Burning Proof (17 page)

KELSEY GRABBED
the bottle of Advil and shook out four tablets, hoping they’d be enough to stop the pounding in her head. Nothing right now could help the feeling that she was losing her grip, she was hanging by one weak finger. She swallowed the pills without water and walked to the window of her hotel room. Years ago she’d learned the hard way that if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. That had, in fact, been Gavin Kent’s motto.

If only I had made it my motto and lived by it,
she thought, opening the wet bar refrigerator to get a bottle of water. The Advil was stuck in her throat.

After a swallow of water, the pills went down, and she worked hard to develop a plan to dig herself out of the pit Alonzo Ruiz had dug for her. All he was supposed to do was keep track of Hart and Murphy, make sure they weren’t opening doors they shouldn’t. His interpretation of that order not only got him killed, it threatened to expose everything. She hoped against hope that there was nothing in his possessions to connect them. She’d already disposed of the phone she’d used to speak to him.
The only bright spot in the situation was that her employer was too involved in scheduling fund-raising events and kissing up to prospective donors to have heard what had happened.

Kelsey hoped, as she always did when Rollins made appearances and took questions from the press, that no one would ask about the Triple Seven. She knew the opposition was already considering running ads about the cold case and Gavin Kent’s involvement to hint at some shadow over Lowell Rollins. So far, he’d been able to deflect, and it hadn’t affected his approval numbers. If the subject came up in any interview, the governor always dodged, but it set Kelsey’s boss off like a cherry bomb. The boss had even threatened to send a personal aide, Quinn, a man Kelsey hated, to help her keep a lid on the Hart problem.

I don’t need anyone breathing down my neck about this,
she thought, rubbing her shoulder.
Especially not a gorilla like Quinn.

Kelsey believed she had time to clean up Ruiz’s mess, but was loath to look for someone else to take his place. Ruiz had been Gavin’s friend and contact. Gavin loved him because of his wizardry with electronics. There was no time to vet someone else. She had a short list of trustworthy people but hesitated to use it. After all, Ruiz had been the best as far as Gavin was concerned and he’d messed up. What if the next guy was worse?

She did what she learned to do as a cop: she organized all the information available to her and tried to map out her next move, always with the objective in mind to stop Hart and Murphy from opening any doors that needed to stay closed and keeping her boss placated and Quinn away.

If Hart weren’t already back in Long Beach, Kelsey was certain the shooting would bring her back. Ruiz’s bonehead move
gave Kelsey a major migraine. She’d heard from her contact on the PD that Woods and Murphy would be heading to the Antelope Valley, and eventually as far as Tehachapi, on some cold case. She still didn’t believe Murphy posed any threat at all to her employer, particularly out in the high desert, but she knew better than to say that, especially in light of what happened with Ruiz.

As much as Kelsey hated to admit it, she wasn’t able to handle the situation herself. She needed eyes on Murphy, and she needed eyes on Hart. She couldn’t be two places at once. She had to find someone she could trust. A name came to mind. He wasn’t on her list, but he’d retired to the high desert and he liked cash. She knew him because he’d been a sheriff’s deputy. He’d gotten into serious trouble in Long Beach a long time ago, when sheriff’s deputies had been assigned to patrol North Long Beach during a budget crisis in the city, and she’d done him a favor. That favor had helped him keep his job and eventually his retirement. Kelsey made a point of keeping track of people who owed her. She was certain she could persuade him to do a little freelance surveillance. He didn’t strike her as someone who would be careless like Ruiz had been.

The Advil finally kicked in. Kelsey found the man’s number in her book and punched it in on her new burner phone.

“Jerry, I need a favor,” she said after they caught up on old times.

“I figured. There’s no reason for you to be talking to me unless you were calling in a marker.”

His voice was not bitter; rather there was resignation there. Kelsey was certain she’d made the right choice.

“I need some surveillance out your way, discreet, with regular
reports about what’s happening.” She detailed the situation for him.

“Hmm,” Jerry said, then went quiet.

After a long minute while Kelsey held her breath, he said, “I can do that for the right price.”

Kelsey exhaled and relaxed. Money wasn’t an issue. They decided on a price and a method to connect with one another. He’d get a burner and text her. Headache gone, she disconnected and collapsed on the bed.

I can and have handled this. It will all work out in the end.

AFTER THE WEEKEND,
dealing with Ralph, then Monday’s meeting with Carney, Abby found herself with nothing pressing to do but walk Bandit. She’d left a message over the weekend with Dr. Collins’s answering service that she was home and was hoping for an appointment. They’d asked her if she had an emergency and she’d told them no. They advised that Dr. Collins was involved in a crisis and would call as soon as he was able. So far, she hadn’t heard anything.

Abby thought about Luke and Woody’s investigation and remembered Luke had a meeting with the tipster. The investigator in her felt a little pang of jealousy. That could be a good lead and she would have loved to be asking the questions. Once she and Bandit returned from the walk, she decided she’d try the doctor again. She called and was told Dr. Collins was almost free and would call her back as soon as he was able.

She wanted to return to work and had already spoken to Bill about their caseload. They discussed their double murder case; Carla Boston claimed temporary insanity. Bill still insisted Abby take her time.

“You handled things for a while without a partner. I can do the same until you’re 100 percent sure about what you want.”

At this point Abby wasn’t 100 percent sure about anything but that the opportunity to try to help Molly was appealing. Her thoughts drifted to the girl often. Abby had looked up PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder, and realized it might even be applied to her, if she hadn’t gotten past the turmoil over shooting Clayton Joiner. It was a disorder that affected some people after they saw or lived through a dangerous event. Even though Molly’s event had happened ten years ago, it still affected her.

Abby ached to help the girl. Luke had e-mailed her a summary of the case, and she knew that Molly had faith, but right now it was fractured, something Abby could relate to. She reread the summary and had just finished when the psychologist returned her call.

“I’m doing much better,” she told him in answer to his first question. “Going home helped me put things into perspective.”

“Glad to hear it. Are you ready to discuss returning to work?”

“Yes, I am.”

“It may not be right away, but I’ll do my best. I’ll need to set up an appointment to meet with you, and this week is full. Make an appointment for first thing next week. I’ll give Lieutenant Jacoby an update and explain the scheduling. Is that fair?”

“Fair. Can I ask you an unrelated question?”

“Sure, I have a minute.”

Abby told him about Molly and her desire to help since she believed that they both struggled with the same thing.

“Abby, it’s laudable that you want to help, but you’re not a mental health professional.”

“I know that, but I am a detective. I’d like to help with the
crime, see if we can solve the case and give the girl closure. That might be a big step forward for her, to see the rapist caught.”

“Yes, but giving the girl false hope when the crime might never be solved would not be a good thing. Do your thing, investigate, but encourage the girl to find her validation in the here and now, the people who love and support her. Agreed?”

“Totally,” Abby said, understanding and feeling an odd connection to the girl who’d been through such a tough event.

Collins rang off after she set up the appointment for the following Tuesday. She doubted Molly’s case could be solved in a week, but at least she’d be able to talk to her and maybe help in a small way. She was on a firm foundation again, felt confident. Jacoby might even call and talk to her, and she’d tell him what she told the psychologist. She was ready to go back to homicide and be an advocate for those who could no longer speak for themselves. She also wanted to head out to the Antelope Valley and see if she could help a hurting girl.

She picked up the phone again to call Woody. Though she’d only heard about the girl through Luke and Woody, she felt she knew her.

Bad guys need to be caught.

The phone rang before she punched in Woody’s number.

“Detective Hart, please.” The voice was formal, clear.

“This is she.”

“One moment please.”

Abby realized that had been someone’s secretary and she was being transferred. After a click, a deep baritone voice came over the phone.

“Detective Hart? This is Marcus Freeman. I represent Althea Joiner.”

Abby’s heart caught in her throat. How did this man get her phone number? She knew very well who he was. He wanted her fired. He was threatening to sue her for violating Clayton Joiner’s civil rights, for wrongful death, and she forgot what else.

“This is Detective Hart. I’m not sure we should be speaking.”

“I’ve cleared this conversation with the chief of police. I have a request from my client.”

He paused, and Abby wondered if he was waiting for her response, but after a couple of seconds he went on. “Mrs. Joiner would like to meet with you. She has something she’d like to say and a few questions to ask you.”

“Uh, I don’t know what to say. . . .”

“I know this is irregular. It was not my suggestion. It’s not a trap or a ploy; it is my client’s wish, and I’m obligated to relay my client’s wishes.”

Abby got the distinct impression he wanted her to tell him to pound sand. And that was her first impulse. But she was too curious to pop off with the first thought that crossed her mind.

“Can I ask what she wants to talk to me about?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. I will say that the meeting is to be just the two of you. Are you familiar with Grounds Café on Spring Street?”

“Yes, I know the place.”

“Mrs. Joiner would like to meet you there tomorrow morning.”

“That’s quick.”

“Yes, it is. Shall I tell her you decline?”

This guy did not want the meeting to take place.
I must be obstinate,
Abby thought,
because just knowing he doesn’t want me to meet with Althea makes me want to be there.
Before the
shooting, Abby had liked Althea and thought that they had connected on one level. Althea had trusted her to find her daughter’s killer, had even prayed with Abby and Bill a couple of times. A tinge of guilt bit Abby’s gut as the shooting flashed in her mind, and she heard Althea’s accusations.

I want to talk to her as well,
she thought.

“Detective Hart?” Freeman sounded impatient.

“No, you can tell her I’ll be there. What time?”

Althea’s lawyer’s request wasn’t the only surprise of the day. Uncle Simon phoned that night as well.

Abby was prepared for the collect call. California prison inmates could not be phoned; they could only make collect calls. She’d expected her uncle would be contacting her once he knew that she submitted her visitation application. She accepted the charges. After a couple of clicks, she heard his voice.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Uncle Simon?”

“Yeah, wow! I’m so glad you agreed to talk to me and that you want to visit.”

Abby swallowed. “I think we probably have a lot to talk about.”

“You’re right; we do. I’m not sure how long your approval will take, but I turned in the form. I’m so looking forward to your visit. You are all the blood family I have left.”

He explained to her how visiting worked. She could walk in on a Saturday or Sunday or set up an appointment online.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know. I have a few minutes. How are you? I read about the stuff going on in your life.”

“I’m okay. I
 
—” For a second she fumbled, not sure what to say to a man she’d never met.

He read her mind. “Kinda funny talking to someone you don’t know. You’ve probably only seen me in decades-old photographs.”

Abby laughed. “That’s true. From those, you looked a little like my dad.”

“A little, but he was always better-looking. I lost my hair by the time I was thirty. Buck’s hair was always thick and full. We corresponded for a time before he died, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” This was a surprise to Abby. She’d always been told her father disowned his brother.

“Yeah, he kept it quiet because his partner didn’t want any connection to a convict to overshadow the restaurant. I guess I can understand that.” There was some noise and clanging in the background.

Abby wanted to ask him more questions, but he asked her to hold on for a minute.

“I have to go,” he said when he returned. “I’ll call again, maybe read you some of your dad’s letters if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I would like that. I really would.”

“Okay, good-bye, Abby. It’s really great to talk to you.”

The call ended and Abby stared at the phone for a minute. Letters from her dad, his actual writing. She didn’t know what to say, but the knowledge that such things existed made her feel warm and hopeful.