Stolen (Episode Three: The Nightshade Cases) Page 9

  “No,” he said, throwing the words at Gerri like weapons. “Detective Pierce did not.”

  “I have a brilliant idea.” Ray pulled on Gerri’s hand, steering her friend out of the path of assaulting her partner. She got away with it last time because there were no witnesses. But the bullpen was full and Ray doubted Gerri’s career would survive hitting Pierce in public, excellent record or not. “Let’s go see what surveillance has to say on the matter.”

  Gerri’s jaw jumped, but she softened slightly, before spinning in her cowboy boots and heading for the stairs again. Ray sighed heavily.

  Screw this. She was taking the elevator.

  Ray’s discomfort when she discovered Jackson had the same idea almost sent her scurrying to the stairs after all. Only pride held her rigid as the warning bell dinged, that same pride pushing her into the cubicle. She descended, silent and brooding Jackson beside her while she wished this uncomfortable ride would just be over already. He ignored her, though, storming through the doors the moment they opened. Gerri had beaten them to the cage, was already scanning the footage of the cameras. And, with a sharp, “Ah-ha!” tossed the remote at her scowling partner while her finger jabbed at the screen.

  “I guess that’s the Easter Bunny signing for the goods.” The image of Jackson at the cage, taking a white evidence box from the clerk, showed clearly in black and white.

  He gaped at it, in shock. “No way,” he said. “I just got back to the precinct. I didn’t sign out anything, I swear it.”

  The clerk cleared her throat, eyebrow raised, lips thinned out as she wiggled her head on her neck like a bobble head. “Sugar,” she said, “that might be Jackson Pierce,” she jabbed a sharp-nailed finger at him, sparkles all over her elaborate manicure, “but the man who signed out BB23-16781, he wasn’t as fine looking as this young man.” She winked at him, thick lashes brushing her round, dark cheek. “Some white dude, balding. About an hour ago.”

  Gerri stared at the footage, then back at the clerk. “That’s not what the video says.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what the video says,” the clerk shot back. “I’d know this fine piece of manhood if I’d handed him evidence. And I didn’t.”

  “And you’re the only one working today.” Gerri’s shoulders relaxed somewhat while Ray exhaled relief. So, there would be no partner murder today.

  “Just me, sweet girl.” The clerk leaned over the counter and winked at Jackson. “You come see Latonya any time, handsome. Anytime.”

  Ray almost laughed to see Jackson blush.

  Gerri turned to her partner. “Sorry,” she said, in a tone that meant she totally didn’t mean it.

  Jackson just grunted back.

  Gerri stared at her feet a moment. “We need to ask the tech guys how the vid was altered.” Ray knew from her own experience at the morgue how unreliable and accessible the security video system in her workplace could be. And she’d heard Gerri complain often enough about the shoddy equipment the city shoved on the precincts. So, it was likely the tampering wouldn’t have been hard to manage for someone who knew what they were doing.

  As if a convenience store would have high tech security either. They were trained to trust what they were shown as a society, but a knowledgeable crook could do as much damage with false information as committing the crime itself.

  The implications sent shivers down Ray’s back. How could police trust their evidence and the decisions they made to send people to prison when it was so easy to alter the truth?

  “I take it there was a reason you wanted the key?” Ray prodded her friend, needing the distraction from paranoia. Why was she here, otherwise, if not about the key she’d found?

  Gerri nodded quickly, walking toward the elevator. Both Ray and Jackson followed her, Ray keeping her distance. When Gerri stopped at the doors, they both listened.

  “Turns out Patrick’s girlfriend, Natalie, is Abel Crombie’s daughter.” Jackson swore softly while Ray struggled to keep up. “I did a little digging after talking to the Sonnicker’s neighbors again. We didn’t catch the connection right away, because the girl was raised by her mother. Just found her father six months ago.”

  Jackson actually looked embarrassed. “I should have caught that.”

  “We both should have.” Gerri let out a giant gust of air. For the first time, Ray wondered if Gerri had even slept yet. She looked invigorated, however. Almost glowing with energy. It made Ray suddenly tired. “Abel’s been lying to me. Sure, he looks like a business man on the surface. But, he’s got a past we didn’t know about, too. One with an arrest record for blackmail and backers who don’t want to be identified.”

  “Jesus.” Jackson rubbed his hand over his jaw, the rasp of five o’clock shadow on his palm loud in the narrow hall outside the elevator doors.

  Gerri flipped open her notebook. “The neighbors got me thinking,” she said. “Mr. Brampson said Natalie borrowed his ladder and didn’t give it back.” Ray knew enough of the case to remember there were ladder tread marks left outside the bedroom window. “The prints on the Sonnicker’s ladder didn’t match. There’s no sign of the Brampson’s. Natalie never returned it.” She paused, scratching her chin with the end of her pen. “I checked the safe in the Sonnicker’s home. It’s combo only. Which means the key belongs to something else.”

  “Yeah,” Jackson said. “The tech report came back. Safety deposit box, First National.”

  Gerri looked like she wanted to strangle him. “Since when?”

  “Since five fucking minutes before you came at me.” They stared each other down so long, Ray was worried the animosity might ruin everything.

  “So, we’re looking for something in a safety deposit box,” she said, diffusing them with her calm. Mummy would be so proud. “Something John Sonnicker was willing to risk his life to protect by swallowing the key.”

  Gerri nodded. “Road trip. Because if someone was here and stole that key, they’re already over there helping themselves to our evidence.”

  ***

  INT. – FIRST NATIONAL BANK OF SILVER CITY - MORNING

  Gerri pounded down the steps to the vault, the bank’s manager huffing behind her.

  “You need a warrant, Detective,” he said as she outdistanced him, gun in her hands. Jackson took a right at the bottom of the stairs in the quiet of the basement, heading down the corridor without being asked to check the exits. Imagine. He was doing his job like a good little boy.

  “What I need,” Gerri said, spinning to push the man back, stopping him in his tracks, “is for you to stay right here.” She’d already confirmed with his shaking clerk who’d escorted the nice older man and his pretty daughter downstairs to their safety deposit box they hadn’t left yet. Gerri hoped she was in time to catch them with something incriminating or she’d be up to her ass in paperwork over charging into a bank without authorization.

  Her gut told her this was the right thing to do. And, by damn, she wasn’t about to question it now.

  Gerri turned, heading for the cage where the boxes were held, while the manager tried to follow her again. But, his whining protests might as well have been another language. The second Gerri rounded the corner and peeked between the bars, she felt her blood boil, the tingle of her senses heightening as two familiar faces came into view.

  Abel Crombie was pocketing an envelope while Natalie tugged on his arm. She turned before her father, catching sight of Gerri. Her eyes widened and, the instant Gerri’s instincts told her she was going to do it, the young woman bolted for the exit.

  Down the hall, out of reach. Gerri let her go. She had backup this time. Instead, she leveled her gun’s barrel at Abel’s pale face and grinned.

  “While I’m sure he’s flattered by the impersonation,” Gerri said, “my partner would like to thank you for setting him up.” Had to be. Just like Patrick had been set up. Either that, or someone killed the young Sonnicker for murdering his parents. Gerri would get to the bottom of it.

  Fr
om the guilty flicker on Abel’s face, she’d guessed right. “It was all Natalie’s idea.”

  Jackson appeared around the corner, dragging the screeching, furious young woman by her handcuffs, tucked behind her back.

  “You bastard!” She spit at her father. “This is all his doing, Detective.” Her eyes filled with tears, attitude shifting to hurt and broken child, betrayed by her parent. Gerri’s gut wasn’t buying it. “He made me!”

  Jackson grinned at Gerri. “Family spats. Always so awkward.”

  She laughed before she could stop herself, stepped into the cage to cuff Abel and liberate him of the envelope he tried to hide in his jacket. Jesus. Was she starting to maybe like Jackson Pierce?

  ***

  INT. – 9th PRECINCT INTERROGATION– MORNING

  Gerri purposely cranked the air conditioning in the interrogation room about ten minutes ago. After divesting Abel of his jacket, leaving him in shirt sleeves that couldn’t be doing much against the chill. She wanted him nice and uncomfortable. And ready to talk when she pushed him.

  Jackson was already in the other room with Natalie, a truth that rankled. But, the young woman was her partner’s collar, and Gerri had to admit he’d been pulling his weight about as much as she had lately. The two of them missed vital evidence, a fact she still struggled with. Okay, so everything about this case felt weird and moved way faster than most she’d had to deal with. Hell, it usually took weeks before she could uncover the truth. Not hours. She simply hadn’t had time for due diligence. Still, it bothered her that maybe, if she’d dug deeper into the pair earlier, she could have saved Patrick’s life.

  Maybe not. She leafed through the contents of the envelope one more time before shaking her head. Evidence the Sonnickers kidnapped Patrick as a baby. Now she knew why Abel Crombie wanted it. Because there was more than just evidence against the Sonnickers in that file.

  Gerri left observation and opened the door to the interrogation room, noting the biting cold in the space, the way Abel shivered ever so slightly. Perfect. She straddled the metal seat at the table, setting the envelope he’d tried to steal between them.

  “Tell me a story, Mr. Crombie.” Gerri sat back, smiling, focusing solely on his body, his posture, the way the muscles in his face moved as he licked his lips and shrugged.

  “I want a lawyer.” Of course he did. But Gerri wasn’t willing to wait for anyone to come and rescue him. Not if she could tease a confession out of him. She had enough evidence on him already, felt confident she could make charges stick. A confession, admissible or not, wouldn’t be forthcoming with a lawyer in the room.

  And Gerri wanted to know.

  “We’re just talking,” she said. “Mono et mono.” She leafed through the photos, the birth certificate. “Your lawyer will be here before long, I imagine. But things will go a lot smoother for you if you tell me what you know before we have to make things that official.” She was bullshitting him, of course. Part of the game.

  He turned his face away, licking his lips again, the light from the overheads making his scalp shine through his thinning hair. Pale and pasty and freezing. Just the way she liked her suspects.

  “Let me see if I can tell the story for you.” Gerri propped her elbows on the table, chin on her fist. “There’s a family in New York. The Entremandes. Mom Monique, daddy Phillipe.” Gerri ran one finger over the birth certificate. “And darling little boy, Denis.”

  Abel looked at her, glared. Lips tight, shoulders pulled together, forward. Holding in words he wanted to say.

  “Life was so perfect for the Entremandes. Until.” Gerri shoved the birth certificate at Abel. “The night Denis was taken from his parent’s home and was never seen again.” She tsked. “Such a tragedy, don’t you think? Poor Monique and Phillipe.”

  Abel’s nostrils flared. She was getting to him.

  “Now, let’s talk about another family. The Sonnickers.” She lifted free a photo of the smiling family, Patrick a clear standout. “My, what a resemblance.” She turned the picture toward him. “Don’t you think?” She reached for another photo. “To the Entremandes, that is.” Gerri looked back and forth between them. “Now, how did that happen?”

  Abel muttered something. Gerri leaned in, smiling. “Sorry?”

  He shook his head.

  Fine, she had more.

  “One more delightful family in this little fable.” She opened the file she’d brought in with her, pushed the picture on top toward him. Abel bit his lower lip as his eyes settled on his own smiling face. “The Street family. That’s Elizabeth.” Gerri pointed at the woman with the brown hair. “And that’s… well, now. That’s Natalie, isn’t it? Your daughter?” This was too much fun. More than Gerri should have been having. But, she loved this part. The slow cracking to the ultimate breakdown. And while she knew if he confessed before his lawyer came, she’d have screwed her chance of having it admitted in court, she couldn’t resist pushing him just a little more.

  Just a little.

  “And lookie here, Abel. Or should I say Charles. That’s you. Charles Montgomery Street, formerly of Brooklyn, New York.” Gerri flipped through the contents of the folder. “You’ve done some time, Charles. For blackmail.”

  He twitched. She had him.

  Damn it, she had him and the lawyer wasn’t here.

  His dark eyes caught hers. Did he know? He must have. Because he shrugged. “So what? I paid my debt.”

  “Except you skipped out on parole, Chuck.” Gerri grinned. “You know what that means? Even if I can’t nail you for this,” she prodded the pictures with her index finger, “you’re going back to prison. Ain’t life grand?”

  He snarled, sagged. “Fine,” he said. “I blackmailed the Sonnickers.” He swallowed visibly. “Natalie figured out who Patrick was. It was her idea.”

  Way to sell out his daughter. Gerri waited, silent, for him to go on while her gut sighed. The truth at last. And, with it, his innocence.

  “She brought me the evidence. I hooked up with them on a land deal, made it seem like I was legit. Even joined their freaking church just to get an in. That’s the thing with blackmail. You need to know them first. To get into their lives.” Like it was some kind of art to hold something like this over people’s heads.

  “Money, Chuck?” Gerri tsked. “Really?” She tapped the folder with her fingertips. “Your backers?”

  He shrugged. “No one was supposed to get hurt. My backers were interested in the kid, said they’d pay me up front. John and Emma were following the rules, were going to hand over the son. But the evidence went missing and the Sonnickers told me they took it. Refused to pay. Said they knew who I was, too.” He ground his teeth together. “Threatened to blackmail me. My backers didn’t like that.”

  “There’s irony for you, Charlie boy.” Gerri sat back. “So, you went to their house and killed them to get the evidence back.”

  “No!” He almost leaped out of his seat. “I swear, I didn’t kill them. I would never. I’m a con artist. Not a murderer.”

  That left one solid suspect with her hand in the cookie jar, and a whole bunch of faceless ones. Gerri took a chance on the daughter. And, from the fearful look on his face, he was thinking the same thing, too. “Is that why you were really there at the Sonnickers, Charles?” The tingling in Gerri’s skin increased. Almost. So close. “To make sure your daughter didn’t leave any incriminating evidence behind?”

  He shook his head, sickly green tinge around his lips and eyes as he paled further. “No one was supposed to get hurt.”

  “Is that so.” Gerri slid a pad of paper toward him. “Care to rescind your request for a lawyer and put that in writing? I know a sympathetic judge who might cut you slack if you cooperate.”

  He stared down at the page a moment before meeting her eyes with a haunted expression. “She didn’t do this.” He sounded like he doubted every word coming from his own mouth. “She couldn’t.”

  “Like father like daughter, Chuck.” Gerri sat b
ack. “You said she found you. This was her idea. So, tell me. Who were the backers really talking to?” His haunted eyes flashed. “I thought so. Your precious little girl has her own explaining to do.” Gerri stood, taking the photos and files with her. “Let me ask you one question before I go see what lies she’s telling my partner. Whose idea was it to use the ladder?”

  He stared up at her, mute. “Hers,” he said in a whisper. “Told me to sneak in the night before and look around. I didn’t find anything.”

  But his fingerprints would be all over Morty Brampson’s ladder, wouldn’t they, when Binks and his CSI buddies found it?

  That little bitch set up her own father.

  ***

  INT. – 9th PRECINCT INTERROGATION – MORNING

  Jackson had his back to Gerri, his chest leaning into his turned-around chair when she opened the door to the second interrogation room. He threw her a smug look over his shoulder, sitting back as he tapped the edge of a folder into a neat line on the table top.

  “Miss Street has been very helpful,” he said.

  “No doubt.” Gerri joined them, took in Natalie’s quivering lower lip, her wide, doe eyes and snorted. “I just had an interesting conversation with your father.” She didn’t even flinch. Cold as ice, that one, show still firmly on the go. “Turns out neither of you are who you say you are.”

  Jackson didn’t butt in for once, letting Gerri run with her info. A file handed over to her just a heartbeat before she went into to interrogate Abel/Charles. A folder containing a screen shot of a girl’s duckface avatar she used for an icon.

  “Purdygurl.” Gerri saw the tell-tale flicker of recognition in Natalie’s eyes, but to her credit, she played a good dumb. “You, my dear, are one hell of a hacker if the tech guys have it right.”