Joy (37 page)

“I didn't mean anything.” Dianna whined. “It's just that you never take time off unless something's wrong. You're not sick, are you?”

Not in the way you think. “No,” she replied, softening her voice. “Is David in?”

“Not yet. I just tried to page him, but he hasn't called in yet.”

“Is he on his way?” Anya asked, wondering now if she should go into work.

“I think so.”

Anya was thoughtful. “Tell him to call me the moment he gets in.

She hung up the phone, and headed straight for her bathroom. In front of the mirror, she slipped her oversized T-shirt from her body and stared at her bare stomach. It wasn't as flat as it used to be, but it was flatter than it was going to be.

She moved her hand gently across her abdomen trying to imagine what she would look like. Inside, there was a baby with hands and feet and … she turned around abruptly, and started running the water in the tub, then sprinkled lavender bath salts into the water.

Just as she began to immerse herself in the steamy, bubbling water, the phone rang. She paused. Only one person would be calling her now. Second ring. It's probably Braxton, she thought and decided not to answer the phone. Third ring. Or maybe it was David. Fourth ring. She needed to know if he was going to be in the office today.

Grabbing a towel, she ran into the bedroom, shivering as the cool air hit her wet body. The answering machine beeped and instead of picking up the receiver, she turned up the volume.

“Anya, this is Detective Bush—”

She picked up the phone. “Good morning.”

“Anya, I'm glad I caught you.”

She sat down on the bed and pulled the comforter around her, covering the towel. “I was just coming out of the… kitchen. Do you have any news?” She hadn't spoken to Detective Bush in a few weeks and it wasn't until this moment that she realized she'd given up. It was a random rape and unlikely that her attacker would ever be caught.

“Actually, I do have some news. I need you to come to the station. We have a suspect in custody.”

Anya jumped from the bed and both the comforter and towel fell, but she didn't notice. Her hand was covering her wildly beating heart.

“We got a break last night and we're pretty sure we have the man who assaulted you.”

She needed both hands to hold the phone. “Oh, God,” she breathed heavily into the phone. “Who is it?”

“It would be better if you came down to the station.”

“Is it someone I know?” The question trembled from her lips. She didn't know why she asked that and it frightened her.

“Anya, I really prefer not to talk about this on the phone.”

“Please.”

The detective sighed. “All right.” He paused, then told Anya who they had in custody.

Anya gasped, and dropped the phone.

The BMW's tires screeched as Anya turned west on Wilshire. She couldn't believe it. When she had picked the phone up from the floor, Detective Bush had given her little information, but she knew enough. She knew there had been something familiar that night. But why?

In less than twenty minutes, she pulled into the precinct parking lot, jumped from her car, and ran into the building.

“David!” she exclaimed. He was waiting in the lobby.

He grinned. “Anya, it's over.” He hugged her.

“I can't believe it,” she said, finally pulling back so that she could look into his face. “It was Alaister? And Detective Bush said that you found him. How?”

“Hold on. Detective Bush wants you to come to his office.” He clutched her hand, and they almost ran down the long corridor.

Detective Bush was on the phone, but motioned for them to enter. Anya paced the small office until David pulled her to him, hugging her, calming her for the moment.

The detective finally put the phone down. “Well, Anya,” he grinned as he came from behind the desk and enthusiastically shook her hand, “it looks like the first part of this might be over; this should be a slam-dunk for the DA. We have a confession. And, we have my man here”—Detective Bush slapped David on the back—”to thank.”

“You said it was Alaister.” Anya looked from the detective to David. “I still don't believe it. How—”

Detective Bush motioned for David to speak. “It was by accident really,” he began. “Yesterday Alaister called in sick, and I needed some of the new business files. So, I went into his office and found the files, but inside one of them was a piece of paper with your name scribbled all over it. It seemed strange, but I put it aside. Then I thought about it and called Detective Bush. I didn't know if it meant anything…”

“
I
wasn't sure if it was anything,” Detective Bush said, “but I wanted to talk to Alaister, because all along we suspected it was someone close to you. David told us that the night he found you, the office door was locked when he returned. Seems like a small thing, but it narrowed our suspect list. So I couldn't wait to talk to Alaister. We went over there last night, asked a couple of questions, and with a little probing, got what we needed.”

“It sounds too simple,” Anya said, still shaking her head. She laid her hand on her stomach and a chill filled her.

“It's usually like that,” Detective Bush stated. “We work for weeks, months, and it's usually one simple thing that breaks the case. We've caught serial killers through traffic tickets. We don't usually catch these guys in the act, it's usually by accident.”

“So he's going to jail?”

“Well, Alaister has to be arraigned and depending on how he pleads, things will move from there. But he won't have much of a case. He didn't try to hide anything, just started talking. We had to get him in front of a lawyer fast.”

She looked down at her shaking hands. “Did he say why?” she whispered.

Detective Bush leaned forward. “Anya, there is no real why to this type of crime. At least not a reason that you or I would understand.”

She shook her head not accepting his comment. Her mind searched for a motive through every conversation, every meeting she'd had with Alaister—the ones before and the ones after. But the only thing filling her thoughts was that she now had a face to go with those cold eyes that almost destroyed her that night.

“What do I do now?” She wasn't sure if she was asking the detective or herself.

Detective Bush shrugged. “Nothing yet. Alaister's in the holding cell downstairs.” Detective Bush returned to the other side of his desk and missed the way Anya stiffened in the chair. He put on his glasses and opened a manila folder. “He's been arrested on suspicion of rape and battery and he'll be formally charged this afternoon. Bail will be set—”

“You mean, he'll be walking around?” She couldn't hide the shaking in her voice.

David reached for her hand and she gripped his tightly.

“You don't have anything to worry about,” Detective Bush said reassuringly.

“How can you be sure?”

Detective Bush removed his glasses and stared directly at Anya. “Because rapists don't go back.” He let his harsh words settle. “I don't want to sound rough, but he's done what he had to do.”

Anya wondered if Detective Bush could see her fear. She nodded as if understanding, although she didn't understand at all.

Now that she knew Alaister was in the same building, she wanted to get away. She stood and forced herself to smile. Detective Bush had promised results, but now she wished she had never found this out.

Sensing her change, the detective came around the desk and took her hand. “This guy's going down, Anya.”

She nodded.

“The DA's office will contact you. This case hasn't been assigned yet, but the prosecutors will be helpful.”

“Thank you for everything.”

He shook her hand gently. Then the detective turned to David. “If you ever need another career …”

David and the detective chuckled; Anya didn't.

“This guy wouldn't let this go,” Detective Bush said through his laughter. “I guess if I were engaged to you, I would have been relentless too. So when's the wedding?”

“Uh, no,” David stammered. “I'm not marrying Anya. I mean, I would, but—”

“We're not engaged,” Anya jumped in. “I'm marrying Braxton Vance. You met him. He spoke with you about my ring?”

It was the detective's turn to stammer. “I'm sorry, I forgot. It's just that David has been here all the time and the way you're together today…” The detective frowned. “Maybe I should just shut up.”

“It was an honest mistake.” She wanted to get out of there. “Thank you again, Detective Bush.”

David held Anya's hand as they walked through the hallway, out of the building and into the parking lot.

“I have never been so fooled in my life.” Anya leaned against her car and stared at the gray building. Alaister was in there. One part of her wanted to go in and see him. Face him and tear him apart. But a larger part wanted to run away. “I thought the man was familiar. But I didn't want to believe I knew someone who could do something like this to me …” Her voice trailed off. Should she cry? Should she feel relieved?

“He fooled us all, Anya.”

She nodded.

“But it's over. There's nothing for you to fear. I'll make sure of that.”

She smiled. “You're living up to your name? No matter how many Goliaths are out there, you're going to slay them all for me.”

“I'll do my best.” His smile didn't hide his seriousness.

Suddenly her smile faded. “What did I do to Alaister?”

She dropped her face into her hands and David put his arms around her. ‘You know this is not about anything that you did.”

“It was easier for me to believe that when I didn't know who it was.”

David held her close, trying to console her with his touch. They stayed that way until a car pulled into the empty space beside them.

Anya wiped her face, though no tears had fallen. “I'd better be going.” She needed to tell Braxton, and she wanted to see Pastor Ford.

“What are you going to do for the rest of the day?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“I have an idea. Are you game?” He lifted her chin with his finger.

“I don't know… if you're not going to be in the office, then I need to be there.”

“The troops can handle things for one day and I have something that I think will cheer you up. This is what we'll do,” David said, taking charge. “We'll take your car to your house and then you'll ride with me. Come on,” he urged.

She needed to call Braxton. But when she imagined his reaction, she knew she couldn't handle it right then. “Okay.”

Determined not to give it any thought, she got into her car and drove, as David followed her home.

Chapter 46

H
e was surrounded by gray—from the walls to the floors, even the toilet in the corner—the drabness was sucking the breath from him. Americans said that London was colorless. But nothing could surpass this, even the air was gray.

Alaister held his head low, hanging between his knees. He'd hoped to stop the churning in his stomach. There couldn't be anything left; he'd vomited all night.

At least he was alone.

“Hey, buddy.”

The ache in his neck made him raise his head slowly. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the gray shadow on the other side of the bars.

“You want some of this?” The guard rattled the keys inside the holding cell's lock, then slid the tray along the floor. It stopped right under Alaister's nose.

He sat still until the aroma lifted to his nostrils, forcing him to run seven steps to the toilet. The guard's laughter echoed through the halls, but Alaister kept his head lowered until the guard's footsteps faded.

He shuffled to the low-lying cot and lay on his back, with his feet hanging over the edge. He'd lain this way many times before, in the sanctuary he'd created. He should have stayed there. His secrets had been safe in that apartment.

The police were never even close. He had marveled at their ineptness, but now he was wondering how they'd found him.

It was her pictures in that room that had been his downfall. He'd kept evidence that should have been destroyed with the ring.

Carelessness was costly. Still there had to be a way to escape, just like he'd done in London, and in New York. But with what had happened yesterday, he didn't think he'd ever get out of this place. It was the sudden knock on the door that startled him. No one ever came to visit, and even a surprise guest had to be announced by the doorman.

So when he placed his hand on the doorknob, he figured a neighbor was on the other side. It had taken strength from deep within to remain composed when he opened the door. Even without uniforms, before they flashed badges, he knew who they were.

One was a tall Black man, with a shaved head, who looked to Alaister like he would have been comfortable on a basketball court. The other one—the white one—was shorter … and stockier—the one who did all the talking.

“Mr. Phillips, I'm Detective Bush. May we come in?”

“I don't know anything.” Alaister's eyes had darted between the two.

The stocky one's thick eyebrows raised. “You don't know anything about what?”

The detectives were inside, but Alaister still stood at his opened door. “I … don't know … anything about Anya Mitchell,” he stammered.

The detective's eyebrows raised higher. “Who said this was about Anya Mitchell?”

Alaister tried to steady his breathing, remembering that he was innocent. “Why else would you be here, Detective?” He'd been proud of his quick response, but pride turned to cold fear, when he noticed the other detective slowly walking around the living room, edging closer to the bedroom door.

“Excuse me.” He had tried to get the detective's attention.

The Black cop finally turned around. “Do you mind if we look in there?”

Alaister closed his eyes. What were the rules in this country? Surely officers couldn't just walk into his home.

At the same time, the other detective held up a folder. “Is there something you want to tell us?”

Alaister had tried to count slowly in his head to calm the trembling that had taken over his body.

There was little that he remembered after that, until he'd been brought here. They kept him in a small room for much of the night, questioning him. Why did you do it? Have there been any others? What were your plans? Why Anya? There was no way to explain that he'd done nothing wrong. He tried to explain Shakespeare's thoughts on the matter—“I am a man, more sinn'd against than sinning.” But, they could not see his innocence.