Darker Than Any Shadow

Chapter Nineteen

Back inside the restaurant, I made Trey sit while I dabbed a washcloth against the pavement burn on his palm. He endured my clumsy ministrations stoically. The cops had known who he was, of course. They’d been friendly, almost deferential, Trey’s due as one of their fallen brothers.

I squinted at the scraped flesh. “There’s gravel in your life line.”

“Is that bad?”

“Can’t be good.”

Rico sat at the bar all by himself, nursing a rum and Coke. Padre paced the hallway, cell phone pressed to his ear in intense negotiations that didn’t include us. Frankie stared at her phone, watching news video after news video, sometimes nodding, sometimes shaking her head. Cricket kept bringing in snacks and hovering, twisting her hands like Lady Macbeth, shooting nervous glances at Jackson. And Jackson huddled at the card table, staring into a bowl of soup.

I put the finishing touches on a bandage fashioned from a paper napkin and adhesive tape. When I’d seen the blood, I’d dragged Trey inside, pulled off his jacket, and searched him for bullet holes. Luckily, his diagnosis had been correct—a simple surface abrasion, the result of carrying most of Vigil’s weight during the takedown.

I gave Trey his hand back. “Next time slam the guy, okay?”

Trey examined his palm. The team members kept throwing perturbed glances in his direction. I understood their unease. I was accustomed to seeing Trey do takedowns and front blocks all the time at the gym, and yet the same moves on the street had startled me with their brutality.

Vigil had been lucky all he’d had was a paint can.

Rico shook his head. “What did that fool think he was doing?”

I returned the spool of tape to my tote bag. “I don’t know. Let’s ask Frankie.”

Frankie didn’t look up from her phone. “Why me?”

“Because it was your name he kept using as the cops hauled him away.”

“So?”

“So I think that needs some explanation.”

She snapped her phone closed. “He finally returned my calls, so I told him about the memorial. He said he’d come, and I told him we could talk about his rejoining the team.”

“So why’d he show up with spray paint?”

“Hell if I know.”

Rico stared at her. “So what do we do? Talk Padre into performing again?”

This seemed like an imminently good idea, and every head turned toward the hallway where Padre still paced, his mouth tight with both weariness and worry.

Frankie shook her head. “I asked. He refused. End of story.”

Rico wasn’t letting the idea go. “Maybe we could—”

“No, we can’t. Regardless of what insanity Vigil brought tonight, he’s still our best bet at winning.”

“Is that all this is about anymore, winning? Movie deals?”

Frankie kept her eyes on her video screen. “I’m making the best of the situation.”

“For you, maybe, but not the team.”

“You’re one to talk about the team. You weren’t even going to show tonight.”

“Because this was a stunt, not a memorial.”

“For your dead teammate!”

“I refuse to pretend we were friends because he’s dead. Screw that.”

Without warning, Jackson shot to his feet and shoved the table away, spilling his soup. Cricket grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the spreading liquid, hushing Jackson at the same time. He ignored her.

“Shut up, Rico! You’ve caused enough trouble for one night!”

Rico stood. “You got something to say, say it plain.”

Trey tensed. I put a hand on his shoulder as Cricket put a hand on Jackson’s. But he paid her no attention. His temper flared as hot and fast as a tracer round, only this time Rico was the bull’s eye, not Trey.

Jackson pushed his sleeves up. “I’ll say it plain. I think you killed Lex. I think you stabbed him in the heart and set my restaurant on fire to cover it up.”

“I did not!”

“Prove it!”

Jackson took one step in Rico’s direction, and that was enough for Trey. He stood too, and before I could stop him, his mouth opened and the words tumbled out.

“Rico’s telling the truth. He didn’t kill Lex.”

Jackson harrumphed. “And how do you know that, Mr. Big Shot Ex-Cop?”

“Because I can tell when people are lying.”

That shut the room up fast. Trey regarded everyone evenly, arms folded. Jackson froze. Rico shot me a doomsday look. Frankie and Padre put down their cell phones.

Cricket came forward, wet napkin in hand. “What do you mean?”

Trey looked at me, the question in his eyes. And then suddenly everybody was looking at me. I put a hand on Trey’s shoulder. He sat. And I explained.

I started with the basics of a coup contrecoup injury, took a brief foray into the biomechanics of the right frontal lobe, then closed with a summary of micro-emotive expressions and what it meant to have an overly-enhanced sensitivity to them.

Nobody said a word. Finally Frankie stood up and moved right in front of Trey. She didn’t even have to tilt her head back to look him straight in the eye, all six feet of him.

Her expression was flat. “I didn’t kill Lex Anderson.”

She pronounced every syllable with care, so that there was no mistaking her words. I held my breath for the verdict.

Trey cocked his head, then nodded. “Okay.”

She waited for some other response, and getting none, she turned on her heel and left without looking back, her clogs clacking on the hardwood. I heard the slamming of the backdoor behind her.

Cricket stared. “You mean all this time I’ve been talking to you, you’ve been reading my mind?”

Trey shook his head. “It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like then?” She was breathing hard, and something rabid flared in her eyes. “I didn’t kill him! Maybe I should have, but I didn’t!”

Rico took a step toward her, but Jackson stepped in his path. I felt the aggression flare again, and I swore, loudly.

“I am going to shoot the next man that bellies up to some other man like a threatened alpha dog, I swear I am, so you two had better dial it down, and fast!”

At that point, as if on cue, Cricket started crying, and Jackson whipped his attention her way. She ran from the room, and he followed right behind her, calling her name.

Padre watched them go, then examined Trey. “Heavy duty stuff, my man.”

Trey nodded. “Heavy duty, yes.”

“But for the record, I didn’t kill Lex either.”

Again Trey nodded, which meant I could strike Padre off my potential murderer list too. Damn, were there any suspects left?

Rico gestured behind us. “Don’t look now, but we’ve got bigger problems.”

I turned to see Detective Cummings enter through the swinging doors, his badge out. Two uniformed officers flanked him. Cummings wasn’t disarmingly soft-spoken and empathetic anymore. He was all business. He saw Trey and me across the room and nodded.

“Ms. Randolph. Seaver.” Then he looked at Rico. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, Mr. Worthington.”

I took a step forward, but Rico shot me a look. “Stay there, Tai.”

“But—”

“No buts!”

Cummings returned his attention to Rico. “We have warrants to search your person, your home and your vehicle. We are currently executing those warrants.”

I took another step forward, and as I did, the patrol guys moved forward too. I froze, breathing hard. Then I felt Trey’s hand in the small of my back.

He bent his head close to my ear. “I know what will happen if you go over there. And it won’t help Rico. So stay here. Please.”

Rico’s voice cut through my confusion. “Listen to me, Tai. I’m going in. I need you to take care of things at this end.”

“Like what?”

“Call my lawyer, for starters. The number’s in my phone. Then call Adam and tell him what’s coming. Tell him I’m sorry.” He looked past me to Trey. “Take Tai home and keep her there, you hear me? Sit on her if you have to, but keep her out of this. I’ll call when I can.”

The cops pushed him out, and the door closed behind them. Trey had his jacket draped over his arm, my make-shift bandage unraveling. He stood quietly at my back. I could feel him there, solid.

Outside, I heard a car door slam, and I knew that Rico was in the backseat of a cruiser now. Going into the APD hole without me. Not because I wasn’t willing, but because he didn’t want me.

I leaned back against Trey’s chest. “Take me to your place, boyfriend. I need a long hot bath.”

***

The ride home was uneventful. First I got Rico’s lawyer on the case. Then I called Adam, who sounded dazed and infuriated to learn that a search team would be invading the apartment. Afterwards, I lay back in the Ferrari’s leather seat and closed my eyes. Trey recited the procedure. Rico could be questioned for twenty-four hours without being charged; after that, they had to either charge him or release him. They couldn’t ask him questions once he’d asked for a lawyer.

I listened to the recitation, watching the city roll by.

“Tai? Did you understand all of that?”

He was shifting into cop mode, his former self asserting its presence—calm down, pay attention, do what I say. It was both annoying and comforting at the same time.

“I understand.” I kept my face toward the window as the cityscape rolled by. “What else could they want? They already questioned him!”

“Not as a suspect.”

I flashed on the image of bare walls and bright lights. “So now it’s an interrogation?”

“Yes.”

I’d been on the end of many question and answer sessions, but as Trey reminded me, I’d never been interrogated.

“And then what happens?”

“In the best case scenario, they decide not to charge him. Then he’s released.”

“But they arrested him! They must have some evidence, right?”

“That doesn’t mean they’ll charge him. If he can explain the evidence they have, they’ll let him go. His record will show that he was detained but not arrested.”

“I don’t care about his record, I want him out of there!”

Trey kept his eyes on the road. “I know.”

“He’s protecting somebody, probably Cricket.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because Rico can’t resist a damsel in distress. I should know. But he’s bitten off more than he can chew with Cricket. And Jackson doesn’t appreciate it one bit.”

“Maybe not. But he doesn’t think Rico killed Lex. He wasn’t telling the truth when he said that.”

“He wasn’t?”

Trey shook his head.

“So why accuse him?”

“Perhaps the accusation came from anger and not any actual belief in his guilt. I don’t know. But I do know Jackson didn’t mean it.”

“What about Frankie? Was she telling the truth when she said she didn’t kill him?”

He nodded. “So was Padre.”

“And Cricket?”

“Yes. And Jackson said the same thing this afternoon. He didn’t do it either.” He looked my way. “And neither did Rico.”

I leaned against the window and closed my eyes. From an overcrowded field of suspects to not a single suspect in the room. There was still one wild card in the deck, however—the mysterious CD bringer who may or may not have been Debbie the assistant. Which meant I had some work to do, and fast.

Before Detective Cummings showed up bearing warrants with my name on them.

***

Once we got to Trey’s, I shed my clothes in a pile and lay in the bathtub. I ran the water as hot as I could stand it all the way to the brim, then draped a cold washcloth over my eyes and sank beneath evergreen-scented bubbles.

And still the images flickered—Rico in handcuffs, blood on the pavement, Vigil somersaulting to the ground with a meaty thud. Missing money, missing weapon, missing cell phone. No evidence. No clues. Nothing but a big chaotic muddle of half-truths and not-quites and a bunch of people Trey swore didn’t do the bloody deed.

But somebody had. That much I knew.

Trey knocked twenty minutes later, my phone in hand. “It’s Garrity.”

I shook suds off my fingers and reached for the phone. As usual, Garrity got right to the point.

“I heard. What do you need from me?”

“I don’t know. Rico told us not to come down there. He made me promise, which is the only reason I’m sitting in the damn bathtub and not raising holy hell down at Atlanta Police Department headquarters.”

“Take it easy. I assume Trey’s been on the phone with the APD?”

“Yes.”

“Good. He’s excellent with bureaucratic channels. Between the two of us, we’ll figure out what happened.”

“I know what happened.” And then I filled Garrity in on the situation, starting with Adam’s report about the blood on Rico’s shoes and ending with the cops hauling Rico away.

Garrity was silent for a long time. When he spoke, he used his official voice. “I know he’s your friend, but—”

“He’s innocent. I wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t sure.”

“Okay. The bloody shoes aren’t good, but okay. And no matter what, you know I’ve got your back, right? Yours and Rico’s both, right?”

“I know. But I’m…and Trey isn’t…”

Garrity exhaled. “Look, this isn’t Trey’s strong point, being a shoulder to cry on. But that man is relentless, which is what you and Rico need right now.”

“I’m not good at this sitting around and waiting.”

“I know. But I promise you, sticking your fingers into this situation will not improve it.”

I kicked the faucet. Then I kicked it again. Then I let loose a string of very bad words.

“Cut it out, Tai. This ain’t a goddamn tragedy. Rico will be okay, I promise.”

“You’d better be right.”

“Scout’s honor, my friend. Now buck up.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Bucking up.”

Trey watched from the doorway—jacket-less, sleeves rolled up. Relentless, Garrity said. Perseveration, my brother called it, a psychological artifact of his rearranged brain. Whatever it was, however it existed, Garrity was right. It was exactly what Rico needed.

It wasn’t what I needed, though.

I put the phone down. “This is where you tell me it’s gonna be okay.”

Trey cocked his head, his expression placid. “It’s going to be okay.”

He hadn’t budged from the doorway. He stood there, arms folded, watching me across a twelve-foot span of black and white Italian tile.

I held my breath and slipped beneath the bubbles.