Crossing Lines: A gripping psychological thriller (Behind Closed Doors Book 3) (26 page)

In fact, I’m getting pretty fed up with artfully dodging the same question, being asked a thousand different ways. Of course, I have no intention of lying to her, but I came here with the utmost faith that the truth would prevail, that I could offer my professional opinion and maybe help this nightmare go away. After all, convincing Amelia Rose that Julia is innocent is the only way to stop the case from going to court.

My only problem is that, although I am convinced Julia did not shoot Wayne out of malice, I have yet to figure out why she was holding him at gunpoint when the police stormed her house.

“My sources tell me you and Krystal were together for about a year. But when I spoke to your niece, she had no idea you and Krystal were in a relationship at all.”

“Were together?” I repeat. The fact that she knows we were together at all means someone Ashleigh trusts is talking; after all, there are only a handful of people who know about our pseudo-relationship—Mel, Rylan, Sean, and Julia—and even fewer who know it wasn’t real.

“Are you still together?” She is slightly taken aback to have got it wrong.

“As I’ve said a hundred times already, I will not discuss my relationship with Krystal, unless you can prove to me that it has a bearing on your case. Which, as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t!”

“Then what’s your opinion on her relationship with Dexter Leighton?” She’s trying a different tactic, sounding casual like we’re chums gossiping over lunch. “Georgia seems to think this relationship is as meaningless to you as it is to Krystal, because she has reconciled with Dex.”

Finally, I snap. “Are you kidding me with this shit?” It’s one thing to bring me into this because of my own foolish behavior. I deserve that, for being naïve enough to think I could do what Ashleigh asked without other people suspecting
something
. But calling on my family, who have nothing to do with this? Nuh-uh, that’s not happening. “Stay away from my family!”

She smiles, in a way that warns me I may have revealed my weak spot. “Are you worried your family will say something you don't want me to know?”

“Like what?” Returning to my previous nonchalant evasion is my best tactic here.

“Like, that no one knew or even suspected you were involved with anyone, let alone with Krystal.”

“Again, that's
my
business!” I try to sound calm, but she’s really starting to piss me off. In fact, I’m about done wasting my time with her, though William might be interested to know she’s only interested in my relationship with his daughter. That suggests to me that she’s relying heavily on Ashleigh’s involvement with Wayne, and his marriage to Julia.

“Did you speak to Caleb too?” I ask.

Her eyes narrow in a way that says she has.

“Let me guess. If he spoke to you at all, he told you everything your sources have already told you. Did you ask Georgia how close we are? Did she tell you that I know nothing of her whereabouts from one month to the next, and if I need to get in touch I have to ask Lisa or Caleb, because she still blames me for her mother’s death? So, don’t use Georgia as your source when it comes to me; she knows nothing, and is not inclined to find out, either!

“Now,” I continue, “I have no idea what my relationship with Krystal has to do with your case, but if you speak to any of my family again, without going through our lawyer, you will be buried in so much red tape you won't have time to prosecute anyone for a very long time. Are we done here?”

“You're not in New York, Doctor Hawthorne. Your connections cannot help you here. So please answer my question, or I’ll have to subpoena you to court!”

You don't know what she's like.
Ashleigh had tried to warn me in the car
.
Well, I do now. She’s an imperturbable pit bull. And I should have let Ashleigh come in here with me, instead of telling her to wait outside.

“My opinion about Krystal's relationship with Dex has no bearing on your case.” I glare at her. “If it did, I still wouldn't dignify your question with an answer. You want to know about her relationship with Dex, you ask her, or him.”

Something flashes across her expression. Mentally, I curse. I wasn't paying attention, and had missed the important clues that led to her involuntary reaction. I settle lower into the padded leather chair, fold my arms over my chest, and watch.

The muscles in her eyes tighten, her shoulders straighten, her back goes rigid, and the shadow cast by her foot bounces along the floor under her desk. She’s not unflappable, I suppose, she’s frustrated. She doesn't have enough to get around the non-disclosure agreement Dex has signed.

“If Dexter won't talk to you about their relationship, what makes you think I will?” The bouncing shadow freezes. “I don't believe you've spoken to Krystal about any of this yet, have you? If you ask nicely, she might just tell you everything you want to know. She's only outside.”

Amelia sits up a little straighter. “So, you
are
back together?” It sounds more like an accusation than an inquiry as she jots on her legal pad again. I don't answer. Instead, I wait. After a moment, she looks up. Her left brow reaches towards her hairline. “Doctor Hawthorne?”

My head shakes with disappointment. I'd been prepared to be roasted like a hog on a spit and served up for lunch. “I thought I was helping Julia, but it's obvious I'm just wasting my time!”

“Mrs. Swift shot her husband, and almost killed Mimi Jordan—”

Wait… What?
My heart rate picks up. How does she know Katrina's real name? And does that mean she also knows Ashleigh is Krystal? Then why the hell are we dancing around the Krystal Valentina issue, and not calling her by her God-given name?

“—and I have four officers who saw her fire the gun. What I am trying to ascertain is how much you know about the situation at the Swift home. Ashleigh Jordan, or Krystal Valentina as she is most commonly known, is Julia's best friend. That makes
you,
according to my sources, Julia's best friend's long-term partner. Didn't she talk to you? Did your girlfriend ever give you a reason to suspect something wasn’t right inside her friend’s marriage?”

“All right,” I sigh, sitting up in my chair, “you and I both understand the definition of professional-client confidence. So if I ask you to step off the record with me for a moment, would you?”

She nods.

“Okay then, off the record, where are you going with this?”

“Dr. Hawthorne, you’re the psychiatrist.” She looks at me with big eyes. “You tell me what drives a nice, sweet woman to beat another woman, and then shoot her husband!”

“What does the evidence suggest to you?”

“Foul play,” she says quietly. “I’m a newbie. They've handed me a seemingly open-and-shut case, but the more I assess the evidence, the more things I find that don’t add up.” She screws her face up and adds, “I’m under the impression your girlfriend has criticized Mr. Swift’s behavior toward his wife for years, and yet when I interviewed her, she artfully dodged my questions as well as you have. If Mr. Swift was abusing his wife, police officer or not, then I’m prosecuting the real victim and not the defendant."

My heartbeat picks up speed. For the first time since I was dragged into this mess, I feel hopeful for Julia’s chances. “What do you know?"

“Julia was involved in a number of accidents where the explanations don't fit her injuries, and when ER doctors tried to press the matter, she stopped attending the ER altogether. Luckily for me, her best friend is an international star, and the police IT specialists were able to crawl the internet for images and footage of Krystal containing Julia. Her injuries didn’t stop when she stopped going to the ER.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“I want your professional opinion. Is Julia Swift being abused?”

I don’t know if I can trust her enough to believe her, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell her what I know. “I’ve only known her a couple of weeks. Do you think that’s something I could determine in such a short time? If she is a victim of domestic abuse, and she hasn’t admitted it to herself yet, then her shame and self-blame will force her to want to take it to the grave with her.”

“In your opinion, why would a man who’s cheating on his wife have all the evidence to support the case before his wife flips out? Unless he knew that’s how she was going to react. And if he knew, then was this attack premeditated? Has he framed his wife, so she goes to prison and he gets to be with his mistress?” She shakes her head.

“You sound frustrated.” I sympathize.

“I’m a rookie, remember?” she sighs. “What do I know?” She leans back as her hand reaches into her desk drawer. “How dare I question the character of a decorated police lieutenant?” She pulls out a thick brown file and drops it on the desk between us. “But in my opinion a man who cheats on his wife calls his own character into question. And any sane husband who got his hands on evidence of his affair would have destroyed it, not tell his buddies where to find it. And any sane wife would not call or go live with her husband's mistress no matter how long they’ve been friends… I think there’s more to this story than this evidence suggests.”

They’re photographs. It looks like the photographer has taken them from a car or from somewhere in hiding. If they were paparazzi shots, I’m damn sure they'd have been in the press a long time ago. No, these are shots taken by someone who's been following Ashleigh. She’s with some guy I don't recognize. And they’re in various intimate situations.

“Are you suggesting the man in these shots is Wayne Swift?”

“It is Wayne Swift,” Amelia informs me quite certainly, “He’s already confirmed these photographs are of him and Ashleigh, and that they were taken in January of this year.”

He‘s tall, looks fit and well-toned, like a police officer who isn't afraid to chase down the worst criminals. Ashleigh, her trademark red waves straightened, wrapped up in a ponytail, and tucked into the hood of a sweatshirt—like I’ve seen before, when she fooled me back on my doorstep in New York. Some of these shots are so detailed I can see the color of the contact lenses she’s wearing. They're blue. Always blue. Ashleigh doesn't look like she wouldn't spit on Wayne if he was on fire. No, the chemistry between them looks like it’s going to combust at any second.

I reach a couple of shots taken from above, maybe a rooftop. They have a dull gray sky and a flurry of snow. It looks like winter in New York. The close-up shots are looking into an apartment window. They kiss. They undress as they crossed through the apartment, window to window. She goes to bed with him. And the photographer has captured all of the gory details.

My stomach churns. “Are you suggesting Wayne is framing his wife? Why would he do that?” Of course, I already know. It’s about control. She's out of his reach and in Ashleigh’s proximity twenty-four hours a day. If Ashleigh somehow manages to get through to Julia, then he has an insurance policy. Julia’s going to prison if she turns against him.

“She had an abortion,” Amelia says quietly. “From what I understand, they were trying for some time and had even sought medical help.” She looks at me again. “So I return the question. Why would a woman who wanted a baby end the pregnancy?”

“I didn’t know she was pregnant at all.” I lie, because I promised Julia I wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s not my secret to tell.

“We traced a payment from the Swifts’ bank account to a Private Investigator.” Amelia sighs. “And he's willing to testify he was hired by Mrs. Swift.” She stretches out her hand, with documents enclosed. “He's even given us copies of their email exchange. But anyone can set up an email address. This account was set up and used solely for the purpose of communicating with the PI.”

I take the emails. They’re from Julia. She suspects her husband is having an affair, and needs proof. I continue to stare at the evidence. My gaze drifts from the dozens of photographs to the sympathetic eyes of the ADA.

“Did you speak to Julia about these emails?” I ask. “Despite your evidence to the contrary, if you ask Julia, her husband isn't having an affair with anyone.”

Amelia frowns. She shuffles through another file on her desk, then looks at a specific report. “But her brother told the detectives investigating this case that Julia had told him Ashleigh and Wayne were having an affair.”

“Sean wouldn’t sell out his sister unless he thought he was helping her case.”

“He had something the officers who interviewed him could exploit,” she says, pursing her lips, “a past record of interfering with police investigations. He might have been cleared of those charges, but he’s not in any hurry to repeat the experience.”

I nod. With the evidence laid out in front of me, what I see is compelling enough to convince a jury of Julia’s guilt. “What these images don’t explain is why Julia attacked Mimi.” My mind ticks over once more and I look up at Amelia. “When did you say these were taken? Are you sure that's even Ashleigh in those photographs? Who confirmed that for you?”

“Sean.” Amelia sighs, “And her sister. Why?”

“You mean her identical twin?”

“But they’re not identical. Mimi has blonde hair and blue eyes, while Ashleigh has red hair and who knows what color her eyes are, since they’re different in every picture I've ever seen of her. I can only assume they’re blue, like her sister’s, and her mother’s.”