‘I got too involved in a story I’ve been researching,’ she said quietly. ‘I lost my focus.’
Baxter eyed her suspiciously. ‘Which case?’
‘The Whitney killing.’
‘The Whitney killing?’ Baxter frowned. ‘Why are you still working on that? Is there something new?’
There was no hint of awareness in her voice that the same story she’d been desperate for a week ago now was deemed uninteresting.
‘There are discrepancies in the police reports on that case. I think there’s more to it than the police let on,’ Harper explained, with the slimmest filament of hope that Baxter might find this intriguing. ‘I’ve been trying to piece it all together. I was working on it last night when I didn’t hear my scanner.’
The creases on Baxter’s forehead deepened.
‘Have you taken your thoughts to the police? Given them a chance to comment?’
‘They …’ Harper hesitated. ‘They don’t agree with me.’
Baxter looked confounded.
‘If you’ve been digging into that case for nearly two weeks and nothing has come up so far, you’re wasting your time. All your energy should be focused on your day-to-day work. People read your stories because they want to know what’s happening right now. Not what happened last week. The Whitney case is history. You got me?’
‘Yes,’ Harper said meekly. Now was not the time to argue.
The editor leaned forward, her navy blazer brushing the edge of her desk.
‘If you miss another breaking news story because you’ve disobeyed my direct order on this, I won’t be able to save your job.’ She pointed to a thick file folder she’d placed, with a theatrical flourish, on her desk. ‘I’ve got fifty applications in this folder from hungry reporters dying to do what you do. No one is irreplaceable.’
Whatever she’d meant to say died on Harper’s lips. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the folder, and that stack of résumés inside spilling out.
‘Now,’ Baxter growled, ‘get back to work.’
Grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the top of her desk, the editor turned on her heel and walked to the door, her steps quick and angry. DJ came in as she went out, and she shoved past him without a word.
He stood watching as she stormed down the stairs, puzzlement creasing his face.
‘What’s wrong with Baxter?’ he asked, when he reached Harper.
‘I missed a shooting last night,’ she said as they walked back to their desks. ‘We didn’t know about it until the news came on.’
His eyes widened. ‘Both channels covered it?’
‘Yep.’
He gave a low whistle.
‘You still work here?’
It was a joke, but Harper couldn’t summon a laugh.
‘Barely,’ she said.
She sat down at her desk with a sigh. That had actually gone better than she’d expected, but she still felt scalded. There were enough empty desks in this room for her to believe the editor was serious.
‘See, I think your problem is you’re too good.’ DJ spun his chair around, propelling himself closer to her. ‘Everyone else misses stories now and then, but you’ve never missed anything before. Now Baxter thinks the world’s falling apart because you missed one thing.’ He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. ‘The moral of our story is, be terrible more often.’
He was trying to cheer her up, but she was in too deep.
‘Yeah,’ she said dully. ‘I guess you’re right.’
‘That said, how did you miss that shooting?’ DJ pointed at her scanner, which was crackling out a stream of minor crimes and fender-benders. ‘I thought you had that thing wired directly to your cerebellum.’
‘I do, normally.’ A hint of defensiveness entered her voice. ‘I’ve been busy this week.’
His expression was the perfect mixture of sympathy and pragmatism.
‘Look, they shouldn’t get so pissed off about one screw-up,’ he told her. ‘But give them two mistakes and they’ll nail you. So … let me know if I can help, OK?’
The thing about DJ was, he really meant it. He would genuinely help.
Harper cast him a grateful look.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
A crooked grin lit up his face.
‘Hey, if you do get fired, though, can I have your stapler?’
Fighting a smile, Harper raised her middle finger.
‘Fuck off, DJ.’
Laughing, he spun his chair and rolled away.
Harper logged in to her computer. The newspaper logo came up.
She stared at it blankly.
DJ had been joking, but he had a point. Because of her willingness to work crazy hours, and her connections to the police, Harper had always been untouchable. She got away with more than the other reporters and was given more freedom to take risks.
Something fundamental had changed now, though. She could feel it in the air.
She was on the edge here.
Working for the newspaper was all she’d ever wanted to do. But every word she’d said to Baxter had been a lie. She couldn’t stop now. She had to know the truth. She had to understand what tied her mother’s death to Marie Whitney. What connected Blazer to both of them. If not her father, then who?
If she wanted to keep her job and investigate Blazer, she couldn’t do it alone. And Miles and DJ could only help so much. She needed someone on the inside.
Picking up her cell phone, she held it in her hand for a long time.
She scrolled through her address book until she found the name she was looking for. With rapid, determined movements, she typed a message.
Can we meet? I need help.
Less than a minute later her phone buzzed.
Luke’s name appeared on the screen.
Meet me at 12:30 tonight. The Watch.
Chapter Twenty-five
The Watch was a narrow crescent of verdant land on a bluff overlooking a sharp river bend to the east of the city. It was a popular place for joggers and dog walkers during the day, but no one went up there at night. It was too dark and too far from the safety of the city.
The perfect place to meet if you didn’t want to be seen.
It had earned its name during the Civil War, when volunteer guards kept watch there for enemy vessels that might threaten the town. When those boats finally did come, of course, the poorly trained volunteers were overwhelmed in minutes and the city soon fell. It was a standing joke that The Watch should have been called The Rout, or The Surrender. But The Watch had a better ring to it.
When Harper pulled the Camaro onto the dirt road leading to the viewpoint at twelve thirty that night, it was deserted. There were no streetlights here and no pavement – only a rough dirt parking lot and a long expanse of grass and trees curving gently down to the river.
The car bumped and juddered over potholes she could only barely see in the thick dark. Muttering complaints under her breath, she pulled over and cut the engine.
The bluff wasn’t high, but the sharp angle of the river bend created a sweeping view of the lights of Savannah, stretching out like a diamond blanket thrown over the land. The river was a wide velvet ribbon snaking through it.
When she climbed out of the car, it took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.
It was cooler here than in town, and Harper tilted her head back as a breeze swept across her skin.
In the stillness, she could hear the low sound of distant traffic and, occasionally, the faint musical clang of a chain as the current shifted a moored boat somewhere in the darkness below.
She turned on her phone to check the time. The blue screen lit up the night – twelve thirty-five. Luke was running late.
Nerves fluttered in her stomach. She folded her arms tightly across her waist.
Whatever this thing was between them, it felt incredibly fragile.
Being with Luke had given her the tiniest glimpse of how it felt when someone had your back. It
was like peering through the keyhole into someone else’s life.
Someone else’s better life.
She didn’t want to screw this up. But she needed advice now, and she didn’t know where else to turn.
The deep rumble of a powerful engine cut through the quiet.
Headlights illuminated the trees as a black car rounded a corner. It moved with slow purposefulness across the cratered dirt lot towards her. It wasn’t the car Luke had driven the other night.
This one was bigger, and older.
Undercover cops switched cars all the time – it made them harder to track. They had a whole lot of them to use. It struck Harper that she didn’t know which car belonged to Luke really, or if he even had one.
After the darkness, the light was blinding. Harper raised one hand to shield her eyes. The other hand felt behind her for the door handle.
The car pulled in next to hers, and the engine switched off. For a second, nothing happened.
Then the door swung open and Luke emerged, backlit by the car’s interior light.
Relaxing, Harper let go of the door handle.
He walked towards her – those long, smooth strides made her stomach clench.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Your message sounded urgent.’
She hadn’t heard from him since the other night. Neither of them had texted the other. The cautious look on his face told her he thought that was why he was here.
She cleared her throat, which felt suddenly dry.
‘I have to tell you something,’ she said. ‘You’re not going to like it. But I want you to hear me out, OK?’
Even in the gloaming, she could see his eyes grow guarded.
‘OK …’
She took a deep breath.
‘Remember how I told you I was investigating the Whitney murder, and it didn’t add up? That it reminded me too much of my mother’s murder?’
He nodded slowly.
‘I think the murderer might be a cop.’
For a second Luke didn’t react. Then he swore softly.
‘Come on, Harper. There’s no way.’
‘It gets worse.’ She clenched her hands at her sides, preparing herself. ‘I’m looking at Larry Blazer.’
‘Oh, goddammit.’ He gave her a look of pure disbelief. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘I wish I was.’
Taking a step back, Luke raked his fingers through his hair.
‘This is crazy,’ he said. ‘It’s not Blazer. Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong. The guy’s a complete asshole, but he’s not a murderer.’
There was such certainty in his voice, Harper momentarily forgot what she’d planned to say. But she recovered quickly.
‘Hear me out first,’ she said. ‘Then you can tell me I’m wrong.’
Talking fast, she told him what the receptionist at Whitney’s office had seen, and the name on the piece of paper in her mother’s case records. The more she explained, though, the less it sounded like she had. She heard the panic in her voice, but made herself keep going.
‘I know it’s not much,’ she said when she was done. ‘And maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not Blazer. But I have to look into it, and I need help if I’m going to find out more.’ She held up her hands. ‘I’m in over my head, Luke. That’s why I’m here.’
The moonlight highlighted worry lines on Luke’s forehead as he considered his reply.
‘I know how much you want to get your mother’s killer,’ he told her carefully. ‘But surely you know that signature’s not proof of anything.’
‘Of course I know it’s not proof.’ She bristled. ‘For God’s sake, Luke. Why do you think I texted you?’
He held up his hands. ‘I don’t know, Harper. Why did you text me?’
Stung, she drew back.
‘Because I have these suspicions and I need someone on the inside to prove me wrong,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice even. ‘Someone I trust. Someone smart.’
‘Wait.’ He squinted at her. ‘You want me to prove you wrong?’
She nodded.
‘I need someone with access to police records to find out if Blazer has an alibi for Whitney’s murder,’ she said. ‘I’m not fixated on him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ She couldn’t keep the hint of defensiveness out of her tone. ‘I’m looking at a lot of possibilities. Whitney liked powerful men. It could have been one of the others. But I need to check Blazer out, too.’ She paused. ‘I’m running low on time. And I can’t do everything.’
Luke rubbed his hand against his jaw.
‘Harper, you sound like a cop. There’s already a detective working this case.’
‘Yeah, but it’s Blazer,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘And he matches the description of a man who dated the victim.’
She drew a breath.
‘Look,’ she said, in more measured tones. ‘I have to check this out. I don’t want it to be him. If it wasn’t Blazer – if I can prove he couldn’t have killed her, and he didn’t have a relationship with her – I’ll take him off my list. He doesn’t ever have to know I even considered him.’ She took a step towards him, her eyes pleading for him to understand. ‘But either way, I have to look into this. I have to understand why Whitney’s murder looked so much like my mother’s.’
He didn’t agree right away, but she could sense he was wavering.
‘Luke,’ she said quietly, ‘Blazer worked my Mom’s murder. Even if he didn’t kill her. He worked that case. He saw that crime scene.’
‘So did half the detectives on the force,’ he reminded her. ‘Smith was there that day. And Ledbetter. The deputy chief was there.’
‘I know.’ She raised her chin, stubbornly. ‘But they weren’t dating Whitney three months before she died.’
‘You don’t know for certain Blazer was either,’ he pointed out.
They were going in circles.
Harper’s shoulders slumped. She’d told him everything she knew. If it wasn’t enough to convince him to help, she had nothing else to offer him.
‘I’m not trying to be unreasonable,’ Luke said, his voice softening slightly. ‘But you’re asking me to find out if a homicide detective has an alibi. And not just any homicide detective. The one who hates my guts.’
Harper blinked.
‘You and Blazer don’t get along?’
His lips tightened. ‘Hell no. The man’s hated me since I was a rookie.’
This was news to her. Luke was the kind of guy who got along with everyone. Even when he was young, she’d seen how much the other cops liked and respected him. He did the work, followed the rules, played the game.
‘Why does he hate you?’
‘It’s a long story,’ he said.
It appeared, at first, he might leave it at that. But then, seeing her determined expression, he gave in with a resigned sigh.
‘My first year in the detectives’ squad, I caught a homicide case,’ he said. ‘Blazer was lead on it. He made a small mistake, nothing major. I spotted it. I was young enough and green enough to think it would be extremely helpful if I pointed it out to him.’ He gave a short, humorless laugh. ‘He spent seventy-two hours tearing me apart. Ridiculing my work, refusing to sign off on my report, hassling my sergeant to write me up. Trying to get me knocked back to uniform.’
His voice was flat, but Harper knew him well enough to see the anger that still burned at this memory.
‘My sergeant could see what was happening, and he fought for me until Blazer finally gave up on getting me fired.’ He gave a loose shrug. ‘He’s despised me ever since. To this day, he goes out of his way to try to damage my career.’
As she absorbed this, a sudden realization occurred to Harper.
‘This is why you left the detectives unit,’ she said. ‘It’s why you went undercover. You were getting away from Blazer.’
His expression told her she was right, even before he spoke.
‘Once he got promoted to sergeant, he que
stioned every case I caught. Sent back every report. Wrote me up for minor infractions. I had to go. I didn’t become a detective so I could fight Larry Blazer.’ He met her eyes. ‘But that doesn’t make him a killer.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ she conceded. ‘But consider this, Luke. If he was dating Whitney and he didn’t tell anyone, he broke about fifty police codes. Even if he didn’t kill her – we could take him down for that alone.’
Their eyes locked.
In the silence that followed, Harper heard a bird rustle in the trees at the edge of the clearing.
‘What is it about you?’ he asked then, with what seemed like genuine bewilderment. ‘Why am I not walking away? I know this is nuts. But I’m still standing here. And I’m thinking about saying yes. Which makes me crazy, too.’
A flicker of hope leapt in Harper’s chest.
‘Are you saying you’ll help me?’
Luke shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t look happy.
‘Blazer won’t find out,’ she promised. ‘We’re not going to take any chances. If you hit any roadblocks on this – you walk away. You can’t leave a paper trail or set off any alarms. I’ll do the same.’
‘Blazer’s smart,’ he warned her. ‘He’ll know.’
‘We’re smart too,’ she said.
‘Are we?’ His tone darkened. ‘What’s smart about this?’
He held out his arms.
Caught off guard, Harper stared at him blankly. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Look at us.’ His voice rose. ‘We’re sneaking around in parks after midnight. Spending the night together. Have you heard the rumors? I’ve been taking shit ever since Riley’s party. Blazer’s already gunning for me, and I keep giving him ammunition.’ He dropped his hands. ‘I’m not sure we’re as smart as we think we are.’
Harper’s lungs contracted. This was exactly what she’d feared.
‘What are you saying?’ she asked quietly.
Luke kicked a clump of dirt hard into the trees.
‘Oh, hell, Harper. I don’t know. It’s not you. I don’t understand myself, sometimes. I mean, what are we doing? And now this Blazer thing. Am I trying to get myself fired?’
The Echo Killing Page 21
