Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1) (20 page)

Emily Osbourne sat awkwardly in the car as her boyfriend drove toward the city. She'd spent the past three days with her parents in New Haven and Paul had picked her up at the airport in her car. He always drove no matter whose car it was. She didn't know why that fact suddenly seemed weird to her. Maybe because it was the first time she'd been in her car since it happened. Or perhaps it was because she'd met Paul on the curb in front of baggage claim. He had just pulled up in her car. He'd been waiting in the cell phone lot rather than coming in to baggage claim. When she came home after two weeks back east in June, Paul met her at baggage claim. With flowers.

Maybe it had nothing at all to do with whose car it was and everything to do with that fact that he'd said almost nothing so far. When she got into the car, it smelled like lavender and it had almost made her sick. She'd stopped him from driving away so she could remove the small sachet she'd gotten from their trip to the Ritz from the glove compartment and throw it in the trash before they'd left the airport. Still, the smell haunted her, seemed to ruin the memory of their night away.

Now she remembered the hospital room, the interview. Jamie Vail wore lavender perfume. Paul watched the whole thing with the lavender in silence. He didn't want to know why she didn't like the lavender smell. He didn't want to know because he knew what it was about. It related to her—She stopped, couldn't think it.

She ran a finger across the stitches above her eye. While there were fading bruises under her clothes, the stitches and her black eye were the only visible signs of what had happened. Paul turned left onto Greenwich from Franklin and found a parking space a block from her house. He parked, pulled the keys from the ignition, and handed them to her.

"How are you going to get back to work?" she asked.

He palmed his cell phone. "I'll grab a cab. I've got my car parked downtown."

She nodded, fiddling with her silver heart keychain.

When they reached her apartment, he lifted the suitcase up the stairs.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, Paul behind her. She gathered her mail and Paul followed her down the short hallway.

She had barely gotten the door to the apartment open when he set her bag down and stepped away. "I'll talk to you later."

"You're leaving?"

"Got to get back," he said casually.

"We've barely talked since it happened."

With the word "it," Paul inspected his shoes carefully.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?" she asked.

His gaze remained on his shoes. "About what?"

"About what happened."

He looked up at her and she saw some of the old Paul. Her Paul. Hurt, honest.

She nodded. "Please say something."

"You—" He stopped himself. "I don't know." He looked away. "I don't know if I can handle it."

Her hands trembled with anger. "You. Don't. Know. You don't know if you can handle
what
?" Her voice echoed in the small space of the entryway.

Paul didn't answer, but he wasn't getting off that easy. Furious, she stepped forward again, forcing him to step back into the hallway. "Handle what, Paul?" she repeated, seeing the spark of fear in his eyes—or maybe it was shame.

He shook his head.

"If you can handle what happened to
me
?" She poked her chest with her index finger, her heart pounding as she waited for his response.

"I don't know how to act around you now," he said. "I don't know if you're going to fall apart on me or—" He made a vague gesture at her body. "If—you know."

"No. I don't know. I might cry, Paul. I might have a nightmare. I was raped, for God's sake."

Openly cringing, he scanned the stairs above them then glanced over his shoulder to the street.

"Did someone hear me? Are you worried what your friends will think?"

He glanced at her before his gaze skidded away again. He pulled his phone from his pocket and moved it in around in his palm nervously. "I—"

"That's it, isn't it? It's not me. It's you. You don't want to be with me now. Is that it?"

He flipped his phone in his palm, flipped it again.

She reached over and snatched it from his hand.

He frowned. "Give it to me."

"Answer the question," she said slowly.

"I don't know."

"You don't know if you want to be with me?"

Paul looked down at his feet, nodded.

"Say it."

He looked over his shoulder.

"Say it," she repeated.

"I don't know if I want to be with you."

"Because I was raped."

"Maybe. Maybe because of other stuff."

"Bullshit," she shouted. "We were at the fucking Ritz three weeks ago and you were talking about marriage. Now you're not sure you want to be with me? Because someone attacked me? What—you think it was my fault?"

He didn't answer. He just kept his hand extended for the phone.

"Fuck you, Paul. Fuck. You."

"Can I have my phone?"

"Sure. Here's your damn phone." She turned and pitched it as far as she could. She heard it land—the crunch of breaking glass, the skidding of pieces as it shattered against the wall of mailboxes.

Then she turned around and marched to her apartment. Her hand shook as she pushed the door open, reached back to grab her suitcase. Paul was already out the door.

All she saw was his back, his hands pressed into his pockets as he made his way down the stairs and out onto the street.

Furious, she dragged her bag inside, slammed the door. She thought of how far she'd thrown that phone. Her father would have been proud.

She tried to smile, looked around the empty apartment.

Then, buckling to her knees, she sobbed.

Chapter 19

Jamie hadn't even gotten Scanlan into an interview room before IA stepped in. It was like he had some homing device that alerted Daddy and his cronies whenever he was in trouble. Jamie had insisted she be part of the interview, but they'd denied her request.

So she'd done the only thing she could think to do. She called Captain Jules, roused him from bed, and been told to cool her heels. Then she and Hailey sat outside the interview room for more than an hour, waiting. She called her house but Tony didn't answer. Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe he was out. Hell, maybe he was gone. Maybe he was... No, she wouldn't let herself think that. He wouldn't. She prayed he wouldn't.

Hailey and Jamie took turns getting coffee, talking, and half-dozing in their chairs, neither willing to leave until the interview was over.

Something had to come of this. She was pissed off that someone showed up to save Scanlan's hide, again. She'd like to hang him from his damn toenails instead. But that might have been premature, too.

Nearly forty-five minutes into the wait, Jamie realized she had voicemails. She thought about Tony, fretting. She'd forgotten about him. Left him at home. He said he'd be fine. Both messages were from Tim. Though he was still in prison and mentioned his concern about whether he'd get bail in the appeal, his messages were about Devlin's murder. He had heard that they had a new lead and he wanted to know if she could share it. No doubt he was hoping that they'd found something definitive that pointed to someone else as her killer. Truth was they hadn't. Not unless something panned out with Scanlan. Nothing unexpected had turned up in the search of Tim's house and car. They'd found some clothes with Devlin's blood on them, but Tim had already explained that he had carried her out of the building after she was dead.

When Jamie had called Goldman, the attorney had assured Jamie that they had enough reasonable doubt to get Tim released from prison. The appeal wouldn't fail again, especially with the other suspects that were emerging. Though skeptical, Jamie hoped Goldman could make it happen. She didn't want to see Tim, but she didn't like the idea of him sitting in that jail either.

When Scanlan finally emerged from the interview room flanked by the two IA investigators, he looked relieved, which was not how Jamie wanted him to look.

Both women stood.

Daniels waved them into the conference room. "Let's talk in here."

Jamie eyed Scanlan.

"Wait for us out here, Scott."

"Sure," he said.

Jamie followed Daniels into the conference room, stood against the wall.

Daniels motioned to a chair.

Hailey sat. Jamie stood.

The other IA officer sat, too.

Daniels looked at Jamie. "You don't have enough on him."

"I've got a photograph," she returned. "What were you hoping for? A confession?"

He shook his head. "You've got a picture that shows Scanlan dropping her off at the station. And not even that. The image shows a car with something hanging in the rearview mirror that is similar to the thing hanging in Scanlan's rearview mirror. That's it."

"Did you ask Scanlan if he dropped her off?"Daniels nodded.

"And?" Hailey asked.

"He says he did. But he didn't get out of the car with her."

Jamie clenched her jaw. "We need a blood test for DNA comparison to the scene. He could make this easier and just submit to the tests."

He shook his head. "I don't think he will."

"You're protecting him," Hailey said.

"I'm doing my job," he responded. He sat back in his chair. "We'll continue the investigation from our department," he added, sounding like the perfect bureaucrat.

"Christ," Hailey said. "You're going to take over the murder case?"

Daniels frowned. "No. Just this aspect of the questioning."

"At this point, questioning the suspect
is
the whole case," Jamie countered.

Hailey launched herself out of her chair. "You're giving him special treatment because he's the deputy chief's son. That's bullshit, Bruce."

"No, Inspector. We are not giving him special treatment," Daniels responded, his voice even. "We are merely treating him like a respected member of the force."

"Is that how you treated Tim Worley?" Jamie snapped.

Daniels didn't respond to her. Instead, he said, "We agreed that we will pursue it tomorrow. Officer Scanlan said he went straight home. And he's got an alibi. We'll check it out."

"What's the alibi?" Jamie demanded.

Daniels' lips thinned. "He stayed at his parents."

"Mommy?" Jamie was outraged. "Mommy is his fucking alibi?"

"Understand our position," the other officer interjected, speaking for the first time. "We have to offer him the benefit of the doubt. He's a police officer."

"So was Tim Worley when he was arrested for murder and denied bail."

The two men frowned. Neither seemed to have anything to add.

"We've got his print in her car," Hailey added. "You can't just let him walk because of who his father is."

"We'll check it out."

"You'd better bet we will," Jamie said, but the threat felt empty.

Hailey stood, crossed her arms, stared down at Daniels. "I would've expected more from you."

"Sorry to disappoint." He didn't look sorry.

But Hailey shook her head at Jamie as though to say it wasn't worth the fight. Then, without another word, she turned and left the room.

Jamie looked back at Daniels and wondered what had passed between them. Was there another time when he'd offered more? Or maybe something else.

Jamie walked from the room, passing by Daniels and the other IA officer who remained seated.

When she walked out, Scanlan stood against the far wall. He held his fingers up like they were a gun and shot at her. Then he blew the smoke off like an old gangster movie. The gesture made him seem more like a surly teenager than any kind of real threat.

"Watch it, asshole," she warned him. "And don't go anywhere. We're not anywhere close to finished."