See Jane Die (12 page)

Wednesday, October 22, 2003
5:35 p.m
.

“H
ey, Detective Killian.” Kitty handed her several messages. “Captain's looking for you.”

“Thanks,” Stacy replied, doing her best not to grimace. Getting an after-shift invitation to the captain's office didn't bode well for her evening. Or maybe, her career.

Could he have discovered she'd visited her sister this afternoon? But how?

Mac caught sight of her and stood. “Where've you been?” he asked, falling into step with her.

“Doctor's appointment. Girl stuff.”

“Right.”

She ignored the sarcasm in his tone. “Captain wants to see us?”

“Something like that.”

She stopped, looked at him. “What's going on here, Mac? Am I heading into an ambush?”

He wouldn't meet her eyes. “Captain wants to see you, that's all I know.”

She figured his answer was bullshit but didn't see the
point in calling him on it. It would all be on the table in a matter of minutes.

They went to the captain's office. She tapped on the door frame; her superior waved them in, expression thunderous. “Shut the door. Then sit.”

“I'll stand. Thanks.”

He leveled his dark gaze on hers. “I'm taking you off the Vanmeer and Tanner homicides.”

“What! Why?”

“You have a conflict of interest here, a big one. You're personally involved.”

“With all due respect, Captain Schulze,” she argued. “I promise to stay objective.”

“Your brother-in-law is the prime suspect in both murders. Good Jesus, you should have removed yourself this morning. I have half a mind to suspend you.”

“I've put in the legwork, Captain. I know both cases. To take me off—”

“It's done.” The captain's gaze shifted to Mac. “McPherson, it's you and Liberman on this.”

Stacy looked at Mac, realization dawning. He'd gone to the captain. He had done this. Betrayed their partnership.

She shouldn't be surprised, she thought bitterly. She should have seen this coming a mile off. But she hadn't. She had begun to trust him.
She was such a fool
.

“Is that it, Captain?”

He said it was and she stalked out of the office. Mac followed, catching her outside the women's bathroom. She turned on him, shaking with anger. “Don't come near me, Mac. This partnership is over.”

“This isn't my fault.”

“No? You went to the captain, you told him I had a conflict of interest.”

“Yes.”

“Big clue for you, Mac. Partners stick together.”

“You were fucking up. Racing headlong toward an internal affairs review.”

“So this was all about protecting me?” Her tone dripped sarcasm. “You weren't thinking of yourself at all?”

“How long do you think it would have been before the captain learned about your relationship with the suspect? A couple more days? Then we would have both been booted off the case.”

“You should have come to me, given me a chance to go to the captain myself.”

“Would you have?”

“Of course.”

“Liar.” He leaned toward her. “At least I'm still on the case and can keep you informed of what's going on.”

“And will you?” she shot back. “I thought you already had Ian arrested, tried and convicted.”

“This afternoon I went to see Danny Witt.”

“The other valet? From La Plaza?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“You went without me? Nice.”

“You were busy with a doctor's appointment. Girl stuff, remember?”

“That's such total bullshit,” she said, struggling to hold on to her anger. “I'm your partner, Mac, and until a couple of minutes ago, the senior member of this little team. Note the word
team
. You are not the Lone Ranger. Not Dirty Harry Callahan or that Bruce Willis character from the
Die Hard
films.” She held up a hand as he opened his mouth to speak. “Cops partner for a reason, not the least of which is to cover each other's butt.”

“I took Liberman with me.”

Apparently, while she was being chewed out by her sister she'd also been on the receiving end of a knife—to her back.

He accurately read her expression. “You were nowhere to be found. You want to talk about that, Stacy?”

“You want to accuse me of something, do it. In the meantime, I'm requesting a permanent change.”

“Captain won't give it to you.”

“We'll see about that.”

“Who's he going to hook you up with, Stacy? I don't see anybody lining up for the job.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it as she acknowledged he was right.

Mac leaned toward her once more. He lowered his voice. “To answer your question, yes, I'll keep you informed. But not for Westbrook, your sister or because I think justice isn't being served. I'll do it for you, Stacy.”

Her righteous indignation evaporated, most of her anger with it. Captain had been right to take her off the case; she should have removed herself. “You should have come to me first.”

He inclined his head. “And you have to be honest with me. Agreed?”

She did. “What did Witt have to say?”

“He saw a cherry-red Audi TT roadster that night. Came in before 10:00 p.m.”

More evidence. Another nail in Ian's coffin
.

“Did he valet it?”

“Nope. Witt was having a smoke, near the self-park lot. Employees aren't supposed to smoke where the hotel guests can see them. He noticed the Audi because the guy self-parked. Tips had been lousy. He remembered seeing the car and being pissed.”

“Who got out? Big guy, leather bomber jacket?”

“Doesn't know. Got called back to work.”

“Did he notice what time the car left the lot?”

“Nope.”

“License number?”

“No license at all, Stacy. Nor a license applied for tag. Interesting, huh?”

Good scam. You don't want to be made, you remove your tag before you go to the scene. It's worth the chance of being pulled over without one.

“How many cherry-red Audi TTs are there in the Dallas metro area?”

“We're working on that. Checking new leases and purchases as well.”

Him. And Liberman. She was out
.

Son of a bitch
.

“Check police records, see if anyone driving a red TT was stopped without a tag?”

“On it. Anything else you can think of, I'd love to have.”

She met his gaze defiantly. “Ditto.”

“Just so you know, we've already got a subpoena coming for the doc's phone records, home, business and cellular.”

She let out a long breath. Resigned. Hurting for her sister. For Ian. “Anything else?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He paused. “Liberman's picking up a search warrant for the office now. I'm sorry, Stacy. Damn sorry.”

Wednesday, October 22, 2003
7:30 p.m
.

J
ane sat curled up on the couch, Ranger next to her, big head on her lap. Though wrapped in an afghan, she couldn't seem to get warm. She hadn't been able to since her sister left.

Jane squeezed her eyes shut, recalling the words she had flung at her sibling. Angry words. Unfounded accusations. Ones born of fear.

Truth was, her sister had been trying to help. By coming to her, Stacy had put their relationship before her job. And as much as Jane wanted to deny it, none of this was Stacy's doing. To lash out at her sister had been wrong. It had been childish and unkind.

Stacy was her sister. Her only family. And despite the bad feelings between them of late, Jane loved her.

Without pausing for second thought, she plucked the portable phone from the coffee table and punched in Stacy's number. Her machine picked up on the third ring.

The moment the message ended, Jane began, afraid if she didn't she would wimp out. “Stacy, it's Jane. I'm sorry for what I said. Forgive me. I was upset. Confused and…Call me. I really need—”

“You,” Jane finished, though the machine had cut her off. “I really need you.”

She ended the call, bent and pressed her head to Ranger's. “Why is this happening?” she asked aloud. “Why are they targeting Ian? It's all wrong. Why can't they see that?”

Ranger whimpered in response. She rubbed her cheek against his soft fur, then straightened.

This was one of those nightmarish circumstances that sometimes befell ordinary people. A series of events led innocent people to be targeted by law enforcement or government. Sometimes to be falsely accused, their lives and careers thrown into chaos or destroyed.

Jane shuddered. That wasn't going to happen here. A real suspect would turn up and the police would shift their attention, properly, in that direction.

If she had the wherewithal to be philosophical, she would call the whole thing a life test, a character builder.

But she didn't, dammit! This was
her
life.
Her husband's life
. Not only their future at stake, but that of their unborn child as well.

From the foyer she heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock, followed by the dead bolt sliding back.

Ian was home
.

Ranger eased off the couch and trotted into the hall to greet him. She heard her husband speak to the dog and relief moved through her, that he was home and safe.

It doesn't look good for Ian. I suggest you contact a lawyer
.

How was she going to tell him?

“Jane?” he called from the foyer.

“In here.”

He appeared in the doorway. Their gazes met. At the hopeless expression in his, a sound of dismay slipped past her lips. She stood and crossed to him. “Ian, what's happened?”

He took her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Shh. Don't talk. Not yet.”

He held her tightly. Seconds ticked past, becoming
minutes. A moment before he released her she thought she felt him tremble.

He searched her expression. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I—” She caught his hands, curled her fingers around his. “The police were back at your office, weren't they?”

“Yes. They had a search warrant.”

“A search warrant,” she repeated. “My God, what did they hope to find?”

“They took the computers, my appointment book, some files. Rifled through everything else. I'm scared, Jane.”

“But you haven't done anything wrong!”

“I don't think that matters.”

“Of course it matters.” She tightened her grip on his fingers. “How long were they there?”

“A good hour.” His voice shook. “The big guy, Stacy's partner, questioned me. He wanted to know what time I went in this morning, when Marsha and I last spoke, what we talked about. He asked about my relationship with Elle, Marsha, my other patients. He asked me if I—”

He bit the words back, as if he were choking on them.

“What?” she asked. “What did he—”

“I love you, Jane. More than I ever thought it possible to love. Do you believe that?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“Promise you won't stop loving me.”

“Now you're scaring me. Stop it.”

“Promise,” he said fiercely. “Promise that no matter what they say about me, you won't stop loving me.”

“I promise,” she whispered. “I do.”

“Thank God.”

He lowered his forehead to hers. After a moment, he drew a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something difficult. He drew away, met her eyes. “He asked me if I killed Elle.”

The words landed heavily between them.

The rag was off the bush
.

How could this be happening?

“I called my attorney. I didn't know what else to do.”

Jane took him in her arms and held him. She cupped his face, brought his mouth to hers. She kissed him, softly at first as a way to comfort, connect. Prove her unshakable love.

He responded and within moments, comfort led to passion. They stumbled to the bedroom and fell onto the bed. Urgently, as if time was running out, they came together.

“Hold me, Ian,” she said fiercely, locking her legs around his. “Don't let me go.”

“I won't, sweetheart. Not ever.”

They made love, an edge of desperation in their mating. Of uncertainty.

At what the future held. About when they would be together like this again.

They climaxed in unison. Afterward, Jane realized that she was crying. She pressed her face to Ian's shoulder, not wanting him to see, knowing her tears would upset him.

The beat of his heart melded with the frenzied thunder of her thoughts. The question Jane asked her subjects drummed in her head, this time directed at herself.

Tell me what you're afraid of, Jane. When you're alone with your thoughts, who's the monster?

“I don't know why this is happening,” Ian said softly, interrupting her punishing thoughts. “I feel like I'm in this nightmare I can't awake from.”

She understood; she felt the same. “Stacy was here this afternoon. She asked me a lot of questions, too.”

He stilled. Looked at her. “What kind of questions?”

“About the night Elle Vanmeer was killed. Weirdly, whether you were a Braves fan.”

“The baseball team? Why?”

“I don't know.” She lowered her eyes, then met his once more. “She asked if I believed you had been faithful to me.”

He looked shocked. “She asked you that? What did you tell her?”

“What do you think I told her? That you had been. Absolutely.”

“Thank you.” He trailed a finger across her eyebrow,
down the curve of her cheek. “I wondered why Stacy wasn't with the posse that came to the office. Now I know.”

“She told me she'd come as my sister,” Jane said bitterly. “To help us.”

“Maybe she did.”

“You're so forgiving. More like, divide and conquer.”

And she had fallen for it, even called and begged her forgiveness. Talk about naive.

“What else did she ask you?”

Are you absolutely certain Ian was home Sunday night? All night?

The cold clinging to him
.

She looked him dead in the eyes. “I have to ask you something, Ian. It's important.”

He drew slightly away from her. “You're my wife. You can ask me anything.”

“The night of Elle Vanmeer's murder, the night I awakened from the nightmare…you'd been outside. Why?”

He looked as if she had slapped him. He sat up, dragged a hand across his face. “It's happening already, isn't it? They're making you doubt me. Driving a wedge between us.”

“That's not true! Ian, please—” She scrambled into a sitting position, pressed herself to his side. “I had to ask.”

“I was walking Ranger.” He looked at her, expression accusing. “Same as I always do before bed. Feel better?”

A sound squeezed past the lump in her throat. Of relief. Gratitude.

“What's next, Jane? Going to grill me about mistaking the time that night?”

Reading her expression, he laughed, the sound anything but amused. “My watch stopped. The battery had gone dead.” He paused. “I bought a replacement at De Boulle the next morning. Call them and verify, if you'd like. I charged it on my credit card.”

The Highland Park jeweler he'd bought her engagement ring from. Tears stung her eyes. How betrayed he must feel. How alone.

What kind of wife was she?

“Please forgive me,” she whispered. “Please. I'm just so scared.”

He angled toward her. Took her in his arms. “No, I'm sorry. You were right to ask. It's just…I'm scared, too.”

The front buzzer sounded. Ranger began to bark. Jane froze. She looked at Ian. “Don't answer that.”

“I've got to, Jane.”

“No.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Don't.”

It sounded again. Then again.

Ian loosened her arms. “I have to. They're not going to go away.”

Heart in her throat, she watched as he climbed out of bed and crossed to the intercom. “Yes?”

It was the police. They insisted on speaking with Ian
.

“Give me a minute. I'll ring you in.”

He turned to her. He knew she had heard.

“It's going to be all right,” he said softly. “I'm an innocent man.”

She climbed out of bed. They dressed. He headed out front; she took a moment to run a brush through her hair and check her face. The pale woman gazing back at her didn't look scared—she looked white-rabbit terrified.

Dragging her gaze from her image, she headed for the foyer. She reached it just as Stacy's partner snapped handcuffs on Ian.

“What are you doing!” she cried. Three men stood in her entryway—Detective McPherson, another detective and a uniformed officer.

Detective McPherson looked apologetically at her, then returned his gaze to Ian. “Dr. Ian Westbrook, you're under arrest for the murders of Elle Vanmeer and Marsha Tanner. You have the right to remain silent, the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one a—”

In a daze, Jane listened to Ian's rights, mind whirling.
What did she do now? What happened next?

“Come on, Westbrook,” the detective she didn't recog
nize said, giving Ian a small shove toward the door, “time to go bye-bye.”

The words, their slyly amused tone, jogged her out of her daze. “Wait!” She raced to her husband's side, threw her arms around him, clinging. She pressed her face to his chest, feeling as if a part of her was being ripped away.

“I didn't do this, Jane.”

“I know.” She tipped her face to his. “It's going to be all right. I'll find out who—”

The uniformed officer pried her arms free. “We've got to take him now,” Mac said. “I'm sorry.”

A cry spilled past her lips. She reached out, but they had already begun herding Ian down the stairs.

“Call Whitney,” Ian shouted over his shoulder. “He'll know what to do.”

Jane hurried after them, out to the sidewalk, tears streaming down her face. “No!” she cried as the uniformed officer forced Ian into the back of the cruiser. She called out again, this time Ian's name.

He looked at her from the cruiser window, craning to see her as the vehicle pulled away from the curb.

Gone. Taken from her
.

Her luck had run out
.

When the cruiser disappeared from sight, she turned. Snake stood in the doorway of the tattoo parlor, staring at her. She met his gaze; the hair on the back of her neck prickling. A smile touched his mouth. With a small salute, he ducked into his store.