nick’s hand on her elbow, Carly made her way to a plush, high-backed chair and sat.
“You’re white as a sheet.” Concern edged his voice. Nick kept a grip on her arm.
“I think I need some food; I haven’t eaten since last night.”
“I’ll get you some water. If you feel better, we’ll hit the buffet table.” Nick hurried for a water pitcher.
Carly reclined in the overstuffed chair and closed her eyes. She’d felt this way once before, in the academy when she’d stood at attention too long with her knees locked and got lightheaded. Today, she was certain it was lack of food—and maybe a little too much stress. Alone in a corner, she was able to relax until the sounds of a quiet conversation drew her attention. At first she didn’t pay any attention to the voices. They were in the background, outside the doors of the Lilac Room. But the familiarity of one of them made Carly tune in.
“He’s not going to recant; I promise. Even if he does, the confession is on tape.”
Confession? Tape?
“You better be sure. We don’t have much else, and you know who does not want a hung jury.”
19
Carly sat up a little straighter and strained to hear more, blocking out the other noises of the reception.
“It won’t even get there. The public defender will want a deal to save the scum’s life.”
“We are not going to let everything ride on the public defender! You better be positive about your end.” The familiar voice was raised, angry.
“The public defender is bought and paid for. Don’t worry; he can be trusted. This is a perfect setup—the other will take the fall, everything will be tied up—”
“Sorry it took so long.”
Nick, bearing water, jolted Carly back to her surroundings. He handed her a glass and said, “You will never believe what everyone is talking about.”
Carly shook her head and tried to stop him, tell him she was eavesdropping and was about to put a name to the voice. But Nick pressed on. “Drake and Harris were taken off the Burke case!”
With that statement, Nick commanded Carly’s full attention. The shadowy voices faded. But she turned her body in order to see who came through the doors while she asked Nick, “What? Why?”
“The story is that someone got a confession from Darryl Jackson.”
Confession.
She gulped the water and stood, now facing the door. “But he invoked his rights; he didn’t want to talk. And who would try to talk to him outside of Miranda?”
“Apparently this detective was a friend of Jackson’s public defender. The attorney actually called him up and asked him to talk to his client.”
“So why take the department’s best off the case?” She sidled toward the door and peeked out. No one was there. Nick frowned at her and she shrugged. “I thought I heard someone out there.”
“Captain Garrison made the decision. His reasoning is that this will streamline the court process, fewer officers to subpoena, so he’s put the entire investigation in the lap of one person.”
“That makes no sense! Other detectives have already been involved in the investigation; they can be subpoenaed by the defense if it’s perceived they were removed to hide something.” Carly sat down and rolled the cool water glass across her forehead. The conversation she’d overheard pushed back to the forefront. Was there a connection? There was too much information to process on an empty stomach.
Nick shrugged. “I agree, but Garrison thinks this is a clever move, and in a way, he’s saying that only the boss of the detail can be trusted.”
Carly looked at Nick in shock. “The boss? You mean the sole investigator now is Sergeant Tucker?”
“Yep. He was the detective who got the confession. He’ll still use his subordinates for little things, but the bulk of the investigation is on his shoulders.”
“He’s a supervisor! Who’s in charge while he’s wearing his investigator hat?”
“That’s what everyone is asking. But it gets worse, especially for the juvenile. Jackson fingered Londy as being the killer. He even told Tucker where they threw the murder weapon, which he claims was a piece of rope from a duffel bag. And Harris filled me in on the preliminary autopsy results: Mayor Burke was strangled with a rope.”
Carly said nothing for a minute, digesting this information. For Darryl to have details of the crime, logically, that would implicate the nineteen-year-old. “How will that stand up in court? It’s obvious he’s trying to save his own skin. That can’t possibly make the whole case.”
“I know, I know.” Nick nodded and scanned the room before turning back to Carly. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, I think it’s just lack of food. I’ve got a hunger headache, but the dizziness is gone. I need to get something to eat.” She got up, and they started for the buffet table.
A glance around the room at all the people and the different moods took her thoughts back to the service. She wondered if Trejo was at the reception. She felt ornery enough to give him a piece of her mind.
She followed Nick to the buffet table. Many people they passed were already on their way to needing designated drivers. Carly scanned the crowd for Drake, Harris, or Tucker and came up empty but for Harris, who was speaking to Papa-doc Guest. Garrison was close to Burke. Carly also saw the man Nick named in the photo, Mario Correa, hovering near the widower.
I wish I could talk to Jeff! Why did he open a can of worms and then disappear? His accusations are making more and more sense with each passing day.
Nick and Carly filled their plates with food from the buffet line and picked a corner table to sit and people-watch. Carly couldn’t help but notice that their fellow mourners were segregated along professional lines: cops on one side; politicians, city employees, and newspeople on the other. However, the topic of conversation was consistent—the Burke case assignment change.
Her headache faded and her strength returned after she got some food in her stomach. Some of the guys Nick supervised pulled him away, and she was left to her own thoughts. She scanned the banquet room and saw a lot of new faces mingling among many familiar ones she hadn’t seen in years. Included in the mix was the pastor who officiated Teresa’s service. He chatted with different people on both sides of the divide. Carly knew Pastor Jonah Rawlings, which was partly why she hadn’t wanted to listen to him. He was her mother’s pastor and had conducted the funeral service for Carly’s father. Since Carly didn’t go to church, she hadn’t seen the man in five years.
What she had heard him say during the service echoed in her mind. The message he’d preached at the ch
urch was about life after death, and he talked about heaven as if it were as real as Chicago. People needed a Savior and the hope of heaven, he’d said, very similar to what he’d said five years ago.
My dad believed in your Savior, and he wasted away in a hospital bed. The pastor’s words dissolved, replaced by an image of her father’s emaciated, jaundiced face. His funeral was the last funeral she’d attended. Lou Edwards told his daughter he felt peace about leaving life to be with God, using almost the same words the pastor used. But neither peace nor God kept him alive.
“You look like you’re miles away.”
Startled, she looked up to see Jonah Rawlings standing before her. He’d made it to her side of the room.
“Actually, I was years away, thinking about something that happened a long time ago.”
“About your dad?”
The abrupt question caught Carly by surprise.
Rawlings took a chair next to her and continued. “Sorry; didn’t mean to be so blunt. It’s just that funerals usually bring on memories of past funerals or thoughts of our own mortality. You were pretty deep in thought, so I just assumed. How have you been, Carly?” He held out a hand, which Carly shook by reflex.
Rawlings was tall and thickly built, with the kind of body type that brought to mind an oversize teddy bear. Carly figured him to be around fifty years old. His eyes were flecked with light brown, his soft brown hair liberally streaked with gray, and his smile warm. His entire persona seemed to say, “Trust me.”
“I’m okay,” she answered, trying not to encourage him to stay. Briefly she wondered if she was ever a topic of conversation when her mother spoke to Rawlings.
“Are you really? I’ve read some unflattering articles about your shooting.”
“Oh.” Carly tensed and leaned back in her chair. Please, no questions about why so many rounds were fired.
“Relax, I’m on your side. I’m glad there are people like you on the streets doing a dangerous job, a job I couldn’t do.”
“Thanks.” She looked around helplessly. Where was Nick?
“It must have been hard for you—I mean, to take a life.”
“I thought he had a gun. Anyway, my hits weren’t fatal. My partner actually fired the fatal shots.”
He nodded reassuringly. “Frankly I was a little surprised at the unfair press coverage you and your partner received. Sometimes I wonder at people who live their safe lives on the sidelines, yet still want to make all the calls.”
“Thanks again.” Carly crossed her arms and regarded him with indifferent attentiveness.
If he noticed her body language, he ignored it. “Police work is a difficult profession with a lot of pressure. I know. I counsel a lot of officers. I’ve been on a few ride-alongs. You guys protect people like me from all the things we don’t want to deal with.” Rawlings’s voice grew softer. “At your father’s funeral, I told you that you can trust me if you ever want to talk about anything. That offer still holds.”
What would I ever have to talk to you about? “We have a psychologist, Dr. Guest. I’ve talked to him before. He’s a good listener.”
“That’s great. But I don’t think he can help you with your spiritual needs. I asked you once about what you believed because I have a burden for police officers; I want officers to know the God who looks out for them—”
“And I still don’t believe in your God.” Carly cut him off as she felt her face flush, surprised the pastor had pushed her buttons so quickly. She remembered that conversation. She hadn’t wanted to have it then, and she didn’t want to have it now. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems like people use God as an excuse for things they can’t face.” She glared, daring him to keep smiling his stupid smile now that he knew how she felt.
“What do you believe in? What do you think waits for you after you die?” The warmth in his eyes and the smile on his face never wavered in spite of Carly’s antagonism.
“I believe in myself, in my own abilities and talents. And why does it matter what happens when you die? You’re dead.” Even as she said it, she didn’t believe it completely. She hoped for more but doubted more was possible. Still, there was no way she was letting this glorified Bible-thumper know that.
“You don’t believe in heaven or hell?”
“I think they’re myths.”
“I don’t think you’re being honest with me or yourself. You’re very angry, and that anger is directed toward God. But being angry with him and dismissing him as a myth won’t make him go away. He is real, he created all things, and he loves you as a precious child.”
“If I’m angry, it’s at you for being so nosy! Just because you know my mom doesn’t mean you know me. Did she tell you to talk to me?”
“No, no, and I’m not trying to offend you. You just looked so lost for a minute. I had a sense that you’re searching, like a lot of people—searching for God without realizing it. My guess would be that you feel your life is a mess right now, upside down. I know who can turn things right-side up again. I know the answer. It’s God, accepting his love and sacrifice and giving up control of your life. He’s there for you; all you have to do is ask.” His eyes calmly focused on Carly while she boiled.
How dare he! She didn’t sit still for this when it was her mother talking.
“This stuff may work with my mom, but my life is none of your business.” She stood up and stormed off to find Nick. How could a man she’d talked to only twice in her life know she felt as if her life was upside down?
20
Carly found Nick as quickly as she could, grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the door. She raged about the pastor’s words, counting on Nick to be an understanding sounding board.
“He talked to me like he was someone I knew well, though I haven’t seen him in five years! I can’t believe the gall of these holier-than-thou people.”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? I mean, the guy seemed nice enough to me.”
“No! I don’t like being preached to! I won’t take it from my mother, and I’m not going to take it from her pastor. Whose side are you on, anyway?”
Nick shrugged. “I’m not taking sides, just making an observation.”
They reached their cars quickly with Carly’s angry pace.
“Can’t we forget the pastor and get back to the subject of Jeff?” he asked. “That is why we wanted to get together in the first place, isn’t it?”
Carly turned on Nick but caught herself before she plastered him with animosity meant for Jonah Rawlings. She clenched and unclenched her hands. “I’m sorry. He really rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Think about something else. What do you want to do now with what we heard about Drake, Harris, and Darryl Jackson’s confession?”
She looked at the palm-lined driveway. It was nearly dark now, and lights silhouetted the trees along the drive. Anger at the pastor and surprise that he’d so easily yanked her chain dissipated slowly. She should be thinking about Jeff and Londy.
“Maybe I am overreacting,” she admitted. “In any case, we need to tell my mom about the confession. Let’s head to her house now.” Self-control returned when the realization hit: she would not have to ever see Rawlings again if she chose not to. “My mom can call Dora. Did you find out anything else?”
“Yeah. I talked to one of the union guys. He said the story is true and will be in the paper tomorrow. I guess there was a reporter from the Messenger at the funeral bugging the brass for details. Drake is already filing a grievance. But you know as well as I do how slow the grievance process is.”
Carly remembered Trejo. That’s why he was at the funeral; she knew it. Of course he would cover anything that made the police department look bad. An internal struggle over solving a high-profile murder case would make the department look horrible.
“I saw the reporter. I think my mom and Dora deserve to hear about it before it hits the paper. Trejo’s view certainly won’t be objective.”
“I agree.
Let’s get going, then. You lead.”
The drive back to Old Towne gave Carly a chance to shelve her ire with Pastor Rawlings. Instead, she concentrated on how to tell her mom about Darryl’s confession. And she wondered, What will this mean to Londy’s mother? Will this be the bomb that blows up both women’s faith?
Kay Edwards’s neighborhood hadn’t changed at all since Carly was a child. A few remodeled houses dotted the street, but most remained the quaint, tract-style homes popular in the fifties and sixties. When Nick and Carly arrived, several cars were parked in front of the house and all the lights shone in the living room.
“I think they’re having a prayer meeting,” Nick said when he met her on the sidewalk. “Why don’t we go around to the back so we don’t disturb them?”
“How do you know they’re having a prayer meeting? This isn’t my mom’s normal night.”
“I talked to your mom last night. She said she and a group from church would be in prayer throughout the entire funeral. It doesn’t look as though they’ve finished.” He averted his eyes and walked toward the backyard.
“Wait a second; why were you talking to my mom?” Carly’s hands flew to her hips and she squared off in front of her ex, stopping his progress. He had no business talking to her mother. And her temper still simmered from the encounter with Pastor Rawlings.
“I, uh . . . I talk to her a lot.” Nick looked like a cop on the witness stand facing a tough attorney and defending a weak case. He walked around her and continued to the back porch.
“What do you mean, you talk to her a lot? Mom never mentioned that she talks to you.” Carly followed, brows knit in confused anger.
“Probably because she knew you’d get mad like you are now.”
“What could you possibly have to talk to my mother about?” One hand clenched in a fist by her side while the other hand, index finger extended, punctuated her point. “Nick, I swear, if you sit and whine to my mom about us getting back together or you try to make her believe you’re not guilty of cheating, I’ll be more than angry, and I will never, ever speak to you again. I don’t know what’s worse—you trying to insinuate yourself into her good graces or her not telling me of your little talks.”
Accused Page 13
