Price of Innocence

by Patricia McLinn

Jamison Chancellor’s movements have been corroborated in leaving the Red Hill Street on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend and arriving at a cabin in North Carolina, where she remained, writing a new book in isolation. She did not learn of the murder at the Red Hill Street until her return to Fairlington.

  Bethany Usher did not have permission to be in the house.

  Washington Post: When was Bethany Usher killed?

  PIO Kepler: We are not prepared to release that information at this time.

  ABC: So far, the stories reported on the Death, Murder, Violence podcast have proven correct. Has the Fairlington Police Department given DMV exclusive information?

  PIO Kepler: No.

  CBS: Is the department investigating possible leaks?

  PIO Kepler: We are always interested in unauthorized releases of information because of the harm they can do, first, to the investigation and, later, to the pursuit of a conviction by the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s office.

  WTOP Radio: Do you have Oliver “Oz” Zeedyk, of the Death, Murder, Violence podcast, in custody again?

  PIO Kepler: Mr. Zeedyk is cooperating with our investigation.

  ABC: Are you demanding his sources for the stories he’s released, including that Jamison Chancellor was not the victim at Red Hill Street and now he’s saying she remains in danger of being killed?

  PIO Kepler: We cannot release details of an active investigation.

  Fairlington Leader: But you can’t make him give up his sources. Aren’t they protected?

  PIO Kepler: We would hope any citizen — including a journalist or podcaster would share information that might save someone’s life.

  Washington Post: Have you charged Zeedyk with anything?

  PIO Kepler: At this time, we have not.

  CBS: Are you going to?

  PIO Kepler: I cannot speculate on the future course of an investigation. If that’s all…

  Washington Post: Understand there was a suspicious package called in at the restaurant in the same building the Sunshine Foundation is in.

  PIO Kepler: There was. The bomb squad cleared the building. It turned out to be a false alarm. No one was hurt. No device was found.

  Washington Post: Was it connected to the Red Hill Street murder?

  PIO Kepler: I know of no connection and I don’t expect further developments there, but we’ll let you know if there are.

  ~~ End news conference transcript ~~

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  “What are you doing here?” Jamie demanded when she opened her front door.

  Fire surged through Belichek. What the hell was Landis doing letting her answer the door? It didn’t help much that she’d opened it only about a foot.

  “You weren’t going to come to me after your bomb scare. Were you?” As he spoke, he made another scan of the area.

  She held the door in front of her. Not much of a shield. He could still see the way she was backlit, just the view the killer would have had of Bethany Usher on that rainy Sunday of Labor Day weekend.

  Something—

  Jamie’s strong, “No, I wasn’t,” broke across his not-yet-born thought.

  Still, she stepped back a little, opening the door more. Not inviting him in, but close enough.

  Except what had driven him here was backing off. Letting his brain engage. He hesitated.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked.

  “Why?”

  “Well, you don’t seem to have crossed the threshold, so I wondered—”

  “Not why are you asking if I’m coming in, why should I come in?”

  “I could use the company?” She sounded vulnerable.

  He gritted his teeth. “It’s not—”

  “I’m not asking you to sleep with me for heaven’s sake.”

  “I’m still investigating this case.”

  “I didn’t know you were such a stickler for the rules, Detective Belichek, considering you kidna— spirited me away to J.D.’s place. But by all means, do come in—” She swung the door wide with a hard push and moved deeper into the hall. “—I promise not to force myself on you.”

  She didn’t look around to see if he followed. Not even when he closed the door softly.

  But she reacted when his shadow reached her peripheral vision by shying away. “There wasn’t really a bomb,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Somebody hit Officer Schmidt.”

  “I know. And turned out the lights.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I know Landis. When he left, I tried your phone with no answer, tried the foundation. Someone from the bomb squad answered. Wouldn’t fill me in. I talked to some guys I know. That’s when I heard you’d been taken in. Went back to the desk … and you two had merrily skipped away.”

  Before either of them said more, Landis’ voice interrupted.

  “Actually, he was slower getting here than I expected. Dinner is almost cold.” He leaned against the doorframe at the end of the hall. “C’mon, you two. Dinner is served.”

  He’d arranged a spread on the antique desk in the small room past the living room. With three chairs.

  “Peruvian chicken, yucca fritta, and tomato onion salad.”

  “This is takeout?” Jamie asked.

  “Just so you know, he also eats at McDonald’s.”

  “Ah, a man of many parts,” Jamie said with would-be lightness.

  Over the meal, they took her back over what happened, step by step from when they left her at the foundation.

  By the end, she was back in the upholstered chair, looking tired but not as pale.

  “Okay, that should do it for now.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You mean you’re not going to ask me the same questions four more times? I know how you work, Belichek.”

  Before he could answer, she shivered.

  She stood, but he beat her to her red sweater on the back of the desk chair. He held it up for her. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He settled the sweater, then took his hands away immediately.

  “Figured you could use a break from the questions tonight, Jamie. You did the right thing today, listening to your instincts.”

  “My darker instincts.” What started as a chuckle came out as a gulp. “I hate that. When I don’t see the good, when I don’t cling to the bright side, then it’s all dark.”

  “Those darker instincts can keep you alive. You can get over dark, you can’t get over being dead.”

  “A couple of crazy kids from two different worlds.” Landis’ dry voice startled them both. He’d been so quiet, they’d forgotten he was here. “What you need is back story. I guess Belichek knows a fair amount of your history…”

  Landis got the answer to that non-question when Jamie shot Belichek a look mixing questioning and accusation.

  “…but do you know the story about how he ended up with his grandparents?”

  “Shut up, Landis.”

  “He was a kid in a tough part of town, the toughest. Him and his mother—”

  “For God’s sake. The way you sound, there should be a violin playing.”

  Landis focused on Jamie. “Him and his mother, except she was involved with this guy who scared people, even in that tough part of town. And Bel was, what was it? Ten? Nine?”

  “Shut up, Landis.”

  “Think it was nine. His mother was out somewhere—”

  The object of his story walked out of the room, not looking back.

  It didn’t stop Landis.

  And Jamie wanted to hear this story.

  “—left Bel with this guy — great babysitter. Anyway, a woman stopped by. Her story was she was being neighborly and he pounced on her the minute she’s in the door. No provocation. Nobody believed that. One report was she owed him money and went there to try to get out of it, and he got mean.

  “Either way, he was beating on her — she ended up in the hospital a couple days — and getting ready to— Well, he had her clothes mostly off.
Belichek walks in cool as can be and says to stop and he’d called the police.

  “Guy goes into a rage. He starts in on Bel and Bel was giving back enough that when the police showed up, they used that as an excuse to take him in, too.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Better than leaving him out in the neighborhood. The guy’s people would have taken care of him as an example. Couldn’t let a kid get away with turning him in.”

  A kid who’d turned a feared adult into the police and taken him on directly.

  “His mother…?”

  Landis’ expression hardened.

  “His mother, what? Stood up for him? No. Backed him up? No. Was proud of him? No. She was pissed he’d gone against her meal ticket. Didn’t care he’d been beating another woman, wouldn’t have surprised anybody by killing her. After the maggot was put in prison, she visited him. Currying favor. When he got out — not much of a sentence — she got her old position back, too. Briefly. Trouble was, nobody thought he was such a tough guy anymore. Rival who’d taken over welcomed him home with gunfire. She was killed in the crossfire.”

  Trying to absorb the layers of horror, sorrow, loss, Jamie felt surprise come in. “He… Ford told you this?”

  “No. Doesn’t talk about it. I wouldn’t know if his grandmother hadn’t sat me down and told me the first time I met her. Remarkable woman.”

  * * * *

  When Belichek came back in with his kit from the trunk of his car, Jamie was gone, Landis was in the comfortable chair.

  Landis leaned back, his fingers locked behind his head, his eyes on Belichek.

  “She’s upstairs. Since you’re doing guard duty, I suppose I can go home, huh.”

  Belichek said nothing.

  “Unless you want me to stay and chaperone.”

  More nothing.

  “You’re caught this time, my friend. And not even your career’s going to save you. Take it from an expert. You let yourself fall for her when you thought she was dead, because that was the perfect woman for you, then—”

  “Not what you said before. Wronger even than your lousy choices, was what you said.”

  “Yeah, well, I was wrong. Falling for her when you thought she was dead was perfect. You could give everything and not have any chance of getting anything — or getting any, for that matter. And now she’s alive and you have to deal with it. This is going to be entertaining.” He released his hands and sat up. “At least it would be entertaining if my career wasn’t on the line, too.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  When Landis left, Belichek climbed the stairs.

  Jamie was in her third-floor office, listening to some audio something, curled into the chair, wearing a robe that covered all of her, yet had him thinking… or not thinking.

  “I locked up. I’ll be on the couch in the living room.”

  All people. Real people. Not Frankenstein Monsters.

  “There’s no need to be uncomfortable on a couch. The guest room is available.”

  He hesitated, caught by what she was listening to. “What is that?”

  “The podcast — Death, Murder Violence. Re-listening, in case there’s something I missed. Some reason he might…”

  “No reason. Don’t look for one. It’s not your doing. But play that back.”

  “What?”

  He reached past her, not willing to examine how much of it was impatience because the audio was running on, away from what he needed to hear, and how much was wanting to be closer to her, to smell the freshness from her shower, to feel her heat…

  All people. Real people. Not Frankenstein Monsters.

  That was it. He checked the date of the podcast. Then he played it back into his phone recorder. Maybe he took a little longer doing those tasks than necessary.

  Finally, he stepped back from her.

  “Is it important?”

  “Maybe. I’ll take you up on the guest room. Thanks.” Sleep would clear his head. It had to. He’d nearly missed that. Had he missed more? “Good ni—”

  “Belichek— Ford. What Tanner said about when you were a boy — how you ended up with your grandparents…”

  “It wasn’t complicated. A sorry excuse for a man beating a woman. I saw him. I turned him in.”

  “You were a kid. And even after you called the police on that man and went after him yourself, the police took you in?”

  “Didn’t hold me long. After things calmed down, they listened to the call again and knew I’d called it in.”

  They hadn’t believed him. “How long were you in jail?”

  “Not jail. Juvie. Two nights. Local cop called my grandfather. He came and got me. I went straight home with him. Lived with them until I was on my own.”

  “Yet, after that experience, you went into law enforcement.”

  “Better to be the arrester not the arrestee.”

  She stood. “Because of Sheriff Rutherford Webster.”

  “I have to go—”

  “I haven’t broken my promise not to throw myself at you.”

  “I’m staying here or wherever you are, tonight and every night until the last corner of this is resolved and we — I — know for damned sure nobody’s after you. But— Look, there’s some connection, chemistry. But in the real world, we both know we’re about as far apart as people come. Let’s leave it at that, Jamie.”

  * * * *

  Landis walked into the detective bullpen to hear Oz Zeedyk had asked to talk to him.

  They’d been so sure Landis would be back, they’d kept Zeedyk at the ready.

  “Nice to be wanted.” He took a slug of coffee, paused outside the interview room and walked in to find Zeedyk with tears in his eyes.

  Angrily, he wiped them away.

  A hunch, intuition, experience, or the putting together of pieces, Landis went with it.

  “Thinking about your sister Sandy?”

  “How… How do you know her name?”

  “Came up in connection with you. Were you in police stations when she went missing?”

  “No. I was too young. They kept me away.”

  Landis tried to put acceptance into his silence.

  Almost two minutes went by. Then Zeedyk spoke.

  “She put me to bed every night. Sometimes she read me a story. She was… she was pretty. And kind.

  “Mom was a nurse. Dad worked for the railroad. A porter on the trains up to Boston, down to Florida. Grabbing all the overtime he could get. They were saving to send us both to college. That was the plan. Send Sandy, she’d get out, start working, then all three of them would work and save to send me. It was all planned out. I’d be a doctor. And then I’d take care of our folks in their old age. The old age neither of them lived to see.”

  He drifted a moment.

  Then his mouth formed a sour, twisted smile. “How’s that for a bedtime story for a kid barely in school. Already had college, med school, and profession planned out for him. Along with a lifelong repayment schedule.”

  “Sounds like a good family. Close.”

  The muscles holding that rictus grin twitched.

  “Yeah. Close. After Sandy… Mom died first. Cancer. She fought. I was scared about losing her. She was scared about not being there for me. Dad was drinking hard by then. Had a couple suspensions already. But by the end, Mom and I were both ready for her to go. It was too hard. Dad… Dad was permanently anesthetized from the minute the news came about Sandy. Eventually the rest of his body gave out. Then it was just me.”

  Landis said nothing for several long moments.

  “It sucks, Oz. There’s no way around it. It’s the reason I do this job. So it will suck for fewer people than if I didn’t do it.”

  * * * *

  Belichek took a shower with more cold mixed in than he usually liked. He needed it.

  Then he called Landis, winning the bet with himself that his partner would be at his desk.

  “You’re hopeless, Belichek,” Landis said immediately. “Alon
e with Jamie, and you’re calling me?”

  “Got something for you to listen to.”

  “Before that, you want to hear what Oz had to say a little while ago?”

  “Yeah.”

  Landis wrapped up his report by saying, “Nothing actionable, but Jamie nailed it. He still thinks he’s not going to tell all. Letting him soften up now.”

  Belichek knew his role in this dialogue. “Why go after Jamie?”

  “High profile. Crossed paths with her sometime. Fixated on her because she built something worthwhile after a relative’s murder and he didn’t. Feels he let his whole family down.”

  “Why now?”

  “Could be anything. Long-term buildup hit critical mass.”

  “You could ask your department shrink.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Do you really think it’s him, Tanner?”

  Three beats passed. “No. But he’s still not telling us everything.”

  “You’ll get it from him. Now listen to this.”

  All people. Real people. Not Frankenstein Monsters.

  “Sound familiar?” Belichek asked as soon as it was done.

  “It’s Zeedyk. On his podcast.”

  “Not the voice. The words. Frankenstein Monsters. I used that phrase talking about trying to know a victim when they’re dead. I said that to one person. You.”

  “Are you accusing me of being the leak.”

  “For that phrase, yes. No. I take that back. I’m the leak.”

  “What the fuck—?”

  “Shut up and listen, Landis. I said that to you early on — not the morning after you caught the case, the next one. Talking about knowing so much about a victim, but still only having bits and pieces, not seeing them as a living, breathing human. Only time I’ve said it. And you accused me of getting poetic. Remember?”

  “Nobody else around. Breakfast sandwich.”

  “Right.”

  The squeak of his chair through the phone announced when Landis jerked upright. “Just before Isaacson and Terrington showed up in the break room. You think they—?”

  “They couldn’t have heard us. We didn’t see them until we were leaving, when they were across the bullpen, and we’d talked about Frankenstein monsters earlier.”