“Not as much as cops. They can be hard on women. You deserve someone who’ll treat you right.”
She couldn’t help but wonder why Mark became a cop. She didn’t see him wanting to play God. Was he carrying baggage? Was that what he hid behind his glasses?
“Of course, you don’t have to listen to some old man, but it needed to be said.”
She nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
* * *
Sergeant Brown showed up at the interview room the same time as Johnny Harden. Mark wasn’t sure if he was here to check up on him or to hear the interview.
Maybe both.
Either way, Brown had a right to do it. Mark deserved to be checked up on. He also deserved the whopper of a headache he had. Not that it stopped him from wishing it would go away.
Johnny looked around fifty, but considering his past lifestyle he could be younger. Mark introduced himself and then Juan and Connor. Connor held the envelope of pictures for the photo lineup.
When Mark introduced Brown, Johnny spoke up. “I know you. You interviewed me the first time.”
The sergeant nodded. “You’ve got a good memory.”
“Yup, I do.”
Mark didn’t really pick up any animosity on Johnny’s part, but he wasn’t sure if he’d blame Johnny if he did. The man had come in on his own to report something that he thought was connected to a murder. From the file, it appeared Brown and Gomez had blown him off.
Mark motioned for everyone to sit down. “We have your other statement, but could you tell us again what you saw that day?”
Johnny told how he gotten a bottle of whiskey and gone down by the lake to enjoy it. He’d hidden himself in some bushes to drink it because he’d been afraid a couple of other homeless guys would steal it.
“The truck pulling up to the dock woke me up. It was late, I didn’t want to startle the guy, so I just watched as he climbed back in the bed of his truck. He rolled the barrel out of his truck and into the water.”
“How late was it?” Brown asked. “Wasn’t it dark?”
“Yeah. But there was a light right over the dock.”
“And you think you could identify him?” Connor asked, opening the envelope and lining the photos up on the table.
“I do,” Johnny said.
“Is the man you saw any of these men?”
Johnny leaned forward. His eyes skimmed from one picture to the next, taking time to review the information jotted down below.
“He’s not there.”
“That was fast,” Brown said. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. The man I saw was a big man—no neck, like a linebacker. Looked like one, too. Big fellow. And he had red hair, carrot top.”
Brown frowned. “I don’t recall you telling us he had red hair.”
“I tried. You weren’t interested in what I had to say then. Not that I blame you. I wasn’t what anyone would consider a reliable witness.”
“I apologize for that,” Brown said, surprising Mark. “Can you give us a detailed description now? I promise, we’re interested. We need your help.”
* * *
Annie finished up her last class. Dropping in her chair, she just sat there and tried to make sense of her crazy day. Crazy life.
Was she insane to keep seeing Mark? Her mind said yes; her heart said no. She thought about Fred’s warning then looked at the time.
Isabella had agreed to take her to pick up her car, but she had another class. Deciding to make use of her time, she reached down for her briefcase to start grading papers.
She heard the sound of heels clipping down the hall, moving with purpose. The gait, the cadence of those heels, hit a familiar chord.
She stared at the door to her office, not sure if she wanted to be right or wrong.
Her mother appeared on the threshold. A wave of hurt washed over Annie. Since when had seeing her mother caused her pain?
Since she knew the woman had lied to her all her life.
Her mom shut the classroom door. Annie swallowed the need-to-cry knot down her throat as her mother moved to stand in front of Annie’s desk.
“So this is how it is, huh?”
“How what is?” she managed to ask.
“You are more loyal to the guy you’re sleeping with than me.”
Annie shook her head. “I’m not more loyal to him. And you’re a fine one to mention loyalty. You’re more loyal to your family than your own daughter.”
She shook her head. “That’s not true.”
“Yes it is. The Anniston police found the files from when Jenny went missing. In it was a note about how you had taken your daughter to the hospital to get stitches.”
Then a flash of memory hit. She was in the hospital bed crying as her mom tried to console her. She felt the sting in her knee, she felt the sting in her heart. Blinking the past away, she said, “You’ve lied to me my whole life.”
Her mom flinched. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” Annie’s voice shook. “I can’t see why you’d lie to me. Or why you’d protect someone who’d do something so horrible to a child.”
“It’s not what you think. I was trying to protect you!” Anger gave her mom’s words a cutting edge.
“From what? Help me understand. Because right now I don’t feel that I know you.”
Her mom shook her head. “I’m here one last time to beg you to stop it.”
“You stop it.” Annie stood up, but her knees felt jelly filled. “Tell me, or better yet, tell the police. Tell them before things get worse.”
“Baby, if you don’t stop it…it could get ugly. I don’t want…I tried to tell them—”
“Ugly?” Annie lurched back. “What are you saying?” Her voice rose, her heart hammered against her chest. “That someone’s going to hurt me? Like they did Fran and Jenny?”
“I’d never let anyone hurt you. Why do you think we moved—”
“Moved? To Houston? Tell me! Tell me the secret that you and Daddy kept from me my entire life.”
Defeat flashed in her mom’s eyes. “No one has hurt Fran. But…”
“If Fran’s okay, why did Aunt Doris lie about her car being there?”
“She was embarrassed about her daughter being a drunk.”
“Why would that bother her? She’s a drunk, too.”
Her mom inhaled, her breathing as shaky as Annie’s. “George took Fran home. I told the police.”
Annie’s hands clenched, and her heart tightened with the knowledge that her mom really had a part in this. “I can’t even believe you anymore.”
Her mom turned to leave. She got to the door, stopped, then turned back. “I’m sorry.” Tears rolled down her mother’s pale cheeks.
“For what, Mom? What are you sorry for? What did you mean by ‘get ugly’?”
Her mother didn’t answer. The tap-tapping of her mom’s heels leaving gave Annie chills and felt like the end of a love that was supposed to last forever.
* * *
At five o’clock, Mark, alone in the office, still sported a headache. It wasn’t only from the booze. It was that kind of a day. Convincing his partners that the Reed case was solvable was like selling rainbow sherbet to Satan.
They agreed to work it, begrudgingly, but priority went to the Talbot case.
They’d thought the case was about to be closed. Now they were back to nothing. Well, not nothing. It felt convenient that Brian worked at a concrete place. But every attempt to follow that lead left them stonewalled.
Mark’s call to Brian Talbot went unanswered. He left messages. But got shit back. His call to the Austin police had him leaving another message.
Connor’s calls to character witnesses for Brian also landed him on everyone’s voice mails.
Ditto with Juan’s luck contacting Colman Concrete Company. No one answered the damn phone. Frustrated, he left to drive over there.
For Juan, that was big. He’d practically become a shut-in c
op. Leaving the office only when he couldn’t find a reason to stay. Juan claimed he wasn’t worried about facing people, it was seeing people face him.
Mark supposed Juan’s scars caused a reaction in some, and if Mark had them, perhaps he’d feel the same way. But Mark wondered if Juan used the scars to punish himself. Put himself in solitary. Mark supposed that was logical, too. The newest member of the Cold Case Unit blamed himself for being alive when his pregnant wife had died. Grief and guilt did a number on people. Mark knew.
“Hey,” a voice boomed. Sergeant Brown, perched in his door, had a briefcase in his hands, as if he were leaving.
“Yeah?”
“You get anything from the concrete company?”
“No. Juan called and said there’s a sign on the door saying they are temporarily closed for a death in the family. We’ll try tomorrow.”
“You trust Mr. Harden?”
“Yeah. Don’t you?” Mark asked.
“Yeah, I just wanted this case solved.”
“Me too.”
Brown started to walk off and Mark remembered. “Hold up.”
His sergeant turned.
Mark motioned to a chair. “Can we talk?”
Leery, the man squeezed into the chair. “Why am I certain I’m going to need a pack of Tums after this?”
Because you obviously can read me too damn well! Mark picked up a pencil and rolled it. “I want to get ahead of something that might be a problem.”
Brown’s brows pinched together. “Don’t tell me it involves the media.”
“It’s the Reed case. The witness is…she and I are—”
“Oh, hell no! Just because some fine piece of ass steps into your office to report something doesn’t give you the right to bang it!”
“It’s not like that.” Mark searched for a defense, one that didn’t include throwing out the fact that the woman the sergeant had been married to for ten years had been a witness to one of the biggest cases Anniston had known.
“We’ve been seeing each other before the case.” It wasn’t a lie.
“Bullshit! Where did you meet her? Don’t stop and think about it.”
“At the coffee shop down the block. She teaches at the college and goes there every morning. I go there for coffee. And like you said, she’s noticeable.”
“How likely is this to be made public?”
He remembered the look on Annie’s mom’s face. A guarantee. “Likely.”
“You’re off the case,” Brown bellowed.
“No. The case is twenty-five years old. Us seeing each other isn’t going to affect what happened. The evidence will speak for itself.”
The man’s face reddened. “Just because a case is cold doesn’t change the damned rules.”
“The rules can go fuck themselves.” Mark rolled the pencil.
“What’s going to get fucked is you. You can’t keep disregarding protocol. I can’t keep going to bat for you. I don’t care what the hell you’re holding over my head.”
Mark broke the pencil. “I’ve never held anything over your head!”
Silence followed and then Brown spoke. “You saw us there.”
“Yeah, I knew you and Gomez planted the hair evidence. But have you ever stopped to wonder what I was doing there that day? I had the same damn evidence in my pocket. There was no way I was letting that guy get away with raping that kid because of protocol. We had him. We knew he was guilty. He confessed.”
Brown shouldered back in the chair as if trying to take it all in.
Mark continued, “So there. You don’t have to put up with my ass. Fire me. My life would be better.”
The two of them stared at each other and Mark knew the answer. “You aren’t going to do that, are you? Because you’re a cop who gives a rat’s ass and solves cases because he does care.”
His sergeant breathed in, breathed out. Mark feared he’d given the man a heart attack. But Brown stood up. “Connor or Juan can take the lead. If it’s made public I’ll pull you off the case.”
“I’m fine handing the lead off,” Mark said, leaving unsaid that he didn’t intend to be pulled from the case.
Brown frowned. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
Mark leaned back. “I kind of remind you of yourself, don’t I?”
“Yeah.” Brown took off.
* * *
“I was about to call you,” the officer from Austin said.
“Right.” Mark didn’t hide his sarcasm. He’d called the officer before calling it a day.
“Yesterday, I paid Francyne Roberts’s boyfriend a call.”
“He was there?”
“Half drunk, but there.”
“And?”
“He swears Roberts never came home from the funeral. Told me I could search the place.”
“Did you?”
“I walked around. Didn’t see anything.”
“You believe him?”
“I arrested his ass six months ago for busting Roberts’s lip. So could he be guilty of doing something worse? Yeah. But I’d swear he was telling the truth. He claimed if something happened to her, we should look at her family. Said they were a fucked-up bunch.”
Mark gave the boyfriend credit on that one. “We found Fran Roberts’s car at her mother’s.”
“So she’s not missing?”
“Found her car. Not her. First her mom lied about Fran leaving in the car. Then the aunt tells us that Fran’s uncle drove her home. Is there any way Fran could have gotten home, grabbed her things, and left?”
“I didn’t ask him.”
Mark glanced at his phone for the time. He could be in Austin before eight. “I don’t want to step on toes, but would it be okay if I spoke to this guy directly?”
There was hesitation. Cops were territorial about their cases.
“Just to ask some questions,” Mark added.
“Honestly,” the officer said, “I think Roberts is off on a bender, but if you don’t want to wait it out, help yourself. If you need anything, call us.”
“Thanks.” Mark reached for his gun and was ready to leave when his office phone rang. He saw the number flash across the screen. “About time.” He picked it up. “Mr. Talbot.”
“You caught the bastard who killed my girl?”
“Sorry.” Mark felt the effects of flip-flopping on this guy’s guilt or innocence. “Quick question. Where did you work when your daughter went missing?”
“Why?”
“Just answer.”
Silence echoed. “I was between jobs.”
Mark moved to the file cabinet where Juan stored his case notes. “That’s not what”—he pulled the report out—“we have on record.” He flipped pages to find the info. “You said you worked at Coleman Concrete Company, but were off that day.”
Did Brian know they were on to him, was that why he was distancing himself from Coleman Concrete?
“I never said that. My wife did. I hadn’t told her I’d lost the job. She thought it was my day off.”
That was almost believable. “Why would you keep that from her?”
“To stop her from worrying.”
Mark dropped in Juan’s chair, not knowing what to believe. “Why did you get let go?”
“Either arrest me or leave me the fuck alone.” Talbot’s tone gave Mark’s suspicions credibility.
“Look, I lost my daughter, my wife. My brother won’t let me around his kids because he thinks I…I’m done.” The line went dead.
Mark sat there feeling as if he was missing something. He’d had the same feeling this morning when he’d read the case file. He stared at Juan’s notes. Bingo.
The name Coleman. He’d seen it in the file and it wasn’t connected to Talbot’s employment.
He flipped through the pages until he found it. Michele Coleman was the victim’s aunt. The mother’s sister.
He turned back to the front of the file where phone numbers were listed. He dialed Bethany Talbot’s number. He rolled his shoulder
s, uncomfortable, remembering how she’d leaned on him and cried.
“Hello.” One word and he heard her depression.
“This is Detective Sutton.”
“You caught him? Tell me. Please.”
Mark’s gut knotted. “No. I have a question. Your sister, Michele Coleman, is she connected to Coleman Concrete?”
“Yes. Her ex-husband Gary Coleman owns it. Why?”
“Your husband worked there, right?”
“Yes.”
“He just informed me he was fired from the position.”
“Fired? No. Brian and Gary were friends. All of us were. We used to hang out. Have barbeques, pizza night. Gary had a daughter the same age as Brittany by his first wife.”
Why would Talbot lie about that? One possibility stuck out. Working there would connect him to the evidence. But that didn’t explain Harden not recognizing Talbot. There was still a missing piece to this puzzle.
Or maybe Johnny got it wrong.
“So you’re still looking at Brian for this?” she asked.
“We’re looking at all the angles. Do you have a number for Gary Coleman?”
“No. I haven’t…My sister and him don’t even talk anymore.” She paused. “I think she blames what happened to Brittany for her marriage failure as well.”
Why? “Sorry.”
“I can give you the company’s address.”
“We have that. Thank you.”
Mark hung up and stayed sitting on the fence of what to believe. If Brian had lied, and it appeared he had, there had to be a reason. Tomorrow he was paying Coleman Concrete Company a visit.
But right now, he needed to head to Austin. The sooner he got the Reed case put to bed, the sooner he could relax about himself and Annie.
Chapter Twenty
Annie sat on Isabella’s black sofa, hugging a red throw pillow as she spilled her guts about her mom’s visit.
Pirate, still unhappy about being there, paced on his three legs around the room and meowed his discontent. Annie related to his anxiety. Not that she wasn’t comfortable at Isabella’s. It just…it felt as if the whole foundation of her life had cracked. The only thing that felt half right was her involvement with Mark. Yet the truth was they didn’t even have a foundation.
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