Читать книгу Final Verdict - Jessica Patch R. - Страница 12
ОглавлениеGunfire!
Beckett knew that reverberating sound anywhere. Instinct kicked in and he laid on the gas.
Three houses down from Aurora, a figure fled through the woods. Beckett threw the Tahoe into Park, leaped from it, drew his weapon and hauled his tail across Aurora’s neighbors’ yards in pursuit.
If the assailant was running, he probably wasn’t injured, at least not fatally.
But Aurora might be.
He skidded to a halt and doubled back to Aurora’s, his pulse pounding in his temples.
He cautiously opened her front door.
He should have fought harder—demanded she stay elsewhere, done a drive-by sooner, staked out her place. He continued to mentally kick himself as he inched through her house.
His phone rang.
He ignored it.
“Counselor?” he called from the dining room, then worked his way warily down the hall.
Training his gun on her bedroom door, he toed it open a crack.
A pop sounded and he hit the floor. “Aurora! It’s Beckett!”
The door opened wider and she peered down at him, wild-eyed, gun in hand.
“Could you point that somewhere besides my head, please, ma’am?”
She slid her finger across the safety and lowered it. “Sorry. I tried to call you.”
Must have been the call he ignored. He stood. She was safe. “I heard a gunshot and saw someone running from the house.” He closed the distance between them and touched her cheek. “I’m sorry for letting you down.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not your fault.”
Except it 100 percent was. “What happened?”
Aurora bit her bottom lip. “You’re going to be livid. I might have withheld some information.”
“What information?”
“Before you start getting all alpha male on me, let me tell the whole story.”
Alpha male? He’d laugh if he wasn’t half scared out of his mind. “Fine.”
She explained everything and with each word his blood pressure rose. “So you couldn’t identify him?”
“Like I said, he wore a ski mask.”
“And you’re not holdin’ back anything else? I know everything?” He clenched his teeth.
“Yes.”
He restrained from blowing a gasket, balled and released his fists, then repeated. “So I don’t need to remind you that if something else happens, even minor to you, I’m to be informed. Immediately.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” She huffed.
She hated being bossed. He wasn’t bossing. He was used to being in charge and people following orders. Aurora was a little alpha herself. Total type A. He’d have to work on his approach with her.
“Please,” he offered as politely as possible.
She placated him. “I will.”
Why would someone upset about the verdict yesterday dig through her dead brother’s case files? What would be the point?
“Were your filing cabinets disturbed?” Maybe someone was hunting down a file on Austin Bledsoe.
“Not that I could tell. Not like Richie’s files.”
So it was probable that the other files hadn’t been snooped through. He couldn’t connect the dots. Frustration forced him to grind his jaw and growl under his breath. “Well, you can’t stay here the rest of the night. I never liked that idea anyway. He could come back.” Whoever he was.
“It’s one a.m. I’d rather not wake up Kelly or the McKnights.” She hung her head. “I can’t believe I’m going to run scared.”
“You’re not. You’re being smart and taking precautions. How did he get in your garage? Would you have heard it being manually opened?”
“Yes.”
Beckett searched entry points while concocting a plan to protect her. At the bathroom, he stopped and pointed to the guest bathroom window. “Point of entry.” Dusty footprints lined the tub. He gnawed the inside of his cheek. “I can have the bathroom printed.”
“He wore gloves.”
“Still.” But she was right. It would probably be a dead end like she said would happen with the trace on her phone last night. Burner phone. Untraceable.
How long had this guy been inside her house, waiting until she went to sleep before creeping to the garage and tripping the breaker?
Aurora’s wide eyes and pale cheeks testified that she was thinking the same thing. “I should have checked all my locks after the threats.”
Beckett touched the windowsill. “See these slivers of wood and paint? He used something to pry it open. It was locked.”
She gawked at the chipped sill.
“It’s gonna be okay.” He wasn’t letting her out of his sight. Not for one second.
She nodded. “What do we do about the rest of the night?”
He’d been thinking about that. “I’d stay here, but I don’t need any gossip. I’ll take you to the Magnolia Inn. Pack a bag.” He waited while she packed, then he loaded her up and drove her over to the Magnolia. Claire MacKay stood behind the desk sipping coffee.
“Hey, Sheriff. What brings you in this time of night?” She yawned and held up her cup. “I need a stronger brew.”
“I need two adjoining rooms.”
“Why?” Aurora marched up to the desk.
Beckett cut his eyes at her and she tilted her head, hesitantly resigning to the fact he was getting a room next door. Period.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
“Anyone rings the desk or calls for Aurora, patch them through to my room.” Beckett was taking every precaution.
“Of course.” She handed them keys and didn’t ask questions. He liked that about her. He was glad it wasn’t her sister, Keeley, working tonight’s shift. She was an entirely different story. “Breakfast is served from six until nine.”
“You serve eggs?” he asked.
“We do.” She gave him a puzzled expression.
“We’ll be down for our courage at eight.”
A puff of air escaped Aurora’s nose and Claire stood befuddled. “Off with ya’ then. Enjoy your sleep.”
Upstairs. Safer. He led Aurora to her room and set down her bags, then unlocked the door leading to his room. “Don’t lock this.”
Her nostrils flared.
He’d ordered her again. “Please,” he added.
Aurora sat on the edge of the queen-size bed. “I won’t. Thank you, Beckett.”
For what? Showing up late? “You defended yourself. Nice work, Counselor.”
“I think you could call me Aurora. I’d be comfortable with that.” She half smiled and his chest tightened.
“Aurora,” he rasped. Felt entirely too right rolling off his tongue. “Doesn’t fit.” He tipped an invisible hat. “Night, Counselor.”
She kicked off her shoes. “Night, Sheriff.”
Beckett closed the door and laid his gun on the nightstand. What if Aurora hadn’t been the shooter but the victim? The assailant had gotten into her house. Lain in wait. God had spared her life. Too bad He hadn’t spared Meghan’s. Didn’t they all deserve to be rescued? Why did some receive help and some didn’t? He’d been struggling with that question while trying to maintain his faith and trust in God. But the more he questioned, the more he doubted.
At 7:45 a.m. he knocked on Aurora’s door. She opened it. The same dark circles drooped under her eyes as his and she was paler than usual, her hair pulled back in that tight knot on her neck. Her room held that flowery signature scent of hers. “Ready?”
“Yes. Thank you for accompanying me today. I know you have a county to take care of.” She grabbed her purse and briefcase.
“Today, I’m taking care of you. No protests.” He motioned for her to exit the room and he followed her downstairs where she ate poached eggs and he helped himself to a stack of pancakes. “We better hit the road if we want to make that ten o’clock appointment.”
“I’d like to take my car. I don’t want to make it obvious I’m investigating, and riding around in a sheriff’s vehicle does exactly that—although by now all of Richfield knows. It’s not much bigger than Hope.” Aurora pulled her scarf tight around her neck as he paid, then they walked to the Tahoe.
“You want to drive your keyed car around? I can run it by Wallace’s shop. Get it repainted. Set you up with a rental.”
“I thought about having it fixed, but then I figured someone might do something else to it and I might as well wait until the threats die down and have it repaired in one fell swoop. Besides, I need whoever did it to know it doesn’t bother me.”
“You worry too much about what people think.”
She clicked her seat belt in place and brushed invisible lint from her pant leg, then stared straight ahead.
Someone had done a number on her. Her false sense of security tugged at something deep within him. The pretty redhead wasn’t fooling him. She was guarding herself from further pain. Pretending to be immune. A sudden urge to take that torment away knocked him full force. He shouldn’t be having these feelings. Not for defense attorney Aurora Daniels. “We’ll pick up your car and you can follow me to the station. I’ll leave my vehicle there.”
Twenty minutes later, they were on the road to Richfield, Mississippi. They made small talk, avoiding their professions. He talked a little about the navy. About his best friend, Wilder. She shared a few stories from law school and how she came to a vast knowledge about cars. Her grandfather and Richie had been mechanics. She’d liked spending time with them both. They hit 15 South and came into Richfield.
“So, I...didn’t have a lot growing up. And I kind of got picked on in school. If you’re expecting to see lots of hugs and me connecting with tons of friends, you won’t. The day I graduated, I flew this coop so fast your head would spin.”
Beckett couldn’t imagine a woman as sharp, bright and beautiful as Aurora being bullied. “Financial status shouldn’t dictate your social status. My mom and dad divorced when I was only three. He moved to California and pretty much wrote us off. I understand not coming from much. Mama worked three jobs and an extra part-time at Christmas to make sure I got what I wrote to Santa for.”
Aurora’s expression was knowing and kind. “If we got Christmas presents, we got them from my grandfather. But he died when I was fifteen. I admit, I’m kind of glad. Seeing Richie go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit would have killed him.”
He hadn’t even asked. “What was he convicted of?”
Aurora heaved a breath. “Murder. Second degree.”
Murder. Well, this brought the attacks into a new light. Aurora had mentioned that someone had been in her office nosing through her files. Beckett didn’t like it, but he hadn’t expected it to link to this case. If Richie was innocent—and Beckett wasn’t so sure—then the real killer was out there. He was probably from this town and knew that Aurora was poking around.
“Can you give me the rundown of the case?” Beckett shifted in the passenger seat, his legs cramping.
“The file box is back there—grab it if you want. We’re heading to a café to meet with Detective Holmstead.”
Beckett grabbed a thick folder from the box and flipped it open. “Dwight Holmstead?”
“Yep.”
Beckett skimmed the contents. “Gus McGregor. Killed in his own shop. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Murder weapon was a wrench.”
“They didn’t find any prints except Gus’s and Richie’s, but he employed four other mechanics. Any one of them could have worn gloves. Or they could have used another wrench and planted that one at the scene of the crime.”
Beckett had some doubt. “Gus’s blood was found on this wrench and it was lying near the body. That’s clearly the murder weapon.”
Aurora white-knuckled the wheel. “Not enough blood to determine if it was the murder weapon, but enough to prove he had indeed bled on it. Not even a trace of scalp or skull. There could be another weapon out there. With more than a few traces of Gus’s blood. But the public defender didn’t even bring that up. And why would someone leave a murder weapon lying right there?”
Beckett grunted as he scanned statements from four witnesses stating Richie had been in the local bar drinking—inebriation would be a great reason to leave a murder weapon on the scene—and spouting off that Gus had swindled him out of several hundred dollars of pay. “A witness testified that she heard Richie say he was going over to Gus’s to ‘get his.’”
“So what. He didn’t go, and no one can validate that he did.”
“Can’t prove he didn’t.”
She huffed as she whipped into a parking lot. “Can you not say anything? You’re here as a...a bodyguard not a lawman. In fact, maybe come in ten minutes after me and sit at a table alone.”
He laughed. “This is a small town. You think people aren’t gonna figure out we’re together because we sit at separate tables? I’ll be quiet.”
She snorted and snatched the file from Beckett. “I’m here to establish my brother didn’t do it. Remember that.”
“Noted.” He pointed to his temple. “Like an elephant, I am.”
“I’d go with mule, but...” She smirked and stepped into icebox-like weather. Beckett followed her inside the small café. The smell of spices, down-home cooking and camaraderie clung to the air. A few patrons acknowledged them, then returned to their meals and conversation.
An older man—average height, thick gray hair and curious eyes—waved at Aurora. Beckett trailed behind and waited for her to make introductions. She introduced him to Dwight as her colleague, Beckett Marsh. Beckett held in a laugh. Dwight sized him up and nodded, then offered them a seat and encouraged them to order a piece of pie. Chocolate. Beckett accepted.
“Aurora, I appreciate your tenacity, hon. I do. I’m sorry for what happened to Richie, but this case is cut-and-dried.”
Hon wasn’t going to fly with the counselor. She’d see it as patronizing.
Aurora bristled.
Yep.
She stretched across the table, palms down. “Dwight, I don’t care if you appreciate me or not. Richie didn’t kill Gus. I know he got in a fair amount of trouble. I know you often hauled him home instead of tossing him in the clink. But that doesn’t mean he was a murderer.”
Dwight mashed a few piecrust crumbs onto his fork and slid them into his mouth. “I don’t know anything new.”
“Gus gambled. I know it all happened in the back of his garage, and several citizens of Richfield, who would be sorely ashamed if the news got out, joined in. One happens to be a deacon of a local church. Don’t deny it. My one source is reliable.”
Who was her source?
“Yet, he wasn’t questioned,” Aurora continued. “None of those men were. What if Gus cheated them out of money like he did my brother?”
Dwight handed his plate to the server as she set Beckett’s pie in front of him. When she left, Dwight clucked his tongue in his cheek. “They played some cards. So what? It was all friendly. The evidence points to Richie. He had motive.”
“He wasn’t there that night! His prints were, and they should have been. He was employed at Gus’s Garage.”
Aurora had a valid point. Every avenue should have been run down. “How serious were these games? How big of a pot?” Beckett asked.
Aurora shot him the evil eye. “Elephant, remember?”
“Clearly, I don’t.” And he was on her side. At least, in this line of questioning. He turned to Dwight. “Why weren’t those men questioned?”
“We didn’t need to. I doubt the pot was that big.”
“Well, how do you know if you didn’t attend?” Aurora asked. “Or did you participate, Detective? Are you letting those men off to hide the fact you gambled?” Aurora opened her hand and began tapping each finger. “Illegal gambling. Detective. Deacons. Town officials.”
Beckett cringed. With every word, Aurora painted a target on her back. The flush on Dwight’s neck reached to his hairline. “You’re crossing the line, missy. I’m here out of sympathy, but you’re killing it.”
“I’m simply trying to understand why you wouldn’t do your job.” Aurora’s nostrils flared.
“I’m done here.”
Aurora opened her mouth, but Beckett laid a hand on hers. They watched as Dwight Holmstead stormed from the café.
“Tell me that’s not shady, Sheriff.”
Beckett pushed his pie away and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’ll admit it. That’s shady, Counselor.”
“And notice he didn’t admit or deny being a part of the poker games.”
“I noticed.” Richie may have killed Gus McGregor. But the detective was definitely hiding something, even if it was simply incompetence on the case. Would that give him motive to scare Aurora, to attack her?
The detective had a raspy voice.
Beckett wasn’t ruling out anyone.
* * *
Aurora stood on Darla McGregor’s doorstep, the garage where Gus had been murdered across the street. Beckett stood beside her. Maybe he was starting to believe her. He had admitted to Dwight’s shadiness. If she could come up with other regulars at those poker games, it would be a big help. But Richie had been her source and he was gone. Small towns had a way of locking their secrets in vaults and tossing away the keys.
Darla opened the door and invited them into her worn-out but tidy home. Aurora introduced Beckett as a colleague again, and for the second time he flinched. The last thing he wanted was to be portrayed as someone who defended those accused of crimes. They sat on Darla’s threadbare couch and Beckett kept silent as Aurora fired questions. No, Darla hadn’t been in town that night.
She hadn’t known about Gus’s poker games. He’d kept most of his life private.
Beckett’s eyes narrowed a fraction at that answer. Not buying it? Aurora wasn’t so sure. Gus could have concealed the games easily and, if he’d won, said the money came from work. But if he had held them in his garage, wouldn’t Darla have seen all the cars? Why lie?
Aurora pressed her hands together in a prayer-like gesture against her chest. “Can we browse the garage?”
Darla grabbed a set of keys lying on the nicked coffee table. “I had a feeling you’d want these. I don’t know what you think you’ll find after all these years.”
Aurora wasn’t sure, either. It had been over a decade since Richie went to prison. But she needed to do it. Should have done it a long time ago. “Probably nothing.”
“Little Gus tinkers out there. Does some side work. But he’s not here today. Those are his keys. I never go in that place anymore.”
“Tell Little Gus thanks for us then,” Aurora said. At thirty-two, Little Gus didn’t need to be called that anymore, but names stuck. “We won’t disturb anything, and thank you. For talking and for always believing in Richie’s innocence. If you think of anything else, please call me.”
Darla ran her hand through her hair, streaks of gray more prominent than the brunette, and handed Aurora the keys to the garage. “I’ll tell him.”
Beckett followed her across the street to the old mechanic shop. Dirty, run-down. Smelled like motor oil and years of neglect. “I wondered why the widow of the deceased would talk to you.”
“She never thought it was Richie, but it didn’t matter.”
Emotion lodged in her throat as they stood inside the garage. A man had died here. She’d been so focused on Richie and his innocence that she hadn’t allowed herself to think much about Gus. No one deserved what had been done to him.
“What do you hope to find?” Beckett asked.
“Something to grasp on to. We need to find out who played in those games. Even if we get town gossip, some of it will be true. Always is.”
“Can you ask your parents?”
“I don’t talk to them much.” Another reason to feel guilt and shame.
“Why?”
“Why do you want to know?” This conversation, if continued, wouldn’t be considered small talk. And Beckett was only here to fulfill his duty. No point in getting to know her personally. When this was over he’d go back to scowling and blaming her for allowing justice to misfire. Sadly, oddly, she wished things were different. She shoved the feelings aside.
“I guess I’m... I don’t know.” He shrugged and stared at the wall, then focused on her. “I haven’t talked to my dad since he left. He never called. Started a new life. Had a new family. He never responded the few times I did contact him. Not even when I went into the navy.”
Aurora gawked at his blurted admission. Her dad hadn’t walked out, but that didn’t mean he’d been present in her life. She sympathized with Beckett, and he’d made an effort to reach out. Why? Didn’t matter. He had and she wanted to reciprocate.
She hated to admit the truth about her less-than-ideal childhood, but fair was fair. “We lived in a trailer on the other end of town. Sometimes my dad worked. Sometimes he didn’t. Mostly he drank. My mom is bipolar. When she’s on meds she does well. But part of the time she thought she didn’t need them and the other part she said she couldn’t afford them, so she didn’t take them often.” She toed the dirty concrete floor. “Richie struggled with depression, too. Being convicted of Gus’s murder and enduring the hardships of prison sent him spiraling into a dark place. He’d written me a few desperate letters. I kept telling him to hang on. I was working hard. I was going to save him.”
She held back tears and shook her head. “I couldn’t do it in time. I contacted the medical personnel at the prison, begged them to put him in solitary to protect him but...I failed. You know how that feels?”
Beckett eased into her personal space, a new expression in his eyes. Compassion. “Yes,” he whispered. “I know.”
What had Beckett Marsh ever failed at? He seemed to have it all together. He was tough. Intelligent. Strong. But the way he said he knew what failure felt like... Something in his past had shattered him. The raw honesty in his voice connected with her in a profound way. “Beckett, I’m so sorry—”
A creak overhead sounded and the connection was lost. “Did you hear that?”
Beckett slid his gaze upward and scanned the loft area. “Probably just the old building settling in the cold.”
He was probably right. “I’m jumpy.”
“With good reason.” Beckett rubbed his hands together. “It’s freezing in here.”
“Tell me about it. And it gives me the creeps. I used to be at home in places like this, but now all I think about is how a mechanic shop ruined Richie’s life.”
Beckett shoved his hands in his pockets. “You were just a girl. You couldn’t get through school any faster than you did.”
“I know, but—”
A rattling echoed through the shop. She snapped up her head in time to see an engine attached to a chain plummeting toward her.
“Aurora!” Beckett hollered.
A rush of air smacked her face.
She couldn’t move.
Beckett dove on her and rolled her across the frosty concrete as the engine crashed with a deafening clang. Dirt and grime exploded into a cloud surrounding them.
Pieces of metal busted loose and flew across the shop; Beckett covered Aurora’s head with his strong arms, shielding her from debris and motor parts. A metallic and dirty taste coated her tongue and gagged her. She pinched her mouth closed.
Her entire body shook, but he continued to guard her, his arms like a mighty fortress, and nothing in this entire world could get past them to hurt her. With her belly to the floor, she coughed and shifted, peering up at Beckett. Amber eyes stared into her face, pupils dilated, his breath puffing against her nose and lips.
“You saved me.”
“Barely,” he rasped, and brushed a thumb across her cheek. He held it up. Grime had streaked her cheeks. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Her head swam. Fear. Adrenaline. And something she didn’t want to acknowledge.
He held her gaze a beat longer than what might be appropriate, then lifted his weight from her. “Stay here.” He drew his weapon and bounded up the stairs, disappearing.
Aurora sat up, drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. On the floor lay a shattered engine and a pile of chain that had once held it in place. Could it have been faulty? A coincidence? An accident? She couldn’t control her quaking, not even when she bit down on her bottom lip and gripped her knees tighter.
“The back door up here is open. The stairs and surrounding area are clear, but those creaks weren’t the building settling and popping. Someone was here. Watching. Listening.” He pointed to the tall row of tool chests. “Maybe taking cover from behind there.”
Aftershock rippled through her muscles.
He grabbed a portion of the chain on the concrete. “It’s been cut. And it’s greasier than it should be.”
“But it was directly above us. How did we not see someone standing up there cutting through a metal chain? Let’s say someone did lube it to cut down on noise—we’d still have seen him.”
“True.” Beckett skimmed the area with narrowed eyes, then picked up a hacksaw from a tool chest. “But if he knew we’d be coming in here, he could have cut through it halfway while we were across the street.”
“But there’s no guarantee I’d be standing under it. That it would even fall while we were here.”
Beckett’s expression darkened. “Except he stuck around long enough to make sure. It’d only take one finger to give it a little push. That was most likely the creak we heard.” He tromped down the metal stairs. “We were either followed, someone knew we’d come here, or your girl Darla might not think Richie is so innocent, after all.”
“It wasn’t Darla. She would never make a calculated move like that.” Although she would have known she could cut halfway through the chain before they got there, and she did have a good idea they’d come into the garage, which is why she’d secured the keys for them. She could have come up the back stairs and given it the final push. But that was a major stretch.
“Don’t be so quick to declare her innocent, Counselor. I know it’s your job—”
“Don’t go there.” She met his menacing challenge. “Innocent until proven guilty.”
“Well, let’s go talk to her, shall we? Maybe she called someone and innocently mentioned you were here.”
