All Fall Down (14 page)

The attorney pursed her lips. “It's an interesting theory and if there's anything to it, very juicy. Do you have something that actually links these men or their deaths?”

“I've confirmed the details of all their deaths with the coroner's office and checked police records, but so far,” she admitted, “no, I don't. But I know I'm right about this, I feel it in my gut.”

“If I were you,” Veronica murmured, “I'd tread carefully. Very carefully. I've seen too many good cases, and good cops for that matter, shot down for lack of evidence. You're not with the CMPD, which
is a strike against you. You know as well as I, Melanie, that it's going to be hard to get anyone to take you seriously.”

She
was
right, as frustrating as it was to admit. “You think I should let it go?”

“Can you?”

“And sleep nights?” She thought about it a moment. “I don't think so.”

“Why not?” Mia chimed up. She lifted her glass. “I say, good riddance, A-holes!”

Melanie looked at her sister, shocked. “You don't mean that.”

“Sure she does,” Ashley said, wandering over to the box of brownies and helping herself to one. “Why wouldn't she?”

“That's right. Why wouldn't I?” Mia's words slurred. “Proceed slowly, sister-dear. If you give this guy enough time, maybe he'll zero in on Boyd and Stan.”

Melanie frowned. “You're drunk, Mia.”

She swayed on her feet, then grabbed the edge of the counter for support. “Do I have to be drunk to wish my husband dead? He's a bastard and I hate him.”

“Mia,” Melanie said softly, patiently, “I understand the way you feel. I do. You're going through a tough time. But murder's always wrong. I don't even want you to joke about it.”

“Who's joking?” Ashley asked. “Because I don't think Mia is.”

“Don't you hate Stan?” Mia asked. “He's trying
to steal your son. He's screwed you at every turn. Don't you hate him?”

“Some days? Sure. Do I ever wish he would just go away? Just disappear off the face of the planet? Yeah, sometimes I do. But I can handle Stan. I
will
handle him. Not rely on some wacko to bump him off for me.”

“But I can't take care of myself, right?” Mia drew back, her expression hurt. “Because I'm not strong like you.”

“I didn't mean that. I only meant—”

“Oh, come on.” Ashley tossed the remainder of her brownie into the trash. “Be honest, Melanie. Criminals fall through the cracks all the time. Especially ones who do things like hurt women and children. Hardly a crime at all, for all the protection they get. Like that Jim McMillian, guilty as hell but some
lawyer
got him off. I'm with Mia on this, good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Veronica weighed in then. “I'm a lawyer and there are times the injustice of the system gets to me. So I understand where you're both coming from.” Her voice grew husky and she cleared her throat. “But the law protects us, too. No one can be judged and convicted without a burden of proof against them. Which is why domestic violence and rape are so difficult to get convictions on. But still, that's the way it should be. Our laws were designed to protect the innocent.”

Ashley snorted with disgust, “All this goody-goody crap is about to make me puke. The truth is, what it usually comes down to is one person's word against
another's—a
man's
against a woman's or child's. Who do you think is going to come out on top?”

Melanie looked at her youngest sister in disbelief. “You don't really believe that, do you?”

“Two peas in a pod,” Ashley said sarcastically, moving her gaze from Melanie to Veronica. “Maybe you two should have been the twins.”

Melanie stiffened. “How would you expect us to think, Ash? We're both in law enforcement. And what you're talking about here is vigilantism. You and Mia are saying it's okay to take the law into your own hands.”

“That's precisely what I'm saying,” Ashley murmured, tone fierce. “Some people don't deserve to live. Our father didn't deserve to live.”

Ashley looked at Mia, then back at Melanie. “Don't you ever wonder what our lives would have been like without him? Or even better, with a real father instead of an abusive pig? Don't you ever look at your life, track it back and see exactly where it went wrong?
Who
made it go wrong?”

Melanie held out a hand. “Don't do this, Ash. Please.”

Ashley ignored her sister's outstretched hand. “He should have been locked up. He should have gone to jail for what he did to us. For what he did to…Mia. But he didn't. He walked the streets, a shining example to all of a good man and model father. The prick.”

“Hate will eat you alive,” Veronica murmured. “You can't go back, only forward. I know from experience, Ashley. I—”

“What do you know about me!” Ashley turned on Veronica, trembling with fury. “You're not inside my skin! You're
not
one of my sisters, no matter what Mia says! You're nothing to me, do you understand? Nothing! So don't presume, never presume, to tell me what's best for me!”

“But she's right, Ash.” Melanie held out a hand to her sister once more, aching for her. “The only person all that hatred is hurting is you.”

Ashley stared at her outstretched hand, expression anguished, then lifted her gaze from it to Melanie's. “Have I lost you?” she asked, her tone small and devastated. “Have I lost you both? To
her?
”

Melanie shook her head. “Of course not. You're our sister. No one could ever take your place. We love—”

“That's bullshit!” she cried, snatching her purse off the counter. She bolted to the back door, stopping and turning to look at the other women when she reached it. “It's all just bullshit.”

M
elanie liked Pamela Barrett, the attorney Veronica had recommended, right off. She had a broad smile, a firm handshake and an air of uncomplicated honesty and unshakable self-confidence about her.

“Melanie,” she said. “I'm so glad to meet you.” She released her hand. “Come in.”

Pamela told her secretary to hold her calls, then closed the office door behind them. She motioned toward the couch and love seat. “Why don't we sit over here?”

They did, Melanie choosing the love seat, Pamela the couch, facing her. “Veronica spoke of you in glowing terms. She also said you were desperate.”

Melanie winced at the way that sounded, but acknowledged it was true. “I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice. I'm afraid Veronica was right, I didn't know where to turn for help.”

She smiled sympathetically. “I understand. And let me assure you, you've turned to the right person.”

The attorney quickly detailed her history with family law, her successful record and that she, too, was a divorced mother who'd had to fight off an ex-husband's custody bid.

“So you can see, I'm on your side in this and I'll
do whatever I can to ensure you don't lose custody of your son. Now, Veronica filled me in on a few of the details of your situation. Why don't you tell me the rest? Begin wherever you think it's appropriate.”

Melanie told her why she had left Stan, how he had constantly interfered in her life since and how she had always feared he would attempt to take custody of Casey from her. She shared the details of the conversations she'd had with Stan since he had initiated his custody bid and also her negative meeting with John Peoples.

Pamela nodded, jotting down notes as Melanie spoke.

When Melanie paused, the lawyer reviewed what she had written, then met Melanie's eyes. “Tell me what a typical week is like for you and Casey.”

When Melanie had, the attorney asked about Stan's schedule, his new wife and their marriage, the kind of father he was. His life-style. She asked, too, about both her and Stan's extended family and their relationship with Casey.

Finally, the woman set her notebook aside. Melanie held her breath. Pamela was on her side; Melanie believed that. So, if the attorney was even halfway as pessimistic of her chances as the previous lawyer had been, Melanie didn't know what she would do.

“First off,” the woman began, “let me tell you that I've had dealings with John Peoples. Just between you and me, I found him to be an underinformed, misogynist windbag. Discount everything he said. However, I have also dealt with your husband's attorney. He's smart and savvy. The ultimate professional.”

“The best money can buy,” Melanie said bitterly, her spirits sinking.

Pamela Barrett leaned forward, an eagerness in her eyes—to do battle, to face a worthy opponent and win. “He's good but he's not better than me.”

She paused to let that sink in, then continued. “From what you've told me, I see no reason a judge would award Stan custody. In fact, from what you've told me, you're a more hands-on parent than your husband. Forget your ex-husband's argument about the advantages of his more lavish life-style. That's his value system talking, not the judge's.”

“What about my job? Peoples said—”

“I told you, discount everything he said.
Everything,
Melanie.” She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. “The judge will interview you, Stan, his wife, a couple other family members from both sides. We'll rehearse, but up front I'll tell you, I want your love for Casey to come shining through. Your natural warmth. Your devotion to your family. The closeness you share with your sisters and they with Casey.”

She smiled. “We're going to blow your controlling, materialistic ex-husband out of the water. Mark my words.”

Melanie nearly cried out with relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You're welcome.” Pamela stood, signaling that the meeting had ended. “I'll contact your husband's attorney and we'll get this thing going. Expect to hear from me in a couple of days.”

Melanie thanked her again, and they walked to the door. When they reached it, Pamela held out her hand.
“Don't worry about a thing, Melanie. You're in good hands.”

“I believe I am.” Melanie started out the door, then stopped. “Your own custody case, it was successful?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“And that was the end of it?”

Pamela made a sound of sympathy, seeing, Melanie had no doubt, the fear behind her question. That it would never end, that even if the judge ruled in her favor, Stan would try again. And again.

The attorney answered and Melanie saw that she had been correct. “I understand your concern, Melanie. But let me reassure you, unless there's abuse or neglect involved, it's not easy to have a judge's ruling overturned. This is your ex-husband's best shot. And I believe he's going to lose.”

“And in your case? Did your ex-husband accept the judge's ruling and fade gracefully into the night?”

“In a manner of speaking. My ex moved away shortly after the ruling. It was really hard on the kids and I regretted that. I hated them growing up without their father close by.”

But she hadn't personally regretted his leaving, Melanie thought, saying goodbye again. She recalled her and her sisters' argument of the other night. Yes, she would hate for Casey not to be able to see his father. But to be honest, she would feel little but relief if Stan disappeared off the face of the planet tomorrow.

M
elanie left the attorney's, all but walking on air. For the first time since Stan informed her of his intention to sue for custody, she felt as though everything was going to be okay. No, she felt better than that. She felt unbeatable.

Halfway back to Charlotte, her beeper went off. Headquarters. Using her cell phone, she called in. Bobby answered.

“Hey, partner,” she said. “You rang?”

“Where are you?”

“Twenty, twenty-five minutes outside Charlotte. What's up?”

“They're putting Jenkins in a lineup. The chief wants us there.”

“When?”

“Four o'clock.”

She checked her watch.
Damn.
“I'll meet you there.”

The lineup was under way when Melanie arrived. She sidled over to Bobby's side. “What have I missed?” she asked, her voice low.

“Not much. The photo lineup they did this morning proved inconclusive, so here we are. They just got started.”

She quickly scanned the room. Besides the CMPD guys and Bobby, she saw the ADA who would be handling the case—the same one who'd attended Jenkins's interrogation—and another suit she guessed was the suspect's lawyer. Connor Parks was not present. She acknowledged disappointment—irritating though he was, Parks kept her on her toes and made her think.

She turned her attention to the scene in progress. Pete Harrison was calling for each man to step forward, turn to the right, then left. Melanie recognized Jenkins—number three in the lineup—from his interrogation the other day. Pale, forehead shiny with sweat, he looked a hairbreadth from throwing up.

“Okay, Gayle,” Harrison said to the witness, “take a good look. Do you recognize the man you saw approach Joli Andersen in the parking lot the night of her murder?”

The woman made a small sound of distress. “I'm not…sure. I—”

“Take your time,” the ADA said. “We want you to be absolutely certain.”

The woman nodded, took a deep breath and leaned slightly forward. “It was dark, but…he was built like number three. And he had hair kinda like his…sort of dark…and curlyish.”

“Sort of?” the suspect's lawyer said. “Kind of? Was the man's hair like his, or not?”

She glanced nervously at Harrison, then back at the viewing window. “I…yes, it was.”

“Is number three the man you saw?”

The ADA cleared her throat in warning. The witness wrung her hands. “I wouldn't want to be wrong.”

“Absolutely not.”

She bit her lip. “Could you have number three step forward again?”

Harrison did, and she studied him a moment. “That might be him.”

The investigators exchanged glances. “Might?” Harrison prodded.

“It could be.” Her voice rose. “Like I said, it was dark. And I was hurrying to my car.”

“Of course you were,” Jenkins's lawyer interjected smoothly, his tone conciliatory. “After all, it was very late.”

“Yes.” She looked relieved. “Very.”

“And you'd been drinking.”

She darted a glance at the police. “A little.”

Melanie's heart sank. There'd be no charge forthcoming from this witness's testimony.

“Thanks for coming in, Gayle,” the ADA said. “We really appreciate it.”

“That's it?” The ADA nodded, and the woman stood. “I'm…sorry I wasn't more help.”

“You were a great help. I'll walk you out.”

“I told you you had the wrong man,” Jenkins's lawyer said as soon as the door shut behind them, his expression smug.

“What makes you think we have the wrong man?” Stemmons shot back. “An eyewitness just confirmed that your client has the same build and coloring as the man last seen with Joli Andersen.”

The attorney snorted with amusement. “Yeah, right. Kind of, sort of. You don't have one piece of physical evidence linking my client to the crime scene, not even
a fingerprint. You've got nothing.” He walked to the door, glancing back at them when he reached it. “Back off or I'll hit you with a harassment suit so fast your heads will spin.”

When the door snapped shut behind the man, Pete swore. “The weasel's guilty as sin.”

Melanie frowned, unconvinced. “With all the evidence left at the scene, we have nothing that links Jenkins to it. No print match. No hair or fiber. That doesn't bother you?”

“It bothers the shit out of me. I got a feeling in my gut about that little fuck.”

“He sure looked guilty,” Bobby murmured. “I'm surprised she didn't finger him on the volume of his sweat alone.”

“But don't you think that undermines her testimony even more?” Melanie murmured. “He looked
that
guilty and she still couldn't ID him. What's going to happen if we're able to charge and he shows up in court, cool as a cucumber? Her uncertainty's going to double.”

“Or treble,” Pete Harrison muttered, then swore. “This really sucks. There's something off about that guy. Something bad off.”

Melanie didn't disagree with that assessment of Jenkins's character. But it didn't bring her any closer to believing he was their guy. She kept coming back to Connor Parks's profile. And Ted Jenkins didn't fit it.

She told them so.

“Screw Parks,” Roger Stemmons said, speaking up for the first time since the lawyer's exit. “You didn't
see him here today, did you? The man's a major pain in my ass.”

“He also gets results.” Melanie moved her gaze between the men. “He was one of the Bureau's top profilers, how stupid would we be if we didn't take advantage of that experience?”

To Melanie's surprise, Pete agreed with her. “But I also say we keep the pressure on this guy. Harassment, my ass, we've got just cause.”

The four agreed and filed out of the room and into the hall. They fell into step, making their way to the elevators. A car was waiting; they stepped inside. Melanie stood beside Pete and she glanced at him. “Weren't you one of the investigators on the Jim McMillian case?” she asked, working to sound casual.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You saw that he died.”

The man smiled. “Score one for the good guys.”

“No joke.” She felt Bobby's warning gaze on her and deliberately avoided it. She had to do this. “His death, odd circumstances, I thought.”

“In what way?”

She shrugged, wanting to appear nonchalant, choosing to feel the CMPD guys out before she laid her suspicions on the table. “That essentially he was poisoned by the very substance he was taking to stay healthy. After all, the digitalis brought on the heart attack.”

“So?” The car stopped; the elevator doors slid open and the four stepped off. “It's rare but it happens, right?”

“Right. But another batterer, a suspect of mine, died recently, also under odd circumstances.”

The man looked at her, his gaze sharp. “And you think the two are related?”

“I didn't say that. I just found it a bit of a coincidence. That's all.” She glanced at her watch, as if only half-interested in the conversation. “You aware of any other guys like McMillian dying unexpectedly?”

“Oh sure.” The man's mouth twisted into an amused smirk. “They're dropping like flies.”

“Come on, Mel,” Bobby said, nudging her. “The chief wanted us to report in, ASAP.”

She ignored him. “Actually, Pete, I have uncovered a third victim. His name was Samson Gold. He died snorting what he thought was coke. It turned out to be a mixture of coke and pure heroin.”

“That
is
rare,” Roger murmured, chuckling. “A junkie who dies of an overdose. Quick, call the FBI.”

Pete patted her on the back. “You're chasing crimes that don't exist, May.”

Melanie stiffened. She didn't deserve their amusement; she didn't deserve their condescension. But because she was a Whistlestop cop, everything she said was a big joke.

“And you're certain of that?” she asked. “Just like you're so certain Connor Parks's profile is wrong and Jenkins is Joli Andersen's killer? But if you're so smart, how come you haven't been able to bring him in?”

Two spots of hot color stained the investigator's cheeks. “Instead of running after imaginary killers,
May, maybe you should pay a little more attention to what's going on in your own backyard.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?”

“Ask your brother-in-law.”

Harrison started to walk away, but she caught his arm, stopping him. “No, you to tell me, because I don't have a clue what you're talking about.”

He stared at her a moment, his expression hard. “You know what, May? It'll be my pleasure. Your brother-in-law was in a few weeks ago, said you threatened him. Said he had witnesses.”

Even as a denial sprang to her lips, she remembered.
The hospital. Her telling him that if he hurt her sister again, she wouldn't be held accountable for her actions.
Melanie felt herself pale and she cursed her temper.

“It was nothing,” she said. “A family misunderstanding.”

“Not according to Dr. Donaldson.” Pete looked at Bobby. “You might think about getting yourself another partner. This one's a loose cannon. She's going to get somebody hurt.”

The men walked away, and she turned back to Bobby, furious at her treatment. “He's wrong,” she said. “I am
not
chasing killers that don't exist. If his head wasn't so far up his—”

“Give it a rest, Mel. I don't want to hear it.”

She saw then that the terminally easygoing Bobby was angry. That her confrontation with the investigator had embarrassed him.

She made a sound of regret. “I saw the opportunity and took it. I thought that maybe Harrison would—”

“What?” he interrupted, keeping his voice low. “Fall at your feet in appreciation of your awesome detecting skills? That he would not only validate you, but beg you to let him join you in the hunt for Charlotte's newest serial killer?”

Bobby looked away, then back at her. “Next time you want to present some far-fetched theories to the CMPD guys—or anyone else—do it alone. I don't need the humiliation.”

She took a step back, surprised by her partner's sarcasm. By the depth of his anger. Obviously, this had been brewing for some time. “I didn't know you felt that way about working with me, Bobby,” she said stiffly. “But I do now. I won't
humiliate
you again.”

He muttered an oath. “Look, Melanie. I like you. I like working with you, you're a good cop. But you…you've got a chip on your shoulder. A big one. And it's getting in the way.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. “In the way?” she repeated. “Of what? Our relationship? Or my work?”

“Either, both. You name it.” He looked away, then back, his expression tight. “Working the Whistlestop force is never going to be high-profile. The cases are never going to be sexy. And that's okay with me. Maybe it's time for you to ask yourself if it's okay with you.”