by Elle Gray
Willis turns back around and slams the phone back down in its cradle so hard, it knocks over the pen cup on the desk, sending it rolling and pens scattering everywhere. I have to stifle a laugh as the plastic hits the ground in a steady stream like raindrops. He doesn’t say a word to me though and doesn’t make a move to pick up his collection of pens after righting his cup. My guess is that he has trouble bending over to pick them up, so the task will fall to whoever has the next shift.
A moment later, the door to my right opens, and Lee steps through, a sour look on his face. I give him a smile, but that only deepens his scowl. He motions for me to follow him outside, so I do. Neither of us speak until we’re around the corner and across the street near the green plaza that sits across from the precinct. I suddenly feel like Lee’s dirty little secret.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses.
“Just once, I’d love it if somebody was happy to see me.”
“Stuff it, Arrington. What do you want? An apology for getting you fired from your case?” he snaps. “Well, that ain’t gonna happen. You were so busy trying to be smarter than everybody else, trying to show us up, that you dropped the ball. You overlooked the obvious. It’s a good thing I was there to pick it up, or Charlotte MacMillan’s murderer would be walking free right now.”
“You’re that convinced Lance did it, huh?”
“You’re damn straight I am.”
“And what’s your evidence?” I ask. “Other than his sister saying he did it, that is. Which, by the way, is hearsay. Not admissible in court. You should know that.”
He chuckles malevolently. “You really do think you’re better than us. That’s always been your problem; you know that? You think you’re smarter than everybody. That we’re all inferior to you. Guess what? You’re not. Even the infallible Paxton Arrington gets it wrong from time to time.”
“I’m smart enough not to arrest the wrong man,” I say. “And especially not on the word of a woman who’s hiding what she knows about the murder. I’d say that Sarah has a very clear conflict of interest in this case. That she has a reason to throw Lance under the bus. And that she has a very clear motive for murder. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, did you? And in the legal profession, that’s called reasonable doubt. Any defense lawyer will shred your theory of the case. Especially once I turn over all of the evidence, I’ve collected.”
He opens his mouth to rebut my point but closes it again. For the first time since he stepped through the door in the precinct, Lee looks uncertain. It’s slight, but it’s there. But then he shakes his head.
“Look, I’m going to share this with you just to get you off my back and show you that you’re wrong,” he lowers his voice. “It doesn’t matter since it’ll be coming out in the press conference later anyway.”
“You’re holding a presser?”
“Torres is.”
“Of course he is,” I roll my eyes.
“It’s a high-profile case. Mrs. MacMillan was an important city figure. It’s newsworthy,” he says defensively. “Anyway, we found Lance’s pocketknife in the house. It was hidden in the rubble, and the techs missed it the first time through. Not surprising, given what a garbage job Price did during the initial investigation.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “And tell me, how did you come to learn about this new damning piece of evidence?”
Lee shifts on his feet and looks away. I can see the guilt written across his face in bright neon letters.
“Was it Sarah MacMillan who directed you to it, by chance?”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair but says nothing, confirming my thought for me.
“You aren’t really going to run with this crap, are you?” I ask. “Any halfway decent legal aid attorney is going to destroy your case. You know that right?”
“That’s not your problem. That’s the DA’s problem,” he says.
“So you’re just doing a half-assed investigation, using knowingly fraudulent evidence, and knowingly arresting the wrong man in the hopes you can frame him for a murder he didn’t commit,” I say incredulously. “That’s not like you, TJ. You’re better than that. You don’t do things like that.”
“You don’t know me, Arrington.”
I purse my lips and shake my head at him. “You’re right. I don’t. But I actually believed you were good police,” I say. “As I told you before, that’s why I mentioned your name to Gray… because I thought you did things the right way. I see now that I was wrong.”
I turn to walk away, already thinking of a thousand ways to sabotage their case, including hiring the best defense attorney in the state of Washington. Well… the second-best defense attorney. Marshall MacMillan is otherwise indisposed at the present time.
Lee’s voice stops me though, and I turn around. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, his face burning red, an expression of shame upon his features. He can’t even look me in the eye.
“It’s not my call,” he finally admits, his voice soft as a whisper. “I’ve been under intense pressure to close this. And the second Lance popped up on the radar; I was ordered to arrest him.”
“Torres?”
“Who else? Sarah called him directly and told him it was her brother that killed her mother,” he explains. “When I went out to the residence to confirm her story, she pointed to the knife that had his fingerprints on it. Said the cleaning crew found it.”
“That’s beyond preposterous.”
“You don’t think I know that already?” he hisses. “I argued the same thing, Arrington. Torres overruled me. Said if I wanted to keep my shield— not just my grade bump, but my shield altogether— I’d man up and play ball. That I’d take the knife as evidence and arrest Lance.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Yeah, I said that too. And a whole lot more Jesus wouldn’t approve of.”
As Lee stands there, shuffling his feet and staring at the ground, I play out the scenario Torres is cooking up. Lance is arrested; it makes big headlines. Torres holds a presser, soaks in all the accolades, and gives him ammunition to use against Gray when he makes his move for the Commissioner’s chair.
In the meantime, Lance’s case works its way through the system, and a year, maybe eighteen months from now, that halfway decent legal aid lawyer shreds the DA’s case, as I predicted, and Lance walks. The world has moved on, and it’s barely a blip on anybody’s radar.
Torres will reap all of the benefits of this high-profile bust and suffer none of the blowbacks when it all falls apart. The plan is cynical as hell, but also actually kind of brilliant, in an evil mastermind sort of way.
“Maybe you roll the dice and it works out for you. But maybe you crap out. And if you do crap out, and this whole thing comes off the rail— and deep down, you know it will— who do you think is going to take the fall? It’s not going to be Torres. He’s already found himself a patsy,” I press. “You’re going to take the heat for all of this, TJ. And when all of this misconduct comes out— and again, deep down, you know it will— you’re going to lose your badge. You won’t be able to get a job as a rent-a-cop. You know it, TJ.”
“What do you expect me to do, Arrington? Take the Chief head-on? That’s career suicide.”
“Using bunk evidence and framing an innocent man is not just career suicide; you’ll be looking at prison time,” I tell him. “And what will Torres be doing? Sitting back, laughing his ass off at you. None of the fallout’s going to land on him. And you know it.”
He sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, shaking his head miserably. “I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, man. I’m going to lose either way.”
“Not true. You’re looking at this as if there are only two options. There’s another one you’re not seeing.”
“Here we go.” He glares hard at me. “I don’t know how to be any clearer than I’ve been already. I don’t want your favors. I won’t be your boy any more than I’m willing to be Torres’.”
He looks taken aback for a moment in the face of my fury. I know I should say something to mollify him or take the tension out of the air, but frankly, I’m sick of his crap. If this is how things are going to be, after I tried to do something nice, he can stuff it and deal with all this on his own.
I wave him off. “You know what? I don’t need to be doing any of this. I don’t need to be here trying to help you save your job and stay out of prison. And I certainly don’t need to be your personal whipping boy,” I snap. “So you know what? Good luck to you.”
I turn and start to walk off, but TJ stops me. “Arrington. Wait.”
I stop but take a beat before I turn around. I really don’t need to help him. My main motivation for doing this is to keep an innocent man out of prison. And if TJ won’t help himself by helping me accomplish that, then I’ll sink their case quicker than you can say, “case dismissed,” and let him take his chances with Internal Affairs, the ethics board, and after that, with a grand jury.
“You’re right. It was a blow to my pride. I just... I want to feel like I’ve earned what I get. And knowing you were pulling strings to get me my grade bump made it feel like I was being given a gift I didn’t deserve. More than that, it made me feel like it came with strings attached,” he sighs. “But you’re right. You haven’t asked me for anything. You’ve tried to help me, and I know I’ve spit in your face. And I’m sorry about that.”
I finally look back in his eyes and match his sincere gaze with my own, then slowly give a nod. The tension between us starts to ease away slightly. It’s not totally gone, but for the first time, it feels like we’re on the same page.
“Fine. We have three objectives. First, we need to make sure an innocent man doesn’t go to prison,” I start. “Second, we need to ensure that you don’t wind up in prison for trying to frame an innocent man. And third, we need to make sure you don’t lose your job when Torres comes looking for retribution after his big headline-grabbing bust falls apart.”
“And how are we going to do that?” he asks.
“I assume you’re not going to be able to get me in to see Lance?”
“Not with Torres in the building. If he catches wind of you talking to his big suspect, he’ll rain down fire and brimstone. He’ll probably try to charge you with either obstruction or witness tampering,” he says. “And frankly, tossing you in the can will probably be a bigger thrill for him than announcing to the world that he’s caught Charlotte MacMillan’s killer.”
“Yeah, you’re not wrong about that.”
I pause and look around for a moment, letting my mind work the problem in front of me. My worry is that I’ve oversold this. I don’t yet have anything to back up any of my theories. I have a hunch that Sarah is playing games and somehow maneuvering behind the scenes to guarantee the outcome she wants. And knowing Torres like I do, seeing a winning situation that leads to publicity for him, he’s all over it. But a hunch is far from hard proof.
Right now, this is all just a house of cards. The slightest breath is going to make this all crash down around me. But it won’t be me who suffers the fallout. It’s going to be Lance and TJ.
The answers are coming though. I’m confident my hunch is going to bear out the truth of the situation as I see it. I had to turn the entire thing on its head and look at it from a different perspective. And that was the only thing that made this all make sense. But what worries me is that just as I was so desperate to see it one way from the normal perspective, that I saw things that weren’t there, that now that I'm even more desperate, I’m doing the same thing.
With those ill thoughts creeping back in, I breathe in the crisp autumn air and exhale the self-doubts threatening to consume me again. I tell myself that my initial findings weren’t flawed in and of themselves. It was merely the way I was looking at them that was.
I had a glaring blind spot. And although Marcy tried to warn me, I chose not to listen, thinking I had it all locked down. She saw things more clearly than I did simply because I was so close to the situation, I couldn’t see it.
“So, what’s our next move?” Lee asks.
I open my eyes and turn to him, filled with a fresh, steely resolve that is not going to be shaken, my purpose never clearer.
“I need to get back to my office to get a few things ready. In the meantime, since I can’t get in to see Lance, I need you to confirm some things with him,” I tell him. “When you get the information I need, call me, and we’ll flip this whole thing on its head. We’ll get both you and Lance clear of this and the fallout that will be coming.”
He’s tense. I can see his jaw working hard. I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a firm squeeze, holding his gaze firmly.
“If there was ever a time you were going to trust me, this is it,” I tell him. “I’m not looking to screw you, and I’m not looking to make you my boy. All I’m trying to do is the right thing here, but I’ve got no skin in the game. No matter what, I’m going to walk away from all of this, and yet here I am, still trying to help. I hope that at least buys a little good faith from you.”
He looks me in the eye for a long moment as if searching for the truth in my words. He must find it because he nods.
“I’ll talk to Lance, then call you,” he says.
Twenty-Nine
Arrington Investigations; Downtown Seattle
“Game faces on, everybody,” I announce. “Here they come.”
Brody and Marcy are set up and waiting for us in the Fishbowl. I’m standing next to Amy at her desk waiting, and Nick is posted in his office, with an open line into the conference room. He’ll be monitoring and recording everything that happens inside. I have a feeling we’ll need the tapes at some point.
The elevator chimes, and the doors slide open. Sarah and Marshall MacMillan step off and cross through the lobby. She looks at me with a sneer on her face, and Marshall’s unfocused, his eyes glassy. He’s obviously had a few for breakfast this morning.
“Ms. MacMillan, thank you for coming in,” I greet them.
“It was against my better judgment. As I told you on the phone, Detective Lee was far more concerned with catching my mother’s killer than you were.”
“Detective Lee will be joining us soon,” I say and gesture toward the Fishbowl. “Please, if you’d follow me into the conference room, we have some things to talk about.”
Sarah raises her chin in a haughty gesture, and Marshal wobbles on unsteady legs. They make it into the room and take a seat. Amy gives me a wink and goes to the kitchen to fetch the coffee and pastry service. A moment later, the elevator chimes again, and Lee steps off. He walks over to me, his jaw clenched, and a look of concern in his eyes.
“You had better be right about this, Arrington. I practically had to hold the Chief at gunpoint to get him to push the presser back to today,” he whispers. “If this is nothing but smoke and mirrors, he’s going to have my job. And then you better believe I’m going to have yours.”
“Relax. The only theater going on around here is at the Paramount,” I tell him. “Now, let’s get into the Fishbowl and get this show started. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun. I don’t think you’re using that word correctly.”
He walks ahead of me and into the Fishbowl as I turn to Nick and flash him the signal to start the audio and visual recording. Washington is a two-party consent state, so I’ll have to tell them I’m recording, but Sarah thinks she’s got the high ground and probably won’t care. She’s only here to grandstand. Or at lea
st, she thinks she is.
A moment after I take my seat, Amy comes in and sets the coffee service down. She lays out all of the plates and the pastries then exits, closing the door behind her. Nothing but a friendly meeting with a continental breakfast going on here.
Everybody takes a moment to pour the coffee and get themselves set up. Marshall, sitting in the corner, dumps a healthy amount of booze from a flask into his coffee cup when he thinks nobody is watching. The entire time, I watch Sarah. Her expression never changes. I can see the wheels turning in her mind though, and she’s on edge. She’s probably sitting there wondering why I called a meeting in the first place.
Frankly, I’m surprised she agreed to come at all. But I think her curiosity about what I have and why I called a meeting outweighed her sense. As I knew it would. A few carefully dropped words, and I knew she couldn’t resist. Sometimes I love being able to manipulate people so easily.
After taking a bite of my danish and a sip of my coffee, I casually get to my feet. “First, I need to inform you that our office is wired for audio and visual and is constantly running,” I tell them. “We can cut it off if you wish.”
She waves me off irritably. “I have nothing to hide.”
“Good,” I nod and then recite the day, time, and the names of everybody in attendance for the record.
TJ stands up. “And I just want to make sure everything’s above board, so let me read everybody here their Miranda rights.”
Before anybody can object, he reads them clearly and concisely. Sarah looks more annoyed than anything and takes a big bite of her danish. When he’s done, nobody says anything, so TJ sits down.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here, Ms. MacMillan.”
“It crossed my mind, yes.”
“It’s about your brother, Lance.”
“What about him?” she asks.
“He didn’t murder your mother.”
