See Jane Die (31 page)

She looked down at her hands. “I always wondered…what he saw in me. I always thought his love too good to be true. And now I—” She returned her gaze to her sister, vision blurred with tears. “I have to ask myself if I didn't think that because it was too good.”

“I see why he fell in love with you, Jane. Good God, every man who crosses your path falls in love with you. And I know why. You're strong—but it's a gentle strength that draws people in. You don't judge. You're generous and empathetic. Vulnerable. And beautiful.”

Jane began to deny it; Stacy cut her off. “You're the only one who sees you as a disfigured, traumatized girl. Everyone else sees a beautiful, successful and confident woman. One who has beaten the worst—”

She bit the words back, swore softly.

“What?”

“That's it,” she said. “The why, Jane. You've won. You've beaten this bastard. That's why he's come back.”

Stacy brought the heels of her hands to her forehead. “You were brought to his attention by one of the articles about you. Last he knew you were a broken, disfigured girl. Now you're a success. In both your career and personal life.”

She looked at Jane. “You were right. He is punishing you. But not only for living. For winning. I think that pisses him off.”

“So he found me,” Jane jumped in, excited. “Watched me. And Ian. He learned our routines and habits. He planned it all carefully. He killed Elle Vanmeer firs—”

“I'm not saying I believe Ian's innocent, only that I'm thinking it possible you're right about the threatening letters coming from the boater.”

“Everything you have against Ian is circumstantial. Elton said so.”

“Many a suspect's been convicted on less.”

Jane fisted her fingers. “He's innocent. Why can't you believe me?”

“Because I'm a cop. Because I've listened to too many men—and women—proclaim their innocence to the heavens, only to be guilty as sin. Have heard the certainties, outrage and disbelief of their loved ones and witnessed their stunned disbelief when their ‘innocent' was proved, unequivocally otherwise. Sorry, Jane.”

“You believe me about the boater—take one more step and believe he's behind it all.”

Stacy looked at her, expression grim. “You doubt Ian's faithfulness. Take one more step and doubt his innocence.”

Jane held out her hand, pleading. “I need your help, Stacy. Please help me.”

“How? By leaving my mind open? Fine, you've got it. Until there's physical evidence that absolutely ties Ian to the scene, I'll do that for you.”

It wasn't good enough. God help her, she wanted more
. “What do the police have that's solid?”

“I can't tell you that.”

“Fine. I'll tell you what I know.” Jane began ticking off what she knew. “They believe they have motive. His infidelity and my millions. Lots of circumstantial to back that up. And I suppose, they believe he had opportunity. The window of time I was asleep the night of Vanmeer's murder, the fact that he had been outside.”

Jane stood, crossed to the bay window and gazed out at the midnight sky. “And of course, Elle Vanmeer's cell phone, found in the Dumpster with Lisette Gregory. His connection to all three victims.”

She looked over her shoulder at her sister. “What else?”

When her sister didn't reply, she narrowed her eyes. “What harm can my knowing be to the state's case? Think I'll destroy evidence? Tip my incarcerated husband that they're onto him? Please.”

Stacy let out a long breath, as if coming to grips with a decision. “A cherry-red Audi TT at La Plaza at the time of the murder.”

“And the search here, what were they looking for?”

“Clothing.”

“Clothing? Why—”

“A security tape from La Plaza captured the man we believe is Elle Vanmeer's killer. It's obvious he knew where the cameras were and made certain his face is never on tape. Judging by build and height, it could be Ian.”

“I want to see the tape.”

Stacy laughed. “Fat chance of that.”

“I'll know if it's him. Please, Stacy, let me see it. For me. My peace of mind.”

“Not only could I lose my job, I could be prosecuted. That's State's evidence in a capital murder trial. Besides, the defense will get their crack at it.”

“When?”

“The discovery phase of the trial.”

Jane knew from the timeline Elton had given her that he would submit motions for discovery and inspection and for a bill of particulars, within thirty days. All discovery would be completed before the trial began.

“I can't wait that long,” she said, crossing to stand before her sister. She looked her dead in the eyes. “I know I'm right about this guy. That Ian's innocent.”

“What if you're wrong? Jane, what if you look at that tape and see your husband?”

The words, the possibility, rocked her. She thought of what Ted had said, that day she'd gone to see Ian's ex.

What if she tells you something you don't want to hear?

And she had. At every turn, the worst had happened. Why not this time?

She steeled herself against the possibility. “Consider this, Stacy. What if I'm right? By the time discovery rolls around, I very well may be dead.”

Monday, November 10, 2003
6:30 a.m
.

“I
think I've changed my mind,” Jane said, slipping her Jeep into park and turning to her sister. “I don't want you to do this.”

“Too late,” Stacy said. “We made a plan and we're going through with it.”

She sounded more confident than she felt. In fact, she had decided she was out of her mind. Check the Plaza security tape out of the evidence room so Jane could look at it? She could be fired. Prosecuted, for God's sake.

But she was willing to risk it all.

For her sister. Because she owed it to her. And because she couldn't—wouldn't—take a chance with her life.

By the time discovery rolls around, I very well may be dead
.

“Give me twenty minutes to get the tape and get it into a player. I'll let Kitty know you're coming in. To give a statement.”

“About Ted.”

“Yes.”

“What if Mac's there? He won't buy this whole statement thing. He'll—”

“He won't be. I'm ninety-five percent certain. But if he
is or I get heat from any other direction, we scrap the plan. Go in another direction. Follow my lead.”

Jane nodded, though she didn't look convinced. In fact, she looked scared.

Stacy reached across the seat and gave Jane's hand a squeeze. “They're just cops. They don't bite.”

Jane laughed at that; Stacy climbed out of the car. She and Jane had concocted this plan the day before. Timing was important. Shift change wasn't for forty minutes. The early birds would be in, as well as those involved in intense, time-sensitive investigations. The night guys would be winding down. Looking forward to heading home. No one would find her presence jarring.

She glanced back at her sister. “Twenty minutes.”

Jane nodded. “Be careful.”

Stacy saluted and started up the block. They had parked a block from the Municipal Building, so not to be seen together. Stacy rubbed her hands together, wishing for gloves. Instead, she stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, shivering against the cold, gray day.

Checking out the videocassette would leave a paper trail. The evidence room officer wouldn't think twice about it, but if anyone in the know cared to look, her ass was cooked.

When it came to evidence, chain of custody was huge. The prosecution had to be able to prove the evidence hadn't been tampered with. They did that by knowing—and by being able to show—where the evidence had been at all times. Compromised evidence equaled a blown case.

She neared the building. She nodded at several officers on their way out as she entered. The angry, inconvenienced masses hadn't arrived yet and the floor was mercifully quiet.

The information officer sat at his desk, looking sleepy. “'Morning,” she said.

He grunted a greeting without looking up. She made the corner and the bank of elevators. A car waited, doors open. She glanced at the clock above them. Six-thirty.
Right on schedule
.

She stepped onto the elevator. Evidence room was located
on five. She pressed for that floor, then combed her fingers through her hair, acknowledging fatigue. Since their impromptu picnic Saturday night, she and Jane had done sixteen years' worth of catching up.

She had told her sister about Mac. That they had become lovers. That she was falling for him. Hard.

That maybe he was
the one
. Jane had been happy for her.

The elevators doors slid open; she alighted the car and turned right.

The evidence room was manned by one officer, a uniform. He looked half asleep. “Hey, Sam. Pulled another graveyard?”

“'Morning, Detective. Yeah, lucky me. What're you doing in so early?”

“Catching up after a few days off. Need to check out a piece of evidence with the Vanmeer investigation. A videotape.”

He nodded. Slid her a clipboard and pen. “Sign.”

While she did, he crossed to his computer terminal and began tapping in the keywords. He paused, frowning. “It looks like it's out.”

She stopped mid-signature, stomach dropping. Not the prosecution, she prayed. If the prosecution had it, they were out of luck. “Are you certain?”

“No…wait, there we go. Got it. Be right back.”

Heart thundering, she watched as he disappeared into the bowels of the evidence room. He reappeared, tape—tucked into a neatly labeled plastic bag—in hand. He spun the clipboard around, checked that she had entered both the item and her name correctly, then handed it over.

“I'll have it back in a jiffy.”

“No hurry. Besides, I know where to find you.”

He hadn't meant anything by his words; they struck her as ominous, anyway. Her captain would crucify her if he found out what she'd done. She wondered what she'd do if he fired her. Go back to school? Try private security? Throw herself on Jane's mercy?

“You sure do.” She flashed him what she hoped was an easy smile. “Have a great day.”

She made her way back to the elevator. Ten minutes had passed. Perfect. She stepped onto an elevator car, rode it to three, then alighted. She made her way past the graveyard and into the Crimes Against Persons division.

Kitty had arrived. She sat at her desk, breakfasting on a cup of coffee and a powdered doughnut.

“You're early, Detective,” the woman said around a bite of the doughnut.

“Mmm. Mac in yet?”

“Haven't seen him.” The woman thumbed through a stack of messages and handed her several. “Mondays suck.”

Stacy looked them over. Her captain. The coroner's office. Several from the family of a victim. She stopped on one from Benny Rodriguez, a Vice officer she had worked a joint investigation with a couple of years back. What, she wondered, did he need?

She pocketed the messages. “Captain in?”

“Nope. Early meeting with the chief. It'll be a couple hours.”

“Thanks. I'll catch up with them later.” She started toward her desk, then stopped and glanced back at Kitty. “Look, my sister's coming in to give a statement. Let me know when she gets here?”

“Will do.”

Stacy went straight to the interrogation room. She slipped the tape into the machine. As soon as she did, her cell phone rang.

It was Kitty. Her sister had arrived. “Send her to interrogation three.”

Stacy met her at the door. Jane looked uneasy. Frightened even. That wouldn't set off any alarm bells, a visit to the police always brought out the best in folks.

Stacy closed the door behind them, then leaned against it, standing guard. “Tape's ready to go. Just push Play.”

Jane did. She watched the segment in silence, then rewound and watched again. That done, she stopped the tape and looked over her shoulder at Stacy, obviously excited. “It's not him.”

“You're certain?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He doesn't own a hat or jacket like that.”

“That means nothing. He could have bought both expressly for the murder, then discarded them.”

Her sister winced. Hard words. But true. “Ian doesn't hold himself that way. Doesn't move that way.”

“What way?”

“I don't know how to describe it.”

“Play the tape again. Show me.”

“Look, she said. “At his shoulders. The way this guy's hunched in his jacket. Ian's holds himself erectly. It's one of the things that attracted me to him.” On the tape the elevator stopped, the doors slid open; the man stepped out. “There, too,” Jane said, pointing. “Ian moves elegantly. Fluidly. This guy…I don't know, swaggers. Like a jock.”

Stacy narrowed her eyes, studying the image, working to recall Ian's image, the way he walked, moved. She couldn't.

“I'm sorry, Jane, but—”

A knock sounded at the door. Stacy signaled Jane to turn off the player. When she had, she cracked open the door. It was Mac. Dammit. She was deep into it now.

“Hey,” she said, swinging the door wider.

“Hey to you, too. What're you doing in so early?”

“Playing catch-up.” She forced a smile. “What about you?”

He didn't answer, his gaze moving past her to Jane. “'Morning, Jane.”

“Hello, Detective.”

“Call me Mac.”

Stacy saw the speculation in his gaze. The slight furrow of his brow as he shifted his attention to the video machine. He looked at Stacy once more. “What's going on?”

“Jane was just leaving.”

“Really?” He looked at Jane. “Kitty said you were in to give a statement.”

Jane went white. Stacy stepped in. She didn't want to
outright lie—but she couldn't tell the truth. “I didn't see any need for one. What do you think, Mac?”

“I think you and I need to talk.”

“I can find my way out.” Jane moved quickly to the door. She looked at Stacy. “Call me later. Bye, Detective.”

The two of them watched Jane walk away, then Mac closed the door and faced her. “I was just up on five.”

Stacy said nothing. She knew what was coming.

“I was bothered by Ted's death. What you said about the pieces. I came in early, thought I'd check out the Plaza security tape. Take another look at it. Funny thing happened while I was up there.”

He crossed to the video player, popped out the tape. Turned back to her. “Sam told me it was checked out. By you.”

She couldn't meet his eyes.

“What're you doing, Stacy?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Bullshit. You showed a key piece of evidence to the wife of the man charged with the crime.”

She opened her mouth to deny it but said instead, “She's certain it's not Ian.”

“Of course she is.”

“I've been thinking about this, Mac. About Ted's death and—”

“Stop it! It's over. Don't you get it? It's up to his lawyer now, the judge and jury.”

“Are you going to the captain with this?”

He leaned toward her. “I'm not going to throw my career away for your sister. Are you certain you want to?”

He handed her the videocassette, turned and walked to the door. There, he stopped and looked back at her. “You were a good cop, Stacy. One I admired. I wanted to work with you. I chose to work with you. But you're losing it, big time. And I'm not sure I want to be around to pick up the pieces.”

And then he was gone.