Falsely Accused, page 9
The bond was still there.
If they allowed it, they could be pulled in again. They could rediscover their friendship, rebuild their relationship and be even closer than they had been when they were younger. Wren had established herself in her career. She had become everything she had ever said she wanted to be.
She hadn’t married, though.
He would have heard about that through the grapevine.
Then again, he didn’t recall her ever talking about a husband and kids and a white picket fence. He had dreamed of having a family and home. She had wanted a career and a home life devoid of the emotional chaos she had experienced as a child.
He walked to her side, felt her tense as he took a position a foot away. Not close enough to touch. Close enough to offer support if she needed it.
“We’ll go inside the apartment and dust for prints,” one of the deputies said. Titus had done some restoration work for him—gutting the 1970s kitchen in his Cape Cod and returning it to its original 1920s charm. Levi Goodwin had been very clear on what he wanted. Everything as original as it could be. He’d even purchased a refinished 1920s stove. All for his wife, who had been in the hospital waiting for a stem cell transplant to treat bone cancer.
“Levi, how are you?” he asked, offering his hand.
“Great. My wife still loves everything about the kitchen. You do outstanding work. You going to do something here?” He gestured to the farmhouse.
“I’m cleaning up from the fire.”
“Didn’t realize you did that kind of work.”
“I restore houses. I know people who do water and fire cleanup,” he said.
Levi nodded. “Good. This place is a part of Hidden Cove history. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. Wren said you saw the person who ransacked the apartment?”
“I caught a glimpse of him leaving the house.”
“You got a look at his face?”
“Just height, body type and clothes.”
“And you’re the one who got the tag number?”
“That’s correct.”
“No mistake?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“We ran the tag. It’s registered to a young woman who reported it stolen last night. She finished her shift at work and discovered that her car was missing.”
“That isn’t surprising,” Wren interjected, her focus sharp. She was like a dog with a bone when she began working on something. No matter how exhausting it might be, no matter how tired she got, she never stopped.
“No, it’s not,” Levi agreed. He smiled, but it was a quick, tight curve of lips. Nothing like the broad smiles and gregarious chatter he had offered while Titus worked on his kitchen.
“I’m not here to step on toes, Deputy,” Wren began.
“Ryan spoke highly of you,” Levi said, cutting her off. “He said you were a great law enforcement officer with a stellar reputation. So, it might be best for you to step back and let us do our job.”
“I have no intention of interfering with your investigation. I’m just giving you information that may be helpful to it.”
Levi nodded, his expression grim. “We’re on the same team, Wren. It might not seem that way, but we are. We are just as eager to find out who killed Ryan as you are. He was a coworker and a friend, and we plan to get justice for him.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Wren responded. “But justice isn’t going to be served if your focus remains on me.”
“We aren’t only focusing on you,” another officer said. Older by at least a decade, with bleached hair and wide blue eyes, Hannah Simmons had been a fixture in the Hidden Cove Sheriff’s Department for as long as Titus had been in town.
No-nonsense and by the book, she was known to be both fair and tough. She accepted no excuses, but she often gave second chances.
“That’s good to hear, Deputy Simmons,” Wren replied. “But, at the moment, I seem to be the only suspect.”
“You’re not a suspect in my eyes,” Hannah said.
“Everyone is a suspect until proven innocent,” the third deputy said.
The youngest of the three, he looked fresh out of high school, a little acne on his chin, his hair slicked back from a high forehead.
“You’ve got that backward, kid,” Hannah said with a sigh. “Innocent until proven guilty, and we currently have no proof that Agent Santino was involved in the murder. I, for one, find it hard to believe that she’d try to burn down Abby’s home. And why would she need to ransack the apartment over a garage she has full access to?”
The young man blushed, his entire face going red. “Family members and significant others are always at the top of our suspect list,” he managed to stutter.
“That’s what the book says, kid, but we need to take a practical approach to police work,” she replied easily.
She turned her attention to Titus. “How clear was your view of the perp?”
“He was bald. Heavy build. Muscular. As I already mentioned, I didn’t get a good look at his face.”
“According to the 911 caller, gunfire was exchanged.” She took a notebook from her pocket and wrote something on one of the pages.
“Not exchanged. He fired at me. Several shots. I didn’t fire my weapon until he tried to run me down with his vehicle.”
“If you had shot him, it would have been self-defense.” She jotted a few notes and then met his eyes. Titus had had a few run-ins with her during his teenage years. Usually because he was loitering at the local diner after it closed, hoping the owner would take pity on him and hand him leftovers to take home.
He’d been that kid.
The one that everyone knew and most people either feared or pitied. A brown-skinned newcomer in a town that had almost no diversity, he had been an oddity that had made some people nervous. He had often found himself facing the sheriff or a deputy, promising to go straight home after their talk.
“I couldn’t see him, and I never fire at a target I don’t have a visual on.”
“That’s good practice. You have a concealed carry permit?”
“Yes, and a permit for the Glock I’m carrying. Both are in my wallet.”
“We’ll take a look at them down at the station.”
“You’re taking him to the sheriff’s office?” Wren cut in. “Why?”
“Because he is the sole witness, and I want to make sure I get the facts right. We’ll record your statement. I have the equipment to do that there.”
“I’ll follow you over.” He fished keys from his pocket, but she shook her head.
“How about I drive you there and back?” She smiled. “You can sit in the front.”
“That’s generous of you, Deputy Simmons,” he said with just enough of a wry edge in his voice to make her chuckle.
“I always liked you. You know that? Even when you were being a giant pain in my behind.”
“When was I ever that?”
“I’ll rephrase the comment,” she replied. “Even when the people in this town were being giant pains in my behind, calling me every other night to report the fact that you existed, I liked you. Come on. Let’s get this done. I want to get back here in time to see how the newbie does collecting evidence in the apartment.”
“I think I had better take charge of that,” Levi said.
“Supervise him? Sure. Take charge of? I think he will learn better if he does it himself. Make sure all the surfaces are checked for prints. The more evidence we collect, the tighter our case will be when we find this guy.”
“Do you want me to go to the station with them, Wren?” Annalise asked, hurrying down the porch steps.
“I don’t need a lawyer,” Titus replied before Wren could. He’d rather Annalise and Radley stayed with her. She needed the support a lot more than he did.
“That’s what most people say right before they realize they do.” Annalise brushed a few pieces of lint from her suit jacket. “It’s your call, Wren. I’m here, so I may as well work.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Wren said. “I’ll take Deputy Goodwin and Deputy...?”
“Henry. Deputy Brock Henry.”
“Right. I’ll take you to the apartment. I’m assuming Radley will join us there soon.” She glanced at the road and frowned. “Maybe we should call and check in with him.”
“If you’re talking about the FBI agent who is down by the beach access road, he’s with the sheriff. They’ll be here as soon as they finish processing the scene.”
“Then, I guess that settles it,” Annalise said. “I’ll grab my purse and head to the station. I’ll see you both there.” She speared Deputy Simmons with a hard look. “Remember, my client has a right to refuse to answer your questions without me present.”
Hannah scowled, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not sure who you think you are, Ms.—”
“Special Agent Annalise Rivers. I’m an attorney with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” She offered a hand, and Hannah shook it.
“Right. Well, here is who I am—a small-town deputy who believes in being honest and forthright about my intentions. If I planned to charge Titus with anything, he would know it. Since he hasn’t committed a crime, I have no reason to. But feel free to waste your time.” She shrugged. “Let’s head out.”
She strode across the yard and climbed into her vehicle without another word.
“That went well,” Annalise murmured, smoothing her hand over perfectly styled hair and then down the front of her jacket.
“You’re a bulldog in the courtroom, Anna,” Wren replied. “But it’s okay to approach things with a little more diplomacy out on the street.” She smiled to take the sting out of the words, then met Titus’s eyes. “I suggest you do what Annalise tells you. She knows how to keep innocent people out of trouble. I’m heading over to the apartment. If you need anything, you can reach me through Radley. You have his number?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up a prepaid phone while I’m in town,” Annalise said. “Since the sheriff is keeping yours for no apparent reason.”
“It’s evidence,” Levi offered, but Annalise wasn’t interested in listening. She was walking across the yard, heading toward her SUV.
“You’d better head out,” Wren said. She was looking into Titus’s eyes again. There were flecks of gold in the depths of her nearly black irises, and he found himself lost in her gaze, searching for hints of what they had once been to each other.
Best of friends.
Closest allies.
Always ready to go to battle for one another.
Whether she realized it or not, she had jumped back into that role when she’d agreed that Annalise should go to the sheriff’s office with him.
“Before Deputy Simmons starts honking the horn at me?”
“And changes her mind about letting you sit in the front.” She grinned, the amusement in her eyes making him want to pull her in for the kind of hug they had offered each other dozens of times before.
He didn’t want to chase the smile from her face, so he kept his distance, watching as the smile faded and her eyes became somber. “You really do need to go.”
“I know, but if you need me, all you have to do is call.”
He had spoken those same words the morning of his wedding. Wren had stood in the place of best man, helping with his tux and straightening his tie and assuring him that the day would go off without a hitch. If she’d had reservations about Meghan, she hadn’t let on. From the moment he had told her he planned to propose until the day he had accused her of lying out of jealousy and spite, Wren had never been anything but supportive of his relationship.
That day, she had smiled and laughed and joked and acted as if she completely approved of his choice of brides. Maybe she had. He had never asked. He had been too consumed by his desire for Meghan and too caught up in the idea of marriage and family.
She frowned. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Titus.”
“I mean them. I meant them.”
Her frown deepened, and she shook her head. “I’m going to the apartment. I’ll see you when you get back.”
She walked away, and both deputies followed.
He had no choice but to climb into Deputy Simmons’s car and head to the sheriff’s office.
“You two give up on your friendship?” she asked as she put the vehicle into Drive.
“Wren and I?”
“I’m not talking about you and Levi, that’s for sure.”
“We haven’t spoken in a few years. This is the first time I’ve seen her since I moved back to town.”
“That’s a shame. You two made a good couple.”
“We were never a couple.”
“Well, maybe you should have been. Listen, there’s a reason I wanted you to ride along with me, and it wasn’t just to save you wear and tear on your vehicle.”
“What’s that?”
“Something fishy is going on in this town. I can’t put my finger on what.”
“Fishy?”
“Every person that I know who’s older than seventy is suddenly keen to sell mortgage-free property to buy a place in the retirement village.”
“People get older. They start needing a little more help.”
“That’s hogwash. The people I’m talking about could live independently for another ten or fifteen years.”
“That’s happening all over the country, Deputy Simmons.”
“Call me Hannah. And, sure it is, but not at this rate. We’re talking people who have sworn up and down that they’ll never move, and three weeks later they’re putting for-sale signs up in front of their houses.”
“Even if they’re being talked into it, that’s not a crime. Which I’m sure you know.”
“I do, and that’s not the reason I wanted to speak with you alone.”
“Then what is?”
“I’m not sure what happened to Abigail was an accident.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Her broken hip. She was found at the bottom of her stairs by a concerned church member. She hadn’t shown up for church.”
“She’s eighty-two. People her age do fall, and they do break bones.”
“She said she was pushed, Titus. That’s what she told the person who found her, and it’s what she told the doctors.”
His blood ran cold at the words. “Did the sheriff’s department investigate?”
“We did, but Abigail also had a head injury. It could have been caused by the fall or by a blunt force object. The sheriff questioned her, and she changed her story, said that she had been mistaken. She wasn’t pushed, she lost her footing on a loose carpet tread.”
“Does Wren know this?”
“I didn’t tell her. The sheriff marked the case as closed, and I’ve got no business going around stirring up trouble.”
“But, you’re telling me.”
“Because the retirement village has a historical home on the property. The investment firm that bought the land had to agree to leave it right where it is. They can sell it if they want, but they can’t tear it down and they can’t move it.”
“And?”
“It’s been eight years since the land was sold, and they’ve done nothing with the house. I’m assuming they’re trying to let time and weather do what the bylaws of the community won’t allow.”
“Destroy the house?”
“Right. But if a concerned citizen happened to lodge a complaint, we would have good reason to pay the retirement village a visit.”
“I’m assuming you want me to be the concerned citizen?”
“You’re the historical property restoration expert, and you know someone who is planning to move there. You can say that you were there touring the property and happened to notice the state of disrepair.”
“I don’t lie, Hannah.”
“Okay. Then ask Wren to take you for the tour. After that, call the historic society and the town council.”
“Is there a reason why you’re not doing that?”
“As a member of the sheriff’s department, it’s important that I remain neutral.”
“You could send an anonymous tip.”
“The sheriff would know it was me. I’ve been talking about the place for months, wondering what’s going on behind the manicured lawns and beautiful facade. The sheriff’s mother lives there. He says it’s all on the up-and-up and I need to leave it alone, but I believe in going with my gut. My gut says there’s something going on there. My brain says I don’t need to lose my job when I have two kids still in college and a husband on disability.”
“You think whatever is happening here has something to do with Ryan’s murder?”
She was silent for several heartbeats, her gaze focused on the road, her hands firm on the steering wheel. She had six children. Three still live at home. Her husband had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis a few months after Titus returned. He thought she was probably in her midfifties, closing in on early retirement but unable to leave her job because she had too many people depending on her. “I don’t know, but I’m worried enough to want to have a reason to go check things out.”
“If I find the historical home needs work, I’ll contact the town council and file a complaint with your department.”
“So you’re going to do it?”
“After all the trouble I put you through when I was a kid, I don’t think I have much of a choice. I owe you.”
“The town put me through the trouble. You were never a problem.” She pulled into the parking lot on the south side of the sheriff’s department and parked.
“Remember, this is our secret.”
“I’m not much better with secrets than I am with lies,” he responded. He had spent too much of his childhood carrying his mother’s secrets. Her addictions had been a well-known fact in the community, but he had never spoken of them. When his mother had failed to show up for parent-teacher conferences, he had always lied about the reason.
