by Reed, Annie
What was the worst case here? I’d end up in jail.
I hadn’t done anything wrong, but I wasn’t naive enough to think that would keep me in the clear.
Somewhere along the line, someone had mentioned my involvement with Melody, and that had been enough to put the cops on my case. Plus, if the cops had talked to any of the people who’d seen me with Melody at the gym, they’d know that our little scene, while not exactly a knock-down, drag-out battle, had been tense.
Circumstantial evidence was still evidence, and people had been arrested for less.
The next worst case scenario was that the cops would arrest Ryan. I didn’t think for one minute that he was capable of killing anyone, much less Melody. The man I’d married was highly competitive—most trial lawyers were—but competitive didn’t mean homicidal.
The detectives were on the wrong track, they just couldn’t see that yet. In their world, murders often started with domestic disputes, and the spouse or significant other was always a person of interest until they were proven not to be.
I hoped to hell that Ryan had an airtight alibi. His nice, ordered life had already been blown to hell. Being the subject of a homicide investigation was only going to make it worse. And while the cops were concentrating the murder investigation on the wrong guy, the person who actually killed Melody would still be out walking around. He might even be looking for the next person to kill.
Now wasn’t that a cheery thought.
CHAPTER 13
BEFORE HE LET ME LEAVE to go home, Norton said he wanted to have a little chat with me. That was fine. I was still keyed up and too many things were bouncing around in my brain to let me unwind.
“I want you to send me that report you sent to Ryan,” Norton said as soon as we were outside the police station. “I’ll look it over first thing in the morning. In fact, send me everything you have on the case, all the photographs you took, all the notes you made. If there’s nothing in the report that could bite you in the ass, I’ll contact Ryan and get his authorization to send it to the police.”
“What about the rest of it? I didn’t put everything in report.” I told Norton about the possibility that Mr. Muscles at the gym was an undercover cop named Lewis Richards who was the registered owner of the white SUV that had followed Melody from the cafe on California to the gym. “I didn’t want to give Ryan that information until I could confirm it with Kyle.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. If Kyle finds out, let me know, but don’t do anything on your own to find out.” Norton gave me a level—if tired—no nonsense stare. “You’re hands off on this one from now on, Abby, no joke. You don’t want to be seen as interfering with a police investigation, especially not one where you and your ex are under suspicion.”
The police department in Sparks where Kyle had his office was still on the edge of the city, close enough to housing developments to be a part of Sparks proper but still near enough the foothills to the east of the city to feel open and somewhat set apart.
The building housing the Reno Police Department was smack in downtown Reno, taking up a roughly triangular lot bordered by High Street, Second Street, and Kuenzli. The Truckee River curved along the back side of what used to be a public parking lot at the rear of the building, but what now housed only police vehicles.
That was fine with me. I hadn’t wanted to park anywhere near the station anyway. I’d found a space on Kuenzli where it didn’t feel like I was giving up any of my independence. Probably not a logical response, but I didn’t think I’d been reacting from pure logic ever since the detectives had told me Melody had been murdered.
As Norton and I talked, we walked down the sidewalk toward my car.
We were only about a block or so away from the new Reno Aces ballpark. There’d been no home game tonight, so the neighborhood was relatively quiet and deserted. At least as quiet and deserted as downtown Reno gets near midnight on a midweek summer night.
No clouds blotted out the night sky, and the heat of the day was finally gone. I couldn’t see many stars overhead—the neon lights on the casinos in the downtown core kept all but the brightest stars in shadow—but I could smell the faint odor of the river and a late-blooming flower garden on the other side of the street.
All in all, it might have been a pleasant walk except for the reason I was downtown so late.
Now that the interview was over, I couldn’t stop shaking inside. I’d never been a suspect in any crime, much less a murder, and a murder of someone I knew at that. Melody had been a vibrant, beautiful woman. I might have hated her from time to time—what wife wouldn’t hate the woman her husband had left her for?—but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel sorrow over her death.
Sorrow, and an overwhelming need to protect my family. Samantha, most definitely, but also Ryan. He would always be the father of my child, and that meant he would always be family, no matter what our personal issues were. Norton was smart enough to know that.
“I can’t promise you that I’ll just sit on my hands on this,” I said. “I won’t interfere, but I won’t let the police railroad Ryan either.”
He nodded, and then looked over his shoulder. From where we stood, we could see the top of the baseball stadium over the trees that lined the river.
“I never thought Reno could sustain a minor league team, not after the Silversox,” he said.
I vaguely remembered the old ballpark out on Moana Lane where the Silversox used to play. With its wooden outfield fences and battered bleachers, it had looked like every rundown minor league ballpark in every local-kid-gets-a-shot-at-the-majors baseball movie ever made.
The old Silversox ballpark was gone now, bulldozed away in the name of progress. My dad had gone to a few games there, but baseball hadn’t been a passion with him, especially not minor league ball, and his interest in the Sox had eventually faded. I couldn’t even remember when the team finally stopped playing here.
The Aces, on the other hand, seemed to be doing great if the traffic jams in the area every time they had a home game were anything to go by.
“Sometimes things surprise me,” Norton said. “Somebody comes along with a good idea and they work hard to see that idea come to life. Pour everything they have into it. They overcome setbacks, re-evaluate priorities, regroup and charge again if necessary. Won’t let anything stop them even if conventional wisdom says they’re nuts. And sometimes, just sometimes, it all works out in the end.”
Something changed in his expression, almost like the fire that had sustained him was in danger of going out, and for the first time since I’d known him, I thought he actually looked his age.
Give him a few more years, and he’d probably be sending a younger associate to these late-night interrogations.
“I hope you surprise me,” he said. “I’ve seen too many people go off in the wrong direction, all full of piss and vinegar, as my mother used to say. So fired up they can’t see beyond their own convictions, and they don’t realize they’re setting themselves up for a fall. Don’t do that, Abby.”
I started to say something in my own defense, but he held a hand up to stop me.
“You’re a good investigator or I wouldn’t have hired you, not even part time, but right now you’re driven by your emotions. This whole thing is too personal. You can’t separate your head from your heart. I saw it in there, and I can see it now.”
I couldn’t argue that point. He was right.
“There’s a reason for that saying—I know you’ve heard it—that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client,” he said. “Don’t be a fool. Lawyers aren’t god, no matter what we’d like to believe. I can only do so much to protect you.”
The streetlights blurred as my emotions kicked in with a vengeance. The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Norton, and I blinked to make sure I wouldn’t.
“I’ll be fine.” My voice was thick and unsteady, but if Norton noticed, he didn’t say anything. He just patted my shoulder once, then
he turned around and walked back toward the other side of the police station where he must have left his own car.
Instead of getting in my car, I crossed Kuenzli and walked down the deserted sidewalk until I was standing on the bridge.
The water in the river looked nearly black at this time of night. The Truckee wasn’t a big river as rivers go, but the water was icy cold even during the dog days of summer. Deceptively lazy, the river was deep enough and the water flowed fast enough that people had drowned in the Truckee because they didn’t respect it.
I was all too aware of how that lesson applied to the situation I found myself in.
I respected the power of the police department and the power of the courts. I’d spent too many years on the periphery of the legal system not to respect it. I also knew, deep in my gut, that the police weren’t going to leave me or Ryan alone until they had another viable suspect.
A body found in a burning car was going to make the local news. The involvement of a long-time local attorney might make it headline material. The cops were going to want to wrap this case as quickly as possible, and if that meant building a case on circumstantial evidence, so be it.
Ryan was going to need my help. But there was one more reason I couldn’t drop this even though Norton wanted me to.
As I stood there watching the river flow beneath me, I finally let myself shed tears for the woman who’d replaced me in Ryan’s life. The woman who’d been trying to build a relationship with my daughter for my ex-husband’s sake.
I couldn’t drop this case because of Melody.
Whether I hated her or not, she deserved better than to die the way she had. Hell, she’d deserved better than the way I’d treated her on occasion.
I hadn’t known her well in life, but the one thing I could do for her in death was make sure the right person went to prison for her murder.
CHAPTER 14
NORTON CALLED ME at seven-thirty the next morning.
I was still asleep when my cell phone dong-donged at me. Samantha had programmed the iconic two notes from Law & Order on my cell for Norton’s ringtone. She’d said it was either that or the two notes from Jaws. Either one would have fit, but neither ringtone was particularly demanding. I’d been up until after three, the hamster on the wheel in my head refusing to stop chasing my discordant thoughts around my brain, and it took me a minute to realize Norton was trying to reach me.
Had he heard something about Ryan? I’d tried to call Ryan on the way to the police station last night, but the call had gone straight through to voicemail. There’d been no messages on my phone after I’d left the police station, and none on my answering machine at home.
I struggled awake and managed to croak out something that might have been hello.
There was a slight pause. “Abby? Did I wake you?”
Norton sounded as awake as he always did. Of course, trial lawyers, whether civil or criminal, lived with constant stress. They either coped or went insane. Norton had probably learned long ago how to turn off his thoughts enough to go to sleep at a semi-reasonable hour.
“‘s okay.” I rubbed my hand over my face, trying to rub the remnants of sleep away. “Have you heard from Ryan? I couldn’t reach him last night.”
“He’s being represented by Patrick Rosen. I talked to Pat before I called you. He said Ryan’s a mess.”
Patrick Rosen was one of Ryan’s partners in their law practice. He was also a top flight criminal defense attorney, almost as good as Norton. I went cold inside at the thought that Ryan needed that kind of representation.
“So he’s a suspect?” I asked.
“Not officially. So far the police aren’t naming any suspects. They questioned him like they questioned you, although I imagine Pat didn’t let Ryan talk as much as I let you talk.”
I knew that was smart from a legal standpoint. I’d been in shock, but I’d still been able to think. Ryan was a good lawyer, but even the best lawyer can’t think like a lawyer when their world has been shattered. Ryan had always been good about keeping his cool, but I’d seen him come unglued at the hospital when Samantha nearly died.
“Pat thinks, as do I, that you and Ryan should keep contact between you to a minimum, at least until the police focus the investigation elsewhere,” Norton said. “Pat said Ryan seemed to agree with that. Anything vital, you can handle it through me.”
Okay. So I couldn’t talk to Ryan. My instinct was to rebel against that. It was an old hot button issue I’d had with my mother—you can’t tell me what to do, I’m a grown woman!—that I apparently hadn’t outgrown. But if Ryan agreed and the lawyers thought it best, I’d take their advice.
“What about Samantha?” I asked. “What if she wants to talk to her dad, or see him?”
Samantha had been a sad, sleepy girl when I’d picked her up from the Marches the night before. I’d apologized profusely to the Marches for being so late. Bess had only given me a hug. Freddie, in a rare show of restraint, had stood behind his wife, hands in his pockets, and told me how sorry he was about the whole sorry thing.
Once we got back home, Samantha had wanted to cuddle like she hadn’t for months. So I’d sat with her on her bed, arm around her shoulders, while she talked about not knowing what to do or say to her dad but feeling like she should mend the rift that had grown between them. I hadn’t known how to respond to that—nothing I could have said would have made anything better—so I’d just held her until she finally started to drift off to sleep.
“Of course, Samantha can see her dad.” Norton knew that Ryan and I had joint custody, even though Samantha spent most of her time with me. “When’s the next planned visitation?”
“Labor Day weekend.”
I didn’t mention that Samantha might have other plans. All of our lives had changed drastically overnight. All of our plans, including my trip to San Francisco with Kyle, might be on hold indefinitely.
And I still hadn’t heard from Kyle. I’d called him on my way to the police station as well. My call had gone straight to voicemail.
“What about phone calls?” I asked. Norton hesitated, and a chill worked its way down my spine. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Ryan’s going to be under a microscope. Samantha can call him if she wants, but he’s in trouble, and he knows it. He might not be in the best frame of mind to talk to his daughter.”
“I thought you said he’s not a suspect.”
“I said he wasn’t an ‘official’ suspect, but he’s the primary person of interest. Circumstantial evidence points to him, and I know how the cops will view it.”
“What circumstantial evidence?” I asked.
Norton didn’t respond.
“You know I’m going to find out,” I said. “You might as well tell me now and save us both the aggravation.”
“All right. Ryan admitted to getting into an argument with Melody at his office. He met with her behind closed doors, but they got loud, staff in his office heard, and Melody stormed out. That part’s in the official statement he gave the police.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
“I imagine there is, and I imagine Ryan’s told Pat, but I’m not privileged to that information and neither are you. Abby, I looked at the report you prepared for Ryan as well as the photographs. You admit that you were following Melody the entire day at his request, and that you had a confrontation with her a short time before she died. I’m not sure you understand what a truly precarious situation you’re in. If the police can make a case against Ryan, you could be charged as an accessory.”
“What?” If I’d thought I’d been in shock last night, it was nothing compared to this. “How could they possibly...”
Of course, they could. The case would be purely circumstantial, but a good prosecutor could make me look like Lizzie Borden without the axe.
“Do you understand now?” Norton said. “Why you and Ryan can’t be seen together, talking about anything together, without it looking to the polic
e like you’re covering for each other?”
“God, Norton.” My hand was trembling holding the cell phone. “She had a damn stalker. She might have had two of them. Stalkers are seriously whacked out people. You know that. I know that. Why aren’t the cops focusing on them?”
“They will. That’s why I’ve got Ryan’s permission to show them the report, and I’d like yours regarding the rest of the information you didn’t put in the report, including all the other photographs you sent me.”
I’d interrupted the writer the night before when I’d stopped at my office to email Norton a copy of everything I had regarding my surveillance of Melody Hartwell. The writer had been too surprised at my sudden appearance to gripe at me for ruining the flow of her work or lob anything in my direction. Not that she’d been typing when I unlocked the office door. I didn’t understand writers, but then again, I’m not sure she understood my work either.
“They’d be able to get all that with a warrant, right?” I asked.
“They can certainly make an argument for probable cause, so yes, I believe they’d get everything connected with your investigation one way or the other.”
I sighed. I didn’t like the idea of the cops digging through my files, but if it kept them from tearing apart my office and my house, I could live with it.
“Go ahead,” I said. “You’ve got my permission to release all of it.”
“Good,” Norton said.
He hung up after telling me to take care of myself and that if he saw me at his office today attempting any other work, he’d fire me.
I sat in my bed, my arms wrapped around my knees, and stared at the thumb drive I’d left on my nightstand. I’d made it the night before at my office after I’d emailed copies of everything I had on Melody’s case to Norton. It held a duplicate of everything on my office computer about Melody’s stalkers.
As soon as I got myself together, I intended to go through everything on that thumb drive with a fine-tooth comb. The police would be going over all my files, but they’d be looking at the pictures and notes for evidence they could use against Ryan. I had a different purpose in mind. I intended to use my files as a starting point to prove Ryan was innocent.
