Ann Roberts - Paid in Full

by Ann Roberts

  Ari turned away while Molly watched Ari’s shoulders rise and fall with her breathing. Molly swallowed hard, suddenly aware that her mouth was dry and her heart was racing. When Ari faced the detective, her face went hard. “I would like a few minutes to change, please.”

  Molly glanced at Ari’s faded jeans and white T-shirt and nodded, exiting the room. She found Tim Greer leaning against a wall, looking very uncomfortable. He shook his head, but Molly wasn’t surprised. Did she really think Bob Watson would be here? She knew why she had stormed into Ari’s apartment, and it had very little to do with the case.

  Her eyes fell upon the picture of Ari and her father, both of them in uniform. She blinked to hold back tears and closed her eyes. What the hell is a matter with you, Nelson? She folded her arms across her chest and steeled herself for Ari’s entrance, but her stomach dropped when Ari emerged in a tailored black suit with a red silk blouse. She’d pulled her hair up and put on some makeup. Even with only a few minutes, Ari still looked stunning.

  Ignoring Molly, she faced Tim Greer with a slight smile. “I guess I’m going with you, Tim.” Tim nodded and followed Ari out the door, leaving Molly to trail behind.

  The three of them were silent during the ride downtown, Molly driving, Tim beside her. At least they hadn’t come in a squad car and embarrassed her in front of her neighbors, Ari thought. Molly obviously had some compassion, although the fact that she brought a uniformed officer with her indicated that she had orchestrated the confrontation and intended on questioning Ari from the moment they had knocked on the door. She stared out the window and watched the office buildings whiz by. Once in awhile her eyes drifted to the back of Molly’s head and musk filled her nostrils or maybe she was imagining it from this morning when she’d buried her face deep into Molly’s curls. Was that really only a few hours ago?

  When the precinct’s sliding doors opened with a whoosh, Ari was far more prepared for what happened than Molly. The desk sergeant was the first to recognize her, stepping around the counter and kissing both her cheeks. Molly started to say some- thing, but other officers appeared and soon Ari was surrounded by a circle of her father’s old friends and a few interested males and females who just wanted to find out what all the commotion was about. Tim Greer joined in the laughter as one of the old timers told a story about Ari and her dad until a sharp glance from Molly pulled him out of the merriment. Ari shifted her stance as the story ended and the laughter died away, more uncomfortable with this little reunion than being questioned about Bob Watson.

  “This isn’t a social call,” Molly snapped, drawing the eyes of the group. “We need to get upstairs.” She took Ari’s elbow and started to walk away.

  The jibes echoed behind them all the way to the elevator: “What are you doing Nelson, arresting her for jaywalking? Must be hard up if you’re locking up solid citizens and the daughter of a brother.”

  If Molly could get any angrier, Ari didn’t know how. The detective stalked out of the elevator, her loafers pounding against the tile as she crossed the corridor. Instead of going to an interrogation room, they went to Molly’s office, a sight that instantly appalled Ari. Scattered file folder and reports cluttered Molly’s desk, along with a bottle of antacid, a half-eaten hamburger still sitting on its greasy wrapper and several vending machine coffee cups. Ari was sure this was her diet for the day. She showed Ari a chair and left, appearing again with a black man who identified himself as her partner, and Captain David Ruskin.

  Ari disliked Ruskin intensely. As a rookie, he’d been partnered with her father. After one week on the job, Ruskin found fifty job applications from McDonald’s stuffed into his locker and a note urging him to find other employment. Their hatred had continued for another month until Ruskin was reassigned.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Ari Adams, our city’s favorite daughter,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He perched on Molly’s desk facing Ari while Molly sat directly in front of her and Molly’s partner huddled in the corner apparently unclear of his role. “So what’s the deal, Nelson?”

  Molly shifted in her chair, choosing her words carefully. “Ms. Adams’s business card was found in Bob Watson’s motel room. I’m wondering if she has information about his whereabouts now.” Ari noticed she didn’t say anything about the scratched out phone number. Her gaze shifted from Molly to Ruskin’s smug expression.

  “Do you know where Bob Watson is?” he asked.

  “No,” Ari answered honestly. “I don’t have the foggiest.”

  “But you did,” Ruskin continued, “until he packed up and left.”

  “I don’t know where he is,” Ari said, avoiding Ruskin’s question. Ari glanced at Molly and wondered if she would jump in, but she remained silent, her gaze focused entirely on Ruskin.

  “He is one of your best friends, right?” Ruskin asked.

  “Yes.”

  Ruskin hovered over her. “I think you’re lying, Ari. I think you know exactly where Bob is and you’re protecting him.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, David. But as I’ve already told Detective Nelson, I don’t know where Bob is,” she said emphatically. It was easy to say because it was the truth.

  “Maybe if we kept you here for a little while you might have a change of heart,” Ruskin said, a grin pasted on his face.

  Molly blanched at the idea of Ari being locked in a cell with some of the women in the Madison jail, even for one minute. “Captain, I’m sure Ari will cooperate.”

  “I have been cooperating,” Ari said curtly. She looked at her watch. “I’ve been kept here long enough. Either charge me with something and let me call my attorney or I’m leaving.” She rose and turned for the door.

  Ruskin’s voice came from behind her, crawling up her neck like a spider. “Let her go, Nelson. She might have a change of heart and give up the act. You know, Ari, kind of like you being a police officer.”

  Ari’s face darkened. She stepped into Ruskin’s physical space. Years before, he’d had it bad for her. She used it to her advantage now, staring at him, letting him smell her perfume and study her lips. He swallowed hard and his eyes wavered. “At least I knew when to get out,” she whispered.

  Andre suppressed a giggle, but Ruskin shot him a look of contempt. He leaned forward on the desk, his knee grazing her thighs and leered, “You are such a bitch, Adams. That’s why you’ve never had a good man.”

  Ari smiled and looked down at Ruskin’s lap. “David, are we going to discuss all of your shortcomings?”

  His face reddened and he started barking obscenities at her, which she returned, until their yelling melded into a loud jumble that Andre and Molly couldn’t stop.

  “What the hell is going on here?” bellowed Sol Gardner from the doorway. A group of detectives stood behind him, some ready to pull out their weapons. At the sight of the police chief, everyone froze. His stern expression melted at the sight of Ari. He took her by the shoulders and beamed. “Ari, you get lovelier every time I see you. Flannagan tells me that you’re being questioned about Bob?”

  Ari smiled at her godfather. “Sol, may I speak with you alone?”

  The chief nodded and the three other detectives quickly filed out, Ruskin no longer interested since he was outranked. He murmured something to Andre and left. Molly craved a drink and seriously considered disappearing to the corner tavern. She had no idea what Ari was saying to the chief, but he would most likely chew her out for improper procedure.

  She’d made a terrible mistake bringing Ari in for questioning. Standing in the apartment, her emotions on overdrive, the words had poured out of her mouth without any logic or thought. She had not been acting as a police officer but as a wounded lover, practically arresting Ari to get even, knowing she would be uncomfortable downtown and that Ruskin would try to make her life miserable, even threaten her. Watching the scenario unfold had been a different story. All of the cops downstairs staring at her like a circus attraction made Molly sick, and then Ruskin threatening Ar
i with a lockup had sent Molly’s gut into spasms.

  “Would now be a good time to discuss my follow-up progress?” Andre asked mildly.

  “Sure,” Molly said, her eyes riveted to the office door.

  Andre opened his notes and read. “I still haven’t been able to talk to Kristen Duke’s roommate, the one who was home when Duke got off work that night.” Molly nodded and Andre continued. “She’s getting back from San Diego late tomorrow, and I’ll talk with her ASAP. I spoke with some more theatre employees and one of them remembers seeing Deborah Thorndike at the end of the movie. Seems she dropped some of her trash onto the floor as she left and the kid who had to clean the theater remembered her simply because he thought she was a bitch.”

  “Figures,” Molly murmured. That sounded like the widow. “I’d say she’s probably off the hook.” Molly emphasized the probably, never liking to totally eliminate anyone too soon.

  “Now here’s something interesting. I talked to a few of Lily Watson’s table companions at that charity dinner. One of them swears she left the table after dessert and didn’t return at all. That would have been around seven thirty. Now she could have been mingling or dancing, or something—”

  “Or she could have left and killed Thorndike,” Molly interjected.

  “Exactly. I’ll keep working on that angle. It’s possible she moved to another table just to talk to a friend, or that the witness is wrong, since there was an open bar and everyone was drinking.” Molly rubbed her temples, envisioning a spider’s web, all of the intricate connections and Michael Thorndike at the center. “As for Russ Swanson,” Andre continued, “he hasn’t been back to his apartment, but there are officers there and at his workplace, so I’m sure we’ll pick him up.”

  “I’ll bet you he doesn’t know where Watson is now,” Molly said. She wondered what Ari and the chief could possibly be discussing for so long.

  “Well, his alibi checks out,” Andre said. “The judge confirms they were together at the Hilton. Of course this was after he denied the whole thing for half an hour and nearly wet his pants.” Molly cracked a smile at the judge’s discomfort. “There’s something off about Swanson, though,” Andre added thoughtfully.

  Molly turned her head and looked her partner in the eye, suddenly interested. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been looking over Speedy Copy’s books, and the pieces don’t fit. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’ll keep looking.” Molly knew Andre had minored in finance during college and knew a lot about business. She was happy to let him wade through the bank statements and financial reports, which reminded her that she needed to talk with Cyril Lemond, another person who still had no alibi.

  The office door swung open and Sol led Ari toward the elevator. Ari glanced at Molly but her expression was unreadable. Ari didn’t seem to be anything—not angry, not upset, just calm. Sol gave her a big hug and held her like a protective father would. Molly found herself aching for Ari, longing to put her own arms around the slight body. Ari had reached for her in the apartment, but she’d been too proud and angry.

  The elevator doors closed and Sol motioned to Molly. “In your office, Detective.” Molly took a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst—being thrown off the investigation. She sat in her chair before her knees gave out. The chief stood over her, his arms folded across his chest. Molly knew this wouldn’t be good. “As your superior, I’m telling you to rip up any report you started on this little farce, and if you haven’t written one, don’t start. That young woman is my goddaughter and I doubt she’s guilty of anything greater than not telling us where Bob Watson used to be.”

  “But that’s a crime,” Molly argued.

  Sol Gardner made a dismissive gesture. “And in my opinion, forgivable. Do we understand each other?” That was Gardner’s way of ending a conversation. He hiked up his pants and leaned over the desk. “Now, as your friend who has slugged down a few beers with you, let me say this: I know Ari. I know a lot more about Ari than you do. You’re going to need to trust me.” He gave her an understanding look before turning to leave. “And I’ll tell you one other thing,” he said, his hand on the knob, but the door still closed. “I know Bob Watson, and between you and me and the walls, I’m with Ari. I don’t think Bob Watson killed Michael Thorndike. You’d be wise to look a little closer at the suspects who haven’t flown the coop.”

  Molly took a breath, the air space increasing with the chief’s departure. She sat very still, Gardner’s words hitting home, his gut feeling that Watson was innocent. Her gut was telling her to finish the bottle of Maalox, which she did in one swig.

  Two hours later she slumped back down in her chair and winced. Her ass still hurt from sitting on the poorly padded government issue piece of crap. She looked around. Only her desk light was on, casting shadows into the corners of the small office. When she was here at night, which was often, she’d leave the door open just a crack and do her paperwork in the near dark. She liked sitting in the silence and staring out her window at the city below.

  She’d look out into the lights and think about the thousands of people settled into their cozy houses, winding down for the evening. Then she’d think about the violent scum who preyed upon them. Of course, daytime crime stats were almost as bad, but for some reason, it bothered her more to think about the victims of the night.

  She didn’t want to go home. Although most of the detectives had left and the third floor was quiet, she felt more alone at her apartment, disconnected. The eight hundred square feet she’d inhabited since moving back to Phoenix had merely been an expensive storage unit. The only thing she owned that she loved was the piano. If she went home tonight and found everything gone, she wouldn’t care as long as the piano was unharmed.

  Depression was a stalker that hounded her relentlessly, kept her on her guard and at times terrified her—like right now. She debated whether or not to call Brian, but the idea slipped away immediately. She knew where she wanted to go.

  Vicky the bartender had a whiskey in front of her before she’d planted herself on the stool. Hideaway was just kicking into gear for a Thursday night. She finished the first one and didn’t even realize she’d drunk it. With a quick flick of a finger, Vicky poured another shot. Molly was a good tipper and a regular. She got service before most, even if the bar was three deep.

  Pity came easy. Why had she ever thought she could have someone like Ari? Or anyone for that matter? She was just too volatile, unable to control her emotions, too unpredictable. Long-term relationships were not for everyone. Some people’s personalities demanded that they stay alone, solitary. That was her situation, and after her third shot, she was absolutely convinced that she would die alone.

  Loneliness was the emotion she avoided at all cost, sacrificing her common sense and decency at times to escape the feeling. If she really faced the truth, it was what she feared most. Sleeping with strangers provided short-term relief and numbed the pain. She’d convinced herself it was what got her through some hard times.

  Her failed relationships were a reaction to loneliness. She’d settled for people who waved red flags in her face that she chose to ignore. Rationalization triumphed. Why wait for someone who might not exist, or if she did, might never cross her path? Take what you can get was her attitude, and Molly had—four times. Four long-term relationships that never should have occurred.

  Lost deep in her thoughts, Molly didn’t notice the familiar redhead sidle up next to her. Only when the woman’s hand massaged her thigh did she look at her. Too much makeup covered her face, but she had a nice mouth. If Molly had one more whiskey, it wouldn’t matter.

  The redhead increased the pressure of her stroke, and Molly motioned to Vicki.

  “Last one,” the bartender ordered.

  “So you’ll be ready to leave after this drink?” the stranger whispered in her ear, her breath smelling of rum and cigarettes. She licked Molly’s earlobe tenderly. This was someone who wanted her, who could make the fear
disappear or at least force it into the shadows of Molly’s heart for awhile, and after today, she was more afraid than ever.

  She threw back the whiskey and smacked the glass on the bar. “I’m ready to go now,” she announced. Yet, she hesitated. Ari’s figure boarding the elevator flashed in her mind. It was gone in a second and only the redhead remained. She buried her tongue deep between the glossy lips, fortifying her resolve.

  From across the room, Jane watched Molly and the woman exit the bar.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Friday, June 22

  5:00 a.m.

  The blue numbers on the oven’s time display flipped to five o’clock, the flicker drawing Molly’s attention away from the wall momentarily. The kitchen strained to receive the morning light peeking in from the window, confirming that it was indeed barely dawn. She reclined on the breakfast bar, her legs propped up on the opposite bench. Her back was beginning to ache, but she wanted to feel miserable. She deserved it.

  What brought Molly to the crime scene before sunrise was sound advice from her first mentor who believed it was wise to go back to the beginning whenever you felt you were losing your bearings. Molly certainly felt lost, a kite whose string had detached, floating further away from the truth in a direction she couldn’t control. Propping her head up with her fists, she closed her eyes and reviewed each piece of evidence and each suspect, her mind turning through the information like cards in a Rolodex. Molly had an amazing memory, one that allowed her to store tiny details in addition to major facts. She sorted it all out as if doing a jigsaw puzzle, connecting like with like and finding a border or frame with which to guide the investigation.

  Bob Watson was a critical piece, of this she was sure, but his role was unclear. She shared Sol Gardner’s belief that Captain Ruskin was hanging too much on a suspect who kept proving at every turn that he might be innocent, including the test results which confirmed that the gun Andre had taken from Bob’s desk had not been fired any time recently.