One Chance: A Thrilling Christian Fiction Mystery Romance (20 page)

"NO!" Pete sat forward suddenly, rounding on Penelope so quickly that Penelope jumped back, worried he was going to strike her. "No," he said again, more quietly, and as Penelope watched, as she stood there and watched, that shadow that had settled over Pete's face stripped itself away and dissipated like mist under the morning sun. Pete's face became his own again. He panted heavily, gasping in lungfulls of air. And smiled.

"Penelope," he said. "Penelope, it's gone. The...pain, is gone."

Penelope stared at him. Had she really seen what she thought he had? Was it possible?

No, it wasn't.

And yet, she knew what she had seen.

"Pete, are you okay?" she asked, kneeling down next to him.

Pete nodded, a single tear running down his face. "I am, Penelope. I am now. Thanks to you. Oh, dear God, Penelope. I did something so bad. So bad. I didn't think I'd ever come back from it. Ever. But now, maybe...maybe I can."

"Pete," she said, "you just told me some things. Do you remember them?"

Pete shook his head. "Don't...don't remember. I know I told you some of it. Just not all of it. I took that money, and I went to the apartment in Gainesville where this guy told me to go, I went there Friday afternoon like he told me to. Said he'd be over here in Franklin and nobody would know it was him who wanted his girl dead because he wouldn't be anywhere around."

He stopped, licking his lips and taking a breath. Penelope went to the corner of the room where the water dispenser was and poured a small plastic cupful to bring back over to Pete. She uncuffed Pete's left hand so he could drink by himself.

After draining the cup, Pete looked better still. He looked up at Penelope and smiled. "Thanks, Penelope. You know, I was really going to kill myself back there at the house. I had called Doug and told him what I did and Doug said he was coming over but when he didn't come right away I figured he hated me and you hated me and everyone else so I was really...I was really going to do it."

Penelope sat back down, grieving for Pete in her heart but needing to finish her job. "You told Doug what you did, Pete? That's one of the things I need to talk to you about. What did you tell Doug?"

"I told him I got Camille killed, Penelope. My fault. Oh, God help me, I could have stopped the whole thing."

"What do you mean, Pete?" The puzzle becoming clearer, but with a big piece in the middle missing.

"What do I mean? Penelope, the guy was going to pay me to kill her. But I didn't even know who his girl was until I got there. Then, when I got there and rang the bell and heard Camille's voice, I knew. I knew her. I knew she was Doug's ex. I couldn't do it. You know, I don't think I could have done it anyway? But when I heard it was Camille, I panicked and I ran and I drove back to Franklin and I told him. I told him I wasn't going to do it."

"That was when you met with Michael Findley at Rickey's Pub."

Pete nodded. "Didn't know his name. He was just the guy with the money."

"Okay, but you met with the guy who paid you."

"Yes, I did."

"And you argued."

Pete looked surprised that Penelope knew all this. "Yes, we did. We argued about the blood money. He'd already paid me, and there I was telling him I wasn't going to go through with it. I don't know which made him madder, to tell you the truth."

"So after you argued," Penelope went on, "you walked away on foot."

Pete nodded again.

"And then the next thing you know...?"

"The next thing I know," Pete whispered, "Doug's truck is bearing down on me. I'm almost home, and I get run over. And then the truck backs up, and runs over me again. And then it comes forward, and tries to run me over again, only I roll out of the way. And the truck stops. And out this guy gets and he's standing over me, and he swears to me that if I don't tell the police that Doug did this to me, he'll finish the job. And worse, he said he'll kill my sister too." Pete stopped when he ran out of breath.

And then he looked at Penelope, and even though there were tears in his eyes, he looked like he felt better than he had in a long, long time.

"That's what happened, Penelope. I could have stopped it. Could have saved her. And I didn't."

CHAPTER 37

It wasn't Pete.

It wasn't Doug.

So of course, that brought Penelope round full circle again. Who killed Camille?

Michael Findley.

The County Correctional Facility was a modestly sized jail a few towns away from Franklin. And although the trip didn't take her too long, Penelope dreaded it. This was the last part of the whole investigation. She had the picture clearly now, and it sickened her.

Penelope had called ahead so the staff would know she was coming. After securing her duty belt in her cruiser's trunk, she was buzzed through the double set of entry doors. She showed the desk officer her department ID and then signed the login sheet. There were layers of security here. For good reason. Every once in a while, they housed someone truly evil.

Penelope was shown to an interview room that was smaller than the one they used at the Franklin Sheriff's Office, with a small metal table that had a single chair on either side. She took her seat. And then waited for the Correctional Officers to bring the other person to her.

When he was brought in, Michael Findley was wearing an orange jumpsuit and he'd had his hair buzzed off. He was shackled at his waist and his feet. Penelope would have felt thrilled to see him finally trussed up like the animal he was, but there was no victory here.

"Sit down, Mister Findley," Penelope said as the officers made him sit anyway and then secured him to the iron rung in the floor. "Thanks guys," Penelope said to them. "You can leave me with him. I'll let you know when I'm done."

The two guards nodded, looking uncomfortable about it, but they left anyway.

Findley sat where he was, glaring at Penelope. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Good. Excellent. Fantastic," Penelope said. "I don't want you to talk to me. In fact, you'd be doing me a favor if you sat there through this whole chat and just didn't speak at all. Okay?"

Penelope knew she couldn't interview Findley. Once charged with a crime and arraigned before a judge, the right to an attorney automatically attached to a person. Without Findley's lawyer present, nothing he said in answer to any of Penelope's questions could be used in court against him. But Penelope didn't want to ask him any questions.

Penelope wanted to put this thing to rest.

"So, Mister Findley," she said. "First things first. You've been charged in the attempted murder of Pete Lamb. You know that. You should also know, that Pete is home from the hospital and has made a full statement about what you did to him. A full statement," she emphasized.

Findley's eyes narrowed.

"That's right. So he's also told us about how you paid him to murder Camille. About how he couldn't go through with it. About how you two argued over that and how that was why you tried to kill him, and then threatened to kill his sister if he talked."

Findley snickered. "Still doesn't say I killed her, Deputy. Guess you're out of suspects."

Penelope just smiled. "Pretty sure I asked you to sit there and be quiet. See, Pete's confession to what he'd almost done showed us where to look. Your bank statements. Where does a guy like you come up with all that cash, anyway? Don't answer that. I can't ask you questions in here, and I know where it came from anyway. That bank in California's going to be happy to know they can at least get some of their money back."

Findley glared daggers.

"So we figured that part out, and then we saw how you'd withdrawn a large sum of money just a few days before Pete got run over. Fifty thousand dollars. Funny thing, same amount of money that Pete said you paid him to kill Camille. Oh, he didn't know your name. But you are pretty identifiable. What with that crooked nose and that skull and crossbones tattoo, and all. Pete picked you out of a photo lineup no problem."

A low sound, similar to a snarl, bubbled up from deep in Findley's throat.

"So," Penelope went on. "That led us to look into how you got from Franklin, where you were on Friday, back to Gainesville on Saturday to kill Camille. See, we knew she was still alive on Saturday morning because she dropped Trevor off to his father. To Doug. Didn't expect her to do that, did you?"

Findley didn't answer. Which was fine with Penelope.

"There's a taxi service in Gainesville. Paul's Livery, it's called. They made a run on Saturday from Franklin to Gainesville and then back again. To your apartment building to be precise. Driver recognized you in that same photo lineup. Pretty gutsy, I got to say, to take a taxi over to kill your girlfriend. You may possibly be the most arrogant...person I've ever met."

Penelope looked into the eyes of the monster sitting across from her. There was nothing there. No trace of humanity. No love. No regret. Only hatred. Only evil.

"So anyway. That's what I came to tell you, Mister Findley. I came to tell you that we've got you dead to rights, so to speak. Funny I should use that term, isn't it? I mean, with Florida being a death penalty state, and all? Know what I would do, if I were you?" Penelope stood up and went to the door of the interview room, pushing the button to signal the control room she was done. "If I were you, I'd take whatever deal they offered me and confess to everything I did. If you wanted to save your worthless life, that is."

As the door buzzed open, Penelope had the satisfaction of seeing Findley slump forward in his chair, finally realizing he was beat.

And there it was, finally. The last piece of the puzzle put in place.

CHAPTER 38

"So that's it, Sheriff," Penelope finished explaining to Sheriff Jackson as they sat in his office a few hours later. "It's a little twisted, I know, but the fact is that Michael Findley paid poor Pete to kill Camille, and then forced Pete to frame Doug."

"Okay," the Sheriff said, leafing through the folder on the case that Penelope had handed to him. "And then when Pete wouldn't do it, Findley killed Camille himself. I'm following that much. But the question still remains, why did Findley want Camille dead? And why frame Doug?"

"Well, I'm only guessing at part of this, but I'm thinking that Camille found out that Michael was wanted in California for that armed robbery. She said as much to Doug when she dropped their son off to him, just before she was murdered. I think she was going to turn him in and knew it might get sticky. So she wanted to keep Trevor safe. When Findley found out what she was going to do to him, he killed her."

"And he didn't want to be arrested for murder, so he tried to get our local town drunk to do it, knowing he needed money that badly?" the Sheriff put that next part together before Penelope could say it. "Okay, I'm with you this far. But why our town drunk? Why not someone from over in Gainesville?"

"Because of something Findley actually admitted to. Camille was going to leave him. For Doug. And Findley knew it. So he wanted to take Doug down at the same time. Because nobody takes away what's his, at least in his mind. He found someone in Doug's hometown to do the job, and found a way to pin it on Doug, and it all would have worked out, if not for some pretty courageous people who did the right thing in spite of being faced with some pretty definite evil."

The Sheriff closed the folder. "I'd say it was more than that. I'd say Findley would have definitely gotten away with it, if not for you."

"If not for God's guidance and grace, you mean." Penelope took the folder back. "I'm just the instrument here."

"Your faith in God is what makes you who you are, Penelope. I know that." He smiled and reached a hand out to Penelope. "I know that I'll be turning these reigns over to the right person when I step down."

"I still can't believe you're retiring." The Franklin Sheriff's Office without John Jackson. Hard to imagine, Penelope thought.

"Oh, it's time for me to go, Penelope. Got a nice little retirement home down in the Keys that the wife and I are going to move to and live out our years together. We're ready. I hope you're ready too."

"Well, it depends on how soon you're going."

"I've got a date all set. You've got time to get ready."

"How long?"

"Two months." the Sheriff said. "Plenty of time."

Penelope laughed, and John laughed with her. Two months? Considering all that had happened over the weekend, anything could happen in the next two months.

*

Hours of paperwork still faced Penelope. In spite of why Pete did what he did, he had still taken money to murder someone. The fact that he didn't go through with it didn't mean it wasn't still a crime. Ultimately, that case would be turned over to the District Attorney's office, and they would decide what to do with Pete. Penelope hoped there would be some leniency for Pete considering how he was cooperating now. But Penelope still had to do her part of it and cross all of the t's and dot all of the i's first. And now there were more charges to put on Michael Findley's head, the murder of his girlfriend and the attempted murder of Pete among them.

No one in Franklin would ever see Michael Findley again in his natural life. Ever. He was going to be put away for several lifetimes. If not longer.

She got to a spot in her forms where she needed some information that she just could not remember no matter how hard she tried. So she went to the recorded interview she had done with Pete. Penelope wasn't looking forward to hearing that voice again, hearing Pete talk like not-Pete and remembering what she had seen happen in that interview room. She was still unsettled by it. She could accept without reservation that Michael Findley was evil. But the thought that evil that pure had been inside of Pete was...disturbing.

She keyed through her computer's screens until she got to the folder that held all of the interview recordings for the station. She found the one that she had done with Pete, and set it to play.

After listening to it all the way through once, she restarted it and listened all the way through again.