Playing the Game (40 page)

“I don’t care. How bad could the town of Marblehead’s jail be?” It didn’t matter where she was. She was doomed to feel miserable for a long, long time.

She had only herself to blame. This was the final prayer of her penance, losing her heart to Barry. Everything else—Don’s death, losing her money, her job, even getting arrested was not enough. Nothing was more appropriate.

“If we’re going, let’s go. We’ll take your car in case we have to sell mine.” She quirked her brow. He wasn’t amused. They walked to his car. Bonnie came with them. She only nodded her head at Roxanne. She knew there was nothing to say. Poor Bonnie had run out of things to say, run out of steam long ago.
She should be retired somewhere by now
, Roxanne thought as they all got in Al’s car. She’d put the woman through enough. They’d have to talk about that. Later.

She was hoping for a silent drive, but it wasn’t to be. Al spoke. “I see you got Barry to return with you without a problem.”

“Look, if this is your attempt at idle conversation, you picked the wrong subject.”

“No. I picked the right subject. There’s a custody hearing coming up soon …”

“You absolutely do not have to worry about me being involved with him for another second.” The prospect that they’d actually take his daughter away now seemed unimaginable to Roxanne. But she wasn’t about to play spoiler.

“I am worried. About you. They found a big crack in your alibi. That’s why they decided to arrest you now. Seems you were seen leaving the party that night, at least for a short while. We need Mark Baines more than ever. You were with him?”

“Yes. I was.” She sighed, remembering. There was no doubt he would remember.

“You look like hell and this hasn’t even started yet,” Al said as he glanced over at her before returning his attention to the familiar winding roads leading into town.

She laughed in spite of his seriousness. “Good. Then I can only get better, right?”

He shook his head and said no more. She didn’t know if it was because he was defeated or because they had arrived at the police station.

The thudding in her chest returned with a suddenness that wiped everything else from her thoughts. It was as if her mind suspended operation and she went on automatic pilot as she got out of the car and went through the glass doors of the station. She neither thought nor felt. She merely went through the motions.

Detective Turner was in the lobby to meet them. He handed Al the arrest warrant for him to examine. Al’s look at the document was perfunctory. Of course all was in order.

The detective turned to her and looked her straight in the eye.

“Roxanne Monet, you are under arrest for murder in the first degree of Donald Boswell III. You have a right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have a right to have your attorney present during questioning…” He went on in his clipped, professional voice, not taking his eyes off her. She felt a sickening taste rise again to her throat. The lightheadedness that came upon her prevented her from paying attention to the rest of what he said. She felt Al next to her and was surprised to find that she was clutching his arm.

Dragging her attention back to Detective Turner, she forced herself to listen. She had to hear this, to feel every last ounce of stark terror as it closed in around her. It would do her no good to escape into oblivion. She needed this immediate life-threatening spark, the penance.

“Follow me. We’re going into the booking room.” Detective Turner put his hand on her back and firmly guided her away from Al to a door down the hall. Al followed behind.

They walked into a small square room. No windows. There was a counter on the right, a table ahead with some files, and a camera bolted to the floor on the left. Detective Turner took her over to the camera where a blue uniformed man waited to take her picture. She stood on the line of gray tape two feet in front of the stark white wall and allowed the detective to direct her poses for several snapshots. She nearly choked trying to prevent herself from breaking out into uncontrollable sobs.

There’s no such thing as retaining your dignity in a situation like this
, Roxanne thought.
No one could
. Small consolation.

“Photo session’s over. Come on over for fingerprinting.” Detective Turner led her over to the counter where the inkpads waited.

“Fingerprint cards with my name on them. You must have been expecting me.” Roxanne looked up at the man’s humorless expression. She cut through the tension with her sarcasm so precisely that he looked startled.

His eyes flickered for an instant. “Roll each finger on the ink pad from left to right. Then on the card. Can you manage? Or would you like me to …”

“I think she’ll manage just fine. Detective, this is trying enough for Ms. Monet without your condescension,” Al spoke up.

She did as she was told, biting her tongue rather than saying what she wanted. It looked like Al couldn’t stand it any other way

“Now the palm print.” Detective Turner took her hand and pressed it in the ink and then on the card. “Perfect,” he said then escorted her away from the table to a sink to wash up. She didn’t know what to make of his attitude. It seemed as if he might actually think her guilty when all along she could have sworn he believed her to be innocent.

“Now comes the fun part,” the detective said.

“Wait just a minute. I don’t like that. Don’t you have a female …” Al began.

“What are you talking about?” An edge of alarm sounded seeped through the walls of her enforced stoicism.

“We frisk you, Ms. Monet. Step right over here please. Take that belt off.”

She laughed. She glanced at Al’s grim expression as the detective felt her over, and not very gently at that. “Find anything else you want, Detective?” She couldn’t resist the spit of sarcasm in Turner’s direction. Al’s face paled.

Detective Turner chuckled. “Now, now, Ms. Monet. We’re placing you under arrest, not going on a date.” He straightened and looked at her. “All done here. This is where you get locked in a cell, Ms. Monet. Come with me.” Detective Turner had ice in his veins, she decided. She shivered as he led her through a steel door and down a hall to a jail cell.

It looked like jail cells looked on TV, but not the homey Andy Taylor of Mayberry kind. It was dirty and small, but thank God there was no one else in it. The detective swung the iron bar door open and motioned gallantly for her to step in. She gave him a look aimed to kill, raised her chin, and forced herself to step inside. Those were the toughest steps she’d ever taken. Life was getting very tough.

“You can stay a minute if you like, Mr. Dover,” the detective said and left. Roxanne could picture him wiping his hands. This case was not going to make his career in spite of whatever Penelope promised him, Roxanne insisted to herself. Because she would be proven innocent.

“Listen, Roxy, I have to go and prepare for the bail hearing, which shouldn’t be too long. I’ll be back. Hang tight. We might get lucky since you have a good background and no record.”

“Sure. I’m not going anywhere.” This time she didn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t. She sat on the dirty mattress that covered the metal bed frame and looked straight ahead at the graffiti-covered wall opposite her.

Al drove straight for his office. He knew what he had to do. He knew who to call. Unfortunately, Barry Dennis had his hands full of problems at the moment. Well, this was going to have to be one more for him. Roxanne’s bail was just as important as Lindy’s surgery. At least it was to Al. He called Barry and left a message to call back, then he called Laura and left a message telling her that Roxanne was in jail.

He rushed past his receptionist and slammed the door behind him. He wasted no time pulling up the documents he needed on his computer. After an unexpectedly short wait, Al’s cell phone rang and he saw it was Barry calling.

“What’s up? Make it short, I’m busy,” Barry said. The man had no sensibilities at all. What the hell she saw in Barry Dennis would forever baffle him.

“Roxanne’s been arrested. She’ll be arraigned later for murder in the first degree. Bail will be high. She’s sitting in a jail cell right now. That’s what’s up.” Al cursed himself for not being more professional. But Barry needed jarring. There was a long pause.

“And I suppose you want some money?” Barry’s voice was tight.

“Yes.”

There was another pause. This time Al could hear Barry breathing as if he were attempting to exert control of himself.

“Jesus Christ, Al. You weren’t supposed to let this happen. God damn.” The tightness uncoiled and Barry sounded more upset than Al would have predicted. He supposed it was the combination of things. His daughter was on the operating table and his ex-lover was sitting in jail. The man was not having a great day. Al cringed. It was enough to distress even Mr. Cool himself.

“We need money. Preferably today so she doesn’t have to spend the night in jail. Can I use your name to arrange it with the bail bondsman? I’ll let you know how much when I find out.” He paused. “Look, I know Lindy’s in surgery, but she’s in good hands. I can’t help the timing on this. Roxanne sure could use your help …”

“Save the sales pitch, Al. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. I’ll sign whatever you want. But don’t tell her it was me that made her bail.” He clicked off. Al stood with the phone still at his ear looking out his office window.

He didn’t want Barry’s money either. Al was convinced that Barry was not good for Roxanne. In spite of her pretense, she was too softhearted and in spite of her faults, she was too good for the selfish bastard. He wasn’t thrilled to find that Barry cared for her. He’d known all along it could happen, but it was easy to pretend when they were playing games. Now he had it shoved in his face, plain as day. No more pretending. For anyone.

It seemed like the blink of an eye. It seemed like forever. Al returned.

He stood and waited while the officer unlocked her cell. “Time for arraignment. You sure you want to plead not guilty?”

It was a good thing he was smiling when he said it. That was one thing she was not open to discussion about and she didn’t bother responding. They walked through the halls and into a small courtroom. They appeared before the district court judge, who looked like a typical middle-aged man to Roxanne. She found his unreadable expression reassuring under the circumstances. The assistant district attorney presented the formal charges—murder in the first degree. Al had explained that she would be charged with first-degree murder because the Commonwealth was hoping she would plea bargain.

“How do you plead, Ms. Monet?” the judge asked her.

“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Al answered.

She felt unnerved. The ADA did not look surprised and nodded to Al as if he expected to be negotiating any minute.

“Bail is set at $100,000. A probable cause hearing will be held a week from Monday in this court.” The judge pounded the gavel and they left. She felt cold. She felt as helpless as a pauper.

“Where did you get that cashier’s check, Alan Dover?” Roxanne didn’t care if she seemed ungrateful as they walked down the front steps of the police station to Al’s waiting car.

“That’s the last thing you need to be worried about. Unless you plan to leave town?”

She stopped. “You got the money from Barry didn’t you?”

“That wouldn’t be Barry Dennis would it?” The voice came from behind them and Roxanne whipped around. She could have bit her tongue off when she saw the reporter followed by several others with cameras.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “Let’s get out of here.” She hurried the last steps to the car.

“What about it, Ms. Monet? Who bailed you out? Mr. Dover, does the innocent plea mean you’re hoping for a plea bargain? How do you think your chances are of getting Ms. Monet off scot-free?”

Al got in the driver side a second after she slammed the other door. “No comment,” he said through the window and drove off. “There were only five of them that time. At least Brent Turner kept his word about that. He staved off the press pretty well, considering. But now they’re onto the story and we’d better prepare ourselves for the media blitz.”

“What are you talking about, Al? That doesn’t make any sense. I should think Turner would want all the publicity he could get. You said it yourself, this case could make his career.”

“True. But it’s the ADA who wants the publicity. I think Turner is interested in doing only what’s right. He was under a lot of pressure to arrest you. I don’t think he really believes you killed Don. At least he seemed to lean toward the suicide theory and admitted that was his first impression the night they discovered the body.”

“Aren’t we lucky. We found the last untainted cop in Massachusetts to be on our side. Not even moved by career ambition?” Roxanne was impressed. Al gave a half-smile.

Now Brent Turner’s behavior made sense to her in a way. He had pretended it didn’t matter to either of them that he locked her in that cell.

“At least I’m out of jail. Now all we have to do is make sure I don’t have to go back in.” She turned to Al and watched him drive. He was concentrating on something. Plotting. Roxanne felt reassured and sighed.

“Call ahead when we get close and have Bonnie open the garage door to let us in. There’ll be media camped out there and we don’t want to bother with them,” he said.

She called Bonnie and they pulled into the waiting garage through a mob of men, women and cameras all shouting at the car. They had to be persuaded with a few blasts of the horn to let them pass into her own driveway. Al was on the phone before he got out of the car, calling his office to arrange for a forensics expert to get on the case.

“Good news,” he said as they entered her kitchen. “I arranged for some people to come out to the house to run tests on the dynamics of the fall off the deck. The autopsy report determined that the fatal impact to the skull was most likely caused by a greater impact than a standing fall. Don probably fell or jumped from the deck.”