Malevolent (7 page)

“Ms. Frederick thinks she’s being stalked.”

Vincent sighed and slumped back in his chair. “This again?”

“Are you the officer she spoke to a couple of days ago?”

“I’m afraid so. Look, I listened to everything she had to say, drove to her house, and me and my partner checked every square inch of the place. There was no forced entry, and Ms. Frederick told me she’d changed the locks after the other incident. I can’t make something out of nothing.”

Shaye’s back tightened and she struggled to maintain her cool. “Ms. Frederick saw someone in her house. How can that be nothing?”

Vincent shook his head. “Emma Frederick is a nice woman who went through something horrible. Regular people aren’t prepared to be attacked, much less kill their attacker, especially when they’re married to him. I’d be more worried if she
didn’t
have some trauma after what she’s been through.”

“You think she imagined it.” No wonder Emma had been so worried that Shaye wouldn’t believe her. Someone was stalking the woman, and the cop who should be trying to figure out who it was didn’t even think there was anything to investigate.

“Of course she imagined it. What other possible explanation is there?”

“I don’t know. I suppose someone could have been in her house but you failed to find the point of ingress.”

“Got yourself a live one, Vincent,” said a young policeman at the desk next to Vincent’s. He looked at another cop standing next to him and grinned.
 

Vincent shot them a bored look. “I didn’t
fail
to find anything because there wasn’t anything to find.”

“Maybe. But I’m being paid to make sure.”

“So make sure. It’s not my dime.”
 

His dismissive tone was the last straw for Shaye. Since when had the burden of proof shifted to the victim? “And if I find something you missed?”

Vincent’s jaw flexed. “Look, you seem like a nice girl. You should be down in the Quarter, partying with your girlfriends and looking for a husband to get you that piece of the good life.”

Even though she knew he’d said it to get to her, Shaye bristled. “The day I need a man is the day I check myself into a convent.”

Vincent smirked. “But yet you’re here needing something. And I’m a man.”

Shaye smiled. “I’ll acquiesce to the first comment. I’m not convinced of the second.”

“Ooooh.” The other cops sounded off in tandem as Shaye rose from the chair.
 

“Thank you so much for your time, Detective Vincent. Since that’s all you gave me.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the exit.
 

“You go girl,” one of the prostitutes said as Shaye passed. “Don’t take no shit from a man or you’ll end up like me.”

Shaye gave her a nod and picked up her pace, letting the door to the station slam shut behind her. To hell with the cops. Hoping for some help from Detective Beaumont had been a reach to begin with. She had no reason to expect a cop who didn’t even know her to offer up information. Before she’d even said a word to Detective Vincent, she’d expected him to scoff at her profession and the case, but she hadn’t expected the level of derision he’d shown toward her client. Clearly, Vincent had problems with women, and even more of a problem with someone finding out he’d been wrong.
 

Shaye had every intention of making that potential problem a reality.

###

As the precinct door slammed shut behind Shaye Archer, Detective Jackson Lamotte sat at his desk nearby watching as two rookie cops starting razing Vincent. It wasn’t smart of them. Vincent had rank and could make their jobs miserable, a fact he knew all too well since he’d been partnered with Vincent a year ago. But he couldn’t blame them for their delight. Vincent was a sexist asshole and a lazy cop to boot. Sure, he’d taken down his share of bad guys back in the day, but now he seemed content with cruising straight into retirement on past performance.
 

Jackson had known exactly how things would go the moment Shaye sat down at Vincent’s desk. At least, he’d known how things would go from Vincent’s end. With her cool demeanor and quick comebacks, Shaye had surprised him. For someone so young, she wasn’t easily intimidated.
 

He looked out the window and watched as she crossed the street and went into a café. Vincent’s irritated voice sounded behind him as he argued with the rookies. Jackson glanced back and decided the argument would probably take a while, and then Vincent would need a break to recover from his hard morning. Vincent always needed a break, and lately, every morning was hard. Basically, unless dispatch forced Vincent off his desk, Jackson wouldn’t be needed or missed. Maybe when the man retired, Jackson would get to do actual full-time work again. Shuffling paper at his desk was getting old.

He rose from his chair and grabbed his cell phone and wallet out of his desk drawer. No one even looked his direction as he wove in between the desks and made his way out of the precinct.
 

It was too late for the work crowd and too early for the tourists, so he easily spotted Shaye at a table in the back corner, sipping on a latte. Only one other table was occupied—two old men arguing over gas prices and the best place to get a haircut. They barely nodded as he made his way past them. Shaye, however, was another story. Her gaze locked onto him as soon as he stepped in the café, and never wavered as he walked directly toward her. Her eyes widened for an instant as he stopped at her table, but she recovered quickly.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked.

“No. But I think I can help you.”

She gave him a disgusted look. “Take a hike, perv.”

Jackson let out a single laugh. “Shit. No, that’s not it.” He pulled out his ID and held it out for her to see. “I’m a detective.”

“That’s too bad.”

“There’s days I feel the same way. I heard your exchange with Vincent. Do you mind if I sit down?”

She studied him for a moment, then pointed to the chair. “Suit yourself.”

As Jackson pulled the chair out and sat, a waitress sauntered over and smiled at him. “Your usual, Detective?”

“That would be great,” he said. “Thanks, Christi.”

“First-name basis?” Shaye asked.

“Café…police station. Seems a natural progression.”

“I suppose so.”

Christi returned with a large mug of black coffee and sat it in front of him. He added a packet of the fake stuff and stirred. “About Vincent, I would apologize for his behavior, but I don’t figure you’d care, and he’s not my responsibility.”

Shaye raised one eyebrow. “Honest and direct. That’s something I don’t get often.”

“Yeah, well, I’m lazy and lying requires too much effort.”

Shaye’s lower lip trembled and he could tell she wanted to smile, but he hadn’t completely breached her defenses.

“I’m glad you stopped across the street,” he continued. “I probably wouldn’t have followed you more than a block. Maybe less.”

The smile finally crept through. “So why are you expending so much of your valuable energy pursuing me into coffee shops?”

“Emma Frederick hired you?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me why exactly?”

Normally, Shaye would never give out information about a case, but Detective Lamotte wasn’t just anyone, and given that he’d heard her conversation with Vincent, he already knew most of it. The case part, anyway.

“She’s being stalked.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because she said so. Look, Detective Lamotte—”

“Call me Jackson.”

“Okay, Jackson, I don’t know when the police department’s policy changed from helping victims to mocking them, but I don’t like it. Emma Frederick is a nice woman who is scared to death, and you guys are telling her she’s imagining things.”

He understood her anger, but he didn’t think she was right. Not completely. “In my job, I’m not allowed the luxury of what I believe to be the case. Only what I can prove.”

“Which is a great concept if I were gathering evidence for a murder trial, but my goal is to
prevent
her from being murdered. Consider my services a preemptive strike.”

“The implication being that the police arrive at the party after it’s already over.”

She held her hands up and tilted her head to the side. “You said it.”

And unfortunately, there was a huge element of truth in the statement. Cops rarely actively prevented crime. They investigated it. Past tense. But if someone had the means to hire a private investigator, they could go on the offensive. “I’ll be the first to agree that having someone check into things gives Ms. Frederick an advantage most don’t have. But I also know more about the situation than you do. You see, Detective Vincent is my partner.”

“And you’re sitting here with me. Are you trying to piss him off?”

“Not directly, but if that’s a side effect of our conversation, I’m okay with it.”

She smirked. “We can both agree on that. Have you been partners long?”

“A year, but it feels like a ten-year journey through hell.”

“I can imagine. Did you work David Grange’s murder?”

Jackson nodded. “And I checked out Ms. Frederick’s house after she came in and claimed someone had been inside the night before.”

Shaye shifted in her chair, and Jackson could tell she was dying to let a million questions fly, but she was still playing it cool. He had to give her credit. She was doing a credible job of it.
 

“Is it like Vincent said?” she finally asked.

“Yeah. Not that he knows firsthand, mind you. He pretty much stood around in the living room and nodded. I did all the heavy lifting.”

“And there’s no way someone broke in?”

“There’s always a chance. Locks aren’t perfect. With the right tools, an expert could be inside in a second. But…”

“Nothing was stolen, so that lets out professional thieves, and locksmiths don’t usually let themselves in strangers’ houses simply to terrorize them.”

“Pretty much. None of the windows had been messed with, and I couldn’t see signs of tampering on the door locks, either. A pro wouldn’t leave signs, but most break-ins aren’t conducted by pros. No footprints in the backyard, and we’d had heavy rain earlier that evening. The backyard is covered with shade trees, so grass is at a premium. There’s no way to get to the back door without leaving footprints across the lawn.”

“So he entered through the front door.”

“
If
he entered, that’s the only option that I can see, but it’s not a great one. The front porch is visible by at least eight houses on the block, and Emma herself said she always leaves the porch light on.”

Shaye sighed. “You don’t believe her either.”

“I believe Emma thinks someone was in her house that night. I believe she thinks she’s being stalked, and she may be right.”

“But?”

“But if someone is stalking her, there’s no way it’s her husband. David Grange is dead. I saw the body myself, and trust me, no one comes back from a severed carotid. Not after he’s bled for as long as he did. I understand you believing that Emma is being stalked. She’s your client and it’s your job to take her at her word unless you have good reason not to. But given the evidence, you can’t possibly believe her stalker is David Grange.”

“I never said I did. I made the necessary phone calls yesterday. Everyone seems quite clear on the fact that David was dead before the paramedics arrived. And no one doubts that the corpse they handled was indeed David Grange. Honestly, I don’t think Emma believes David is her stalker either, but I do believe someone is following her. He’s just being very clever about it, because as long as Emma has no proof, she has no protection. But too many odd things have happened to her, and I’m not a big fan of coincidence.”

Jackson tapped one finger on the table. Sometimes he hated how the rules and the law tied his hands when he couldn’t find enough proof to back up his theories. The reality was, Emma Frederick had gotten to him. And if he was being honest, he believed someone was watching her. Despite the fact that she was clearly frightened, he found her logical and more importantly, sane. Maybe not every strange incident that had happened to her in the last couple of months could be attributed to PTSD or coincidence. Like Shaye, he wasn’t a big fan of it either.

“Can you tell me anything about David Grange?” Shaye asked.

“He was abusive. Ms. Frederick got a restraining order. He violated it and attacked her, and she killed him. One of her neighbors corroborated him striking her.”

“Really? She didn’t tell me that.”

“She might not know. The officers who worked the abuse complaint questioned them. A retired gentleman who lives next door was trimming his rosebushes and could see them arguing through Emma’s kitchen window. He saw David hit her.”

“Trimming his rosebushes, huh?”

“Ha. More likely, he was out pretending to trim the bushes so he could be nosy, but either way, it was a good thing for Ms. Frederick. Between the eyewitness report and her hospital records, we had no question of credibility, and because of that, it was easy to forgo any charges against her for David’s death. The DA took one look at the file and said ‘Thank her for her service to society and cut her loose.’”