Murder in the City: Blue Lights (16 page)

“You can call her at my parent’s house.” Brice pulled the number up on his cell and started to hit connect.

“No, let me call it so I’ll have it in my cell phone.”

He showed it to her and she dialed it. After a short ring, someone answered.

“Hey Mrs. Brice, it’s Lainey. Thank you so much for taking care of Julie. I hope it’s going to be just for a bit. Is Julie around?” She smiled at something his mom said before putting Julie on.

“Hey Julie. You watching the news?” She smiled knowingly. “I thought so. Where is John Canton reporting from? Have they teased his story yet?”

She listened and nodded. “I thought you’d know where he was. You doing all right?”

She listened, her face tender. She probably didn’t even know her expression changed so much when she talked to or looked at her little sister.

“Okay. Call me whenever you want.”

She hung up after another thirty seconds of chatting.

Brice rolled up his sleeves, looking away at the television as the station’s logo came up below the face of an anchor.

“Coming up, we’ll go to John Canton outside police headquarters as the chief responds to allegations of mismanagement of evidence in one of Atlanta’s recent high profile murders.”

“Let’s go.” He tilted his head at the door and Lainey grabbed her purse, her face intent.

They pulled up at Police Headquarters just as Canton’s crew was breaking down from his live shot.

At quarter after noon, cops and civilian employees were streaming out of the headquarters building, heading to the various lunch spots around the downtown area, intent on getting fed. Relaxed, joking and trying to decide on a meat-and-three-vegetables place or a sandwich shop.

For just a moment, Lainey envied them their easy choice.

Her choice right now was whether to lay it on the line with Canton or play cat and mouse, seeing what he’d give up.

Canton looked toward them and his eyebrows lifted in fake surprise. He was expecting them. A little shiver of animal awareness swept through her, a dart of fear.

Not only was justice at stake here, but also Julie’s safety.

Could this man possibly have something to do with the kidnappings? Was he the one who’d done it?

She tried to think back to when she’d seen him each time the girls were missing. Would it have been possible for him to get away and then back to report the news?

It seemed improbable but then again it seemed improbable that any of it could have happened in the first place. Was it possible he’d had an ally in the crimes?

“I’ve been expecting you,” Canton said, looking them up and down. Was evil lurking inside of him, the type that could do such bad for what he considered to be
justice
?

“Where’d you get the gun, Canton?” Mark walked toward him and launched right into it.

There was an almost visible push pull between the two men, each man’s masculinity a palpable envelope around them that when one moved forward it hit up against the other guy’s ego.

“Where’d you get the gun?” Mark asked again, this time a little more forcibly.

“Someone gave it to me,” Canton said with an arrogant edge, leaning into Mark.

“Who?”

Canton shrugged. “Can’t tell you. Protecting my source. But you should be able to figure it out. And if you can’t, that’s a problem with the police department.”

“You sack of…” Mark cursed viciously. “You are protecting this scum who is terrorizing Atlanta.”

“Am I? Or am I revealing how the police are not protecting the citizens?” His face was red and he hammered his finger against Mark’s chest, penetrating through the masculine bubble enveloping the detective.

As if that got to him more than Canton’s words, Mark knocked his hand away and stepped closer.

“I should arrest you for the murders,” Mark said. “You’re in possession of the murder weapon. That might be enough to convince a judge to hold you.”

Canton’s smile twisted wickedly. “Am I in possession of the weapon?”

“I saw you on television with it. You said you have it.”

Canton shrugged. “You have no physical evidence, not even the gun.”

Mark looked toward the live truck. “You had it on TV in your tease. We could get a warrant to search that truck.”

“You are way behind on the story, detective. That tease was recorded. Before my live shot, I turned the gun back over to the police. That was the point of my story today, that I was here to turn it over to the authorities.”

He pointed back at headquarters.

“Go charge the chief. He probably has it by now. That would make him
in possession
of the murder weapon.”

She thought Mark was going to actually punch him. His hands clenched into fists. “I’m going to ask you again, who gave it to you?”

Canton leaned in, not a good idea, considering the effort it seemed to take for Mark not to put his fist through his face.

“Do your job, detective.”

Mark’s shoulders strained visibly through his shirt. “That’s what I’m trying to do, Canton. And you are interfering in a police investigation.”

Lainey stepped in between them, since Mark’s methods weren’t getting them anywhere.

“John,” she said, in as level a voice as she could manage. “Can you tell us who gave you the gun?”

His face tightened. He looked away, weighing his power to withhold versus his desire for justice. The struggle was clearly visible in his eyes. There were probably some type of journalistic ethics involved in revealing sources, as well.

“I know you don’t want to see anyone else hurt.”

He dropped his gaze back to hers. Then, his stance relaxed and his expression softened. “I do want you to put him away. Moseman gave me the gun.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and she had to force herself not to pull away.

“He thought it was funny, that he’d had the gun this whole time.”

He dropped his hand from her shoulder, his face twisting in anger. “He killed Simone. You know it and I know it. I want that murderous punk put away forever.”

He looked away into the distance and his face became soft. “She was a beautiful woman.”

Was he one of the men who’d been with Simone? Word was she’d
gotten around
when she’d dumped Moseman. Could that be why the reporter had been so interested in finding her murderer?

John Canton had been the first to power up the news machine that brought attention to her murder. And the other stations had chased his coverage.

Her murder had been newsworthy because of her beauty and her lack of any so called guilt. She wasn’t a prostitute or a drug dealer or user.

She was a beautiful, innocent woman who’d ended up dead in what looked like a case of jealous rage turned murderous.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Detective Pete Jones approaching. His expression was deadly, intently focused on Canton.

He practically leaped the last two steps of the stairway leading down to them. His energy force arrived before him, his anger blowing out the air in front of him like a tractor trailer passing a small car on the freeway.

Lainey stepped back involuntarily, moving away from the object of his gaze, John Canton.

“Do you believe this guy?” He spared a sideways glance at Brice.

“He’s not only reporting the news, he’s becoming part of it.” He stepped way too close to the reporter who now glared back at him.

How had this reporter spiraled so close to the center of this story? She’d never seen anything like it.

There was investigative reporting. Then, there was this.

A reporter actually going out and collecting evidence.

“We should just arrest him now for obstruction of justice.” The young detective’s chest puffed up to twice its usual size.

Canton sneered at him. “You know you can’t do that. There’s no grounds. Beside,” Canton said snidely, “that’s going to look real good when the police are arresting reporters for reporting on police incompetence.”

Brice’s expression said he knew he was right.

But Jones’ face twisted in anger. “You.” He jabbed a finger at Canton. “Guys like you are the problem. You go on television reporting stuff that never needs to get out. You make our job that much harder. Not only are we fighting to get the bad guys but we have to do it before you tell them what we’re up to.”

Canton shook his head, a sense of injustice playing across his features. He turned to Brice and Lainey. “I reported to the public about this screw up with the evidence department. I’m duty bound to do that since it needs to be exposed that the public’s trust is not being upheld.”

He tilted his head. “Now fix it.” He turned and walked away toward his live truck.

“We oughta…” Jones took a step after him but Brice grabbed his arm.

“There’s nothing we should do. The guy’s right.”

Jones whirled to face him. His face contorted in anger for a moment, then relaxed as if he knew Brice spoke the truth. “I just get so mad at the whole situation. Why can’t we get this guy, Moseman, off the street?”

Brice clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m with you, know just how you feel. You need to hold onto that anger because it’s what makes us get up after four hours sleep and head out to a murder scene. Anger over injustice can keep us going long after adrenalin would fail us.”

He met Jones’ gaze and nodded. “Anger and the need for justice are good.”

Pete’s shoulder’s dropped a little lower. They’d been up near his ears when he’d been ranting about arresting Canton. He laughed feebly. “I get worked up.”

He glanced at Lainey and laughed roughly.

Just then, Brice’s cell rang. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and looked at the face. “Dad’s cell,” he said, punching connect.

“How’s it going?” he answered amiably. But a second later, his face darkened. “Is she alright?”

Chapter Nineteen

Lainey’s heart leaped, her pulse accelerating to twice its usual rate. “Julie?” she asked.

Brice shook his head. Mom, he mouthed silently. “You’re at the hospital now?”

Who was with Julie? Where was Julie?

Brice hung up. “Mom seems to have had a heart attack. They’re not sure.”

“Oh no.” Lainey stepped closer, putting her hand on Brice’s arm. “Is she okay?”

He shook his head, a pallor creeping up beneath his usual tan. “It doesn’t look good. She’s got a bad heart anyway. Now, this.”

“You need to get to the hospital, to be with your mom,” she said, knowing it was what he needed. “I’ll go be with Julie. Is she still at the house?”

“Yeah,” he added, his eyes worried and distant. Then, he focused directly on her. “My brother’s with her. I don’t want you and Julie alone there. I’ll go with you and let my brother go to the hospital.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You’re closer to the hospital. You should head over to see your mother.”

If his mother passed away and he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to her, the way she and Julie hadn’t been able to say goodbye to their parents, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself.

“Go be with your mom. I have my gun.” She patted her side where the gun rested securely in its holster. “I’ll take a taxi to the house.”

Brice shook his head.

“I’ll take her over there.” Pete laid a hand on Mark’s arm. “Get to the hospital, man.”

Brice hesitated for a second then said, with a hard look at Jones, “Don’t let them out of your sight.”

The younger cop nodded.

Mark looked directly into Lainey’s eyes. “Call me immediately on my cell phone if you need me.”

“I won’t need you. Go,” she urged.

* * *

Brice drove intently. He had to get to the hospital. He’d been dreading a call like this since the last time his mother had a heart attack.

She seemed stronger, lately. But they’d all known her heart wasn’t what it used to be.

She’d spent her whole life taking care of the family, always putting herself last. And now it had caught up with her in her older years.

Damn, he wished he could go back to when he was a kid, when his mom ferried them to all their events, cooked, cleaned and shopped for the family. He’d insist that his mom get out and get some exercise, take a little time for herself.

There had never seemed to be a moment for her to do the little things she needed to do to keep herself healthy.

She’d never resented them for a minute, always responding with a smile when he or one of his brothers or sisters had asked her to do just one more thing for them.

Damn. If he could only go back and redo history.

Just then, he spotted Moseman up ahead sauntering down the side of the road. He needed to get to the hospital. But his raging fear and anger suddenly had a human focal point.

His mother was everything good. And this guy was everything evil.

The bastard had to pay.

He hit his siren and blue lights, sending a pulse of noise out into the air. Then, he yanked the car over to the side of the curb.