Authors: Shirlee McCoy
Tags: #Love Inspired Suspense
NINE
A
mber paced from the narrow window in Patrick's office to his oak desk and then back again. She mentally counted her steps, trying for distraction, to kill time. Anything to keep from looking at her watch again.
From her last glance, only forty-five minutes had elapsed since Patrick left for the interrogation room. It seemed like hours.
Her attempt to sit calmly and wait for him to return abated in about ten seconds, just long enough for her mind to whip up images of Carl Shaw. The man who may be trying to kill her.
The man who may have assaulted and drugged her...
No.
She picked up her pace, refusing to relive that experience with Carl.
After years of anonymity, she wasn't sure if she was ready to learn the identity of her attacker.
Besides, what if it wasn't Carl?
On the fifteen-minute ride to the station, Patrick had stayed on the phone with the forensics lab. The four weapons found in Carl's truck were the newest pieces of information that could tie him to the crime.
The gleam in Patrick's eyes told her he was ready to break the case.
Was he confident or hopeful? She'd soon find out.
Muffled voices bled into the office from the other side of the closed door. One deep tone erupted from amid the cacophony and caught her attention.
She halted her repetitious march and turned as the door swung open. Captain Vance Peterson, carrying two cups, walked in, looking concerned. “Amber, how are you doing?”
“I'm okay.” She attempted a reassuring smile. “Any news about Carl?”
“He's agreed to answer questions. Actually, he requested to talk to Patrick, but only with his attorney present. We're waiting on him to arrive now.” He handed Amber a cup of coffee. “Patrick said you drank yours with only cream.”
“Yes, thank you.” She gently blew on the hot liquid. “So Patrick hasn't seen Carl yet?”
“Not yet. But it shouldn't be long.”
She curled her hands around the cup, absorbing the warmth. “Guilty or innocent, I suppose everyone wants an attorney to be present.”
“Actually we prefer to interrogate suspects before they ask for an attorney. But we'll take what we can get.” Vance lifted a brow. “Sorry about the wait. I know it's tough. Especially under the circumstances.”
“Circumstances?”
“Someone has been trying to kill you.”
“Yes. Of course.” She took a sip of coffee, willing her knees not to buckle.
“Why don't you sit down?” Vance suggested, pointing her to a chair. “You look a little pale.”
“I'm okay.” She spoke lightly and smiled, trying to downplay her anxiety. “I just want this culprit found. I'm getting a little tired of having a target on my back.”
“I can understand that. In the meantime, try to relax. I could probably scrounge up a newspaper if you'd like to read something.”
“No, but thanks.” Seeing her name slathered across the headlines wasn't exactly relaxing.
“Okay.” Vance drained his cup and tossed it in the trash can. “Just remember whether Carl Shaw is our man or not, Patrick is diligent. One way or another, he'll get this case solved.”
“I'm sure he will.”
The shrill ringtone on Vance's phone sounded. He held the cell to his ear, listened a second and then gave a brisk nod. “I'll be right there.
“Shaw's attorney is here,” he said, turning to leave.
Amber's heart kicked up as Vance walked out and shut the door behind him. Her thoughts returned to Carl Shaw. If he turned out to be her attacker, the thought of someday facing him in a courtroom was daunting.
As her legs turned to rubber again, Amber leaned on the edge of Patrick's desk. She took a couple cleansing breaths, and even as dread knotted in her stomach, she stomped out any speculation. Innocent until proved guilty, she reminded herself. And as of now, Carl Shaw was innocent.
* * *
Shaw's attorney, an overweight, balding man in his late fifties, pushed back in his chair and crossed his arms firmly over his chest the moment Patrick walked in the room. His stare met Patrick's. “Remember, Carl,” he told his client, “you're not on trial here. You have the right to remain silent.”
So the attorney was here to intimidate. Patrick smiled inside. No problem.
A few feet from the table, Patrick paused and zeroed his gaze on Carl, who sat beside his bulldog lawyer. Shoulders slumped forward and a scowl on his face, Carl looked about ready to crack. “He's right, Carl, anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law.” Patrick threw in that Miranda reminder before the attorney did. He liked everything out in the open. “By the way,” he said, addressing the attorney, “I'm Patrick Wiley, lead detective.”
The portly man nodded. “Stu Gilbert, a longtime friend of the Shaw family. And please note that I strongly oppose my client's decision to talk to you.” Then in the next breath, he added, “And I assure you Mr. Shaw has done nothing that would suggest a tie to the recent murder attempts on Amber Talbot.”
“I appreciate your confidence, Mr. Gilbert. Although, Carl hasn't been charged, nor has a connection been officiated.”
Yet.
Patrick shifted his weight. “Still, I'm glad Carl has agreed to talk to us.”
“Which again, I don't recommend.”
Straightening in his seat, Carl glanced at his attorney. “Stu, I wanted you here as a friend and witness to what is talked about, not to stop me from talking.”
Stu didn't look happy. And Patrick doubted he just planned to listen.
Patrick took a seat directly across from Carl. He planted an elbow on the table, rested his chin on his fist. “Okay, Carl, if you're ready to talk, I need to make you aware that this conversation is being videotaped.”
Carl struggled to swallow. In a gesture of nervousness, his Adam's apple rode the length of his throat. “I guess that's okay.”
“Then let's start with the police chase.”
Carl shrugged without meeting Patrick's eyes. “I saw the cop car behind me, but I wasn't speeding or anything, so I guess it didn't register that he was following me.”
“You didn't see flashing lights?”
“Not initially.”
Patrick pulled the police report from his pocket and tossed it on the table. “It states here that after you ran a red light, you pulled onto Highway 80 east, where a fourteen-mile chase ensued. You were clocked in excess of eighty miles an hour.”
Silence stretched for about twenty seconds as Carl slouched farther in the chair. “By the time I realized what was going on, sirens were blaring. Red, blue and white lights filled my rearview window. I got scared.”
“Scared of what, Carl?”
This drew a dark scowl from Attorney Stu. “You don't have to answer that, Carl.”
Carl ignored him. “Maybe
scared
isn't the right word. I was just caught off guard.”
“You ran from the police, because you were
caught off guard
?” Patrick leaned in, his palms on the table. “Carl, in about two hours you're going to an arraignment hearing. Unless you come up with a better excuse than that, you'll have plenty of time to think of one in the county lockup.”
“I refuse to have my client subjected to threats.” Stu went rigid in his seat, his annoyance obvious.
“Just stating the possibilities, Mr. Gilbert.” Patrick kept his eyes on Carl as he addressed the attorney.
“Okay.” Carl's voice went low. “I'd had a couple drinks. I didn't want another DWI.”
Mistrusting his explanation as well as his placid expression, Patrick looked at him square in the eye. “Interesting concept, Carl, except that your breath-alcohol level came up under the legal limit.”
“I know that now.”
“Come on, Carl, there's something missing to this puzzle. No one takes a cop on a high-speed chase for a possible DWI. Maybe it has more to do with the loaded guns in your trunk?”
Carl raised his head, eyes rounded. He looked over at Stu and then back at Patrick. “The guns were a gift from an old girlfriend. They're registered to me. I use them for target practice.”
“Target practice?” Patrick shook his head and leaned forward. “So you drive around town with loaded guns in your trunk to use for target practice?”
“I was at the shooting range over the weekend and I had forgotten about the extra baseball practice I'd scheduled for my team. Once I remembered, I left in a hurry.”
“Seems like a rather careless maneuver, don't you think, tossing loaded guns in your trunk?”
“Yeah...probably.” Carl shrugged again.
“Of course, so does running from the police.”
“Carl.” His attorney's voice was low, but firm. “You're not helping yourself here.”
Carl looked back and forth from his attorney to Patrick. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “Doesn't anyone understand? If I get another DWI, I can lose my job.”
Crossing his arms, Patrick studied Carl a minute, watching the overhead light play over his grimacing features. After four hours locked up in a holding cell and another waiting for his attorney to arrive, he looked haggard, with bags under his eyes. Sure, he was tired, but he had to be sobered up completely by now. Which should make him sharp enough to recall that he was being investigated in the recent murder attempts on Amber. Yet he was rambling about a possible DWI.
“Carl, do you understand why you're being questioned today?”
Carl sniffed and took a swipe at his nose. “You think I have something to do with the murder attempts on Amber Talbot.”
“That's right, and running from police coupled with having loaded guns in your trunk doesn't look good for you. Do you understand what I'm saying?”
Before Stu could open his mouth to object to the comment, Carl jumped up and slammed his broad palm down on the table. “No, Wiley! Listen up and understand thisâI'm not your man!”
Good. Patrick bit back a smile, glad to see a fracture in Carl's victim facade.
“Carl, calm down. I think you've said enough.” Stu half rose from his seat and gestured with his hands for Carl to sit back down.
Breathing heavily, Carl hesitated for a second and then reclaimed his seat.
His jaw clenched with his next argument. “Wiley, do you really think that if I was trying to kill someone, I would keep the evidence in my trunk?”
Patrick calmly sat there, folded his hands on the table. “People have done crazier things, Carl.”
“Well, not me.”
“Then why would you run?”
After a minute of hard silence, Carl fell back against the chair. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Drugs. Okay?” he mumbled. “Marijuana. Black tar heroin. I threw the bag out the window when I turned onto the highway.”
Drugs?
The unexpected confession jerked away any hope of a speedy resolution to Amber's case. Patrick took a deep breath, restraining his disappointment. “Do you sell or use?”
Carl sat up, gave him a pointed look. “Do you know how hard it is to live on a teacher's salary?”
That answered it. And Patrick wasn't about to tread down that path. He'd leave that up to the narcotics task force. Now for a last-ditch effort for his case. “Have you been trying to kill Amber Talbot, Carl?”
“No!”
“Then who, Carl?”
“Carl, that's enough.” There was some heat in his attorney's voice now.
Carl shifted in his chair. His gaze flicked to the older man, then back to Patrick. “How could I guess that, Patrick?”
“No hunch?”
“None.”
They were getting nowhere. “All right,” Patrick conceded. “What about the frat house party?”
“I told you before. I don't know anything about that, either.”
“Come on, Carl, spare me the litany of denials.” Patrick raised his voice on that one. “Guys talk. You lived at the house. You had to have heard something.”
Carl sat silent for several seconds, his thick brows pulling tight over his eyes. “Even if I did, who believes rumors anyway?”
Patrick scooted to the edge of his seat. “What kind of rumors, Carl?”
“Just rumors,” Carl said with a shrug. “Big talk. Who knows what's true.”
“Some people do believe rumors, don't they, Carl?”
His face went blank, wiped clean of all expression.
“Carl, don't say any more.” Stu's warning went unnoticed and Patrick barreled forward.
“It's fair to assume that if Amber spoke publicly about what happened to her the night of the frat party, even without names, somebody might be able to fill in the blanks. And that would scare somebody with something to hide. Wouldn't it, Carl?”
Carl's cold eyes locked on Patrick for a second. “Whatever Amber chooses to speak about wouldn't involve me.”
“Who would it involve, Carl...based on rumors?”
Carl gave a noncommittal sigh. His gaze cut to his attorney. The older man stood and pulled on his coat jacket. “Come on, Carl. You've said enough. We'll discuss this more after your arraignment and bail is set.”
Patrick waited, giving Carl time to comment and set the record straight. He didn't.
Heading to his office, Patrick bit back a groan. His hope for a break in Amber's case had been overly optimistic. Even before Carl's pathetic confession, Patrick had been getting uneasy vibes.
Carl had never been the cunning one or the brains behind any clash in high school. He was a follower. Muscle when needed. And by his own confession, a drug dealer now. He was careless, reckless. But was he a killer? And if he was, he wouldn't be acting alone.
“Patrick.”
Hearing Vance's deep voice, Patrick stopped short and waited for his boss to catch up to him.
Vance gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Good job. I watched your interrogation on the video monitor. You really pulled the information from Shaw. Even with his attorney present.”