Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead (7 page)

“Please,” Madison begged.

“What kind of cop would I be if I shrugged and decided I could
let this guy off because, hey, I don’t want to get my girlfriend’s dad in
trouble?” His eyes bored into hers. “Tell me that.”

Girlfriend? Was that how he thought of her already?
Inexplicably, her heart warmed. Even so, she couldn’t quit fighting.

“Can’t we, I don’t know, investigate quietly instead? I could
ask Dad about the murder, even tell him I knew somebody had seen him at the gym
that night. Then, if he has a good explanation, nobody would have to know.”
While she meant to sound reasonable, she knew she was coming off as pathetic.
Her voice was even shaking, and she despised herself for it.

“This isn’t only about me being a cop, Madison.” Troy sighed,
expression troubled. “Dad wrote down every detail and put it in that damn time
capsule because he knew it all had to come to light. He isn’t here to do what
should be done, but I am. It feels like something he handed to me. A trust.”

“But he never did report what he saw to the police,” she said
quickly. “Are you so sure he wouldn’t have burned that piece of paper the minute
he got it back?”

His eyes burned with pain. “I hope to hell he wouldn’t have
done that.”

Madison felt cruel for having said what she did. Troy was
already living with the knowledge that his father had fallen short when faced
with a tough decision. Of course it would have occurred to him that Joe Troyer
might have destroyed this last evidence of his shame.

They sat in silence, Troy seemingly staring blindly at the
brick fireplace. She doubted he saw the framed photos on the mantel; several of
them included her father. She squeezed her hands together so hard they hurt, and
gave Troy the time and space to think.

“All right,” he said suddenly, harshly. “We’ll play it your
way.” He turned that stare, now fierce, on her. “But you do know I could lose my
job over this. If I get caught suppressing evidence, it could be the end of my
career.”

The hope that had momentarily swelled within her collapsed like
a balloon pricked by a pin.
Oh, dear God.
Her throat
closed and she struggled to speak. “No,” she finally said. “No, I didn’t think.
I was wrong to ask,” she said with difficulty. “It wasn’t fair. I don’t want you
to make that kind of sacrifice.”

Some of the tension visibly left Troy’s body. One side of his
mouth crooked up. “I’ve been known to break the rules before.”

“But not for the sake of a man you don’t even know.”

“Actually, sometimes it was.” The smile became more genuine.
“In this case, I’m not willing to take the chance for your father’s sake. I’m
doing it for you.”

Her breath rushed out. “Oh, Troy.” Her eyes burned, but she
refused to let tears fall. She never cried. Tears had disgusted Dad.

“Don’t look like that,” he said gently. His big hand covered
her still-knotted fists. “I’ve got a stake, too, remember. If we can get your
father off the hook, mine will be, too. Then
I
can
burn that damn thing.”

She swallowed and nodded, blinking several times. “Did you show
it to your mother?” she asked, her voice a little scratchy.

“No.” Troy stared at the sheet of paper, lying askew on her
coffee table, with a repulsion that almost equaled hers. “She hasn’t been
herself since Dad died. I want to believe she’d ask me to do the right thing,
but I don’t know.”

That made Madison’s throat close up again. She had to struggle
to get words out. “So instead
I
pleaded with you to
pretend you hadn’t seen it, to defy the oath you took as a police officer.”

Troy’s smile crinkled the skin beside his eyes. “I don’t
remember you asking anything like that. You just want me to sneak around and
investigate on the sly.”

“That’s bad enough,” she mumbled.

“No. We’ll still get at the truth, Madison, if you’ll help
me.”

She squared her shoulders. “If you mean it... Of course I’ll
help.”

“Good.” Abruptly, he laughed. “You look like you’re braving
yourself to walk over hot coals.”

Madison’s mouth curved in irresistible response. “Did you read
about that inspirational speaker who gets participants in his workshops worked
up enough to do exactly that?”

“After which they all make a quick trip to the local E.R.?”
Troy grinned. “Yeah, I read about it.”

She made a face at him. “Okay, I do feel a little nervous. For
one thing, I’ve never investigated anything.”

“Sure you have. What’s an investigation but research? You’ve
dug into records before, maybe taped some interviews, put together what you
learned.”

“Well...of course. But when I interviewed people, I didn’t have
reason to think one of them was a killer!” More softly, she added, “I wasn’t
investigating my own father.”

“Let’s start by getting something straight.” Now he sounded
stern. “
I’ll
be doing the investigating here. You’ll
be my silent partner. I’m counting on you to provide the resources.”

Her eyes widened. “But you won’t be able to take anything you
learn to court, will you? Not when what you know was learned illegally.”

He was sprawled comfortably on her sofa now, one arm lying
along the back behind her. The relaxed pose didn’t make her any less aware of
his sheer size. “That’s not the way we’ll be doing it. I’m going to ask for
permission to reopen the case.” When she stiffened, he lifted a hand. “I’ll
claim I heard enough talk this weekend to stir my curiosity. That you’re
intrigued and want to help. What I won’t do yet is show anyone what my father
wrote. I’ll get a warrant and, with a little luck, the college will decide not
to fight it in return for our promise to do this as quietly as possible. You’ll
be politely ordered to cooperate. Then, if we discover nothing—” He shrugged.
“No harm, no foul. If we do get somewhere, the arrest will be clean. Got
that?”

By the end of his speech, the face she saw was all cop and she
realized that the relaxed pose wasn’t quite what it appeared to be.
This isn’t fun and games,
he was saying.

But she had no real choice, did she? If she said no, he
would
take his father’s confession to the Frenchman
Lake Police chief, just as he’d said he would. And the investigation would be
opened anyway, with a greater chance her father would be immediately targeted
and that word would somehow get out. Her only hope of protecting his reputation
was to help.

A choice? Sure. Right. She could either help voluntarily...or
do it involuntarily, after that polite order had been issued.

“I understand,” she said steadily. “No one should get away with
murder.” She had to say this. “Not even my father.”

“Good.” Troy’s smile was warm with approval. Madison felt it as
palpably as the strong sunlight coming through the window. He squeezed her
shoulder and she was bothered by how much she wanted to turn and nestle against
that broad chest, even at a moment like this.

“So...where do we start?” she asked to distract herself.

“I talk to my lieutenant tomorrow morning. We hope no big crime
happens to suck up my time so I can’t justify opening a cold case.”

Nothing
big
. She stared at him,
realizing he meant a new murder. Or a rape, or who knew what. Something
unimaginably awful. The kind of thing, in fact, she’d convinced herself didn’t
happen in Frenchman Lake. By burying her head in the sand, she had felt safe and
even smug in her belief that this small college town was perfect.

Suddenly, Madison didn’t like herself very much.

“No,” she said. “I’ll hope nothing big happens.”

Troy’s eyes searched hers, and she had the sense he was looking
deep inside her. The thought, on top of her self-reflection, made her cringe.
She was suddenly struck by how much she’d learned about herself since she read
her father’s short story last night.
No deep
revelations,
she’d told herself, but she now knew she’d been wrong.
The insight she’d gained hadn’t been so much into her father’s behavior as into
her own.

Too bad that she had to be dismayed by most of what she’d
discovered about herself.

“Hey.” Troy stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Where’d you
go?”

She shook her head. “Just thinking.”

“How would you feel about some lunch? Me, the thinking I’m
doing is about pizza.”

Madison seized on the sheer normalcy of it. “Pizza sounds
really good,” she agreed. “Let me put on shoes.”

He smiled. “I sort of like your bare toes, but okay.”

“You’ll still see my bare toes,” she assured him. “If not for
work, I’d wear flip-flops most of the time.”

“Even in the snow?”

“I’ve been known to,” she admitted.

She loved his laugh, deep and slow. “Go find a pair,” he said.
“I’m starving.”

* * *

W
HEN
HE
ANNOUNCED
he wanted to
reopen the Mitchell King homicide, Troy’s lieutenant didn’t say a word for a
long time. Without ever taking his eyes off Troy’s face, he reached for a
peppermint from the bowl on his desk, tore off the wrapping and popped it into
his mouth. Instead of sucking on it, he bit down on the hard candy with his
molars.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Troy kept his
composure, only waiting instead of picturing his bones being crunched
instead.

“Why?” Davidson finally asked. But before Troy could so much as
get his mouth open, he shook his head. “No, this one is going to have to get
approval from the top, anyway. You can tell the chief and me at the same time.”
He reached for the phone.

Ten minutes later, Troy found himself in the police chief’s
office for only the third or fourth time since he’d arrived on the job. He’d
expected this, and fortunately he liked Chief Jim Helmer. The guy was young for
the job—maybe early forties. He’d risen in the ranks of Pierce County Sheriff’s
Department on the west side of the state, which gave them a lot in common.
Pierce County was a mix of rural, including some pretty damn poor areas, and
urban that hung on the fringes of cities like Tacoma. With the joint Fort
Lewis–McChord military base added to the mix, it was a tough county to police.
Helmer was a cop, not a bureaucrat, and therefore had the respect of everyone in
the department. Troy had never heard the story of how Helmer had ended up in a
small town on this side of the state. It wasn’t as if they were drinking
buddies.

“Did you learn something new?” Helmer asked once Troy and the
lieutenant were settled in chairs.

Troy generally tried not to lie and hated doing it now. He had
to picture Madison’s pleading eyes before he could unclench his jaw and get on
with it.

“Only hints,” he said. Lie number one. “I’ve been interested
since I moved back to Frenchman Lake.” Truth. “My father knew King and sometimes
talked about his murder.” Half lie. “I pulled out the book and skimmed it early
on in my time here, but nothing jumped out to justify stirring the pot.”

Both men nodded.

“It was this weekend reunion that got me thinking. There was a
lot of talk, as you’d expect. I heard some suggestion that students—never named
to the police—were seen in McKenna Center that night.” One, anyway.

“A lot of years have passed. These aren’t scared
twenty-year-olds anymore. They’re more likely to open up now.” He hesitated. “I
spent some time talking to the alumni affairs director, Madison Laclaire. Her
father was a senior at Wakefield that year, too. Apparently he wasn’t a real fan
of King’s, although she doesn’t know why. I got a few hints from other alumni
here this weekend that he wasn’t much liked by anybody.” Lie number three—or
four? He’d lost track, he realized, his jaws flexing.
Goddamn it.

Troy looked from one man to the other. “I’d like to interview
Ms. Laclaire’s father and everyone else who knew him well. I’d like to revisit
the question of who saw what. Ms. Laclaire has expressed her willingness to help
by digging out contact info, if she can get approval from the college
president.”

Helmer rubbed his jaw and scrutinized Troy with narrowed eyes.
Keeping his body and face as composed and relaxed as he could, Troy hoped like
hell he hadn’t given away his discomfiture.

The police chief’s gaze flicked to Lieutenant Davidson. Out of
the corner of his eye, Troy saw an abbreviated nod. An instant later, he was
under scrutiny again.

“No question, you’re ideal for this investigation,” Helmer said
thoughtfully. “Considering these people knew your father, they might be more
likely to open up to you.”

“I’d like to think so.” Troy called it the “snob reflex,” that
automatic Wakefield assumption that townies weren’t as smart as the elite
members of the college community. Growing up, Troy had gotten many automatic
dismissals when a Wakefield student realized he was a local kid.

“When I was hired, I read that murder book cover to cover,
too,” the police chief said, surprising Troy. “Leaving a crime that ugly
unsolved sticks in my craw. I don’t know if it’s possible to get anywhere after
this many years—it’s not as if we have a DNA sample we can pull out like a
rabbit from a hat—but I can’t see what it hurts to try.” He nodded once,
decisively. “Let’s do it. Instead of going for a warrant, I’ll try for voluntary
cooperation from the college. They can’t like having this clouding their
reputation any better than we do.” A grim smile stretched his mouth. “I’d like
to exorcise Mitchell King’s ghost. I’m betting the president, Lars Berglund,
feels the same. I’ll make some calls,” he concluded.

Taking that as his dismissal, Troy thanked the chief and left
the office along with Lieutenant Davidson.

Heading back to his desk, Troy considered calling Madison, but
decided to wait. It would be interesting to hear about the uproar on her end
after Helmer’s calls. Itching to get started, he wondered how long it would take
before he had the final go-ahead.