Storm Gathering (14 page)

Crawford watched out the second-story window of the DA’s office. A group of reporters, the Sunday crew no less, stood chattering away in hopes of learning some gruesome details about a kidnapped woman.

“We’re going to need more evidence for the grand jury indictment,” Sandy said. The police chief was lounging on the DA’s sofa, his arms sprawled across the top of it. “It’s all circumstantial right now. We need that smoking gun, Shep.”

Shep turned to Sandy, folding his arms against his chest. “It’s a mistake.”

“I know you think that. And for crying out loud, Shep, I have supported you on nearly every call you’ve made since you’ve been working for

me. That’s why I made you head over the division. But we have a man seen leaving a bar with her and leaving her apartment the next morning. Drunk out of his mind, by all accounts, including his own.”

“That doesn’t make for a kidnapper.”

“I made the call; that’s final. Now go find the evidence that will put our suspect behind bars.” Sandy pulled his large frame off the couch and stood next to Shep at the window. “You should’ve been down there making the announcement. You shouldn’t shy away from the attention. You’re good at what you do. People should know the brains behind it all. It ain’t Fiscall.”

Sandy left the room and Shep watched Fiscall approach the reporters, his nose hung in the air with great importance. He buttoned his suit in a gentlemanly manner. Shep couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he watched his mouth move.

Fiscall was behind all of this. He knew it. Fiscall had called Sandy over the weekend, pressuring him to make an arrest. Fiscall had decided what the public wanted, and he was going to hand it to them on a silver platter.

And who knew what kinds of strings Sammy Earle was pulling. The man knew a lot of powerful people.

Shep watched as the red dots glowed on the tops of the cameras all at once. It would be breaking news on TV.

And the start of a whole new kind of war.

Aaron hung up the phone and flipped on the television, watching Stephen Fiscall announce they had issued an arrest warrant for Mick Kline, believed to be the man behind the disappearance of Taylor Franks.

He quickly dialed Fred’s home phone number. “Captain, it’s Aaron.”

“Aaron, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

“Can you give us some time? Can we set up a time and a location?”

“They’re headed over to his house now.”

“Just have them wait outside, okay? Give us some time and Mick will come out quietly.”

“Forty minutes.”

Aaron hung up and dialed Mick’s number. When he didn’t answer, Aaron slammed down the phone and raced past Jenny. “I’m going over there. Call Bill and tell him to meet me there. Mick’s going to need a lawyer whether he likes it or not.”

In Jenny’s car, Aaron drove to Mick’s house as fast as he could, hoping he would be there. He didn’t want the police to have to track him down.

Within fifteen minutes, he was there. Reporters’ vans lined the streets, and Aaron spotted two detectives’ cars in the driveway. Aaron got out and tried to walk calmly toward them.

Detective Monty Wailes was standing by his car when Aaron approached. “Hey, Monty.”

Monty shook his hand. “I’m sorry, man.”

“I can’t believe this has turned into such a circus,” Aaron growled, glancing at all the reporters who had their cameras aimed at him.

“Fred said to give you some time. Mick knows we’re here. He’s in there waiting for you.”

Aaron nodded, feeling a tinge of relief. His attorney friend from church, Bill Cassavo, arrived, pulling next to one of the news vans. Bill didn’t represent many criminal cases, but he would be fine for now.

“Aaron,” Bill said, approaching, “ready to go in?”

Aaron led Bill to the front porch. Knocking twice, he heard Mick come to the door. Aaron and Bill slipped inside quickly, trying not to allow any more photo ops. The first thing Aaron noticed was that the living room was back to normal. Aaron walked over to where the TV and stereo had been. They were put back into place and, oddly, dusted. Mick had never been one to dust.

Mick looked like he didn’t want to talk about it, so Aaron let it go. “You okay?” Aaron threw his wallet, badge, and keys on the coffee table, then placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Mick shook his head. His eyes were sunken, his face drawn tight. “I can’t believe this.”

Bill introduced himself and asked if they could sit down together.

Mick looked like he was in a trance.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. They’re going to come in, read you your rights. My advice to you is to say nothing. I’ll be with you once you’re arrested, all the way through the process. I know you want to proclaim your innocence, and there will be time for that, but I don’t think it’s smart for even me to make a comment to the media at this time. They’ll dissect everything I say. We’ll make our battle inside the court of law.” Bill continued, explaining that a grand jury would have to hand down the indictment separately from the arrest warrant.

Aaron examined Mick’s panicked face. He moved over to where his brother sat. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“No, this isn’t right. I didn’t do this. I didn’t take her. The whole world is going to think I did.”

“We’ll prove them wrong.”

“We’ll get you the best criminal defense attorneys,” Bill said. “I’ve got friends in high places.”

“The evidence is circumstantial at best,” Aaron added.

Mick stared at the front door. “I’ve got to do something.” He stood. “I’ve got to find Taylor. Something terrible has happened to her.”

“You need to worry about yourself right now,” Bill said as they both watched Mick pace the room.

“No, you don’t understand.” Mick turned to them. “I should’ve done something to stop whoever did this. I should’ve helped her. I could have if I hadn’t been so drunk.” He slapped his hands over his face in anguish.

Aaron stood, grabbed him, and pulled him to himself, wrapping his arms around his back. “It’s all right. This isn’t your fault.”

Mick stepped back and looked at him. “You do believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That I’m innocent. I can tell. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Of course I do.”

Mick nodded, glancing at Bill, looking embarrassed by his emotions. “How long do we have?”

“About fifteen minutes or so.”

Mick rubbed his face, his hair, exhaustion striking a hard edge onto his expression. “God knows the truth.”

Aaron smiled. “Yeah, buddy. He does.”

Mick looked worried, his gaze circling the room, a complex mixture of emotions setting into his eyes. “There’s more to this than it seems.”

“More to what?”

“Too many things don’t make sense.” Mick sighed off his last comment and turned his attention back to Aaron and Bill. “Okay, well, I guess I better get some things in order here.”

“You won’t need anything at the jail,” Bill said.

“I know. But maybe I should shower. It may be my last hot one.” Mick smiled mildly. “Call Mom and Dad for me, okay?”

“Sure.”

“All right. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be ready to go.”

Aaron and Bill watched Mick slack down the hall. Aaron gently slapped his own cheek, trying to knock away the emotions that swelled in his throat.

Bill clapped his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Faith, my friend. Faith.”

Aaron walked outside. A few law-enforcement personnel mingled on the front lawn, including his partner, Jarrod, who acknowledged him, remorse in his eyes. Halloway and Martin walked up to Aaron. “Tell them five minutes. Mick’s showering and getting ready.”

“No problem,” Halloway said. “You okay?”

Aaron tried to smile. “They’ve got the wrong guy. I can’t believe it, but they’ve got the wrong guy.”

Martin stared at his feet. Halloway glanced at Bill, who looked like he really wanted to go tell the media what was on his mind.

Next to the police cars Aaron spotted Shep Crawford, several feet away from the other detectives, staring at him in a way that sent a chill down his spine. Crawford didn’t look happy, which baffled Aaron. He was getting his arrest. What else did he want?

Detective Prescott approached Aaron. “It’s about time.”

“Okay.” Aaron told Bill to wait outside and went in to get Mick. The shower was still running, and steam floated all the way down the hall. Aaron laughed. They had always fought about showers when they were teens. Mick loved an hour’s worth of hot water, never caring that anybody else had to bathe. Still seemed to be true.

Aaron lingered around the living room for a moment, waiting for the shower to turn off. It amazed him how quickly Mick had put everything into place. Aaron walked around the room for a moment. It had been months since he’d been in his brother’s house. Pulling out a couple of drawers out of curiosity, he picked up a stack of pictures. Pictures of Jenny and Mick. Looked like they were at the new Hawaiian restaurant. Aaron threw them back in the drawer. He got the girl, but it didn’t always feel good. It was hard seeing pictures of the two of them in better days. There had been something between them, even though in the end Jenny knew Mick wasn’t right for her.

Aaron checked his watch and then the hallway. He noticed the absence of steam, but the shower was still running. Aaron walked toward the bathroom, but not before stealing a glance out the window, where things looked to be getting a little restless outside.

Aaron knuckled the door. “Mick, come on. They’re waiting.”

There was no reply.

He gave the door a firm rap. “I know this is tough, but we gotta get out there.”

Running water was the only reply.

Pounding, he called Mick’s name again, then rattled the door, which was locked. “Mick!”

Without further hesitation, Aaron stood back and kicked the flimsy wooden door in. The shower curtain was flapping ever so slightly . . . in the breeze? He yanked the curtain to the side. In front of him was an empty tub with ice-cold water running out of the showerhead.

And a square window opened above it.

Sammy Earle could not hold his liquor tonight. Stumbling toward his bedroom, he was half laughing, half snorting, the television remote in one hand and in the other a bottle of cognac, though he’d have preferred to be at Tiki Bob’s having a White Russian. But his publicist had told him to keep a low profile, so he was keeping one between the dark walls of his two-million-dollar home.

“What a doll,” Sammy said, slobbering out his words as he thought of the pretty boy whose picture was now posted by the word
fugitive
on all the channels. There was scarcely a mention of Taylor. All the better. He hated her name. It gave him hives.

“Mickey, Mickey,” Sammy said, dancing across the Spanish tile. He needed a cigar. A cigar, a cigar. Cause for celebration. All the sweating for nothing. His name wasn’t even mentioned in the press! For once, that was a good thing.

“Shouldn’t have gotten yourself involved with a woman named Taylor. And I use the word
woman
very loosely.” Sammy snickered, burping and then nearly vomiting before he fell into his feather bed. He managed to kick his slippers off, hitting his French poodle in the head. A long blink indicated she disapproved of his antics, and she curled up in the corner of the room in her dog bed.