High Noon (14 page)

“How's the shoulder?”

“I tell myself it could be worse. It could. It could all be worse.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Just make it Phoebe. This may be an official follow-up, but we're not in the house.”

“Okay, Phoebe. You and I both know that sometimes the emotional injuries take a lot longer to heal than the physical ones.”

Knowing and experiencing were two different things. “I'm working on that.”

“All right.”

“He set me up. Arnie Meeks set me up and he took me down.”

Before Liz could respond, Essie wheeled in a cart. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had other company. Duncan?”

“He had to go. Mama, this is Detective Alberta. My mother, Essie Mac Namara.”

“You took care of my daughter when she was hurt yesterday. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. It's good to meet you, Mrs. Mac Namara.”

“I hope you'll have coffee, and some of this cake.” Essie set cups, saucers, plates on the coffee table as she spoke. “I just have a few things to see to in the kitchen.” She lifted the tray holding the pot, the creamer, the sugar. “Y'all just let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

“Detective Alberta, you don't mind pouring, do you?”

“No, ma'am.” Falling in, Liz picked up the coffeepot, poured out the cups. She shot a glance over as Essie slipped out of the room. “I thought carts like that were just for movies and fancy hotels.”

“Sometimes this house feels like a little of both. You're going to tell me that you're actively investigating, but don't have any solid evidence implicating Officer Arnold Meeks at this time.”

“I am, and I don't. I spoke with him. He was in the building and was smart enough not to deny it. He claims he was getting a few items out of his locker at the time of the attack.”

“This was payback, Liz.”

She looked out the window as her mother had earlier, but instead of being comforted by the rain, felt trapped by it. Trapped inside when there were things to
do.

“I've bumped up against a few other cops, that's just the way it is. But no one recently, and never anyone to the extent Meeks and I rammed heads. I slapped him back, I suspended him, I recommended a psych eval. He wanted to kick my ass then and there, and in fact considered drawing on me. I saw it in his eyes, in his body language. As did Sykes, who interrupted for that reason.”

“Yeah, I spoke with Detective Sykes, and he concurs that he sensed trouble from Meeks that day in your office. ‘Sensed' isn't going to be enough. I've got nothing that places him in that stairway. In the building, yes, with a grudge against you, yes. He's called in his delegate, and he's got his father's considerable weight behind him. If you can give me more, if you remember anything, any detail.”

“I gave you everything.”

“Let's go over it again. Not just from the attack, but from when you left the house that morning.”

Phoebe knew how it worked. Every repetition of the story could add another detail, and another detail might turn the investigation.

She went through it. Heading out to catch the bus as her car was in for repairs. She'd borrowed the MP3 player Ava liked to use when she gardened, and had tried to convince herself the bus was more relaxing, maybe more efficient than driving herself.

She detoured for coffee before taking the to-go cup into work.

“Did you notice anything? Anyone? Get the sense you were followed?”

“No. I can't say I wasn't. I wasn't tuned for that, but I didn't have any sense of it either. I went straight up to my office, started paperwork.”

She went through it, the officers and detectives she'd spoken with, the movements. Routine, routine, routine, she thought. Just another Monday morning.

“After my conversation with the captain, I started down.”

“You always take the stairs.”

“Yes. It's habitual.”

“Did you stop, talk to anyone?”

“No…Yes. I stopped by my PAA's desk to tell her I was going down to the session. Wait.” Phoebe set down her coffee, sat back, closed her eyes. She pulled it back into her head, the running image of herself striding out of her office, across the squad room.

“She held me up there for a minute, asked me some questions, nothing necessary—especially since she'd know I was running close to the clock. I didn't think anything about it at the time, except for being a little annoyed because I was cutting it close, and because she already knew—or should have—that I had the session waiting on me.”

“Who's your PAA?” Liz asked as she pulled out her notebook.

“Annie Utz. I've only had her a few months. She stalled me.” As she thought back, tried to bring it into focus, Phoebe closed her eyes. “I think she was stalling me, just a minute or two. Then she said something about how I'd be taking the stairs down, like always.”

Phoebe opened her eyes, and now they were fierce with fury. “She was signaling him, by radio or phone. Son of a bitch, she was letting him know I was on my way.”

“Do you know if Arnie Meeks and your PAA have a personal relationship?”

“No. She's new, like I said, only a couple of months on the desk. Sharp-looking, single, friendly. Maybe a little on the flirty side, but nothing over the line. She was nervous, a little nervous yesterday. I was in a hurry so I didn't pay attention. I didn't think of her, of that quick conversation again until now.”

“I'll talk to her.”

“No. No, we will. I'm going in with you.”

“Lieutenant. Phoebe—”

“Put yourself in my place.”

Liz drew a deep breath. “Do you need any help getting dressed?”

 

Phoebe was struggling, sweating and cursing her way into a shirt when Essie steamed into the room. “Just what do you think you're doing?”

“Trying to get into this goddamn shirt. I have to go with Detective Alberta.”

“You're not to go anywhere but back to bed, Phoebe Katherine Mac Namara.”

“I should be back within an hour.”

“Don't make me drag your stubborn self into that bed, Phoebe.”

“Mama, for God's sake.” Frustrated and starting to ache again, Phoebe dropped her arm. “Will you help me button this stupid shirt?”

“No. I said you're not going anywhere.”

“And I said I am. There's a lead on my case, and I—”

“You are
not
a case. You're my child.”

Out of breath, Phoebe cradled her bad arm. And through her own anger and annoyance saw the warning glints of panic in her mother's eyes. “Mama…All right, let's both calm down.”

“I'll calm down when you get your beat-up self back into bed where you belong.” Marching over, Essie flung back the bedclothes. “Right this minute! I'm not—”

“Mama, listen to me. My arm will heal, the rest of me will heal on the outside. We know how it is on the inside though, you and me. We know. So you understand when I tell you I'm not going to heal until the person who did this to me is held accountable.”

“There are other people who can see that he's held accountable.”

“I know you feel that way. I know you have to. Understand that I feel
this
way. That I have to. I can't live afraid, Mama, I just can't.”

“That's not what I want, that's not what I'm asking you.”

“But I am afraid. And I close my eyes and I'm back in that stairwell.”

“Oh, baby.” Tears swam as Essie hurried over to stroke her daughter's face.

“Part of me's going to stay afraid, and I'm going to keep finding myself trapped in that stairwell, until I do this. Help me with this shirt. Please.”

Though her eyes were damp, Essie studied Phoebe's face and saw clearly enough. “I don't want you to live the way I do. I don't want you to be afraid.”

“I know that.”

Slowly, her eyes on Phoebe's, Essie buttoned the shirt. “Do you have to go so far the other way?”

“I guess I do. I'm sorry.”

“Phoebe.” Gently, Essie eased Phoebe's arm back into the sling. Then she brushed at Phoebe's hair with her fingertips. “When you get back, you're going straight to bed.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And you're going to eat all the dinner I bring up to you.”

“Every bite.” Phoebe kissed Essie's cheek where the little white scar rode under carefully applied makeup. “Thank you.”

When Phoebe came back into the parlor with Essie at her side, Liz looked from one to the other. “Ah…your PAA called in sick this morning. I have her home address.”

“We'll try her there.”

“Detective? I don't care if she does outrank you, you take good care of my baby girl—and see she gets home.”

“I'll do that, Mrs. Mac Namara. Thank you for the coffee.” Liz waited until they were outside to open her umbrella, and to speak again. “I don't care if you do outrank me, I take the lead on this.”

“No argument. Friendly, flirty and efficient, that's how I'd describe her. Mid-twenties. I think she likes being around cops—likes the buzz. Thanks,” she added when Liz opened the car door for her. “How bad do I look?” Phoebe asked when Liz got behind the wheel.

“Not quite bad enough to scare small children.”

“Let her see me first. My gut says he didn't tell her he was going to hurt me. Scare me, maybe, or just plead his case.” Despite the rainy day, Phoebe slipped on her sunglasses. “But I don't think she'd have gone along if she knew he intended to hurt me. She calls in sick the day after. She's probably scared, guilty, wondering what happened. The way cop shops work, she's heard a few variations. She sees me first, she's already going to start cracking.”

Annie looked sick when she opened the door to her apartment. Against the cotton-candy pink of her pajamas, her face was white and drawn. Her eyes popped wide when she saw Phoebe. Stumbling back, she stuttered out Phoebe's name.

“Annie Utz? I'm Detective Alberta. Can we come in?”

“I—I—”

“Thanks.” Liz pushed the door all the way open so Phoebe could walk in ahead of her. In the background a couple of soap opera actors argued bitterly over someone named Jasmine.

“Lieutenant Mac Namara needs to sit down. She's hurt pretty bad.”

“I…I have a head cold. I'm probably contagious.”

“We'll risk it. You heard about what happened to Lieutenant Mac Namara, didn't you?”

“Yes. I mean, I guess I did. I'm so sorry, Lieutenant. You should be home, resting.”

“Annie…Mind if we turn this off?” Without waiting for permission, Liz picked up the remote and ended the threatening tirade of a shirtless blond hunk. “I'm looking into what happened to the lieutenant. You were the last one to speak to her before she was attacked.”

“I…I don't know.”

“You don't know that she stopped by your desk on her way out, on her way downstairs?”

“I mean, yes, sure. You said you were going downstairs for the training session.” When she addressed Phoebe, Annie's gaze trained several inches over Phoebe's good shoulder.

“What time was that?”

“Just before ten. Just a few minutes before ten.”

“You were aware the lieutenant intended to take the stairs down?”

“Everyone knows Lieutenant Mac Namara uses the stairs.” Annie tugged on a heart-shaped button on her pajamas. “I really don't feel well. I'm sorry.”

“Lieutenant Mac Namara doesn't feel very well either. Do you, Lieutenant?”

“No.” Her sunglasses were back in her bag, where she'd tucked them on entering the building. Phoebe knew the bruised eyes, the scrapes, the bandages were a shocking and painful sight. Just as she knew how to wait, how to use the silence as a lever to pry Annie's eyes to hers. “He pushed me down, after he'd cuffed my hands behind me so I couldn't break my own fall.”

Her gaze steady on Annie's tearful one, Phoebe lifted her hands to show her bandaged wrists. “After he'd taped my mouth, put a hood over my head.” She brushed the hair back from her forehead so the livid bruises showed more clearly. “After he'd smashed my face into the wall.”

Tears spilled, plump drops on pale cheeks. “I…I heard it was really just a bad accident. I heard that you fell. That you fell down the stairs.”

“Was it an accident his fist rammed into her face?” Liz demanded. “That the cuffs snapped over her wrists?” She pulled up Phoebe's arm, gestured to the wrists. “Did her clothes accidentally rip off her body so she had to crawl, half naked, for help?”

“Things get exaggerated. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't feel well. Can you go? Can you just go?”

“Did he tell you he just wanted to talk to me, Annie?” Phoebe kept her voice low, the tone even. “Just talk to me in private? Maybe scare me just a little, or push his point just a little, since I was being so unfair? I was being unfair to him, wasn't I? Did he tell you that when he asked you to signal him I was heading down?”

“I don't know what you mean. I didn't do anything. If you fell—”

“I didn't fall. Look at me, Annie!” Phoebe snapped the words out so that Annie jumped, then hunched her shoulders. “You know I didn't fall. That's why you're sitting here, sick, scared, trying to convince yourself it was an accident. He told you that. He told you it was an accident and I—what?—lied to save face? I made up the attack so I wouldn't be embarrassed about falling?”

“How long have you been sleeping with Officer Arnold Meeks, Annie?” Liz demanded.

“I didn't! We didn't. Not really. I didn't mean anything. I didn't do anything.” As the dam broke, Annie snatched up tissues from a flowered box of Kleenex and buried her face in them. “He said it was an accident, that you were going to make things up, maybe to try to get him in trouble. He told me how you came on to him, and then—”