Authors: Janice Cantore
Accused
| Accused |
| Pacific Coast Justice [1] |
| Janice Cantore |
| Tyndale House Publishers (2012) |
Detective Carly Edwards hates working in juvenile—where the brass put her after an officer-involved shooting—and longs to be back on patrol. So when a troubled youth, Londy Atkins, is arrested for the murder of the mayor and Carly is summoned to the crime scene, she's eager for some action. Carly presses Londy for a confession but he swears his innocence, and despite her better judgment, Carly is inclined to believe him. Yet homicide is convinced of his guilt and is determined to convict him.
Carly's ex-husband and fellow police officer, Nick, appears to be on her side. He's determined to show Carly that he's a changed man and win her back, but she isn't convinced he won't betray her again.
As the investigation progresses, Carly suspects a cover-up and strikes out on her own, uncertain whom she can trust. But when danger mounts, she begins to wonder if she made the right choice.
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Accused
Copyright © 2012 by Janice Cantore. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of police taken by Stephen Vosloo. Copyright © by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of warehouse taken by Stephen Vosloo. Copyright © by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of building copyright © Seth Joel/Getty Images. All rights reserved.
Designed by Stephen Vosloo
Edited by Erin E. Smith
Published in association with the literary agency of D.C. Jacobson & Associates LLC, an Author Management Company.
www.dcjacobson.com
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Some Scripture quotations are taken from the
Holy Bible
, King James Version.
Some Scripture taken from the New King James Version.
®
Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cantore, Janice.
Accused / Janice Cantore.
p. cm. — (Pacific Coast justice ; 1)
ISBN 978-1-4143-5847-5 (sc)
1. Women detectives—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3603.A588A66 2011
813'.6—dc23 2011027477
To Lauraine and all the reunioners: thank you for your help, support, and prayers over the years. The talking, laughing, critiquing, and brainstorming helped me tell this story. Love and God bless to you all.
And thanks to Ramona Tucker, Jeff Nesbit, and Don Jacobson for believing in me.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
I’d like to acknowledge the men and women of Long Beach (California) Police Department, the people I worked with over the years in various situations who showed me compassion and courage, dedication and honor, and the capacity to see humor in any situation. I worked with many awesome individuals over the course of my career and several had an impact on my life. Too many people come to mind to name everyone, but I do look back on my time with the department with affection, and I often miss the daily interaction with those special people.
Prologue
“Any unit to handle, 2464 Orange Avenue, 417, man with a gun threatening apartment residents. Any unit to clear and handle, priority one.”
“Isn’t that the address of the gang shooting last week?” Carly Edwards asked the question half to herself and half to her partner for the night, Derek Potter, as she slowed the cruiser. They were two blocks from the address given.
“You’re right. Let’s take it; we’re close!” Potter grabbed the radio and responded to the dispatcher.
“We should wait for backup. Two gangbangers were shot last week.”
“They’ll be here! Come on, let’s go! We can get this guy.”
Potter’s adrenaline rush flooded the car and infected Carly. She hit the gas. In seconds they were 10-97, on scene.
“Drop me off in front. You take the back.” Potter didn’t wait for a response. He leaped out of the cruiser as Carly slowed.
“Wait—” The slam of the door covered her angry shout. Potter should know better. He’d been on the police force longer than Carly had, and she was nearing her ten-year anniversary. Even though things looked quiet as she scanned the area, it was never a good idea to split up on gun calls.
She wouldn’t be in this situation with her regular partner, Joe King. But he’d called in sick, and she was stuck with “Punch-Drunk” Potter, Las Playas PD’s troublemaker and fight starter.
Against her better judgment, Carly continued to a rear alley and parked the black-and-white. As Potter worked his way back from the front, she’d work forward from the rear. With luck, they’d meet in the middle and be able to clear the call unfounded.
Wind whistled with an eerie sound, funneled between apartment buildings. Tepid gusts flung trash everywhere. Lit only by the glow of parking structure lights opposite the dispatch address, the alley was deserted, strange for a hot night when people generally hung around outside.
The problem address itself was silent—no TV noise—and all the windows overlooking the alley were open but dark. Carly strained to differentiate between wind noise and any people noise. A back gate connected the complex courtyard to the alley, but she was not going through it until she had more information.
Carly pulled out her handheld radio. “Who called?” she whispered to dispatch.
“Your CP is anonymous. He did not want contact.”
This information opened the floodgates in Carly’s mind for a new set of concerns.
Is this a setup?
Glass crunched under her heels as she stopped to survey the gate and surrounding area.
Sliding the radio back into its holder, she unsnapped her handgun and drew it from its holster. The radio cackled with the news that backup was close. Emboldened, she shone her flashlight into the semidarkness and moved closer to the gate.
Movement near some trash cans to the right of the gate caught her eye, and she directed the beam of her light there. She saw a face.
“Hey! Police!” Her gun and flashlight steadied on the target, and her heart thudded, straining the confines of her vest. “Show me your hands!”
The man moved, and a bright object flashed in his hand. He lunged forward.
Time slowed for Carly. Everything around her faded as tunnel vision took over. There was no time to call Potter, no time to get on the radio.
Certain the object in the man’s hand was a gun and that her life was in danger, Carly fired twice.
The crack of her .45 echoed like a bomb blast in the alley. The man crumpled in front of her, supporting himself on one hand to keep from falling flat on his face.
Before she could speak or inspect the object the man had dropped, Potter burst through the back gate. On Carly’s left and several feet closer to the man, Potter fired.
Bang, bang, bang . . .
In rapid succession, the deafening sound of fifteen gunshots rang in Carly’s ears.
The man danced with the impact of several bullets, then went down all the way, but Potter kept shooting, emptying his gun.
The next seconds were cauterized in Carly’s mind. Permanent impressions: the man wasn’t a threat, he didn’t have a gun, and still Potter reloaded.
“Derek, stop! He’s down!”