Hidden Vices (10 page)

Nineteen

Two police cars and
an unmarked car parked outside of Krogh's. Megan didn't have to guess who would emerge from the unmarked car: Detectives Krause and Michalski and an interpreter.

I was right about a storm. I just thought it was going to be on the lake,
she thought to herself.

They both rose from the table and headed toward the entrance. Krause entered and handed Callie papers. “I believe one Vivian Campbell works here, is that correct?”

“You
know
she does,” Megan snarled.

“What do you want?” Callie asked.

“We have a warrant to search Ms. Campbell's car.
And
we have an interpreter.”

Megan snatched the warrant from Krause's hands and examined it. She nodded to Callie and said, “It's legit.” Megan looked at Krause. “Whatever that means around here. Wait, you searched her home; why didn't you search her car then?”

Michalski, the voice of calm answered, “Yes, we did check her car, but we're back based on an anonymous tip, detective.”

Callie reluctantly showed them to the back kitchen, but not without a comment from Krause directed at Megan. “You do realize you have nothing to do with this case, don't you?”

“What I realize is you're not even close to being capable enough to have
anything
to do with this case.”

“Ms. McGinn, you will remain here,” Krause barked.

“I own this place,” Callie cut in. “She is my patron and she will go anywhere she damn well pleases.” He clearly wasn't about to be bossed or have Krause boss anyone around in his restaurant.

Vivian was chopping vegetables at the counter with her back toward them when they entered. Callie placed his hand on her shoulder and signed that there were police there to see her, at which point Krause and the interpreter took over communication. Vivian looked confused, on edge. They walked out to her car and she gave the detectives her car keys and was asked to step back. Megan and Callie both paced nervously. Megan knew they wouldn't have come without some kind of knowledge that they would find something.

Megan waited for the other shoe to drop.

One of the officers popped the trunk and pulled back the felt-like fabric, then lifted the board covering the spare tire.

“This is too specific. They're not even searching the rest of the car,” Megan whispered to Callie. He could only respond with an even more worried look.

“Detective Krause,” the officer said, motioning her over.

She pulled out a pair of plastic gloves and withdrew a knife from the spare tire well. She requested the interpreter to ask Vivian why there was a knife in her trunk.

Vivian signed back that it was not hers, and she only used the trunk to transport her massage table.

Megan felt an eerie calm. She knew what coming next, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

“We're taking you down to the police station.” Krause waited for the interpreter to get up to speed. “We're going to ask you questions with the interpreter.” She pulled out her cuffs and began to recite the Miranda warning to Vivian through the interpreter.

“Come on!” Callie yelled. “Megan, do something.”

Megan knew, as did Krause, that her hands were tied. “Callie, there isn't anything I can do. You need to find the best lawyer in town, someone not affiliated with Judge Campbell.” She could tell he wasn't listening to her. “Callie!”

Krause and Michalski placed Vivian in the police car. Callie signed to her that they'd be right down and to not be afraid.

“We'll take my car,” Callie said to Megan.

“What? No. I'm not going down there.” Megan needed to escape the moment. She wanted to just turn and walk away, get as far away from it as possible. So she did.

Callie followed, screaming her name. She crossed the street, nearly getting hit by a car. Horns were honking, cars screeching.

“Megan, what the fuck? We have to go down there. We have to help.”

She was halfway down the boardwalk overlooking Lake Mohawk when she spun around with her finger pointed at Callie. “No, I don't have to help. This is not my problem, and, by the way, it's not your problem either.”

Callie was beyond furious. “It
is
my problem, and it
should
be yours. What the fuck kind of cop were you? Where is your fucking heart? You know she didn't do this. You said it yourself—otherwise why start such a pissing contest with Krause? You
know
Vivian is innocent and that bitch only wants to get someone's head on a stake so she can move forward in her career. Are you telling me you're going to let an innocent woman—wait, an innocent
deaf
woman—take the blame for this?”

“Callie! I cannot be a part of this! Why can't you see that?”

Megan turned again, but Callie grabbed her by the arm, jerking her back. “No, I don't fucking see it. Hey listen, I am truly sorry for what you and your family have gone through. I can't imagine anything so awful.”

Megan interrupted, “That's right! You can't imagine, so don't even try. What? You think reading about my life in newspapers and what's happened to me, to my family, you suddenly think you have an
ounce
of understanding of my job, my life for the last six months? For the last fourteen years? Well, you fucking don't. You motherfucking don't!”

Callie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Megan, you know,
you know
, you can help. I'm asking you, please. Please, just try and do something.”

“Do what? I'm on leave. I don't even have jurisdiction here for Chrissakes!”

“You must know people!” Callie pleaded.

“Callie, get her a good lawyer.” She again started in the opposite direction then added, “There, I just helped.”

Even Megan hated herself for uttering those words.

Megan sped home and locked herself in a fortress of guilt and shame. She ran through the possibilities of how the knife could have gotten into Vivian's car. The problem was, there were too many. The car could have gotten broken into; Vivian wouldn't have known, as there's no alarm she would have heard. As she was contemplating the circumstances of the uncovering of the knife, she couldn't help but mutter more questions to herself.

“What the hell are you doing? You said you don't want a part of this. Stop the mental train wreck, now!” She poured a glass of red wine. Clyde stared at her. “Yes, Clyde we humans sometimes talk to ourselves. Go get groomed, we're going over to Lady Sadie's soon.” Clyde walked over to the door. “No, not yet, come here, you need to get brushed.” While Megan brushed Clyde, he looked up at her with his big brown eyes, as if asking her to change her mind. “Great you, too?”

Leigh opened the door before Megan had a chance to knock. “Sadie let me know you were coming down the driveway. Come on in. The pizza should be here any minute.”

Megan handed Leigh a bottle of vino.

“What, do you own your own winery?” she laughed.

“No, but I should.” Megan let Clyde off his leash and the dogs chased one another around the house before settling in to chew on rawhide bones.

“So, Jo is working a double shift. Does she do that often?”

“Every now and again. After twenty years it doesn't phase me anymore.” Leigh poured the wine and started to put together a salad.

“It's good she has someone who's so understanding of her hours.” Megan immediately realized how transparent the comment was. “I mean, that's hard to find is all.”

Leigh was rinsing the salad ingredients. “I guess you haven't found the someone who can handle your work?”

Megan laughed. “Let's just say they don't stay around long.” She motioned to ask if Leigh needed any help cutting the cucumber and tomatoes. “My work is not exactly appealing to most men. And hey, a woman who carries two guns on a daily basis, that just screams for a second date.”

“Here's to that!” Leigh clanked glasses with Megan just as the doorbell rang. “That would be the pizza.”

They sat and made small talk while both dogs begged for crusts, which both received two times over. Megan couldn't help but notice Leigh looked off. She knew what that was. Eight years ago Aunt Maureen had worn the same burdensome look.

“So, when were you diagnosed?”

Leigh smiled. “I guess it's starting to show.” She wrapped herself up in a pashmina shawl. “I'm on my second round of chemo. Breast cancer. Stage two, verging on three, so they say.”

Megan remembered when Maureen was diagnosed. Uncle Mike was heartbroken and terrified, even if he didn't say it. Megan's father and mother helped out as much as possible. Rose would go with Maureen to sit with her during chemotherapy. This was, of course, before her mother's memory began to decline. Megan's father was in charge of keeping Uncle Mike centered, strong, and drunk when he needed to be. Aunt Maureen recently celebrated her sixth year cancer-free.

“You're strong. Jo is a great support system. You can beat this.”

She nodded. “We all have demons chasing us in one way or another.” She sipped from her glass. “I don't have to tell you that.”

Megan smiled. “I don't mean to be intrusive; don't feel you need to answer this question, I'm just curious. When you first found out, what went through your mind?” Megan hoped she hadn't crossed any boundaries.

Leigh answered without hesitation. “I wanted to run away. Get as far away from it as I could, but …”

“But?”

“But I knew I couldn't do that. I'm a fighter, and also there's Jo. I didn't want to let her down. I knew what I was supposed to do. Step up to the plate and march on. Otherwise, what is it for?”

Megan was hesitant to continue, but Leigh seemed relaxed and open to talking about what she'd been enduring. “Well, what—” Megan sighed, trying to figure out how to phrase the question. “What has it done to your faith, or beliefs? Aren't you angry?”

Leigh nodded. “There are times, yes, I yell and cry and get frustrated. But then I get up, brush myself off. When you first find out, it's like a set of elephant tusks just rammed through every ounce of faith and trust and hope you had for a good, comfortable life. But
good
and
easy
are moments we make. They're earned. I'm not a religious woman—at least, I don't consider myself one. I'd say I'm more of a spiritual person without the organized religion part.”

“With everything you're going through, you still have faith?” Megan shook her head and raised her glass. “Leigh, you're an amazing woman.”

“Not so amazing, just exercising free will.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have a choice as to how we react to the meteorites hitting us in life. This is just my way, most of the time. Hey”—she tapped Megan's glass again to gain eye contact—“I have my bad days. The moments when I'm so sad and angry I just want to hide under my blanket. And I do. The trick is knowing when it's time to get up, and just keep going.” Leigh studied Megan as she took in her words.

Megan trailed her finger around the rim of the wineglass. “I'm not ready to come out from under the covers yet,” Megan whispered with a crooked smile.

“You're closer than you think.” Leigh gave her a warm smile. “Sweetie, it's either faith or fear.”

Megan sat for a moment, remembering when fear won. It was now time for faith.

Twenty

Megan closed the gate
to the deck behind her and Clyde did his last jaunt in the yard for the evening. She fumbled for her keys, dropping them in the snow. Thankfully the sensor lights gave her direction as to where they landed. She was wiping them off when once again a light in Judge Campbell's house caught her eye.

“Come on, Clyde, we're going for a ride.” She opened the back door to the truck and Clyde more than willingly jumped in. She was on the judge's street in less than two minutes. As Megan approached, she doused the lights. Vivian's gatehouse was pitch black. Megan assumed that whatever happened earlier, Vivian was probably still at the police station. She waited ten minutes. There was no light, no movement she could discern. She turned the engine over, and the high beams automatically turned on.

Megan was about to put Arnold in reverse when a man ran from the back of Judge Campbell's house into the woods. Megan jumped out of the truck and jogged up the driveway. He was out of sight in seconds. The only light she had came from the truck, so the limitations of running in the dark through the woods proved senseless. The saving grace in Megan's mind was that she trusted her gut, something she thought she'd lost faith in. Even if she was grabbing at straws, that gave her a hint of hope.

“Who are you and what are you looking for?” she whispered.

Megan dialed her cell. She was more surprised at her lack of hesitation than she was that her call went directly to voicemail. “Callie, it's me. I've changed my mind. Call me.” She felt a tinge of the old Megan stirring within. The Megan McGinn who was never afraid, not of anyone or anything.

Faith, not fear
, she reminded herself.

Megan's phone rang as soon as she returned to the lake house. “Hey,” Megan said. “You got my message?”

“Yes,” Callie said. “What changed your mind?”

She ignored his question. “Listen, I'm going to do what I can to help, but—and this is the most important part, so you better be listening—I will only help on the down-low.” Megan was adamant with her demand. “No one is to know I have any role in this.” Her demand was met with silence. “Callie, it's that or nothing.”

“Who the hell would I tell?”

“Wrong answer.”

“Okay, okay,” he rushed to appease her.

“I have one more question, and I want an honest answer.”

“What, Trouble?”

“Why are you so invested in this? There's more to it than she's a deaf girl who works for you. Why are you getting involved?”

“Vivian doesn't have anyone. It just seems like the right thing to do. My father was a dick too. Everyone deserves better.”

Megan didn't have the experience of a terrible father growing up, so she let it alone. “So, what's the latest? Where are you?”

“At the station. She's basically just sitting in a room.”

“They're holding her while they run the knife for prints and blood. Did you find a lawyer?” she asked.

“I've put a few feelers out. Do you really think it's at that point? And shouldn't you be down here?”

“You're sitting in the police station after a knife was found in her car, after her father—bastard or not—was found dead. I think it's far beyond that point. And what about ‘down-low' did you not get? Detective Krause will do anything to nail someone for this, and she hates me. How do you think that will help Vivian?”

Callie sighed. “Sorry, you're right. I'm exhausted, I wasn't thinking.”

“Get a lawyer down there, now. If Forensics finds even the smallest hair, fiber, print, whatever, they'll work fast on this.”

“Okay. What are you going to do now?”

“I have a thought.” On that note she hung up on Callie, grabbed a flashlight from under the sink, and picked up her car keys. “Clyde, I'm flying solo on this one.”