All Fall Down (7 page)

“Amusing.” Connor held his glass up in a mock toast, then drained it. “You here tonight as a friend or a boss?”

When he didn't respond, Connor followed his gaze and saw that the agent was staring at a framed photo on the lamp table. It was a picture of his ex-wife's son, snapped on one of the fishing trips they had taken together. The boy wore an ear-to-ear smile as he proudly displayed the bass he had caught.

Connor reached across and laid the frame flat against the table.

The man turned back to Connor. “Talked to Trish or her boy recently?”

“Not since she left me.”

“That was a long time ago, Con. What, a couple years?”

Connor shrugged.

“I remember you being pretty fond of her boy. What was his name?”

Jamey.
Connor fisted his fingers. “You going someplace with this, Rice?”

“Just curious.”

“Well, fuck off.”

The SAC looked at his hands, loosely clasped in his lap. “You have the TV on at all tonight?”

Connor looked up sharply. “Should I have?”

“Cleve Andersen's reward offer was the top story. After all, a hundred-thousand-dollar giveaway is headline news. They also ran an accompanying clip of you criticizing the move. I believe you called it bone-headed.”

“Which station?”

“All of them. Both the six and ten o'clock broadcasts.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” He looked Connor dead in the eyes. “Cleve Andersen's the victim's father. He's an important man in this town. He has connections that don't stop at the state line. Powerful connections. Are you hearing me?”

“I'm hearing you,” he said and stood. “But you're not saying anything. Spit it out, Steve.”

“First you challenge Andersen in front of a roomful of people, then you talk to the press. Andersen's on the warpath.”

“And he's after my scalp.”

“He did a little checking up on you this afternoon. Found out that you hit the bottle pretty heavy. Found
out about your being censured. About your demotion.”

Connor stiffened. “I still do my job. Better than anybody. And you know it.”

“I knew it once.” He looked away, then back at Connor, his expression troubled. “You need to stop this, Connor.” He motioned to the room, the papers, the bottle. “It's killing you.”

Connor laughed, the sound hard and tight. “It'll take more than a little tequila to kill me.”

“It's not the tequila I'm referring to. Let Suzi go, Connor. Let her go.”

The words hit him with the force of a wrecking ball. “Let her go,” Connor repeated, his voice thick. He met the other man's eyes, his burning. “And how the hell do I do that?”

“You just do it.”

Emotion choked him. “You don't know shit. You can't imagine what I…what I've—”

A sound passed his lips, drawn from deep inside him, part fury, part pain. “It's my fault, you asshole! She asked me for help, begged me to come home. Instead, I lectured her about standing on her own two feet. I told her the time had come for her to grow—”

He struggled to get a grip on his runaway emotions. “Don't you get it? If I had listened to her, when she asked for help, if I had only—”

He bit the words back and swung away, shaking with impotent rage. With grief and regret.

“I'm sorry, Con.” His friend stood and crossed to him. He laid a hand on his shoulder. “I'm recom
mending you for a leave of absence. Effective immediately.”

Connor turned. “Because I offended Charlotte's leading citizen? Or because I'm tarnishing the Bureau's sterling image?”

“Look at yourself, you're a wreck. Embarrassing the Bureau is the least of my worries concerning you. I let you keep working like this, you're going to get yourself or another agent killed.”

“Don't do this, Steve.” He said it evenly, without inflection. It was as close as he would come to begging. “Without the Bureau, I'll never catch this guy. He'll get away with it, with taking Suzi.”

“Don't you see? He's already gotten away with it. You have to let this go. You have to move on.”

Connor shook his head. “I've missed something, that's all. With the Bureau's resources—”

“Is that all this job's become for you? A way to fuel your obsession?”

“You don't understand.”

“No, I guess I don't.” He held out a hand. “I'll need your badge and weapon. I'm sorry, Connor. You've left me no choice.”

T
he phone awakened Melanie out of a deep sleep. Instantly alert, she grabbed for it, nearly knocking over the remnants of a glass of wine—a rare indulgence for her. “May here,” she said, her voice thick.

The caller whispered something Melanie couldn't understand. She frowned. “Officer Melanie May. Who's calling, please?”

“M…Melanie. It…it's m…me.”

“Mia?” She glanced at the clock, noting that it was nearly 2:00 a.m. Her heart leaped to her throat. “What's wrong? What's happened?”

Her sister began to sob, the sound deep and broken, as if wrenched from the very center of her being.

Alarmed, Melanie sat up. “Calm down, Mia. Tell me what's wrong. I can't help if you don't.”

“It's…Boyd,” she managed, the words choked. “He…he—”

Her sister dissolved into tears again, and Melanie climbed out of bed and crossed to her closet, portable phone still clutched to her ear. She opened the closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a light sweater.

“Honey,” Melanie said, fighting to keep panic out of her own voice, “you have to calm yourself. You have to tell me what happened. What about Boyd?”

For several moments, Mia was quiet save for her very audible struggle for control. Then she spoke, her voice a tinny whisper. “He flew into a rage. He said…he—” Her voice rose. “I'm afraid, Mellie. You've got to help me. You've got to!”

Melanie glanced at her watch, calculating. “Where are you?”

“Home. I…I locked myself in the bathroom, I thought…I thought he was going to break down the door!”

Propping the phone to her ear with her shoulder, Melanie shimmied into her jeans. “Is he there now?”

“No…at least I…I don't think so.”

“Good.” Melanie got the jeans fastened, then tore off her nightgown and went in search of her bra. “I want you to stay put,” she ordered, finding the undergarment and fitting it on. “Do not leave the bathroom. Do you understand?”

Mia murmured that she did, and Melanie nodded. “I'm coming right over.”

“But Ca…Casey, you can't—”

“It's spring break, Stan took him to Walt Disney World yesterday.” Melanie hooked the bra and yanked the sweater over her head. “I'm leaving now. Promise me you won't leave the bathroom.”

When Mia had, Melanie hung up the phone, slipped into shoes and raced for the door. She stopped halfway there and went back for her gun. She wasn't about to take any chances, she thought, and strapped on the weapon. If Boyd was as out of control as Mia said, he could be capable of anything.

 

Twenty minutes later, Melanie wheeled her car to a stop in her sister's driveway. Jumping out, she ran for the front door. She tried it and found it unlocked. Heart hammering, she eased it open and stepped inside the dark house, unsheathing her weapon as she did.

“Boyd?” she called. “Mia? It's me, Melanie.”

No one answered. She flipped on a light and gasped. It looked as if her brother-in-law had gone on a rampage. Chairs were overturned, lamps and knickknacks had been swept to the floor and broken.

“Mia!” she called again, this time sounding as panicked as she felt. Forgetting caution, she raced toward the back of the house and Mia and Boyd's bedroom. She reached the bedroom, then the master bath. She tried the knob; the door was locked. She pounded. “Mia! It's me! Open up!”

From inside she heard a cry, then something clatter to the floor. A moment later the bathroom door flew open and Mia fell into her arms.

“Melanie!” she cried. “Thank God! I was so scared!”

Melanie held her sister tightly, frightened by the way she trembled, by how small and fragile she felt in her arms. “It's okay, I'm here now. I'm not going to let Boyd or anybody else hurt you. I promise.”

As the words slipped past her lips, Melanie realized she had uttered nearly the same ones when they were children, too many times to count. Her head filled with memories she would rather forget, of moments spent holding and comforting Mia, just as she was now. Of the times she had raced to her sister's rescue. Of the first time, only hours after their mother's funeral.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the ugly memories, against the way they hurt. That day Mia had become their father's favorite target, though Melanie had never understood why. Like an animal in the wild that turns on one of its own litter, he had done his best to destroy Mia. He would have, if not for Melanie. And Ashley. As often as they could, they had closed ranks, thus diverting his rage onto themselves.

And at thirteen, when his verbal and physical abuse of Mia had become sexual, Melanie had threatened his life. He had awakened from a deep sleep to find his arms and legs restrained by ropes and his firstborn twin holding one of his hunting knives to his throat. If he touched Mia like that again, Melanie had promised, she would kill him.

Melanie had meant what she said—he must have believed she did, too, because the sexual abuse had stopped.

Melanie tightened her arms around her sister, aching for her. Why Mia? she wondered. The most defenseless, most sensitive of the three of them? And now, why this? Why couldn't her sister have the love she deserved?

Why couldn't any of them?

Melanie drew away from her twin, holding her at arm's length, meeting her gaze evenly. “Did he touch you?”

Mia shook her head, struggling, Melanie saw, to find her voice. “I didn't give him the chance. He went crazy and I grabbed the portable phone and ran. I locked myself in here…he tried to kick in the door…I thought he would. Then he just…stopped.”

She drew in a shuddering breath. “I imagined him hiding out there, trying to trick me into coming out. I imagined him getting his gun—”

“He has a gun?”

Mia blanched. “He…I…I don't know…I meant, I imagined him getting
a
gun. I was so afraid, Mellie!”

Melanie glanced at the bathroom door. The white paint was marred by ugly, black heel marks. She turned back to her sister. “Have you called the police?”

“What?”

“The police. Have you called them?”

“No, I—”

“That's okay. We can do it now. I'll get the phone.” She retrieved it from the bathroom floor and brought it to Mia. She held it out.

Mia shrank back and Melanie frowned. “You have to do this, Mia. You have to protect yourself. You have to stop him.”

“I can't.”

“Mia—”

“I couldn't bear for everyone to know!” She covered her face with her hands. “I'm so ashamed.”

Melanie put the phone aside and took her sister's hands away from her face. They were cold, trembling. “Look at me, Mia.
You
have nothing to be ashamed of. He's the one who'll be embarrassed by this. He's the one who—”

“He'll get off. You know he will. He'll deny the whole thing, and everyone will believe him. I'll be labeled the pathetic, attention-starved wife.”

“You have proof. Look at this place, the heel marks, the—” Even as she said the words, she knew
that her sister had little beside bruises that were nearly two weeks old. Not even a 911 call.

“You see that I'm right, don't you?” Mia shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. “It'll be my word against his. Who do you think everyone will believe?”

Melanie had faced a similar prejudice when she left Stan, though he had never physically abused her. It had infuriated her then, it did now. She was sick and tired of a system that allowed the rich and powerful to run roughshod over those more vulnerable. They should be held accountable. Someone should make them pay.

Mia hung her head. “It's my fault. I questioned him about where he was going. I should have known better. I should have left well enough alone.”

“Don't do that, Mia. That's a victim talking. It's bullshit.” Melanie caught Mia's shoulders and shook her lightly. “He's your husband. You had every reason, every right, to question him.”

“But I—”

“No! You will not become a victim. I will not allow it, do you hear me? You've come too far.” She shook her again, forcing her to meet her eyes. “You have to leave him, Mia. You
have
to. It's the only way.”

Mia started to cry again, nodding her head. “You're right, Mellie. But I don't want to. I want my marriage. The one I thought I had. The one I dreamed of.”

Melanie's eyes filled with tears of sympathy. And of understanding. She drew her sister back into her arms. “I know, sweetie. I want the same thing. I want what I thought I had. But it's not going to happen. You have to leave him before he really hurts you.”

M
elanie stayed with her sister until dawn. After straightening up the house, they curled up together on the king-size bed, sipping Irish creams and remembering the good times from their childhood, recalling friends they had known and fun places they had lived. Before long, Mia had nodded off.

Even after her sister had been soundly asleep, Melanie had agonized over leaving her. But she'd been forced to. It had been obvious Boyd wasn't going to return and she had hoped to get in an hour of shut-eye before having to get ready for work. Instead, she had lain awake, staring at the ceiling and worrying about her sister.

Though reassured by Mia's promise to leave her husband, Melanie wasn't optimistic she would keep her word. It wasn't uncommon for women caught in abusive relationships to marshal their personal reserves during a crisis, only to crumble as soon as the crisis passed. Or the man apologized and promised to do better.

Boyd had to be held accountable, Melanie had decided as she stood under the shower's stinging spray. He had to know his behavior was being monitored and
that it wouldn't be tolerated. She wanted him to know that
she
wouldn't tolerate it.

She had a plan.

“Morning, Bobby,” she called to her partner as she arrived at headquarters later that morning.

“Morning, Mel.” Her eternally youthful partner looked up from the sports section of the
Charlotte Observer,
and his eyebrows shot up. “Looking good today, Mel-babe. Up all night with a sick kid?”

“In a way.” She dropped her purse beside her desk and headed for the coffeepot.

He unfolded his lanky frame, grabbed his empty cup and followed her. He held out the cup, then frowned. “Wait a minute, I thought Casey was in Orlando with his dad.”

“He is. Different kid.” She filled him in on how she had spent the previous evening, though she didn't elaborate on her sister's troubles. “I thought we might pay the good doctor an unofficial official call.”

Bobby grinned. “And shake him up a bit.”

“You got it.”

“I'm in.”

Melanie added powdered creamer to her coffee and sipped. “Anything big happen overnight?”

“Not unless you call the high school being rolled big.” He grinned. “Oh, and old Mrs. Grady reported a masked bandit in her trash again.”

Melanie rolled her eyes. Her brush with real detective work had made WPD business-as-usual seem more pointless than it had before. “Raccoon?”

“Irritating little bastards, aren't they? She demanded immediate action.”

“Poor Will.” Melanie imagined pudgy, baby-faced Will Pepperman, the officer in charge of the night shift, dispatching a cruiser to the scene of the crime. No doubt he had gotten an earful from the lucky patrolman who had answered that call. Better him, though, than Mrs. Grady. Shrill would be a kind way to describe her voice.

They crossed to Bobby's desk and she perched on the corner. “How about the phone banks? Anything come in?”

“Anything promising? No. Anything at all? Yes.” He handed her a printout. Melanie skimmed her gaze down the pages, a ball of frustration forming in the pit of her gut. “There must be a hundred calls here.”

“A hundred and twelve. But who's counting?”

She made a sound of resignation. “Top or bottom?” she asked, referring to which half of the list he wanted.

“Sorry to ruin your day, but what you're holding
is
the top half of the list.” She groaned and he made a sound of sympathy. “It does suck, doesn't it?”

“Royally.” She met his eyes, wondering not for the first time how her partner remained so upbeat about the job. She decided to ask him. “You've been with the WPD ten years, how do you not let all this inconsequential…
busywork
get to you?”

He was quiet for a moment. When he answered, his tone was measured, for once, one hundred percent serious. “I'm thirty-eight years old, Melanie. I have four kids and a wife to support and only a two-year degree from a junior college. I make as much here as a CMPD guy at the same rank, get to carry a gun and look like a hotshot hero to my kids, but at the end of the day I
know old Mrs. Grady's masked bandit isn't going to make my wife a widow and my kids fatherless. And that counts for a lot with me.”

Melanie looked at her partner with newfound respect. And also with a modicum of guilt—she should feel the same way because of Casey. But she didn't. Ambition, longing for real police work, burned in the pit of her gut. Some days it felt as if the blaze was going to consume her whole.

She forced a smile and held up her half of the list. “Okay, Mr. Sunshine, paint this a happy shade of rose for me. Quick, while I still remember how to smile.”

“My pleasure.” He tapped the printout. “The fact is, about a third of this list can be eliminated as outright fabrications.”

She arched her eyebrows. “That's supposed to make me smile?”

“Give me a minute. Another third,” he continued, “can be eliminated simply—a phone call, a computer check, stuff like that.”

“But the rest we'll have to follow through in a big way.” She dropped her head into her hands. “We'll be chasing down dead ends all day!”

“Not all day.” Bobby grinned and leaned toward her. He lowered his voice. “After handling those irritating, go-nowhere leads, we can pay a visit to your fist-happy brother-in-law. And dish him some serious shit.”

She lifted her face. “The day's starting to look up at last.”

His expression became positively devilish. “I live to please, babe.”

 

Several hours later Melanie and Bobby entered the lobby of Queen's City Medical Center. Located only five minutes from the Whistlestop PD, they had saved this stop for last—a kind of reward for the previous hours of grunt work.

They crossed to the information desk. “Hello,” Melanie said to the woman staffing the desk. She held up her shield. “I'm Officer May. This is Officer Taggerty. We need to speak with Dr. Donaldson. Is he in?”

The woman's eyebrows shot up. “You can't mean Dr. Boyd Donaldson?”

Not drop-dead-gorgeous, ever-so-charming, top-of-his-class Donaldson?
Melanie smiled sweetly. “Why, yes. That's exactly who I mean. Is he in?”

The woman hesitated, then nodded. “I'll ring his office.” She did, then after a moment turned back to Melanie. “He doesn't answer. Would you like me to page him?”

Melanie said she would and in a matter of minutes he answered his page. The receptionist turned her back to them and spoke softly into the phone, no doubt informing the great Dr. Donaldson—as respectfully as possible—that the police were here to see him.

The woman hung up the phone and turned to them. “He'll be right down.”

“Thank you.” With a wink at Bobby, Melanie turned her back to the bank of elevators, pretending interest in the people coming and going through the hospital's front doors. She didn't want Boyd to see her right away. She knew that her brother-in-law liked to be in control of every situation from the git-go. This
was her way of making certain that this time he wasn't.

They didn't have long to wait. He fell right into her ploy, assuming Bobby was the officer here to see him. “Afternoon, Officer,” Boyd said, tone genial. “Dr. Boyd Donaldson. How can I help you?”

Melanie turned and smiled sweetly. “You're pretty good at sucking up to the cops. Where'd you get the practice?”

For a split second he looked baffled. Then a dull red flush spread over his handsome features. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“A joke? I don't know what you mean.”

“You told Nancy this was an official call.”

“Not at all.” She turned apologetically toward the receptionist. “I'm sorry if we gave you that impression.”

The woman looked upset and Boyd smiled reassuringly at her. “Nancy, this is my sister-in-law. She's quite the little comedian.” He turned to Melanie. “I really don't have time for a family visit right now. Call my secretary and make an appointment.”

His attitude didn't surprise Melanie. Their relationship had always been adversarial. She had set the tone right off the bat by begging her sister not to marry him. He had followed her lead by doing his best to keep her and Mia apart after they were married, going so far as to tell his new bride that her twin was not welcome in his home.

He started to turn away. She stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Make time. Now.”

He glanced pointedly at her hand. “Excuse me?”

“It's about Mia.”

He hesitated, glanced at his watch, then made a sound of annoyance. “Fine.” He motioned toward a quiet corner of the lobby. “But you'll have to make it quick. I'm due in surgery in forty minutes.”

Melanie held on to her temper only until the three of them were in place. Then she let it rip. “Your concern for my sister's health is touching, Boyd. Truly awe-inspiring.”

“I see nothing to be concerned about. I saw her this morning, she was fine. If she'd been in an accident or was ill, you would have told me up front. Am I wrong?”

He arched his eyebrows, the picture of arrogance, and Melanie's blood boiled. “You son-of-a-bitch.” She took a step toward him. “I know about you, Dr. Donaldson. I know what you're doing and it had better stop.”

His expression didn't change, though Melanie thought she saw a flicker of panic in his eyes.

She took another step closer. “If you hit my sister again,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice low, “I won't be responsible for my actions.”

Several people glanced their way and Boyd flushed. “If you're talking about that ridiculous black eye, Mia has no one to blame but herself. The woman has two left feet. In fact, because of her clumsiness, I was forced to attend the hospital's annual patrons' party alone. I didn't appreciate that.”

As if sensing that she was about to blow, Bobby laid a hand on her arm in silent warning. She heeded the warning, taking a moment to calm herself before
speaking. “That story,” she began softly, “might work for your golf mates and scalpel buddies, but not for me. I know about you and I promise if you touch my sister again—”

One of the hospital's security guards rushed over. “Everything okay, Dr. Donaldson?”

“Fine.” Boyd smiled easily. “My sister-in-law's a bit confused about something. But she was just leaving. Weren't you, Melanie?”

She ignored the out. Leaning toward him, she lowered her voice. “If you hurt my sister again, I won't be held accountable for my actions. Do you understand?”

A small, smug smile tipped the corners of her brother-in-law's mouth. “That sounded like a threat.” He looked at the security guard, then at Bobby. “You both heard her, you're my witnesses.” He returned his gaze to hers. “I'd advise you to learn to control that temper of yours, sister dear. I have the feeling it's going to get you into trouble one day.”