“I know that even though Daddy adopted Harrison, he wasn’t Harrison’s real father. I found the DNA test.” Her voice cracked, betraying her fear, but slowly, the reason dawned on her. She could barely utter the words. “But it was a familial match… All this time, I thought it was one of my uncles. Now, though, the only thing that makes sense…the only one who could have welded enough influence to save Harrison from the death penalty…Grandfather…Grandfather is Harrison’s real father.”
“Bingo!” Ellis almost jumped for joy. “Your holier than thou, bigot grandfather had a nig…pardon me. I suppose I need to be politically correct…your grandfather had an African-American…a god-damn black son.”
Riley was speechless. The web Ellis had cast had entangled her grandfather into it. He hadn’t exaggerated. She could imagine the power Ellis held over her grandfather.
The flood gates opened. With his obvious exhalation, Ellis had decided he wanted her to know all he had done, confessing to her because he wasn’t going to let her leave alive.
“Witt feared the kid would talk, would claim he was an Ashcroft. Witt intervened to get a plea deal for the kid to keep the papers from running headlines like—‘Black Ashcroft, Cop Killer.’”
“Because all it would have taken was a simple DNA test to confirm the truth,” Riley said almost to herself. Oh, God, her head spun, trying to grasp the full extent of the conspiracy. “But you didn’t tell Harrison he was Witt Ashcroft’s son?”
Ellis shook his head. “No, the proud and honorable boy thought he was making a noble gesture by making the deal. Protecting Jack Ashcroft’s name…besides keeping himself alive. I should have let the state fry him years ago.”
He stopped cold. Lights illuminated against the house as someone had turned in to the driveway.
“Holy shit!” Ellis said, almost mesmerized at the sight. With his gun held back blindly toward her, he crept toward the window and pulled back the curtain. “Who the hell is that?”
Without thinking, Riley gripped her gun and brought it in front of her as she heard car doors open and shut. Rapid footsteps ran to the entrance…and hands banged against the door.
“Riley! Riley! For God’s sakes, I know you are in there!”
Oh, good Lord. It was Josh!
Ellis recognized the voice as well. He waved the gun back at her. “Fucking bastard. I’m going to kill—”
Fear curdled her blood. Fear Ellis would harm another—Josh!
“Don’t!” Riley warned. “I’ll shoot.”
Ellis turned with a look that was pure evil.
Riley almost froze.
Aiming his gun directly at her head, he sneered, “You’re dead.”
The door burst open. A quick glance at Riley, Ellis pivoted his position to target the first man through the entrance.
He doesn’t think I’ll shoot. Mistake.
Ellis thought she wouldn’t have the guts. He had overlooked the fact she was her father’s daughter. Her daddy taught her how to shoot. She hadn’t forgotten.
Her heart pounded as her eyes trained on the pistol in Ellis’ hand. In a deafening flash of light, a gun fired.
She fired again and again.
Ellis stumbled and reeled. Then, he sank to the floor motionless. Surprise etched into his face. His eyes rolled upward; blood trickled out of his mouth.
Riley lowered her gun. She felt nauseated…dizzy. Strong arms rounded her.
“It’s over, Riley.”
Slowly, his voice sank into her consciousness. Josh. She looked up at him, and then back at the man, lying lifeless on the floor. Ellis Dean was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Josh Kincaid had his exclusive and the shit had hit the fan. The story had been picked up by every major news outlet. His exclusive footage and interviews were plastered across the headlines.
He had catapulted to the national stage.
The Ashcrofts were once more embedded in a national scandal, with Riley Ashcroft front and center.
Walter Ashcroft was indicted and was now out on bail awaiting trial. Ellis Dean, the family attorney—a person of interest in the murder of Walter’s daughter, Olivia, and his mother’s personal assistant, Helen Barlow, and her son, Charlie—was dead.
Riley Ashcroft had the limelight fully on her. The once poor relation was now set to inherit a third of the Ashcroft fortune. There was little she could do to dodge the paparazzi, not until this story burnt out…which wasn’t going to be anytime soon.
The woman had shot and killed Ellis Dean. Not that the guy didn’t deserve it. The psychopath.
Brophy reached over and turned off the car radio. He had heard enough of the story.
“Hey, I’m listening to that.”
Grimacing, Brophy relented. “Haven’t you heard enough?”
“Just have to stay ahead of the competition.” Cruz rubbed the back of her neck. “Can’t let them get a leg up.”
“You really think that anyone is going to get ahead of Kincaid? Dontca think he’s proved he will do anything to get a story? He was sleeping with the woman and look what he did to her.”
“He didn’t have a choice revealing Riley’s participation in the ruse to gain public sympathy for Harrison Taylor. He did what he had to do. Remember—he got shot saving her.” Cruz bristled. “I think he was fair enough. He did call attention to the plight of those accused who had to rely on public defenders.”
“Yeah, he is one warm and cuddly guy.” He laughed.
“You forget he’s the reason we’re here tonight.”
“I think Mr. Kincaid would do anything for a story.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree on this one, sweets.”
Cruz frowned. “Have you talked to Dunn today?”
“Nah,” Brophy admitted. FBI Special Agent Dunn had gone down to Charleston to personally oversee the investigation. He had called Brophy when he got there as a professional courtesy only. “Don’t think I will hear back. The FBI is keeping this one close to the vest.”
“Riley Ashcroft hasn’t talked to anyone,” Dunn had said in their brief conversation. “She immediately lawyered up. Don’t think any law enforcement will get within a mile of her.”
Ellis Dean’s death had been ruled justified self-defense. Riley Ashcroft didn’t have to worry about a charge hanging over her head, but she still refused to be interviewed.
A bombardment of attorneys surrounded her. No one with a badge had been able to get near her since that night.
A few details of that night had been documented. The gun that Ellis used to kill Ward Arrington had killed Charlie Barlow. The ballistics were a match.
Brophy had his connection.
Shortly afterwards, the FBI executed search warrants on both of Ellis’s residences. At the Newburyport house, they found the high power rifle used to kill Olivia Edmunds. Evidence of Ellis’s guilt was now well documented.
The man had been a psychopath. Delusional. Dangerous.
One FBI profiler stated that Ellis had disassociated his faults from himself and transferred them first to Jack Ashcroft, and then to the whole Ashcroft family. Brophy knew enough to know it was a classic characteristic of a true psychopath, as well as his escalating violence.
The man had become unhinged. The cold-hearted bastard had left victims in his wake, four who were confirmed.
More, if Riley Ashcroft was to be believed. She contended Ellis had killed before—Officer Steiger.
But at this time, the assertion was just that—an assertion. There was no proof.
The only statement that Riley Ashcroft had released stated her unfailing belief that Harrison Taylor was innocent and had been framed for murder.
Brophy believed her. It was the reason he was here tonight.
Ellis may have been the trigger man, but Brophy knew without a shadow of a doubt there was someone else. Someone who called all the shots. Someone who had controlled Ellis.
A w
oman…a woman who left her fingerprints when she dropped off groceries to her accomplice. A woman who had outsmarted herself.
Records showed a cleaning crew came into the Newburyport house before Ellis’s disappearance. In all probability, hired to erase any sign of her presence. There weren’t any fingerprints on the Gatorade bottles that lab results confirmed the presence of antifreeze, but she had forgotten about the rest of the groceries.
The lab had lifted a fingerprint from one of the convenience store bags Cruz had confiscated from the Newburyport house. Ironic there had been no prints on the items she grabbed, but the bag itself.
The lab had used cyanoacrylate fuming. Brophy had her…except there wasn’t one iota of evidence against her.
Cruz had given him the heads-up that Riley Ashcroft was returning to Boston tonight. Now, he waited outside of the Jet Blue terminal for the woman. The non-stop from Charleston had arrived fifteen minutes earlier.
It was late. A little after midnight. Cruz nudged him. “There she is.”
“I see,” Brophy said with his hand on the handle. “Let’s go.”
He was about to ambush Riley Ashcroft. By God, he was going to convince her one way or another to help him.
* * * *
Riley walked alongside of Clayton Edmunds through the Boston terminal. As they had hoped, it was quiet.
The last few days had been a whirlwind. Constant calls. Doorbells ringing. Dodging the paparazzi. She couldn’t even walk outside without being attacked by reporters or law enforcement.
She had lived in a daze—she had killed a man.
Perhaps in time the magnitude of taking a human life would hit her, but at the moment, she felt no regret. He would have killed Josh and Sony. He would have killed her.
Josh…Oh, Josh! She wanted nothing more than to take refuge in his arms. But that time had passed. She had to stand on her own two feet.
That night she had shot Ellis, Josh and Sony kept her safe. They allowed her to answer the responding officers’ questions, but neither had allowed her to go down to the police station until she had an attorney.
While Sony called Clayton, Josh fended off the detectives’ barrage of questions. Clayton arrived shortly after, with Silas Kleinstein.
“Silas is the best at his job. Let him handle any questions the police ask. You have told them enough,” Clayton said. “Let the police investigate. If they have any more pertinent questions, then they can talk to Silas.”
“I have nothing to hide,” she contended, wanting to explain herself.
“Riley, listen. You have gone through a terrible ordeal. The police can take what you say out of context, and deliberately misunderstand any statement you make. What if they try to turn it against you? What if they try to implicate you into a murder charge?”
“I told the truth…the evidence certainly says what happened.”
“You’re absolutely right. The evidence does. So let them do their job. You told them what happened. If you press that Ellis killed Officer Steiger, what if you say something that they misconstrue? What if they begin to think that you set Ellis up in some way?”
Despite every fiber in her body screaming that Harrison needed to be released, that Ellis had killed Officer Steiger, Riley took Clayton’s advice.
All she had was her word that Ellis claimed responsibility. After Josh’s story ran, no one was going to believe her.
Josh had his exclusive…and uncovered the hoax that she had instigated in trying to get Harrison freed.
Damn his precious ethics!
He told her before she saw it on television, but it hadn’t lessened the sting of betrayal. The story had been picked up nationally.
Logically, her head told her that he was doing his job. Had she not done what she had to do? Then, how could she blame him for doing what he felt he must?
Kincaid had presented his findings of Officer Steiger’s murder to the proper authorities. Compelling as they were, nothing would overturn the confession.
She wasn’t giving up. Kleinstein offered her hope that the evidence could be used for an appeal, but it would take years.
But her heart…her heart would never forgive losing the chance to get Harrison out of prison.
She had been so close…so close. If only that sonofabitch hadn’t broken her phone. If only someone else had heard him. If…
Instead, Harrison still sat behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit. All her sacrifices, all her hard work had gotten Harrison nothing. The hope of getting his immediate release ended the moment Kincaid’s story ran.
The world knew she would do anything to get Harrison out of jail. No one was going to take her word that Ellis confessed.
Her heart broke the day she asked Josh to leave. She wasn’t angry, only hurt.
He made no protest.
She had taken a huge gamble and it cost Harrison his freedom…that was, until Josh had come to her this morning.
“Come back to Boston with me,” he urged. “Trust me that I want to help.”
“Why?” she countered. “You have your story.”
“It’s not finished. Harrison is innocent and I have a plan on how to prove it.”
She stared at him skeptically. “How?”
“Cruz and Detective Brophy have been working an angle, but they have no concrete evidence. They need you.”
There had been no word of apology. No word of the love they once shared. There wouldn’t have been. It had nothing to do with their relationship.
This was about his story and her mission.
She accepted.
Now, she walked out of the airport. Glancing to her left, she spotted the pair, Cruz and Brophy.
The determined detective walked toward her, hand extended. “Welcome back to Boston, Miss Ashcroft.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Riley sat in the living room of what once had been her grandmother’s home…that once had been her home. But no more.
The place had been sold. The moment she had left Boston, Walter had put it on the market. The house sold the first day it listed. The closing was at the end of the month.
Strange being in the house, knowing it was hers no longer. It really never had been, but yet she had wanted it to be…hoped.
She supposed it had always been that way: hoping…wishing…her family would accept her…love her, much like her daddy had done before her.
The Ashcrofts had left casualties of their affection littered over the decades. The cycle had continued with Freddy and Olivia. She was determined not to become one.
Freddy had woken from his coma, but the doctors feared he suffered brain damage. Only time would tell. At the very least, he had a long recovery in front of him. But there again, it could have been worse. Poor Olivia was dead.
The Ashcrofts seemed to magnify their weaknesses. Her daddy’s loyalty to his family had been his undoing; Walter, his greed. Donald had been the only one seemingly untouched by the Ashcroft’s curse…seemingly.
In the foyer, she heard the door squeak open. A moment later, high heels clicked over the marble flooring. The dim lights cast a long shadow of her figure standing in the doorway. She had come.
“Good evening, Vivian. Come in and have a seat.”
Riley’s heart raced, but never had she been more resolute. The past had to be settled. It would be done tonight—one way or the other.
“I would rather not.” Vivian sauntered into the room; she looked one way and then the other. “I’m not going to be long.”
Vivian was dressed immaculately as always. She wore a black pantsuit with a white line accenting the collar. Her black heels indicated that she wasn’t planning on running away, but her casual demeanor didn’t fool Riley.
The woman had come with a purpose.
Riley smiled. “That’s good to know. I will make this quick. As much as it pains me to deal with the devil, I believe the two of us need to make a bargain. Beneficial, you understand, to both of us.”
“Why on earth
would I make a bargain with you?”
“Because I know that you helped Ellis set up Harrison.” Riley gestured to Vivian. “I do believe you need to sit for this.”
“I’m afraid you are quite confused, my dear.”
“Sit. I assure you I’m not,” Riley demanded. “I had quite the conversation with Ellis before I killed him.”
Vivian hesitated for a moment and then rounded the chair across from Riley. She sat.
“I suppose you have a gun or you wouldn’t be acting so confident.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Shrugging slightly, Riley placed her gun on the end table beside her. “Oh, I suppose I should tell you that the gun you have in your purse…it’s a dud. Go ahead and check.”
Immediately, Vivian clutched her purse. Opening it, she pulled out a Ruger 9mm. Expertly, she clicked back the gun and looked in the chamber. Immediately, she popped the magazine. Her face fell.
“How? What did you do?” Vivian’s eyes burned into Riley.
Riley laughed. “How stupid do you think I am? Didn’t I tell you I had a long talk with Ellis? I wouldn’t have asked you to come by just for you to shoot me.
“I stopped by the townhouse today and visited with Aunt Cora to see how Freddy was doing. Before I left, I went down to the garage and replaced your gun with what they call in the movie business a function gun. Looks and feels real, doesn’t it?” Riley smirked. Shrugging slightly, she went on, “I had thought about a blank gun, but it shoots blanks. Blanks can hurt. I think I made the right choice. Don’t you?”
“Little bitch!” Vivian whispered under her breath. “So are you going to do the same thing you did to Ellis—shoot me?”
“Get a grip,” Riley retorted. “And calm down. I told you I want to make a deal with you.”
“What kind of deal do you think I would make with you?”
A smug, irritating grin emerged on Riley’s face. “You think I want to make a deal with a devil? But I don’t think either of us has a choice.”
Vivian’s mouth tightened. “What do you think I can do for you?”
“I want Harrison out of prison,” Riley said forcibly. “Ellis confessed to me that you both set him up for killing a cop. I don’t have proof other than my word. Hearsay is what they call it. Doesn’t do Harrison any good.
Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) Page 23
