by Cari Hunter
She picked up her flashlight and walked back to where Tilly lay.
“Hey, Tilly-bud.”
She scratched behind Tilly’s ears and then signaled her to heel. Sarah’s arraignment wasn’t for another four hours, which would give Alex time to collect the pup tent from the shed and pitch it over the tracks to preserve them for as long as it took her to sort this mess out. She would also upload the photographs and send them to Castillo. In case something happened to her, she wanted someone external to the investigation to have copies. As far as she was concerned, the Avery PD was tainted. For now at least, she and Sarah were on their own.
Chapter Eleven
Leah was already frying bacon in the skillet when Caleb walked into the kitchen. She poured him fresh coffee and set the mug by his place at the table. Scratching the back of his head absently, he sat and drank. His hair was still wet from the shower, he hadn’t bothered to fasten his shirt yet, and the White Pride tattoos covering his chest stood out starkly against his pale skin. Last night, she had run her hands across his torso, tracing the lines and symbols as he told her again what each stood for, as if she could ever forget. Afterward, he had slept soundly while she lay awake for hours, listening to the rasp of his breathing and planning what she would say to him in the morning. She thought she had it worked out now. Whether he would listen to her, though, was another matter entirely.
She piled bacon and pancakes onto his plate and sat across from him, sipping peppermint tea as he shoveled food into his mouth. He frowned at her as the smell of mint cut through the reek of grease, but he didn’t comment. She had already told him that too much caffeine was bad for the baby. She waited until he had finished half his plateful and then she pushed her cup to one side.
“Honey, I’ve been thinking,” she said, and watched the way his chewing slowed as he smirked.
“Have you now?” He swallowed and chased the food down with coffee. “About what?”
“Alex Pascal.” She shook her head, correcting herself quickly. “The cop.”
He never used their names; it was always “the cop,” “the bitch,” “those fucking dykes.” He didn’t dehumanize them to make it easier for him to hurt them; he did it because he didn’t consider them human in the first place.
“Yeah, so what about her?” He picked up a rasher of bacon and bit at the end. Just as Leah had hoped, his favorite breakfast and plentiful coffee had made him willing to humor her.
“If you go after her too soon, if you hurt her, the police will suspect that it wasn’t her girlfriend who killed that paramedic. They’ll start looking for someone else.” She took a shaky breath. “They’ll start looking for you.”
He scoffed but hesitated nonetheless, suggesting he might be giving her warning due consideration.
“Patience and perseverance, baby,” she said, reminding him of the mantra he had inherited from his father.
“Bitch has her bail decided this afternoon,” he said. “She’s not getting out, so I guess we’ll just wait and see where they send her.” Leah could feel the rough skin on his hands as he took hold of hers. “My guy says we can stay here as long as we like, so I’m not going to rush into anything.”
“That’s good,” she told him, hoping she had managed to buy Alex some time. Over his shoulder, she could see the river, a soothing endless flow of green water. She was still staring at it when she felt his hands begin to raise the hem of her dress.
*
Castillo had agreed with Alex: the tire tread evidence wouldn’t be compelling enough by itself, especially if Quinn was somehow involved in its concealment and could subsequently influence the judge.
“Do you think Quinn’s likely to be the culprit?” Castillo asked.
Alex thought of his single-minded pursuit of Sarah, the perp walk, his grandstanding for the cameras, his haste to secure an indictment, and the smoothed-over ground she had found that morning.
“I don’t know,” she said. In the months she had worked for him, he had never been anything but fair to her, and his reaction to her revelations about the Cascades had certainly seemed genuine enough. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“I guess not.” Castillo cleared his throat. “I’m looking at getting someone out to you, but there’s resistance higher up; budget cuts, reluctance to wade into a local matter.”
“I’m okay, Mike.”
“Yeah, you’re always okay.” There was wry humor in his voice. “But a little extra muscle never hurt anyone—well, not unless the assholes deserved it.”
This time she laughed with him.
“I’ll get these images blown up, see if they’re good enough to provide us with any identifying details—cuts or nicks,” he continued. “I have a few friends who can keep it on the QT. Won’t be as accurate as a cast, of course, but it has to be better than nothing.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. It was already midday and she had another phone call to make yet.
Never one for a long farewell, he wished her luck with the arraignment and hung up. Without giving herself a chance to change her mind, she hit the speed dial again, closing her eyes as a familiar voice answered.
“Alex, what the fuck is going on over there?” Sarah’s best friend had never been known for mincing her words.
“Hi, Ash,” Alex said. “You better sit down for this.”
*
Standing in front of the grimy mirror, Sarah tugged her shirt straight and drew its sleeves down. It was the smartest item of clothing she owned, and Alex had undoubtedly been hoping it would make a good impression at the arraignment when she chose it. Sarah was just grateful its sleeves were long enough to hide the stained dressings covering her arms.
Not wanting to use the greasy brush her guard had supplied, she ran her fingers through her hair until she bore less of a resemblance to an unkempt hedgehog. She couldn’t do anything about her cracked lips or the dark shadows beneath her eyes, however, and as she wiped more steam from the mirror, she noticed a bruise on her left cheekbone where she had hit the cell wall the day before.
“Crap,” she whispered. She didn’t have a hope in hell of Alex failing to spot that.
Taking a moment to calm her nerves, she folded her tattered towel into a neat square and placed it on the sink. No one had knocked on the door to hurry her yet, but having spent almost twenty-four hours in confinement at the mercy of someone else’s schedule, she was keen to reclaim some small sense of autonomy, so she left the bathroom without waiting to be summoned.
The officer on the dayshift was standing in the corridor. Unlike his colleagues, he had shown no interest in making her life difficult, and though his manner hadn’t quite extended to friendliness, he had at least been civil to her. He mumbled an apology as he took his handcuffs from his belt. Feeling guilty for making him uncomfortable, she turned around and held her wrists in position behind her back. He seemed relieved that she showed no intention of resisting or playing on his sympathies, and to her surprise, he moved her hands to her front and secured them there.
“Come on, then,” he said, allowing her to walk independently toward a security door she had never been through.
The first glimpse of daylight as the door swung open made her shrink back, every muscle in her body tensing as if to ward off a blow, but the exit merely led into a high-walled yard where a single police unit was waiting for her. That Quinn could have brought her into the station by this route the previous day made her more sad than angry. She knew that Alex had always respected him, and she suspected that, although he undoubtedly had his own reasons for his actions, Alex would be holding herself responsible.
A police officer climbed from the driver’s seat and nodded at Sarah. He opened the rear door and made sure she didn’t bump her head as she got into the car.
“Shouldn’t take us long to get over there,” he said, looking back at her through the reinforced partition.
She nodded; she knew roughly where the courthouse was in Ruby, but she ha
d never had any reason to pay it a visit. The gates opened automatically when he drove toward them, and Sarah’s guard raised a hand in farewell.
As the driver accelerated, Sarah turned in the seat to watch the familiar streets and buildings pass by. The car followed the path of the river through town and then turned left onto the lakeside road. She stared at the water until her eyes unfocused and the finer details blurred, knowing that she would never be able to go back there. She had fallen in love with Avery at first sight, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. She didn’t think it ever would.
*
Keeping her head bowed, Alex pushed through the throng of reporters on the courthouse steps. A few of them recognized her; she heard the rapid-fire click of cameras and raised voices asking for comment, but no one pursued her beyond the two uniformed officers standing sentry at the doors, and Bridie had already ensured that Sarah would be brought in via the rear entrance. The press weren’t going to get their pound of flesh today.
Bridie met Alex in the atrium. Her handshake was warm and firm, though her palm was slightly damp. She had a reputation as an experienced and canny defense lawyer, often a thorn in the side of the Aroostook County police departments, but Alex wondered exactly how many murder cases she had been involved with. At such short notice, Alex hadn’t had the opportunity to research the lawyer’s résumé as thoroughly as she would have liked.
“How is she?” she asked as Bridie guided her away from the central thoroughfare. Once they were safely ensconced in a small alcove, Bridie took care in propping her briefcase on the floor, as if giving herself time to decide how much Alex needed to know.
“She didn’t sleep well,” she said, evidently concluding that subterfuge was not in anyone’s best interests. “And she’s nervous, of course, but she did say thanks for the shirt.”
Alex smiled. Sarah didn’t have many options when it came to formal attire. “Will I be able to see her? Beforehand, I mean, not just from across the courtroom?”
“I doubt that, Alex. It’s not common procedure.”
“But not unheard of?”
She whipped her head around as Quinn’s familiar baritone voice filtered through the indistinct conversation of the people milling in the atrium. Standing beneath a huge oil painting of some long-dead dignitary, he was deep in animated discussion with Linda Kryger. Alex winced when she recognized the ADA. Kryger was tenacious, quick-witted, and hugely experienced. More worryingly for Sarah, she had a real knack for winning judges and juries over to her “hang ’em high” philosophy.
“I’ll be right back,” Alex said, heading across to Quinn at a near jog, preempting Bridie’s inevitable attempt to stop her. Both Quinn and Kryger watched her approach, neither appearing particularly receptive.
“Sir,” Alex said with a nod. “Ms. Kryger.”
Kryger didn’t deign to return her greeting, leaving the onus on Quinn to speak.
“What do you want, Alex?” he said, making her feel like a recalcitrant schoolchild hauled in front of the principal. It took a great effort of will not to shuffle her feet, but since she wasn’t going to beg and Quinn had never had time for what he commonly referred to as “ass-kissers,” she answered him honestly.
“I want to see Sarah.”
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Kryger’s perfectly glossed, thin little lips became even narrower. Quinn, however, seemed to give Alex credit for being forthright.
“She’s down in the holding cells,” he said, which at least wasn’t an outright refusal.
She held his gaze. “I know, sir. I’m just asking for a few minutes, that’s all.”
Kryger’s lips twitched upward in a sneer, but Quinn’s expression softened slightly. He looked at his wristwatch and then gestured to someone behind Alex. She turned to see Tobin hurrying over.
“Escort her down to the holding cells,” Quinn instructed him. “She gets five minutes with Hayes, no more.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alex said, but there was something in the way he looked at her that made her shiver. Not wanting to give Kryger time to change Quinn’s mind, she quickly fell in step with Tobin as he strode toward a double set of glass doors. For the first time, she noticed the subtle change in his uniform that identified him as a full-time officer.
“Congratulations,” she remarked drily.
He grasped her meaning and had the grace to look flustered. “Yeah, uh, thanks.” He covered his unease by signing them both through the initial security checkpoint. “Quinn said I did good responding to the Mardell shout and managing the scene, so…Uh, it’s this way.”
She allowed him to let the subject drop. She accepted that she would never be able to work for Quinn again, and since Tobin had been sidelined for years, she couldn’t begrudge his taking her job.
At the entrance to the holding cells, a security guard waved an electronic wand around Alex and then gave her a thorough pat down. He issued her with a temporary visitor’s pass, and led her and Tobin down to Sarah’s cell. Like a teenager on a surreal first date, Alex waited tense with apprehension as he unlocked the third door on a row of four. He stepped aside to allow her into the cell.
Sarah was sitting on the edge of a small cot. For a second, her eyes stayed fixed on the guard, and Alex noticed the way her hands gripped the mattress. Her mouth dropped open in confusion when she realized Alex was there; she scrambled to her feet but then hesitated, as if unsure whether she was allowed to touch her.
Alex had no such doubts. She closed the gap between them, gathered Sarah into her arms, and held her tightly.
“Oh God.” Sarah breathed the words against Alex’s neck, her fists clutching at Alex’s shirt. “How?”
“Quinn’s given us five minutes,” Alex told her, noticing that Tobin had stepped a little farther toward the doorway and turned his back slightly. Keeping hold of Sarah’s hands, she guided her to sit back down and then crouched in front of her. “Let me look at you.”
Sarah closed her eyes as Alex stroked her hair away from her forehead. “Do I look as knackered as I feel?” she asked.
“You look beautiful,” Alex said, meaning every word.
Sarah opened one eye and peeked at her. “Fibber.”
Alex let her fingertips linger on the small but livid bruise that flared across the arc of Sarah’s cheekbone. “Who did this?” she whispered. “Emerson?”
“No.” Sarah reached for her hand. “No, he’s been okay with me.” She sighed, obviously aware Alex would continue to press if she didn’t answer. “One of the guards was a friend of Lyssa’s. He got a little rough, but I’m fine. Honestly.”
“Did Quinn let it happen? Did he know about it?”
“No.” Sarah sounded certain of that. “He still doesn’t know. Please don’t say anything.”
The strain in her voice was enough to make Alex acquiesce. Later, when all this was over, she would find out the bastard’s name, but not now, not in the two minutes they had left. She sat on the mattress and tucked her arm around Sarah.
“Tilly and the rest of the gang miss you.”
“Even Bandit?”
“Naw, Bandit’s having too much fun sleeping on your pillow.”
Sarah chuckled. “Get where water wouldn’t, that little sod.”
“Yeah.” Alex smiled again, but her throat tightened with longing. She just wanted to take Sarah home where they could sit together on the porch and Sarah could throw weird English insults at the cats and laugh when Alex requested a translation. She felt Sarah’s lips brush against her cheek to press a soft kiss there.
Then reality crashed in as Tobin coughed self-consciously and the guard entered the cell.
*
The courtroom wasn’t only small, but it seemed to have been designed specifically with intimidation in mind. Standing in front of Judge Buchanan’s ornate, raised pedestal, Sarah felt suitably intimidated. Before speaking to confirm her name, she looked for Alex, who was sitting in the public gallery, and Alex’s nod of encourageme
nt enabled her to keep her voice steady. The gallery was packed with spectators, many of whom Sarah recognized, but the seats closest to Alex remained empty in a non-too-subtle attempt to ostracize her.
Buchanan stared at Sarah for a long time, as if he had placed a private wager on how quickly she would crack beneath his scrutiny. She hoped he hadn’t wagered much, because he bore more than a passing resemblance to her favorite and much missed granddad, which made it easy to maintain eye contact with him. It was Buchanan who finally looked away. He made a show of placing his glasses on the end of his nose before reading out the details of the charge.
“How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, sir,” she said clearly, before adding a hasty, “Your Honor.” Her knees were shaking, but she didn’t think she was allowed to sit yet. The cuffs around her wrists rattled as she held on to the wooden railing in front of her. At her side, Bridie began to argue that the circumstances surrounding the crime were exceptional enough for bail to be granted, citing Sarah’s lack of criminal record, her volunteer work for the community, and—despite the charge—the lack of any substantive evidence against her. Sarah watched Buchanan intently, but his expression gave nothing away. Conversely, Alex was an open book, leaning forward with her hands twisting anxiously on the barrier.
A touch on Sarah’s arm signaled that Bridie had finished speaking. Sarah gratefully sat back down as Kryger took center stage and, as good performers often do, commanded the attention of her audience by pausing to brush a non-existent piece of lint from her jacket. Then she introduced herself and requested that, in accordance with state law, bail be denied.
