Authors: Terri Blackstock
He nodded to Alex. “Take them back and show them the jail cells, and then you can lead them out and show them the bells and whistles in Crown’s squad car.”
Alex winked, understanding that Cade needed them out of the building.
“Tell Chief Cade thank you, ladies,” Joyce said. “He’s a very busy man with a lot of work to do.”
“Thank you, Chief Cade,” the girls said in chorus.
Cade forced a smile, but he felt sick at the thought that they would all soon learn of the murder of one of the town’s teens—a girl who could very well have been their babysitter.
When the girls left the squad room, Cade looked around at the mess. The computer guys from the state police had opened up the cases of several of the computers, and cards and peripherals lay open on the desks. Two guys stretched belly-down across the floor, running cable along the walls. It was the worst possible day for them to do this, but he’d been so vehement in requesting the upgrades that he could hardly run them out now.
The moment Jonathan Cleary—Cade’s best friend and Blair’s brother-in-law—had been installed as mayor last year, he’d begun raising funds for a bigger, better police station. So far, it was still a dream. But even if he managed to secure the blessings of the City Council and get the budget to build a new station, it would be at least a year before the CRPD could take possession. Until then, Cade hoped the computer equipment would get them up to par with departments in other cities, so they could get more done from the tiny quarters they had now.
Scott Crown sat at his desk in the corner of the room, and from the look on his face, he was still brooding over what had happened that morning. Cade hadn’t had time to deal with him before going to talk to the Lawrence family. Instead, he’d ordered Crown to do his report on the discovery of the body, and let him stew in his juices for a while.
But defiance still shone in his eyes as he looked up at Cade. “My shift is over. If I’m not going to be used for anything worthwhile, I might as well go home.”
“You know we called in all available officers to help search the riverbank.”
“Then let me go search it.”
His tone made Cade want to send him home. For good. “Come into my office, Crown. Let’s talk.”
“Fine.”
Cade led the kid into his office and closed the door behind him. “Sit down.”
Crown sat, crossing his arms like a child being reprimanded.
Cade took his chair behind his desk. “I don’t have time for attitude, Crown. I’m not a babysitter or a grade school teacher. If you can’t show some respect and admit when you’re wrong, then you don’t belong on my force.”
“But I—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Crown. You messed up big-time this morning. This is not just some minor infraction. You may have jeopardized a homicide investigation. And until you admit that and learn from your mistakes, you’re of no use to me or my department.”
“You didn’t have to chew me out in front of those other guys.” Crown slumped back in his chair. “You know I was trying to do the right thing. How do you think that made me look?”
“I’m not in the image business, Crown. You made
yourself
look bad. You were trying to be the hero, and it backfired.”
“I knew her, okay? She’s my buddy’s sister. What did you expect me to do?”
“I
expect
you to follow protocol. You didn’t even know who she was until you splashed out to the boat.”
His lips curled, and Cade waited for him to say something that would get him fired.
But then Crown’s face softened. His mouth trembled. “I’m sorry, Chief. I really am. Don’t fire me, man. I want to be a cop. I’ve wanted to be one since I was a little kid. It was a dream come true.”
“Didn’t sound like it, the way you talked to me earlier.”
“I know.” He folded his hands between his knees and swallowed. “I shouldn’t have talked to you that way. But give me another chance, Chief. I’ll learn from this. I swear.”
Cade leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin with his finger. “All right, Crown. But I expect better of you. You go by the book, you hear me? You follow policy. You don’t go off half-cocked doing whatever feels right.”
“Okay.” His expression held a trace of residual anger, but he sounded contrite. “Do you want me to go back to work?”
“Not today. Just go home, get some sleep. I’ll see you when you come in tonight.”
Crown groaned, but didn’t argue. He got up, went to the door, then turned back. “Thanks, Chief. I won’t let you down.”
Cade met his eyes. “Make sure you don’t.”
He watched as Crown left his doorway, and hoped he’d done the right thing, keeping him on. He got up and went back into the squad room. Through the front glass he saw that the Girl Scouts were in the parking lot, taking turns sitting in the squad car and turning the lights on and off. He stepped over to Sarah, who had replaced Myrtle for the day shift. “Have you managed to reach all of the off-duty officers?”
“Most of them. Some had already come in, so I sent them over to the river.”
“Get them in here. I need to brief them and give out assignments.”
He went back into his office. One of the computer guys had taken over his desk now and sat in his chair, working at his computer. “How much longer you think you’ll be?”
The man looked up. “Not long, but these things take time.”
Cade leaned back against the door. “I’m not trying to rush you. I just have work to do.”
“Well, you’ll get it done a lot faster and more efficiently when I get this set up. You do want this, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I want it.”
“Okay, then.” Clearly the technician, who looked like Bill Gates before his billions, had a superiority complex. “So I heard on the radio about the girl who was murdered. She your case?”
“No. She was from Cape Refuge, but she wasn’t found here. Not my jurisdiction.” He didn’t bother to tell him he’d just broken the news to her parents.
“These things often cross city lines.” The technician patted the computer. “This baby will help you get all the information you need. Want to know who the repeat offenders are in your area? Child molesters? Rapists? One touch of a button. Want to tap into FBI files? State files? Want to get forensics reports, autopsy results? Check in with the crime lab, or do an ACIS search?”
“I could pretty much do all that before.”
“But not this fast. One touch, my friend, and the world is yours.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
The man looked as excited as a NASA engineer on launch day. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to use everything. We plan to give a training class for all of those who’ll be using it. Can you get everyone here for tomorrow?”
“It’s done. We set it up a week ago.”
Cade slipped out while he had the chance and went into the small interview room. McCormick was just entering the building, followed by two of the uniforms just coming on shift. “In here, guys,” he said.
He went in and waited for the rest of his force to show up.
When they were all finally there, he closed the door and briefed them on the murder. Chief Grant had asked Cade’s department to help with the investigation since the girl was from Cape Refuge. Grant thought they might make more headway doing informal interviews with her family and friends than outsiders might.
Cade had hoped to motivate them all into pushing harder tonight, but as they spilled back out into the squad room, the computers were just beginning to work. They all gathered around the monitors to see what the new system could do. Like kids with new Play Station games, they were distracted from what truly mattered: the murdered girl and her grieving family.
But it wasn’t so easy for Cade. No matter what mundane chores required his attention, he couldn’t get his mind off the terrible truth that one of Cape Refuge’s children had been violently murdered.
And her killer was walking free.
I
saw this crib at the antique auction last weekend, Morgan, and I thought it was perfect for you.” Clara Montgomery climbed up in the back of her pickup truck and struck a pose beside the crib. “I’ll give it to you at cost. Only five thousand dollars. It’s made out of real mahogany, solid all the way through, probably a hundred years old.”
Morgan stood on the steps of her porch, her hand moving over her belly. The baby was active today, kicking like a soccer player. “It’s beautiful, Clara. But I can’t afford that. Besides, I already have a crib. Caleb’s started sleeping in a bed already, so we’re ready for the baby.”
“Oh, honey, it’s an investment! You don’t want your baby sleeping in that cheap thing you’ve got. It’s practically made of particle board.” She ran her hand along the antique crib’s wood. “Come on, honey, let’s get it in the house, and then you’ll see.”
Morgan didn’t
want
it in the house. She knew how Clara worked. She was a good saleswoman. When business
was slow, she was known to show up at people’s houses with individual pieces of furniture, insisting they were meant for them. Usually, her tactics worked.
Thank goodness Morgan didn’t have five thousand dollars lying around.
“I don’t think I need to be lifting furniture, Clara, and there’s no way I could pay you for that.”
“I could give you credit, darlin’. If anybody’s good for it, it would be our preacher-slash-mayor.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t want to go into debt for a piece of furniture I don’t need. Have you thought of Marissa Brown? Her baby’s due any day now.”
Clara’s face twisted. “
Her
? She wouldn’t know a valuable antique if it bit her on the toe.” As she spoke, she tried to move the crib off the truck.
Thankfully, the old car they let their residents drive pulled into the driveway, momentarily distracting Clara. Sheila was behind the wheel, and as she got out, Clara called to her. “Sheila, come here, honey. Help me carry this in the house.”
Morgan groaned and came down the steps, putting herself between the truck and Sheila. “That won’t be necessary. It’s not coming in.”
Clara grunted. “Morgan, don’t be that way.”
She breathed a laugh. “I’m not buying your crib, Clara. You’re wasting your time.”
The woman finally gave up, came off the bed of the truck, and slammed the tailgate. “You’re a stubborn woman, Morgan Cleary.”
Morgan laughed and turned back to Sheila. “So how did the job interview go?”
Sheila squealed and threw her hands up. “Tell me, ladies, do I look like the assistant to a famous novelist?”
Morgan just looked at her. “You got the job?”
“What job?” Clara looked from Sheila to Morgan. “What famous novelist?”
Sheila clearly loved Clara’s surprise. She paused for effect. “Marcus Gibson, the
New York Times
bestselling mystery writer.”
Clara gasped. “Marcus Gibson is in Cape Refuge?”
“Yes. He bought Gabe Stone’s beach cottage a few weeks ago. But from the looks of the place, you’d think he’d lived there for forty years. He must have just moved his stacks of papers in boxes and piled them all around his room, exactly like they were in Atlanta.”
“And he hired you?” Clara looked the woman over. “Does he know your background?”
Sheila’s smile faded. “Yes, he does. He Googled me.”
“He what, dear?”
“Googled. He did a computer search.” Morgan turned back to Sheila, trying to look excited despite her reservations. “So he knows everything?”
“Yes, and he doesn’t care. He wants me to start tomorrow.”
Morgan hadn’t expected the writer to offer the job to Sheila, so she hadn’t expressed her concerns before. But she and Sheila would have to sit down and talk when Clara left.
“I love his books,” Clara went on. “For heaven’s sake, I read one last week, and it kept me up all night. Scared me slap to death, if you want to know the truth. I kept feeling like there was someone staring in the window at me, standing in the shadows with an ax in one hand and a machine gun in the other. See, it was about this woman who married this guy …”
Morgan had a bad feeling she was about to hear the play-by-play of the entire plot, so she looked at her watch. “Goodness, I need to get back inside. Caleb might wake up.”
Clara was still studying Sheila. “Guess that pretty blonde hair didn’t hurt any in that interview, huh? Almost can’t blame a red-blooded male for wanting to hire somebody like you, even if you are an ex-con.”
Clara had a talent for compliments that cut. Morgan saw the joy fade from Sheila’s face, and her patience with the woman reached an end. “Thanks for coming by, Clara.”
Clara opened her truck door and slipped inside. “You call me now, if you change your mind about the crib.”
Morgan could hardly make herself answer as the woman drove away. She sighed and smiled at Sheila. “Ignore her.”
“Don’t tell me she means well.”
“I won’t because she doesn’t.”
Sheila broke into a smile again. “Can you believe it? He actually hired me!”
Morgan tried to mirror Sheila’s excitement as she led her into the house. “So tell me about this interview. What was Marcus Gibson like?”
“Weird. Eccentric. A little scary. Remember the crazy scientist guy in
Back to the Future
? He reminds me of him.” Caleb, who’d been sleeping on the little cot inside the office off the kitchen, was just waking up as they went in. Sheila went to pick him up and kissed his rosy cheek. “Hey, bud. You have a good nap?”
He nodded and laid his sleepy head against her shoulder. She sat down at the table and cuddled him close. Morgan got his sippy cup of milk out of the fridge and gave it to him.
“You can hardly hold a conversation with the guy,” Sheila said, her voice softening. “He goes from one random thought to another, like he’s trying to think of twenty things at once but can’t quite finish a thought. Talk about a poster child for ADHD. I can’t imagine how he writes novels.”
“What will you do for him?”
“Typing, mostly.” Caleb slipped out of Sheila’s lap and went to play with his toys in the corner of the room. His mother followed him and sat on the floor behind him as he played. Stroking his curls, she said, “The great thing is that I won’t be working nine to five every day. He said it would be forty hours a week, give or take, but that he doesn’t really want me there when he’s there.”