The Wrong Girl (44 page)

He closed his eyes, briefly, in disdain
. Save your breath,
he thought. Maybe no one would ever come uncuff him. Maybe that would be better.

*

That was Jake!
Jake’s voice. He was yelling. He wasn’t dead. Jane took a chance, swiveled, peered down the hallway. The front door was closing. She saw a flash of daylight, then three silhouettes, then the front door swinging closed.

She raced to the end of the hall, tote bag slamming against her back, tripping, stumbling, almost falling in her frantic haste to get to Jake.

Wait.
She stopped, bending almost double with her sudden decision. What if someone else was in that room?

She could hear only the sound of her own breathing.

If she went in, she might be in trouble. If she didn’t, Jake might be in trouble. If she did, they might
both
be in trouble.

“Jake!” she yelled. Fine, it might be the exactly wrong thing to do, let whoever was in there with Jake know she was there but—she dialed 911 as she ran to the office.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

Yeah. That was the question.

“Operator, I’m at the—at one-twenty-five Linden Street.
Jake!
”

“Jane!” His voice was loud, and strong. “It’s okay, get
in
here!”

She grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, pushed. Jake was on the couch. No one else in the room.

“Ma’am?” the dispatcher’s voice crackled through her cell phone. “What’s your emergency?”

“Jake! What—?”

“In my pocket, Jane.” Jake held up both hands. He was cuffed to the arm of the couch? “My wallet, back pocket. The key.”

“Ma’am, you’ve got to tell me—”

She dropped her tote bag to the floor, raced to him.

“All units,” Jake yelled. “This is Jake Brogan. Officer down. Officer down. Jane, let me talk.”

She held the phone against his cheek as he twisted onto his stomach, letting her lift his leather jacket and grab his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

“In here?” She punched the phone on speaker, then flipped open the wallet, looking for—and there it was, a tiny silver key tucked into a credit card slot. She held it between two fingers. “This?”

“At one-twenty-five Linden, Forest Hills, officer down, officer in trouble, all units, all units, you copy, dispatch?” Jake sat up, cocked his head toward the handcuffs. “Do it, Jane. Hurry.”

*

He could have kissed the hell out of her, but he didn’t have time. Jake yanked his wrist out of one of the cuffs, then the other, clicked them back on his belt and threw himself across the room. Slammed open the file drawer. Grabbed his weapon, tucked D’s into the small of his back.

“Yes, sir, we copy. Dispatch out.” The phone went silent.

“Stay in here. Do
not
come out.” Jake said.
The radios.
He tossed one to Jane, put the other in his jacket pocket. “I’ve got backup on the way. I’ll call you when—”

He yanked back the curtains, looked out the window. Past the low hedge and the stand of hemlocks to the parking lot. Only two cars. One was Jane’s. The other a Mercedes. No Munson yet. They had to be taking Munson’s car. This was the only parking lot.

He twisted the latch, pushed open the window, then clicked up the storm window.

“What are you—who was—?”

“Tell you later. Close the window after me. Stay
here.
” Would he have time to stop them? Would D and that asshole still be in the parking lot? Would Ardith Brannigan be alive? Would D?

*

She had no idea what was going on. None.

“Jake!”

But he was out the window. The curtains fell back into place.

“Be careful!” she said.

He was gone. Moving the curtains, she slid the storm back down, then clicked the frame shut as Jake had instructed. She looked outside. Couldn’t see him.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

The damn trees were in the way, his line of sight obstructed. Well, good. That meant they couldn’t see him, either. All he had now, besides the Sig, was the element of surprise. And he had that only once.

Jake ducked low, running, following the line of thick shrubbery to its end. A strip of lawn, then the big hemlocks, then the parking lot pavement. He could see the three of them now, walking, arriving at the edge of the parking lot. They couldn’t see him. Nor would Munson be looking.

He took a breath, darted to the stand of hemlocks lining the parking lot. The three were headed for the dark blue Mercedes. Munson behind, holding his weapon on D and Ardith. At least she wasn’t clamped to him anymore. Still, if either of them tried to run, Munson could shoot in an instant. Both of them.

Jake’s window of opportunity would be tiny. Minuscule. Probably impossible.

What was his responsibility here? Save the victim? Even if she was accomplice to a murder? She was innocent until proven guilty.

Or save his partner?

How could anyone make that decision?

Jake had confidence in his marksmanship—but a one-shot deal at a moving car with two innocent people and one asshole? Even at short range, no way. He couldn’t let them get into the car.

It was down to timing. And luck. So far today, neither had been that great for Jake.

The three were getting closer to Munson’s car.

Backup was on the way. Jake listened for sirens. Nothing.

*

She had to see. Jane pulled back the curtain as she’d watched Jake do. She listened for sirens, squinting as if that could make her hearing more acute. Nothing.

Out in the parking lot—at the far end—she could just make out the people she’d seen in the hall. DeLuca—what did that mean? The woman. The man with the gun. Munson. Did he still have the gun? It was too far away to tell.

She didn’t see Jake. The trees were in the way.

Jake had thrown her a police radio. What was she supposed to do with that?

A sound.
Damn.
Her phone. She put down the radio, hit the green button on her cell.
Was it Jake?
It couldn’t be. She looked out the window, crouching below the sill, just in case, so she couldn’t be seen.

“Jane. Tuck. Sorry about the delay. We had to get my car. We’re almost there. Almost at the Brannigan. Wait for us, okay? Lots to tell.”

“Tuck—wait—don’t—”

“We’re in traffic, kiddo. Gotta go. See you in five. Maybe sooner.”

She hung up.
Tuck.
She’d call her back. Stop her.

Out the window. Nothing. Damn the trees.

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. She was terrified, trapped. And had no idea who the good guys were.

*

One chance. And it was now. He was behind a bush. Five steps away.

“DeLuca!” Jake aimed at Munson, fired.

Missed.

*

A gunshot.
It was.
Jane peered over the windowsill. Could not see a thing. Tears came to her eyes.
Jake.

*

Munson turned, fired back.

DeLuca grabbed Ardith, twisting her away, yanked her into cover behind the car.

“Down!”

“No!” she cried.

Jake flattened himself against the wet grass, fired again.

Munson clutched his leg. Screamed. Fell to the concrete.

Jake flew the five steps to the parking lot, kicked Munson’s weapon away from him.

It skittered across the parking lot, spiraling over the snow-slicked pavement.

Jake jabbed a knee into the middle of Munson’s back, grabbed one hand, then the other. Clamped them together with the same handcuffs he’d worn minutes earlier. He hoped the concrete was hard and cold and wet and filthy.

“You okay, D?” Jake called. “Collins Munson, you’re under arrest for the murder of Lillian Finch.”

“Now I am.” DeLuca brushed the grit from his legs as he ushered Ardith upright from her cover. He took out his own cuffs and pulled Ardith Brannigan’s hands behind her back. “Ardith Brannigan, you’re under arrest as an accessory to murder.”

“But I didn’t—he only—I never—it was
his
idea to kill her,” Ardith sputtered, twisting against the restraints. “Lillian had discovered the footprints. She was about to—”

“Shut up, Ardith,” Munson’s voice came from beneath Jake.

“Such a happy couple,” DeLuca said.

“We’d be pleased to hear your story, Mrs. Brannigan. Might cut a decade or so off your sentence.” Jake couldn’t help but adjust his knee. Munson cursed, his cheek crushed against the pavement. “Oh sorry, Munson.”

He thought about yanking Munson to his feet, then heard the sirens. Fine. He could stay like this for two minutes more. About time Jake had the upper hand. “You have the right to remain silent.…”

It was the most fun he’d had all day. The sirens drew closer as he finished the Miranda.

“Hear that?” Jake said. “Say your good-byes. You two are done.”

“This is going be some freakin’ police report,” DeLuca said. “Jake, how’d you get—?”

“Long story,” Jake said.

“You sure you’re okay? Both of you?”

Jane handed DeLuca his radio, and looked Jake up and down in the Brannigan parking lot. A squadron of cop cars had swooped in, sirens wailing. Jake explained that Ardith Brannigan was on her way downtown and Collins Munson en route to a hospital.

Funny that the sky was so blue. Funny that the cold sun was glowing in the winter sky. Funny that a couple of sparrows flittered into the warmth of the evergreens. Like nothing bizarre had happened. Jane looped her arm through Jake’s, ignoring DeLuca’s knowing smile. He was a pal. She couldn’t believe she’d suspected him, even briefly.

“Our Jake here’s the hero of the day, Jane,” DeLuca said. “I’m fine. The good news? I heard Ardith Brannigan start talking the moment she hit the backseat of the cruiser. Her lawyer’s gonna be pissed, but that’s not our problem. Apparently Lillian Finch discovered some footprint scheme Munson was using to—” He shook his head. “Must have been a big deal. Anyway, I’ll give you two a moment. I’m going inside to make the necessary phone calls.”

“Kat,” Jake said.

DeLuca looked at the pavement, then nodded. “Yeah. And then I’ll inform the Supe you’re on your way to fill him in on what happened.”

“That’s what
I’m
trying to figure out,” Jane almost stamped her foot in impatience as D walked away. “Ardith talked about footprints?”

Jake gave her arm a squeeze, then stepped away from her. “Jane? What do
you
know about them? That’s the question.”

*

“Remember the fire?” Jane said.

Jake rolled his eyes. Jane always had to tell every detail. There was no such thing as long-story-short with her. He loved her for it.

“Okay, fine. You remember. Anyway, Ella gave me a piece of paper, apparently one of the things she found in Lillian Finch’s house before—” She paused. “Okay, fine, fast forward. It’s a footprint. They were—”

“They?” Jake said.

“You want me to tell you this?”

Jake shrugged. Her ears were turning red and her hair was tousled and she’d run out without gloves. He wished he could grab her hands, grab all of her. Maybe he was simply feeling relieved. And alive. “Sorry.”

“Anyway, someone—now I guess it was Munson, or Ardith and Munson—was taking the footprints, the baby footprints, out of adoption files,” Jane said. “I can’t figure out why, except that’s the only thing in the documents that would absolutely clinch the identities of the children. Chief Monahan told me Ella was trying to carry out a pile of documents, but they all burned in the fire. Except this one.”

She zipped open her tote bag.

*

And stopped, mid-zip. Jane looked up as she heard the beep-beep of a car’s horn, the crunch of tires on the salted pavement. A black SUV rounded the corner into the parking lot.

“
What now?
” Jake’s hand hovered over his gun.

“Don’t worry.” Jane knew that car.

“Huh?” Jake said.

“It’s Tuck,” Jane said. “She’s how this whole thing started. Anyway. Look at this paper.”

*

Baby Girl Beerman.
Jake read the typed description on the creased and wrinkled paper Jane handed him. It smelled like fire. A tiny baby footprint, impossibly small. So what?

He looked up as Tuck slammed the car door. A woman he didn’t recognize was getting out of the passenger seat.

“Hey, comrades,” Tuck called. “What’re you all doing here?

*

By the time Jane neared the end of the story, her hands were frozen and her ears would never be the same. She tried to tell the whole story, fast as she could, since they were still out in the parking lot.

“So if this is your footprint, Tuck,” Jane said, “you really are baby girl Beerman. If it isn’t—well, that’s why we came to see you, Carlyn.”

She handed the paper to Tuck and Carlyn. They examined it together, shoulders touching. Judging by their expressions, the two women didn’t seem to understand.

“Get what I’m saying?” Jane said. “If this footprint
doesn’t
match, that proves Tuck is the wrong girl.”

*

“The wrong girl?” After hearing Jane’s explanation, Jake worried about fingerprints on the document, about Ella Gavin’s potential testimony, about the documents destroyed in the fire, and how to link it all to their growing case against Munson and possibly Ardith Brannigan. Was it fraud? Deception?
The wrong girl?

“Tuck? We can take a print of your foot downtown,” Jake said. “Take it to our lab.”

*

“Great,” Jane said. “Can we do it today? Tuck? What’s wrong?”

She’d have thought Tuck would be eager to take Jake up on his offer. Carlyn, too. The footprint could instantly answer the questions that plagued Tuck. But Tuck had a funny look on her face.

Carlyn, holding the footprint, had a funny look, too.

Maybe Jane couldn’t fully understand the depth of the emotions. The past and the future. Right here, right now. Revealed.

“I’m sorry.” Was she being insensitive? Disrespectful? So interested in the story that she’d lost sight of the real people involved? “Do you two want to talk privately? Without—” She waved a hand at Jake, and the parking lot, at the Brannigan’s brick walls. “All this?”