Zach didn’t say a word.
“Nobody knows you.” He gestured, as if holding a weight in each hand. One sank while the other rose. “One thing for sure, I can guarantee you won’t be real popular in this department if you hold on to what looks a lot like a vendetta. You might find yourself deciding to go back to your big-city department.” The last was a drawl barely disguising a sneer.
Zach kept his expression from changing in any way. He held the stare long enough to make it plain he wasn’t intimidated and rose from the chair he’d been offered facing the sheriff’s desk. “Sir,” he said politely, bending his head and walking out of the office.
He knew he was in deep shit, made worse because he was the new guy. A couple other deputies had quietly expressed their support, but a number had urged him to retreat from his “story.” Andy Hayes was a fine officer, a good guy. He wouldn’t have just beaten a man to death for the hell of it. No, sir. Accidents happened. If the fellow’s head hadn’t happened to hit that concrete step... Damnedest thing, him stumbling back and falling in just the wrong place. But when a man went for a police officer’s gun? Well, he was asking for anything.
Zach was ninety-nine-percent sure Antonio Alvarez had not gone for Andy Hayes’s gun. Even if he had, Hayes had dominated the encounter from that moment on. He could have had Alvarez on the ground, cuffed and arrested without breaking a sweat. Zach couldn’t think of an excuse in the world for Hayes to have beaten the shit out of the guy. What’s more, he had a suspicion Alvarez had been dead before he’d hit the concrete. Maybe he’d only lost consciousness, but he’d looked like a dead man from the instant his head snapped back and his body collapsed like a puppet’s with the strings cut.
Nobody wanted to talk about why Hayes had been there in the first place—well out of his patrol sector. They weren’t talking about the results of the autopsy, either—if it had even been done yet. As was common in rural counties, the coroner wasn’t a physician. Zach wanted to believe he wouldn’t cooperate with a cover-up.
No matter at what point Alvarez had died, going for a police officer’s gun was not a crime deserving of the death penalty, not if the officer had the ability to control the situation. Which Hayes unquestionably had.
Zach had no doubt he’d already have been fired if the sheriff hadn’t been afraid of the repercussions. Whatever Stokes thought personally, publicly the undersheriff would have to bow to his boss. Right now, they controlled the contacts Zach could talk to. If they cut him loose, they had to know he’d go straight to the press, the county commissioners, activists representing the Latino community.
The killing of an unarmed Hispanic man by a red-neck white deputy had the potential to explode into a scandal of nationwide proportions. The sheriff and undersheriff had to be seeing Ferguson and Pasco in their nightmares.
Too bad no one had had a camera phone, Zach thought grimly.
The good news was that he hadn’t been the only witness. It was pretty clear the woman hadn’t backed down yet, at least. She hadn’t gone to the press, either, but if they pushed too hard, they couldn’t stop her.
Zach knew her name now. Teresa Granath. Ms. Granath, the detective had said with sarcastic emphasis.
Zach had just come in from patrol. The sheriff’s department couldn’t afford to lose two of them at the same time and, as was standard practice, Hayes had been placed on administrative leave since a man had died during an altercation.
The incident.
Having finally clocked out, Zach had decided to contact Ms. Granath. He’d been careful yesterday once Stokes had arrived at the scene not to make eye contact with her or to try to speak to her. He didn’t want anyone thinking he’d influenced what she had to say. He’d be in trouble if he was seen with her now, but he’d passed the point of caring. He wanted to know how much shit they’d been giving her and whether she could stand up to it. Whether he could depend on her.
He assumed she’d have left her workplace, which he’d learned was a home improvement store. He’d planned to pay it a visit one of these days, anyway, because he was only days from closing on a house that needed work. He’d be out significant money if he lost his job.
But forget the house. If he didn’t last on this job, he’d lose the chance to investigate his sister’s murder. His jaw was tight as he jumped into his pickup. Damned if he’d give up this easily.
No Teresa Granath appeared in the local phone directory, so, despite the rules against it, he’d accessed DMV records to find her. She lived within the city limits of Clear Creek, which would reduce the likelihood of anyone from the sheriff’s department happening to drive by and see his Silverado parked out front.
Just to be on the safe side, he left it a block away. The neighborhood consisted of nice family homes, ramblers and some split-levels. Most probably dated to the 1980s. Hers was a rambler, not a big place but in good shape, with a white picket fence and flowerbeds. She or someone she lived with was a gardener. The concrete walkway passed under an arch covered by rose canes unfurling green leaves.
If she was home, her car was in the garage. He rang the doorbell and waited...
He frowned and glanced toward the front window. Unfortunately the wood blinds were drawn.
At the sound of the door opening he turned back sharply. The sight of her disturbed him, renewing the strange bond they’d formed yesterday when they’d looked at each other over the dead body.
This time he was able to assess her, although no physical evaluation would tell him how strong an ally she’d be. As a man, he did like what he saw.
She was pretty, with beautiful hazel eyes and a cute bump on the bridge of her nose. A few freckles gave her a girl-next-door look—except that she had a sexy mouth. The hair he’d vaguely thought of as brown was actually glossy and caramel-colored.
Otherwise...she was tall for a woman. Five ten or even eleven, and slim. He’d have said skinny except she did have curves. They were subtle but plenty female. And long legs. Damn, it was no wonder she’d crossed that lawn so fast.
“Deputy,” she said, her voice just a little husky.
“Ms. Granath.”
Her mouth curved. “Your detective really wanted me to be a miss or a missus. ‘Ms.’ seemed to disturb his sense of order.”
Zach chuckled, although her smile along with those really fine legs stirred his body in uncomfortable ways. He reined it in. “This area seems to be lagging a little behind the times.”
She made a face. “I’ve noticed. Please, come in.”
He followed her in and waited while she closed the door.
“Why don’t you come on back to the kitchen?” she suggested. “I was working on dinner.”
“I’ll try to make it brief, then. I, uh, just wanted to make sure you’re being treated decently.”
He was distracted as they went by the glimpses he had into her living room, what looked like a library and home office and a dining room. He was impressed. She must have had some serious work done.
He doubted floors in a house of this era had originally been hardwood, for example. The molding could have been from a 1920’s cottage, the effect enhanced by wood blinds either white-painted or warm-maple-stained throughout and a French door that led from an eating area out to the back garden. Kitchen cabinets had a cottage look, too.
The stained maple was the same color as her hair, he couldn’t help noticing.
Countertops had been tiled in a bold red picked up by the display of antique stoneware on a shelf above the upper cabinets.
And, damn, something smelled good.
“You’re a gardener,” he said, gazing out at a backyard that, like the front, wasn’t very big but was bound to be a profusion of cottage-garden bloom in another couple months. There was color even now, mostly from daffodils and crocuses and a shrub with vivid yellow blooms. She seemed to have a lot
of rosebushes.
“I am,” she agreed. “It’s my hobby. I especially love antique roses. There are moments I wish I had a way bigger yard so I could grow more of them, but I remind myself how much maintenance what I have takes. I don’t want gardening to quit being fun and start being work.”
“I know what you mean,” he agreed. “I just bought a fixer-upper to flip.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“I’ve remodeled a couple before,” he explained, “and made a decent profit when I sold them.”
“Really.” After adjusting the heat on a stove burner, she leaned back against the counter. “You know I’m in the home improvement business.” She waved at the bar stools. “Have a seat.”
Because he wanted to ease into his real purpose, he asked a few questions and learned she didn’t just work at Fabulous Interiors, she and a partner owned it. Her area of specialty was window treatment and ceramic tile. Her partner, flooring. The partner was a man—she called him Greg—but Zach couldn’t get a feel for whether the relationship was business-like, friendship or romantic.
He was irritated at himself for even wondering.
“What got you started flipping houses?” she asked. Pretty obviously, she was sounding him out the same way he was her.
So, okay, he could give a little.
“I had a stepfather who was a contractor.” Actually the stepfather whose name he’d taken. “I worked for him summers during high school and college. That’s not what I wanted to do for a living, but I enjoy working with my hands.” He shrugged. “It’s a good hobby.”
She glanced ruefully toward her garden. “Except you actually make money at your hobby.”
He had to laugh. “Mostly. When too many problems don’t turn a house into a sinkhole.” After a pause he asked, “Are you a local?” This was edging a little closer to what he really needed to know. How woven into the fabric of this community are you? Can I depend on you not to buckle under the pressure?
He hoped she hadn’t noticed his stomach rumbling. He’d try to get out of here before he embarrassed himself.
“Yes and no. I graduated from high school here, but left for college. I came back three years ago because my dad is in poor health. Mom is gone...and I thought he needed me.” She huffed. “Not that he agrees. He’s determined to stay in his house. And although he finally let me hire someone to do the housework, he still insists on doing too much.”
“Heart?”
“Stroke.” Grief shadowed her face. “It’s probably just a matter of time before he has another one.”
“I’m sorry,” he said gently.
“Thank you.” She turned back to the stove, giving something a stir before turning off the burner and pulling the pan off. This time, when she turned to face him, her expression was resolute. “You didn’t come to exchange gardening and home improvement tips.”
“No.” Zach moved his shoulders a little to ease the tension. “The department wants the ‘incident’ never to have happened. The two of us are an inconvenience.”
“I’ve noticed.” Her tone was dry. “Should your department be investigating when it’s one of their own officers accused of a crime?”
“No,” Zach said bluntly. “My guess is some of the pressure is being applied now in the hope the department doesn’t have to hand off the investigation to someone else. Which, in my opinion, should have happened immediately.”
“Well, it definitely hasn’t been. Detective Delaney—excuse me, Delancy—grilled me two ways from Sunday. And then he stopped by the store again today. He seems to think if he keeps circling back, I’ll either change my story or he’ll get me to admit that Antonio and I were having a torrid affair and I’m lying through my teeth because—who knows?—I’m protecting his memory. I haven’t a clue.”
He nodded. “Ms. Granath, I won’t ask you what you’ve told him, and I’m not going to tell you what I’ve said, either. It’s easy to be subconsciously influenced once you share what you saw with other witnesses.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. Please, call me Tess. You’re Deputy Carter?”
“Zach Carter.”
Her gaze became challenging. “Are you here to lean on me a little, too? Point out how much damage I’m doing to an upstanding officer’s career?”
One side of his mouth tipped up. “Never crossed my mind. I will tell you that Andrew Hayes is an ass.”
Her carefree laugh came out of the blue, considering what they’d been discussing. “In that case, unless you’re expected home for dinner, you’re welcome to share mine. It’s chicken in a wine sauce on brown rice.”
“It smells amazing.” Damn, he had to swallow his saliva. “Are you sure you have enough?”
Eyes hinting at amusement, she said, “Positive.”
He asked where he could wash up and she sent him to a half-bathroom connected to a small laundry and mudroom.
Tess had produced a salad by the time he returned to the kitchen. She’d set the small table by the French doors rather than the larger one in the dining room. Bright red tulips in a simple white pitcher sat in the middle of the table. A few petals had fallen.
“These were already in bloom?” he said in surprise.
“Oh, I doubt it. I assume they were forced. Truthfully, I bought the bouquet at the grocery store. I spoil myself by buying some occasionally through the winter. I grow daffodils and tulips, but not enough for cutting.”
They served themselves then looked at each other across the table. “I guess I kind of stuck you with company, didn’t I?” he said ruefully.
Smiling, she shook her head. “I wouldn’t have invited Deputy Hayes to stay for dinner if he’d dropped by. Or Detective Delancy.” Her green-gold eyes met his. “Do you know him very well?”
“No. I’m new with the sheriff’s department. I haven’t even finished my third week. I moved up from Portland.”
“What brought you away from the city?”
Zach hesitated. He should have thanked her for the invitation but then declined. He’d have to make it clear to her before he left that they needed to keep their distance from here on out—at least, until the review and trial. And that could be a very long, drawn-out process. Just the prosecutor’s decision to file charges—or not—could be six months or more away.
He was attracted to her, but shutting down anything like that wouldn’t be a problem. Yeah, they had some interests in common, but didn’t share anything close to the same underlying motivations. He liked turning a dump into a house, but not because he was creating a home for himself the way she obviously had.
As far as women went, he enjoyed sex, but only when it came with no strings. Nothing in his life to this point had made him even distantly imagine himself ever getting married. He rarely had a relationship—if you could call it that—that lasted longer than a couple months.
An alliance was what they were building, one that would ensure justice was done.
“I lived here in Clear Creek until I was nine,” he said abruptly. “Then my parents split up and...” He shrugged. “I’ve gotten to an age when I needed to figure some things out.” Like who raped my little sister and then strangled her.
“Oh.” Tess’s expression softened. He was pretty sure she wasn’t thinking anything close to what had happened. “Do you still have...? I mean, are your parents alive?”
“My mother is. My father...” Another shrug. “No idea.”
She went still with a bite suspended halfway to her mouth. “You mean you didn’t see him after the divorce?”
“No. He went one way, Mom the other.” Although he could have kept seeing his father, that decision had been allowed to be his.
Her eyes searched his. After a moment she said, “I’m sorry.”
Jaw tight, he nodded.
S
he started eating again and kept her gaze on the table, which made him feel like a jerk.
“What about you? Any other family to help you with your father?”
“A brother, but he’s in Alaska. In a pinch he’d fly down to help with moving Dad or cleaning out his house but, you know, it’s hard for him to get away and expensive to make the trip.”
Zach nodded, feeling awkward again. “Ah... Antonio. Was he a friend?”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about him.”
“I’ll stay away from anything you saw. I would like to know if they’re going to be able to trip you up by claiming you’re not an impartial witness.”
“No,” she said flatly. “That detective tried. I knew Antonio’s name only because Lupe waved and said hello a couple times when we were coming or going. I nodded and smiled at him a few more times. I don’t even know if he spoke English.”
“Do you speak Spanish?”
“As someone who took it in high school, which was way too many years ago. My vocabulary has increased because we get customers in the store who don’t speak very good English. But all I’m capable of are broken sentences in a lousy accent. Oh, and I don’t remember anything I learned about verb tenses. I’ve actually been thinking of either buying a set of language tapes or taking a class at the community college.”
“Lupe speaks English, I take it?”
Tess smiled. “Lupe and I went to high school together. They let her take fourth-year Spanish, which totally destroyed the bell curve. Of course, she pointed out that the rest of us got to take English, which wasn’t any more fair to her.”
Zach laughed then looked down at his empty plate. “This was great. Thank you.”
“There’s a dab more if you have room.”
The Closer He Gets Page 3
