The last thing Dad would want is for me to dwell on things I can’t change. In the here and now I’ve got Nick and his newfound religion. He sounds so certain. Is he telling me the truth? Has he really changed, and is he really sorry he hurt me? The more she thought about their discussion and what had happened at the reception and the two disparate pieces of information she’d learned, the more she wondered what bothered her more—Nick’s new life or Darryl’s confession. Darryl is obviously lying to protect himself. What on earth is Nick’s angle?
So much of what Nick talked about she’d heard from her mother and dismissed. Why did it sound so much more believable coming from him? He was different, or at least he was acting different. She reminded herself that being and acting weren’t the same.
That’s it, she thought. Maybe everything is just an act. Maybe he’s just trying to get on my good side. But we’re divorced. It couldn’t be more over. Why would he think being a Christian would have any sway with me?
Every question she asked only brought another question. Carly banged her head on the steering wheel and moaned. All of it was too frustrating to deal with at this time of night, when all she wanted to do was sleep.
She locked her car and noted that Andrea’s space was empty. Probably still at the Hacienda. Knowing cops, even if the reception was over, a few were probably still socializing somewhere in the hotel.
Carly and Andi’s parking spaces were in an open carport off the alley. Carly walked along the back of her building to reach the walkway that led to her apartment. It was dark, and she made a mental note to tell the landlord that the walkway light was out again. The gate was open as well, and that bugged her.
A scraping noise caught her attention, like a shoe on sandy pavement. She paused and looked behind her, trying to discern where the noise came from.
The pause saved her life.
A dark figure jumped from behind the open gate and swung a bat at her head. Reflexively Carly stepped backward. The bat missed, whizzing past the tip of her nose and impacting the side of the building with a loud thud.
Carly flinched as bits of dislodged plaster hit her face.
The attacker cursed and brought the bat around for another swing. She turned toward the carport to run for her car, fumbling for the gun in her backpack, but wasn’t quick enough.
A hand grabbed her shoulder, pinched hard, pulled her back, and slammed her against the building.
The attacker grabbed Carly’s neck with one large hand and leaned into her body. A ski mask covered his head, but Carly smelled stale beer and felt the heat of his breath on her face. Anger swelled inside her, fueled by months of frustration with no outlet. She brought her knee up as hard as she could into the man’s groin, landing a solid hit.
Immediately the hand released her neck. The man grunted in pain and doubled over, the bat clanging to the ground. But he blocked the path to the walkway.
Carly retreated toward her car, struggling with the zipper on her backpack. She finally wrenched it open and pulled out her gun, all while keeping her eyes on the cursing attacker.
“You picked the wrong mark, moron. I’m a cop!” she yelled, wanting to attract attention and make noise so a neighbor would call 911.
The man was down on one knee, holding his crotch and swearing. “I know who you are, and you’ll pay for this.” His voice was a raspy whisper with a faintly familiar tone. He called her several foul names, making an attempt to stand but going back down to his knee.
“Stay down.” Carly trained her gun on him. “You know me?” Brows furrowed, she tried to place the voice. “Who are you? What’s going on?”
He tried to stand again, this time with success, though he was wobbly. “All you need to know is that this bat is meant for your head.” He ignored her commands to stay still, picked up the dropped bat, and began moving her way, raising the weapon menacingly as he circled around her.
“I’m telling you, drop the bat! I will shoot!” She had him squarely in her sights, but he was barely fifteen feet away and still advancing, forcing her away from her car. Carly took two steps back and ran into a Dumpster.
“Stop!” she ordered, but again he paid no attention.
He smacked one of her taillights with the bat, sending red plastic flying. The impact sounded like a bomb going off, and she knew the next swing was coming her way.
Carly fired twice and thought she missed. The attacker grunted but stopped walking forward. The bat wavered. Carly gripped her gun tighter. The sound of sirens became audible in the distance. Without a word, he dropped the bat, turned, and ran with a slight limp down the alley, away from the sirens.
The trembling started as the man disappeared into the night. Carly leaned against the Dumpster and sucked in a breath. What was that all about?
A neighbor called down, asking what was going on. Carly said she was okay but needed someone to call the police. The neighbor said she already had.
When the cavalry arrived, she relaxed. There was nothing in the world like seeing a friendly black-and-white blazing into the alley. He killed his siren but left the light bar on to illuminate the area. Kyle Corley, a graveyard patrol officer and old friend, took control immediately.
Shaking, mouth dry, Carly told him what happened. More officers arrived in short order. Two taped off the scene, and two set out looking for the bad guy. One of them picked up a blood trail and called for a K-9 officer.
“Looks like you hit him,” Kyle said. He was an older officer whom Carly had known for a long time. “K-9 will be here shortly. We’ll get him.” His commanding presence fortified Carly, and the shaking stopped.
“Thanks, Kyle. I thought I missed.” A huge adrenaline crash took the place of the shaking, and suddenly Carly was exhausted. She crossed her arms, trying to think of something else besides the bat swinging for her head. I’ve got to get a grip. Breathing deep, she tried to clear her mind and remember exactly what happened.
“He said he knew me, but he didn’t ask for money or try to take my backpack. What could he have been after?”
“Who knows? Think about all the people you’ve arrested. Maybe one of them decided to pull something.” Kyle grabbed her backpack. “Hey, they don’t need us out here. Why don’t we go to your apartment and get some coffee while we wait for the officer-involved shooting team?” He motioned for her to lead the way.
Carly started for the apartment. Every light in the building was on, and many people stood outside their apartments. Several asked what happened.
“Mugging,” Kyle said. “All over now. You can go back to sleep.”
Carly sighed. I sure lit up the night. Old Towne Las Playas rarely experiences any kind of serious crime. And now a mugging and a shooting in the same place on the same night.
Kyle handed her the backpack when they reached her door, and she dug for the key. She knew he would stay with her until homicide arrived; the homicide detectives handled all officer-involved shootings. They’d probably have to wait an hour for the first investigator.
“You sure you’re okay?” Kyle asked as she fumbled with the door lock. A quiet, easygoing man, Kyle was one year shy of retirement. He’d worked graveyard patrol his whole career and with Carly on more than one occasion.
“Yeah. This is just so surreal.” The lock opened and she pushed the door open. “He gave me no choice. I mean, he would have bashed my head in if I hadn’t fired; I’m convinced of that. I just can’t figure out what he was doing here. This stuff never happens in Old Towne.”
“This stuff can happen anywhere,” Kyle said evenly.
Maddie rushed to the door, and Carly bent down and hugged her tight. Familiar post-trauma numbness began to overtake her. The entire incident was on rewind in her mind. Am I sure there was no choice but to shoot?
Carly clicked on the light and went to the kitchen to start some coffee. Kyle chatted amiably about different things. She knew he was trying to keep her mind off the shooting, and she was thankful, though it was easier said than
done. She couldn’t stop thinking about the ski-masked man. He’d been waiting for her. He knew her. And he tried to kill her. Why?
Kyle kept her occupied through a pot of coffee. The caffeine helped stave off the exhaustion. She wound down and felt better about the whole situation by the time the knock on her door signaled the arrival of homicide. Some tension returned because she’d have to relive the attack for the investigators.
“Edwards.” It was Sergeant Tucker at the door, his expression all cop, blank and hard at the same time.
“Sergeant.” Carly found Tucker’s presence in her apartment, the second time in a week, almost more unnerving than the shooting.
“You okay? Do you want me to call Dr. Guest?”
“I’m fine, Sarge.”
“Are you ready to go back to the carport and walk through the scene and tell us what happened?”
“I guess as ready as I’ll ever be.”
The three of them walked outside. Yellow tape now marked off the crime scene, and just beyond the boundary stood Captain Garrison and a city attorney. Their presence for the walk-through was routine because they all needed to know the details of the incident. The walk-through was never meant to be accusatory; rather it was meant to benefit the officer. The entire group would be there to hear exactly what happened, preventing Carly from having to repeat the story over and over.
She took a deep breath and relayed the particulars of the attack, showing the group first the dent in the plaster wall. Kyle investigated the walkway light and discovered it had been unscrewed just enough to go out. He carefully removed the bulb and bagged it for the lab. Garrison raised one or two questions, and Carly answered them carefully. When she finished, she felt better. There really was nothing else she could have done.
“You’re sure you have no idea who the guy was?” Tucker asked.
“No, of course not.” Carly glanced at the sergeant, annoyed. What, did he think one of her friends would jump her with a bat? “He said he knew me, but he had a ski mask on and his voice was raspy; I didn’t recognize it. I have no idea who he was.”
Just then a K-9 officer called to Captain Garrison. He and Tucker left the group.
“Mr. and Mrs. Personality,” Kyle whispered wryly as the two men walked away. “I think Garrison spends his free time watching paint dry.”
Carly laughed. “Thanks, I needed that. A little levity helps any situation.” The caffeine revival was evaporating rapidly. It was now three o’clock in the morning, and the adrenaline crash returned, magnified by a lack of sleep. After a few minutes, Garrison and Tucker came back.
“Edwards, we’re going to have to ask you to come to the station and make a taped statement,” Tucker announced.
“Why now? Can’t it wait until morning?”
“No, it can’t.” Garrison looked grim. “They found the man you shot. He’s dead.”
“Dead? I wasn’t even sure I’d hit him.” Carly felt blood rush to her head. “Where did they find him?”
“He made it about two blocks away and hid behind a Dumpster. It looks like he bled to death.” Garrison and Tucker exchanged glances. “Carly, under the ski mask, it was . . . Well, you shot Derek Potter.”
23
Shock descended around Carly like big, deep drifts of snow, boxing her in. Derek Potter is dead. Vaguely she heard someone ask who she wanted as a representative during the taped questioning. She heard her own voice answer, “Nick.” Kyle Corley drove her to the station and said Nick would meet them there. The trip was surreal, and Carly worked hard to keep from disconnecting. Derek tried to kill me. I didn’t have any other choice but to shoot.
Seeing Nick at the station provided more comfort than she imagined possible. She accepted his hug without protest.
“What happened?” He gripped her shoulders, concern etched on his face.
Carly told him the story. “Why, Nick?” she asked when she finished. “Why would Derek want to kill me?”
Nick hugged her again. “I wish I knew. I wish I knew.”
Nick was supportive and more than a little protective. Which was helpful, because the rest of the morning progressed in a fog. She told the story again on tape and surrendered her off-duty weapon for ballistics tests. Next was a mandatory interview with Dr. Guest. It was 11:00 a.m. before she was released to go home.
As a matter of routine, the doctor ordered her off work with pay for five days, at which time he would conduct another interview and make a determination about her mental well-being. The shooting review board would convene after the autopsy and Guest’s second report.
“Feel any better?” Nick asked when Carly stepped out of the doctor’s office.
“I don’t know if I feel anything at all right now. I’m kind of numb.”
“If it’s any consolation, everything looks clean. There’s no question you were defending yourself.”
“Thanks. Can we get out of here?”
“Sure. My truck is out back.”
They left the station in silence. Carly ignored people they passed; she just wanted to be somewhere else. Cops were trained to handle death, even accept it as part of the job. Police work was dangerous; death in the line of duty happened. Even though Derek was on stress leave, he was still a cop. How can you train to handle shooting one of your own?
“This is a nightmare,” she declared as she climbed into his truck.
“You have a gift for understatement.”
Carly felt as wrung out as an old rag, yet she knew she’d have a hard time getting to sleep. The shooting was still playing in slow motion in her mind; sometimes she saw Derek’s face instead of a ski mask. She closed her eyes and shook her head in a futile effort to banish the image from her thoughts as Nick parked at the curb in front of her apartment.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” he asked.
“No. I mean, I don’t want to stay here.”
“You want to stay with your mom?”
“I can’t bring Maddie there. Mom wouldn’t want the dog around.”
“You can come home with me.” Nick stared straight ahead.
“Nick, I just don’t want to be by myself. I don’t want anything else.”
“I know, Carly. I didn’t mean anything else. I’m worried, and I guess I’d rather have you where I can look after you.” He held his hands up as she started a weak protest. “I know you can take care of yourself! But right now you’re tired. And this will hit you; you know that. After you get some sleep, I’ll drive you back here. Until then, I just want to help, okay?”
“I’m too tired to argue. Let’s go get the dog.”
Nick accompanied her inside while she packed a change of clothes. Maddie’s exuberance at seeing Nick brought a brief smile to Carly’s face. She penned a quick note for Andrea, and then she, Nick, and Maddie left.
* * *
The dream woke her up, the same dream she’d had after the shooting she and Derek Potter had been involved in six months ago. She faced an armed man, but her gun wouldn’t fire. She bolted up, gripping the blanket tightly in both hands. A feeling of disorientation enveloped her as she looked around the unfamiliar room. The only comfort was Maddie at the foot of the bed, happily thumping her tail. Carly clicked the bedside light on, and when she recognized the bedroom, the memory of the day before crashed in.
Derek Potter is dead, and I killed him.
The clock by the bed said it was 4:30 a.m. In spite of everything, she’d slept through the day and most of the night.
Carly weighed the possibility of getting back to sleep and decided it was nonexistent. She got out of bed and walked to the living room, where Nick slept on the couch. Sitting across from him on the love seat, she wrapped her arms around her knees and watched him sleep. After a few minutes Maddie padded in and sniffed at Nick before licking his face. Carly chuckled as Nick flailed at the dog in his sleep.
The dog soon succeeded in waking Nick up, to Carly’s enjoyment. If she was awake, he should be awake. Nick saw her laughing t
hrough sleepy eyes.
“Ugh. Why’d you go and sic the dog on me?” he grumbled.
“I didn’t have anything to do with it. She found you totally of her own volition.”
Maddie’s tail wagged wildly. Nick sat up and grabbed the dog in a big hug, talking nonsense to her. After a few minutes, he released her and stretched. “I’m surprised you slept so long. Any bad dreams?” he asked with a yawn.
“Nope,” she lied. “You feel like some coffee?”
“Sure.”
They went into the kitchen, and he started the coffee. A lingering aura of pleasant memories in the kitchen made Carly feel better.
“I noticed you finished the bathroom.”
“Yeah, one of the guys at church laid the tile in the shower. It looks nice, don’t you think?” He poured coffee and set it in front of her.
Carly nodded and sipped her coffee. “This church stuff has become pretty important to you, hasn’t it?” She met his bemused expression with a questioning look.
“Yeah, it really changed my perspective.”
“Perspective,” Carly repeated as a wave of ugly memories splashed all over the good ones. She stared at her coffee. “You know, Nick, maybe I wasn’t the perfect wife, but a waitress in a bar?” Her intention wasn’t to antagonize, but when she looked up, she saw the pain cross Nick’s face.
He ran a hand across the stubble on his chin. “You were a good wife. We had a good marriage. Even if it doesn’t make sense, you have to believe that it had nothing to do with you. Maybe I went to the bar to make you mad, but the girl was a major-league stupid mistake.”
Accused Page 15
