by Layne, Lyssa
“Great! I knew I wasn’t mistaken. I told Joe you believed that I shot Marty. But no, he tried to convince me you were covering my back. What a load of bullshit!” Brad slammed his fist on the hood of his boss’ car.
Van Norton shot back. “That kind of language isn’t going to get you anywhere with me, Maxwell. Show some respect.”
“Why?” Brad shouted. “What kind of fucking respect are they showing me? Remember, gentlemen, we’re supposed to uphold the law and the law states innocent until proven guilty. Hell, you two are ready to hire a firing squad. How much respect is that?” He spun away from them, hands on his hips defensively, shaking his head he yelled. “My gun with off by accident, in the opposite direction of Marty. You guys are priceless.”
“He’s right, pay attention,” Joe said, joining them. “It couldn’t have been Brad who shot Marty.”
Brad paced on the front lawn needing to do something, he was so close to punching his superiors.
Captain Roberson stilled him with a touch on the shoulder. “No one is accusing you of anything Maxwell. As I said, we’re under the gun from the Governor’s office on this one. He wants the responsible party in custody before the month is out.”
“In that case, what are you doing here instead of out finding Marty’s killer?”
Van Norton slammed back, “Because the media is having a field day. We’re playing it completely by the book. We don’t need any more bad press. Believe it or not, we want Marty’s killer just as badly as you do.”
“Funny, I could have sworn by your attitudes that you thought you were looking at the murderer—me.”
Van Norton shook a finger in Brad's face. “Now, who's talking bullshit? You've got a chip is on your shoulder. Can't say I wouldn't react the same if it was me. Still, it needs to disappear, especially if you expect to come through this situation with your reputation intact.”
“Did you say intact? Are you kidding me? Half the squad thinks I did it and the other half is too leery to use their common sense. The fact is I’ve been on this force for over ten years, have numerous citations, plus I’ve been decorated by the Mayor’s office no less, for being instrumental in making sure a hostage situation had a positive outcome. Other than my partner, I’m in this alone. And yet, none of that matters or even occurs to you. How do you expect me to feel when you’re more worried about how the department looks than the innocence of an officer?”
Van Norton placed one of his well-known, very manicured hands on Brad’s shoulder. “I do understand, son. But you have to look at it from our perspective as well. We have to make sure no stone is unturned in bringing Marty’s killer to justice. We have to be impartial.”
Brad raised a skeptical eyebrow, not the least bit convinced of what he was hearing. “Okay. That's fair. Sure. What do you want to know?”
After in the team finished their work and had both Brad’s cell and home phone tapped, he ran through his version of the day Marty was killed as well as the previous hour. This time he added what he remembered from his earlier conversation with Chris. About the order of the shots. Unnerved, he hadn’t felt that kind of alone since he'd left home fifteen years ago. And even then, he didn’t look back. He could tell by the look on Roberts’s face that this added bit of information might just prove his innocence. But if Van Norton believed him, he sure wasn’t letting on.
Brad was grateful the task force did their job as if he were any other law abiding citizen that had been violated. Anxious to get back to Chris he urged them to finish their work. No telling what lay ahead of him.
After the team left for the office to try to find a voice I.D., Roberts, Van Norton, Joe, and Brad re-entered Christine’s apartment, just in time to hear Fletcher asking Chris, “Are you sure you didn’t recognize the voice?”
“What? Why would I, it wasn’t my phone?” Christine accused.
Brad stormed in first, making a beeline for Fletcher.
Joe hot on his tail.
With great restraint, he only shoved him a little. “You’re out of line.” At the same time, he felt like he’d gained the upper edge. Relieved their superiors were there to view Fletcher’s investigative techniques. He thanked his lucky stars Joe stood nearby to make sure he kept the lid on his temper. After all, this guy was pushing it. He had no right to force his suspicions on anyone, least of all Chris.
“I am not. I’m interviewing a witness and she has specifically stated she was alone when the call came in. Naturally, I asked if she recognized the voice.”
“And if Chris is right and the two shootings are connected. Your interference is only going to present more problems. If I’m not allowed to be anywhere near the case, then you shouldn’t be here now.”
Brad and Fletcher were standing feet planted, less than a foot between them, as if they were about to wrestle.
Christine swore she could see steam oozing out of Brad’s pores as well as his ears. Seeing a potential situation developing, she turned to Captain Van Norton. “Are you going to do something?”
“Gentlemen, we’re not going to get to the bottom of this investigation with you two behaving like testosterone filled teenagers. You’re officers of the law. Start acting like it!” Captain Van Norton shook his head.
Somewhat placated, Christine moved to Brad’s side placing her hand in his, squeezing it. “Brad. Let’s go make some coffee.”
“You’re out, I already checked.”
“That’s right, then let’s go get some ice water for everyone,” she ground out through gritted teeth and a mocking glare.
Brad dropped her hand and left the room. Before she joined him in the kitchen she turned to the other men. “This is my home and while you’re welcome in it for the duration of this investigation, I fully expect you to act professional. I won’t stand for any further Brad bashing. You can take it out of here, because I don’t want to hear another word. Do I make myself clear?”
It was all she could do keep a straight face when they looked from one another back to her and responding simultaneously, “Yes, Ma’am.”
Christine joined Brad in the kitchen.
Seconds later Joe join them. He smiled. “I hope you realize how lucky you are pal. This one’s a keeper.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “Definitely strong enough to handle you. Brave enough to stand up for what she believes in and totally unafraid to jump in the middle of a pack of barking dogs ready for one hell of a dogfight. With her strong-minded tenacity to stand by you through the next few weeks, you’re one lucky son-of-a-gun.”
Brad flicked Joe’s arm away, and pulled her to his side, arm around her, hand planted on her waist. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Christine was flattered by Brad’s blatant show of machismo, even if it was nothing short of a caveman show of possession.
But she felt safe with Brad even if the others weren’t so sure.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Home alone, finally, Brad was surly as a sullen child who'd been sent to bed without supper. This whole incident with Marty had made him more insecure then he’d ever been.
He’d heard bits and pieces of comments from the captains, but other than her defense of him from Chris she hadn’t expressed any further comments. But it was her angry expression and gestures kept him for asking for her opinion.
Was she really standing by him, other than Joe she was his only supporter. From her terrific sense of humor to her spunky attitude when cornered, not to mention the sheer shock of listening to her tell his superiors off. Damn, she was something else. It galled the hell out of him that a relationship with Chris might be over before it had a chance to take off. Could she really still want to be with him?
Seated in the armchair in her living room, Brad’s brain warred with his heart, he owed it to her to stay and keep her safe, especially after he promised the nurse he’d take care of her. This was an assignment, time to buck up and do his job.
The good Lord above sure had a strange way of showing his disapproval! But disapproval
of what, he didn’t know. It’s just how he felt. Not that Brad had much faith in God any more, especially after the life he’d had and how rotten his childhood had been. He figured this was another punishment for the past. His life was nothing but failed attempts to live down the abject poverty and embarrassment he’d grown up in. Not to mention a no-good father and pill-popping mother. He’d moved in with his grandparents after his father went to jail for bank robbery. Then a year later his mother ran off with a trucker, leaving Brad like yesterday's dinner, and never bothered to come back for him.
He'd tried to live that one down, but it had been damn near impossible with the gossip mongers ready and willing to keep dishing up old news. By then, he'd been old enough to start high school, but was still too young to fight the judgmental behavior of his peers. Thank God his grandfather had been there to protect him. He'd left Iowa Hill two weeks after graduation and hadn’t been back since.
While dwelling on his past, he couldn’t help but remembering the few happy occasions in his life like the time he got his driver’s license and gramps turned all the driving over to him. Or the day he'd bagged his first eight-pointer deer. Gramps had been so proud he couldn’t wait to have the head mounted and hung over the fireplace. A far as he knew it still occupied that space to this day.
Brad jogged through his tortured past, and how hard it has been on his grandfather and him when Grandma Jean died. That was in his junior year. They'd had lost the last sparkle life had to offer, but held for each other. He and grandpa had gone through some rough times but they'd been out-weighted by the good.
He felt his heart squeeze, unsure if it was from the guilt of never going back to visit the old man and shame for where his roots started. He'd made a promise to his grandmother as he stood over her coffin that he would make something of himself so she'd always be proud of him. His chest constricted even tighter for having to admit he was glad she wasn’t here to see what happened to him. He was guilty, deserting his grandfather and never giving a second thought to how he might feel about things.
It wasn’t like he never called Gramps, but with him getting on in years, gramps refused to come down off the hill, though he invited Brad home at the end of every call. He didn’t see that happening any time soon. Especially now, after he’d been warned against leaving town.
Christine emptied the glasses in the sink and put them on the top rack of the dishwasher. Then she went to join Brad in the living room. Her gut wrenched seeing the devastated look on his face. She leaned heavily on her crutches, her own shoulders aching for the pain she saw in his eyes. The frown on his face so pronounced that his brows almost touched.
She didn’t blame. After what she’d witnessed with his partner, superior officers, and that jerk of a Captain from Internal Affairs, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have popped Van Norton a good one if he’d slandered her that way. Had she embarrassed Brad by chastising his boss and the others?
What could she say to let him know she didn’t believe that idiot's pack of lies? There had to be a way to show him she was unerringly on his side. Afraid to bring up the subject, the last thing he'd want was her pity. She knew that from first-hand experience. Somehow she had to find a way to help him flush out the real killer. But, what? If they worked together, they might get to the bottom of this mess.
“Did you tell any of those men that you remembered a shot had been fired before your gun went off?” She asked.
He nodded, but didn’t speak.
“As much as I hate to say it, you need to call Joe back?”
Brad tilted his head her way, listening.
“I know you trust him. But I have an idea I want to run past him. I think we need to sneak into the site of Marty’s shooting. If they’re not going to put serious effort into it, we need to. Let’s see what he thinks?” She moved closer, and placed her hand on his arm.
He didn't immediately respond, but then he looked up with a strange sort of clarity in his eyes. “You’re absolutely right.” Brad reached for the cordless phone on the end table, dialing the number from memory. Joe wouldn’t be back at the office yet, so he left a message guaranteed to make Joe break a few speeding records.
“Hey buddy, Chris had a good idea on how to clear me, but we need your help. Head back over here the minute you get this message.” He hung up.
Christine noticed the frown lines were gone.
“Now that you have confirmation that Joe on your side and the fact that you know you have something to look for, what do you say we get some food before I starve to death. There’s a burrito joint around the corner. Do you mind picking it up, since they don’t deliver?”
“Sounds good.”
Christine called in an order to go, and hung up after she received a promise their food would be done by the time he got there. The only thing left to do was to wait for Joe.
She checked the clock above the mantel. It moved at a deadly slow pace. She’d managed to get dressed, straighten her apartment, and load the dishwasher all before Brad returned with their food.
Joe knocked on the front door just as they sat down to eat. Lucky for Joe, Brad knew what he liked to eat and thought ahead to order something for him. As they sat in Christine’s kitchen, Brad filled his partner in on what they’d discovered, and after they were done eating they brainstormed for the best way to get back into the warehouse. They needed to do a more thorough sweep than the crime team did in the first place. If they could find the missing shell casing from his gun, they actually stood a chance of proving he didn’t kill Marty. Sure they could use a spent casing from his gun, but that left a bad taste in his mouth, just like the thought of throw away guns. He had to know the truth.
Christine sat silently by while they bounced ideas off one another. The more they spoke the more the idea that grew in her head sounded all the more plausible. She held her tongue but only until their conversation began to wind down.
“I realize you two are the professionals but it seems to me finding the bullet from Brad’s gun isn’t enough. Don’t you need to find the one that killed Marty as well? Now that I think about it, what about the message on Brad’s machine. If the shooter had been aiming to kill me, but only hit my prosthetic leg, don’t we need that casing as well? Does anyone know what happened to Lefty? We don’t know if the bullet is embedded in it or went through it.”
Brad’s eyes bugged wide and he snorted.
Joe merely burst out laughing.
“Lefty? You named your prosthesis?” Brad asked, stunned, but continued laughing.
“You’re right. Sounds like we have three bullets to find, not just one.” Joe added, “I feel as if we are finally getting someplace in this damned investigation.” He stood and gathered the remnants of dinner and placed them in the waste basket at the end of the counter.
Without waiting for a response, Christine found the papers from the hospital with the number on it and called, requesting the emergency room. When the nurse answered, Christine readied herself.
“Hello, my name is Christine Jansen, and I need some information. I was brought into the emergency room last night and released earlier today. I received a concussion when my prosthetic leg was shot out from under me. What I need is help finding out what happened to my damaged limb. I have to prove to the insurance that it’s unsalvageable before they’ll replace it.”
She covered the receiver saying to the men, “I’m on hold while they look to see what happened to it.”
Joe motioned for her attention and whispered, “If they have it tell them the police want it for evidence as well. I’ll go pick it up.”
When the nurse came back on the line, Christine held her hand up for silence. “I see. By the way, I understand the police will need it for evidence as well. Detective Joe Gallagher will be in to pick it up. Please don’t release it to anyone else. Thank you for your help.”
Christine hung up the phone smiling as if she’d just pulled off the biggest scam of the millennium.
Joe and Bra
d looked at one another grinning like a couple of court jesters. “Good thing she’s on our side.”
Brad high-fived his partner.
While Joe went to the hospital to pick up the remains of her prosthesis, Brad drove Christine’s gold Camry, so he wouldn’t be recognized. Once parked outside the building where the gala was held, Christine blocked the area where they stood when the shooting occurred.
Being in the same place again, especially with the setting sun as a backdrop left her chilled to the bone. Her heart continued pounding as if it were about to explode. It took every ounce of willpower to keep from hyperventilating. She closed her eyes and talked herself into breathing in deeply through her nose then out of her mouth, until she no longer felt faint.
Just when she felt in control again, Brad picked her up and swung her around holding a plastic bag with the casing inside. “You have no idea how good it feels to be holding real evidence of my innocence.”
“How is it possible that they couldn’t find the casing?” Christine broke out in her best grin. At least she hoped it looked as good as she felt.
“I don’t know, but it’s pissing me off. Too much has been overlooked or ignored.” Brad helped her into her car, then came around and got in next to her and leaned his head against the rest and closed his eyes.
His sense of relief seeped into her chilled body, warming her.
He leaned over and whispered softly in her ear, “Thank you for your strength of mind, your intelligence, and for your believing in me.” He brushed his lips against her temple. “If I'm proven innocent, you and you alone will be responsible for clearing my name.”
Satisfaction overwhelmed her, as if she had the power of Atlas. Christine smiled and wallowed shamelessly in his embrace. Nothing could be better than this. A sudden image of twisted sheets and sweaty bodies tap danced through her mind. Well, Almost nothing.
