Twisted Innocence (Moonlighters Series Book 3) (21 page)
“I think it would be a beautiful way to celebrate this day and honor Joe,” Becky said, and Michael’s father nodded.
“Then it’s done,” Michael said, grabbing a napkin from the table and dabbing his eyes. “So tell me when.”
Cathy was quiet for a moment. “Let’s try to get the Miller thing resolved first, so we can all truly celebrate. But it wouldn’t hurt to go ahead and get the marriage license and talk to the pastor about when the church is available.”
The family all cheered and hugged each other. Holly felt Cathy’s joy seeping into her heart, reminding her that there was always hope.
T
he next morning, Michael met Cathy at the police station, where the governor’s press conference would be held. Michael didn’t know what to expect from his former coworkers, now that they’d learned of his pardon, but he hoped he could get permission to listen in on the questioning of Creed—who’d been released from the hospital that morning.
The moment he stepped into the building, he was surrounded by old friends slapping his back, hugging him, and giving him high fives and fist bumps.
Chief Wilson, Michael’s former boss, waited for everyone to congratulate him, then took him into his office.
“We’re really happy for you, man,” he said. “None of what happened to you was justice.”
Cathy shot Michael a look that reminded him of Wilson’s attitude the day he’d been fired, after his conviction came down. Wilson had taken his weapons and badge . . . effectively ending his career.
But what choice had the chief had?
Cathy hung back at the door, unwilling to enter, as if the office itself would defile her.
“It’s not right,” Wilson said. “We lost two good men, not just Joe. You left a huge void on the force.”
Michael looked at his hands. “Thank you, sir.”
“And when they charged you a few months ago, I personally called the prosecutor and the judge and tried to reason with them. But it went the way it went. I can tell you that morale has been low ever since, and that scumbag Miller still walks free.”
“Well, maybe with Creed Kershaw’s story we can change all that,” Cathy said.
“Let’s hope so,” Wilson said. “I’d like for you to help us with that, Hogan. I want you back on the force.”
Michael hadn’t expected that. He met Cathy’s eyes again. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he could imagine.
“Wow, Chief. That’s very generous.”
“Not at all,” the chief said. “What do you say?”
Michael stared at him for a long moment. “I honestly don’t know. I’ll have to talk it over with Cathy and pray about it. We’ll have to figure out what my future looks like, but I really appreciate the option. What I’d rather do for now is have consultant privileges, so I can work with the PCPD on the Miller case and other cases.”
Chief Wilson leaned back. “Second-best option for me. You got it. I’ll call up to Major Crimes and let everybody know. We’re going to catch this monster once and for all.”
Michael shook the chief’s hand again as a rush of emotion pulled at his face. By the time they were back in the hallway, Cathy could see the glisten in his eyes.
“Michael, you sure you don’t want your badge back?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not sure. But we have all the time in the world to decide.”
The press conference on the steps of the police station was a celebration. Every news outlet in the state turned out for the announcement that Michael had been pardoned. Since Cathy couldn’t be sure that they had received the packets she’d sent them, she passed out new copies so that the journalists could quickly review Michael’s case and hopefully assure the public that the governor’s decision had been the right one.
Governor Larimore made a somber statement about why he’d chosen to make an exception to his campaign promise. When it was Michael’s turn at the microphone, he pulled Cathy with him.
As cameras flashed and filmed, Michael swallowed the knot in his throat. “Thank you all for coming. I’m overwhelmed with the love and support I’ve received from the police force and from all of you.” He cleared his throat. “Two years ago, my brother was murdered, and that was the beginning of a long, dark ordeal for Cathy and me. We haven’t yet gotten justice for Joe’s murder, but we hope that this generous and compassionate act by Governor Larimore will result in new beginnings. My hope now is that I can help resolve Joe’s murder, as well as the related deaths that have occurred since then.”
He thanked the governor and Ned for not letting politics stand in the way of his pardon. Then he kissed Cathy. “And I have to thank my bride-to-be, Cathy Cramer, for working tirelessly to bring this pardon about. As soon as I can get to a
store, I plan to put a ring on her finger. Then we have a wedding to plan.”
He kissed her again, and the crowd applauded.
“Finally, I want to thank Jehovah God, who has walked with me through all of these trials. He doesn’t promise Christians that our lives will be smooth sailing, but he does promise not to leave or forsake us. He has kept his promise in my case.”
After another round of applause, the journalists shot out questions for the governor and Michael. Through it all, Michael held Cathy’s hand and thought he was the most blessed man in the world.
Though Michael had had deep concerns about Creed’s authenticity, he had to admit after meeting him that the guy seemed real.
They started with his timeline—when he’d gotten into the drug business, who he’d worked with along the way, people he’d sold to, people who’d supplied him, where they’d met when, whom he’d spoken to, what he’d seen.
Creed gave up all that information and more, offering things they didn’t even ask for. As new thoughts came to his mind, he’d interject them as clues that might help them find Miller.
Finally, after six hours of questioning, they brought an unmarked department SUV into the sally port of the adjacent jail and loaded Creed in, away from watching eyes. Cathy sat next to him on the bench seat behind the driver, and Michael climbed in behind her. Max drove, Forbes rode shotgun, and two more detectives joined them. Another unmarked carload of cops rode behind them, watching for any sign of ambush.
Creed took them to a place on a canal that led to the Gulf
of Mexico where he knew some deliveries of cocaine had been made. It was a new location behind a private residence, just as they’d seen before. The detectives scrambled to find out who owned the property, and several stayed behind to recon the place as Creed took the others on to more locations.
The guy who saw himself as low on the totem pole of the drug operation had more information than he’d realized. He took them to another location outside a local library and told them what day he’d met Miller’s men there. A couple of detectives got busy getting the security video from the library’s outdoor cameras.
Then he took them to the homes of two of his suppliers—guys he’d known by street names before he’d gotten into drug dealing himself. From the public records on those properties, they were able to track down the residents and get driver’s license pictures and mug shots, which Creed used to identify them.
He was a gold mine of information, but none of it led directly to Miller.
Finally, when they were done, Cathy took Creed and Michael to the safe house her friend had loaned them. It was open to the beach but had a cinderblock wall ten feet high between it and the street in front of it. It wasn’t Fort Knox, but it was unexpected. Miller would never find them there, and even the police weren’t aware of the location.
Cathy left them alone to go get Holly, who wanted to come visit Creed. Michael chose a bedroom and laid out his firearms on the bed. Max had kept his personal weapons and returned them along with his holsters, his Kevlar vest, his rounds of ammunition . . . all reminders that he had been reinstated into his life.
Slowly, methodically, he cleaned his weapons, loaded them,
slipped them into their holsters, then strapped one to his ankle and the other to his belt. He sat on the bed, feeling the freedom of a soft mattress after months on a six-inch-thick piece of foam on a steel cot. How wonderful to sleep in a place that didn’t smell of body odor and bad breath or urine covered over with Clorox. It was quiet . . . a sweet luxury he had too long been denied.
“Do you think they saw us going by their places?”
Michael turned at Creed’s voice. Creed stood in the doorway, hands in his jeans pockets, concern on his face. “I don’t think so. We didn’t slow down at any of them.”
“But if they did, they could have followed us here.”
“We would have seen them. Trust me. I was watching for tails.”
“But they’re good. Miller . . . he’s deadly.”
Michael turned back to the bed, put his ammo into his duffel bag, along with his vest. “Tell me about it. I’ve been up close and personal with him.”
Creed looked down at his feet. “It’s not me I’m worried about, but my parents and sister . . .”
“My brother has guys watching their homes. If Miller or his goons try to approach them, they’ll be stopped. I think right now they’re just keeping their heads down.”
“Do you think they know I talked?”
“By now, probably.”
Creed was quiet for a moment, and Michael studied him. He still looked pale, and his body slumped, as if exhausted.
“Can I call my parents?” Creed asked. “My sister? Warn them that they could be in danger?”
“Not a chance,” Michael said. “They know that. We’re gonna get him. Just sit tight and let us work. There’s a football
game on. Florida State and Ole Miss. Go relax. Sleep a little. You’re still sick.”
Creed shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
“And Cathy went to get Holly and the baby.”
Creed looked alarmed. “That might not be a good idea. What if Miller has figured out my connection to Holly? What if he’s staking out her house or Cathy’s? He could follow them here.”
“They have a plan to meet their brother, Jay, behind a shopping center, and they’re going to switch cars with him to throw the thugs off if they get that far.”
“He would do that?” Creed asked.
“Yeah, probably so Cathy and I can spend time together. That family’s tight. They watch each other’s backs.”
“Then I would think I’m the last person their brother would want Holly to be with.”
“He’s heard the truth about what happened. Doesn’t mean he’s not concerned, but he trusts Juliet’s and Cathy’s opinions about Holly’s judgment.” Michael held Creed’s gaze for a moment. “You know, I’m close to Holly. She’s like a sister to me. Don’t hurt her.”
Creed regarded his shoes again. “I won’t. I know my word doesn’t carry a lot of weight with you. Drug dealer, accused of murder . . . big-time loser. But I don’t want to hurt Holly, or Lily either.” He nodded at Michael’s holster. “Congratulations on your pardon. Sorry you have to spend your first day free here with me.”
“It’s better than jail.” Michael walked out of the room, and Creed followed him into the living room. Michael turned the TV on, found the game.
“Your whole story makes me wonder if there’s hope for me,”
Creed said, dropping to the couch. “To have the slate wiped clean, I mean.”
Michael turned to him, looked at him fully. “You know, your slate can be wiped clean whether you go to prison or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s called redemption.”
“Oh, right,” Creed said. “Yeah, I was raised in church. I know all about redemption. Jesus dying for our sins and all.”
Michael could see he didn’t really get it. The “and all” told Michael all he needed to know about Creed’s faith. His nonchalance minimized Christ’s sacrificial death, turning it into something mythical and false, and demonstrated a lack of awe.
He said a silent prayer that God would show Creed what true redemption was.
H
olly heard Cathy pulling into her driveway, so she grabbed up Lily and the diaper bag, set her house alarm system, then hurried out to the car. Cathy gave her a disgusted look as Holly strapped Lily’s car seat in.
“You’re wearing lipstick. You curled your hair.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “So?”
“So . . . you never do that. You really like this guy, don’t you?”