by L. T. Ryan
Cassie took a step forward but made sure she didn’t cross the threshold into the apartment. “We think she might be in trouble.”
Her bet had paid off. The man softened. “What kind of trouble?”
“We’re not sure.” Cassie twisted her fingers together. “We talked to her last night because we’re looking for her sister.”
“Or someone we think is her sister,” Jason corrected. “Apparently she lived in this apartment before Stephanie?”
“She’s been living here for about ten months.” The man gestured around him. “Didn’t have any roommates that I knew of. If she did, I woulda charged more.”
“Have you ever seen a girl with dark hair, tattoos, and piercings come out of here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Mighta. Stephanie was strange. Got a few complaints about her screamin’ and yellin’, but I told ‘em that’s not my problem. Told ‘em they could talk to her if they wanted her to be quiet. I’m not their parent. Kids these days don’t know how to talk to each other. Always want everyone else to solve their problems for them.”
Cassie gave him a sympathetic nod. “Why do you say she was strange?”
“Don’t know.” He scratched his beard. “Just was.”
Jason gestured to the furniture and the glasses. “And she just packed up and left?”
“More like just left.” He shrugged. “Told me I could sell anything she left behind. Don’t bother me none.”
“We’re really trying to find her,” Cassie implored. “Do you have any information that could help us?”
He eyed the pair of them. “Seems like she don’t want to be found.”
“It’s important.”
“I’m sure it is.” He shrugged again. “But she always paid me in cash. I don’t got no information about her.” He shooed them across the hall. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I got an apartment to rent.”
Cassie and Jason retreated to the elevator, but neither pushed the button for the ground level. They both stared at it like it would give them the answers they sought.
“None of this makes sense.” Jason looked up at her, concern lining his face. “None of it.”
“Charli brought Alan back to this apartment to sleep with him. She got fired and then supposedly died.” Cassie held out a finger for each statement she made. “Charli and Stephanie look too similar not to be related. She helps us by pointing us to Pete’s Bar. Why?”
“She had to give us something,” Jason said. “The bartender would confirm Charli was dead, plus it would give her time to vacate the apartment.”
“Maybe she’s afraid that whatever happened to Charli would happen to her.”
“Now she’s in the wind with no way of tracking her down.”
“Maybe we don’t need to find her.” Cassie gestured to her phone, to the picture she’d taken of the poster at the volunteer center. “We just need to find what she was running from.”
“On to the next,” Jason said. He sounded tired.
“On to the next.” She watched him press the down arrow, feeling like they’d never reach the bottom of this mystery.
29
Harris didn’t bother brushing the fur off her jacket before she knocked on Chief Clementine’s door. There was no way this meeting would go in her favor, so why delay the inevitable? The detective rapped her knuckles on the door twice and heard a reply from within.
“Come in.”
Harris pushed through the door and closed it behind her. Something else she was sure of: This wasn’t a meeting she wanted anyone else to overhear. She had crossed the line yesterday, and she knew it.
“Sit.”
Clementine didn’t look up as she barked the order. Her voice was sharp as a knife, and it hit Harris dead center. Despite her crusty exterior, Harris hated disappointing people. She had a lot of respect for the Chief, and even though she didn’t regret her actions, she regretted the trouble she’d caused.
“I trusted you, Adelaide.” Clementine finally lifted her head. The familiarity of hearing her first name made Harris want to sink deeper into her chair. “I asked you not to be rash. You told me you wouldn’t. You lied to me.”
“I was doing my job, Chief.” Harris tried not to sound like a petulant child and failed. “Gibson attacked me. I arrested him.”
“Without backup.” Clementine held up a hand before Harris could argue. “It was stupid and reckless. You were stupid and reckless.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” She shook her head. “Because I don’t think you are. If you could go back in time and do it differently, would you?”
What was the point of lying? “No.”
“Gibson told us you had a chat with Aguilar before you cuffed him. What did you talk about?”
“We talked about David.” Harris could see the barrage of curses forming on Clementine’s lips. “He brought it up first. I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t there to goad him.”
“Weren’t you?”
Harris sighed. Rubbed her temples with her fingers. She knew exactly why she’d charged into the steakhouse, and it wasn’t just to arrest Gibson. If she was being honest with herself, it was because she wanted to look into Aguilar’s eyes. She wanted to see for herself if he was the one who’d killed David. But she’d found out a lot more than she’d bargained for. “Was David undercover?”
Clementine’s eyebrows pinched together. The question had clearly taken her off guard. Harris could see the calculations behind her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“Something Aguilar said.” Harris pressed the issue. “Was he?”
“No. Not to my knowledge.”
“Wouldn’t you know if he was? You’re the Chief.”
“As you’re well aware, Detective Harris, sometimes cops like to go rogue.”
“Do you think David went rogue?”
Clementine leaned back in her chair. She looked more than tired. Exhausted down to the bone. “If you asked me that a week ago, I would’ve said no.”
“And now?”
“And now I don’t have an honest answer.”
“I didn’t like the way Aguilar knew something that I didn’t.” Harris ran a hand down her face. “Something about David.”
“He could’ve been messing with you.” Clementine shrugged. “Someone like Aguilar gets off on manipulation. He enjoys pulling people’s strings.” Hardness crept into her voice. “And you fell right into his trap.”
“What do you want me to say?” Harris asked. “That I’m sorry?”
“It’d be a start.”
“Then I’m sorry.” She leaned forward in her chair, shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. She could spring up at any second. Always at the ready. “I am, but you’re right. I would do it all over again. Just to look him in the eyes. He knows something, Chief. I know he does.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but we have to play this smart. He gave up Gibson too quickly.” Clementine huffed. “The man gave one of the most detailed confessions I’ve ever seen in my life. And all we had to do was give him a pen and some paper.”
“Then Aguilar wants Gibson in jail. Why?”
“Could be to deliver a message,” Clementine said. “But he’s got more convenient ways to do that.”
“Unless it’s the type of message that needs to be delivered by someone like Gibson.” Harris teetered for a moment and then leaned back in her chair again. “Or Gibson is rallying the troops.”
“Either way, we don’t have any hard proof.” Clementine glared at her. “And now Aguilar knows you’re onto him.”
Harris waved the comment away, trying to ignore the way the Chief’s piercing gaze made her heart beat faster. “He already knew that.”
“But now he’s looking directly at you.” Clementine pounded her fist on the desk. “Jesus, Adelaide. We could’ve used you to get close to him. Especially if what he said was true about David. You went in there hotheaded, ready to fight all of them single-handedly. You think he’s
going to believe you had a change of heart if you try to approach him down the line?”
For the first time since Harris left the restaurant, doubt creeped in. Clementine was telling the truth. Harris had wanted to go toe-to-toe with all of them, starting with Gibson and ending with Aguilar. She’d made sure he knew what kind of cop she was. No fear. No remorse. No bullshit.
Harris hung her head. “So, what now?”
“You’re suspended.”
Harris’ head snapped up. “What?”
“You heard me.” Clementine pointed at her desk. “Hand over your badge and your gun. Two weeks.”
“You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Clementine raised a single eyebrow, as if daring Harris to question her again. “Badge and gun. Now.”
Harris stood. She unclipped her badge. Set it on the desk. Pulled out her gun. Set it on the desk. She stood there, arms hanging at her side, feeling small and stupid and helpless. What was she if she wasn’t a cop? What was she if she couldn’t solve David’s murder?
“What am I supposed to do now?”
Clementine’s mouth was still a hard line, but her eyes softened. “Take a break. Go on vacation. Read a book. Find some inner peace, Adelaide. This is temporary. I need you back at peak performance. When we’re ready to take down Aguilar—if we can pin this on him—then I want you there to cuff him yourself.”
Harris’ phone buzzed. She pulled it out. Unknown number. She stuck it back in her pocket. Looked up at Clementine. She didn’t know what to say.
“Deal?” Clementine asked.
Harris knew she was right. She’d let her anger get the best of her. Now Aguilar knew she’d stop at nothing to pin him. She was safer if she was out of the limelight. She was safer if she wasn’t on duty. Otherwise, she might end up like Officer Steve Warren. Or Detective David Klein.
“Deal.”
“Good.” Clementine pulled Harris’ badge and gun toward her and dropped them in a desk drawer. She didn’t look up again. “Dismissed.”
Harris walked out of the room feeling more lost than when she’d entered. As she pulled the door shut, her phone buzzed again. It was the same unknown number. She thought about declining it again. Probably just spam.
She hit answer instead.
“Harris.”
“Detective Harris?” The man’s voice was high and panicked. “It’s Randall.”
Harris paused. It took her a moment to place the name. Randall Sherman. The witness they’d been planning to meet with the night David died. He was potentially the last one to see David alive. “Randall?” She was still processing. “I thought you might be dead.”
“They tried.” His voice quivered. “I’m faster than I look.”
“Lucky you.” She didn’t bother to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“I heard about Detective Klein.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you safe?”
He laughed. “For now.”
“Why are you calling me?”
Another pause. Confused silence. “I’ll tell you what I told David. I have information on Aguilar. Information that could put him away.” He let his words hang in the air. “Forever.”
“That’s good to hear.” Harris bypassed her desk and walked straight to her car. “Tell me where to meet you.”
30
By the time Jason and Cassie pulled up to the curb outside a lavish green-and-cream Queen Anne-style house, someone was already there to meet them. Thankfully, the earlier rain had subsided and the sun peeked out from the clouds.
After leaving the volunteer center, Cassie had called the number on the poster. The woman on the other end of the line introduced herself as Marsha, Naomi’s mother. It hadn’t taken Cassie more than two minutes of explanation before Marsha had agreed to meet with them. She’d given them her address, but Cassie would’ve known which house it was from a mile away.
Marsha had filled the yard with posters screaming #JUSTICEFORNAOMI in bold purple letters. Purple and white streamers hung from the trees, and if the wind caught them just right, it looked like they were dancing.
Marsha waved from the end of the driveway. She wore a white t-shirt with a picture of Naomi in the center. Her skin was a dull beige, mottled with age spots borne from too much sun-exposure. She was fit for her age, which Cassie guessed to be around fifty, and wore a diamond bracelet and matching necklace. From the house alone, Cassie could tell the family was several tax brackets above her league. She felt cheap just pulling up to the curb.
“Cassie?” Marsha leaned down to investigate the car. “And Jason?”
“That’s us, ma’am.” Cassie got out of the car and waited for Jason to join her. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to us.”
“Thank you for calling.” Marsha put her hand on Cassie’s arm and squeezed. “Naomi sent you to us, I just know it.”
Cassie kept a smile plastered on her face. Naomi had definitely not sent her, but she wouldn’t say that out loud. “I hope so.”
Marsha didn’t move to invite them inside or even onto the porch. She shifted her weight to one hip and placed her hand on her waist. “You said you had a family member who died, too?”
“My cousin,” Jason said, forcing Marsha to shift her focus to him. “Jasmine. We don’t know if something happened, but the whole situation feels off.”
“And we’ve encountered a few other families who recently lost their loved ones under strange circumstances.” Cassie gestured to the woman’s shirt. “Can I ask what happened to Naomi?”
“She had a tumor in her stomach. It was benign. She went through surgery. The doctor took care of it. There was a chance another tumor would grow back, but they didn’t seem worried about her chances. She was only twenty-six.”
“Were there complications from her surgery?” Jason asked.
“That’s what the doctors said, but I don’t believe it.” Marsha brushed a piece of hair out of her face, but Cassie saw it for what it was—a nervous habit fueled by rage and frustration. “She was fine after the surgery. They were going to keep her for a couple nights because she was in a lot of pain. But she was recovering. Then one day, she got worse.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.” Marsha looked at Cassie and shrugged. “I was with her that night. She was in so much pain. She started crying and talking to someone who wasn’t there. In the middle of it all, she had a heart attack and died.”
“Talking to someone who wasn’t there?” Cassie looked at Jason. Her previous theory reignited against her better judgement. “Did she say who? Did she describe them?”
Marsha frowned and looked at Cassie like she had a screw loose. “She was out of her mind. I think it was all the drugs in her system. She didn’t actually see anyone.”
“Of course.” Cassie smiled to reassure her that no, of course she didn’t think her daughter had been talking to someone who wasn’t there. “How did the hospital respond?”
“We requested an autopsy, and we’ll be suing them for malpractice, of course.” Marsha flipped her hair again. “The money doesn’t matter to us. Justice for Naomi does.” She gestured to the signs in her yard. “They thought they could settle out of court. Buy us off. They made the wrong move.”
“Have you heard of any other families being offered compensation like this?”
“I know of several.” She shrugged. “A few have reached out to me anonymously. Others are easy to spot. They have cars or houses or boats they never would’ve been able to afford before. And none of them will talk to me. Cowards.”
“Some people can’t afford to say no to that kind of money,” Jason said. Cassie heard the hard truth of his voice past the polite exterior.
“Justice is more important than wealth.” Marsha stared him down. “Lives are more important than money.”
It’s easy when you’re the one who already has the money, Cassie thought. “Did you know someone by the name of Charli? She was a volunteer at the Tu
lane Medical Center.”
“A girl named Charli?” Marsha scrunched up her face. “No, I would’ve remembered that. Besides, Naomi was at UMC.”
Cassie forced a smile. “It was worth a try. Thank you so much for your time.”
“Oh, before you go.” Marsha handed Cassie a pamphlet she’d been carrying in her back pocket. “This is for you. We’re having another rally this weekend for Naomi. Trying to spread the word. We’re going to march at the hospital. You should come. We’re printing sashes with the names of the people we’ve lost. You can write Jessie’s name on it.”
“Jasmine.” Jason’s voice didn’t hold any of the kindness she’d heard earlier. He took the pamphlet. “She was my cousin.”
“Of course.” The woman’s smile was as artificial as the whitener she used on her teeth. “Jasmine.”
“Thank you for talking with us.” Cassie put her hand on the doorhandle just as Jason walked around to the driver’s side. “I can tell you really care about everyone you’re fighting for.”
And with that, Cassie punctuated her sentence with the slamming of her door.
31
Jason had a death grip on the steering wheel as he drove away from Marsha. He hit the gas and the brakes too hard, and Cassie could tell their interaction with Naomi’s mom had frustrated him.
“Maybe that would’ve been worth it if we’d learned something new,” Jason snarled.
“Maybe we didn’t learn anything new.” Cassie closed her eyes against the morning sun as he turned a corner. “But one part of her story stood out to me.”
“The part where Naomi was talking to someone who wasn’t there?”
A cloud passed overhead. Cassie opened her eyes again. “It sounds like the Ghost Doctor, if you ask me.”
Jason had calmed considerably, but he hadn’t relinquished his grip on the steering wheel. He cast a glance at her, and she saw something close to sympathy in his eyes. But for what? “I’m having a hard time believing a ghost is behind all this.”
