by Jason Pinter
It explained why Robles was at the press conference looking terrified. He must have seen Serrano kill Wright at the bridge and then had to watch the man who killed Constance Wright investigate her death.
And the night she shot Robles—Serrano himself said he was heading to the hospital. And the next day Robles wound up dead.
Goddamn it. How could she have missed it?
That speech about his son. The kindness he’d shown toward her children. Her vision had been clouded by her sympathy for Serrano’s loss.
Sometimes behind the kindest eyes lay the darkest hearts.
She remembered the kindly-eyed man who, years ago, had installed the security system in her family’s home. The way he made googly eyes at baby Megan and made her fantasy-obsessed son laugh with his impression of Gollum. My precious. The way he shook her husband’s hand and told him how he took pride in protecting a nice young family from those who might do them harm.
And then that man had ripped their family apart.
And now Serrano was looking to pin Wright’s murder on her. And if he couldn’t do that . . . Rachel knew what he was capable of.
She turned off the lights and monitors in the basement and went upstairs. She took the Mossberg shotgun from the safe and made sure it was loaded. She hadn’t touched it since the night she shot Robles.
Rachel crept downstairs. She took a chair from the kitchen and set it down facing the front door. Then Rachel took a seat, the shotgun on her lap, and prayed she would not have to use it tonight.
Rachel stirred when she heard music playing upstairs. Panic swept through her. She’d fallen asleep. The gun was still on her lap. She couldn’t bring it upstairs; the kids could burst into the hall at any moment to see their mother carrying a loaded shotgun.
She ran into the living room and tucked the gun underneath the sofa cushions.
“Morning, Mom!” Megan sang, bounding down the stairs.
Her hair was a delightful mess. She bounced into the kitchen, hopped onto a stool at the counter, and said, “Eggs, please.”
“Coming right up,” Rachel said. Eric joined them a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes. “Morning, sweetie. Finish your paper?”
“It’s not due until next week.”
“Did you make good progress?” He shrugged. “Right. You’re not a morning person. You know who else wasn’t a morning person?”
Eric shook his head. “Who?”
“Your father.”
Eric’s head snapped up. “Dad?” he said. Rachel never talked about Brad so casually.
“That’s right. Your father hated waking up in the morning. Before you came along, he’d usually wake up for breakfast around lunchtime.”
“That’s silly,” Megan said. “Why would anyone skip breakfast?”
“Beats me,” Rachel said, cracking two eggs into a pan.
Eric was beaming, wistful. “Can you make me some eggs too?”
Rachel smiled back. “Of course, hon.” She cracked two more into the pan.
While the children ate, Rachel kept sneaking looks back to the living room, where a loaded shotgun was hidden just feet from her kids.
How did it come to this? she thought. Hiding loaded weapons from my children?
When they finished, Rachel cleaned the kitchen. John Serrano’s smiling face stuck in her head like a piece of rotten fruit on a clean white plate. Most days, she felt like she never had enough time to spend with her children. This morning, she couldn’t wait for them to leave. And the secrecy made her feel terrible.
Finally, after she had given Megan an extra ten hugs and kisses and patted Eric on the arm (she’d hit her teenage son hug quota early this week), they were off to school. When the house was empty, Rachel ran into the living room, grabbed the Mossberg from under the cushions, and deposited it back in the safe. Then she sat on her bed and tried to regain her composure.
Now, she had to think of a plan. Serrano was a cop. Not just any cop. A detective. He was smart. He was thorough. And he was clean.
But with Sam Wickersham, Nicholas Drummond, and Louis Magursky in prison facing felony charges, it was only a matter of time before they found probable cause to pin the murder on one of them. Rachel was convinced they were all innocent. But Serrano could plant evidence. Doctor reports. Force confessions.
She thought about going to Tally. Serrano’s partner surely knew him better than anyone. But they were also tight. Tally would protect Serrano. Not to mention that Tally seemed to have as much fondness for Rachel as one had for flesh-eating bacteria. No. It couldn’t be Tally.
She knew who it had to be.
Rachel picked up the phone and dialed.
“Ashby Police Department.”
“Yes, I’d like to speak with Lieutenant Daryl George. Tell him it’s Rachel Marin. And tell him the future of the department depends on him taking my call.”
CHAPTER 39
She waited on hold for five panicked minutes. Finally Lieutenant George came on the line.
“Ms. Marin, I really don’t have time for you today, so this had better be important.”
“Lieutenant George, before you hang up, you need to listen to me. Because if you don’t, your department and your career will be over before this phone call ends.”
There was silence on the other end. For a moment, Rachel was terrified the lieutenant would hang up.
“Lieutenant?”
“I’m still here,” George said.
“Lieutenant, there’s a killer in your department. I need you to meet me in person.”
“How dare you disparage my officers, who have gone out of their way to show you courtesy and professionalism despite your insane stunts. I have personally gone to great lengths to shelter your own children. Your accusation is totally absurd.”
“What’s absurd is that if you don’t take this seriously, I’ll go to the press. And you’ll have to answer to them instead of me. And I think you’d like to hear what I have to say before you see Nancy Wiles reporting it on Channel 14 tonight.”
More silence.
“Come in to the precinct,” Lieutenant George said finally, exasperated. “We can meet in my office.”
“Absolutely not. The person I’m talking about cannot be permitted to see me at the station, and I don’t trust that you won’t concoct a reason to toss me back into holding. You come to my home. Alone. Today.”
“I have a budget meeting in half an hour.”
“Skip it.”
“I’m not going to let this department fall behind because of some crackpot. Believe it or not, I have matters to attend to during the day that do not involve you.”
Rachel gritted her teeth. She didn’t have much leverage. And if Lieutenant George skipped the meeting, people would ask questions.
“Fine,” she said. “But you need to be here before my children get home from school.”
“What time is that?”
“Three thirty.”
“I’ll be there at two.”
“Great. And Lieutenant, if you tell anybody about our meeting, or if you don’t come alone, Nancy Wiles is on my speed dial. And I hear she’s angling for a national anchor spot. Taking down a corrupt police department would be one hell of a story to put on her promo reel.”
“I’ll be there, and I’ll be alone. But think long and hard about this, Ms. Marin. If you’re pulling my leg, I will drag you down to the precinct myself, and this time you won’t be out the next day.”
“Looks like we both have a lot at stake then. Be here at two, Lieutenant.”
Then Rachel hung up. And breathed. There was no turning back.
Rachel was sitting in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She checked her watch. One fifty-three. Lieutenant George was seven minutes early. She appreciated punctuality.
She went to greet the lieutenant. The window shades on either side of the door were open. She could see him standing on her front step, looking impatient and cold, irritated. Understandable. He wore dark jeans with
black boots and a brown coat with a fur-lined hood. She checked the surrounding area. His car was empty. He appeared to have come alone. Rachel opened the door.
“Well?” he said. “You dragged me down here. This better be good.”
“Thanks for coming, Lieutenant. Come in.”
Upon entering, he removed his shoes.
“Wow. I didn’t even have to ask,” Rachel said.
“My daughter used to be the same age as your kids,” he said. “I remember how hard it is to keep a clean house.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Don’t get used to it. It’s probably the only time I’m going to be nice to you today.”
“Fair enough.”
Lieutenant George dropped his boots by the front door. Rachel took his jacket and hung it in the hall closet. Then she led him into the living room. She took a seat in a gray armchair, and George sat across from her on the green velvet-tufted sofa.
“Can I get you anything?” she said. “Coffee? Water?”
“You threaten me and then offer me coffee? No thank you, Ms. Marin. I just want to know what I’m doing here.”
“Cutting to the chase. I admire that. It’ll look good in a mayor.”
“Come again?”
“Your exploratory committee has been in the works for almost a year. You’ve been trying to keep it under wraps.”
George laughed and sat back. “You really are something,” he said.
“Am I wrong?”
George smirked and said, “My campaign manager wants to wait until the spring to make it official. She says people tend to equate good news with good weather.”
Rachel nodded. “Makes sense.”
“You didn’t want me to come here to talk politics,” George said. “You told me I had a killer in my department. That is not a statement to make lightly. So please, Ms. Marin. Elaborate.”
“Detective Serrano,” Rachel said. “He killed Constance Wright.”
George gave a dismissive snort. “If John Serrano is a murderer, then I’m Charles Manson. John Serrano is one of my very best detectives.”
“Which is why he nearly got away with it.”
George’s smile evaporated.
“If not for me,” Rachel said, “Constance Wright’s death would have gone down as a suicide. The scene was staged well. The trajectory from the bridge would have been impossible for someone at that height to calculate. And the oddly chipped tooth wouldn’t have been noticed if it wasn’t being investigated as a homicide.”
“Detectives Serrano and Tally told me they ran into you as they were leaving the Irongate Properties offices,” George said, unfazed. “They spoke to Aleksy Bacik. I know about the NDA. They also told me they contacted a lawyer in Darien, Connecticut, who appears to have represented you. In fact, if Detective Tally had her way, you’d be held for questioning right about now. They seem to think you should be investigated.”
“I had nothing to do with Wright’s murder, and you all know it.”
George shrugged. “They’re doing their job. And now all of a sudden, a person of interest in this investigation is pointing the finger at a cop? That sounds like the desperation of a person with something to hide.”
“You don’t know what desperation is,” Rachel said. “Desperation is seeing the police department investigating the wrong person while a killer walks freely.”
“We have three people in custody, all of whom had a hand in the fraud perpetrated on Constance Wright. Nicholas Drummond, Samuel Wickersham, and Louis Magursky. Maybe you’re telling the truth, and you’re innocent of wrongdoing. But those three are not. Bottom line is we’re getting justice for Constance.”
“You haven’t charged any of those three with Wright’s murder.”
“Yet,” George clarified.
“Serrano was passed over for sergeant personally by Constance Wright,” Rachel said. “After his son died. He told me.”
George shook his head. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “And to be honest, I think the mayor made the right call. We nearly had to boot John from the force, his drinking got so bad. I’d never wish what happened to him on anybody. But I have a department to run and a hundred and twenty law enforcement officers under my command.”
“Serrano blamed Constance Wright for being passed over. He believes that promotion is the one thing that could have helped him move on from the loss of his son. He never forgot and never forgave. That’s motive right there, Lieutenant. And Constance was a much easier target as a civilian.”
George furrowed his brow and sawed his teeth back and forth, like he was chewing on an undercooked piece of meat. Rachel could tell he was being persuaded.
“I remember when Evan died,” George said softly. “I’ve seen humanity at its best and worst. But I’ve never seen the light leave a man’s eyes like it did John’s after Evan passed. That boy was his world.”
He paused.
“I don’t know if that promotion would have led John down a different path. Maybe, maybe not. But the man went through some dark times after his promotion was rejected.”
“And if he was ever going to get back at her for it,” Rachel said, “he knew he’d be better off waiting until she was out of the public eye. And given her personal and professional implosion, her suicide would seem understandable.”
“I have no reason to believe you or to trust you,” George said.
“But you’re still here.”
George said nothing. “I’ll look into it. But this will need to be treated very delicately. John and Leslie are good detectives. And they’ve both been with the department long enough to know when something is out of whack. You can’t tell anybody what you’ve told me today.”
“My lips are sealed. As long as you actually begin an investigation,” Rachel said. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours. If I don’t hear from you on any movement on Serrano . . .” She waved her cell phone threateningly.
“You are a piece of work, Ms. Marin,” George said. “But like you said, I can’t potentially have a killer under my nose and expect people to pull a lever for me come Election Day.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I just want justice for Constance Wright.”
“So do I,” he said. “She was a spectacular woman and a good mayor. And I’m glad the monsters who ruined her are going to rot.”
“Me too,” Rachel said. “For what it’s worth, you have my vote.”
He smiled. The lieutenant’s eyes were a sparkling blue, the color of a lake on a sunny day, and the crow’s feet on either side made him look distinguished.
He’ll win, she thought. Men who look like that and have a good head on their shoulders don’t lose elections.
“I need to be going,” George said.
“My kids will be home soon too. Don’t need them asking why another cop is in our home.”
George stood up. “Don’t call me. I’ll call you. Serrano and Tally pick up scents quickly, and they could catch a whiff of this if you call the station again.”
“You got it.”
“Mind if I use your bathroom before I go?”
“Sure.” Rachel pointed him to the bathroom down the hall. She hoped he wouldn’t judge the dirty children’s clothes overflowing from the hamper. Doing laundry for two children was a Sisyphean task.
When she heard the bathroom door close, Rachel went to the closet and took the lieutenant’s coat out for him. She could smell a faint whiff of eau de toilette—Yves Saint Laurent, if she wasn’t mistaken.
Out of habit, Rachel felt the inside pocket of George’s jacket pocket. A pen, a crumpled dry cleaning bill, and a parking stub. Nothing more. Then she checked the outer pockets.
One pocket had nothing. The other held a plastic bag with something blue inside. She took out the bag, unzipped it, and removed the items.
And her heart skipped a beat.
Her mind went back to the night she’d waited outside of Stanford Royce’s house. Before approaching his front door, she�
�d slipped on a pair of blue plastic shoe covers so as not to leave any imprints in the dirt.
The Ziploc bag contained a pair of the same type of shoe covers she had worn, coated in melted snow and caked in dirt.
Before she could turn around, Rachel felt a shockingly strong arm wrap itself around her chest and then a stinging sensation as a syringe was plunged into her neck.
“You had the wrong cop,” he said as Rachel’s world spun into black.
CHAPTER 40
John Serrano had a six-pack of Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA waiting for him in the fridge at home. It had taken a long time to get control of his life to the point where a six-pack wouldn’t turn into a twelve-pack and then into a case and then a bottle of Jim Beam. Besides, sitting in his old maroon La-Z-Boy downing a few cold ones and a bag of pretzels while watching a movie was the perfect way to end a long day. He was in the mood for something a little old school. Maybe Stand by Me or Gremlins. He was leaning toward Gremlins. A very underrated Christmas movie. Gremlins and beer. A light snow was falling. It was a beautiful early evening, and he couldn’t wait to get home and let the day slide away.
His head was swirling after the talk with Bacik and the confrontation with Rachel. There was something dark in her past she was trying desperately to conceal, but he had a hard time believing she was capable of murder. Or maybe he just didn’t want to believe what she could be capable of.
Serrano had pulled into his driveway and was opening the car door when his cell phone rang. Speak of the devil.
The Caller ID read Rachel Marin.
Serrano swiped to answer the call. “Rachel. I’m guessing you want to talk about today.”
“Detective Serrano?”
It wasn’t Rachel. Serrano recognized Eric Marin’s voice.
“Eric?”
“Detective Serrano, hi.”
“Eric, is everything OK?”
“I don’t know. I’m at home with Megan, and our mom isn’t here.”
A knot tied itself in Serrano’s gut.
“What do you mean? Tell me what’s going on, exactly.”
“The school bus dropped me off at home about two hours ago. Megan was sitting on the front step, alone. She said Mom wasn’t answering the door. I have a key, so I let us in. But our mom isn’t here. I don’t know where she is. This has never happened before.”
