Broken Grace (17 page)

“So, where were you, anyway?” Lisa’s tone had calmed considerably, and she was back in the kitchen.

“Police station. They called me back in. They questioned my boss, Dave Jacks. They wanted to know if I remembered anything else.”

“What? Why? What’s happened?”

Grace jumped at the sound of her voice, suddenly so close. She looked up at Lisa standing over her.

“Why him?”

“I guess Michael had been drugged the week before he was killed, and Dave had the drugs at his place.”

“What do they think?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think they know. But Michael’s shotgun was found in some dumpster at Dave’s place.”

“What? Oh my God.”

Grace sat up then to look at her sister. “But I found out something today.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were engaged.” She held her hand out for Lisa to see the ring. “Why didn’t you tell me? You said Michael and I broke up.”

Lisa sat on the arm of the chair. “Where did that come from?”

“I dropped off the ring for resizing on the Friday before he died. The jeweler called me.”

Lisa sat, silent for a moment, staring down at the shag rug. “I didn’t know.”

“Tell me the truth. What happened Friday night? What did I say?”

“You were really upset. You said Michael was a bastard. But you didn’t want to talk about it. You weren’t wearing that ring. You didn’t mention the engagement. You asked to be alone, and the next morning you left to get your stuff.”

Grace lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. “I think I need a lawyer.” She felt like she was just starting to find out about who she was. She couldn’t really kill a man, could she?

Lisa took her hand. “Grace, they’re just fishing. Stop volunteering to help them, okay? I told you, it’s not going to help things.”

“You should have seen the way that Bishop guy looked at me. It’s like he knows something I don’t. I need help.” She looked at Lisa. “I need professional help.”

“Okay. I’m just worried that if you get an attorney now, it might make you look more suspicious. I mean, don’t people with something to hide get lawyers? I just feel like we need to ignore the police until they start accusing you.”

“I can’t. I . . .” She looked at Lisa’s eyes and couldn’t hold back the tears. “I’m scared.”

Lisa reached out and hugged her. Finally, it didn’t feel awkward when Lisa held her tightly and rubbed her back. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll see if I can find you a lawyer nearby. I don’t have to be at work until noon tomorrow. I’ll take you.”

The tension in Grace’s body eased. She relaxed into her sister’s embrace and closed her eyes, finally feeling grateful for Lisa’s care.

The meds helped her headache and she fell asleep easily, but the fall woke her. Her body jolted in the bed, and she opened her eyes to a sudden realization that it was a dream. She’d been scared and crying, maybe five years old. The yellow sundress with daisies. Her arms tied behind her back, her eyes covered by fabric, when the ground disappeared beneath her and she tumbled forward and fell at least four or five feet into a pit. She’d shrieked. Wet leaves, grass clippings, garbage. That stench. What was it? Another nightmare or a memory?

She closed her eyes. Terrified of returning to that vision but wanting more. Had it been a game? The details were already fading from her mind. “Someone get me out of here,” she begged into the still air.

She was not going to wander the house again. She wanted Dr. Newell; Friday couldn’t come soon enough. She’d been in this house only four days, but she wanted out. She wondered if being back in Michael’s house would be better. If the owner would have it cleaned, maybe she could stay there. Maybe it would help. How could her childhood home be more unsettling than the house where the man she’d once loved was murdered? And yet, it was.

She lay in her bed, eyes shut, and thought of Michael. She’d said yes. Why? According to her therapy sessions, she’d been having serious doubts about their future. She felt like an outsider looking in, and from her view, she and Michael didn’t look like a good match. What held them together?

And then there was Dave. Why in the world would she have slept with him? There was nothing about Dave she was drawn to. That greasy hair, those bloodshot eyes . . . the thought of touching him—of being naked with him—felt wrong. She tossed and turned all night wondering if it were possible for a head injury to cause someone’s personality to change.

EIGHTEEN

H
ACKETT SAT AT THE BAR WAITING
for a refill. He stared at the scores on the television but couldn’t focus on the information. Those damn print results would not help Grace. It did sound coincidental for Cahill to be murdered right after she found those pictures. Bishop would be thrilled. But he kept circling back to Dave Jacks and that drug, and to Cahill’s urgent care visit, and the money. There had to be something else going on.

Miles had confirmed two different prints on those photographs. Neither was Cahill’s. He’d asked Miles to compare the other prints on the photos with any other prints found at the scene. Maybe the other prints belonged to the person who’d sent them. And if he could place whoever sent them at the crime scene, well, that might be something.

Alice brought him another beer. The stragglers were leaving and she warned him that she needed to lock up soon. “Oh shit,” he said, looking at the time. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so late.”

“That’s okay, hon. You look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders tonight.”

“Not quite,” he murmured.

“This about a case or a woman?”

He shook his head but couldn’t help smiling at her accuracy.

“Woman,” she said with a grin, like his smile was the only answer she needed. “Come on. Tell Alice. I am a woman, after all. I’m sure I can help.”

Of course she couldn’t. And he couldn’t get into it.

“Someone broke your heart?” she said, as if his silence were an offer to go fishing. “Christmas is coming?”

She was two for two.

“Feeling the pain of losing her again?”

Jeez, this woman wouldn’t quit. “Let’s just say I’m not looking forward to the holidays.”

“Family trouble. Honey, everyone got family trouble. If my own holidays didn’t involve one good throw-down, we’d all think something had gone horribly wrong.”

He grinned. Hell, she’d probably get a kick out of his drama. Maybe make him think it wasn’t so bad. So he told her about his big family: his massive Italian family that was so close and connected that every gathering involved fifty people.

She opened another beer for each of them and egged him on. So far, nothing sounded bad to her. In fact, she said, it sounded like one of those TV families you dream of.

So he moved on. “There was a girl, Olivia.” He told her of their high school romance, the on-again, off-again, then moving in together.

“I take it she’s finally out of your life.”

He shook his head. That wasn’t it. And then he changed his mind. He couldn’t talk about it. It was hard enough without rehashing all the details. He thanked Alice, left some money on the bar, and went home.

The next morning, Hackett was pouring his first coffee at the station when his cell rang. It was Bishop, running late. Hackett told him that Flynn was off until noon and they could call him in or head over to his house. Bishop suggested they meet at Flynn’s house in twenty minutes.

Hackett did as told. When Bishop arrived moments later, Mrs. Flynn greeted them at the door and left them while she woke her husband. They sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and waited. Bishop looked awful. Not that he didn’t always look a little haggard—but the bags looked deeper, his eyes were puffy, and he had foregone a shave, adding black and gray stubble to the already rough terrain. Hackett conveniently forgot to mention Miles’s phone call. At least until Miles got back to him regarding the other prints first. “You okay?” he asked.

Bishop shook his head. “Not now.” Neither said another word while they waited.

Flynn emerged from the bedroom in a robe. His wife followed.

“Hey, Wesley, sorry to disturb you, but we need to talk.”

He went straight to the coffeemaker and poured a cup. His hand seemed to be shaking a little. His wife leaned against the doorway.

“Mrs. Flynn, would you mind giving us a minute alone with your husband?” Bishop said.

“It’s okay. I don’t have any secrets from my wife. Have you learned something about Mike’s death?”

“We’ve learned a good bit. But Wesley, you told us you hadn’t seen Cahill since the Sunday before his death, and we’ve learned that’s not true.”

Flynn looked over at his wife, who didn’t seem surprised. She offered the explanation. “Wesley panicked. He didn’t do anything. They were best friends.”

“Vicki, stop,” Flynn said. “We had an argument. It was no big deal. We’ve been friends forever. I loved him like a brother. I didn’t hurt him.”

“What were you fighting about?”

His wife answered. “Mike owed Wes a little money. It was no big deal, really. We knew you’d blow this out of proportion. It was only a hundred dollars.” She sat at the table with the officers.

Bishop looked at Flynn. “That’s not what we hear. Take a seat, Wesley. Tell us about the ring.”

“What ring?” his wife said.

“Grace’s engagement ring,” Hackett answered.

“What are you talking about?” She turned to her husband. “What’s going on?”

Flynn ignored her. “Like I said, we were best friends. Mike made a stupid mistake. I wanted to help him get out of it.”

“Someone please explain to me what you’re talking about!” she said.

Flynn said nothing, so Bishop responded. “Wesley and Cahill were in a high-stakes card game on Tuesday night, and Cahill gambled away his engagement ring. Wesley bought it back for him the next day.”

“What? Wes! You swore you were done with that game!”

“I was. I am. Mike begged me to take him. Said the ring was settin’ him back and he needed to get the cash.”

His wife said what everyone was thinking. “So he wanted to gamble?”

“He wouldn’t let it alone. He came to me Tuesday and begged me to get him into that game. But he fucked up.”

“Why did you buy the ring back?” Bishop asked.

“Because I knew he was afraid Grace was going to leave him. I knew she was good for him, and I wanted to help.”

“So what happened next?” Hackett asked.

“We met on Wednesday at The Rack. I told him I got the ring back and, at first, he was relieved and thankful, but when I told him I had to pay three grand for it, he got pissed.”

Vicki Flynn slammed her mug onto the counter beside her. “What? We don’t have that kind of money!”

“This is why I didn’t tell you. It was a loan. He was my best friend!”

“It does seem like a lot to do for a friend,” Hackett said.

“I did it for Grace too.” Flynn looked at his wife. “You told me she didn’t seem happy.” He turned back to Bishop. “That girl’s been through a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Like losing her parents. We’ve all been friends for years. I thought if Michael got his shit together, he might make her happy.”

“You should have told me,” his wife said.

Bishop put out his hand to stop the couple’s fight. “Wes, what happened next?”

“He said there was no way he was spending another three grand on that thing. I got pissed. I mean, I don’t have that kind of money to spare. Look around.”

“You’re telling me,” she added.

“So what happened next?” Hackett asked.

“I told him he needed to give me some money and I’d give him the ring back. I didn’t even need it all upfront. I only wanted him to promise to pay me back. I told him it was safe in my dresser, waiting for him.”

“You should have told me,” his wife said again.

“Well, we know he gave Grace the ring,” Bishop said. “She took the ring to be resized on Friday before work.”

Flynn jumped up from the table. “I didn’t give it to him,” he said as he ran to the bedroom.

His wife looked at the officers. “He should have told me.”

Flynn came back in. “It’s gone.”

“Of course it’s gone, you asshole!” she yelled. “You didn’t tell me! Mike came here on Thursday after his shift and said you were holding the ring for him so Grace wouldn’t find it at their place. He said he needed it so he could propose!”

“Shit,” Flynn said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because we don’t talk anymore, obviously!”

Bishop looked at Hackett before turning back to Flynn. “You’re saying you didn’t know he took the ring back?”

“No.”

Bishop stood and Hackett did the same. “I don’t know, Wesley.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

Bishop rubbed his stubbled cheeks, unconvinced. “You lied about the last time you saw him. He owed you money. He stole from you.”

“And he won ten thousand at the casino on Friday,” Hackett said.

“What?”

“You saying you didn’t know about that?”

“No!”

“Because if someone owed me several thousand, and then stole from my house, and then I found out he had the money and didn’t pay me back, I’d be pretty pissed,” Hackett said.

Bishop added the final blow. “You
were
the one who found him.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Did Michael pay you back on Friday?” Hackett asked.

“No. But I didn’t see him. I swear. I didn’t know anything about him winning money.” Flynn’s voice cracked. “He was my friend.”

“My husband did not do this,” Vicki said, putting her hand on his. “I may not be okay with loaning a friend that much money, but that’s no reason to kill anyone. I don’t know who would do this, but it wasn’t Wes.”

Bishop said they’d be in touch and told Flynn not to leave town.

As soon as the front door closed, Hackett turned to Bishop, grinning. “What do you think?”

“It’s interesting. Get in my car for a minute so we can talk.” He followed Bishop to his car and got in. Bishop rubbed his eyes hard before speaking.

“What’s going on? You look like you haven’t slept.”

“Sandy’s mom died last night.”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry.”

Bishop held up his hand. “It’s okay. Kids are home from school today and Sandy’s home. But frankly, I’d rather be working. So let’s just focus on that, okay?”

“Got it. I think we just got a new lead, right?”

Bishop brushed through the thin strands atop his head. “None of this is helping to clear Grace. What if she knew that he gambled away the ring? This guy was an idiot. We’ve got gambling, drugs, sex with another woman. Do we need more motive?”

“Well, she’s not the only one with motive, obviously. Cahill screwed over his best friend.”

“True, but there’s no evidence that Flynn knew about the casino win, and it seemed like he didn’t even realize Cahill had stolen the ring. Grace has no alibi and she has motive. Flynn just said she was thinking about leaving him. So I’m thinking Cahill proposes, she says yes—maybe against her better judgment—and then she finds those pictures. Maybe even finds out about the ring and the gambling and pow, she loses it. Runs off to her sister’s, drives over there Saturday morning, kills him while he’s still asleep, takes off, and hits a tree. Case closed.”

Hackett looked out the window at the frozen white landscape. It couldn’t be. There were other possibilities. Was it all just wishful thinking? “Maybe Wes knew about the win. Maybe he saw that post.” He pulled out his phone and went to Cahill’s Facebook page, searching his friends. “Here,” he said excitedly. “Wesley Flynn. He’s in Cahill’s network. He could have seen that post from the casino.”

Bishop didn’t respond. He just stared out the window at the house.

“And what about Jacks? Maybe this was all his doing?”

“Maybe. But I’m not sure I see him doing this if she wasn’t somehow involved.”

“She doesn’t seem like she could do this.”

Bishop turned to his partner. “We’ve interviewed her two times. How can you even have an opinion on what she could do? Besides, she might not even resemble the person she was. She’s got a brain injury. She may seem like a shy, sweet girl now, but maybe she was a raving bitch.”

Hackett didn’t respond. It was all starting to back up on him, the secrets, lies, withholding evidence. How had it gone this far?

“What was Flynn talking about in there about Grace’s parents?” Bishop asked.

Now Hackett focused on the landscape in front of them, unable or unwilling to look at his partner. “They died three years ago. I thought I told you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“There was nothing to tell. You told me to check her out. She’s never been arrested. Never in trouble. Student, waitress. Paid bills on time. I don’t know, I didn’t think of it.”

“How’d they die?” Bishop asked, grabbing for some chew.

“A robbery at the house. They were shot in their bed.”

“You never thought to mention that?”

Hackett turned to him, defensive. “It was an open-and-shut case. The guy who killed them is in prison. It happened several years ago and we’re dealing with this right now.”

Bishop tucked the tobacco under his lower lip before responding. “You know how often we get murders in this area?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Almost never. And now you’re telling me that we’ve got a double murder three years ago and another murder, and they’re all connected to Grace.”

“Yeah, but the girls weren’t even in the house. They both had alibis. And some guy was sent away for it.”

They both sat in the car in silence, and Hackett wondered if he’d said enough to get Bishop off Grace. Bishop shook his head and turned to Hackett. “You can go. Meet me back at the station.”

He drove behind Bishop, feeling like a scolded child. When they got back to their desks, Bishop said, “Pull it up.”

“Huh?”

“Pull up the parents’ murder case.”

Hackett went to his desk, navigated through the network, and found his way to the official case report filed by the Buchanan station regarding the Abbott murders. “Okay, here it is.”

“So who did it?” Bishop asked.

Hackett quickly reviewed the case notes. “Stanford Jones is serving time at West Shoreland Correctional.” He continued to read. “He was caught on tape pawning some of their valuables in St. Joe.”

“And what was the murder weapon?”

“Shotgun. It was found hanging up in the basement. Assumed it was the parents’ gun—it had been wiped down, but the evidence showed that it had been used within hours.”

Bishop looked at him. “So the perp kills the parents with their own gun, wipes it down, hangs it back up, and leaves?”