Authors: Janice Cantore
“It wasn’t a question, Edwards. The woman is grandstanding and it looks bad. Set up a visitation.” The phone clicked.
Hung up on twice in a row. This day was going from bad to worse. Carly called the security officer and asked him to try to arrange for visiting as quickly as possible. The elevator doors opened, and off stepped Dora Akins. Surprised recognition flickered in her eyes. Carly nodded hello, a little chastened. The poor woman probably hadn’t thought her son’s jailer would be her best friend’s daughter.
“Hello, Carly. I’m here to talk to my son.”
“It’ll be a few minutes. The security officer is setting up a visitation area.”
An awkward silence followed. Dora took a deep breath and stepped away from the counter, looking around the reception area. Her back to Carly, she spoke again. “You know what they’re saying about my boy? They say he killed the mayor. They say he was high on drugs and he killed her for her car.” She turned and faced Carly, one tear sliding down her right cheek. “Did Londy tell you he did that?”
Carly was spared a response when the security officer poked his head out from the detention area and said everything was ready. Dora wiped her cheek, and Carly buzzed her in through the security door. They followed the officer back to the makeshift visitation area.
The original jail contained several visiting cubicles, or booths. The booths were converted to storage when the jail moved out. The security officer shoved some boxes out of one booth so Londy and Dora would have places to sit.
They were separated by a thick plastic partition yellowed with age. Doors to the booths had long since been removed. The visit couldn’t be unsupervised because there was no enclosure. The security officer stood a discreet distance behind Londy, and Carly stood behind Dora. Her spot was in the hallway, about ten feet back, where she leaned against the wall and tried to be unobtrusive.
Carly watched as Dora and Londy held their hands up to the plastic separating them. She looked away when they both started crying. She heard Dora begin to pray, and when she finished, Londy began a vehement protestation of innocence. Carly couldn’t help but hear the conversation.
Dora is just like Mom,
she thought,
so sure God will sort everything out.
When the visit was over, Carly led Dora back out to the elevator and explained the next steps.
“He’ll be sent to Los Padrinos Juvenile Hall. Unless he’s certified to be tried as an adult, he’ll be charged in juvenile court separately from the nineteen-year-old he was arrested with.”
“Darryl Jackson,” Dora said. “There’s a worthless child. Londy never should have been near him.” Dora regained all of her composure. She stepped onto the elevator and fixed her gaze on Carly. “I have my faith, and that is a strong anchor. I will not stop praying. I believe all things happen for a reason. We may not see it right now, but Londy will be vindicated, and God will work all this out for the best.”
Carly said nothing, just watched Dora disappear as the elevator doors closed.
Definitely just like my mother,
she thought.
Always talking about God and prayer.
Carly shook her head. Bible-thumping hadn’t kept Londy out of trouble. Dora said things happen for a reason. What possible reason could there be for a brutal, senseless murder?
6
By 11 p.m. Londy was gone, on his way to juvenile hall, and save for the hum of the elevator, silence shrouded the fourth floor. Carly assaulted the quiet by drumming on the counter with a couple of pens, alone with her not-so-pretty thoughts. Self-pity again took center stage. Tormented by the failed interview, she second-guessed every question she’d asked the boy.
Should I have been tougher? Leaned harder? Threatened more?
Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Garrison will never release me now.
I thought I’d have a confession to bargain with, something—
anything
—to prove to Garrison I’m ready to go back to the field. I have nothing. I didn’t even get any helpful evidence from Londy.
It seemed to Carly that her instincts had betrayed her. An hour before the interview, she’d been ready to hang the kid. Now, explanations that might exonerate him sprang up in her mind like air-popped popcorn.
She tossed the pens across the counter, stood up, and stretched.
“I guess I’m stuck here awhile longer.” Her voice sounded as hollow as she felt in the quiet. She paced the small reception area to calm herself and fought the urge to chew on a thumbnail. San Quentin South was a well-deserved nickname; tonight the place was her jail cell. When the elevator doors opened, she stopped pacing and braced for another unpleasant surprise.
“Hey, partner!” Joe, just starting his graveyard shift, stepped off the elevator grinning, easing Carly’s angst and lifting her mood. “I heard you talked to a big fish today.”
“Joe, you are a welcome sight,” she said, happy to have something to smile about. “Yeah, I had a chance, but I’m afraid I didn’t get anything helpful. You want me to buzz you in?”
“No, I’ve got to get back downstairs. We had a warrant pickup right after the squad meeting. My partner tonight is a new guy, and he’s booking our prisoner. I thought I’d pop up and say hi. And I brought you a present.” From behind his back he brought out a drink container and set it on the counter. “To the victor, a chocolate milk shake. I didn’t get to buy you lunch, but I didn’t forget the shake.”
“You just made my night.” Carly’s smile stretched to a grin. She took the shake and enjoyed a deep pull on the straw. The cold, creamy chocolate sliding down her throat soothed a lot of raw feelings. “This is great. I can’t thank you enough.”
“No thanks necessary; you earned it. Now, tell me about the kid.” He leaned over the reception counter to listen as Carly filled him in on the lofty goal she had set for the interview and how she’d crashed and burned.
“I can’t help it,” she admitted as she concluded. “I believe the kid. Maybe the adult killed the mayor and never let the kid in on it.”
“Drake and Harris will get to the bottom of it; don’t worry. And I hate to say it, but I still don’t think you’ll get sprung any sooner than when the litigation is over, no matter what you do. Or how many criminals you vanquish. So you didn’t mess anything up.”
“Okay, okay. Thanks again. You’re my best cheerleader. By the way, I forgot to ask you about Christy this morning. How is she?”
“She’s fat!” He held his hands out in front of his stomach for effect. Christy was Joe’s very-pregnant wife. “The baby is due next week, and as soon as she goes into labor, I’m off for a month. Right now I better get downstairs and make sure the rookie isn’t booking himself.” He punched the elevator call button.
“Tell Christy I said hello.”
“Will do.” The elevator doors opened and Joe paused. He cast a questioning glance at Carly as Nick stepped off the elevator. “Uh, hello, Nick.”
“Hello.” Nick nodded first to Joe and then to Carly.
Seeing her ex up close and personal was the cap on an altogether horrible day. Carly’s heart rate spiked and strength fled from her legs as swiftly as a teenage gangbanger running from a stolen car. She sank into a chair, Nick’s presence a heavy weight on her soul. There was no way to ignore him, no way to avoid a confrontation she didn’t want to have. She nodded good-bye to Joe.
“Call me if you need anything,” Joe said as he disappeared into the elevator, leaving Carly alone with her ex-husband, a man she hadn’t directly spoken to in a year. Speech escaped her and blood pounded in her temples.
Nick Anderson was teasingly referred to as the face of Las Playas PD, “The Face” for short. Tall with light-brown hair, piercing blue eyes, a smile with just the right amount of dimples, and the lean, muscular build of a triathlete, a few years ago he’d been chosen to pose for some department recruiting posters. Those posters garnered Nick his share of catcalls and ribbing. Carly had even joined in, in happier times, calling him her
GQ
hubby.
Now, still tall and official in his uniform, Nick looked older—there was more gray than brown around his temples—and tired. Maybe cheating on a spouse aged a person.
A few silent seconds passed, seemingly hours, but finally Carly found her vocal cords. After taking a fortifying drag on the shake, she addressed her ex. “Hello, Nick. What can I do for you?” She barely kept her teeth from clenching.
For his part, Nick sighed and smiled. “You know, I’m not an enemy. I’ve never been violent or unreasonable. Why have you avoided me for so long?” He leaned his elbows on the counter and studied Carly. His blue eyes were warm and the familiar scent of his cologne faint. Too many memories crowded around him. The room felt as though it were shrinking, becoming no bigger than a closet.
She pushed with her feet and rolled her chair backward. “I haven’t had anything to say to you, and I certainly don’t want to do this here and now. If that’s all you came up for, then you can leave; you wasted your time.”
“Is this it? Is this all we’ll ever have from now on?” His eyes pleaded and Carly fumed.
“Look, you made your choice! You picked that waitress. Whatever you want from me, I don’t have to give. If that’s all, I’m going to my office.” A lump in her throat choked her voice and she struggled for control. Would it ever stop hurting? She stood and turned to leave.
“No, wait. Please, I do have something else for you.”
Did his voice quiver? Carly stopped at her office door and swallowed the huge, painful lump with the last bit of her shake as he continued.
“Honest, I came to give you some follow-up information about that kid they arrested. I didn’t come up here to upset you; sorry if that’s what’s happened.” Nick cleared his throat, pulled a notebook out of his pocket, and flipped through the pages. Carly faced him but stayed where she was, tossing the empty milk shake cup in the trash and crossing her arms tight, as if they could keep her emotions in check.
“I ran into a hooker at the crime scene. Her name is Cinnamon. You might remember her; I think you arrested her once or twice. Anyway, she works California Avenue, and she says she saw the mayor’s car two nights ago with only one person in it: Darryl Jackson.”
He looked up. Carly met his eyes and concentrated on his words.
Nick is just another cop now.
With measured tones she responded, forcing the hurt to take a backseat to the investigation. “Does she know Jackson?”
“Not personally. At least that’s what she said. She saw us arrest him and told me that two nights ago he was driving up and down California Avenue looking for action. He stopped and talked to her, showed her the car, and tried to get her to take a ride with him. There was no one with him, and she said he scared her; he was loaded on something. Anyway, she told him her policy is not to get into anyone’s car. I really didn’t get to do an in-depth interview. You saw all the press. She was in the wind by the time homicide arrived. Someone needs to go back out and reinterview her.” Nick held out a field interview card with Cinnamon’s information, and Carly stepped forward to take it. This information commanded her full attention.
“If what she’s saying is true, depending on when the coroner places time of death, it could help clear Londy.” Carly studied the card and tried to remember the prostitute Cinnamon while trying to forget the anger she felt toward Nick.
“And if it means anything—” Nick shrugged and his leather gear squeaked—“I was there when they showed the kid what was in the trunk. He was too surprised, his denial too genuine. I don’t think he killed her.”
“What about the adult?”
“He paled about five shades and refused to look; we almost had to use force. I filed a follow-up with homicide. I thought you’d be interested.”
Silence again settled over the room. Carly fought the urge to be dismissive. Whatever other problems colored their relationship now, she couldn’t deny Nick was a good cop. Her mother had told her more than once that she’d have to be able to work with Nick. The department wasn’t big enough for her to avoid him forever. And since his information could favor Londy, maybe this was as good a time as any to work with him.
Consider the source and rise above.
“Well, thanks. I don’t think the kid is guilty either. This might help.” The words fell grudgingly from her lips. She fanned the palm of her hand with the FI card, hoping Nick would realize he’d delivered his message and could go.
“Good. And happy birthday.” He smiled but didn’t turn and leave as Carly wanted. “I have to ask, uh, about us. I mean, I can’t believe that after eight years of marriage, we have to be strangers.”
“Nick, there is no us. I think you’re the one who needs to be reminded about how long we were married. I’m not the one who was sleeping around.”
With that, she left him standing at the desk, letting the door shut behind her, wishing it were as easy to shut out the ache in her heart.
7
Carly awoke cramped and stiff on the living room sofa, her eyes crusty with dried tears. She tried to sit up but was anchored by Maddie, her dog, lying on top of the blanket, between her legs and the back of the couch. A weatherman diagrammed the next storm on television.
“Hey, come on, girl. Time to get up.” She tugged on the blanket, and the shiny black dog jumped down to the floor. After a shake and a stretch, Maddie regarded Carly and wagged her tail.
“If I had a tail, I sure wouldn’t be wagging it,” Carly said to the dog, whose response was to wag harder. She sat up, stretched, and rubbed her eyes. “Ow. I feel like I spent too much time at the gym. Everything hurts.”
Sleeping on the couch was as much a culprit for her soreness as anything else. Only heart turmoil caused Carly to forgo her comfortable bed in favor of the couch. She’d spent the first six months she and Nick were apart there. It was a place the pain could be masked. When she was wrapped in a blanket with the dog, serenaded by continuous noise and light from the TV, the loneliness and feelings of rejection were kept at bay.
The thought that Nick could still affect her so completely elicited a groan. Her dreams were fraught with images of her blue-eyed ex-husband.
But he won’t consume my day.
“Nothing some strong coffee and a swim won’t fix,” she declared as she opened the patio door for the dog. Maddie quickly jogged out to do her business. When she returned, Carly shut the door and headed for the kitchen, talking to the dog along the way.
“I know you don’t understand me, baby, but men are jerks. They break your heart, stomp on it over and over, and then expect you to forget it like that.” She snapped her fingers.
The dog’s tail thumped on the floor. Carly continued complaining about Nick while she made coffee. Her habit of late was to talk to the dog as if Maddie were a person.
“I can’t pretend nothing happened. And forgive and forget? I don’t think so.”
A stack of mail caught her eye while she waited for the coffee. On top was a card addressed in her mother’s familiar handwriting. She opened the envelope, read the birthday card, and knew she couldn’t put off calling Mom much longer but decided to wait until she’d had at least one cup of coffee. Physically, Kay lived only two blocks away, but emotionally, Carly felt the distance between them was more like two hundred miles. Lately, every time she spoke to her mother, they argued.
“Well, sweet face, do I start the fights with Mom or does she?” Carly looked down at Maddie as she readied the dog’s bowl with food. “I mean, I know she doesn’t like me being a cop, and divorced on top of that, but can’t she understand I hate all of her God talk?”
Carly set the bowl in front of the hungry dog. “I sure wish you could talk; you’re such a good listener. All I have to do is feed you.” She patted the dog and then went back to watch the coffee finish.
Mom and I have to find some common ground,
she thought.
All the time she spends at church wouldn’t bother me so much if she just stopped trying to drag me there.
She yawned and shook her head. It was too easy to get angry with Mom and say things she’d regret. The coffeemaker beeped and Carly poured a cup, savoring a sip like an alcoholic savors booze. That first hot, strong, eye-opening sip made her feel better.
Holding her mug in two hands, she shuffled back into the living room. Maddie, who’d already made her breakfast disappear, trotted close on her heels. At the window Carly twisted the blinds open enough to peek out at the ocean and the pier. A cloudy, windy day greeted her. Trees bent, and whitecaps crowned the water. Weather nixed her swim today.
Looking out at her neighborhood brought Teresa Burke to mind. Old Towne Las Playas, where Carly lived, was the only section of the city to rebel against Mayor Burke’s revitalization plans. The community consisted of two miles of beach and three blocks of tourist-type shops, coffeehouses, and a mishmash of exclusive million-dollar beachfront homes, moderate apartment buildings, and cozy original tract homes. Teresa had plans for the place, but a groundswell of protest stopped her cold. The residents of Old Towne didn’t take kindly to change.
The last time Carly had seen the mayor alive was at a rally to save Old Towne. Teresa made a public appearance at the pier, a move designed to stop the protests and put Old Towne at ease.
She was a smart woman. The fervent support to keep Old Towne
old
convinced the mayor to retract her plans. The nostalgic and eclectic design would stay. She’d won a lot of votes that day.
Lot of good it does her now.
Carly shook her head and sipped her coffee.
Carly settled into her favorite recliner to relax, shoving thoughts of Nick and her mother to the back of her mind, and pondered the evidence against Londy.
Was my first instinct of guilt correct, or is the kid innocent?
Other than his arrest driving the mayor’s car, there was no hard link connecting him to the mayor so far. No murder weapon was discovered in the car and no clear cause of death—or motive, for that matter—was known yet. She knew the coroner’s exam was pivotal. Time and cause of death were tangibles that could pull Londy out from under the light of suspicion.
Or fix it more firmly on him. If he were clearly with Darryl when Teresa died, there wouldn’t be much of a defense. But even that might not place guilt, unless they knew for certain where Burke had been killed. The more she considered everything, the more doubt about Londy’s guilt grew. Carly held her coffee mug close to her cheek, enjoying the warmth.
The coroner’s report won’t come soon enough to suit me.
As she relaxed in the recliner with Maddie at her feet, coffee fortification eased some of the tension in her neck and shoulders. The sound of the wind outside was, in an odd way, calming.
But the calm was short-lived when her roommate’s bedroom door opened. Andrea always made dramatic entrances.
Andrea was Carly’s best friend. They’d been inseparable since high school, but they weren’t without their differences. Andi, ever the morning person, would want the full story of the mayor’s murder told in vivid detail. Carly sighed; reliving yesterday’s defeat was unavoidable.
“Good morning, good morning!” Andi blazed into the room wearing a bathrobe and pajamas that looked just ironed instead of just slept in. Every shiny blonde hair was in place, and Carly would never know or understand how she did it. Her own hair still needed to be brushed, and her pajamas of choice were a comfortable pair of sweats and a big T-shirt.
“Morning,” Carly mumbled, refusing to be overly cheered by her upbeat roommate.
Andrea proceeded to make the rounds in the room, opening every blind completely so light flooded the small apartment living room. She then stopped in the kitchen for a cup of coffee before flopping down on the couch. With a flourish she put her feet up on the coffee table, crossing her tanning-booth-bronzed ankles. She flung out her free hand as she said, “So what’s up with the mayor? Can we hang the two who did it?”
Carly rolled her eyes, shifting in the recliner. “It’s not really that dramatic,” she answered and then filled Andrea in on the details.
“If he’s screaming for a lawyer, he’s probably guilty,” Andi decided about Darryl Jackson. She waved her arm in the air flamboyantly. “But you know, I would have thought her husband did it.”
“What makes you say that? They always looked happy to me.” Carly wondered if people thought that about her and Nick.
“I know, I know. It was all a carefully constructed facade. Teresa was a wonderful person, but her husband was a louse. Rumor was, she was having an affair as payback, and you’ll never guess with whom.” Andrea lived to gossip. She worked as a nurse, currently assigned to the emergency room of Las Playas Memorial Hospital, and knew the intimate details of more people’s lives than Carly could say she even knew altogether.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Who was she sleeping with?”
“Well, my source saw the good mayor with a very-married police officer in an intimate clinch not two weeks ago.” She paused and sipped her coffee, classic Andrea, dragging out the story.
“Who?”
“Jeff Hanks.”
“No way!” Carly spilled coffee on her hand and stood, holding the dripping cup away from the recliner and over some magazines on the coffee table. Shock shuddered through her. “Who’s your source?”
Jeff was Nick’s best friend, and he’d been the best man at their wedding. Before she and Nick divorced, Jeff and his wife, Elaine, were regular dinner companions and vacation company. Jeff seemed completely devoted to his wife and three kids.
“I can’t believe Jeff would do that to his family!” She grabbed a Kleenex to wipe her hand and cup.
“Sorry. I can’t believe you still trust any of them after what Nick did to you. According to my source, Jeff and the mayor hit it off after she presented him with that award from the California Narcotics Officers’ Association a few months ago.” Andrea punctuated her last point with her index finger. “There is no such thing as a trustworthy man. If you face that, then you can deal with them.”
“Just because they hit it off doesn’t mean they were having an affair.”
I don’t want to believe Jeff strayed.
She set her coffee down and settled back into the recliner, remembering all too well how it felt when she found out about Nick’s affair. It was as if a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball had hit her in the stomach. She couldn’t imagine Elaine and her three kids going through the same.
“Who exactly was your source?” she demanded, hoping the source would be unreliable and therefore dismissible.
“Jeff’s partner in narcotics. If your partner isn’t in the know, what kind of partner is he?” Andrea’s smile was smug.
Carly closed her eyes as her heart sank. For the first time she could remember, coffee was turning her stomach. It must be true. She wasn’t naive enough to think it was just a misunderstanding.
What is it with men?
She opened her eyes and looked down at the black fur ball who sat quietly next to the recliner, unconcerned with the discussion going on above her head. “Maddie, my darling, we are better off just you and I. We don’t need any nasty men in our lives,” Carly cooed and scratched the dog’s head. Maddie just wagged her tail.
“You know you sound 5150 when you talk to the dog that way, like she really understands.” Andrea used a radio code that to cops meant
crazy
. “And as for nasty men, it just depends on how you use them.” As if to prove her point, a half-dressed man walked out of her room and appeared at her shoulder. He still had bed hair.
“Morning, Detective Edwards.”
“Morning.” Carly choked on her coffee. He was a cop, but his name escaped her.
“Busy night last night with the puke that killed the mayor?” he asked as he pulled a button-down shirt on. Andrea shoved her coffee cup at him. He took a sip, handed it back, and continued dressing.
“Not too bad. I sent the kid right to the Hall. The rest of the night was boring as usual.”
“I can’t believe they make you stay up there. You’re a good cop. I was with you on that victor up north last year; that was a great obs!” He rambled on in typical new-guy, badge-heavy cop lingo. Carly shot Andrea a where-did-you-find-this-guy? look and continued to nod and smile. Finally he checked his watch. “Hey! I’m going to be late! See you two.” He waved to Carly, kissed Andrea on the head, and was gone.
“Where did that come from?” Carly raised her eyebrows.
“Cute, huh?”
“I guess, if that’s the way you like them.” She drew her knees to her chest in the recliner. Andrea seemed to have a new man every week. But then she was model beautiful—blonde hair, green eyes, naturally thin, and so good at small talk and making people feel comfortable. Sometimes Carly envied her roommate’s feminine grace.
“Yep, uncomplicated, unattached, and uninhibited!” She stretched. “It’s easy to meet these guys. They are so in awe of my celebrity roommate.”
“You could at least give me fair warning. I’m not exactly dressed for company.” Carly looked down at her worn-out sweats.
“Sorry. By the way, he has a friend. Are you interested?”
“Nope. No thanks. Not right now.” She added an exaggerated shake of her head.
Andrea leaned forward in front of Carly. “It’s been a year; you can’t keep pining over that pig.” She picked up the blanket from the couch and held it in front of Carly as if it were evidence in a crime.
“I’m not pining. I’m just not interested in dating right now.” She snatched the blanket away.
“Who said anything about dating? Just have a fling! Go to a nice restaurant, maybe to a nightclub, and enjoy a good-looking man with no strings.”
“Andi, I appreciate the thought, but I’m just not ready.”
Andrea gave a harrumph and flounced back to her room. Carly didn’t think she could ever be as free with the opposite sex as her roommate was, even if she wasn’t still smarting from her divorce.
I’m a failure, Andi. You’d never understand, but Nick was my first and only love, the first guy who held my interest more than a good swim race. Kind and strong, dedicated to the badge, he always seemed larger than life. Nick captured my heart and imagination. There just isn’t enough left of my heart to trust with anyone else.