All Fall Down (5 page)

The lawyer stood. “Mr. Andersen has decided to offer a reward for any information leading to the arrest of his daughter's killer. Chief Greer's team from Whistlestop will be overseeing the phone bank.”

“What!”

This came from Melanie and Bobby, in unison. Melanie heard the CMPD guys snickering and the blood rushed to her head. An angry retort on the tip of her tongue, she swung toward Harrison and Stemmons, but Bobby had heard them, too, and anticipating her response, kicked her under the table.

Steve Rice stood. “With all due respect and sympathy to Mr. Andersen and his family, I have to warn you that these types of rewards rarely lead to anything
but headaches for us and the PDs working the case. By tomorrow at noon, we'll be so busy following up on false leads, we won't have time to follow up on the real ones. I urge you to ask the Andersen family to reconsider.”

“But couldn't it prompt a recalcitrant witness to come forward?” the attorney countered. “The promise of one hundred thousand dollars is a powerful motivator.”

Melanie groaned. Chaos erupted at the table. That kind of reward would bring out not only every money-grubbing liar in the county, but every nutcase as well. It was a singularly bad idea. That she and Bobby had been assigned the phone banks was humiliating.

The rest of the meeting passed in an angry blur for Melanie. The only bright spot being that Andersen's attorney agreed to try to convince the businessman to lower the reward substantially.

The moment they adjourned, Melanie caught her chief in the hallway. “Why didn't you tell us?” she asked him, so furious her voice shook. “You let them sucker punch us. I feel like an idiot.”

“I only just found out myself.” Melanie heard the anger in his voice. “They cornered me minutes before the meeting.”

“So, that's where was our illustrious mayor was this morning,” Melanie said through gritted teeth. “Hiding under his slimy rock.”

“Asshole politicians,” Bobby muttered.

The chief sighed. “Don't be too hard on him, he couldn't win this one. The pressure came from high up.”

“This is Andersen's doing, I'll bet,” Bobby said, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “Who'd the man get to, the governor?”

Their chief didn't deny it. “Same old song and dance,” Melanie said bitterly. “They're in and we're out.”

“No,” Bobby corrected, his normally placid features pinched with anger, “we're on the phone, taking down every reward-hungry nut's tip to nowhere.” He stubbed his toe into the worn carpet. “Asshole politicians,” he said again.

“I know you're disappointed. I am, too.” The chief looked from one to the other of them. “But I did get us a couple consolations. First, though not actively participating in the investigation, we're still involved. Searches, lineups, interrogations—anything goes down, we're included. Second, I got us a handful of CMPD grunts to help with the phones.” He smiled wickedly. “Poor bastards.”

Bobby perked up slightly at that, but Melanie couldn't. This case had been her big chance, her way out of the WPD. Now it was gone.

Sometimes, she decided, life really sucked.

“Look on the bright side, Mel,” Bobby said moments later as they crossed the parking lot to her Jeep. “Now that we're out, we can't get blamed for tanking the investigation if this thing goes south.”

“What ‘if'? It's already gone south.” Melanie made a sound of frustration. “The bright side was working the investigation. Damn.”

“I know, partner. I'm pissed, too.”

When she only looked at him, he laughed and
bumped her with his shoulder. “Okay, maybe not as pissed as you. But hell, it's a matter of pride. The phone banks? Give me a break.”

“Thanks for cheering me up,” Melanie grumbled. “I feel so much better now. Positively giddy with delight.”

T
uesdays were papering day for the Person's Team at the D.A.'s office. During that day a prosecutor from the team was available to advise on and review case merit for the police.

Although many of the prosecutors dreaded their papering-day rotation, Veronica Ford didn't. She enjoyed meeting with the police; she liked having the opportunity to hear and evaluate cases before anyone else touched them; she was always left feeling as if she had her finger on the pulse of the team.

Some days were slow, some—like today—hectic. Rape, assault and battery, it seemed, had become a sudden, favorite pastime in Mecklenburg County. Veronica decided it must either be a full moon or the beginning of an economic recession. Both played hell with law and order.

Jen rang her. “Veronica,” she said, “an Officer Melanie May is here to see you.”

“Melanie May,” she repeated, recognizing the name, surprised at the coincidence. Especially since she had switched rotations with Rick so he could attend the Andersen case pow-wow that morning. The big news from that gathering was Cleve Andersen's
one-hundred-thousand-dollar reward offer. The entire office was buzzing with it.

“She's with the Whistlestop force.”

“I know who she's with. Send her back.”

A moment later the police officer appeared at her door. Veronica smiled and waved her in. “Officer May, have a seat.”

The woman returned Veronica's smile and sank into one of the two chairs facing the desk. “You look familiar,” she said. “Where do I know you from?”

Veronica motioned to the line of Starbucks travel mugs on the credenza to her right. “We share an addiction to coffee.”

“Of course. We frequent the same java joint.” Melanie May laughed. “I'm a cappuccino girl. You?”

“Latte.” Veronica settled back against her seat. “I confess, when the receptionist announced you, I knew exactly who you were. From the coffeehouse. Your uniform and name tag give you away.”

“You're observant.”

“I'm an ADA, knowing the police is part of my job. I'm aided by an excellent memory.”

The policewoman motioned toward the travel mugs. “I have to ask, why six?”

Veronica glanced at them, then shook her head in self-directed amusement. “It started innocently enough. I forgot my travel mug one morning, so I bought another. I thought, why not? I could use a backup. I hate drinking out of paper.”

“Then you forgot it again?”

“Exactly. It's evolved into this elaborate system of collecting, transporting, then washing.” She shook her
head, smiling at herself. “Of course, I don't call it obsessive-compulsive behavior, I tell myself I'm helping the environment by using plastic instead of paper. You know, saving trees. We can convince ourselves of anything, I suppose.”

“A lawyer with a conscience.” Melanie grinned. “How novel.”

Veronica laughed again. “Uh-oh. Sounds like you have a problem with lawyers.”

“Not prosecutors. My ex-husband's an attorney. Corporate law.”

Veronica leaned toward her. “High-priced hand-holders and nose-wipers.” She made a face. “No thanks. Give me a scumbag to put on ice any day.”

Melanie laughed. “Well, here's your chance. I have a class-A creep for you.”

“Fill me in.”

“Name's Thomas Weiss,” Melanie said, handing her the report. “Batterer. Put his live-in girlfriend in the hospital. And not for the first time. However, this time it was bad enough, the girlfriend's ready to charge him.”

Veronica looked the case over. She jotted the victim's name, address and place of employment on her legal pad, then did the same for the accused.

She met the policewoman's eyes. “It says here he owns a restaurant.”

“The Blue Bayou. In Dilworth.”

“I've been there. Nice place. Good food. Cajun.”

“That's the one.”

“And she's one of his bartenders.” Veronica pursed her lips. “He's done this to her before?”

“Yes.”

“But she's never pressed charges?”

“She has but dropped them. She won't this time.”

“How do you know?”

“He threatened to kill her. She's really scared.”

Veronica made a sound of regret and tossed the file back onto the table. “Sorry. No go.”

“No go?” Melanie repeated, stunned. “But why? It's a good case.”

“With what you've got, we can't win. And I'm not willing to start the clock ticking until I'm confident we can. Look at it this way, you've got nothing here but the girlfriend. One who's scared silly at that. Scared girlfriends with a history of taking a hike on a case do not make good witnesses.”

Melanie leaned forward, her expression eager. “She won't change her mind this time. I'm sure of it. This time—”

Veronica held up a hand, stopping her. “If the victim waffles, if she shows the slightest bit of hesitation, the jury thinks ‘So what?' This guy looks squeaky-clean on paper. He's the owner of a popular area restaurant. He's the picture of the successful, educated citizen.”

“So he can get away with beating up his girlfriend?”

Veronica met the other woman's gaze evenly. “Yes.”

Melanie made a sound of frustration, collected the report and stood. “This sucks.”

“Tell me about it.” Veronica followed her to her feet. “I'd love to nail this creep, Melanie. Trust me
on that. Bring me more and I will. A witness to corroborate. A neighbor, kids. Another woman to stand up. If you can do that, I'll nail his ass to a stake. And that's a promise.”

A
shley let herself into Mia's house, using the key her sister had given her for emergencies. She closed the front door behind her, relocking it. She glanced at her watch and frowned. At nearly five o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, she had been certain she would find Mia home.

She would be soon, Ashley decided, crossing the massive foyer, moving toward the kitchen. In the meantime, she might as well make herself comfortable. First stop, the refrigerator and one of Boyd's expensive, imported beers.

The click of her heels on the marble-parquet floor echoed, and Ashley paused, suddenly aware of how quiet the house was. No ticking clock or purring cat broke the silence. No drone of a TV inadvertently left on or muffled sound of children playing next door. She had always found Mia's home mausoleum-like. Had always thought it beautiful but cold. Unwelcoming. A kind of gilded cage.

Now, after what Melanie had told her about her sister's marriage, she realized just how on the mark her feelings had been.

Maybe she wasn't completely losing it, after all.

Maybe she was hanging on by a thread, instead.

It had been exactly one week since she'd argued with Melanie about Mia and her marriage and Ashley had been unable to put the confrontation behind her. She had been unable to forget the way the argument had made her feel—angry and resentful. Bitter.

She couldn't understand why Melanie refused to see the truth, why she refused to acknowledge that Ashley might be able to see the situation more clearly because she wasn't a part of her and Mia's little clique. Their little twin's club.

Three was a crowd.

Wannabe idiot. That's all she was. All she had ever been.

Her sisters and nephew were everything to her. They were the most important part of her life. The only part that meant anything.

But they had more in their lives. So much more that she sometimes thought they didn't need her at all. Thought that if she fell off the face of the planet, they would hardly notice she was gone.

Ashley sucked in a sharp breath, hating her thoughts, denying them. They weren't true. Melanie and Mia loved her. Her alienation was of her own creation. Her loneliness had nothing to do with other people—only herself. With her displaced anger.

Wasn't that what the shrink she had seen for a while had told her? That she would always be alone until she faced the truth about her past?

Ashley dropped her purse on the kitchen counter and crossed to the refrigerator, but didn't open it. On the appliance's shiny black front was a photo of her and her sisters, taken on their thirtieth birthday. Their
arms were linked, they were smiling. Three women, strikingly attractive in identical flame-red dresses, near mirror images of one another.

Ashley settled on her own image and an ache of loneliness and longing settled in the pit of her gut.
Near mirror images. Not exact.

Her part of the mirror contained a distortion. Subtle, true. But it set her apart. Ashley, the one who was different. Ashley, forever the outsider. The outcast.

Tears choked her and she cleared her throat, fighting them off. Wishing she could fight off the ache in the pit of her gut as easily, wishing she could find something to fill the empty, hurting place inside her.

Ashley passed a hand over her eyes. What was happening to her? It was as if she was becoming a person she didn't recognize. One filled with fear and rage. At times vengeful, others repentant. One who wanted to fit in but who always felt alienated, who longed for love but was afraid to allow anyone near her.

Why couldn't she let down her guard? With a man or anyone else? Why couldn't she let herself be loved?

Ashley blinked against the tears that blinded her. As she did, her vision cleared. Beside the photograph, also held by a refrigerator magnet, was a note from Boyd, informing Mia that he was going to be very late and that she shouldn't wait up.

The note's meaning registered and her equilibrium returned. Fall in love and end up like her sisters? One constantly fighting for her independence, the other too dependent even to try?

Making a face, Ashley opened the door and reached inside for a beer. As she did, she heard the sound of
the garage door rumbling up.
Mia. No doubt trunk loaded with packages.
Her sister loved to shop and spent a good portion of her days enjoying Boyd's seemingly endless supply of money.

Ashley shook her head. Doctors. Overpaid, self-proclaimed kings of the universe. She played nicey-nice with them day in and day out—save for a few who were authentic healers, she could do without the lot of them. Her
esteemed
brother-in-law as well.

Ashley opened the bottle of imported brew, then fished around in the cabinet for a glass. The front door opened and closed; she heard the rustle and crackle of shopping bags and Mia humming under her breath. Ashley smiled. Her sister was nothing if not predictable.

Grabbing a handful of mixed nuts from the jar on the counter, she took her beer and headed toward the living room.

She found Mia there, back turned toward her as she bent over the coffee table, still humming under her breath.

“Sunny little tune,” Ashley murmured from the doorway. “Where have you been all afternoon? Walt Disney World?”

Mia whirled around, one hand to her throat, the other pressed to her side. “Ashley! What are you doing here?”

“Getting a beer. Wiling away the time until my sister got home.” Ashley sauntered into the room, munching on the nuts. “Do I need an invitation to pay a visit to my middle sister?”

“Of course not.” Mia smiled weakly. “You scared me, that's all.”

“My car's parked in front of the your house. Didn't you see it?”

“No. I must have been daydr—”

“Oh my God, Mia. Is that a gun?”

Mia looked down at the revolver she had clutched in her hand, her expression blank. A moment later, she returned her gaze to her sister's, cheeks pink. “Yes.”

“What are you doing with it?”

“Nothing.” Looking uncomfortable, Mia turned and stuck the weapon back into the decorative box in the center of the big glass and brass coffee table, then shut the lid with a snap.

“Nothing?” Ashley crossed the room, stopping to stand before her sister. She searched her gaze. It hurt to see her sister's bruises, the yellow and blue that no amount of makeup could hide. “Why do you need a gun, Mia? Planning on getting rid of your husband the old-fashioned way?”

“Don't be stupid.”

“I don't think it's stupid.” Ashley set her beer on the table, then reached around Mia. She opened the box. Inside rested a pearl-handled, snub-nosed revolver. Without even touching it she could tell it was the real thing, not a toy. “If the bastard were my husband, I'd be tempted. Though I doubt I'd shoot him. Too easy to get caught.”

Mia made a sound of exasperation. “Stop it. The last thing I would even think about is killing my husband.”

“That's where you and I differ, love. If my husband
had done
that
to my face, he'd be history. And in short order.” Ashley reached for the gun, then stopped. “Is it loaded?”

“Of course not.”

She lifted the gun out of the box, weighing it in her hand. It wasn't nearly as heavy as she had thought it would be. Not nearly as cold. In fact, she rather liked the way it snuggled into her palm. She gripped it in both hands and held it out, police-style. “Stop, motherfucker! Or I'll blow your brains out!”

Mia started to laugh, though her expression was horrified. “Ash, you're too much.”

She laughed, too. “I could get used to carrying one of these. What a rush.” She handed the gun back to her sister and for the second time, Mia set the weapon back in its box. “Do you think that's the way Melanie feels every morning when she straps that baby on? All macho and stuff?”

“Knowing Mel? Probably.”

Ashley reached for her beer and took a sip. It was already warmer than she liked. “So, what's with the gun? Seems like a dangerous thing to have hanging around if you're not planning to whack somebody with it. Loaded or not.”

Mia's smile faded. “Boyd's been…out a lot at night, and I just thought…for my own protection…”

Her words trailed off. Ashley sobered. “You don't have to pretend with me. Melanie told me everything. About your suspicions. What Boyd did to you.”

Mia brought a hand to her bruised face, wincing, though whether in pain or at the memory, Ashley
wasn't sure. “It was awful, Ash. The way Boyd…I was afraid. I still am.”

Ashley shook her head. “You don't need a gun, Mia. Just leave him.”

“I can't.” She shook her head. “I'm afraid of what he might do. He said if I ever tried, he'd…that he'd hurt me.”

Ashley drew her eyebrows together, growing more concerned by the moment. More unsettled. Her brother-in-law had always seemed like an arrogant little prick to her, but he'd never seemed violent. But then, their father had been a pillar of the community.

“Being afraid all the time, you can't live that way, Mia.”

“I know.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “When I met him I thought he was…everything. A real Prince Charming. Just for me.”

“Almost a god.”

“Yeah, almost.” She sighed. “In my eyes he was perfect. My knight in shining armor. I thought the rumors circulating about him were based on jealousy, not fact. All that stuff about his wife's mysterious death, about his being questioned by the police, I ignored all that.”

“So did I.”

“Melanie didn't,” Mia murmured, her tone bitter. “But then, Melanie always knows best.”

Ashley looked away. It did sometimes seem that way. Melanie was always the smart one. The strong one. The one who made the right choices, good decisions. And even the rare times she did make a mis
take—her marriage to Stan being the most notable—she corrected the mistake on her own, without help from anyone. Even her sisters.

Ashley's gaze landed on the pile of shopping bags by the front door. “Looks like you dropped major bucks today. Anything spectacular?”

A brilliant smile lit her sister's face. “A little black dress. I'd show it to you but Boyd—”

“Is going to be out late tonight. A meeting. He left a note on the refrigerator.” At Mia's wounded expression, Ashley made a sound of regret. “Sorry, sis.”

“It's not your fault.”

“No, but I can still be sorry.” Ashley touched Mia's arm, heart breaking for her sister. “You're too good for him. Dump his ass.”

“I wish it were that easy.” She looked at Ashley, her expression suddenly fierce. “And don't you dare say it is. Don't you…
dare.
I've already heard that from Melanie and I'm sick of it.”

Turning, she strode to the shopping bags, snatched them up and started down the hall that led to the bedrooms.

Ashley stared after her, stunned. Her sister had always kept her emotions safely hidden—from others and herself. Ashley had decided long ago that Mia found it easier to deny her feelings than to deal with them. And a lot less frightening as well.

So, where had that very unMia-like outburst come from?

Ashley went after her. She found her in the master bedroom, unpacking her purchases, laying each lovingly out on the champagne-colored satin spread. She
didn't acknowledge Ashley's presence with so much as a glance.

Ashley leaned against the door frame watching her for a moment before speaking. “Okay, so it's not easy. It's bloody complicated. Happy?”

“Don't be a bitch.”

Ashley arched her eyebrows and folded her arms across her chest. “Seems to me I'm not the one who's hormonal here. Which is okay, I applaud you expressing your emotions. It's high time. But I'm not the one who hit you. So don't take it out on me.”

Mia's movements faltered, but she didn't look up. “I know. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just mad at the world.”

“I can dig that, Mia. I really can.”

Her sister looked up, her expression defiant. “But?”

Ashley drew in a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “The man hit you. He threatened you and frightened you. Maybe I'm simpleminded, but it doesn't seem like you're facing that tough a decision here.”

“I know, but Boyd promised he wouldn't do it again and…and it was just that once.”

Ashley made a sound of dismay. “My God, Mia. Wasn't once enough?”

Ignoring her, Mia returned her attention to her purchases. Ashley watched her, silently tallying what her sister must have spent. It added up to hundreds of dollars, maybe more than a thousand. In one afternoon. Mia shopped several times a week.

Suddenly, she got it. Suddenly, she understood. “You know,” she said softly, “buying things might
make you feel better for a moment, but it can't substitute for love. Nor for tenderness. Or affection.”

Mia stiffened. “Excuse me?”

Ashley motioned to the garments Mia had lovingly lined up on the bed. “It's the money, isn't it? That's why you won't leave him?”

Her sister's face flooded with color. “I made a vow in front of God, Ashley. I promised ‘for better or for worse.' I have to give him another chance. That's what marriage is all about.” She tilted up her chin. “But then,
you've
never been married, so you wouldn't understand.”

Hurt took her breath. Anger followed on its heels. “That was a cheap shot, Mia.”

“And accusing me of marrying my husband for money wasn't?”

“That's not what I said. I'm just trying to make sense of what makes no sense at all. Namely, why would you stay with a man who's not only unfaithful, but abusive as well?”

“What entitles you to question me, Ash? What do you know about love? Or about commitment? Nothing. And you never will because you close yourself off from everybody.”