Taking the Fall (17 page)

Riggins said, “Brenna, just bring her to the station. You’ve got to come in anyway, and her family is looking for her.”

“No, she won’t go to the station,” I insisted. I didn’t feel quite safe telling him over the phone that we were going to implicate a police officer in the most serious of crimes. “We’re at Watson Point Beach. Somewhere private near there? We’ll have to walk, wherever it is.”

“I’ll meet you at the Beach park entrance.”

“By the gate up on the street?”

“Yeah. I’ll drive you all somewhere private, and we can talk.”

“Look, Will, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but there’s no way we’re going to get this kid into a squad car without some serious kicking and screaming and scene-making. And we really need to keep this quiet. It’s important.”

There was a pause. Then he said, “No squad car. I’m off duty. Plain clothes. Personal car.”

“Okay. We’ll be waiting.”

Riggins pulled up in a silver two-door Acura. Not ideal, but better than a black-and-white. I had no more desire to take another ride in one of those than Sammi did. Blythe coaxed her, sniffling, into the backseat, and I joined Riggins in the front.

“Hey,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

His cheek dimpled with a smirk. Somehow, this time, it reassured me instead of bothering me. I was beginning to think that was Riggins, trying to find a little humor in everything.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday.” I looked away to hide the embarrassment reddening my cheeks. This guy, with his killer dimples, had my throw-up all over his pants less than twenty-four hours ago. I’d forgotten that for a moment. Too bad I couldn’t forget it forever.

“That’s good.”

Was Riggins biting his lip? Was the guy actually nervous? Of course he was nervous! He was driving a carful of criminals around, off the clock, off the record. I really needed to keep my mind out of La-La Land.

“So … you have somewhere in mind?” I said.

“Yeah. My place.” Another killer smile. “I have a garage that my car actually fits in.”
 
That was a rarity in Bonney Bay. “I’ll pull in and take you guys inside. No one will see you.”

“Sounds good.”

Riggins’s place was surprisingly close to ours. Just a few blocks further East. It was also not at all what I’d expected. It was downright gorgeous. Very old, but very newly remodeled, and bigger than many of the homes in town. Definitely historic, built on a corner lot, with a wrap-around porch to die for. How on Earth had a young police officer managed to buy—or event rent, if that was the case—a house like this? He pulled into an alley behind the house, where a garage had been built and fitted with siding to match the turn-of-the century structure.

“I inherited my place,” I said. “Did you buy this house recently?”

Riggins hit the button to open the garage. “About three years ago.”

So, not an inheritance then. Huh. And why would a young, single guy buy an expensive historic home anyway? Will Riggins was shaping up to be almost as big a mystery as what happened to Ellison Baxter.

“It was a foreclosure, believe it or not. I started investing in real estate while I was in college. I’d saved some money working through high school. I started with a little one-bedroom dump, because I thought it was smarter to buy than to rent, even though that was all I could afford. I ended up enjoying fixing it up, and I sold it for a nice profit. I just kept going from there. When I bought this place, it was a real eyesore.”

“That’s hard to imagine now,” I said.

“It looks amazing,” Blythe added from the backseat. Next to her, Sammi sulked, arms crossed.

Riggins closed the garage behind us. “And now I can’t imagine selling it. I fell in love with this place. I think I knew it, as soon as I saw the listing and started looking into Bonney Bay. I found out there was an opening in the police department here. I made a big gamble, and moved here. I never did that for any other property.”

We all got out, and Riggins opened the door to the house, releasing a flurry of happy yelping and sleek brown fur. He knelt down to greet a beautiful chocolate lab. Her tail beat the concrete step, and she alternated between adoring looks at Riggins and assessing looks at the rest of us.

“Say hello, Chloe,” Riggins told his dog. Chloe nudged me with her nose and licked my outstretched hand. She tried to wriggle around me to get at Blythe and Sammi, but Riggins took her by the collar and led her into the kitchen. He grabbed a treat for Chloe from the cupboard and gestured at the table in an adjoining nook. “Have a seat.”

I sat next to Blythe, and Sammi sat as far away from me as possible. But that meant that after Riggins offered us drinks and handed Blythe her water and me a Coke, he took his seat right next to Sammi, who’d mutely shaken her head at his offer of a beverage. I could tell she regretted her choice of seats; her face fell the instant he sat down. Sammi kicked the table leg softly but nervously. Chloe nestled her chin in Riggins’s lap.

I told Riggins what we’d found out, and showed him the pictures I’d taken. Sammi chimed in here and there.

She ended her contribution with a choked-up plea for Riggins to, “Please save me from Uncle Eric—and please don’t arrest me! Stacey gave me Brenna’s bag. I didn’t know whose it was. All I knew was that she wanted me to put it in Eric’s house.”

What! “How did she get my bag?” I demanded.

Sammi shrugged. “Ruth gave her a key to her place a long time ago. See?” she looked at Riggins. “Stacey didn’t break in! She didn’t have to.”

So that was what Stacey was doing after she took Leo to Sammi’s house before work! Key or no key, it was still a crime. Clearly, the finer points of the law were not being taught at Bonney Bay Elementary. Our apartment wasn’t Ruth’s anymore, and my bag certainly never had been.

Riggins put a hand on Sammi’s shoulder. “Everything is going to be okay. We’re going to get this all cleared up. But there’s something you all need to understand. Officer Doyle did not kill Ellison Baxter.”

Sammi jumped up, sending her chair clattering to the floor. “Yes, he did! I knew this was a bad idea! I knew it!”

“You’re not even going to look into it, after all that?” I stared at Riggins, dumbfounded.

“Oh, I’m going to look into all the things you just told me. But he couldn’t have killed Baxter. He has an airtight alibi. He was on duty, with me.”

Blythe had Sammi by the hand. She was holding it gently, but I knew she was ready to stop Sammi from bolting out of here, whatever it took. “Why didn’t you say something?” she said to Riggins.

“I wanted to hear what you had to say. And I’m glad I did. It was very informative. I’m sorry to say that it looks like either Stacey did all the dirty work, or she acted alone.”

Sammi shrieked, “Stacey didn’t do it! She wouldn’t! What’s going to happen to Leo? Please, I take it all back!”

I said, “What about that voicemail? Eric threatened Sammi!”

“I heard him make that call,” Riggins explained. “He was talking about her screaming stunt. Do you know how many 9-1-1 calls we got about that? How many man hours were wasted searching for a child in distress?”

“How did he know it was her?” I said.

“How many kids can scream like that? Apparently, it’s a special talent of hers.” Sammi glared at Riggins, but he ignored it. “Eric said he thought he was having a flashback of her preschool years, but he wasn’t sure, until Mr. Murphy said he thought he saw her running away from the area. She had a hood on, but it flew off for a second, and he saw her green hair.”

“He’s going to kill me! He is! I know it!” Sammi spun around in Blythe’s arms. She looked her square in the eyes, and she pointed at Riggins. “What if he’s in on it too? What if he helped Uncle Eric kill Ellison Baxter?”

I watched Riggins’s face carefully. He came just short of rolling his eyes. “I’m going to look into all possibilities, including the possibility that Eric put Stacey up to this. But as for who’s going to jail … there’s no cause to arrest Doyle.” He looked right at me. “And there’s no cause to book you either.” I couldn’t help but think he looked relieved to tell me that. I just about wanted to cry at hearing those words. “It’s Stacey Goode who needs to come in.”

Sammi burst into a new fit of wails and tears.

“We’ll get you home,” Blythe said. “Your uncle won’t be part of this investigation, right, Officer?”

“That’s right,” Riggins said. “He’s not part of the break-in investigation, or the vandalism, now that we know those are related. He’ll be taken off the murder case as well now that we have some new information. Once he learns of Stacey’s arrest, he’ll assume it’s because she’s Ellison’s former girlfriend. He’ll have no reason to know how she became a suspect, Sammi.”

“Somebody will leak it! Probably you!”

To my surprise, Sammi tore away from Blythe and said to me, “You have to find proof it was Uncle Eric! You have to, before he finds out I talked to the police! And you have to prove Stacey’s innocent! Please!”

She looked so sincerely desperate, so absolutely petrified, I said, “We’ll find out who did it, Sammi. We’ll stop the killer.”

What else could I say? What else could I do?

26

Blythe and I neared the police station, on foot. Officer Riggins had changed into his uniform and driven Sammi home. He’d dropped us off at a quiet corner near the police station before reporting to the station for duty himself. We had no desire to be driven to the station in a squad car. Especially with the media still lurking about. Though I no longer needed to be booked, there was some paperwork to take care of, and we needed to give an official statement about the events of the last two days.

We were about a block away when the Seattle Channel Three news van careened around the corner and pulled alongside us. Did they have lookouts everywhere? Had some nosy resident tipped them off? I glanced at Blythe and we turned our stroll into something closer to a speed walk. I wanted to run, but I could only imagine what that would do for their news story. The cameraman jumped out of the back of the van, followed by Deering. He patted his perfect hair as he hurried around the passenger side of the van, to the sidewalk. I have to say, that guy had perfected preening on the go. If they gave Olympic medals for that, he’d be a serious contender.

I just kept my eyes focused straight ahead. But, while we avoided the indignity of running, Deering had no qualms about dashing in front of us. Between him and the cameraman, the sidewalk was completely blocked, and the fence of the house beside us came within a foot of the sidewalk—there was no passing on that side. I cut to the street, our only hope of escape, only to see the news van wheel around and stop horizontally across the street.

Really? I glared at Deering. He gave a quick, disgusting smile of triumph, then put on his serious, distressed-but-in-control face.

“We’re here, near the Bonney Bay police station, with the prime suspects in the Ellison Baxter murder, the Battle sisters! Brenna Battle, how did you escape? Why aren’t you and your sister in police custody?”

Blythe stepped forward. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Mr. Deering. Escape? From where, our own apartment?”

“Well, yes. How did you get out of your apartment?”

“We opened the door and walked out,” I said.

“But, weren’t you—”

“My sister and I are not wanted for any crime. I’m not sure what all this fuss is about, but we’d appreciate it if you could please step aside.” Blythe sounded calm and cool, and her smile was sweet and winsome.

Deering was at a loss for words, but he didn’t move.

“Mr. Deering,” I said, a bit more sharply than Blythe.

I swear, I actually saw his brain reboot. He shoved the mic in my face. “Where are you headed, Brenna Battle?”

I should’ve kept my mouth shut and let Blythe work her sweet-talking magic. I figured the truth—part of it, anyway—was my best option now. “To the police station.”

Deering’s eyes said,
Aha!
“The police station? What made you decide to turn yourselves in?”

“As my sister already explained, we are not wanted in connection with any crime.” At least not anymore, thank God. “We have an appointment with Officer Riggins. We’re here to keep it.”

“Does this ‘appointment’”—Oh how I wanted to slap him, the sarcastic way he said that!—“have anything to do with the alleged break-in? The allegedly faked alleged vandalism? The murder? Our sources say—”

“Your sources are wrong!” I snapped. And who were they, anyway? That, I’d really like to know.

“Yesterday, we were victims of a crime,” Blythe said. “Brenna was injured, and unable to give a complete statement at the time. We came to do that today.”

“There you have it. The Battle sisters claim that they are crime victims! Another mystery is added to this … mystery.”

Deering’s eloquence astounded me. He motioned to his cameraman, and they parted to let me and Blythe through. It was pretty obvious they only did it to get video of us approaching the police station, while Deering babbled on about the deepening mystery in the foreground. I’m sure it was a fabulous shot of our intriguing rear ends.

Soon we were seated in a room with Riggins. “We’ve gotten some of the forensics back on the murder scene,” he told us.

“Yes?” Blythe’s voice shook a little in spite of what I knew was her best effort.

“They confirmed that the brush was used to kill Baxter, and that the hair in the brush was yours.”

I reached for Blythe’s hand and braced myself for the rest.

“There was no other evidence of your presence in the house,” Riggins said. He met Blythe’s eyes. “Given what we’ve just learned about Stacey Goode, you are no longer a serious suspect. Make sure you don’t go too far, but I have a feeling this will get resolved soon.”

Blythe let out a breath of relief. But then she said, “I still don’t understand. Why my hairbrush?”

I almost pinched Blythe like Rebecca had done to her daughter in the parking lot the day we first encountered that lovely family. Who cared how her brush got there, as long as she wasn’t a suspect?

But Riggins made an odd, throat-clearing sound and looked away. “I’m not at liberty to reveal anything else about the investigation.”