The Blood In the Beginning (16 page)

It went to voicemail.

I left a very short message. ‘Hey, doc. What's Teern?'

* * *

I emerged from the elevator at street level in my black jeans, Poseidon tee and boots. Headset switched on and ready for work.

‘Ava!' Billy punched my shoulder as I took over for him at the door. ‘I liked you better in the dress.'

‘Skirt, but settle down. Nothing to see here.' I sounded cold, but my insides were smiling. Here at work, safe from harm, I could enjoy life a little. A ruckus started near the end of the line. I handled it quickly, but the night turned into a busy one. I rousted a couple of brawlers out of the ‘ladies'. Yeah, chicks had their share of fistfights too. We didn't call it in, as they quickly kissed and made up, literally. It was nearly 1.00 a.m., two hours before I could clock off, when a voice popped my eyes wide open.

I'm still watching you, Ava.
The words were whispered, but I heard them like a knife cutting through the air.

My head shot around, searching for my night-of-the-living-dead stalker. It was him, I was sure, but I couldn't see anyone other than the people in the line-up, and Billy on the other side of the door. While I stepped forward to search, sirens whined and lights whirled.
Who called the cops?
We had the
chicas
under control. I watched to see if anyone would dart away at the uniforms' approach. Nothing.

A detective was out of a second car, along with another uniform, and they were headed my way.
Crap.
One look at the detective told me I was in a shitload of trouble.

‘Ava Sykes?' he asked, not slowing his pace.

Run!
Such terrific inner guidance under stress … like I would run from the LAPD? But I wanted to. Billy, my hero, moved to intercept them, but I pulled him aside. No point him getting sucked into this, too, whatever it was. ‘That's me,' I said, stepping forward. ‘What's the trouble?'

‘You're under arrest.'

My guts twisted, shooting adrenaline in every direction. ‘What the hell for?'

‘Disrupting the peace, firing an unlicensed weapon in a public arena, and breaking and entering the establishment of Asian Jim's on the night of the twenty-seventh. You're also of interest in the murder of a BruinBus driver Wednesday night.'

‘What?'

‘You have the right to remain silent …'

No! No! No!
This couldn't be happening. Murder? No way could I have a police record. Sure, juvie had been an issue, but the judge, after my seven years on the straight and narrow, had been lenient. My record was sealed.

‘There must be some mistake,' I pleaded as they patted me down, took my gun and cuffed me.
How did this happen?
The events of the other night came screaming back as they shoved me into the squad car, none too gently. The last thing I saw was Billy, joined by Jason, standing out front of Poseidon, staring at me as the car pulled away.

I turned to face the back of the detective's head. ‘Where's Rourke?' I was going to need someone on my side, and fast.

‘Ha!' The man barked out a single laugh. He turned around and smiled. ‘You're dealing with me now, Sykes.'

‘And who are you?'

‘Detective Flanagan.'

Peachy.

CHAPTER NINE

By 2.00 a.m., sitting in a stark interrogation room, cuffed to the table, reality set like cement. The fluoro lights stung my eyes and my head pounded. I was beginning to wonder how I would make it back to life as usual. If I knew what that looked like any more. Detective Flanagan grilled me, and not just about the fight in the alley and Asian Jim's but about the bus crash murder, too. Yeah, my prints were on the murder weapon, a DNA match on the body, but I was the lure in this fishing expedition. No way was I shooting bus drivers for fun. ‘What about the video footage? You have your perp on film.'

‘Too dark.' He cocked his head. ‘Could have been you.'

‘I told you I was on the bus with him. I'm a witness!'

‘So you say.'

Rourke's note about me being reformed must have gone south, because the next thing Flanagan was referring to my juvie record like it was alive and well, not sealed. The bastard was trying to tie me to several other crimes, ones I definitely did not commit. What was up with that?

‘Let's hear it all again, from the top,' he said.

‘All what?' I snapped back. ‘I gave my statement about the bus crash to Rourke, and now you. Short-term memory loss an issue?' My patience was out the window, which was ironic since the room didn't have one.

Harsh light glanced off the angles of Flanagan's face, making his eyes look hollow, his brow menacing. ‘Don't get smart with me, Sykes.' He slammed the table hard.

I rolled my eyes. Bullies didn't faze me, even when they wore dark navy suits, the coat button undone so their gun butt and holster were in plain view. After what I'd been through in the last few days, it wasn't intimidating in the slightest. Flanagan had stubble on his jaw, the usual look around LAPD. The guy must have been up for days. ‘I want my phone call.' I'd kept asking, and he'd been stalling, but I knew my rights. I looked over his head at the mirror, betting we were being watched. I raised my brows and mouthed the words,
Phone call?

He caught my glance. ‘All you had to do was ask.' He pulled out a mobile and shoved it across the table to me. I grabbed it and tapped in Cate's number. This probably wouldn't go down well. It was her night off.

‘Ava? Where are you?' At least she picked up.

‘Police station.'

‘What for?'

‘A bunch of trumped-up bullshit charges.' I stared straight at Flanagan as I spoke. ‘Can you tell Tom? He was supposed to pick me up from work. Just let him know, I might be here a little longer.'

‘I'll tell Daniel.'

‘No!' I shouted. ‘Don't bring the boss into this. I'll have a court appointed attorney in the morning. It'll get sorted.' Billy would have told Daniel anyway.
So much for keeping me safe.
‘I'll call you tomorrow.' I swiped off.

Flanagan pocketed the phone and threw pictures on the table, stabbing a callused finger into the centre of one of them. ‘Does this look familiar, Sykes?'

‘The sign says Asian Jim's.' I tried to keep my voice cool. Maybe the whole bus crash interrogation was to rattle me for his real motive: the Asian Jim's shoot-up.

‘Been there before?'

A lump formed in my throat and I grabbed the water bottle with my cuffed hands, taking a sloppy drink to drive it back down before answering. ‘Not lately.' No way was this asshole going to ruin my life.
Over my dead body!
One voice inside me bellowed a war cry; another, hunched in a corner, kept repeating,
We're screwed, we're screwed, we're screwed …
‘You know I'm under police protection in an ongoing investigation, right?'

‘Let's focus on one crime at a time.'

‘Does Rourke know I'm here?'

Flanagan ignored my question. ‘Asian Jim's is closed for repairs.' He pushed another picture at me.

Wow. I really knew how to take out a plate-glass window. ‘Someone didn't like their noodles?'

He sat down opposite me and folded his hands. ‘Here's the deal, Sykes. A woman of your description was seen breaking into the restaurant. We have you on the bus, a block away, at the same time.
'

I kept my face unreadable, racking my brain for a way out of this. ‘Which is it, in the restaurant, or on the bus?'

‘The woman crashed through the glass and disappeared across six lanes of traffic.'

Disappeared!
So they didn't have proof it was me, after all, which is weird as I bled all over that bus. I guess the c-note paid off. ‘What are you trying to say?'

He raised his brows. ‘I think you know.'

My breath released in a rush and I forced my body to relax. ‘It would be great if I did, Flanagan.'

‘That's
Detective
Flanagan.'

Seriously?
‘You accuse me of breaking into a restaurant only to dive through the front window? I'm not that crazy.'

‘We're not so sure. You were admitted to the hospital the same night? Multiple lacerations and a dislocated shoulder?'

Oh, boy.
‘Unrelated events. If you talk to Rourke —'

‘Let's hear it from you.'

My jaw tightened. ‘I clocked off work at one a.m. and was subsequently attacked by a man who tried to tie a ribbon around my wrist.' I paused, staring up at him, waiting for the response. Nothing. He wasn't in the know, or he was really good at deadpan. ‘Next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital. Sorry if that doesn't solve your B & E of the week, but it's what happened.'

‘Breaking and entering?' He folded his arms. ‘That's what you think this is?'

The lump in my throat was back.

‘There was a double homicide that night.'

No way.
I focussed straight at him, my eyes not needing to lie. ‘It wasn't me. I don't kill people.' We stared at each other until a uniformed officer opened the door, breaking the moment. A woman strode in, her eyes going straight to mine. ‘Not another word, please, Ms Sykes.'

I kept my mouth shut as I did a double take. She was sharp looking, in her fifties, wearing a pinstriped blue suit. Thick iron-grey hair framed her handsome face. She carried a black leather briefcase and smelled like citrus and sea breeze, with a pleasant hint of freshly ground coffee. The woman was immaculate. Not a hair out of place. Flanagan took one look at her and groaned. It was the first good omen I'd had since the arrest.
The enemy of my enemy …

That's right!

I started at the words in my head.

She faced me, extending her hand. ‘I'm Kathleen Jones, Ms Sykes, your attorney.'

The pretty picture building up in my mind fell to the floor, shattering to pieces. Attorneys were expensive; I couldn't afford one. Still, if she could keep this arrest off the record, I'd do anything in return.
Maybe she accepts payments?
I took her hand and shook it.
Please have a payment plan.

Kathleen Jones sat next to me and opened her leather briefcase. That's when I noticed the gold hinges and clasps. I'd had dozens of court appointed defense attorneys in my juvie days. None of them had gold clasps like these, or real leather briefcases.
My very own, high-class, super-expensive attorney.
I wanted to ask where the hell she'd come from, but nodded instead. ‘Thanks, I think.'

She smiled at me, but by the time she'd turned to Flanagan, there wasn't a trace of humour on her face. ‘Detective Flanagan.' Jones shook her head as if disappointed. ‘Do you enjoy tormenting innocent people?'

‘I'm following procedure, Jones, and this woman is far from innocent.'

She flashed a form in front of him. ‘You're out of line, Flanagan. Referring to a sealed file makes null and void anything you have initiated or derived from the materials. That's just for starters.'

‘You can't —'

‘Shall I list the infringements? Interrogating without the presence of an attorney. Withholding obligatory phone call. Undue force and psychological abuse …' She made a tsk-tsk sound. ‘It could see you suspended, detective, or worse, considering the complaints already lodged against you.'

‘What complaints?'

She flashed another page at him.

Flanagan scrubbed his face, swearing under his breath. ‘It was an informal interview.'

I didn't want to interrupt, so I held up my cuffed hands as exhibit A. My wrists were chaffed red, and starting to ache.

‘Not so informal after all, I see.' Jones's voice went icy. ‘Release my client, detective, immediately, and we will think of dropping our harassment charges.' The form in her hand rippled between them.

Flanagan was out of his seat, removing the cuffs, before his next breath.

‘Good.' Jones pulled out her phone and photographed my wrists while Flanagan slumped back in his chair. She had her briefcase snapped shut the next moment and indicated for me to follow her. ‘We're done here, Flanagan, unless you have anything you want to add?' The detective stared at the space where I had been sitting moments ago, his jaw tight. We walked right out the door while he mumbled to himself.

I liked this woman so much.

It was dark outside, still pre-dawn. I was torn between exhilaration, and wondering what she charged for after-hours calls.

Don't worry about it.

‘Huh?'

‘I want to see you next week, in case there's any follow-up, although I'm not expecting it.' She handed back my .32 pistol, holster and the contents of my pockets, which they'd confiscated. ‘Call this number and talk to my secretary for an appointment. We'll fit it in around your timetable.' Jones handed me her business card. It was as smooth as white marble and her name was etched in gold along with the logo — two parallel rippling lines like the glyph for Aquarius.
Real gold flake?
Either way, I couldn't afford her services. She even had a Hollywood address. I stopped and handed the card back. ‘Ms Jones, thank you so much. I really appreciate what you did back there, and I'll find a way to pay you, but there must be some mistake. I'm a student, and broke, for starters.'

Like I said, Ms Sykes, don't worry about it. Your account is taken care of.

‘Just like that?' I answered, then realised she hadn't spoken aloud.

Just like that.

Okay. I had to deal with this. Hearing voices could mean brain tumour, schizophrenia, psychotic breakdown. I rubbed my left temple and tried to put the night's puzzle together. I'd called Cate with my one phone call, and that wasn't very long ago. Even if she'd reached Tom, he couldn't have organised help that fast, and this woman was no court appointed lawyer.
So how the hell did I conjure a top shelf attorney from uptown Hollywood to represent little ol' me?
I felt a nervous surge as the answer arose.
It has to be Daniel Bane.
‘Was it …'