Damn it.
Brett watched as Schliesman questioned Paige again about the clothes the victim was wearing in the drawing. That was key, the fact that Paige had drawn Teresa in the clothes she had been taken in. Had died in. That was what was so suspicious about Paige’s drawing.
“These clothes. Why did you draw her in this particular shirt?” Schliesman asked.
“I don’t know.” Paige’s exasperation was clear. “I just drew her in what I saw in my mind.”
“From seeing her in the parking lot, on McDonell Street but not really paying any attention to her.”
“Yes, like I said. It was an artist’s exercise. Trying to recreate something from memory; focus on details.”
That definitely sounded a lot better than saying she had drawn Teresa Cavasos in her sleep. And she had been sleeping when she drew the picture, Brett had no doubt about that.
“But you can agree it’s a little suspicious that out of everyone in that strip mall parking lot you chose to draw the one person that went missing that day,” Schliesman said.
And Brett knew the other half of what the detective wasn’t saying: that Paige conveniently brought in the picture of Cavasos just as she was discovered dead. Too late to be of any help finding her as a missing person.
Paige looked down at her hands. “Yeah, it was unfortunate.”
“Are you sure this isn’t a situation where you’re trying to get attention in your own case?”
Schliesman reached down and pulled a file out of a bag she had brought into the room. Paige’s file. She didn’t open it, but set it on the table.
“Your attack from two years ago is unsolved. Maybe you feel like the police should be working harder on your case. That bringing in a picture of a missing lady might get you back into the limelight.”
“No,” Paige responded. “I have pretty much made peace with the fact that my case won’t ever be solved.”
The sympathetic look Schliesman gave her was almost believable. Probably was believable to Paige who by now must be desperate for any sort of friendly relief.
“That’s a shame. To have to live with that? Knowing the police no longer care enough to keep looking for the man who did this to you?” She took the picture of Paige’s battered face out of the file and slid it across the table to her.
Paige barely glanced at it. “I’m well aware of what happened to me, Detective. I don’t need to see it. And no, I do not hold any ill will against the Portland Police Department. I believe they tried their best with the information they had.”
“But you have to admit, this will put you —and your case— back on their radar.”
“Detective Schliesman, I’m just here to do whatever I can to help find a missing woman.”
Brett turned away from the questioning as the door to the observation room opened. Captain Ameling walked in, making an already bad situation worse.
“I heard she was back.” He pointed at Paige through the glass. “Is this another weird issue like the supposed drawing of herself after the fact?”
“No, sir,” Brett responded. “She says she saw Cavasos at a parking lot in Healy Heights and drew her as part of some sort of artist exercise where she draws someone from memory.”
“And the person she happened to draw showed up missing and now dead. Very convenient.” The captain turned to Alex. “Do we have enough to arrest her?”
Brett knew he needed to stay out of this. The captain already didn’t like him. Speaking up now would just make it worse for Paige.
“No, I don’t think so,” Alex said. “Plus, you know the chief will have a fit if we try.”
“Yeah, well, the chief is in meetings off the premises all day. So if we have enough to book her, you do it. I’ll handle the chief.” He turned to Brett. “And you damn well better not call him about this or I’ll make sure you’re working traffic cases for the rest of your very miserable time here.”
Brett’s lips pursed. “I’m not going to call the chief. I want to find out who did this to Teresa Cavasos as much as anybody else.”
They all watched Schliesman question Paige. Back to info about the clothing choice in the drawing again.
“Why hasn’t she lawyered up?” Captain Ameling asked.
And then Brett knew. Any lingering doubt he’d had was wiped away. Paige hadn’t asked for a lawyer because she wasn’t guilty of anything. She was just trying to help.
She didn’t know what almost everyone in this building was hoping to pin on her. She was in way over her head and had no idea she was even in the water.
Brett needed to do something. Calling the chief wasn’t an option, and wasn’t the route Brett would want to go even if he could get in touch with Adam. But he did have the number for Paige’s security team. He got out his phone to send a text as discreetly as possible.
Paige is being held for questioning at downtown precinct. She needs a lawyer here, stat. Get one here now.
Her security team was competent, and what’s more, Brett believed they really cared about her. He hoped they would get someone here for her.
“You bored by what’s going on?” Ameling asked, glancing at Brett’s phone.
“No.” Brett put it away. “But believe it or not I have other cases I’m also working on, that also require my attention.”
They turned back to what was happening inside the room. Paige shifted uncomfortably in her chair and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her hand.
“Look, I’ve answered all your questions, multiple times. I’d like to talk to Detective Brett Wagner if that’s okay.”
“Why?”
Brett could feel Alex and the captain looking at him. If Paige mentioned their relationship now, it could be disastrous. But she didn’t know that.
Alex looked over at Ameling. “Captain, I think we’re going to need to let her—”
Captain Ameling held up his hand. “Wait, I want to hear the answer to this.”
Brett appreciated Alex trying to run interference for him; to distract the captain. But the man was looking for dirt on Brett and he was afraid Paige was about to give it to him.
Paige stared at Schliesman for long moments.
“Detective Wagner was nice to me when we talked last week. He was respectful, didn’t treat me like a freak the way the Portland PD has been known to do.”
Brett let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. The captain was still wary, but the crisis had been averted.
“Well, you’re going to get to see him very soon,” Schliesman told Paige. “I’m actually turning this case over to him and Detective Alex Olivier.”
Brett knew what was coming. Schliesman was about to let Paige know the case was now a homicide. The detective wanted to shake things up to see how Paige would respond when she found out Teresa Cavasos was dead.
And she’d do it in the most jarring way possible.
Brett couldn’t even blame Schliesman for her methods. Under matching circumstances he’d do the same thing.
Schliesman pulled out another case file, Cavasos’ he was sure. She took out some pictures.
Brett knew which ones. The ones from the hotel where they’d found her body. The ones that showed that Teresa was obviously beaten —very similarly to Paige— and stabbed. The ones that showed that the missing person Paige had been trying to help for the last few hours was very definitely beyond help now.
Schliesman put the pictures right in front of Paige.
Paige took one look at them, and flew out of her seat, vomiting in the trash can by the table.
Chapter Seventeen
Paige felt weak. Dazed. She glanced around the room. Everything in here was gray: the walls, the floors, the furniture, the two-way mirror thingy. It was difficult to get her bearings.
She’d been in here for hours, answering question after question. The same question after question.
And then the pictures.
Oh God, she was too late. Teresa Cavasos was already dead. The pictures
. They were still sitting in front of her right now, but Paige had turned them over.
Detective Schliesman had put them right in front of Paige so casually. They were gruesome. Horrific. The woman had died from being stabbed, after being severely beaten.
Paige knew what a beating like that felt like. The debilitating pain that throws your entire body into a panic. Hearing your own bones break and knowing there was nothing you can do about it. Your own blood filling up your nose and mouth until you wonder if you might choke on it.
It was impossible for Paige to ever forget it. She didn’t need a picture to remind her.
But more disturbing than the violence of it all, more disturbing than the fact that the detective had obviously wanted to catch Paige off guard —and had succeeded— was the content of one of the pictures Schliesman had shown her.
Like she was playing some sort of twisted game of solitaire, Paige flipped the middle picture over and studied it again.
Paige had drawn that very image a few weeks ago. It was sitting in the portfolio where she kept all the drawings from her sleep.
With all the bruising, Paige hadn’t realized she had drawn Teresa Cavasos twice: once when she was alive and once when she was dead. Although her clothing had been a prominent part of the picture she’d drawn of Teresa in the parking lot, only the top part of her collar was in the other picture she’d drawn of the woman’s death.
The same as the photograph she was looking at now.
But it was obviously the same shirt, now that Paige was studying it. No wonder Detective Schliesman had asked her so many questions about the clothing in the photo. It was what Teresa had been wearing when she died.
Paige needed to call a lawyer. Through the exhausted haze of her mind she knew that was true. Schliesman had known Teresa Cavasos was dead the entire time she’d been questioning Paige. She must have been hoping Paige would confess or say something incriminating against herself.
Paige vaguely wondered if saying ‘hey, I drew a picture of this exact death scenario too’ would be incriminating enough for the detective.
She didn’t know how to get a lawyer. Who to call. Was she allowed to use her phone now? Could she leave the room? She knew the door was still locked.
God, she just wanted to see Brett.
Not as her lover or to fall into his arms. Just to see someone who didn’t think she had killed some poor woman in a horrible way. Just to see someone whose colors weren’t an angry, accusatory red.
Or the chilling gray of this entire room. Paige turned the picture back over and wrapped her arms around herself.
After showing her the pictures, Schliesman had started asking her more questions about where she’d been last Thursday, before a knock on the door had interrupted them and the detective had left.
Paige had been so distraught over the pictures, over finding out she was too late, over realizing she had also drawn Teresa Cavasos dead, to even remember last Thursday or where she’d been on that day.
She’d asked to see Brett again. If he was here, he would help her. At least he would be a friendly energy off of which she could feed. Someone to help her focus.
Someone who could hopefully help ward off the panic attack Paige could feel stalking its way closer.
She wrapped her arms around herself tighter, but knew it wouldn’t be the barrier she needed. She wanted to get out of this room.
A few minutes later the door opened. Instead of Schliesman, another detective with wavy blond hair and a much less angry aura walked in. Followed by Brett.
She wasn’t sure what exactly she had expected from Brett, certainly not any romantic greeting, but he stayed far back against the wall as the other man walked closer and took a seat.
“I’m Detective Alex Olivier, from the homicide department. And I think you already know Detective Wagner.” He gestured to Brett.
“Yes,” Paige nodded. “He and I met last week.” And made love two nights ago.
And now he was standing on the other side of the room like he could not care less what was happening with her. Even his colors were colder.
She’d been through a lot today, but she was afraid this was what would tip her over the edge. So ridiculous to think coldness from someone she wanted warmth from would be what did it.
“Like Detective Schliesman said, we’ll be taking over the case now that it is officially a homicide.”
“Have you been listening to what I said to Detective Schliesman?” she asked the surfer looking detective.
“Yes. For almost all of it.”
“Both of you?” She looked pointedly at Brett.
He looked away. Paige had her answer without Detective Olivier saying a word.
Brett had sat behind that mirror and listened to everything that had been asked of her, knowing what Schliesman suspected her of. Oh God, he had known it was a homicide the whole time, had known they were trying to set her up, and had done nothing.
Maybe he’d actually thought she had something to do with it. Paige wrapped her arms around herself, for warmth and because she was afraid she might shatter into a million pieces.
“Miss Jeffries,” the detective moved closer. “I understand it’s been a difficult day for you.”
“I’m going to go get you some water.” It was the first thing Brett had said to her. She didn’t even look at him.
But the other detective nodded. “Good idea, Brett.”
Brett knocked on the door and left when it opened electronically. Paige looked at the man sitting across from her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“Olivier. Alex Olivier. I’m a homicide detective.”
Exhaustion washed over Paige. First, all the questions by Detective Schliesman, then finding out Teresa was dead, then seeing her dead in the same method Paige had drawn?
And then Brett.
Brett walked back into the room, two water bottles in his hand. He put one in front of Detective Olivier and crouched down next to Paige, opening the other one.
“I’m not thirsty,” she said, staring at the collar of his shirt. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. And she totally ignored the deep blues surrounding him. He was troubled.
“You need to drink it anyway,” he said, gently disengaging her fingers from where they were clasping her arms.
Paige shivered slightly. His touch. How could she still feel such heat at his touch? How could she still want to lean towards him —towards his strength— and rest against him after he’d amply shown how little she really meant to him?
She brought the water bottle up to her lips and sipped. He was right, she had needed the water. She drank down nearly the entire bottle.
He stood, his fingers running unobtrusively along her arm as he stepped back.
She slid away. He could not be gentle now. Not when her heart was lying in pieces around her. He needed to go back over to the wall and blend back into the gray. She had to focus on keeping herself together, not on him.
Detective Olivier slid the other water bottle over towards her, but Paige didn’t open it. “The last question Detective Schliesman asked is probably the most important one for you to answer. Unfortunately, you were pretty upset when she asked it.”
“Which question was that?”
“Where were you last Thursday?”
“Is that when Teresa Cavasos went missing?” she asked.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss any specifics. But if you could just think about where you were on Thursday.”
Paige closed her eyes and worked her way backwards: the night with Brett, the art show, preparation.
For the first time since she’d found out Teresa was dead, Paige felt a slight release in the pressure built up in her body. If whatever happened to Teresa happened on Thursday, there was no way they’d be able to think Paige had something to do with it.
A knock on the door startled Paige. Both Detective Olivier and Brett looked over at it sharply. Brett opened it.
“Gentleman, I’m Christine Thomas, Ms. Jeffries’ attorney.”
Paige was surprised. She hadn’t ordered an attorney, despite this one being delivered, like a pizza. But the woman’s aura was pretty clear, even if constantly moving. She was a multi-tasker, but had good intentions. At least right now.
She walked to the table and shook Paige’s hand, giving her a reassuring nod.
“We’d like all questions to desist immediately and for my client to be released unless she’s being formally charged,” Christine told the men. She didn’t sit down.
Detective Olivier sighed. “Ms. Jeffries has not been charged. She’s always been free to go at any time.”
Paige looked at the detective then Brett then her new lawyer. She’d been free to go all this time? Why hadn’t Brett told her that?
Maybe because he thought she’d been guilty of murder.
“I can see by my client’s face that’s news to her,” Christine said.
Paige shook her head. “The door was locked.”
The lawyer put a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Are you ready? They can’t keep you here any longer.”
Paige stood. “Yes, but there’s one question I want to answer before I go.”
“What was the question?” she asked.
“Where I was on Thursday.”
“You don’t have to answer that, Ms. Jeffries,” Christine told her. “It’s not an admission of any sort of guilt not to answer the question.”
“But if she does answer, and has a good alibi, it goes a long way towards us eliminating her as a suspect,” Detective Olivier put in. Brett had come to stand closer to the table, although Paige still didn’t look him in the eye.
“It’s okay,” she told Christine. “I want to.”
The lawyer nodded but looked ready to jump in at any time.
“Last Thursday, I spent the entire day surrounded by a dozen people at the Barnes Gallery preparing for my art show that happened Friday night. We were there at least twelve or fourteen hours, long past midnight. My agent Hunter Barnes, and any number of assistants, can verify this.”
“I think that pretty much eliminates my client as a suspect,” Christine told them. “We’ll make sure you’re given the contact info. But right now, I’m taking Ms. Jeffries home.”
Critical Instinct Page 12
