A Final Call

“Eliot Parker’s eye for detail is on full display in A Final Call as a simple missing persons case turns deadly. Protagonist Stacy Tavitt is damaged and complicated and has the relentless drive to find the truth that forces you to root for her.”

—MATT COYLE, author of the award-winning Rick Cahill series “From the first tender moment of A Final Call to the final, luminous sentence, I was riveted by the latest Eliot Parker thriller featuring Homicide Detective Stacy Tavitt. I will miss spending time with Tavitt in Parker's atmospheric Cleveland, and can’t wait for the next one!”

—AMANDA EYRE WARD, NYT bestselling author of The Jetsetters

A FINAL CALL

Cleveland Homicide Detective Stacy Tavitt is contacted by a former college classmate who asks for help in finding her missing son, Colton. Still reeling physically and emotionally from her last investigation—which led to the disappearance of her brother—Stacy reluctantly agrees. At first, there is little reason to suspect foul play in his disappearance until he becomes the primary suspect in the murder of an ex-girlfriend. It’s a race against the clock as Stacy tries to find out what happened to her brother and clear his name, all while stopping a lethal killer who continues to target the friends and family connected to Colton. Beset by threats inside and outside of her life, Stacy must go to great lengths to find a killer and save her brother.

“This fast-paced thriller has plenty of twists and turns sure to delight and surprise even the most seasoned thriller reader, all set against the gritty and gripping backdrop of modern-day Cleveland.”

—JESS MONTGOMERY, author of The Kinship Mystery Series (The Stills)

E L I O T PA R K E R

ELIOT PARKER is the author of four previous thriller novels and a collection of short stories. He has won the West Virginia Literary Merit Award, the PenCraft Writing Award, and the Feathered Quill Book Award for his work. He hosts the podcast program Now, Appalachia, on the Authors on the Air Global Radio Network and teaches English at the University of Mississippi. For more information visit www.eliotparker.com.

E L I O T PA R K E R “Stacy Tavitt forces you to root for her.”

—MATT COYLE

A Final Call A Stacy Tavitt Thriller

Eliot Parker

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books, Inc.

Terra Alta, WV

A Final Call A Stacy Tavitt Thriller

by Eliot Parker copyright ©2022 Eliot Parker All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.HeadlineBooks.com Tel: 304-789-3001 Email: mybook@headlinebooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781951556662

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021946126

P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S TAT E S O F A M E R I C A

For my dad, Brent, who loved Cleveland

Fiction, when it’s done well, has the ability to serve as empathy’s training wheels.

George Saunders

1 Colton rocked back on the balls of his feet before sucking in a breath and straightening his posture. The voice in his pocket chimed brightly. You have arrived at your destination.

Colton winced, tucking the stemmed rose under an arm while fumbling with the cell phone in his pocket. He was glad that Siri had helped him, but now the voice sounded less like someone he knew and trusted and more like the robot it was designed to be.

He thumbed Siri into silence and then gently untucked the rose, making sure he hadn’t crushed any petals. Colton admired its fragility for a moment. The plump red petals were luscious and vibrant.

Colton shifted his weight between both feet. It had been nearly four years since he’d visited Fairview Park. The green space of the West Cleveland public park had been transformed.

Once bisecting one another like an origami painting, the public soccer fields and open green areas were now supplanted with housing developments and apartment complexes. The city had probably sold the land and the responsibilities of maintaining it to a developer willing to build. He had seen this type of development before in Houston. After Hurricane Harvey, flooded urban centers decimated by the floodwaters were demolished.

Residents relocated to new FEMA-constructed housing built on flat, green spaces, once the homes for Saturday afternoon soccer and Thursday night little league games.

Fairview Park might look different, better even, but it was still located near downtown Cleveland, Ohio. Despite its harsh 5

A Final Call

weather extremes, swaths of poverty, blight, crime, and a lack of good employment options, it was home, and Colton was glad to be back.

Maria had brought him back home. After Brooke cheated on him and became pregnant, Colton had wondered if he could ever feel love for another woman. As he prepared to delete his social media accounts and the thousands of pictures of him and Brooke, someone sent him a message. Maria Fernandez. A girl from Cleveland who had just moved back home after college.

Maria explained that she had come across Colton’s social media profiles on a whim while searching for people in their midtwenties with Cleveland connections. She sent Colton a message, and the two had been talking, texting, and video chatting ever since.

After six months, Colton wanted to meet Maria, but he was doing contract electrical work for FEMA due to the Hurricane Harvey cleanup efforts in Houston. Maria had wanted him to come back to Cleveland and visit too, and that urged him toward seeing her, but there was still the job and travel to consider. Money wasn’t the problem. Colton made nearly forty dollars an hour working for FEMA, but almost every electrician crew was required to work mandatory overtime to help rebuild the electrical grid for the city. The money was there, absolutely available, but while Colton’s expenses were modest, his work schedule, often twelve- to fourteen-hour shifts, six days each week, was anything but, and that meant the time was never right to visit Maria.

For a long while, he let his schedule carry him through his days, looking for the right time and never quite finding it. Maria seemed to understand, and her communications stayed consistent.

Then came the message that gave him pause: LYSM. Love You So Much. That was the last message Maria had sent Colton two days earlier. It was enough to convince him to go to Cleveland to meet her.

When he arrived at the Greyhound bus station on Chester Avenue, Colton immediately texted Maria and asked if she was home. She responded with a smiling face emoji, followed by lol, and then asked why he wanted to know.

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Colton had been cagey in his response, just telling her that he wanted to make sure she was home so they could talk.

After a cab ride, Colton now stood across the street from West 31st Place, facing a new subdivision built where a football field used to be, where Colton and his friends had played on weekends. The park bordered Cleveland to the east, Westlake and North Olmstead to the west, Bratenahl to the north, and Brook Park to the south. Growing up, Colton had friends that lived in all the communities, and the park was a natural middle space for them all to meet. Colton hated school but was always good with his hands. Playing sports then, and being an electrician now, was comfortable and natural.

Colton felt a chill creep up his back. The warmth of the early May day was gone, and inky darkness had engulfed the last of the frail light. The first bite of the evening chill paled his skin.

Colton pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the directions, just making sure Siri had brought him to the right place. He stood back until the screen of his phone was bathed under the harsh white light of a streetlight. Looking up, the number on his screen matched the address he’d found online: 131 West 31st Place.

He lifted an arm and took a sniff. He smelled clean, and the new cologne he’d bought before leaving Houston gave off a sweet but not overpowering aroma.

Only silence lingered in the air. A cold sweat glistened on Colton’s brow. His hands clutched the stem of the rose, clasping it tightly at his waist as he constantly weaved his fingers in and out of each other.

A mild panic overcame him. The feeling would go away if he backed away and left. Colton didn’t have to go back to Houston, but he could leave here—but then there would be more anxious feelings of inadequacy. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Colton let those thoughts leak into the recesses of his mind and, instead, let his heart and his passion for Maria steer him.

Now steady and more confident, Colton crossed the street.

Her house stood at the end of the block.

Mabel Court ran the width of the block behind him. To his left was Fairview Park, hulking over the street like a dark mon7

A Final Call

ster. Maria’s house sat between two other condos, one home on each side. The lights radiating from the windows of the houses bathed the sidewalk in narrow bands of yellow light.

As he approached the address that Siri had given him, Colton was startled to discover it was a two-story condo. When he was growing up, government housing had occupied many of the streets, but now, the houses seemed new, and the vibe was fresh and hip.

Her condo had a second-floor window with round edges that jutted out from the brick façade. On the small roof that covered the porch, two satellite dishes looked like two toothpicks. A large bush with its yellow and green leaves nearly blocked the narrow sidewalk leading to the door, and the cloying smell of fresh mulch lining the bush made Colton gag.

Colton reached the door, then let out a breath, ran a hand over his jeans, and knocked. Before he could lower his hand, the door opened.

Maria filled the space, as soft yellow light framed the shadows behind her. She was dressed casually, but smartly, in jeans and a black hipster jacket with a neck scarf. Her midnight black hair, a feature Colton remembered from their video chats, was pulled back into a ponytail.

Maria made eye contact with Colton, staring at him with her molten-brown eyes that were as vast and deep as Lake Erie.

“I knew you’d come,” she said softly. The dulcet voice Colton remembered from their talks sent a surge of excitement through him.

Colton presented the rose to Maria. “This is for you.”

Maria looked down at the rose and blushed, taking it from him, then laying it flat on the porch’s railing.

She leaned in and hugged Colton. Her hair smelled clean and felt like ribbons of silk as his hand caressed the bottom of the ponytail. Behind her, Colton noticed the condo was immaculate and elegant. The cherry wood floors gleamed with a polished shine, the living area behind the atrium, adorned with plush furniture, looked unused. Colton could see two more rooms at the end of the other hallway and outlines of a bathroom sink be8

Eliot Parker

tween the hallway and living room. Crown molding ran across the tops of the walls. To Colton, the condo exuded posh comfort.

Maria broke the embrace. Colton flashed a wide-eyed stare and felt his tongue go dry and thick.

“Surprised?” he managed to ask, although the word came out slightly garbled.

“No,” she said. Her eyes moved quickly over Colton. “We haven’t talked in a couple of days.” She grinned. “Then, when I got the text message earlier, I knew something was up.”

“I wanted to be here. I needed to be with you.”

Maria exhaled slow and shook her head. “That’s so sweet. No guy has ever done something like that for me before.”

Colton could see in her eyes that she was assessing whether she could safely let him in.

Maria’s face was all edges—enviable cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and a pair of arched eyebrows looking down on sweeping eyelashes. She was the most beautiful woman Colton had ever seen.

She gave Colton another hug, unburdening her slight shoulders of their weight.

The fact that Maria didn’t invite Colton inside worried him.

Colton moved his lips near her ear.

“If this is a bad time or a bad idea, I can come back…”

“It’s not,” she said, tilting her head up and giving Colton a tender, sensual kiss. Her lips were soft, and the gloss on them tasted like strawberries.

Colton looked down when the kiss ended and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

She huffed softly and then bit the inside of her lip playfully.

“Good things come to those who wait.” Maria kissed her index finger and pressed it into the dimple at the center of his chin.

A surge of sexual ecstasy pulled through Colton. He wanted to take Maria now, pull her inside one of the rooms of the plush condo and ravish her. A swell in his groin protruded from his jeans. He arched his back and shifted, hoping Maria didn’t notice anything.

Colton felt Maria stare at him for a long moment, and then she cut a sharp glance into the entryway beyond the front door.

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A Final Call

Colton watched her carefully, and Maria lifted her right leg and braced it against the door frame.

“I’m sorry if I seem a little distracted. I’ve been busy today, filling my new briefcase with papers.”

Colton blinked. “I didn’t know you got a new briefcase.”

“I know,” Maria said, stepping back and reaching into the entryway behind the door. “I should’ve told you why I needed the money.”

Colton felt his face flush. “I could’ve bought one and shipped it here.”

“No, that’s fine,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning upright into a slow smirk. “Buying a briefcase is like buying shoes. It’s hard to do for someone else. It needs to be a perfect fit.”

Maria pulled the briefcase out and set it between them, just outside the door. One corner of the case landed on the toe of Colton’s shoe, causing him to step back. Now the new distance between them was divided.

Colton looked down. The tan leather attaché case had brass locks on each side and a horseshoe-shaped handle fastened to the top. Colton had seen many of the FEMA supervisors in Houston carrying these cases to various work sites. He knew they had divider pockets and holders for a cell phone, pens, cards, and accessories inside. Maria had her name monogrammed on top of the briefcase.

“That’s nice,” Colton said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Any new job interviews lined up?”

At that question, Maria made a face. Colton remembered Maria telling him that she had some interviews scheduled with various accounting firms in Cleveland and had said she needed a new outfit, shoes, and jewelry to “make an impression.” Colton wanted her to have the chance she needed, so he had sent her over a thousand dollars.

When Maria folded her arms and looked down, Colton felt the moment was slipping away. “Did the interview go bad? I mean, I’m sure it went fine. I didn’t—” “Stop apologizing,” she pronounced with a hard edge to her tone. Colton caught a flicker of anger flash across her face, followed by a long look of bafflement.

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Maria stepped around the briefcase. “I’m sorry,” she said sweetly. “That’s not fair.”

Colton was flummoxed. “I didn’t mean—” “I know.” Maria stepped closer to Colton and put a hand on his chest. “I did okay in the interview. In the end, they hired someone else, but I was one of two finalists for the position.”

Colton put his hands on her small, round shoulders. “That’s great, Maria! Maybe it wasn’t the right fit anyway. I’m sure you’ve got more interviews lined up.”

Maria flicked a look down at the briefcase and then back to Colton. In that brief moment, she looked away, and her unease struck him. Everything had seemed natural at first, but something changed. The emergence of the briefcase had made everything feel different.

Colton debated reaching down to grab the briefcase when he caught a glint of silver protruding from under her scarf.

“There’s something else,” she said, pursing her lips. “I need some more money.”

Colton tensed. “Okay. For what?”

“I’m going to need a car.”

Colton thought about the money he’d already sent Maria. He glanced over her shoulder and thought about the beautiful and ornate condo.

Maria tugged at the scarf, revealing a narrow, silver band.

He pointed at her neck. “Is that a necklace?”

“It’s not important.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Maria bit down on her lip. “Yes, but as I said, it’s not important.”

“Maria…”

She placed a hand on his cheek and stroked it lightly. “Stay with me here. I need more money.” Maria took her foot and pushed the briefcase behind her.

“Who gave you the necklace?”

She gave Colton a stern look. “It doesn’t matter. It was a gift.”

“For what?”

“For graduation.”

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A Final Call

“From whom?”

“From a friend. Someone who helped me through a difficult time in my life. I needed someone to listen to me, and he was there for me.”

A moment of silence pooled between them.

“Colton, it’s not like that.”

Colton blanched. He grabbed Maria’s hand by the wrist and pushed it down to her side. He could feel his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat.

Maria sensed something change in him. “What is it?”

“I thought I was the one who helped you through a difficult time in your life. I thought I was the only person who listened and was there for you.”

“Colton—” “No. Those exact words were said to me not long after we started talking.”

Maria began shifting her weight. “So?” “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it! Who else has heard those words? Is that the standard pickup line?” He pointed at the necklace. “Maybe the last person that heard them also bought the necklace, too!”

“Colton. Don’t do this. I want to be with you. Only you.”

He flung his hands up in a defensive posture. “Stop patronizing me. It was always about the money, wasn’t it?”

The flicker of anger crossed Maria’s face again. This time, Colton didn’t care.

“Answer me!” he barked, causing Maria to wince and step back.

When Maria didn’t answer, he locked his hands behind his head, linking his fingers in his tousled black hair, and groaned.

It all made sense. Colton had a little extra fat around his midsection—not too paunchy, but not too thin—and he had some muscles in his chest and arms that were not real chiseled or defined.

Average, in a cute every-boy way, was how Brooke had described him.

But a beautiful girl like Maria wasn’t interested in his looks or him at all. He was foolish to think so. At a vulnerable time, she 12

Eliot Parker

exploited him, told him everything he needed to hear, and lured him into a trap like a black widow spider.

Colton tossed a glance toward Fairview Park. “This was a mistake. I need to go.”

“Go where?” Maria pleaded.

“Away from here. Back to Houston. Coming back to Cleveland was a mistake.”

At that, Maria snickered. A raspy jeer followed, which caused Colton to look at her again. “It wasn’t a mistake. Not for us, at least.”

Colton heard a noise coming from across the park. Despite the silence and stillness of the night, he could barely hear the horsepower of the liter engine as it approached. Colton stared hard at Maria, then looked back to the park.

“What’s going on?”

“Correcting a mistake,” she pronounced with a strong inflection on the last word. Maria reached down and grabbed the briefcase. She pressed it against her supple breasts, wrapping her arms around it, her fingers snug against it. “Inside here is what we need to correct it. We know everything about you.”

The boxy Mercedes SUV moved onto the street, headlights on full beam.

Colton’s brain roamed, trying to process what was happening as the car moved closer.

Maria’s eyes stayed glued on Colton. The loud screeching of brakes soon replaced the thrum of the tires over the smooth pavement. Tendrils of smoke escaped from under the frame as the pounding bass of music could be heard.

Confused and scared, Colton grabbed Maria, shaking her.

“What’s going on, Maria!”

“Hands off my girl,” a voice as deep as the bass pulsing from their stereo called out from the street. The voice sounded ethnic—Mexican or Hispanic.

Colton could see a large man dressed in black and carrying a metal rod approaching the porch from the corner of an eye.

Colton couldn’t make out any facial features on the man, but he did see two other men pouring out of the back seat, each clad in 13

A Final Call

the same solid black outfits, faces obscured. The two trailing men clutched shotguns in their hands.

“Time to go for a little ride.”

Neither Colton nor Maria moved a muscle. Colton could hear his heartbeat. He could even hear Maria’s nervous breaths.

Two sets of footsteps were coming toward them. One was heavy and slow, the other quicker and lighter.

“Let’s go, boy!” one of the men called, pumping the iron rod in his hand.

Colton saw that Maria watched them all closely, and the distraction caused her to loosen her grip on the briefcase. That’s when Colton made a decision and reacted.

He jerked the briefcase from Maria. As she let out a yelp in protest, Colton flung it in the direction of the closest dark shadow near the porch. The briefcase made contact, and a dull thud pierced the air. The man ticked off several words Colton didn’t recognize. Colton jumped from the porch and pushed past the distracted and off-balanced man and ran toward the park.

The other two men screamed at each other in a different language, and Colton could hear them running behind him.

The distance was all that mattered now. Colton had to find a way to get away from them.

The clearing in front of Fairview Park became more silver between the shadows that stretched out as if it were yawning.

As Colton moved deeper into the middle, the shadows of trees blended into the blackness, and their silhouettes against the sky grew more pronounced.

From behind, Colton could hear the men calling out to one another in between deep gasps of breath. Their grunts interspersed with shouted quips, which got louder as if the volume of their voices had been turned upward.

Colton felt like his heart would explode from his chest.

Rivulets of sweat hindered his sight as it ran down his forehead and into his eyes. As he continued to pump his legs forward, he couldn’t remember what was on the other side of the park. He coughed out some spit that had grown dense and thick in his mouth and wondered if he would even make it to the other side.

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If one of the men chasing him had a gun, the instant he had a clear shot at Colton, he would probably take it.

Colton refocused his thinking. The light from the low-hanging moon paled his skin. He focused on the broken twigs beneath his feet. With each snap and pop, Colton knew he was still moving.

He ran harder. His legs began to tingle, and his chest began to burn. Colton cut a sharp left, running between two large trees that had just regained their leaves after another predictably brutal Cleveland winter.

Colton dug his right heel into the soft ground and pushed off to the right, cutting back. If the men were close enough to see him moving in different directions, it might confuse them.

After a few more seconds, Colton could only hear the sound of his footfalls pounding against the earth. The scuffle of his feet was the only reminder that he was still alive, still moving.

Soon, a yellow lamplight illuminated the path.. A darkening, quiet gloom filled the space. Panicked, Colton stopped and looked up and down the street, trying to find someone that could help him.

Down the road, just before it sliced behind a thicket of sagging tree branches, Colton could see the yellow silhouette of a taxi. A surge of relief came over him. Colton swallowed, sucked in a breath, and ran.

As Colton approached, the cab driver locked his dead gaze on him. Colton waved his arms at the man.

He could make out a burning red ember that pierced the darkness before going black. A cloud of cigarette smoke dropped down and rose into the air. The acrid smell made Colton cough as he grew closer.

The driver, a portly man with round, sloped shoulders and greasy blond hair that stuck out from under a Cleveland Indians baseball cap, leaned against the grill of the cab.

“Please,” Colton spat out as he came to a halt, “I need some help.”

The driver took another drag of the cigarette. “I’m off duty.”

The words rang hollow. “Please. I need to get out of here.”

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A Final Call

The driver smiled, revealing a crooked canine tooth that protruded from the right side of his mouth. Colton looked over his shoulder, trying to hear if the men were coming.

“Please! I’m desperate.”

The driver gave Colton a long stare. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Colton was ready to punch the man and take his keys if that was what it took. He clenched his fists. The driver noticed the gesture and stared at Colton’s hands.

“Fine.” He dropped the cigarette on the street and stomped it out. “I’m in.” He folded his arms across his protruding gut.

“Where to, sir?”

Colton stalked past the driver and opened the back. He cut him a sideways glance as he collapsed into the seat, then he called out the first address that came to mind.

“103 Riverwood Avenue.”

The driver loped around the side of the car and slowly collapsed into the seat. Bones popped as he seemed to push his stomach around the base of the steering wheel.

“Kid, we’re on West 210th Street. Riverwood Avenue is in Bratenahl, all the way across town.”

“I know where it is!”

“It’s going to be an expensive ride.”

“I’m good for it.” Colton slammed his hand against the padded headrest, which he found riddled with holes. “Drive!”

The driver keyed the ignition and flipped two switches on the boxed meter jutting out from the dashboard so that the squared red numbers came to life and began turning.

The driver pulled the car onto the road. As they drove past the clearing into Fairview Park, Colton made out two shadows emerging from a crease that divided the park entrance from the road. Two men, light-skinned with black hair and dressed in all black, started looking up and down the sidewalk. Colton slid down in the seat.

The driver eyed him through the rearview mirror. “Fuck, son, you’re as white as a sheet. I guess you are in trouble.”

Colton closed his eyes. The inside of the cab smelled like sour milk and stale cigarette smoke.

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His head snapped up as the cab came to a sudden stop.

Colton didn’t know if he’d fallen asleep, but his mind felt hazy and his head woozy.

“We’re here. 103 Riverwood Avenue.”

Colton pulled some wadded money from his pocket and flung it at the driver. The man watched it fall onto the seat like drifting snow.

“Hey, I don’t have time to pick this up and count all of it.

Don’t stiff me, kid.”

Colton swung his legs onto the street. “Count it. If it’s not enough, I’ll be back in a minute with the rest.”

Before the driver could object, Colton shut the door. He turned to look at the one-story stucco house with a low-hanging roof and bay window that swept across the front, flickering light onto the street.

Colton was taking a big chance by coming here, but he had nowhere else to go.

He sauntered up the sidewalk, feeling the emotional and physical fatigue fall on him like dead weight.

Colton walked up to the door. The porch light was off, but a yellow tabby cat sat perched on the stoop, looking onto the street.

Its name was Mittens or Muffin, or something stupid like that.

Colton pounded on the door with both fists, not pausing in between strokes. Finally, the door slowly crept open.

“Colton?”

A girl with straight brown hair, dark eyes, and a perfect hourglass figure wearing a T-shirt and nylon shorts filled the frame.

“Hi, Brooke.”

“Jesus. What are you doing here?”

Colton felt his lips quiver. “Can I come in?”

“What? Why? I mean, no. This isn’t right.”

Colton pushed back. “Please, Brooke. I had nowhere else to go.”

Colton had soaked his clothes with sweat, and his skin felt slick and clammy.

Brooke motioned him inside and slowly shut the door, then spun on a heel to face him.

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“Are we alone?”

“Yes,” she said, indignant. “The baby is asleep. What’s going on, Colton? Why are you here?”

The kitchen and the living room were one large room, and Colton marched across the house’s living room side to the bay window and jerked the curtains over the glass.

“Colton…”

“Listen to me. Three men are following me. They know everything about me, and so does she.”

Brooke arched an eyebrow. “She?” Colton bit down on his lip and nodded.

“God, Colton.”

He hated it when Brooke used that exasperated, defeated tone with him.

“This is because of a woman? Who are these men, and what do they want?”

Colton felt Brooke studying him for a long moment. She recognized the fear in him, and something changed in her demeanor. Her eyes widened.

“Are they coming here? Do they know you’re here?

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. I was over at Fairview Park with Maria…”

“Stop. Just stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

Brooke did not easily hide her emotions on her oval-shaped face. Her pain was evident in the crease of her brow and down the curve of her full lips. Brooke’s eyes always showed her true feelings, and when she refused to look at Colton, he knew those green eyes would become deep pools of hopeless grief. In trying to get help, Colton had hurt her again.

Brooke turned and walked away before stopping near the kitchen and turning around. “Don’t just stand there. Come on, before I decide to call the police. I need to hear the whole story.”

She pointed her finger at him. “And I want all of it. From the beginning.”

As Colton turned and watched her walk away, he gazed upon Brooke. His mind wandered back to those moments of her na-

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ked form pressed against him in bed. He thought about the way her skin had felt under his fingers as he caressed her neck, then moved down to the crevice between her breasts, and the way she had bucked under his touch.

“Now, tell me what’s really going on,” Brooke said as she pulled two bottles of water from the refrigerator.

Colton jerked his belt loose and kicked off his shoes.

19

2 Stacy Tavitt secured the second strap of the bulletproof vest around her back and took a final look at the Glock 22 in her hand.

She loved its design, admired its strength and durability, and the bind-free action it provided, especially for dangerous assignments like this.

Her partner, Austin Cerrera, approached. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Stacy’s belt held a .40 Glock hanging from a strap and a P226 pistol secured on the other side.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m ready. I want to get this guy.”

Austin double-checked with the rest of the team. Eight men, all members of the Cleveland Police Department SWAT team.

Some of them had been with Stacy and Austin on dangerous assignments before, but some of the men were new, and Austin barely remembered their names.

“It does matter, Stacy,” Austin said. “We can handle this. I don’t think you being here is necessary.”

The sun was coming up over the city’s eastern side, throwing streaks of silver and gold over the clearing where the police had established a command center.

“I need to be here, and I want to be here,” Stacy said. “Brandon Deerfield was the last person to see my brother. He and Chance were the only ones in that cruiser that got T-boned by that truck.”

Austin sighed.

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“He wouldn’t talk to me about it. Remember when we questioned him?”

“I do.”

“He didn’t talk because he’s dirty. Maybe the threat of going to prison will get Brandon to talk—plus, there is nothing worse than a dirty cop.”

Stacy lifted her head and held a steady stare on her partner. “I want to end this. Once and for all.”

Austin sighed and put a hand on Stacy’s shoulder. Stacy frowned. “What about your breathing?”

Stacy blanched. “What about it?”

“What if we get close and you start coughing or can’t breathe?

It could put all of us in danger.”

Stacy, appearing hurt at the assertion, shook her head. “Thank you, doctor, but I know what I can and can’t do.”

Austin remained silent.

Stacy placed a hand on Austin’s chest. He stumbled back a step.

“I don’t want to be treated differently because of the injury.

I’ve been dealing with it now for over a year, and it hasn’t affected my ability to do the job.”

Austin’s face went red and then pale. “Really? How about that shooting we went on last month in East Cleveland? I can remember you leaning against the wall of that alley sucking wind. We had plenty of backup, but if you’d been alone…” Austin paused, then waved off the comment.

“That guy who was killed was a drug runner for Deerfield.

That murder led us here, remember?”

“Forget it. I should know by now that if you want to do something, you’re going to do it.”

Stacy gripped the Glock tighter with one hand and tapped Austin under the chin with the other.

“Austin, I would never allow it to put any of us in danger. I know myself and how I operate better than anybody. And you were the one that asked me if I wanted to be a part of this operation. You asked me to come along, remember?”

“I did. But in a support role.”

21

A Final Call

Stacy huffed.

“And what about Diana?”

Stacy arched an eyebrow. “What about her?”

“She thinks your part in this is in a supportive role.”

Stacy shrugged off the comment. “I can handle the captain.”

Austin set his jaw. “Fine. Let’s move out before daylight arrives.”

Austin turned his back to Stacy and made a circular motion with his hand. The rest of the men, clad in dark camouflage attire along with goggles and bulletproof vests, jostled their weapons.

The team carried a mix of M4 carbine guns, MP5/10 submachine guns, and .40 Glock pistols close to their bodies. The weapons were heavy, deadly, and needed to take on a situation that might turn lethal quickly.

As the group huddled together, Stacy whispered, “Be careful and expect anything. At least one of these guys is a cop, and he knows that we’re good at surprises.”

The men refused to look at Stacy. Austin moved ahead of the group first. The solid-built, full-blooded Hispanic with stocky legs and broad shoulders like slabs of granite offered a figure that was easy to follow. They moved away from the clearing by Shady Lane Road and headed into the wooded expanse.

Austin gave a signal, and half of the team fanned out to the right. Austin moved straight ahead, and Stacy veered to the left.

Everyone tested the radio equipment attached to their headsets and then went silent. A chill coursed through Stacy. Her body shivered. Early May in Cleveland had been mild but chilly.

Stacy watched as the urban scene around her changed. An embedded and untouched trail ran down the middle of the clearing. She followed it cautiously.

As Stacy walked down the footpath, a pink layer of light dappled the sky above her, reducing her need for a flashlight. A cold wind tore aggressively in and around the twisted, naked tree branches.

Each person on the team remained silent.

Pockets of standing water puddled together, resembling small, cloudy pools. Where there was no ponding, the ground 22

Eliot Parker

was soft and muddy, and Stacy could feel her boots sink and grow heavy.

Austin had led the team through the surveillance work on the property. The safe house was two hundred yards into the wooded clearing from the main road. Thugs like them love places in the woods, Stacy thought upon hearing the information, like the snakes they are.

Stacy hadn’t counted his steps, but she figured he was about seventy-five yards in.

As daylight continued to burn off the night overhead, Stacy noticed an interesting track of disturbed earth, just off to the right of the path. She pulled out her flashlight and shined it up ahead. The streaks broke like tentacles off the path, with smaller piles of dirt humped over them. The long lines looked fresh, and Stacy stopped.

“Unit 1, hold up for a minute.”

A beat passed before Austin’s hushed voice came back over the earpiece. “Why, what is it?”

“I’ve found some tracks and a mound of mud in the ground,” Stacy said. “I want to check it out before moving forward.”

Another voice came over the line, this one sharp and irritated. “Lieutenant, we’re ready to close in. We see the outline of the house.”

“It could be animal tracks,” Austin said. “Stacy...”

Stacy didn’t wait for approval. She crouched down and shined her light on the tracks. She checked around and behind her, making sure the flashlight wouldn’t draw attention from unwanted company. Stacy flicked away some of the mud. She shined the light closer to find a thin, white wire encased in dirt and snow.

The wire resembled one that would be used in an explosive.

Stacy felt her heart race and her throat clench. She brushed aside a little more mud and saw that the wire extended along a narrow trench, leading to the mound.

“Shit.” Stacy pressed the helmet mic close to her mouth. “Austin, what I’m seeing isn’t animal tracks.”

“Okay, stop, everybody,” Austin hissed. “Let’s wait for one minute.”

23

A Final Call

Stacy tried to speak, but she was cut off. This time, the tone that came across the earpiece was rushed and panicked.

“Shots fired, shots fired,” the voice hollered, and Stacy could hear the pop of sprayed bullets through the earpiece and in the open space.

The communication went silent for a moment before Stacy broke in. “Austin, call those guys back!”

Before anything else was said, a large explosion rocked the clearing. As the earth shook beneath her feet, Stacy dropped to her stomach as the right side of the wooded clearing illuminated in deep hues of orange and red, and thick gray smoke billowed into the skies. A veil of darkness now shaded the once-pale-pink sky. Smoke poured up, and thin, bright orange flames snaked their way between rows of trees.

“Christ!” Stacy made a fist and pounded it on the ground.

A strained voice croaked from Unit 1, “Man down, taking fire. Smoke and flames…”

Static filled the line, and the sound cut off. Stacy winced and tried to hold back a tear. She knew that the likelihood of anyone standing near the blast zone surviving the explosion would be low.

Stacy pulled herself up and clutched her gun. She charged across the clearing, moving quickly, scanning the area from side to side, prepared for anything.

Stacy felt like she was moving in slow motion. Eventually, the outline of the safe house appeared in the distance. The roof of the house was brown with decayed moss and caved in near the back.

The place looked like it had grown up from the earth and pulled all the vegetation along with it.

Stacy could hear the sounds of bullets whizzing through the space between the house and the clearing. The loud pops and the repeated thrum of gunfire created a dull hum over the scene, masking the danger.

As she moved closer, it appeared the shots were fired from the front of the house and into the midst of the clearing. Stacy assumed the thugs would be expecting a frontal assault from the police but did not anticipate someone moving in from the flanks.

24

Eliot Parker

Then, it happened. A slow, residual burning began to swell up in her chest. Stacy stopped and swallowed. Her breathing became shallow, and she closed her eyes, clenching her teeth and breathing heavily through her nose.

Not now!

The burning detonated inside her chest with an explosion of pain, and Stacy crouched down to one leg. She instinctively pressed a gloved fist to her chest and pushed into her breastbone.

Nothing worked. It never did. All she needed was time, and amid a botched manhunt, there was little of that.

Stacy took in a few deep breaths. Finally, the palpable pain that roiled her chest and staunched her breathing began to subside. Stacy paused again for a moment and then let out a long breath. She managed to survive another episode.

Collecting herself, Stacy pushed through into the clearing.

Looking to the left, she saw one of the SWAT team down, lying on his side, resting against a partially collapsed wooden fence to the house’s right. His body was a blackened mess that shook and lunged from injuries and trauma. Fresh mud marks indicated that he’d been pulled away from the shooting. Another SWAT member huddled over the body, supplying cover from the gunfire.

Stacy scanned the house, looking for a way in. Three more SWAT team members, led by Austin, inched closer to the house’s front, weaving in between the rotted bushes and naked splintered trees.

A lull came in the shooting. Stacy could make out a cellar door near the back corner of the house.

Her instincts kicked in. The gunshots coming from the front of the house were a diversion to keep the police from gaining entrance. Stacy knew that if Brandon Deerfield oversaw his crew, he knew that the way to catch the police by surprise in these situations was to hide in the shadows and use deceit whenever possible.

Stacy moved around the house. Someone from above caught sight of her movements and fired a shot, clipping her boot. She rushed ahead.

25

A Final Call

When Stacy approached the cellar door, she found it padlocked. She didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. Stacy lifted her Glock 22 and fired, splitting the lock in half. She took in a deep breath and pulled back one of the doors.

A blast of cold, stale air escaped through the open door.

“Police!” she shouted. The darkness in the space was lit briefly by the soft orange light that cascaded down from overhead.

Stacy aimed the gun and took a small step into the cellar, and then another.

To the right was a light switch. Stacy tapped it twice to check for frayed wiring or some other type of booby trap and then flipped it on.

When the single-blub light overhead bathed the room in a faint yellow, Stacy was greeted by Brandon Deerfield, pointing a gun at her, his other hand holding a square box with a trigger.

26

3 Stacy and Brandon stared at each other for a long moment.

Stacy broke the silence. “It’s over. Put the gun down, or this won’t end well.”

He shook his head defiantly. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”

Brandon steadied the revolver pointing at Stacy with his right hand while the left hand trembled, holding the box tightly in its grip with a slender finger hovering over a red switch.

Stacy held out a hand. “This can all be over very quickly. Give me the gun, Brandon. This is in your best interest. We can go home.”

He pulled back on the revolver hammer. “I said, don’t move!”

“Okay, fine,” Stacy said, backtracking. A burst of cold air from outside hit her back, although the Kevlar vest strapped to her chest provided a good barrier against the chill. Now several feet underground, she couldn’t hear any more gunshots.

“Let’s just talk, okay.” Stacy crouched down. Brandon lowered the revolver pointing at Stacy as he also slinked down. “I’m going to set my gun down first, and then we can talk, okay?”

Stacy placed the weapon down carefully in front of her. She slowly rose and took another deliberate step forward, stepping over the Glock with both boots.

Brandon twitched.

“Easy. Easy,” Stacy said softly.

He also took a step forward, and he and Stacy were now only a few feet apart. With the extra step, Brandon was more defined under the yellow light. His left hand shook with more force.

27

A Final Call

“Let’s just relax,” Stacy said. “We’re both cops. Both on the same side.” In the back of Stacy’s mind, she wondered if he would play along and then shoot her anyway. “We need to go. There are injured people here, Brandon. They need our help.”

Brandon blinked twice. “I’m sorry about that. But I can’t be arrested. I can’t go to prison.”

Stacy placed her hand over her chest. “That’s a different issue for later. Right now, we must get out of here and get some help.

These men are our colleagues, our friends.”

Brandon looked away. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Not too badly, anyway.”

Brandon was lean, gangly, and handsome in a vaguely gothic way. He wore baggy jeans and an oversized green tee shirt. Brandon had a pallid, slightly starved look as if he hadn’t eaten well or seen sunlight in a long time. Eyes rimmed with purple circles, his fingernails speckled with black, he had a pointy chin but wide cheekbones and surprisingly brilliant-green eyes. The crease in his arm between the forearm and elbow was taped with a bandage.

“I know you’re caught up in a bad situation.”

Sweat began to bead on Brandon’s forehead. “I’m not going to jail!” he screeched. “I’m not a bad person!”

Stacy watched Brandon give a one-eyed blink. His left hand holding the trigger shook more jarringly.

“So, what are you going to do?” Stacy asked. “Shoot me and pull that trigger? And then do what? Blow up the place? Kill yourself?”

Brandon glanced at his trembling finger. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“For what? Because people think you’re a dirty cop?” Stacy looked up and casually turned her head from side to side. “What’s going on, Brandon? Are you hooked on drugs? Is that what started it? You’re hooked. You can’t stop, and you can’t afford it. And so you become something—someone you’re not.”

Brandon shook his head dismissively.

“We know everything!” Stacy shouted, her voice getting away from her in the moment. She took a long pause and lowered her tone.

28

Eliot Parker

“The entire investigations division has been watching you for weeks now. We know the man killed in East Cleveland knew you and that he was a runner for you. They examined the sign-in and sign-out logs during shift changes at the station. There was a pattern of you leaving work early before the shift was over and then leading an organized meeting with your buddies while still in uniform. They believe that the CPD gave their blessing on your activities.”

The rivulets of sweat began to dribble down his nose and land on the dimple in his chin. “Shut up,” Brandon barked. “You know nothing about me!” Brandon straightened his arm and placed a finger tighter around the revolver trigger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t know anything about your brother or where he is.”

Hearing that made Stacy rock back a bit in her stance. She tried not to focus on what Brandon had said about Chance. Stacy put her hands up, palms facing Brandon. “Okay, fine. Then why all of this? Why meet and do business with the same people we are trying to protect the citizens of Cleveland from?”

The loud, heavy patter of feet overhead created an echoing thud inside the storm cellar. No words were spoken. A thin mist of dust from the old floorboards above came loose, and the granules fell in slow motion between them.

Stacy pointed to the chaos above. “Our friends have made it inside. It’s not going to be long now before the rest of the group is either shot or in handcuffs.”

Brandon looked up for a second. The sounds of feet on the sagging floorboards grew heavy and softer with each step.

“I can help, Brandon, but once my friends come down here, it’s over.”

Brandon lifted an eyebrow and his mouth tilted. “Will I go to jail for the rest of my life?”

“That depends,” Stacy said. “Pointing a gun at me and threatening to blow up this house doesn’t help.”

His eyes became watery, his voice quivered. “Don’t you know what they do to ex-cops in prison?”

29

A Final Call

Stacy heard footsteps behind her. She held her gaze on Brandon, whose body now trembled. Stacy fixed a stare on the trigger and was ready to pounce if Brandon’s grip on the device loosened.

“What’ll it be, Brandon?”

As Brandon bit down on his lower lip, Austin burst into the room with his M4 carbine pointing straight at Brandon.

Stacy held up a hand, stopping the charge. “He’s got a device with a trigger. The whole house is probably wired to explode.”

Stacy called out to Brandon. “It’s over. Put down the gun, and give us the device.”

Brandon’s eyes darted back and forth between them. He licked his lips and smacked them together. “No. No way. I’d rather us all die before I go to jail.”

Austin breathed heavily behind Stacy. “The house upstairs is secure,” he intoned.

“Come on, Brandon,” Stacy said in a pleading tone with an edge to it. “We’re not going to play games forever. Do you want to be shot?”

Brandon shook his head.

“Then do what I said and put the gun down and give me the device.”

A beat passed. Then, the ceiling above bowed down, and the quick blast of a gunshot could be heard overhead.

Both Stacy and Brandon looked up. Brandon’s face grew stern and menacing, and he lowered the revolver and prepared to press down on the device trigger.

The scene seemed to devolve as Stacy watched in disbelief.

“No!” Austin called out.

Stacy quickly grabbed the Glock .40 from the strap on her belt and fired at Brandon, clipping his shoulder. White-hot light flared off the end of his arm.

Brandon screamed and staggered back. The device lolled loosely in his hand, and Stacy charged him, plowing a shoulder into his chest and knocking him against the cinderblock wall.

Stacy felt the air being whiplashed out of Brandon as they hit the wall, and his body went limp. Stacy reached over and grabbed 30

Eliot Parker

the trigger. As they both slid to the ground, Stacy pressed her body harder against Brandon, making it impossible for him to squirm away.

Austin came over and took the device. Everyone was panting, trying to draw in the cool stale air in the cellar that pooled around them.

“Take the team and get away from here,” Stacy commanded.

“I don’t trust these guys. They may have motion-detecting explosives triggered like the one that already blew up.”

Austin stirred behind Stacy but didn’t move. “No. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Stacy ignored Austin and grabbed Brandon by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. A gaping head wound on the back of his head bled down his neck. Brandon tried looking at Stacy, but his eyes danced around in his head. Brandon couldn’t focus his attention on anything.

He moaned, and Stacy lifted his shirt. Too shaky to resist, his arms flayed about like they had no muscles in them.

Austin called out to her. “Stacy…”

Satisfied, Stacy pulled down his shirt. She grabbed the left arm and ripped off the bandage. A small puncture mark in the bend of his arm had bruised, bled, and turned a sickly purple.

“Fresh puncture,” Stacy said, straining to stand him. Stacy knelt and pulled up the leggings on the sweatpants.

“Help me get his shoes off,” Stacy called back.

“Back off, Stacy! Now!” Stacy ignored Austin. She lifted one of Brandon’s legs on the floor and slammed it straight into the ground. Brandon whimpered and tried pushing Stacy away.

“Where’s my brother,” Stacy hissed. “Where’s Chance?”

Stacy looked down at the tops of both feet and examined the spaces between the toes. She lifted her boot.

“He wasn’t taken to the hospital to see me after my injury, and that is your fault. Why was the car hit by that truck? Do you owe somebody a favor? I swear to God, I’ll break every one of your toes one by one until you tell me.”

Before Stacy could say or do anymore, Austin pulled her away.

31

A Final Call

“Enough, damn it.” Austin pulled back, and Stacy stumbled, falling back and knocking Austin to the ground.

Brandon collapsed back against the wall and slid down, holding his bleeding shoulder and crying.

Stacy pushed herself up and spun around to face Austin, who had also risen to his feet.

“What the fuck was that? He’s been handled.” Austin’s voice was like ice.

“I think he knows a lot more,” Stacy said, wiping the dust off her lips and spitting on the ground.

“About the drugs or about Chance?”

Stacy eyed him. “They’re both connected.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. We can find that out after we take him into custody,” Austin said.

Brandon moaned again behind them. The humming scream of sirens sounded from outside.

“He’s fine,” Stacy replied, securing and holstering the dropped Glock 22. “The bullet just grazed his shoulder. I want the bastard alive.”

“That bullet fired at close range could’ve blown his damn arm off.”

“Am I missing something here? He had a gun pointed at me, not you, and he was seconds away from blowing us up.”

“Stacy…”

Stacy turned around and immediately looked down, wiping the dirt from her vest.

“Hey,” Austin said, pushing Stacy in the chest. “Look at me.”

Stacy turned around and locked eyes with her partner in a steely gaze. Austin turned around and set his jaw and stared right back at Stacy with intent.

“Hold it together. I can’t take the risk of you fighting on after the round is over.”

Stacy pressed her lips into a thin line and let a second pass, avoiding giving back the first inappropriate comment that crossed her mind.

“I’m fine. I’m just doing my job, Sergeant Cerrera.”

Austin lifted an eyebrow and cocked his head. “Go outside and cool off. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

32

Eliot Parker

“Do that,” she said, clipping Austin’s shoulder with her own.

She crouched down and climbed out of the cellar. Cops and paramedics were canvasing the clearing and the spaces around the house. The sky above had changed from a watermelon pink to a soft yellow, but a numbing chill still made Stacy shiver. Thin plumes of smoke from the explosion still hung in the air, close to the house.

Across the yard, Stacy could see one of the men was being placed on a gurney and then lifted into the ambulance.

Two other members of the SWAT team gathered around as the ambulance drove away.

Stacy walked toward the front of the house. The wraparound wooden porch was bowed in the middle, and the boards were faded and chipped. First responders walked carefully but quickly around the depressed areas, often looking down to make sure they weren’t stepping into a soft spot that would give way.

Another team member came out of the house with an arm heavily taped and in a sling. Behind him, one of the uniformed cops held an M4 carbine away from his body, almost like he expected it to fire.

“Got another suspect down inside,” the cop said to a paramedic that approached the porch. Stacy surmised that the suspect must have been the victim of the gunshot she’d heard earlier in the cellar.

With a patch that said Barry, one of the SWAT team members approached Stacy, carrying an evidence bag.

“Lieutenant.”

“Barry.” She tossed a look at the ambulance as it drove away.

When she looked back, Barry looked forlorn and glanced at the place where his body had rested.

“He’s in pretty bad shape, Lieutenant. It was some type of explosive device in the ground. We were making an assault on the house, and then boom! I searched behind the house and found more of these humped mounds in the ground. They had the whole damn place wired.”

Stacy nodded and took another look at the scene unfolding in front of her.

33

A Final Call

“I wanted to show you this,” Barry said. He opened the bag and removed the contents.

Stacy stared. “What is that?”

Barry held several partially filled sheets of paper with numerical data written on them. The corners and ends of the pages were stained a light brown.

Stacy squinted and looked closer. Her mouth dropped open.

“There is some type of dirt or grease smeared in the same places on all of these pages.”

34

4 Stacy went to her loft apartment in the Warehouse District of Cleveland and managed a quick shower and clothes change before heading to the Cleveland Police Department’s headquarters.

She changed from her sweat-logged SWAT uniform into a black pair of slacks with a green blouse and a buckskin-colored jacket that hung loosely below her hips. A pair of black heeled boots completed her outfit, and she had snapped her Cleveland Police Department Lieutenant shield onto the front of her belt while her standard Glock 22 was holstered on the other side. The long jacket would cover up the gun, per department regulations, and show respect inside headquarters and interactions with the public.

It was just past six a.m., and the typically thick bands of traffic had not clotted the downtown roads and highways yet.

Stacy pulled her Toyota Camry into the parking lot of the Cleveland Police Department headquarters. The square, streetfront building, with rows of narrow slits of glass windows covering the building, made a strong impression on the block. From the parking lot, it looked as though the building was propped up in thin air with angular concrete sticks that rose from the sidewalk. Dark stucco covered the wall space between the main lobby entrance area and the first-floor offices and interview rooms.

Stacy walked to the front of the building, weaving her way around small pockets of people exiting the station. The foot traffic would grow steadily throughout the morning, and from ten a.m. until late into the night, the department’s building would be bustling with activity.

35

A Final Call

Stacy traversed the open lobby and smiled and waved to Marty, the desk sergeant. Marty prided himself in controlling the front lobby and did so by putting up with little nonsense from the public. Yet, he always took a moment, no matter how busy, to smile and wave to Stacy as she passed by.

By the time Stacy had stepped into the elevator and made her way to the Robbery/Homicide Special Operations Unit on the third floor, Austin came walking down the narrow corridor of office cubicles along the far-left wall carrying a cup of coffee. Before Stacy could turn the corner, Austin slipped into his cubicle area, ignoring her.

Stacy weaved her way into the space, making eye contact with the rich-colored, round pupils of her partner while he lifted the receiver on the black office phone and began punching buttons. Even though it was early, Austin had already removed his gray suit jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. He had loosened the red tie knot around his shirt collar, and his light blue shirt already looked rumpled.

Stacy sat down at her desk across from him. The cheap, tancolored plastic partition that divided their desks from the rest of those in the Robbery/Homicide Detective Bureau wobbled as Stacy grazed it with her arm while sitting down.

Austin cradled the receiver against his shoulder and began scribbling notes on a legal pad.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

Austin kept writing, more feverishly this time. Stacy always thought his handwriting was terrible, and the speed at which he scribbled information was the likely cause.

“I’m sorry, Austin. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt and difficult back at that safe house.”

Austin tossed the phone receiver into the cradle, and it rattled before clicking into the well. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

His dark skin always had a pinkish hue, and his wavy black hair was trim and glossy where it rested nicely on his head. He had a slight nose bump and a prominent chin, which he stroked with his long, tanned fingers.

36

Eliot Parker

“It was much more than abrupt and difficult,” he said, his baritone voice always smooth and precise. “You were a bitch!”

A slight smirk crossed her face. “I agree. Comment deserved.”

“And nearly reckless,” he added. “Had I not shown up, you might’ve killed Deerfield right there.”

Stacy scoffed. “I needed some leverage.”

Austin shook his head. “Leverage for Chance.” He sighed.

“We all want to know what happened to Chance, and we will find out.” He leaned over the desk, nostrils flared. “Brandon Deerfield is our best chance. If he starts squalling that we used excessive force against him...”

Stacy looked away. “His head hit that wall pretty hard. I’m not too sure he knew what was happening to him.” Stacy rested her arms on her desk and leaned onto them. “Deerfield is a dirty cop, and he knows something. Chance saw or heard something, and that’s why he’s gone underground.” She paused and lifted a hand, waving a finger. “I suspect Deerfield learned Chance was my brother, and he said something to him. Threatened him. Hell, the truck that collided with the police cruiser could’ve been a hit on Chance set up by Deerfield, or someone settling a score with him.” Stacy caught herself and paused. Her face flushed red with embarrassment. She caught Austin glaring at her with pity. She sounded like a deranged conspiracy theorist.

“I don’t know, Austin. I really don’t. I haven’t heard from Chance in months, and I’m starting to wonder if I ever will again.”

Austin reached a hand forward and rested it on her arm. “We are going to find him. I promise.” Stacy looked down at Austin’s hand, touched by his tender gesture. “Still. Please be careful. And apology accepted.”

Austin’s ability to put tough situations in the past and not hold a grudge was one of the traits Stacy loved about him the most.

Sergeant Austin Cerrera was a junior detective on the homicide team of the Investigative Unit of the Cleveland Police Department. He and Stacy had worked nearly one hundred homicide investigations together over the last eleven years. Stacy met Austin when she’d been reassigned to the Homicide Unit. Austin 37

A Final Call

spent seven years working domestic violence cases for the department before being assigned to work homicides.

What made Austin a great cop was not just his compassion and a way of understanding people. Austin also had an indomitable presence that demanded respect under challenging situations, often without saying a word.

Stacy was hoping for a change of subject. That was when the figure of Diana Bannister filled the space between them.

“I just called the Cleveland Clinic and checked on Mike O’Neill. He’s got some pretty serious burns on his hands, face, arms, and a few broken ribs. He’s critical but stable, and they think he’s going to be okay.”

Captain Diana Bannister rested a hand against one of the partition poles’ round surfaces and slightly leaned on it. She was pert and trim, her brown hair cropped short, and lips pursed.

Diana had copper eyes that always shone when she spoke. An alert demeanor, hardened by years of experience and an understanding of the repulsive nature present in people, always animated her face. The navy pantsuit and white blouse top she wore emphasized everything in detail.

Stacy sat up straighter in her chair. “Do we know what detonated out there?”

“The techs are out there now taking a look and collecting fragments from the explosive. It appears to be something big.

Brandon Deerfield was prepared to blow that whole damn place up.”

Stacy and Austin exchanged glances. Diana took a step forward.

“I’m glad you are both okay.”

Stacy stood up. “Where’s Deerfield now?”

“We’re booking him,” the captain replied curtly. “I can’t believe we’re doing that to one of our own.” She shook off the remark. “No surprise that he’s asking for a lawyer.”

Austin scoffed. “He knows how this works.”

“Speaking of work, I need your reports typed and filed ASAP. The media is already calling, wanting to know what happened out there last night, and the chief wants to be fully briefed so 38

Eliot Parker

we’re not all caught with our pants around our ankles when the questions start.”

“On it, Cap,” Austin quipped.

“Also, I already called Gavin Knox in the prosecutor’s office and told him what was up. I expect he’ll be over here to talk to the both of you later.”

The captain regarded them both for a moment, then spun on a heel, and stalked off. Stacy took an uncomfortable swallow and coughed as she plopped down in her desk chair and began to wheeze. Austin bolted up from his chair and reached over to her.

Stacy held up a hand. “Give me a second,” she said through strangled breaths. She coughed violently again, trying to get the air in her lungs. The blood rushing to her head felt like a hammer slamming into her skull.

After a few more seconds, the sensation subsided, and Stacy was able to breathe normally again. During her breathing attack, she didn’t see Austin step outside of the cubicle and return with a glass of water. He held it out in front of her.

“Thanks.”

She took a sip as Austin glanced at her with a mixed expression of worry and pity. Stacy took in a few deep breaths and glanced over at the clock on her phone.

“I need to go,” she said, setting down the cup.

“Go home and rest for a bit. I’ll call you if anything changes or when Knox shows up.”

“I have an appointment,” Stacy blurted out. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Austin arched an eyebrow. “Sounds mysterious. What type of appointment?”

Stacy walked around the desk and peered down at her partner. “It’s a female appointment. You wouldn’t understand.”

Austin grinned. “No, I wouldn’t, and I don’t care to.”

Stacy collected herself and marched down the corridor to the elevators. It was nearing eight a.m., and the day shift team of officers was checking in.

39

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Officer Charlie Harris was pushing through the gathering swarm. His boyish good looks always stood out in a crowd, and his devotion and idealism were endearing.

“Lieutenant.” Charlie sucked in two deep breaths. “Don’t leave yet.”

“I need to, Charlie. I have an appointment in a little while.”

His face was ashen, and he slowly locked eyes with Stacy.

“There’s a hysterical woman downstairs that says she needs to speak to you right now. Marty tried to calm her down, and then he called me. She’s out of control and threatening to tear up the lobby if she doesn’t see you.”

Stacy knew people often used those ploys to get law enforcement’s attention, especially detectives who were working active investigations. When the family member or friend of a victim felt the police were not giving their situation enough attention, they came to headquarters and created a public stir to get the attention.

“What’s her name?”

“Monica DeVito. She said her son is missing and that the two of you are old friends and college classmates.”

40

5 “Monica DeVito.”

Stacy repeated the name several times as if she were trying out the sound in her mouth. “And what does she want with me?”

When Stacy stepped into the lobby of headquarters, Monica DeVito was standing on the top of a chair, jutting a finger at Marty and shouting something inaudible, speaking in a different language. Several other uniformed officers, some leaving at the end of the night shift and some arriving for the day shift, formed a circle around the woman. Stacy noticed one of the younger officers with his fingers grazing the Taser attached to his belt.

“Monica,” Stacy called out. “Monica DeVito! I am Lieutenant Tavitt. I understand you want to talk to me.”

At that moment, Monica froze and glared at Stacy. She nearly stumbled as she got off the chair. Dressed in a faded gray sweatshirt and jeans with faded white tennis shoes, Monica was short, probably around five-ten, with a curvy figure, and she had thick brown hair cut to her shoulders. Her face was flushed pink, and a vein in her skin snaked across the forehead. Stacy looked Monica over to confirm she wasn’t brandishing a weapon.

“It’s about time,” Monica proclaimed as she stepped toward Stacy. “Stacy. Thank you! I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

Her brown eyes were deep-set, and they pulsed with an energy that Stacy recognized in people in distress.

Stacy nodded at the circle of officers. “It’s okay, guys. I’ve got it. Thanks.”

The circle stayed intact for a moment before slowly breaking apart. A few of the men went to check on Marty. Others who had 41

A Final Call

been watching the spectacle disbanded since the show was now over.

Stacy made a gesture, and then Monica fell against her in an embrace.

“Thank God. Stacy, please, please help me.” Monica spoke in the typical Italian of a Clevelander, which featured stressing consonants powerfully and producing sharp sounds and adding vowels at the end of words. Stacy found the dialect clear and understandable.

Stacy shifted her weight, and Monica broke her embrace.

When Stacy looked down at her face, she noticed a block of perfect white teeth, which seemed to accentuate the protruding forehead vein even more.

Not wanting to agitate Monica any further, Stacy offered a solution. “Why don’t we go somewhere else so we can talk in private? I could really use a cup of coffee.”

Monica softened her rigid posture at that offer as if someone had suddenly pushed a large volume of air out of her body. “Yes, yes. That would be fine.”

Stacy and Monica left headquarters and walked down Ontario Street. The early morning sky was a rich, marbled gray, and the trees planted along the sidewalks looked elegant in their bare beauty. Stacy noticed some of the buds were ready to open into the light, ready to color the world for the warmer spring days to come.

Given that Monica’s outburst in the lobby had her saying a lot, Stacy was surprised that she had remained silent as they walked. Monica kept a furtive pace, hands stuffed in her jeans pockets, and looked down at the sidewalks and streets. Stacy kept up but trailed behind her, trying to glean any clues from her body language.

When they reached the West Superior Avenue traffic circle that cut around the edge of Tower City, Stacy nodded to the Starbucks on the corner.

“Fine. Fine,” Monica replied, charging across the intersection before the pedestrian walk signal illuminated.

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They weaved through the crowds of people clutching their coffee cups, blowing steam rising from the tops while they talked and took slurps of liquid. Inside, they found a table.

“Me first,” Monica said, still standing as Stacy sat down. “Coffee is on me.” Monica spoke in that sweet, alluring childish way that was also a part of the Italian dialect.

Stacy didn’t have a chance to place her order before Monica returned with two large cups of coffee. Stacy gave a half-smile as Monica presented her the cup. She closed her fingers around it, letting the heat warm them before taking a sip. It was hot, fresh, and black, just like Stacy liked it.

“Monica, I’m not sure how we know each other.”

“Let me explain,” she said, blowing over the lip of her cup and taking a sip. Her lips smacked together, and she pushed the cup aside.

“It’s been so long,” she began. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

Stacy stared at her cup for a moment before locking eyes with Monica. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

A gleam flashed in Monica’s eyes. “Does the name Robert Murphy at Cleveland State University mean anything?”

Stacy furrowed her brow. As she mulled over the name, pleasant memories did not come to mind. “Dr. Murphy. It does.

Introduction to Criminal Justice.”

“Yes, and I sat behind you in class.”

Stacy searched the woman’s face, and then something clicked.

“Monica. Monica Wilson. Oh, my God. You’re Monica Wilson?”

Monica outstretched her arms. Her entire countenance brightened. “That’s me. Although I am married now.”

Stacy reached forward and pulled Monica’s hands into her own. “Monica Wilson. How long has it been?”

“Twenty-three years.”

Stacy held her hands tighter. They were warm, like the coffee cup.

“I hated Dr. Murphy’s class,” Stacy said. “He just read to us from the book. For two-and-a-half hours.”

Monica rolled her eyes. “I remember. I also remember you taking notes on everything he said.”

43

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“That’s because our grade was based on three tests. Flunk one, and it was over.”

“Yes. And then we lost touch.”

The mood had soured. “That was my fault,” Stacy exclaimed, although she couldn’t recall if that were true.

“No. It was my fault. I had signed up to take police theory with you in the spring semester, but then I transferred and eventually dropped out. We always wanted to be cops, and you were the one that made it.”

Monica cut off Stacy before she could say anything else.

“I didn’t know if you were still working in Cleveland, and then I saw what happened in the fall with the murder of that Browns football player.” She frowned. “And that terrible man kidnapped you, hurt you…”

Monica nodded slowly, as if saddened by the memory, and then looked down at the table. The sadness and desperation that Stacy noted at headquarters had returned.

Stacy released her hands. She didn’t want to think about what happened to her last fall or anything else about Devon Baker, the Cleveland Browns, or Jamal the informant, who had come close to nearly killing her.

“It’s so good to see you, Monica,” she said brightly, trying to soften the sadness in both of them. “Truly. Now, what did you want to talk about?”

Monica brought her head up slowly. Her eyes welled with tears. “My boy, Colton, is missing.”

Stacy felt her stomach clench when she heard the word missing. It was a frightening word for families and a perplexing one for the police because it led to so many possibilities, most of them grim.

“Okay. What happened?”

Monica recounted what she knew for Stacy. Colton had finished electrician school at Cuyahoga Community College and got a job with American Electric Power after graduation. The company had assigned him to work in Houston to help rebuild damaged transmission lines in Houston’s various neighborhoods following Hurricane Harvey.

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In Houston, American Electric Power had found one of their trucks parked near an apartment complex rewired following Hurricane Harvey. The truck emitted an electronic pulse back to the Houston transportation center when parked without any activity. Another work crew found the vehicle and traced it back to Colton, the last known driver. But there was no sign of him anywhere near the truck. After another day had passed and Colton didn’t show up for work, his boss contacted Houston police and asked them to go to his apartment and conduct a welfare check.

They found mail still in the mailbox and no lights on anywhere in the apartment.

On the third day, the police came back with Colton’s landlord and opened the apartment. The apartment inside was orderly and tidy, Colton’s bed made, and it looked like nobody had been there for several days. Stacy listened intently and nodded thoughtfully.

“Something bad has happened, Stacy. I can feel it.” Monica slapped her hand against her chest. “I am a mother. My son is missing, and something bad has happened.”

Stacy understood the feeling of a missing loved one—more than she wanted to share with Monica right now.

“Monica, if Colton has been living and working in Houston, you need to file the missing person’s report with the Houston Police Department. That is not our jurisdiction.”

“I did today,” she said. “But they think Colton might be back in Cleveland.”

Stacy had brought the coffee cup to her lips but froze in midmovement. She sat it back down. “Why?” “My husband flew to Houston yesterday to meet with the police. They found the receipt for a bus ticket. They are not sure when it was purchased, but the ticket said it was for a trip to Cleveland.”

Stacy let the silence pool around that thought. “Could it be an older ticket? Maybe one Colton purchased a while back to come and visit you for the holidays or some other reason?”

At that, Monica’s resolve crumbled. She began sobbing, dotting her eyes with the one small corporate-issued napkin provided to every customer for each Starbucks order.

45

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Stacy observed her gestures. The woman was clearly hurting.

“Colton doesn’t talk to his father or me much anymore. He left home and hasn’t been back.” She looked at Stacy with eyes full of discomfort, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s complicated.”

Stacy nodded. “It always is.” Stacy pieced together what she’d heard and then tried a different tact. “Maybe Colton was planning to surprise you with a visit?”

Monica brushed off the suggestion with a waved hand. “There is no reason for him to come home in early May. No birthdays, holidays, nothing.”

“So, you and your husband believe that he might be here.”

“Yes.” “Does he have friends who still live in the area? Someone he might be staying with?”

Monica shook her head again. Stacy watched her stop after a moment, eyes flitting back and forth like she was trying to come up with a memory from the deep recesses of her mind.

“There is someone. An ex-girlfriend. Her name is Brooke Crawford. Oh, Colton loved her so. Nearly broke his heart when she left him. But I don’t think he’d be with her now.”

Stacy made a mental note of the name.

“Is he seeing anyone else?”

Monica shook her head. “No. Oh God, when Brooke left Colton, it devastated him.” She smirked through her sadness.

“Colton always had girls wanting to date him, but Brooke was different. When they broke up, his father and I tried setting him up on dates with girls whose parents were friends of ours, but Colton never went on one date with any of them. He would just get teary-eyed and say that Brooke was the only girl he’d ever love.”

Monica took another sip of her coffee and sniffled. She locked eyes on Stacy, eagerly waiting for a reply or an offer of help. Stacy watched her breathing become labored, and she rocked forward in the seat.

“Let me see what I can do,” Stacy said.

46

Eliot Parker

Monica brightened again. “Oh, thank you. Thank you, Stacy.

Anything you can do, anything to help, would be great.” Monica jumped from her seat and raced over to Stacy. She grabbed Stacy’s head and gave her a big kiss.

“Grazie! Grazie! Bless you,” Monica said.

A quick chirp emanated from Stacy’s pocket, so she pulled out her cell phone. It was Austin.

“Excuse me a minute, Monica.” Monica lowered her head in a low bow.

“What’s up? Any news on Deerfield?”

“No, not yet. Are you finished with your appointment?”

Stacy looked at Monica, who steepled her hands together and kept whispering Grazie to herself over and over.

“Not exactly. Why?” “We just got a call from dispatch. Homicide in Bratenahl.

BPD called and asked for assistance.”

Stacy sucked in a breath. “Okay. I’m over at Tower City. Wait on me. I’ll be right there.”

Austin was speaking to someone else in the background. His voice came back to the phone, strong and clear.

“I’m already over here. It’s bad, Stacy. Really bad.”

47

6 Stacy powered her Camry onto Interstate 90 after coming off U.S. Route 20, heading to Bratenahl.

Bratenahl is a village in Cuyahoga County bordered by Cleveland on three sides and Lake Erie’s shoreline to the north.

The suburb is one of Cleveland’s older residential neighborhoods, along with Shaker Heights, Lakewood, and Cleveland Heights. A small community of fewer than twelve hundred residents, many of the homes that line the community are a mixture of stately homes, townhouses, and condominiums on Lake Erie’s lakefront. Lake Shore Boulevard, which runs down the suburb’s outer edge, has been featured many times in national magazines, including Better Homes and Gardens.

Interstate 90 ran parallel to Lake Erie. Stacy had enjoyed boating and walking alongside Lake Erie at one time. That all changed when she was ambushed in September by two men pushing a dangerous drug into Cleveland from Canada through the Cuyahoga River’s wide channels. When Stacy came upon the men as they were loading a boat with drug freight at a dock in the Flats, the men jumped Stacy, knocked her unconscious, and threw her into the Cuyahoga River, hoping the river canal would push her body into Lake Erie.

Stacy had survived but suffered irreparable damage to the tissue and nerve endings in her lungs. Thoracic outlet syndrome was the diagnosis from doctors. The syndrome occurs when blood vessels or nerves in the space between the collarbone and the first rib become compressed. It will typically cause pain in the shoulders and neck and numbness in the fingers. Stacy’s case 48

Eliot Parker

had been much worse. Since she lay unconscious for so long in the water, the nerve and blood vessel damage had spread to her lungs. At times, Stacy felt like she was trying to breathe with broken shards of glass in her chest while a vice pressed her chest and back together with enormous pressure.

Stacy looked out her driver’s side window to see the lake.

In the early morning sunshine, Lake Erie along the shore and I-90 appeared to have rings of light dancing off the water. The rugged shoreline was a tangled mass of gnarled roots writhing down into the water. The rippled water ran right into the crevices, washing soil and dirt from the rocks and lapping them back into the opaque waters of the lake.

Thinking about the damp cold of the water and thoracic outlet syndrome made Stacy shiver. She collected herself and took a few minutes to complete a few breathing exercises, which her doctor had recommended to try and ward off the frequency and potency of her breathing attacks.

Once Stacy had said goodbye to Monica and got away from her, she called Austin back and he gave her the address. It was a neighborhood Stacy knew well.

The Spice Place subdivision was bracketed by two large culde-sacs, the furthest of which had homes dappling a long peninsula facing Lake Erie. When Stacy approached the house, she was relieved to see the Bratenahl police had already established a wide perimeter around the property. Two officers manned the entrance and exit roads leading into the subdivision, limiting access to emergency personnel only. As the sun tried to break through the clouds, the pulsing blue and red lights from the police cruisers and ambulances were little more than smudgy illuminations in the slanted gray light.

Stacy parked near the perimeter fence, which was nothing more than yellow police tape wrapped around two oak trees on both sides of the street. She was immediately approached by an older, portly officer who loped with a wide gait as he walked.

Stacy pulled back her jacket to reveal her badge and gun. The man sighed, bent down and stared at the shield, and waved her to pass through.

49

A Final Call

In just a few steps, she was on the front steps of the porch. A cat hung close to the front door with a perplexed look on its face as people rushed around it. Austin traipsed over it, hands covered with latex gloves and his small notepad clutched in between his fingers. He passed Stacy a fresh pair of gloves.

“Who called this in?”

Austin looked back. “The victim’s mother.” He paused for a moment and swallowed.

“There was a baby involved. An infant. Grandma came to pick up her grandson and found her daughter.”

Hearing the word baby made Stacy freeze in horror. She suddenly felt sick, and a stream of bile shot up her throat. “Jesus. A baby was involved?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Please tell me…”

Austin shook his head. “No. He was unharmed. I can’t say the same for the mother.”

“Has someone taken the grandmother’s statement yet?”

“We’re working on that now.”

“Who’s the lead detective here from Bratenahl?”

“Someone named Yates.”

Stacy nodded and stretched the gloves over her hand. “Show me where she is.”

Austin led Stacy into the home’s foyer next to a spacious living room with a wood-burning fireplace and huge double windows bringing in natural light. Straight ahead was a dining room with a small oak table directly adjacent to the kitchen adorned with stainless steel appliances. The windows above the kitchen sink faced the backyard, which had a deck with built-in seating and a picnic table. Directly across the dining room was one of the bedrooms. The hushed voices and blasts of white light from camera bulbs told Stacy this was where the victim was found.

Before Stacy entered the bedroom, she glanced at a picture, framed in glass with gold trim. The photo, taken from a distance, featured a girl standing in front of a wooden fence, posing. It appeared to be a picture taken of the victim when she was in college.

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Eliot Parker

The girl had a tall frame and a slender body. As Stacy leaned in closer, she noticed that the girl’s blue eyes were calm. She had long, wavy blonde hair. The bright red hue of the lipstick she wore accentuated her alabaster skin and eyes. She was a beautiful girl, and Stacy could understand if boys wanted to pursue her.

Austin held out an arm in front of Stacy, blocking her entrance. “It’s really bad.”

Stacy frowned and collected herself. She gave Austin a curt nod.

The bedroom resembled the scene from a horror movie. The room itself was long and narrow, and blood spatter covered three of the four walls. Stacy walked around to the other side of the bed and looked down.

She covered her lips with a gloved hand. “Oh, my God.” The victim was in a kneeling position, and her upper torso was on the bed itself. There was a pool of blood around her head.

Her jeans were cut from the waist down to the seat. Her naked ass was hunched outward. She appeared to have been the victim of a sexual assault.

Stacy looked away as forensic techs moved around her, taking pictures. Austin continued making notes on his notepad.

“There appears to be some brown specks of something on her fingers. It might be makeup or something else,” one of the younger techs said as he squatted down near the body with his camera.

Stacy stepped closer. The victim had been shot eight times at close range, three of the bullets penetrating the back of her skull.

The force of the bullets tearing into the skin sprayed blood on the walls as if they had been shot from a cannon. A phrase had been scrawled across the back of her gray sweatshirt in blood. Stacy tugged down on the sweatshirt and squinted. The message read: She’s all yours. Fuck you!

“Jesus,” Stacy said breathlessly, releasing her hold. She looked over her shoulder to her partner. “Any guesses on how long she’s been here?”

“Dr. Myers is on his way, but the body is still slightly warm to the touch.”

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Stacy bent down and looked at the narrow space on the hardwood floor where her legs were bent at the knees. “No blood.

Any signs of vaginal or rectal bleeding?”

“None that we found,” Austin said, a slight halt in his voice.

“This poor girl was either the victim of a sexual assault, or it was made to look that way.” Stacy left the room and stood in the hallway. Austin followed close behind her. “So, did some sick prick leave that message on the sweatshirt for us, or is it meant for someone else?”

“I don’t know, but that’s one of the worst bodies I’ve ever seen.”

Stacy let some air wheeze between her teeth. “The perp knew that poor girl. That killing was merciless and vengeful. It was personal.”

The sound of a wailing woman echoed in the hallway outside of the bedroom. A strangled cry slipped out between heavy panting.

Stacy pointed. “Is that the grandmother?”

“Yeah. Last name is Crawford.”

“Where’s the baby?”

“In the custody of Child Protective Services at the moment.”

“Recommend to Detective Yates to follow up.”

“Got it.”

Stacy looked around the open areas of the home. It was neat, clean, and tidy.

“And the Bratenahl police found nothing ransacked or broken when they entered?”

Stacy stopped and turned to face Austin. He looked down at his notepad and flipped through some pages. “No. Nothing was taken, and nothing was broken when they came inside.”

In her pocket, Stacy’s cell phone chirped. She pulled it out and stared at the number on the screen. Stacy bit down on her lip and sighed. “Not now.”

After putting the phone back in her pocket, Stacy thought for a moment. Around her, there was no sound in the house, yet everyone was moving.

“That means the killer came in here, took her into the bedroom, and killed her.”

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Austin let out a slow, controlled breath and tried to loosen his body movements. “Or maybe the goal was sex, and when she said no, a fight occurred. The perp overpowered her, raped her, and then shot her.”

Stacy crossed her arms. “Maybe, but it didn’t look to me like she had any defensive wounds on her hands. If she fought with her attacker, there should be some scratches and cuts to her hands and fingers.”

They heard another wail followed by a loud cry across the room. Stacy had avoided the next step in the investigation. The next part of any investigation was the one she liked the least: trying to console a victim’s family while cautiously pumping them for information.

“Let’s go talk.”

As they slowly got close, the frame of the older woman sharpened. The grandmother was tall and lean, and her physique matched that of her slain daughter. Her thick white hair was coiffed and layered. Her face was wrinkled near the edges of her eyes and mouth. She had the beginnings of jowls that protruded from under the thin lining of her jaw. Stacy estimated the woman was in her late sixties.

Stacy took off her gloves and crouched down in front of the woman. She smelled of jasmine and chamomile perfume.

“Ma’am, I’m Lieutenant Tavitt. I’m very sorry for your loss. I need to ask you some questions so we can find out who did this to your daughter.”

The woman didn’t look up but instead clutched the waddedup tissues in her hands. Her eyes shifted to the side and were glazed with a glassy layer of tears. As she blinked, they slid down her cheeks. She bit her lip tightly to hide any sound that wanted to escape. Stacy’s heart sank.

“Please. Call me Virginia.” Her lower lip quivered as the words slowly made their way out of her mouth. “My Brooke… she’s dead. Oh, my God, she’s dead…” She tried to begin again, but what followed was engulfed in tremors.

Stacy stopped for a moment. Heat crawled up the back of her neck. “Excuse me for just a moment, Virginia.”

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The older woman nodded, and Stacy grabbed Austin by the arm and stepped into the home’s foyer.

“The victim is Brooke Crawford?”

Austin looked at his partner, confused. “Yes. Why?” Stacy paled. “I was just speaking to someone that knows her.”

Stacy bit down on her lip and looked over at the grief-stricken woman. “This person knows someone who knows the victim quite well.”

Austin scrunched his face together. “I hope there is more to this riddle than what I’m hearing because, right now, I don’t get it.”

Stacy wasn’t sure she understood, either. But Monica DeVito had mentioned that her son Colton had been in love with a Brooke Crawford, and the chances that Colton’s lover and the badly mutilated body in the bedroom were two different people were slim. Stacy hated coincidences.

Stacy walked back into the other room and rested a hand on Virginia’s hands. The skin on them was cold and rough.

Virginia sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “What can I do to help?”

Stacy knelt and peered up at the woman. Her blue eyes seemed dull, while the whites of them were beginning to look bloodshot.

“Is this Brooke’s home?”

Virginia made a face. “What a stupid question.” Her voice now had more bite. “She lived here, didn’t she?”

Stacy paused for a moment and reset. “Of course. I meant did she live here by herself? I understand she had a son…”

Virginia looked over Stacy’s shoulder, straight at Austin, who stood behind his partner. Virginia looked to be in a trance. “Oh, my, my grandson. Luke, my little grandson.” Her voice began to tremble, and the tears returned. “God, where is he? Is he okay?”

Austin stepped forward. “He’s fine, Mrs. Crawford. We’re keeping a close eye on him.”

Stacy turned around and gave a curt nod, thanking Austin for the assistance.

“Did she have a boyfriend or a husband?”

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Virginia continued to stare ahead.

“Mrs. Crawford…”

“It could’ve been him. He could’ve done this,” she said coolly, and her eyes shifted down to Stacy. “He wasn’t good for her. Never was. He had a bad temper. Brooke would have these bruises...”

Her voice trailed away. “She tried hiding it with makeup and making excuses about how she got them. But a mother always knows.”

Stacy looked back and arched an eyebrow at Austin. “Does he have a name?”

“Jesse. Jesse Williams.”

Stacy could hear Austin scribble down the name. Virginia held up a finger.

“There was someone else.”

Stacy repositioned herself into a seated stance. “What was his name?”

“Colton. Had an Italian last name. Dantonio, or Donato, or something….”

“DeVito.” Stacy felt her stomach drop. No coincidence.

Virginia nodded self-consciously. “I think that’s it. Brooke started talking to him sometime after she and Jesse had a big fight. I can’t remember exactly when. But that Italian boy was here to see Brooke recently. She texted me. She was upset that he was here. I didn’t understand why he was here.”

Austin stopped writing. “Your daughter texted you. When?”

Virginia slowly looked up at him. “Last night. He came over last night. Oh, they broke up a while ago. Brooke always said that Colton never accepted it.”

Virginia sucked in a breath and swallowed. “Brooke was upset—I could tell. When I tried to call her last night… it was late.

She didn’t answer the phone. Brooke sent me a message later and said that she would talk to me about it tomorrow. When I came over this morning to pick up Luke so she could go to work, that’s when I…” Her voice trailed away again, and she began to sob heavily.

Stacy’s brain stuttered for a moment. Every part of her went on pause while her thoughts caught up. After a wash of cold 55

A Final Call

crept over her, Stacy stood up. She placed one hand on Virginia’s shoulder.

“It will be okay, Virginia. I promise. It will.”

The woman dabbed her eyes with the soiled tissues again as Stacy led Austin by the arm into the living room.

Austin ran a hand through his moussed hair. “Shit. Colton DeVito was here last night?”

“Apparently so.”

“So, where is he?”

Stacy looked around the room and thought a moment. “Tell Detective Yates that I want to speak to him later. Stay here and keep an eye on things. Check the forensics guys and make sure they don’t overlook anything.”

“On it. But where are you going?”

Stacy had already taken out her cell phone and placed a call to headquarters. “Marty, any idea if Charlie is still in the building?” A pause. “Hey, Charlie.” Another pause. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, and thanks for the help in the lobby earlier. Listen, I need you to find another free officer and go pick up someone for me.” Austin leaned close to the cell phone, trying to hear his response. Stacy turned away from her encroaching partner. “Yes. I want you to find Monica DeVito. She lied to me. Go get her.”

56

7 Stacy stalked down the Robbery/Homicide Unit’s narrow hallway and stuck her head inside Captain Bannister’s office.

“Is everyone here?”

Diana hung up the black phone receiver, putting it into the cradle on her desk. “Knox just arrived.”

“Good.”

Stacy and the captain discussed the information Monica DeVito had shared with Stacy at Starbucks and how that connected to the crime scene in Bratenahl.

As Stacy moved to the left of the office, the floor was brimming with activity. A cacophony of rustling papers, clacking keyboards, and various patterns of moving chairs and feet filled the tight space. Everyone was working together but also independently on multiple cases involving various suspects and scenarios.

At the end of the corridor, Stacy pushed open the door to the conference room. It was arranged with soft seating and a conference table for four people. Stacy preferred this room because it was great for unstructured sessions or smaller, more intimate groups that needed a flexible space to collaborate. A flat-screen monitor adorned one wall, and a large picture window framed the downtown Cleveland skyline.

Inside, Gavin Knox stood up. Diana Bannister moved in behind Stacy and closed the door.

Gavin looked around the room. “Where’s Detective Cerrera?”

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Stacy removed a file folder tucked under her arm and plopped it down on the table in front of Gavin. “He’s still in Bratenahl, at the Crawford house.” Before Gavin could say anything else, Stacy cut him off. “At my request.”

Gavin made eye contact with everyone in the room and then sat down. The captain spoke next.

“All right, folks. Have a seat. We’ve got a lot to cover in a short amount of time, so let’s get to it.”

Gavin held up a hand. Wearing a gray suit with a white shirt and red striped tie, his thin, bushy eyebrows and piercing blue eyes could hold command of a room, and his cheekbones drew down to a soft chin, which flexed as his emotions changed.

“Diana, if I could have a minute….”

The captain pressed her lips together tightly until they formed a thin line. “Fine. Sixty seconds. Make that fifty-nine.”

Gavin sat down and smoothed his tie. He had a leather briefcase sitting next to his chair, which he looked at briefly before speaking.

“Brandon Deerfield was arraigned this morning in common pleas court. He pleaded not guilty to all charges.”

Stacy sat down and pulled her chair close to the table. “What were the charges?”

Gavin eyed Stacy cautiously as he spoke. “Attempted murder of a police officer, conspiracy, drug possession, distribution, and some other things.”

Stacy looked out the window for a moment before returning her gaze to the room.

“The judge believed that the severity of the charges, coupled with the fact that Deerfield is a cop, meant a denial of bail was appropriate. He’ll be remanded pending trial.”

Stacy wanted to speak, but words left her. She felt her eyes burning with anger. Her heart fell silent. She looked around the room and noticed Diana and Gavin watching her intently.

“I took a precautionary measure,” Gavin said. “I asked the judge to isolate Deerfield away from other inmates at the county jail and to have a guard monitor him at all times. Being a cop, he’s got a big target on his back if he’s mixed in with other inmates.”

Stacy stared at Gavin. His eyes were desperately searching 58

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hers, waiting for her to say something. Stacy’s mind was blank, and her wide-eyed stare made Diana shift in her seat.

“I don’t suppose he said anything about Chance or if anyone in the courtroom asked about that in the case.”

Gavin let out a strangled laugh. “Stacy, those things aren’t discussed at arraignments….”

“I think the paperwork needs to be refiled,” Stacy pronounced, slamming her hand on the table. “There should be another charge of attempted murder on my brother. Brandon Deerfield put that cruiser into the path of an oncoming truck.

Deliberately.”

Diana leaned forward. “Stacy, we don’t know that.”

“Stop defending him,” she shouted. “This man betrayed his oath as a cop, dealt drugs, put lives in danger, and nearly blew Mike O’Neill into five pieces. He’s no saint. He’s not someone that can be trusted.”

A palpable silence filled the room. Stacy rubbed her face with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said, exasperated. “I’m just worried sick about Chance and where he might be. I have this sinking feeling that something bad has happened to my brother. Maybe we need to start dredging the bottom of Lake Erie.”

When Stacy’s words stopped, she felt her heart break.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked.

Diana folded her hands. “Gavin, thanks for the update. Let’s move on.”

“Has someone contacted Houston PD and given them an update? Gavin asked.

“I have,” Diana said calmly.

“Good. I have some contacts in the Harris County DA’s office if you need it.”

Diana nodded. While Stacy took a moment to collect herself, Diana told Gavin the details of the Brooke Crawford case, including what Stacy had told Diana about her conversation at Tower City with Monica DeVito and what the woman failed to tell Stacy.

As Gavin took notes, Stacy chimed in, changing the subject.

“Did Charlie pick up Monica DeVito?”

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“Yes. She’s downstairs in one of the interrogation rooms waiting for you.”

Stacy kicked her chair back and stood up. Diana placed a hand on her arm.

“Take a few minutes to regroup. Ms. DeVito is fine for now.”

Stacy looked down at the captain with a mixed look of sadness and disdain. Diana kept her face still and expressionless.

Someone rapped on the door. Gavin stopped writing and looked up as Austin burst into the room.

He tossed a clear plastic evidence bag on the table. “On loan from Detective Yates.”

Stacy poked at the bag with the edge of her file folder. “A cell phone.”

“Bratenahl PD found it under a dresser in another bedroom as they were making a final walkthrough.”

Gavin removed a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. Austin removed the phone from the bag with his gloved hands and turned on the phone. He pressed another button and began scrolling. “ Stacy furrowed her brow. “How long before last night?”

“There are text messages that go back two weeks, and the last one was sent two days ago.”

Stacy exchanged looks with Gavin and Diana. “What did they say?”

“It wasn’t password protected.” Austin went to the large projection screen and connected a wire to the base of the phone. He clicked a button on the side of the phone and began scrolling.

“Here’s one from two weeks ago.”

Colton: I need to see you. I miss you.

Brooke: I can’t. Luke isn’t feeling well.

Colton: Tmrw then?

Brooke: Probably not.

Colton: Please. I need 2 C U bad Austin kept scrolling as everyone sat back in their chairs and read. “This pattern basically repeats itself every day until yesterday. Read this.”

Colton: Brooke, I’m coming over. Now. 60

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Brooke: No. Plz don’t.

Colton: I just want to talk Brooke: Fine. But no sex.

Colton: Deal. No sex.

Gavin stood up and looked at the screen. “So, he wanted sex from her.”

Diana spoke next. “Is sex mentioned in any other exchanges between them?”

Austin made a face and kept scrolling. “There was a mention of it in a text a few days ago. Just a one-word text from Colton with the word sex in it. Brooke didn’t acknowledge it.”

“So, she ignored it,” Stacy chimed in.

Gavin spoke next. “But the intention is clear. Part of the reason he wanted to see her was for sex.”

Austin unplugged the phone and placed it back in the evidence bag. He stood next to the table and examined the text messages again.

“What if Brooke let Colton in the house, and he propositioned her for sex again, and she refused. Maybe they got into a fight that got physical. Violent.”

Gavin stood up next. “But would it get so physical to the point that Colton would shoot her several times at close range? I mean, if he wanted sex, why not just rape her and then threaten to kill her if she told anyone.”

Stacy spoke next. “If Colton is the killer, he wanted to humiliate Brooke. This was a killing of revenge. He put her body on display in a gross sexual position and then put a bullet into her head.”

“And now Colton is missing,” Diana said slowly. “On the run?”

Gavin folded his arms and leaned back. “Let’s say it’s not Colton that killed her. Maybe the killer found the cell phone, read the messages like we did, and decided to kill Brooke and make Colton disappear.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Austin spun around and leaned against the corner of the conference table. “There were only four

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sets of fingerprints found in the house. Two of them probably belong to Brooke and the baby. The third set probably belongs to Virginia Crawford, and the fourth set is probably the prints of the killer.”

Stacy recounted her conversation earlier with Monica. “If they broke up and Colton never got over it, he had the means, motive, and opportunity to commit the murder.”

She faced the group. “We need to call Houston PD and put an APB out on Colton DeVito. He may be on his way back to Houston.”

Gavin walked around the room until he stood in front of the captain. “And from there, he’s probably a hundred and fifty miles away from the Mexican border. If Colton wanted to disappear, that would be the place to go.”

Diana folded her arms across her breasts. “I think we’re going to need some help from your DA friends in Houston.”

“I’ll make the call. Meanwhile, I’ll see about getting a warrant to search Colton’s apartment there.”

Diana sat up straighter in her chair. “Let’s get a full profile on Mr. DeVito. Check his bank account, debit cards, cell phone activity, everything. I want to know where he’s been, why he went, and where he might be.” She looked over to Austin. “See if we can get a picture of Mr. DeVito from AEP and put an APB and a BOLO out for him.”

In the commotion of discussing the next steps, the door opened.

Austin threw up his hands. “Where is Stacy going now?”

62

8 Stacy called downstairs and asked Charlie to escort Monica DeVito to an interrogation room near the back of the building.

When Stacy arrived, Charlie was there. Monica was seated inside the room, her small frame looking diminutive in the square room as the walls appeared to close in on her.

“Has she said anything?” Stacy asked, removing some papers from a file folder.

Charlie rested an arm over the one-way mirror and leaned into it. “Not much, other than asking for you.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“Do you need me to stick around for anything else?”

Stacy looked at him for a long moment and considered his request. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

She waited as Charlie went out into the hallway outside of the interrogation room foyer. Stacy closed her eyes for a moment. Thoughts trundled through her brain as she began piecing together everything that had happened over the last few hours.

Colton DeVito appeared to have killed Brooke Crawford in some type of violent confrontation and was now on the loose. The fact that he came to Cleveland and didn’t contact his parents was odd.

Most people that commit violent crimes reach out to friends and family early after the committed act, especially if they were running away from law enforcement. But Stacy’s experience reminded her that there were no absolutes in investigations.

As Stacy reached for the door handle, the door behind her flung open. Austin burst into the room, slightly out of breath. “I thought I’d find you here.”

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Stacy eyed him for a moment and looked back down at the handle.

“It’s not a good idea to question her without a witness,” Austin said, chiding her gently.

“Charlie is my witness.”

“Bullshit. Harris was already getting on the elevator when I saw him.”

Stacy stood back and looked up at the ceiling. The cracks in the plaster seemed to grow wider and deeper with each passing day.

“I need to question her, Austin.”

“Nobody disputes that,” he said, stepping toward her. “But don’t do this alone. I’m your partner. Keep me in the loop and let me help.”

Stacy looked back at him. Earnestness creased his face. “I know that. I do.”

“Good,” he nodded satisfactorily. “Now go get her, tiger.”

Stacy walked into the room and closed the door behind her.

A slight smirk and a flash of excitement beamed from Monica’s face.

“Oh, Stacy. Thank you.” The childish and mischievous tone in her voice from their earlier conversation had returned.

This interrogation room had no windows, and the two straight chairs had no arms. Dull wood paneling lined the walls, and the harsh fluorescent lights cast a bluish-green hue over everything. A large one-way mirror adorned the wall near the front door, which Austin would stand behind to watch the interview.

This was not the Starbucks at Tower City. The line of questioning was now more severe, and Stacy wanted Monica to know it and feel it.

Stacy didn’t make eye contact with Monica and sat down across from her. She set a small recorder on the table and opened the file folder.

“Monica, I need to advise you that this interview is being recorded and monitored. No charges have been filed against you, and you are free to leave at any time. Understood?”

Monica nodded her head several times in quick compliance.

“Yes. Yes, I understand. Now, tell me about my Colton.”

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“We’ll get to that.” Stacy pulled out a picture of Colton from a file folder. She had obtained it from the American Electric Power website, where they listed names with headshots of those assigned to help rebuild Houston’s electrical grid after the hurricane.

Colton was olive-skinned with dark eyes. His hair was shaved close to the scalp. He appeared to be slim, slightly muscular, with an almost perfectly symmetrical face. His dark eyes stared straight ahead through the picture. Stacy could understand how one look from Colton could make a girl weak at the knees.

Stacy turned the picture around and pushed it toward her.

“First, I need to know if this Colton.”

Monica looked down and smiled as if seeing her son for the first time. The block of white teeth shone through her thick lips.

“That’s my baby,” she said. “Although that is an older picture.”

Stacy arched an eyebrow. “Any idea how old?”

Monica squinted and looked at it again. “A year or two, I’d say. Colton hated having his picture taken, but he had to have one for work, so I took this one using his cell phone.” Stacy knew Austin would make a note of that detail.

“So,” Monica said, anxiously rubbing her hands together.

“Where is Colton? Did you find him?”

Stacy closed the file folder and gave her a stern look. “We haven’t. But I just came from a meeting. We are working on it.”

Monica cocked her head. “A meeting? Are there other people helping?”

“Yes.” Stacy wanted to remain calm and collected through the interview. Her technique with the initial questioning of witnesses was to engage in a conversation and make them feel like she was just trying to understand their perspectives and situations. This allowed Stacy to watch their body language and facial expressions.

People that feel relaxed are often more open and less guarded with information. If they thought Stacy was trying to catch them in a lie, they became closed off and defensive.

When Stacy didn’t answer, Monica asked another question.

“Has there been a team assigned to find him?”

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Stacy had forgotten that Monica knew some things about police investigations. “Yes, there has been a team assigned to find Colton.” Her throat suddenly felt thick. Stacy rearranged her face into something she hoped was calm and casual and slowly looked up at the woman.

“Colton is the suspect in a murder investigation.”

Suddenly, Monica’s countenance changed. The color drained from her face, and her eyes and mouth were frozen wide open in an expression of stunned surprise. Although she was staring straight at Stacy, she appeared not to see her at all. Her moltenbrown eyes desperately searched Stacy’s face, waiting.

Stacy let the statement hang in the room for a moment. She wanted to see what Monica would say next.

“My son,” she mumbled, “is no killer. He would never hurt someone.”

Stacy leaned forward and gave her a flick of pity. “But he did, Monica. And we think he killed someone he knew. Someone you know.”

Monica had unfolded her fingers, and they were jumping rhythmically on the table, as if in a spasm. “No. This must be a mistake. Colton wouldn’t kill anyone. He doesn’t know people enough to kill them, not here.” Monica was slurring her words together and trying to make sense of the situation.

“Brooke Crawford.”

Monica stopped trembling.

“We found Brooke Crawford shot dead in her house this morning. The entire back of her head completely blown off.”

The statement roiled Monica. The color in her face changed to an ashen gray. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Stacy reached forward and held Monica’s hands. “We found out that Colton had come over to her house last night and that he’d been texting her for the last several days. He wanted to get back together with her and wanted to have sex with her.”

Monica pulled back. “No, he and Brooke were over. They were not together anymore.”

Stacy placed her face a mere inch away from Monica’s face.

Stacy locked eyes with her.

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“See, Monica,” she said softly, “the problem we have here is that you weren’t honest with me about all of the information and about the type of relationship that Brooke and Colton had. There was a lot of anger and resentment between them. This was not a happy union. Neither of them had moved on. Is he the father of baby Luke?”

Stacy slowly leaned back. Monica closed her mouth, then looked down at the table before glancing back up to catch her eye.

“Colton has not contacted me.”

Stacy cocked her head to the side. “Sure about that? We’re getting a search warrant for Colton’s cell phone records, and we’ll know pretty soon if he’s tried to call you.”

Monica bolted up from her chair. Sweat began to gather on her forehead as she paced the room. Stacy had her frightened.

When people became afraid during an interview, their brains would speed up, process, and think of a way to rationalize or lie away details. Then, they would get less accurate. Monica spun on a heel and glared at Stacy.

“I came to you as a friend, Stacy,” her Italian dialect had thickened her words. “And what I’m hearing is that a girl is dead, and I am somehow helping my son get away with it? Colton dated Brooke, and she hurt him. Hurt him bad. Did you see the baby?”

Monica was unraveling, but Stacy remained calm.

“That baby,” Monica said, wagging a finger, “is why their relationship ended. She cheated on him with some guy, some guy she met at a bar.”

“Jesse Williams.”

“Yes, that’s his name. A one-night stand. He gets her pregnant. Brooke tried to convince Colton that he was the father. He did tell me that. His father and I were prepared to help raise the child until Brooke finally admitted that maybe this Jesse could have been the father. It crushed Colton. Nearly destroyed him.”

Stacy stood up and leaned her back against the wall. “Is that why he moved to Houston? To get away from her and the painful memories?”

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“I. Don’t. Know. I told you, Stacy, he doesn’t talk to us anymore. He was so hurt by Brooke. Then the next thing I know, we come home one day, and he’s left us a note saying he has moved away from Cleveland and will talk to us later.”

Stacy bit on her lower lip and released it. She studied Monica carefully for a moment. There was still something Monica wasn’t telling her about Colton.

Monica exhaled and stopped pacing. “I’d like to go home now.”

The door to the interrogation room opened. Grim-faced, Austin flicked a look at both women and then jerked his head to the side, indicating Stacy was needed outside.

Monica huffed and stomped out of the room, nearly running into Austin on her way out. Stacy clicked off the tape recorder and collected the file folder.

“Monica, one more thing,” Stacy said, following her outside.

“We’d like to have a press conference. Get Colton’s name in front of the public. And I would like you and your husband to be there.

If Colton is scared or in hiding, a public appeal from his parents might convince him to come forward.”

Monica stopped her fervent march up the hallway so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. She must have felt Stacy staring at her because she refused to turn around. “My husband and I want our son to come back, and he didn’t do these terrible things.

We will do whatever we need to do.”

That was the answer Stacy wanted to hear. “Good. I will be in touch.”

Monica took in a deep breath and then exhaled, rolling her shoulder and collecting herself. She then disappeared down the corridor, her furtive pace echoing with the clacking of her boots against the floor.

“That went well,” Stacy said. Austin looked down the hallway.

Stacy could hear the exterior door slam shut. Monica DeVito was gone.

Stacy walked into the hallway outside the interrogation room to find Gavin standing there, arms folded. Because Stacy wasn’t reacting fast enough, he approached her.

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“There’s a problem.”

Stacy sighed. “Something with Deerfield?”

Gavin stiffened. “No, not that. Something else.”

Austin closed the interrogation room door behind him and stood next to Stacy. “It’s not good, Stacy.”

Gavin’s eyes narrowed, and the blue hue of them sharpened.

“I called some of my contacts in the Harris County District Attorney’s office earlier. It turns out they are quite familiar with our missing suspect Colton DeVito.”

Stacy and Austin exchanged glances. “Go on.”

“Apparently, Colton was arrested as an accomplice to murder.”

Stacy noticed Gavin watching her as she pondered the matter. She could feel the heat building behind her eyes.

“He was accused of luring a kid his age to his death. Colton also spent some time in jail but was later acquitted of all charges.”

“Oh, God,” Austin quipped. “What an upstanding guy. Be friends with someone and then drag them along to be killed. Jesus, who is this kid?”

“It gets better,” Gavin added, with a tone of dejection in his voice. “The name of the kid was Jesse Williams.”

69

9 Stacy stormed down the hallway outside of the interrogation room.

“Is the captain in her office?”

Austin trailed behind Stacy a few steps but managed to catch up. “I think so.”

“Good. Tell her we need to schedule a press conference and I want to see that arrest report.”

“I’ll have my contacts send it over,” Gavin noted.

“We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. We need to learn more about what happened to Jesse Williams and we need warrants for the cell phone records and bank accounts for Colton DeVito and soon, Gavin. I think Monica DeVito is up to her neck in this mess, but we need to see definitively if she reached out to her son recently or if she’s giving him money. Austin, let Diana know what Gavin discovered. I want to make sure she’s in the loop on this.”

“On it,” Austin called out as Gavin moved alongside Stacy.

When they reached the lobby, Stacy stopped. She felt a twinge in her chest. Her chest felt heavy and the muscles tightened. A dull pain snaked up her sternum. Gavin looked at her, searching her face for an explanation.

“Is it…”

“Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”

Stacy didn’t make eye contact with Gavin anymore. Instead, she pushed open the door and kicked back the stalls. Luckily, Stacy was alone. She stalked back over to the bathroom door and clicked the lock.

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Stacy went over to the sink and let the cold water run through her fingers. The pain in her lungs began to thrum with a pulsing beat that made her whole body tremble. She splashed some cold water on her face. When she looked up, her fair, high-colored complexion was drained of its color. Her hair resembled the burnt-orange sunsets that clipped below the Lake Erie horizon in spring and summer, and it normally tumbled over her shoulders, but she had it cut and thinned until it dangled just past her ears.

Stacy took one of her curvy hips and leaned it against the wall, trying to remain her balance.

Her cell phone chimed again. Stacy ignored it. She could feel her breathing labored. She coughed once, and then twice. Her lungs felt like they were seizing up and they ached with a piercing pain that made Stacy nearly want to vomit. She turned off the water and managed to stumble to the door. She fidgeted with the lock until it clicked open and jerked open the door. The lobby seemed hazy and fragmented in her vision. Stacy coughed again: a wet, racking hack. She looked down at the floor and felt herself falling into it. **** Stacy awoke in a reclined position. When she looked over, the lightweight tube that delivered supplemental oxygen to a person in need of respiratory help hissed in the dim light. The tube split into two prongs, and she traced the pattern of the closed end of the tube as it curved down the length of the bed, dropped to the floor, and curled over to a portable oxygen generator. The machine, with its technologically sophisticated console, heaved and groaned. The rush of cool, regulated air into Stacy’s nose was cool and oddly calming.

Stacy pushed herself up off the bed and leaned on her elbows.

A narrow beam of sun sliced through an opening in the window blind, bathing the bamboo flooring of the bedroom with a small sliver of light. When she awoke this morning, the Cleveland skyline had been drowned by the clouds and the pale peeked out at the city from among the stars. Now, the sun was gone but the grey clouds remained.

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“Relax, Stacy. Please.”

She recognized the calm, but halted tone. “How long have I been out, Gavin?”

He knelt on the floor beside her bed and grabbed her hand.

“About three hours.”

Stacy flopped her head back and rested her palm against her forehead. “Shit. I need to get back to the station.”

Gavin pressed another hand on her stomach. Stacy looked down. Her clothes had been changed into a tee-shirt and what felt like nylon shorts scrunched against her legs under the covers.

“No. Rest.”

“How did I get here?”

“Someone coming out of the men’s restroom saw you collapse and ran to get Marty. He and I went back into the hallway and got you off the floor. There was a lot of wheezing and coughing. I told Marty everything was okay and that you weren’t feeling well. I drove you here and called Austin.”

Stacy made a face. “Austin.”

Gavin grinned. “Yes, Austin. I wanted to know if he knew how to operate this damn machine.”

“He doesn’t.”

“I know that now,” he said, somewhat aggravated. “I just pressed every button until something happened.”

At that, Stacy laughed, but she found herself again in the midst of a deep cough.

“Gavin,” she managed to say between coughs, “turn up the oxygen.” She gasped. “Please.”

He reached down and turned the output oxygen pressure to high. The machine responded by rumbling loudly and rocking back and forth, not used to being forced to produce air on such a high setting. The cool air rushed through the cannula harder and faster, and Stacy subsided her coughing by breathing more deeply using the device.

Gavin ran a hand through his hair, teeth tugging at his lower lip. Stacy looked over at him, eyes heavy.

“What, Gavin.”

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“I didn’t know. I…I didn’t know it was this bad,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s getting worse.”

Gavin froze. “I went to the pulmonologist last month. He ran some tests.” Stacy tried swallowing, her mouth unusually dry.

“I’ve lost another five percent of my lung function. More of the blood vessels near my lungs are gone.”

“I didn’t know,” he said pleadingly.

“And nobody else does. It has to stay that way,” she said closing her eyes. “Diana wants me to take disability, but that means those two thugs who dumped me in the Cuyahoga River and started this whole thing get the satisfaction of seeing me quit.”

Stacy found her thoughts thick and jumbled and she tried formulating words but couldn’t piece the syllables together. She laid back into the bed. She felt the warm, smooth touch of Gavin’s hand as he stroked her knuckles with his thumb.

Stacy pulled her hand away and stroked his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. In that moment, Gavin leaned up and gave Stacy a kiss. It was soft and warm, like his touch, he pulled away.

Stacy smiled before falling back asleep.

73

10 Stacy rolled over and vomited. She felt something recoil from the bed next to her.

“Shit.”

Stacy opened her eyes to see that she had covered Gavin’s shirt in vomit.

Stacy sprang up in the bed. “Gavin, what the… Oh no! I’m so sorry.”

Still wearing his shirt from yesterday, Gavin looked down at the streams of fresh bile running down the shirt’s pleats. He looked at Stacy, his eyes showing a gentle concern. He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder. Instead of flinching like Stacy normally would, she was soothed by the gesture.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It needed dry-cleaning anyway.” He looked down, wide-eyed. “Got some on my pants, too.”

Stacy pulled the cannula from her nose and reached over to turn off the machine. “Let me help clean this up.”

Gavin held up a hand. “I’ve got it. Stay there and rest.” Sleepsmeared, Stacy wasn’t sure of the day or time. “It’s morning. I stayed here last night.”

Stacy felt invigorated after the rest. Gavin took off his shirt and pants, both tailored and fit him perfectly. His hair and eyes glinted in the shadowed room. Gavin had smooth, flawless skin that hugged the faint traces of rippled muscles around his torso and back. His sharp lips were attractive and captivating. Stacy thought back to those lips pressed against her head and how his breath was soft and warm in that gentle kiss. She wanted it again but decided to do nothing.

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Gavin had shown more than a professional interest when he transferred to the Robbery/Homicide Unit of the Cleveland Police Department. During the mentally and physically taxing investigation into the death of Cleveland Browns football player Devon Baker in September, Gavin had taken Stacy to the Blue Point Grille in downtown Cleveland, one of the best and swankiest restaurants in the city. Stacy appreciated the respite and enjoyed the company but dating or even seeing colleagues who worked together in various law and order capacities within the department was explicitly against the code of conduct. Stacy could lose her job as a result.

Since then, Gavin had remained a close confidant and always treated her with tender respect that she found endearing. Now, their relationship would become more complicated because Gavin had seen her in a vulnerable position that few had before.

Now he knew of Stacy’s condition, and its impact on her was more than just conjecture and hearsay.

Stacy swung her legs from under the covers. Gavin fumbled with his soiled clothes. Stacy nearly bumped into him. “Here, let me have these,” she said, pulling the shirt and pants from Gavin’s hands. He blushed as Stacy stared at him for a moment.

“I can’t believe I’m standing here almost naked.”

“Don’t get used to it. And sorry I puked on your clothes.”

“How bad is it?”

Stacy looked at Gavin and arched an eyebrow. “How bad is what?”

Gavin held out an arm and swept it around the room, eying the oxygen machine as he moved. “This.” He looked up and locked eyes with Stacy and then pointed at her chest. “And that.”

There was a part of Stacy that felt powerless to resent his questions. Stacy took a deep breath and turned around. Melancholic waves commanded her body to halt, to stop hiding, stop denying the seriousness of her condition, to stop wanting to hide it—to just stop. Her cheeks became wet with tears. She hadn’t noticed she was crying.

“I’ve lost another eight percent of my lung function,” she said placidly.

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“Stacy, my God,” he said. He took a step toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged and clasped her hands so tightly together that the palms began to burn.

She turned back around, avoiding eye contact with Gavin.

“I don’t want or expect any pity. This is something I have to deal with for the rest of my life, and I am capable of managing it.”

“This isn’t something to be faced alone. I’m here now.” Gavin reached out to touch her with his gentle hands, but Stacy brushed past him, pulled open the door to the bedroom, and marched down the hallway, her footfalls heavy and purposeful. Gavin had spun around the room to watch her leave just as the doorbell rang.

Gavin ignored it, but then a loud banging on the heavy steel door leading into her loft rattled the walls. The doorbell rang again, followed by more loud banging. Gavin heard the whirring and swishing of water coming from a room down the hall but did not hear Stacy.

The doorbell rang again, followed by heavy pounding.

“All right, all right,” Gavin called out, speaking to himself and nobody at the same time.

Gavin’s feet felt cold against the concrete steps that led downstairs. He shuffled across the hall and grabbed the arched handle, then pulled back.

As soon as a crack of light from the hallway emerged, a man began speaking.

“Jesus, Stacy. I was scared that something had happened….”

After Gavin pulled back the door, Austin attempted to walk in but froze in mid-motion.

“Gavin?”

His face flushed red. “Hi, Austin.”

Both men looked at each other, then stared down at the floor.

Gavin’s face burned red while Austin shuffled his feet.

“Apparently, this isn’t a good time. I can come back.”

“No, actually, it’s fine.”

Austin arched an eyebrow. “Uh, Diana sent me over to check on Stacy and to let her know that Houston PD went into Colton DeVito’s apartment and didn’t find anything. No cell phone. No computer. Nothing.”

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He paused, and his face paled. “I didn’t know about…” his voice trailed off, and he looked over Gavin, “about this.”

Stacy traipsed down the steps. “Who’s at the door? Gavin—” A look of shock registered on her face before she could hide it. “Austin.”

His face was washed blank with confusion like his brain couldn’t turn fast enough to take in what his wide eyes were seeing.

“Obviously, I’ve interrupted something.”

He gave Gavin a scornful look and then shot a glance at Stacy.

“Austin, this isn’t what it looks like.”

He flung a hand back at her as he walked away. “I’ll see you back at the station.” **** When Stacy arrived at her cubicle, Austin was typing on the computer keyboard.

As he felt her presence, he stopped typing for a moment. “I don’t need an explanation.”

Stacy had changed into a black pantsuit with a white high-cut top. She dropped her gaze to the floor and hooked her thumbs into the loops on her pants. “Actually, I need to explain.”

Austin was red in the face, and the color set against his dark skin made him look ill. Stacy knew that he controlled his anger well, but she could sense his frustration smoldering beneath the stony expression.

“Gavin and I….”

His nose wrinkled, and he drew his head backward. “I would really appreciate it if my partner would have the courtesy to tell me she’s fucking the prosecutor assigned to our unit. That way, when I come to do a welfare check on her after she collapses in our building, I won’t be shocked when he’s standing almost naked in her living room.”

“Austin, I can explain….”

Austin looked up and glared at her. His nostrils flared, and his lips curled. “Gavin already did the explaining. He called and left me a voicemail. I don’t believe him, but if the two of you 77

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want to play house, fine. By the way, I covered everything with the captain. She’s glad that you’re okay.” He slapped his hand on the table. “Dammit, Stacy. The department policy for this shit is quite clear.”

Stacy kept her gaze off him. She couldn’t bear to look his way.

“Gavin kissed me.”

Austin became slack-jawed. “Excuse me?”

“It just happened. Or it almost did. He was trying to comfort me when I was struggling to breathe.”

“I bet he was.”

“Austin, that’s all that happened. I’m not going to risk my career or the work we’ve done together for some easy fling. I’d like to think you know me better than that.”

Austin dropped his pen and leaned closer. “Sometimes, I wonder.”

The conversation was interrupted by the high-pitched blip of her office phone. Stacy locked eyes with Austin as she answered.

“Lieutenant Tavitt.”

“Ah, Lieutenant.” Cuyahoga County Coroner Dr. Adam Myers cleared his throat before speaking. “I have some news about Ms. Crawford.”

Stacy snapped her fingers at Austin. “Okay, great! I’m going to put this call on speakerphone.”

“Be my guest,” he replied genially. Stacy found Dr. Myers to be a wealth of information for everything concerning trauma and death to the human body. However, his diligence and pace of investigation naturally took time. The fact that he already had a preliminary report on Brooke Crawford’s autopsy was unexpected and, she hoped, meant good news.

“Adam, Austin is here with me.”

“Hello, Detective Cerrera.”

“Hey, Doc.” Dr. Myers paused for a moment before speaking again. “I have finished the preliminary report on Brooke Crawford. I am ruling the cause of death as a homicide. The two bullets fired into the upper posterior occipital area of the skull is what killed her. It looked like one bullet hole, but I found two bullets lodged 78

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inside. One of the bullets clipped her brain stem, and the other was lodged into the skull but did little damage.”

“Must have been a good shot done by someone with some skill,” Austin said.

Stacy nodded. The information matched what she observed at the crime scene.

“Also, I didn’t find any marks or abrasions on the body. And no signs of sexual assault. I did find some type of grease on one of her hands. I wasn’t able to identify it, but my guess is probably cooking oil or something she might have been using to cook a meal for herself.”

Stacy and Austin exchanged looks.

“I still have a little more work to do, but I’ll send over the final report as soon as it’s ready.”

“I appreciate it, Doc,” Austin said and nodded at Stacy to end the call.

“So,” he said, sitting back and resting his hands on his head.

“Other than the gunshot wound, there are no signs of physical violence.”

Stacy considered his words for a moment, then shook her head to signify resigned and quiet comprehension.

“That also means someone staged this scene.”

“If that’s the case, then that fact raises another red flag.”

Stacy made a face. “Where are we on the search warrant on Colton DeVito’s cell phone and bank records?”

Austin smacked his lips. “Well, that is something that Gavin managed to do in between making house calls. The warrants are filed. As soon as it’s signed, we’ll start.”

“Let’s get Charlie in on this. Chad Means, too. We need the help.”

Chad Means was another officer Stacy recruited and relied on when investigating the murder of Cleveland Browns’ football player Devon Baker. Means was strong but quiet and observant.

Stacy had depended on him to provide a strong physical presence as she and the team interrogated suspects and traversed Cleveland Browns Stadium looking for clues.

Austin got up. “I’ll let them know.”

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“One more thing,” Stacy added. “Find out about the date and time of the press conference, and let’s make sure that public affairs alert the media. I want them all there.”

“And you want them both at the podium at the same time?”

Stacy nodded. “I want to see if Dad feels the same way about dear old Colton as Mom does. His nonverbals will give us some idea.”

Austin made a face. “Fine. Give me ten minutes.”

As Austin left, Stacy picked up her cell phone. She had two new voicemail messages that she didn’t have time to listen to now. She sighed at the thought of them and called Gavin instead.

The call went straight to voicemail.

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11 Stacy loathed press conferences but found them to have several advantages. The ability to reach all media outlets at the same time while controlling the message was important.

But this press conference was being held in response to a crisis or disaster. Brooke Crawford was dead, and the lead suspect, Colton DeVito, had basically vanished without a trace. Stacy wanted to use this press conference to keep Cleveland abreast of the events that occurred and their unit’s steps to resolve the situation. Putting George and Monica DeVito behind a podium would serve a dual role, both as a public service and public relations boon, and allow them to make an emotional plea for their son to resurface.

Stacy knew this press conference could serve as an opportunity to gain public trust. They would inform Cleveland citizens that a young woman was dead while a young man connected to her is missing. Both pieces of information would allow the public to trust that the police were doing everything to find the killer and the missing person. With most media outlets present, law enforcement would also have a chance to control the message.

They held the press conference on the second floor of the police headquarters. Outside of the press room, Stacy stood with George and Monica DeVito. Stacy studied George DeVito carefully. He remained mostly still and calm, his eyes darting back and forth between Stacy and his wife. The corners of his mouth turned upward when it appeared that he wanted to speak. Instead, silence filled the space between statements, or he waited until Monica said something or asked a question.

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Stacy had spent the last several minutes explaining how the process would work. Even though she received assured nods of agreement from George, Monica looked away and appeared disinterested. George reassured Stacy that Monica understood and would cooperate.

“Okay,” Stacy said, clearing her throat. “Let’s go through this one more time.”

Stacy kept her gaze focused on George DeVito. He had the bronzed skin of an Italian with bristly eyebrows, defined cheekbones, and a hawkish nose. His gray hair was swooped over to the side, revealing a defined part. He focused his sea rover blue eyes on Stacy. He wore a blue polo dress shirt and tan slacks, and his posture was sloped at the shoulders.

“Tell us what we need to do again,” George said, his voice raspier than Stacy anticipated.

“Focus on the fact that Colton is missing and that he needs to come home,” Stacy said. “Don’t discuss Brooke or anything about why Colton might be gone. The purpose is to emphasize that Colton is loved and missed.” Stacy swallowed hard. She certainly didn’t see Colton DeVito as a good kid. “Stay on message.

Be clear. Be concise. Don’t take any questions from reporters, no matter how many questions they ask.”

George nodded to indicate his understanding. He nudged Monica with his shoulder, but she continued to stare at the floor, pinching the fold of skin above her lip.

Monica kept looking at her feet.

“Monica, I need to know that you understand.”

“I understand,” she whispered.

George reached out a large, meaty hand and placed it on Stacy’s shoulder. “I want to thank you for the opportunity to do this and for what you’ve done to help find Colton.” Monica made a face as George spoke.

The comment struck Stacy as odd. Had Monica not told her husband about the conversation she and Stacy had inside of the interrogation room? If so, was George just being polite, given the circumstances?

It didn’t matter. Stacy wanted to see if the couple could put on a united front when the cameras were running and people were 82

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listening. She wanted to observe the dynamics between them. If one or both of them were involved, the nervousness and pressure of speaking in front of the media would likely help Stacy see who might really be leading who.

Stacy peered through a crack in the door. The press room featured floor-to-ceiling windows. A flat-screen monitor could project images from a laptop or other mobile device. A picture of Colton DeVito framed the screen. Rows of rusted metal chairs were placed with little space between each seat. The room was packed, and reporters huddled over their laptops and phones, feverishly typing as Diana provided details of the case.

She wore her traditional black pantsuit with a white blouse.

When speaking to the media, she always pulled her hair back in a ponytail. It was a sign to the press and the public that she would work hard to solve the case. Flanked to her left was Chief Barry Martin in his button-down police uniform, replete with medals and cords dotting his jacket. Everything about him was buffed and polished. The message was clear: Diana was in charge, but Chief Martin was in control.

Diana had recounted the timeline of events. The captain paused and then reminded reporters that no questions would be taken at this time. She cut a glance over to the door and nodded.

Stacy looked back at the DeVitos. “It’s time.”

George rolled his shoulders and smacked his lips, leading Monica with a hand in the crevice of her elbow. Monica’s face and hair were greasy, and the green-sleeved top she wore looked tired and wrinkled. Her brown slacks were also wrinkled. They would be a contrast in styles in front of the cameras.

Stacy followed behind the DeVitos. George took his time helping Monica onto the dais. A patrolman from the public affairs division rearranged the microphones on the podium and ensured that the smaller recording devices were close to the speakers.

Stacy moved over to the side wall and pressed herself against it. The air in the room was tepid and close. Gavin Knox slid into the room, his tan sports coat flapping against his hip.

“I got the signed search warrants. I gave them to Austin.”

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Stacy felt some relief but turned her attention back to the dais. She hadn’t seen Austin or talked to him about the debriefing of the DeVitos, but she assumed he was happy to have the search warrants to begin looking into Colton DeVito’s bank and cell phone records.

George grabbed the podium. He smacked his lips again and cleared his throat. “My name is George DeVito. Colton is my son.” George leaned over the podium and pointed to the picture on the wall. “That’s him.”

A slight murmur passed through the media, but they returned to typing, and the cameramen from the television stations angled their lenses on George.

“We miss Colton terribly. We just want him to come home.

Son, it doesn’t matter where you are or who you’re with. We just need to hear from you. We’ll come and get you. No questions asked.”

Stacy watched his eyes moisten with tears. George paused and took a moment to collect himself. He wiped an eye with the back of his hand.

Good, George. Stay on message. Keep the focus on Colton and not what he might have done.

“Our son is a good kid. He’s the type of son that loved to come over to our house on the weekends and just spend time with us.

Colton always had a smile and a kind word to share with everyone. We miss that. Very much. We just want Colton to come back to us and to let us know that he’s safe.”

Perfect, George. Convincing.

In an unexpected move, George retreated from the podium and stood to the side. Monica approached the microphones.

If Monica was to speak, they were to speak together.

Stacy held her breath. Gavin sensed her nervousness and leaned closer. “Is she going to be able to do this?”

Stacy pushed a finger over her closed lips.

“I’m Monica DeVito. I’m Colton’s mother. Colton, honey, please come home. I miss you. We love you and need you. It’s been so long since we’ve heard from you.” She looked back at George, her face a twisted mess of worry. “We think that some84

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thing bad has happened, son, and we need to hear from you.” Her face lowered, the color of her cheeks turning to an ashen gray.

Suddenly, she reared back. Her eyes widened, and her nostrils flared.

Stacy leaned into Gavin. “Shit.”

“Colton,” Monica bellowed into the microphone. “I know you didn’t kill Brooke. I know it, honey. That’s not the son I know.

We will keep doing what we’ve been doing for you. But please, please come home.”

Her voice was shrill. Reporters sensed the developing breakdown that was unfolding and began hurling questions toward the dais. From across the room, Diana bolted up from her seat, trailed from behind by Chief Martin. Diana shot Stacy a look.

Her eyebrows pulled down together above wide open, glaring eyes.

George managed to pull Monica back from the microphones.

“Get off me!” she shouted, her voice cracking under the scream. “My son is not a murderer!” Spittle began shooting from her mouth. “Write that down. Get that on tape!”

Diana shielded herself between Monica and the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us, this press conference is over.”

Stacy had reached the dais and pushed George aside. She managed to get hold of Monica’s left arm and began pulling her toward the end of the dais.

“Leave me alone,” Monica cried out, flailing her arms and wobbling on her feet. “Stop it! Let me go!”

Stacy lost her grip, and Monica pushed her back. Stacy stumbled and slipped down the stairs, slamming a knee into the last step.

“I hate you,” Monica said, turning her venom on Stacy. Stacy managed to get up and climb the steps again. Monica leaned down. “I trusted you to find my son. You’re a liar. I hate you.”

As Stacy looked up, a wad of spit came hurling at her, landing right on the bridge of her nose.

Monica clomped down the stairs around Stacy. “Bitch,” she spat out before disappearing through the door, with George and the captain trailing behind her.

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12 Inside the Robbery/Homicide Unit’s conference room, Stacy leaned back in the chair and grimaced.

On the television screen was a WEWS-TV news reporter, standing in the back of the police department briefing room recounting the Monica DeVito meltdown that had occurred earlier. The cameraman managed to zoom the camera past the reporter and onto the stage, capturing the screaming insults being slung by Monica. The press conference was the lead story on the noon newscast.

A rush of air pushed in behind her.

“What in God’s name happened down there?”

Stacy ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know, but it made for some damn good television.”

The captain walked over to the computer and turned off the tower unit.

Diana whipped around, hands on her hips.

“Were they briefed?”

Stacy felt slightly insulted by the question. “Yes, several times.

We went over the protocol five minutes before they came into the room.”

Diana huffed. “That was a complete mess.”

Stacy thought for a moment and pursed her lips. “Not completely. Monica DeVito came across as a grieving mother, slightly unhinged but grieving. I think she and George feel the same way about Colton. I think they both miss him and for the same reasons.”

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Diana arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me? I thought Monica DeVito was a person of interest.”

“Oh, she still is. But the fact that her husband wasn’t involved until today is puzzling. He didn’t come with Monica to the coffee shop to talk to me, and he let his wife be interrogated in a police station by herself.”

Diana waved away the comment. “Still doesn’t get us any closer to finding Colton or whoever else might have killed Brooke Crawford.”

Diana looked to the door. Austin came in.

“I heard the press conference went well,” he scoffed.

Diana groaned, and Stacy spun around in her seat as Austin clutched a folder in his hand.

“Tell me that’s good news.”

“Oh, it is.”

Austin pulled open the folder and flattened its spine. Stacy looked at a set of numbers put into a spreadsheet, different blocks highlighted in different colors. One of Austin’s great skills as a detective was looking at numbers and quickly finding trends and patterns. He loved doing it, and Stacy was thankful for his passion.

Stacy honed in on the red-colored blocks first. “What are these?” she said, dragging a fingernail over the blocks.

“Those blocks in red are all of the calls from Colton DeVito’s cell phone for the last three months. Those calls that he made and received were from numbers that have been disconnected or are no longer in service.”

Diana walked over. “Burner phones?”

“Most likely. None of them are active numbers. Even the last number that Colton called a week ago is no longer active.”

Stacy studied the numbers. She noticed that several phone calls were made to and from Colton’s cell phone within minutes of each other, several times a day, over the last three months. The rest of the calls were spaced out and random.

Austin leaned over Stacy’s shoulder. He smelled fresh and clean. “None of these calls to Colton’s phone came from Monica or George DeVito, and he didn’t try to call them.”

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Stacy felt a dull ache rise behind her eyes. “So, they aren’t as close as George proclaimed at the press conference.”

Stacy blew some air through her lips. Turning her attention to the other side of the page, Stacy noticed longer rows of numbers framed in the spreadsheet. Several blocks had been circled in green.

“These are the bank records.”

“What is this ‘60,000’ number circled in green?”

“That’s the amount of money in the account.”

Stacy’s mouth was agape. “Colton DeVito has sixty thousand dollars in his account?”

“More or less.”

Diana moved around the table until she stood behind Austin, peering over his shoulder.

“Several electronic transfers of money have been made over the last several months to Colton DeVito’s Wells Fargo Bank account.”

Diana leaned closer. “From whom?”

“All of the transactions came from George and Monica DeVito’s account. See the dates and times on the right, and the two withdrawals made almost within minutes of the transfers?”

Stacy’s eyes scanned over the numbers. “Sixty thousand dollars is certainly a motive for murder.”

“I checked with FEMA and AEP. Since Colton was doing hurricane recovery cleanup, FEMA pays for his food and lodging if he’s working on behalf of the government.”

Stacy and Diana exchanged looks. “Which means he can take any other monies he earns from those purposes and just save it.”

Stacy smacked her lips. “Keep going.”

Austin pointed to a set of numbers crammed on the far right side of the page. “I checked with Wells Fargo. Someone made withdrawals from the account here in Cleveland and some in Houston.”

Stacy froze. “Colton couldn’t be in two cities at once.”

Diana straightened her posture. “Which means if he was withdrawing money in Houston, someone was withdrawing money from his account in Cleveland.”

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“Here’s something else,” Austin added. “The withdrawals made in Cleveland were all done at the Wells Fargo ATM downtown and not at any branch bank location.”

Stacy stood up and faced her partner and captain. “But that doesn’t make sense. It wouldn’t be his parents withdrawing the money. Why would they transfer it to his account only to go down to the bank and take it out?”

Stacy let the comment hang in the air for a moment. She tapped a finger on the table. “Someone else has been withdrawing the money. We need to find out who that is. That could be the person that leads us to Colton.”

Diana stepped between the two detectives. “Let’s split up on this. Cerrera, go downtown to Wells Fargo and find out if they’ve got any security footage we can see. Let’s try and put a face and name with these withdrawals.”

Stacy was already out the door. She spun on a heel and called back. “I’m going to see the DeVitos. And I’m going to take some more muscle with me.”

Diana nodded. “Good idea.”

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13 Monica and George DeVito lived in Lakewood, a city on Lake Erie’s southern coast near Cleveland. The third-largest city in Cuyahoga County, behind Cleveland and Parma, was made up of the young and diverse and featured a high immigrant population. The population density of Lakewood is the highest of any city in Ohio.

Stacy drove her car down Edgewater Drive and parked at the end of the street. A Cleveland Police Department cruiser with two patrolmen pulled in behind her. Diana had assigned two relatively new officers to accompany her. When she met them back at the station, she noticed that one of them, tall and lithe with a solemn expression, had a name tag that read Chavis while the other patrolman, somewhat squat with broad, defined shoulders, wore a tag that read Brown.

Stacy got out of the car and looked back across the vast expanse of Lake Erie. Edgewater Drive buttressed against the entrance to Lakewood Park. When Stacy took in a breath, she expected the air outside of the city to smell different, feel different.

As a light breeze blew through the street, there was no tinge of earthy loam to the air, no fragrance of spring growth, or a heady warning that rain was due. Instead, the intersection of aromas she smelled resembled downtown: pungent and full of the fumes of cars and the fierce footsteps of people trudging along the dirty pavement.

Beyond the horizon of the lake, the descending sun illuminated the shimmering haze of the water vapor. The downtown skyline’s silhouette pierced through the warm glow like a jagged edge in the far distance. Millions of lights would soon cause the 90

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skyscrapers to dazzle. Despite the time, the hustle of the city never came to a halt.

Chavis and Brown circled the patrol car and stood in front of Stacy.

“I appreciate the help, gentlemen.”

Chavis turned a shade of red while Brown set his jaw and nodded.

“I’m going to the door first. While I do that, just hang back a few feet on the sidewalk. I don’t want to scare the DeVitos, but I also want them to know this isn’t a social call.”

“Understood,” Brown said in a deep voice.

The house was a brick colonial. The yellow-bricked façade of the house looked worn but clean. A small porch featured redsquared tiles and a red French door tastefully decorated with a spring wreath. The place seemed dark and shuttered. All the blinds on the windows were closed, and the morning newspaper and mail had not been taken in.

There was one large window to the left of the front door and three smaller windows that ran down the home’s right side. The small, sloped roof provided shade on the porch and framed a series of round, plump bushes that were now regaining their green flora. The bushes were pushed against the house, under the three small windows.

Stacy reared back and rapped a closed fist against the door.

“George. Monica. Police.” She thrummed her fist against the door. “It’s me, Stacy Tavitt. Open up.”

As Stacy pulled back her fist to knock, something caught her attention. The large window to the left of the porch was open.

Stacy took a step back.

Stacy waited for any signs of movement. She thought about how the house looked when she approached. Something didn’t feel right. Something was off. She paused again and then heard a slow hiss pulsing from the open window. She leaned down to the opening, finding the smell made her nose tingle, causing her to jump back.

“Oh, my God. Gas!” Before she could turn around to warn Chavis and Brown, the front door and windows exploded.

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14 Stacy awoke on her back with a slow, stinging pain puncturing her face. She raked a hand across it and yelped. Several sharp fragments of glass cut into the skin on her hands, and she watched as rivulets of blood trickled between her fingers.

The small of her back felt sore, and her legs felt heavy. Stacy shook her head, clearing out the cluttered thoughts of confusion and pain to see the house’s first floor in flames. The radiant heat felt like it would scorch her skin. Bright streaks of hot orange light licked the sides of the house. The wood on the French door became ash, and the tiles on the porch began to melt.

Stacy looked back to see Chavis and Brown further in the yard. Checking to ensure she had nothing broken, Stacy pulled herself up and loped over to Officer Chavis. He lay on his side.

Dark burns had mottled the skin on his face, and his arms bubbled like they’d been cooked on an open flame. Chavis let out a dull moan and mumbled something Stacy didn’t recognize.

Behind Chavis, Officer Brown had managed to get himself into a kneeling position. A brick from the front of the house lay next to him, sprinkled with blood. He looked at Stacy with one eye completely closed and covered in blood. Brown had a deep, open head wound that turned his uniform’s navy blue collar into a garish dark red.

“Gas fire,” Stacy proclaimed. Her voice sounded like the words were formed of smoke, the lungs charred.

Brown touched the side of his head gingerly. “I’m okay. Just hurts like hell.”

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Stacy looked back to see the flames spreading up the front and side of the house. She pointed back to Chavis.

“Stay with him. And call for help.”

Brown wobbled in his stance but nodded in agreement. Stacy grunted and dragged herself to the side of the house.

She hadn’t seen anyone leave the house after the explosion.

There was a chance Monica and George were trapped inside.

As she shuffled to the side of the house, she saw that it burned like a bonfire. Orange flames were garish against the brilliant brick, and the black smoke made dark columns into an otherwise perfectly blue sky.

Stacy kept moving until she came to a back door. The door was connected to a room that looked like an addition to the original house, based on the white siding and not brick, and how it jutted out from the back part of the house at an odd angle.

Stacy withdrew her Glock. Thick clouds of black smoke choked the air, and she began to cough. She turned her head to the side and practiced a breathing exercise that sometimes helped her thwart a lung attack.

After a few seconds, Stacy climbed the stairs to the back door.

She touched the handle—warm but not hot.

“Monica? George?” Stacy waited but only heard the crackle of the fire as it chewed up and melted everything in its path.

Stacy stepped back and kicked the door, denting it, but it didn’t budge. This time, she kicked harder, near the handle. The door finally buckled and fell inside the room.

Inside, the smoke was thick and hung near the middle of the room. Stacy crouched down and began crawling on the carpeted floor. She cursed under her breath because it would only be a matter of time before the fire would scorch the carpet and anything and anyone that was near it.

Stacy coughed again—harder this time, with more heft. She held her Glock in one hand and felt ahead of her with the other.

A plume of fire exploded into the blackness, the flame rolling inward like a mushroom cloud.

Stacy heard someone let out a low, guttural scream, like a mortally wounded animal. It sounded like a man’s voice.

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“George!” Stacy hollered before smoke enveloped her words and breath. “George. It’s me, Stacy.”

Stacy could hear a thud from deeper inside the blackness, but the screaming stopped. As she continued pushing farther into the room, her hand traced across something slick and greasy.

She looked down to see the face of Monica DeVito. She lay on her side with a hand over her waist. Her skin was fiery pink and a sick shade of brown. Stacy couldn’t recognize any features on her face aside from the skin that burbled in the simmering heat. Her arms and hands were also severely burned, with the skin singed right from the bone.

“Oh, God. Monica.”

Stacy took two fingers and checked for a pulse. There was none. Monica was dead.

A second explosion came from another spot deeper into the recesses of the room. This one shook the entire room. Looking up, Stacy could hear the ceiling begin to crack and buckle.

She sat on her butt and pushed herself away from Monica’s body. The deep groan and splintering of ceiling tiles grew louder.

Stacy managed to turn herself over on her stomach and crawl to the small sliver of daylight near the door.

Stacy began to lose strength and energy. Her coughing worsened, or maybe she’d been coughing all this time, but no air was going into her lungs, only acrid, toxic smoke. Her legs and arms began to get heavy, and the clarity of sight began to wane.

As Stacy crawled and pushed toward the door with all the strength she had left, the ceiling caved in.

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15 Stacy watched as a handsome, young paramedic with blond hair and a flat nose taped a bandage over her arm.

“Ah,” she said, wincing. “That burns.”

“And it will,” he said, dappling the skin with ointment. “Those pieces of glass cut into you pretty good.”

Stacy took the opportunity to breathe in deeply, letting the cool, crisp river of oxygen from a nasal cannula flow into her lungs from an oxygen machine.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Whatever,” he said. “I have a direct order to take you to the hospital for evaluation.”

“From whom?”

“From me.” Austin stood in the space between the two opened ambulance doors. His light green shirt and striped tie accentuated his dark features. He chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment, revealing a few glistening white teeth.

“I came as soon as I heard.”

Stacy nodded and pushed herself to the end of the tailgate.

“How bad is it?”

“Fire department says it’s a total loss. They found two bodies inside, presumably Monica and George DeVito. Also, a pet dog didn’t make it. Somebody had cut a gas line connected to the stove in the kitchen in two places. And no sign of Colton DeVito inside.”

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her Glock had melted, and the dark pantsuit she wore was tattered and layered with soot and the smell of smoke.

The last time Stacy was in the back of an ambulance was in September, when a former scorned informant, Jamal, had kidnapped Stacy and held her hostage inside a warehouse of the Flats District in Cleveland. Stacy had been chained to a chair and beaten but managed to escape, only to see Harris’s body slide down an embankment along the jagged cliffs of the Lake Erie shoreline below.

The thought made Stacy shiver. Then she remembered her brother. Chance had also been taken hostage by Jamal Harris but was rescued by Austin and another cop, Kendall Jackson. Chance was still missing, Brandon was in jail, and Stacy still had no more answers as to what had happened to her brother.

The thought made her stomach sour. She had been so wrapped up in the Colton DeVito case that she had taken her focus away from her missing brother and Brandon Deerfield.

Questions and scenarios ran through her mind. None of them had any good answers or outcomes.

“Stacy,” Austin interrupted. “Still with me?”

The question pulled her out of her thoughts. “Yeah. What about Chavis and Brown?”

“Chavis has third-degree burns on the right side of his body, but he’s expected to be fine. Brown suffered a concussion and a broken eye socket.”

Stacy blew out a breath until her cheeks puffed. “Shit.”

“Brown saved your life,” Austin said, looking back as the chaotic scene began to subside now that the fire was out. “He followed you around the house and heard the ceiling begin to crack.

He pulled you out of the door just in time.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stacy said, her voice still raspy. The blood drained from Austin’s face, turning his mocha-colored cheeks a milky white. Stacy couldn’t decide if his shock resulted from her language, what she had experienced, or both.

Austin glanced around the chaotic scene. “We need to scour the area for Colton DeVito. Check with neighbors to see if anyone saw him around the house before the explosion.”

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Stacy looked over at him and made a face. “I don’t think Colton would’ve done this. Not to his own parents.”

Austin shook his head. “Think about Brooke Crawford and what he did to her.”

“We don’t know that he killed her,” Stacy replied with a hard edge to her tone.

“And we don’t know that he didn’t do this, either.” He let out a quick sigh. “It’s hard, I know, but don’t let the relationship you had with Monica DeVito cloud your judgment here.”

Stacy took a moment and then agreed. “I know. I’m sorry,” Stacy said. “We’re the reason this happened.” Stacy searched her partner’s face.

“Excuse me?”

Stacy pushed herself up from the tailgate. A maze of firemen, police, media, and onlookers milled around the site, some looking for their place and others looking for a place to go.

Stacy turned her eyes down to the half-melted toes of her boots. “That press conference made George and Monica targets.

We paraded them up there and put a name and face to them. The killer knew who to target.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.” Austin held up an open palm between them. “Nobody could’ve known what would happen here.”

Stacy leaned on the doorjamb of the ambulance. “But we made them a visible target. We might as well have put a bullseye on their backs and said ‘Come and get ‘em.’”

A cold wind had picked up off the lake and made Stacy shiver.

“I want to go back inside the house,” she said.

Austin shot her an incredulous look. “You need to go to the hospital and get checked out.”

Stacy moved past him. “Let’s walk and talk.”

They moved around the house, now nothing more than a smoldering hole in the earth with a few shanty walls where the brick façade had collapsed inside itself. Two firemen continued to pour a slow stream of water on a couple of smoldering sections of charred wood piled in the middle of it all. The wind blew the smell of smoke and death around the yard in concentric circles.

Stacy tipped her head forward. “I don’t think we need to walk back around the house anymore.”

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Austin showed his badge to an officer who had secured the scene. They both put on scrubs, boots, and gloves to avoid contaminating the crime scene and wandered into the middle of the house. The floor near the kitchen and the backroom that Stacy entered earlier was remarkably intact, and there were two shapes outlined with white tape where the bodies must have been.

Austin pointed to the burned hull of the stove. “That’s where the gas smell came from.”

Stacy walked ahead first. She saw the tape outline of a body that had been on its side, with one arm folded over the waist.

“I found Monica there,” she said. “She was already dead.”

Austin stepped back, his shoe crunching against some charred rubble. “They found George DeVito over there.”

Austin kicked a piece of charred metal. It heaved up and then collapsed onto the mottled floorboards with a thud.

Stacy flitted her eyes at the oven and then squatted down and looked at the white taped outline. She looked around it and rubbed her nose with the crook of her elbow.

“Something doesn’t fit here.”

Austin came over and crouched down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at the tape,” Stacy said, pointing. Austin followed her finger.

The taped outline revealed a man that had landed on the ground with both arms resting to his side. The right leg has bent at an odd angle, as indicated by the tape outline’s jagged trajectory near the bend of George DeVito’s knee.

“If the tape was placed correctly, George was either facedown or face up.”

Austin studied the taped outline a little further but remained silent. The acrid smell of charred debris wafted around him.

“I was back there, just feet away from him. I’ve never felt the heat so intense. The flames were almost as high as the ceiling.

Someone in that situation would instinctively have their hands drawn up to their face and head, trying to protect themselves from the flames as they got close. There is no way a person would be standing here with arms rested to their side.”

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Stacy froze and felt the heat drain from her face. She remembered hearing a scream before the ceiling began to buckle over her.

“Dammit,” Stacy said in a voice that was a mixture of annoyance and surprise. “The killer was in here. I heard a scream before all hell broke loose. I think that scream was from George DeVito, and maybe whoever else was here with him.”

Austin came around and stared down at his partner. “Stacy, the heat and flames would’ve made it nearly impossible for someone to stand upright with the strength needed to kill George DeVito.”

Stacy wagged a finger into the open space. “Improbable, but not impossible. I need to see the autopsy from Adam, and I also want to speak to the fire marshal investigating. I think the killer was here waiting for us. The house fire was a trap.”

Stacy sprang up and wiped some of the soot from her gloved hands. It cascaded off her fingertips in thin wisps and floated to the ground.

Stacy and Austin moved cautiously out of the charred remains of the house and removed the scrubs.

Austin removed his notepad. He changed the tact of the conversation.

“I was able to get some footage from one of the Wells Fargo ATM security cameras. The main corporate office on East Ninth Street monitors the cameras. This came from the ATM near the bank building on Euclid Avenue.”

Austin dug into his pocket and unfolded the photo before passing it over to Stacy. The grainy photo showed a thin individual with dark sunglasses and a white hooded sweatshirt huddled closely near the machine. Wisps of hair had blown out from under the hood with the head cast down as if they knew someone was filming, and the individual didn’t want to be seen. Stacy stared at it closely for a few long seconds.

“Who is he?”

“Or who is she? Tough to tell from that picture if it’s a man or woman.”

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Stacy held the picture away from her and then pulled it close again. “Not definitive either way. What’s the date on this picture?”

Austin held the picture in his hands and turned it sideways.

“Two days ago.”

Stacy thought for a moment. “It’s possible this person either has permission from Colton to access his bank account or doesn’t know that Colton is missing and is using it anyway. If Colton gave permission, he could be hoarding money to try to escape, which fits Gavin’s theory that he’s trying to flee.”

Stacy noticed that Austin winced at that statement.

“Either way, we need to catch the person that did this, and hopefully, she—or he can lead us to Colton.”

“And we have to find out if this fire is connected or is something separate.”

Stacy nodded. “If anyone else knew that the DeVitos were putting thousands of dollars into a bank account for their son, maybe someone wanted the money.”

“Or someone wanted them to stop with the money.”

Stacy sighed. “We have more questions and more theories now than we did when this whole thing started.”

Two men from the Cuyahoga County Coroner’s office wheeled a body strapped to a gurney covered in a thick white sheet past the two detectives.

Stacy watched the gurney roll by as if in a trance. “Unfortunately, Colton’s parents didn’t live to find out what happened to their son.”

Austin shifted his weight uncomfortably between both feet.

Stacy turned on a heel to face Austin, her eyes meeting her partner’s intense, dark hues. “We need to start from the beginning of this and soon before it’s too late.”

100

16 As Stacy whirled through downtown Cleveland, often going faster than most cops would allow any citizen to drive, the scale, texture, and images of the city began to take shape around her.

As she moved through each city block, downtown Cleveland displayed its typical beige color under a bright sun. The gradation from brown to gray to off-white of the passing landscape was prominent with no clouds hovering near the downtown skyscrapers’ tops. The surfaces of the buildings, both smooth and rough, were also beige. If Stacy hadn’t grown up in Cleveland or worked these streets as a cop, she would have no idea where she was in the city. A native felt comfortable in the passing blur, while a stranger would not.

She managed to sneak into headquarters and access some of the records and information on the Brooke Crawford murder case and the missing person case involving Colton DeVito. There would be more information to absorb once the crime scene was processed, and the bodies of George and Monica DeVito could be positively identified.

Unable to take files away from headquarters, she slipped into the records room and took notes on what they had recorded so far. To connect the threads, Stacy needed some perspective. And space.

With her notebook full, Stacy left headquarters and pulled in front of Superior Lofts. The building stood near the end of the street. Rockefeller Café bordered it to the right and another Starbucks Coffee shop across the street. Stacy huffed when her eyes came across the elongated green lettering on the front of the 101

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store. She had met Monica DeVito at another Starbucks downtown, which was the beginning of this entire mess.

Superior Lofts, built in the late 1880s, was an integral part of Cleveland’s Warehouse District. To the north of the district, residents and visitors could see the bluffs that overlooked Lake Erie to the north. West 3rd Street and West 10th Streets established the east and west borders of the neighborhood.

The warehouse buildings had been used as a mix of property for the metal and blue-collar industries that once thrived in Cleveland. Everything from metalworking shops to furniture stores had once been a part of the Warehouse District. In recent years, developers had purchased many of the properties at auction from the city, and the county had turned the once-defunct properties into business and residential space.

Stacy felt a pang of pain rise from her stomach. Her lungs began to seize, and she leaned forward. She had learned to take shallow, short breaths in these moments to try to reignite the muscles and blood vessels in her lungs to function normally. This time, nothing happened. Tears formed in her eyes as the pain and burning in her chest began to spread.

Stacy thought about all of the debris-laden smoke she inhaled during the fire at the DeVitos and figured that smoke had triggered something. Suddenly, her skin felt hot.

The pain got worse when taking in a deep breath. It was becoming clear that Stacy needed to get into her apartment and get to the supplemental oxygen.

As she gasped and panted, Stacy flung open the door of her Camry and managed to pull herself out. Her voice sounded pinched and muffled as she tried to breathe. She’d hoped the fresh air and movement would cause her labored breathing to subside, but it continued.

A college-aged man taking an evening run in his blue shorts and gray Cleveland Browns T-shirt stopped and stood on the curb next to the car.

“Miss, are you okay?”

Sweat dripped from his sweatband, ran down the edge of his sharp nose, and pooled on the neckline of his shirt. Stacy looked 102

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down at the logo. She never wanted to think about the Cleveland Browns again.

Stacy coughed a wet, racking hack. She held up a hand and pointed down the street.

“Apartment, there. Need to get there,” she said, her voice cracked.

“Okay, let me help.” The man leaned under Stacy’s arm and tossed it over his shoulder. The shoulder was bony and sloped, but the crevice of her arm fit around it carefully. He tucked her bulging binder of notes under his other arm.

“Just lean into me,” he told her. “Let me do the work.”

Stacy leaned against the man, coughing and gasping. Her steps became more awkward as she walked, her feet almost dragging against the concrete.

She felt the man squeeze her arm tighter. “I think I need to call for help.”

“I… am… the police,” she wheezed out between gasps.

By the time they made it to the landing of Superior Lofts, Stacy had regulated her breathing slightly. No longer did she find the edges of her vision blurred or her chest spiking with fits of burning and stabbing pain.

She sat down on the step and peered up at the man, who eyed her with concern.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

His green eyes stood out against the freckles on his face but accented his sharp nose.

“I’m fine. Thank you for helping me.” She felt some of the power come back to her voice.

The man leaned down and took Stacy’s hands and held them.

“Please go see a doctor.”

Stacy smacked her lips, which were dry and sticky. “I will. I will be sure and get help.”

The man nodded and began bouncing up and down. He turned without a word and resumed his jog up the street.

Stacy staggered her way up to the third floor and managed to pull back the heavy steel door to her loft apartment just enough to slip in. Stacy felt greasy and exhausted. Every time her tho103

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racic outlet syndrome flared up, it zapped any energy she had and forced her to lose focus.

Stacy fumbled with the buttons on her oxygen machine. She stuffed the ends of the cannula in her nose, and the cool, crisp flow of oxygen poured into her nose and throat, causing her to relax instantly.

Stripping off her clothes and unhooking her bra, Stacy settled onto the bed. A checkerboard of evening sunlight slid through the partially covered glass window. As the late afternoon gave way to the early evening, Stacy watched as the stubby light squares elongated into faded rectangles, as if stretching and yawning and surrendering to the sunset that was coming.

Stacy snagged the cell phone from her pants and sat it beside her Glock holster and shield. As the fresh oxygen made its way to her battered lungs, Stacy thumbed through her phone’s saved numbers. She clicked on one of the names.

“Hey, Stacy,” Gavin answered, sounding dourer and more serious than the last time they had talked.

“Hey, Gavin—” “Look, I don’t mean to cut you off, but are you okay?”

“I am,” Stacy said, taking a deep breath. The connection on the line was terrible, and Gavin sounded bone-tired. “I’ve been involved in something.”

“I’d say,” he replied tartly. “The office is buzzing with what happened at the DeVitos. George and Monica both dead?”

Stacy sighed. “I’m afraid so. Burned to death.”

“Good God,” Gavin said. Stacy could picture him biting his lip and contemplating the news.

“But that’s not why I called.”

“Okay.”

“I wondered if you’d come by my place tonight.”

Silence. Then static filled the line. Stacy wondered if Gavin had dropped the phone.

“Sure. I have a bail hearing in about half an hour, but I could come by later.”

“Good. Let’s say six-thirty. Oh, I’m ordering Chinese food.

My treat.”

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Gavin hedged before speaking. “Sounds good. I am a sesame chicken and fried rice fan.”

“I’m more of General Tso’s fan, but I’ll get it.”

“Stacy,” Gavin said, his voice dropping an octave. “Everything okay?”

“It is. Promise. I want to take a fresh look at this Colton DeVito case, and I need some perspective.

“What type of perspective?”

Stacy sat up in the bed and thought about her collection of notes downstairs. “The one that tells me it’s okay to start all over.”

105

17 Stacy managed a quick nap and a hot shower. By the time Gavin rang the doorbell to her apartment, Stacy had taped the last sheet of paper to the wall and placed the Chinese food on an end table.

She looked at the sheets of paper on the wall. Timelines had been a tracking technique she’d used since becoming a detective on the Cleveland Police Department Homicide Unit ten years ago. Stacy was a visual person. A timeline gave her a visual representation of how events in an investigation were tied together.

Stacy needed to be sure that everything she knew about the murder of Brooke Crawford and the subsequent disappearance of Colton DeVito, coupled with his parents’ deaths, could be independently verified.

A great deal of information had been collected already. Detective Yates had brought over his report from the Crawford crime scene, but some information was incomplete, and it needed more details added. Stacy knew that part of collecting data in an investigation was organizing it for a meaningful interpretation. Austin liked using excel spreadsheets to look for patterns and trends in an ongoing investigation. He tried, unsuccessfully, to convince Stacy that spreadsheets allowed information updates in real-time. Additional information about evidence, suspects, or methods like the geolocation of cell phones, physical surveillance, or interviews could be added by creating a separate column in the spreadsheet for easy record-keeping and tracking.

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keep track of the information or if only one person understood the system. Reconstructing an incident involving multiple data categories to merge into a single timeline spreadsheet could make the timeline too difficult to process or make it thoroughly confusing. Stacy wanted to avoid both circumstances.

Her method of using sheets of paper, colored markers, and lots of tape allowed her to create a timeline that was practical and logical. This old-fashioned timeline process helped Stacy sort massive amounts of information, filter out irrelevant data, highlight important data, and gather inferences to help reconstruct the incidents.

It helped that Stacy felt refreshed after some oxygen and a change of clothes. She wore gray sweatpants that she had purchased from the Old Navy store at the Galleria downtown and a royal blue sweatshirt that was a little too big, although the extra slack in the arms made her feel more comfortable and relaxed.

She’d let her hair hang below her ears as the split ends grazed against her jaw.

A few minutes later, Stacy pulled back the door. Gavin stood in the hallway space and flashed her a relaxed smile, his bright blue eyes piercing beneath dark brows. He wore a light-purple button-down polo shirt with jeans and tan shoes. Stacy could make out the muscles protruding from the area below his chest, and the muscles in his legs bulged against the fabric in the jeans.

His hair moussed and combed to the side revealed some freckles that dappled the base of his hairline.

He was extraordinarily handsome and smart and at least ten years younger. But Gavin was a part of her work unit. The line between friendship and physical attraction was a straight and inflexible one, despite his beliefs on the contrary.

“Hey,” he said in a breezy tone that was much different from the tone of their earlier conversation.

“Hey, you,” she said. “Come on in.”

Stacy stepped back as Gavin slowly entered the room. He took a moment to regard the entire space of the loft apartment, then his eyes darted to the sheets of paper Stacy had taped to the far wall near the galley kitchen.

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“I was going to ask what’s been good on Netflix lately, but I see that’s not on the menu for discussion tonight.”

Stacy grinned at his corny attempt at humor. The sweet and savory smell of chicken and beef wafted through the space between them, making Stacy’s stomach growl. She was starving.

“I appreciate you coming over, especially late in the evening like this.”

Gavin turned to face her, a glint in his eyes. “Anytime. I’d do anything to help you.”

A silence pooled between them. Stacy blanched while Gavin’s face turned a shade of red.

He finally held up a hand. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

“It’s fine,” Stacy said.

“I’m surprised Austin isn’t here helping with this.”

Stacy looked down at her feet, avoiding eye contact. “He’s working another angle to the case.”

Gavin nodded slowly. “Anything I can help with?”

“Not now, but if so, I’ll let you know.”

Stacy looked up at Gavin, staring at his physique. She felt her hands getting clammy.

She thought back to how Gavin had stayed with her after her collapse at police headquarters. He didn’t say too much, but his presence was comforting and made Stacy feel safe and loved. It had been a long time since any man had done something nice like that for her without expecting something in return. The thought made her body tingle, and her heart beat faster.

Gavin caught her staring at him, which made Stacy look away.

She motioned toward the bagged food. “Dinner is ready.”

Gavin walked over to the table and began tearing the top ends of the bag. She noticed a twitch in his mouth that was usually a sign of worry.

“What’s wrong, Gavin?”

He froze for a moment, then resumed removing the food from the bag. “Nothing. Tough day in court.”

“I can tell,” Stacy said, crossing her arms. “On the phone earlier, I could sense some strain.”

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Gavin stacked the sesame chicken and General Tso’s chicken containers on the end of the table and set napkins down on each carton.

“The judge denied Brandon Deerfield bail today.”

“That’s excellent.”

“Yeah,” Gavin scoffed in response. “But his attorneys are trying the case in the press,” he said, nervously fingering the napkins. “Deerfield’s done, and they know it, so their only recourse is to present him as an honest cop who’s being smeared by the police department because he made a mistake.”

Stacy shook her head. “There’s much more to it than that.”

Gavin turned his head to the side and tossed Stacy a quick look. “I know. But the press loves a story where the suspect is in a high position of authority and then uses that authority to turn bad. Then, their questions become why and how bad is bad, really?”

Stacy let that comment hang for a moment. Her attention had shifted to Colton DeVito and his disappearance, and she had ignored thinking about Deerfield sitting in jail awaiting trial and the fact that he was the last person to see her brother Chance before he disappeared. Stacy felt a dull pressure pushing behind her eyes. A headache was slowly building.

“Just read The Plain Dealer tomorrow or watch the local news. I’m sure the case will be the lead story.”

Stacy walked over to Gavin. “The important part of this is that Deerfield gets convicted.”

Gavin looked at her with a perplexed expression. “I thought the most important part of this was finding out where Chance is.”

Stacy pursed her lips and blinked back some tears that had formed in the corners of both eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin said, reaching a hand out to touch her arm.

Stacy walked over to the sheets of paper taped to the wall.

“Here’s the timeline I’ve created so far.”

Gavin walked over to the wall, taking a container of sesame chicken. He held it against his chest and shoved a forkful of the meal into his mouth.

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“Start me from the beginning,” he said between bites. She noted that a ripple of sauce had slid down his chin. “I know most of it but not all of it.”

Stacy started by reviewing the information she’d obtained from Detective Yates and the Bratenahl Police Department.

Nothing from his report contradicted what Stacy and Austin assumed had happened to Brooke Crawford the night she was murdered. What astonished Stacy was that there was no physical evidence or DNA left at the crime scene. Detective Yates had ordered fingerprint evidence to be collected at the scene, especially in Brooke’s room, where her body had been discovered.

There were many fingerprints collected, but none that triggered any alarms.

He interviewed several of the neighbors in the area. They all remarked that Brooke was a nice girl but lived a quiet life. Several of the neighbors told Detective Yates that they never saw Brooke have many visitors, except for her mother, Virginia.

Gavin waved a fork at the phrase: She’s all Yours. Fuck You! “What’s that?”

“It was found inscribed on the back of Brooke’s gray sweatshirt.” Stacy swallowed hard and looked at Gavin. “Written in her blood.”

Gavin stopped eating. “Holy shit.”

“But, so far, no idea why the killer would write that.”

Gavin gave a thoughtful nod. “Based on what I know about the case, if Colton DeVito still loved Brooke, why would he kill her and then write that message?”

Stacy shrugged.

Gavin walked to one sheet of paper taped to the wall with a bright pink Post-it Note flapping away loosely. After a moment, he said, “But the note here says that Brooke had texted Virginia Crawford, stating that she was uncomfortable with Colton just randomly coming by to see her.”

Stacy could hear Gavin chew a little more slowly before swallowing. The smell of ginger coming from the chicken made her mouth water.

“That can’t be discounted, Stacy. Still makes him someone that Brooke felt threatened by.”

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Stacy bounded over to Gavin. She pointed to another large sheet of paper to the right of where he was standing. “But did she feel threatened by him or by what he knew about her?”

Gavin arched an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“When I talked to Monica DeVito at Starbucks, she told me that Colton thought he was the father of Brooke’s baby until she admitted that maybe it was Jesse Williams. I don’t know if Brooke ever ordered a DNA test to find out if Colton or Jesse was the father, so maybe Colton thought there was a chance that he might be the father.”

Gavin let in a long breath and exhaled. “Okay, so why kill her? If he thinks he’s the father and wants a DNA test to prove paternity, he needs her cooperation, especially if he wants to take her to court to order a DNA test.”

“I don’t know.” Stacy turned to face Gavin, leaning a hand against the wall. He shot her a quick look, then turned back to stare at the pages.

“But your contact in the Harris County DA’s office said that Colton and Jesse Williams both worked for American Electric Power in Houston after Hurricane Harvey. They were friends, right?”

“Yup,” Gavin said, stuffing another forkful of sesame chicken into his mouth. “From what I was told, Colton had moved to Houston after graduating high school and hanging around Cleveland for a year. He and Jesse Williams kept in touch, and eventually, Jesse moved from Cleveland to Houston. They had both been in Houston together less than a year before Jesse was killed.”

“I wonder how that friendship worked, particularly if Colton knew that Jesse got Brooke pregnant.”

“And we’ll never know if Colton knew because Jesse Williams is dead.”

Stacy let out her own long sigh. “Virginia Crawford didn’t seem to know who the father of her grandson might be. She indicated that she didn’t like Jesse or Colton. It’s likely that Brooke was seeing both of them at the same time.”

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Stacy then asked, “So how did Colton get charged with that murder and then get released? How does that happen to someone accused of first-degree murder?”

Gavin gave a wry smile. “Now I know the reason you invited me over.” Before Stacy could say anything, Gavin gave a dismissive wave. “I’m kidding. When I talked to another friend, who was a Harris County ADA at the time, he told me that Colton DeVito had several circumstances go right in getting his conviction overturned.”

Stacy arched an eyebrow. “His conviction was overturned?”

Gavin spun on a heel and leaned back into an open space on the wall. He set his food carton down on the table and folded his arms. The rush of air around his movements jostled some of the taped pages.

“First, there was a problem with the jury. One of the jury members admitted to taking a bribe from a rich friend of Jesse Williams. A family member of another juror watched the guy take the bribe in the hallway outside of the courtroom.”

Stacy let out a slow moan.

“He served less than a year. Before that, Colton DeVito and Jesse Williams started doing some hard drugs when they weren’t working for AEP.” Stacy was intrigued, and her interest piqued. “What kind of hard drugs?

“Crystal Meth. Cocaine.”

Stacy nodded. “Ah, the good stuff.”

“Right.” He reached for the food carton again. “After Jesse burned through his extra money, he started hounding Colton for money. Soon, Colton was funding both of their drug habits.”

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18 Stacy felt her mind seize at his comment. “Wait a second.

Jesse harassed Colton for money?”

“Yup.” Stacy let her mind snap back to an earlier conversation. “Austin talked to the bank manager at the Wells Fargo Bank downtown. He learned that Monica and George DeVito had been putting large sums of money into an account for Colton.”

Gavin made a face. “Monica and George gave off a vibe at the press conference that neither of them had much contact with Colton.”

Stacy finally looked over and began removing the plastic lid from her food carton. “Someone had been withdrawing the money almost as quickly as it was going in.”

Gavin cocked his head to the side. “Really? Going how far back?”

“Several months,” Stacy said, forking pieces of General Tso’s chicken into her mouth. It tasted spicy, meaty, and delicious.

“Jesse Williams was killed over a year ago. Unless the deposits and withdrawals go that far back, then there’s no connection.”

Stacy wagged her empty fork at Gavin. “But that means that someone else might have known that Colton was getting large deposits of money, or at least had access to it.”

“And my theory that he’s been withdrawing this money to go on the run could still be valid, assuming he killed Brooke Crawford or was involved somehow. Or someone could be withdrawing money on his behalf and giving it to him.”

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Stacy didn’t really like that theory but conceded the point.

She stabbed another clump of her food. “So, how did Jesse die?”

“Stabbed to death,” Gavin said, rather stoically. “They were walking back from Greenspoint, which is a notoriously dangerous neighborhood in Houston when both got jumped. Someone beat Jesse badly, but Colton only managed some minor bruises.

Paramedics transported Jesse to the hospital, where he died. Later, during the investigation, Houston PD interviewed some of the gangbangers that took part in the assault. It turns out Colton was in on a plot with those thugs to lure Jesse there to kill him.”

Stacy thought back to Austin’s earlier statement questioning the true nature of Colton DeVito.

“So, Colton pre-planned Jesse Williams’s murder.”

“Yes. The punks that Colton ‘hired’ to attack Jesse sang like canaries when questioned by police. Colton even managed to get some swings and kicks in on his own. The police found Jesse’s skin and blood under Colton’s fingernails. Plus, there were text messages and Facebook Messenger posts between all of them discussing the details of the attack.”

Stacy listened carefully and thought back to how many homicide investigations in recent years had been solved because of social media. She wondered why criminals had to discuss everything they were planning and doing on social media platforms.

Gavin ate some more. “It was a trail of intent and evidence that led police right to them. He was charged with first-degree murder.”

“Okay,” Stacy said, setting down her food and stepping closer to Gavin. He pushed himself away from the wall and stood upright as she came closer. “He goes to trial and gets convicted.

How is it overturned?”

“Appeals judges generally defer to trial court findings, especially on serious charges like murder, particularly on findings of fact as opposed to matters of law. Recently, a good source of trial error that has led to successful appeals has been the jury charge—the document that the judge prepares for the jury, instructing them how to decide guilt or innocence and the sentence for a defendant.”

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Stacy shook off the legal jargon. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Gavin cleared his throat. “For example, if the judge refuses the request to include a lesser included offense in the jury charge, that could be the basis for appeal.”

“And that happened in this case?”

“Yes. Most errors in trials are harmless, but there are, of course, some types of errors that are so serious they are presumed harmful. When Colton DeVito got a new trial, his parents hired two lawyers from a prestigious New York firm. They uncovered that the Houston PD had coerced a confession out of their son.

Add that problem to the issue with the juror bribe and the whole trial was a mess.”

Stacy closed her eyes for a moment. Coercing confessions from suspects was something detectives learned not to do during their first week. She reopened her eyes and settled them again on Gavin.

“Appellate courts rarely interfere with decisions made by the lower courts, but in some cases where the law specifies a particular sentence, the appellate court may send the case back for resentencing if the lower court gets it wrong.”

“And Colton got a new trial and was acquitted.”

“That’s right. The coerced confession sank the case for the prosecution. Even though the rest of the statements taken by Colton’s buddies were done by the book, Colton’s coerced confession tainted the others and created enough reasonable doubt.”

Stacy dropped her head and put her hands over her eyes.

“And that’s all it takes,” she commented rhetorically.

Gavin nodded.

Stacy leaned on the back of a chair for a moment, collecting her thoughts. A moment of clarity crossed her countenance.

“What about the other people that Colton hired? They would have been witnesses for the prosecution.”

Gavin nodded his head thoughtfully. “Yes. I’m sure they were.

Each of them—depending on what the police did and the Harris County DA decided to do—could’ve had charges brought against all of them in connection with Jesse Williams’s death. But if they 115

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did testify against DeVito, any lawyer worth anything would’ve made sure to cut a deal with the DA in exchange for testimony.”

For the next few minutes, Stacy and Gavin sat on the floor of her loft and ate the rest of their food in silence. Stacy caught Gavin staring at her intently. When she met his stare, he smiled, blushed, and looked away. Stacy thought it was disarmingly cute.

Stacy explained what happened at the DeVito house and how Austin discovered someone making withdrawals using Colton DeVito’s debit card at the Wells Fargo Bank downtown.

Gavin listened intently. A few times, he nodded, and other times, he looked down at his interlocked fingers. In those moments, Stacy noticed the burnt red rings around his wrists.

The scars on both wrists came as a result of his father, Wendell. Wendell Knox was an alcoholic and couldn’t keep a job.

When he did find work, he’d show up to work until his probationary period was over, and then it was back to the heavy drinking.

Wendell came home drunk, and there were many nights Gavin cried himself to sleep because he could hear his father punching his mother in the next room.

As Gavin got older, they would fight. Wendell would come at Gavin with a baseball bat, tire iron, anything he could find.

Wendell would knock Gavin unconscious, drag him out behind the house and tie him to a metal railing with bicycle chains. They were tied so tight that they dug into his skin. If Gavin tried to free himself, they’d cut further into his flesh. Wendell would leave Gavin out there in the cold or the rain all night. Each time Gavin was tied up, the chains were tighter than before, and they cut deeper into his wrists.

When Gavin told Stacy this story over dinner at the Blue Point Grille, she couldn’t forget how his lips quivered, and he stared down at the table with shame and regret. Hearing Gavin recount the details was awful, and a pang of sadness and guilt overwhelmed her then as it did now when she thought about it.

Gavin had been sitting with both feet tucked under his legs.

His shirt had become wrinkled and untucked as he uncurled his legs and pushed himself up from the floor.

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“I think there are a lot of disparate threads with this case that could add up to something or might add up to nothing,” he said.

Stacy felt him watching her closely for a reaction.

“There isn’t enough here for me to build a case, even if we find Colton DeVito. I think it’s wise to start over from the beginning, but there needs to be a lot more hustle and evidence collected before I can even think about prosecuting anyone for anything.”

Stacy blanched at the news but had expected what Gavin would say. She tucked a few wisps of hair behind her ear and ran her hands over her legs.

Once he steadied himself, Gavin walked over to Stacy. “More importantly”—he paused as he looked down at her chest—”how are you feeling? Any other serious episodes like the one at police headquarters?”

The sincerity in his voice and the concern on his face accentuated his handsome features. “No,” she lied. “Just some minor incidents, but nothing major.”

Relief washed over his face at the news. “Good. If you ever need anything….”

Without thinking, Stacy placed a flat palm against his arm.

“I’m fine, really. But I appreciate the concern.”

Stacy heard her cell phone thrum from the counter in the kitchen. Gavin placed his hand over hers, and they held a long stare. The phone stopped ringing and then only remained silent for a second before it began to ring again.

Stacy looked back across the room at it. “I’d better get that.”

“Yeah,” Gavin said, trying to hide a mischievous grin.

When Stacy swiped her finger over the screen, Austin’s voice blared from the speaker.

“Stacy, where are you?”

“I’m at home going over some details on the case. Where are you?”

“At headquarters.” He took a breath and paused. “We have a witness that has come forward. Someone that saw Colton DeVito the night he disappeared.”

Stacy felt her muscles seize. She turned toward Gavin and pointed at the phone and stuck up a thumb. Gavin stepped closer.

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“That’s great, Austin.”

“Yeah. He’s a cab driver named Miguel Olivo. Claims he gave Colton a ride across the city the night that Brooke Crawford was killed. He claims Colton was acting funny during the cab ride. I told Diana about him already.”

“This is good, Cerrera, really good. Don’t let him go. I’ll be right there.”

Gavin waved his arms in a circular motion, trying to get her attention.

“And Gavin will be there real soon as well.”

A long pause filled the line. “Wait, how do you know…?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll be there soon!”

Stacy thought she heard Austin groan as she ended the call.

“Did you catch any of that?”

Gavin nodded, wide-eyed with excitement. “Another important piece to the case. Let me go home and change, and I’ll be at the station in half an hour.”

An awkward silence grew between them. Gavin leaned close to Stacy and then backed away. She stayed motionless, trying to anticipate his next move.

“Thanks for dinner and the company,” he said, marching across the floor and jerking back the door. “See you in a few.”

With that, Gavin left. Stacy took a moment to collect her thoughts and emotions. Having Gavin to talk to as a colleague was great, but she found herself enjoying being in his company too. In her apartment tonight, the idea of him eying her with admiration made Stacy feel unexpectedly good and loved.

A noise underneath the loft stairs jolted her reverie as a rattling sound permeated the space, followed by a dull thud. Stacy had left her Glock upstairs in the bedroom. She quietly stepped over to the kitchen and pulled a knife from the block nestled under the counter.

Stacy sidestepped the outer kitchen wall and ducked under the stairs to the small closet. Her heart raced, and every muscle in her body was taut.

Stacy held the handle of the knife tightly and silently counted to three in her head.

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Then she reached down and pulled back the handle, flashing the knife’s silver blade into the dark space.

A voice screamed. “Stacy! Don’t stab me!”

When Stacy stepped back, a crouching figure tumbled sideways onto the floor, dragging two jackets and some overturned boxes behind her.

Stacy let out an exasperated sigh. “Mother! For God’s sake, what is going on?”

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19 In looking down at the disheveled heap of her mother lying on the floor of her loft, a feeling of anger, frustration, and sadness welled up inside her.

“Mother, get up!”

“I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Melinda pulled herself up, a raspy groan emerging from deep in her throat. Stacy grabbed her mother by the wrists and steadied her.

Stacy was flummoxed. “Intrude? Mother, how did you get in here?”

Melinda held up a finger. “The spare key. Chance had one made for me a while back. He thought I should have it. Glad he did because I need to be here.”

Stacy bit down hard on her lip, trying to hold back the range of emotions.

“No, Mother. I don’t need you here.”

She regarded her mother for a minute. Melinda Tavitt was clearly old but fighting it every step of the way. Her hair was jet black and cut evenly near her shoulders. The white skin of her face looked too tight. Her green eyes seemed dull and listless in their sockets. False eyelashes and plumped lips only made the signs of age more evident, particularly with her sagging jowls that moved up and down anytime she spoke or shook her head.

She was also short and dumpy, with sloped shoulders. She wore a pair of faded jeans with holes and a purple sweatshirt that had dulled in color to a light mauve.

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“I don’t agree,” she said, wrinkling her nose and staring up at Stacy like she was watching her for the first time. “I’ve been trying to call,” she said, tapping one of the bulging, tattered pockets in her jeans. “I left some messages, but none were returned.”

Stacy felt accused of a crime. “I’ve been working, Mother.

This case—” “Save it,” she said, pushing Stacy back with a soft hand. “I’ve heard that before.”

Melinda had never totally approved of Stacy’s choice to become a police officer, which came after Stacy had completed a part-time job working as a clerk for the Cuyahoga County State of Ohio Highway Patrol office during her senior year of high school. She loved listening to the stories from the cops and found them to be some of the crassest, most sardonic, superstitious, honest, and hardworking people she’d ever met anywhere.

Melinda shuffled past the small entry under the staircase and moved into the middle of the living room. Her back was at Stacy.

“And that boy likes you. Really likes you.”

“Mother, his name is Gavin, and he is the assistant prosecutor assigned to our unit.”

“Ah-ha,” her mother said, holding up a finger. “And you like him, too!”

Stacy stepped forward and folded her arms. She felt her posture grow rigid. “Fine, Mother. We’ll play this game.”

“There’s no game to it,” Melinda said. “For the first time in as long as I can remember, I know more details about this boy than any man mentioned. He seems smart and kind. I peeked through the closet door as well.” Melinda slowly turned around until she faced Stacy. “And he’s so handsome, Stacy. He’s the total package.”

Stacy threw up her hands. “Gavin and I are colleagues, Mother.” Stacy stormed past her and then pulled back the sliding steel door separating the loft from the hallway.

“And you need to leave.”

Melinda looked at Stacy, slack-jawed. “I just got into town.”

“There are flights that leave Hopkins airport for Sacramento all the time.”

“Stacy, please. I think we need to talk.”

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“Yeah, we do,” she scoffed. “We’ve needed to for a long time, but now is not the time. I’ve got work to do.”

“No, we’re going to talk now!”

The sudden edge to her mother’s tone caught Stacy by surprise. She felt her body tense as her mother moved close.

“Chance is missing, and nobody here knows where he is. Not you, not the police, nobody.”

Stacy remained calm. “Mother, we will find him.”

“Stop lying to me,” Melinda barked. Stacy flinched. “I know everything about his disappearance. Everything.” She wagged a finger at Stacy. “And what I know, I had to learn by myself. I was never told about what was going on in his life—or anything else by anyone in this household.”

“That’s crap, Mother.” Stacy took a step toward Melinda. They were just a few inches away from each other. “Both of you talked to each other all the time. I didn’t even find out about Ashley being pregnant with his child until Chance realized that she could move to Cleveland with the baby and have all of us live together.

I was lucky that she had enough sense to move to Texas to be near her family.”

Stacy saw Melinda recoil at the comment. Her mother had always been the one to look away from Chance’s emotional and psychological problems and pretend they didn’t exist. Chance sought their mother because he realized that she had a fondness for him that would allow her to forgive and forget his behavior while enabling him to continue his recklessness. The thought still filled Stacy with a quiet fury.

“Don’t go there,” Melinda said, her eyes ablaze with anger.

“Chance came to stay and take care of you after you nearly drowned in that damn river. He came when I couldn’t be here.”

“That was your choice,” Stacy said. “I can remember the doctor telling me that the hospital called and nobody in Sacramento answered the phone—or returned the voicemails. I love Chance, Mother. But he did very little while he was here. He only helped around the loft when I threatened to kick him out if he didn’t clean up his messes.”

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kinder and more compassionate, Chance wouldn’t have been roaming the streets of Cleveland. That awful black man wouldn’t have found him. And he wouldn’t have found you. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have needed to be rescued by the police and put into a police car that was supposed to take him to the hospital to see you, but instead got smashed by a truck!”

“I kicked Chance out to send a message that he had to do something. Get a job! Be a father to his child. Something! Anything other than play with his camera and sleep every day until three in the afternoon.”

Stacy watched her mother wheeze and try to catch her breath. She let out a deep, racking cough brought on from years of smoking. After a couple of deep coughs, Melinda smacked her lips and squared her shoulders.

“Finished, Mother?”

“It wasn’t your place to send a message,” she said, her voice softer and hoarse.

Stacy saw the corners of Melinda’s mouth quiver and then draw her lips slightly down.

“Mother,” Stacy said in a slightly scolding tone, “Is that what this is about? I’m to blame for Chance going missing. Really? I kicked him out for his own good. He needed to grow up! Someone had to teach him that lesson. What happened to him when he left here happened because of the choices that he made.”

Melinda lowered her head. “He’s always been fragile.”

“Nothing has changed,” Stacy blurted out, tossing up her hands. “Defending him still.”

Melinda’s face contorted into something softer and more delicate. The wrinkles near her mouth flattened as she pursed her lips.

“I have to live with the guilt every day, knowing I put all of this into motion because I reacted in anger instead of thinking everything through.” Melinda’s breath sputtered out like she was on the verge of tears. “This time, there might be nothing we can do to find Chance. We might not find him because he doesn’t want to be found.”

Stacy made a face. “I don’t understand.”

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Melinda reached into her pocket, pulled out a folded piece of cardboard, and handed it to Stacy.

Stacy took the cardboard and folded it back.

It was a postcard of a nature scene. Stacy eyed it carefully.

When she turned it over, there was scribbled handwriting on the back.

I am okay. But none of us are safe.

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20 Stacy put a hand on Melinda’s shoulder. The pressure applied to the grip forced Melinda to look at the hand as if it were a foreign object.

“This is Chance’s handwriting?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I know what my own son’s handwriting looks like.”

Stacy looked down at the card. “Who’s touched it?”

Melinda looked down at the dark ink scribbled in the blank spaces. “Just me, the mailman, and now you.”

Stacy walked past her mother to the steps. “Stay here.”

“I thought I was to leave,” Melinda said coolly.

“Plans have changed.”

Stacy looked back at Melinda, then pulled some money from her pocket and tossed it in the air. The bills fluttered down to the floor. “I don’t cook, so order a pizza or something. Don’t go anywhere or do anything until I come back.”

Melinda stared at the bills on the floor as Stacy marched upstairs.

Stacy quickly put on a navy pantsuit that had been hanging in the back of her closet. She slid on her black boots and then glanced over at the oxygen machine near the bed. She would like some added oxygen for what would be a very taxing next few hours, but she had to hurry.

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Lofts and out onto the street. She bounded up the road and got into her Camry, then made a quick phone call.

Stacy pressed down hard on the accelerator pedal as she sped through downtown Cleveland. Dusk came sooner than she expected, the last of the sun’s rays cosseted behind soft gray clouds.

The downtown city streets took on the look of a black and white photograph, every familiar image a shade of gray. The view began to fade to blackness as night began. The various buildings that dappled downtown Cleveland resembled a concrete wall that was identical to the next without an identifying marker of any kind.

Stacy rolled down her window. She had done so much of her work as a homicide detective at night. As the light drained away from the sky, the air had a tincture that Stacy associated with gloom. Most of the violent crimes in the city occurred under the canopy of night. She felt her eyes and ears become sharper, and her mind more paranoid at night. Every aroma Stacy smelled forced her brain to jump to the most frightening thought. Her body was constantly tense, and her breathing and the feeling in her hands and feet always felt sharper and more defined than it did during the daytime.

Stacy steered the car through an intersection and turned right onto Ontario Avenue. The Camry veered under the Cleveland City Jail building into the designated parking area for police officers. The long rectangular building looked like concrete pillars propped it up. It had uniform windows running both sides of the building’s length and was the color of a faded tan stone—the perfect color and shape to be reminiscent of seventies architecture.

Stacy showed her credentials to the desk officer and announced the reason for her visit—to speak with Brandon Deerfield.

As she entered the foyer behind the desk officer, the stench overwhelmed her. She’d been to the jail many times before, but the smell always surprised her. Urine, sweat, and vomit mingled into one uniform assault to her senses. The artificial lighting overhead made everything in the corridor seem sick, and Stacy 126

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wondered how long someone would have to spend in a jail cell before they forgot what a tree looked like or how the wind felt on a stormy day.

The steel door closed behind her, the sound of locks clicking echoed in the narrow space. As Stacy moved down the corridor and past a few cells, several of the inmates were hacking and wheezing. Most of them were gaunt as their bodies began the natural comedowns that occurred when the drugs they’d been taking wore off and began exiting their systems.

Two guards trailed Stacy, their heavy footfalls clopping against the floor. A reedy male voice spoke first.

“He’s in the room at the end of the hallway, just through that door, Lieutenant. He’s a little pissy. Said he wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

Stacy looked back. “I’m not a visitor.”

The other guard moved through the narrow space between Stacy and the cinderblock wall and stopped their walk. He reached down and selected one tarnished gold key from an oversized key ring and inserted it into the padlock. The door groaned and squealed as he jostled it open.

Brandon Deerfield was sitting at the table in a small metal chair where his hands were cuffed, his legs shackled together, and the table bolted to the floor beneath it. He didn’t look up when Stacy came into the room. Both guards took their positions on opposite sides of the room.

“Look up at me, you son of a bitch.”

Brandon looked up from the table. His mouth pursed with contempt but then instantly returned to a practiced half-smile that was equal parts amusement and disdain.

“Lieutenant Tavitt. Isn’t it a little beneath the great Stacy Tavitt to be hanging out in the jail with inmates?”

Stacy flushed with anger. “I came to offer a deal—cooperation for lesser charges.”

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21 Brandon leered at Stacy for a long moment before looking past her at one of the guards.

“I want my lawyer. Now!” “No,” Stacy said, breaking the stare and calling back to the guards. “I’m working closely with Assistant Prosecutor Knox on this case. This is a one-time-only arrangement. Answer my questions, and if the information checks out, we’ll see about dropping some charges so you can be released from prison before both of your parents are dead.”

His green eyes, looking like hunks of quartz, flickered under the sallow light overhead. Stacy had him thinking, which was all she could ask at this point. She was taking a considerable risk and stepping outside of her authority. But the postcard that Melinda showed her awoke a wave of anger in her about Chance’s disappearance that had been dormant.

Brandon seemed to have shrunk since the last time Stacy saw him in the cellar. The lemon-yellow jumpsuit he wore hung loosely from his wiry frame. His eyes were bloodshot and still rimmed with purple circles. The fingernails that were once solid black were now speckled with just small flecks of black nail polish.

“What’s it going to be, Brandon?”

Brandon chinned Stacy. “I don’t have much to lose, and sitting here answering questions gets me out of my cell, so, fine.

Let’s talk.”

His voice seemed less impish and much more robust than at the safe house. Stacy assumed that his time spent in jail away from drugs had hardened him.

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“Let’s go back to September,” Stacy said, leaning forward. “To the time that you picked up Chance and were supposed to drive him to the hospital to meet me. Think back on that moment really hard.”

A grin inched across his thin, chapped lips. “I remember it well.”

Stacy eyed him suspiciously. “I can’t believe that truck didn’t smash you into the dashboard of that cruiser.”

Brandon stared past Stacy as if he recalled the crash for the first time. “It did. Snapped my left leg into two pieces, and I broke two ribs.” He leveled a look at Stacy and then licked his lips manically. “That wasn’t easy to get over, and don’t think that I didn’t try.”

“I know you did,” she scoffed. “Then, you turned on the department.”

Brandon folded his fingers together, the metallic chains on the restraints dragging against the tabletop. “We can talk about department disability protocols all day.”

“Not interested,” Stacy said with clipped words. “Let’s talk about Chance and what he said. What did he say? What did you say to him? It must have been enough for him to flee the scene of the crash.”

Brandon looked down at the table. He seemed to trace the outline of the handcuffs with his gaze.

“I was assigned to drive him. My policy has always been when transporting non-violent people in situations of personal welfare not to make small talk.”

Stacy slammed her hand on the table, rattling and shaking it, causing Brandon to rear back.

“We’re done here,” she said, standing up and hovering over him. “Guards, take him back.”

As the men began to move, Brandon called out. “Look. Fine.

I’ll tell you.”

Stacy froze for a moment. This was an opportunity to stop this breach of protocol. Brandon had given her a way out. Stacy decided to continue.

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“Good,” she said, slowly turning around. She took off her jacket. Brandon watched her carefully, like a predator stalking prey. It made her shiver.

“I want to know what was said,” she said, her voice low. “One more attempt at being cute, and I’ll be ready to see you go to prison for the rest of your lying life.”

Brandon’s face hardened, and the quiet cockiness he exhibited seemed to fade away. He slumped.

“I knew Chance, okay. Long before he got into my car.”

Stacy could feel her throat clench. She swallowed hard.

“How?” “He went to all of the soup kitchens in town. He stayed at the Cleveland City Mission a lot. We’d seen him walking in and out of those places on patrol. Then, when it caught fire, we saw him on the news. Then the manager, some old bitch, told us when we went in to help that a Cleveland detective had already been there and asked questions about her brother.”

Stacy remembered. When the Cleveland City Mission had caught fire in September, Stacy watched the news and recognized Chance leaving the building as fireman and police went inside. She had spoken to Eunice Trammal, the manager. Eunice must have told Brandon about her being there. Stacy felt her jaw clench at the memory and the revelation.

“I needed someone. We needed someone. So we followed Chance for a while. Saw him all over town, taking pictures of things. He had a nice camera.” Brandon snapped a finger. “Then, poof, he disappeared. Then we find out Jamal Harris kidnapped him.”

Stacy was impressed and angered at learning Brandon had basically stalked Chance, but she didn’t show weaknesses. She leaned closer. “Go back a minute. Who’s we?”

“Me and the guys arrested the other night. We needed someone who could tell us where cops might be, where they patrol.

When they patrol.”

Stacy sat back in the chair and folded her arms. She could feel one of the guards stirring behind her. “I don’t understand.

Chance wouldn’t know any of that.”

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Brandon tapped the side of his head. “Chance knew quite a bit. He’s smarter than people think.”

Stacy knew that the word people meant her.

“But that still doesn’t make sense. You’re a cop. It would be much easier to get that information from others in the department…” Stacy paused. “Chance was used to avoid suspicion.”

“Yes,” Brandon said. The grin had returned. “We needed someone with knowledge that could operate on the margins.”

Stacy felt betrayed, not only by another officer in the department but by her own brother, who should have known not to get involved with crooked cops.

“What did Chance do, exactly?”

“Took pictures,” Brandon said, a breezy tone to his voice.

“When he was kicked out of your apartment with nowhere to go, we pounced.”

Stacy felt her heart sink. Several days after Chance left, Stacy didn’t know what had happened to her brother or where he was.

“I approached him as a cop and stated that we needed someone to take pictures of citizens interacting with police for a new department brochure on public safety. I asked him to find out places where officers patrolled, interacted with citizens, and engaged with the public. It didn’t matter if it was early in the morning or late at night. I told him we needed a mix of pictures. We offered him some money for them.”

Stacy recalled Chance being obsessed with a digital camera he’d purchased online using Stacy’s credit card. She often found him playing with it in the apartment and continually cleaning and dusting it to keep it looking pristine.

Brandon leaned back. “I always met with him, usually once a week or so. He would give me the card from the camera, and I would give him a new card and some money. It was a transaction that benefited both of us.”

He rattled the chains binding his handcuffs to the table and leaned back, pleased with himself. Then, his expression changed.

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you what he was doing, well, that’s when we had to be more persuasive.”

Stacy felt her muscles clench. “Persuasive?”

“Yes. I told him that if he didn’t help us, we’d kill you. And then we’d find every other member of his family and kill them, too.”

Stacy felt her stomach flinch at the statement, but she remained calm. “There is no way that you and your group of losers could pull that off.”

“He didn’t know that.”

“So, what did Chance do?”

“He agreed. He’s easy to deal with when threatened.”

“Then what happened?”

Brandon seemed surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

Stacy leaned in again, her hair falling over her shoulder onto the desk. “Remember what I said earlier about getting cute with me?”

“Oh, that,” he said dismissively. “We took the pictures that Chance gave to us and created tables and charts for where the police patrolled and when. Then, we moved into those areas when the police presence was light. That allowed us to pump meth and coke into the neighborhoods. Since people are nervous about cops anyway, my group promised protection from the police they normally saw.”

Stacy felt a cold knot in her gut. Brandon had orchestrated something sophisticated. His team went into the areas when the usual police presence was light. The promise of protection for distribution made it look like they oversaw the regular group of police assigned to patrol particular areas of the city. The fact that neither group of police was together made it look like they were in charge.

If what Brandon was saying was accurate, Chance was an accomplice. The photos he took allowed Brandon and his cronies to map out the patrol schedules all over the city and fill in the open areas to sell hard drugs. More importantly, this ruse cut right into the department’s heart and one of their main charges 132

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and missions to serve and protect the public. Targeting the public by selling them narcotics and then promising police protection against the crime violated every ethical oath and creed that an officer understood to be true. Stacy felt like she wanted to throw up.

Stacy felt the back of her neck burn and her face flush. “Why did the truck hit the cruiser?”

Brandon blanched. “I don’t know. Ask the driver.”

“We can’t,” Stacy barked out, bolting up from her chair and kicking the seat back. She pointed her finger at Brandon. “He’s dead. When he went through the windshield, it crushed his skull.”

Brandon shrugged. “Not my problem that he couldn’t drive.”

Stacy lunged forward and grabbed Brandon by the shirt. As she jerked him close, his eyes widened, and Stacy could smell the fear on him. His sharp cheekbones appeared to shrink under her grip. His face tensed. The guards moved closer to the table but did not try to pull Stacy back.

“Did you know the truck would run the stoplight on East 9th Street and hit your patrol car?” Brandon tried to squirm free, but Stacy pulled tighter on the shirt. “Answer me,” she hissed. “And it had better be the truth.”

“When Chance got nervous,” Brandon sputtered, his words coming out broken, “we hired the truck driver to help us make him comply.”

Stacy released her grip, and Brandon flopped back into the seat, the heavy chains shackling him scraped against the metal table and the floor of the room.

It began to make sense now why Chance had fled. He knew what he was doing was wrong, and the fact that the patrol car had been smashed to pieces allowed Chance the moment to escape from Brandon and his crew. The smartest thing he could do was hide. Chance had run away his entire life, and that was something he knew how to do.

“Son of a bitch,” she spat out. “I’m going to see if some of your pals corroborate any of this.”

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trouble as they are.”

Brandon was right about that fact. Stacy hated to cede any point to him.

“I am going to find my brother,” she said, not speaking to anyone. “When I do, it’s over. For all of you.”

Stacy had turned to walk away when Brandon called out to her.

“One more thing, Lieutenant.”

Stacy let out a sigh and turned to face Brandon. The quiet cockiness from earlier had returned. A sloppy smile creased his face.

“I don’t think Chance wants to stay hidden much longer.”

Stacy cocked her head to the side and waited for him to finish.

“I mean, if Chance wanted to stay hidden, why did he send me a postcard?”

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22 As Stacy made her way down the Homicide Division’s back hallway at headquarters, the emblazoned gold letters of Homicide Division, arched in Arial font, stared back at her.

She often looked at the signage to help her stay grounded and focused—a reminder of her job and purpose. When she glanced at it now, a wave of anxiety hit her.

Two small sections of cubicles housing working detectives bracketed the room where Miguel Olivo would be questioned.

Another female detective stood up and caught sight of Stacy and waved. Stacy waved back but kept walking. She didn’t have time for small talk.

The interrogation room at the end of the back hallway was tasteful in a corporate way. Witnesses feel relaxed in that room, which often meant they were more talkative and less nervous and defensive.

Stacy struggled to concentrate on the next task in the investigation. She was sure that Brandon was bluffing about the postcard, but how did he know about them at all? Brandon claimed that Chance sent him a postcard with just his signature, but he’d conveniently lost the card. Brandon was a desperate man that had nothing to lose by playing a dangerous game of chicken. Stacy hated referring to herself as desperate, but Brandon smelled it on her and pounced like a predator after a wounded animal.

Before coming upstairs, she went to the other side of the building to speak with Nate Fryson about the card Melinda provided and asked him to examine it for fingerprints and other evidence. Nate bristled at first, indicating he’d promised rushed ex135

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aminations of evidence of other cases. Still, Stacy had managed to convince him that her situation was more critical and that it wouldn’t take very long.

As she entered the interrogation room, Gavin leaned against the wall. There was no back wall to the interview room, only tempered glass. Gavin caught notice of her arrival and furrowed his brow before turning back to the scene unfolding. Diana stood in her typical navy blue pantsuit with her hair down below her shoulders. Her makeup was slightly faded and the crinkles in her eyes more defined. Stacy knew that meant it had been a long day for the captain.

Through the glass, Stacy watched as Miguel Olivo fidgeted in his chair. He was fat and slovenly, and Stacy wondered when he last showered or changed his clothes, which consisted of an unzipped yellow windbreaker jacket that revealed a stained white T-shirt underneath that appeared to be a size too small. Olivo brushed his thin, greasy hair back, revealing a red forehead, and then released a long breath.

“Look, that’s all I know,” he said, looking up with pleading eyes at Austin, who circled the room like a hawk. The dark tie that adorned his red, rumpled shirt and tan pants had already been loosened. Austin was hitting his stride.

Olivo pointed at the picture on the table of Colton DeVito, which was the same one shown to the media during the press conference. “I picked up the DeVito kid and took him to West 31st Place Street.”

“And Mr. DeVito seemed nervous?”

Olivo nodded. “He seemed nervous and tired. He fell asleep in the back seat. I swear, he didn’t tell me anything.”

Austin circled the table again and then sat down. He grinned, rested his hands on the square, faded faux wood table, and nodded. “But you did see something?”

“Yes, yes, I did.”

Austin looked up and over Olivo and stared at the glass for a moment. “Tell it to me one more time.”

Miguel began rocking back and forth in his seat. “A-am I going to get arrested? Please, I can’t,” he said, and the double-stack 136

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chins under his short neck jiggled. “I can’t lose my job. I’ve got a family….”

Austin held up a hand. “As I said earlier, Mr. Olivo, you are free to leave at any time.” His voice was calm and soothing. “But what’s been said so far is going to help us in our investigation. I just want to make sure I have all of the details correct.”

Miguel Olivo looked down at the table and shook his head.

Austin chinned at the window again.

From the hallway, Stacy knew that was the signal her partner gave when he wanted her to pay attention.

“When I drove by one of the entrances to the park, I saw two men come out just as we drove by.” His eyes brightened. “It-it was dark. I was focused on the road. They looked to be two guys.

Sort of thin but with some muscles. They looked up and down the street like they were looking for someone.”

“Could you identify the men if you saw them again?”

Olivo shook his head. “I just saw their shadows. That’s it. But I swear that DeVito kid seemed to slide down in the seat behind me like he didn’t want those guys to see him.”

“Well…” Austin thought for a moment and sat back in the chair. “One last question. When Mr. DeVito got dropped off at Ms. Crawford’s house, that was the last time you saw Mr. DeVito?”

Olivo looked up, and his brow dripped sweat, and his lips quivered. “Yes, that’s it. He tossed some cash at me and then bolted out of the back. I waited just a few seconds. I always do that when I drop off a customer, just to be sure they’re okay.” He gave a nervous smile and then patted his bulging stomach. “I mean, I am a gentleman. I don’t want anything too bad to happen to my customers.”

Austin didn’t flinch. From the hallway, Stacy shook her head.

“That’s the last time I saw him,” Olivo said.

Austin slowly stood up. “We’re going to verify the routes taken by your car after you dropped off Mr. DeVito.” The sergeant flashed a grin. “Just to make sure we have all of the details correct.”

“Uh. Okay.”

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Austin cupped a hand on Olivo’s shoulder. “Just wait here a second.”

He wiped his hand on the leg of his pants as he exited the interview room. Once in the hallway, Austin scanned it and made brief eye contact with Stacy before looking over at Diana.

“I’m sorry I was late,” Stacy blurted out. “I had an errand—” Austin cut her off. “What do you think, Cap?” Diana gripped a pencil tight in one hand and chewed her lip.

“Seems legit. I think he’s telling the truth. I don’t know why he would make up that story.”

Gavin turned to look at Olivo in the interview room, slouched over the table, and quietly mumbled to himself. Gavin had managed to change into a gray suit with a lavender shirt and tie and black dress shoes after leaving Stacy’s loft.

“Any chance at all he’s mistaken?” Gavin asked. “These cabbies haul around a lot of people. We need to make sure that he’s not confusing Colton with some other drunk or some other college kid he picked up that night.”

Diana looked over at Stacy. “Check his route that night. See if his car has GPS tracking. Let’s make sure he didn’t go back to the park or back to Brooke Crawford’s house that night.”

“Good idea,” Stacy said, trying to feel like a part of the team.

“No chance he’s coming in here to try to be a hero or a celebrity?”

Austin looked at Gavin with contempt. “No, Counselor, I don’t think so. Olivo doesn’t seem like a guy that wants any attention. He came in after seeing Monica and George DeVito on the news.”

Diana tapped a pencil eraser in her hand. “See if there is any paperwork kept, either digitally or the old-fashioned way, concerning who paid for rides that night. See what names pop up.”

Gavin rested his hands on both hips. “Is Olivo clean?”

“I ran his name,” Austin said, indicating that Olivo’s name had been put through the department’s criminal databases. “He has a couple of DUIs from when he worked in Cincinnati, but, otherwise, he’s clean.”

“He has two DUIs and still has a license and is allowed to drive a cab?” Stacy scoffed. Her comment was ignored.

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“Okay. Nice work.” Diana pushed in between Gavin and Austin and then looked at Stacy. “Where are we with the surveillance of this person at the Wells Fargo ATM?” Stacy looked at Austin for an update, but his face was expressionless as he spoke. “Still ongoing, but we’re on it.”

The captain nodded. “Good. Speed it up. And keep me apprised of what’s going on. Since the fire at the DeVito house, the chief is in no mood for rogue detective work on this case.”

Diana turned on her heel and walked away. The air in the room felt so brittle it could snap. The silence in the room grew.

Austin remained stoic while Gavin’s eyes darted between him and Stacy.

“I’m sorry I was late. My mother showed up at my apartment for an unannounced visit, and I needed to handle that.” Stacy arched an eyebrow at her partner. “We need to get a signed statement from Mr. Olivo.”

Austin looked at Stacy and held a long look. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Let me,” Stacy interjected. “I was late. I’ll handle it.”

Austin huffed and looked at his partner and Gavin. “Don’t trouble yourselves.”

When Austin turned his back, Stacy rested a hand softly on Gavin’s arm. “I need to speak to Diana for a moment. We can talk later.”

Gavin gave a quick nod. “Fine.”

Stacy charged out of the room, causing a rush of air to move behind her. She slowed her walk, turned on a heel, and then went back down the hallway. She wanted to ask Gavin something else about Olivo and his connection to the case.

When she got to the entryway leading into the interrogation room, she saw both Gavin and Austin had turned around.

“Sergeant,” Gavin called out just as Austin’s hand gripped the doorknob. “Got a second?”

Austin froze. “Just one.”

“Turn around.”

Austin slowly pivoted around until he faced Gavin. Austin pursed his lips, and the muscles in his dark face tightened.

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“What is it, Counselor?”

Gavin sucked in a breath, collecting his resolve. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Austin blinked. “Nothing. Just doing my job.”

Stacy stepped back, hoping neither man had seen her. The tone of the conversation had grown terse, and the tension in the room was heavy.

“I mean between us,” Gavin said, waving a finger in between the space that separated them. “The last two times we’ve been together, I get nothing but cold stares and the cold shoulder. What’s up?”

Austin squared his shoulders and just stared at Gavin.

Gavin huffed, flaring his nostrils. “If you’ve got something to say, sergeant, just say it.”

Austin bore a serious stare into the assistant prosecutor and then ran his tongue over his lips.

“Stay away from Stacy. Stop chasing after her.”

Gavin feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut up!” Austin barked. The tone and volume of his words made Gavin flinch. “Stop going to her apartment and stop trying to be her boyfriend. It’s unprofessional.”

Gavin cracked a sly smile. “Jealous, Austin?”

Stacy lowered her head. She fought every instinct to burst into the room and reprimand both of them, but she pressed her lips firmly and held her tongue.

The sergeant leaned in so close that Gavin could have smelled his aftershave. “Stacy can lose her job for being with you in that way. I’m her partner. It’s my job to look out for her well-being.

And I am. So stay away from her. This is the last time I’m going to say it.”

Before Gavin could say anything else, Austin flung open the door to the interview room. Stacy slowly and quietly backpedaled down the hallway, out of Gavin’s sight. ****

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Stacy maneuvered her way around the hallway again, managing to avoid any contact or interaction with other working detectives. At the end of the hall, she saw that Diana’s office door was slightly ajar.

Thinking about what had transpired upset her. Not only had she never seen Austin speak to an assistant prosecutor with anger and frustration, but Gavin’s callous and arrogant retort was unacceptable. Austin had nothing to be jealous about because she and Gavin were colleagues, nothing more. Nothing serious had transpired between them, and nothing would.

As she peeked into the office, looking for the captain, a slight voice with a southern drawl called out from behind her. “Lieutenant Tavitt?”

Startled, Stacy jerked up and let out a slight yelp. She turned around to find a dark-skinned and meaty man with small, dark eyes and a trim goatee staring at her.

Stacy smiled and patted him on the arm. “Officer Kendall Jackson.”

He smiled, flashing a block of white teeth. “How you doin’, Lieutenant?” Kendall leaned in for a hug, and Stacy didn’t hesitate to embrace him.

After Stacy and Austin had been targeted by a car full of suspects at Cole’s convenience store during the Devon Baker murder investigation, Captain Bannister had assigned Kendall Jackson to guard and protect Stacy. She had received threatening pictures in the mail and attempts made on her life. At first, Stacy dismissed the idea and kept very quiet around Kendall. He proved to be an asset to Stacy, not only for protection but also in the investigation of the murder, which forced him to make some ethical compromises that weren’t always easy. Stacy had grown to like and respect Kendall.

Stacy felt like her head rested perfectly against his barrelchested physique. “It’s Corporal Jackson now,” he said, completing the hug with his hand over her back.

Stacy released the hug and stepped back regarding him.

“Congratulations,” she said through a smile. “I can’t think of anyone more deserving.”

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His face flushed red. “Thanks, Lieutenant. I got the promotion thanks to you. That letter you wrote to Chief Martin recommending me for a promotion is something I’ll never forget.”

Now Stacy felt her face burn red. “It was my pleasure. It’s the least I could do after all of the good work on the Devon Baker case. And saving my ass more than once.”

He looked at the floor with a sheepish smile. “That’s the most fun I’ve ever had as a cop.”

Stacy noticed the deep purple lines etched into the fleshy folds of skin under Kendall’s eyes. They looked dark and fresh.

“Be sure and take care of yourself,” Stacy added.

Kendall blinked. “Yeah. I’ve been picking up some extra shifts for the money.”

Stacy grinned. “Well, just don’t let the work get in the way of the family.” Stacy let the comment hang in the air a moment. She felt like a hypocrite for reciting it because she had never been good at adhering to it herself.

They both shared a laugh, and Kendall pulled something out of his back pocket. He was clad in the traditional black Cleveland Police Department uniform, and his new corporal police shield glistened under the white light overhead.

“I’m going to be a dad. Jerica and I are having a boy in July.”

He held out an ultrasound picture of the baby in the womb.

Stacy felt her mouth go slack as she smiled broadly. “Kendall, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you and your wife.”

He nodded and smiled like a little kid who had just won a prize at the county fair. “Thanks, Lieutenant. We’re real excited.”

“I bet.” Stacy paused for a moment. “I don’t see you around the precinct much anymore.”

“I’m working over in the Fifth District now.” The news made Stacy feel sorry for Kendall. That Fifth District was in East Cleveland, and it was notorious for gang and drug violence, not to mention homicides.

Kendall read Stacy’s reaction and cut in. “But it’s all good.

I like it. I’m working with Detective Banks on a homicide over there.”

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Stacy nodded. “He’s a good detective. One of the best.” She was relieved her friend was getting to work with someone tough and smart like Peter Banks.

“He is.”

Stacy looked back at the partially open door. “I’m looking for Captain Bannister.”

“Oh, she went to the bathroom. I dropped off some paperwork to her. She said she’d be right back.”

Stacy felt relieved. It would give her a moment to collect her thoughts before she tried to explain the postcards and what they meant while avoiding mentioning what Brandon Deerfield had told her at the jail.

Stacy smirked. “I’ll wait.”

Kendall leaned in to give Stacy another hug. “Good seeing you, Lieutenant. Take care.”

Stacy returned the embrace. “Same to you, Kendall.”

He smiled and walked away. Stacy felt another tingle and twitch in her lungs. This sensation was minor, but she wanted to sit down to do her breathing exercises.

She decided to push open the door to Diana’s office. It was small, cold, and cluttered. Although Diana had gotten a new desk with steel legs and a more rounded surface, it was still littered with papers and a host of Post-it Notes stuck to the phone and the computer monitor. The messy space gave Stacy anxiety.

As she walked over to the desk to sit in the chair angled near a corner, something caught her eye. A red file folder stuck out under a stack of papers and yellow legal pads. Stacy looked away for a moment but found herself drawn to it again. Red folders in the department were used for two reasons: disciplinary infractions or notifications of retirement.

Although Stacy had been disciplined by Diana before for bending the rules, she’d never had a red folder created on her by Diana or Internal Affairs.

Stacy sat down and began breathing deeply, then followed it by short, more pronounced breaths. When she looked down at the folder again, she made out her name, written in black marker on the top.

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Stacy stopped her breathing exercises and put her hand over her mouth. To the left of her name on the tab was a Post-it Note adhered to the front of the envelope with the word retirement with a question mark. The word was circled in blue ink.

She leaned closer. The words resembled Captain Bannister’s handwriting.

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23 The thought of that file folder on Diana’s desk flooded Stacy with a mixture of anger and fear. Stacy managed little sleep that night, so she decided to get up early to begin the stakeout of the mystery person taking money from Colton DeVito’s bank account. The sky overhead was dappled in pink as the sun started to rise, and another day began in Cleveland.

A chill came over her. Even in the spring, there was no softening of the chill from the lake-effect winds slicing down from Canada and over Lake Erie into Cleveland. As Stacy looked around Euclid Avenue, the people moving through the streets were between affluent and impoverished. Euclid Avenue featured fancy stores, replete with their smooth black and glass exteriors, and the stores’ names emblazoned in bright, colorful lettering.

Still, the street also featured pawn shops, liquor stores, and dank markets that served more as gathering places for Cleveland society’s less upwardly mobile members.

Stacy sat in her red Camry and scribbled down the information that Dr. Myers had left her on voicemail.

Dr. Myers had completed Monica and George DeVito’s autopsies. As Stacy had feared, George DeVito suffered massive head trauma to the skull’s back from what Dr. Myers suspected was a heavy object with a flat surface. While he couldn’t confirm if the blow to the head killed George before he suffocated on the smoky air in the burning house, the likelihood that he could’ve escaped a burning home without the head injury was high.

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wanted to scream in disgust. If she had been there just a few minutes earlier, she could have cornered the killer and possibly saved two lives. Instead, Monica and George DeVito died in a truly horrific manner.

Stacy closed her eyes, trying to regain her thoughts. She opened them and stared ahead at the U.S. Bank ATM Machine, located near the Wells Fargo Bank on Euclid Avenue.

She had tried to call her mother earlier, but the phone went to voicemail. Stacy realized the time and knew that her mother was probably adjusting to the time change. Melinda had never been someone that liked mornings, and Stacy could remember many weekends when it would be just her and Chance alone by themselves for hours before their mother decided to get out of bed.

Stacy smiled at the memory. Those moments were when she and Chance grew close. They had the conversations that only brothers and sisters can have with each other: talks about fears, boys and girls they had crushes on in school, wishes, dreams, and desires.

A pang of sadness replaced the memories. Stacy and her brother had grown so far apart. She wondered if she’d been too hard on Chance. Maybe what he needed was someone to talk to him, show him care and compassion like Melinda did, even if her complete trust in everything he said and did was sometimes misguided. Now, according to Brandon Deerfield, Chance had facilitated the unauthorized surveillance of cops on patrol so that a batch of dirty cops could push drugs in the streets of Cleveland.

A knock on the glass snapped Stacy back to attention. To her right was Austin, leaning on the window with a cupped hand braced against the glass while holding a cardboard tray carrying two large cups of coffee from Starbucks.

Stacy reached across the space and pulled on the door handle. Austin took a step back as Stacy pushed open the door. A rush of cold, biting air swirled into the car.

“And I thought I was early,” Austin said. He wore a black collared shirt and a pair of brown slacks with tan loafers. The dark shirt brought out the coal-black richness of his moussed hair and 146

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the molten-brown hues of his eyes. Austin always dressed in that manner on stakeouts, in case he needed to get out of the car and blend with other people.

He struggled to balance the drink tray as he folded it into the seat and Stacy reached out to steady it.

“Thanks for this,” Stacy said, nodding firmly at the cups of coffee.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. The wind from outside whistled and whipped in behind him. “I can’t even begin to think about anything without coffee.”

Stacy grinned. “I remember.”

She jostled one of the cups loose from the holder and took a deep gulp. The coffee tasted fresh and rich, and the warmth of it made Stacy feel better.

Austin turned in the seat to face her, removing the second cup. “Sleep much?

“Nope. Too much on my mind.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking through the windshield at the bustling morning rush hour scene developing outside. “Same here. I figured I might as well get up and head down here.”

Each of them drank silently for a few minutes.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Austin asked with a curious tone to his words.

Stacy realized she’d been thinking about a short- and longterm plan for this part of the investigation but hadn’t shared it with her partner.

“Let’s see if our person goes to the ATM and makes a withdrawal. Then, I want to know the next stop. Nobody at the bank remembers seeing this person come inside the bank to do anything with the money?”

Austin blew some air over the lip of the cup. “Nope. The bank manager told me none of his tellers remembered seeing our suspect, and when I followed up on my own, they all confirmed it.”

Stacy leaned over the steering wheel, getting a better look at the machine. “Smart. Don’t go inside the bank so people can identify you.”

Austin nodded. “Let’s hope this person leads us to Colton.”

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Stacy leaned back in her seat and placed the coffee in the cup holder. “Someone knows that this person has the debit card. Either Colton has given it to them, or someone has given it to them without Colton knowing about it. Either way, this can lead us to where he might be hiding.”

Austin squinted through the narrow streaks of sunlight that gleaned off the windshield. “I think that’s our man or woman.”

Ahead, Stacy watched as a lithe figure knifed through the moving foot traffic on the sidewalk. The workday for most businesses in downtown Cleveland started at eight, and the sidewalks were full of people bustling to their jobs, trying to avoid being late.

The figure moved in balletic waves through the crowd, unphased by the traffic. This person is comfortable with this process now, she thought. The figure wore the same dark sunglasses Stacy had seen in the grainy photo Austin had obtained. This time, though, the person wore a dark black hooded sweatshirt. Stacy watched intently.

“This will only take a couple of minutes,” she mused. “Our person has experience at entering the number and taking out the cash, so it will move fast.”

Stacy keyed the ignition. As the engine purred to life, Austin slapped her on the leg.

“Look, Stacy. His head.”

Stacy looked up from the dashboard console and saw that a rush of wind had blown the hood back from the sweatshirt. For the first time, both could see the exposed head of the suspect.

The hair was dark brown, and Austin pulled out the notepad from his pants pocket. “Dark hair, close-cropped,” he noted.

“Bald spot near the crown of the head.”

“Definitely a male suspect, not a female,” Stacy added.

“One piece of the puzzle solved.”

They waited just a few more minutes for the man to finish.

From across the street, they could see his head was still downcast as he pulled back from the ATM, ready to move. He tried disappearing into the swarming crowd of people.

“Go, go,” Austin demanded. Stacy put the car in gear and followed.

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**** Stacy steered the Camry off Euclid Avenue and onto Grand Boulevard. Austin leaned as close to the glass window on his side of the car as possible. Stacy intentionally drove slowly and waited for stoplights to change from green to red to ensure the suspect didn’t realize he was being followed.

Grand Boulevard was a twisting, narrow two-lane road with sloped, cracked sidewalks that had buckled in some places from the tree roots that lined the road. Stacy looked back in her rearview mirror with frustration as cars kept tailing her. A blue pickup truck was riding so closely behind her that she could see the driver, a round-faced man with a thick beard and beady eyes wearing a Cleveland Browns ball cap.

Stacy turned her attention back to the road. She looked to both sides of the road at the canopy of trees that wisped nakedly in the wind. The sun broke through the cracks overhead, lighting up the buckled concrete and chipped asphalt of the road. In the fall, leaves would line the sidewalks of Grand Boulevard, crunching under the feet of anyone walking. Now, the only sound heard would be the average footfall of shoes against the concrete.

Near a bend in the road, before it jackknifed to the left and disappeared around a turn, the man stopped. He seemed to take in a breath, his shoulders rising and then lowering. Stacy, about two hundred yards behind, slowed the Camry to a near stop.

Austin leaned away from the glass window. “There are some red steps across the street. I bet he takes those.”

As Stacy inched closer, the red wooden steps cut back onto a narrow concrete path that curled back into the woods. It was hard to see where the path went from the road, but it could lead to a clearing where a house might be located. The man in the truck behind her honked twice, and Stacy responded by holding her foot firmly on the brake.

The man looked to the left and then to the right and crossed carefully, looking in the direction of Stacy’s car once. He didn’t seem to notice that they had been following him for nearly two miles. Stacy waited until he disappeared up the steps.

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“I’m not going to pull in there,” she told Austin. “Let’s look for another place further up the road to pull off, and then we can walk back.”

“Do it quick. We don’t want him to get away.”

Stacy managed to find another, more extended driveway just a few feet away from the red steps. This driveway was wide and freshly paved. Stacy pulled the car off to the side of the road and got out. Her sudden departure from the car caught Austin by surprise.

The craggy trees overhead shifted and waved above as another stiff breeze weaved between the branches. “Let’s move. Keep your gun close by, but don’t draw it unless something terrible happens.”

Austin wore his Glock clipped to the right side of his belt, near his shield. His dark shirt would blend into the surrounding scenery. Stacy would have to be a little more careful.

They both hiked back down Grand Boulevard into the face of oncoming traffic. Cars whirled by, blowing loose dirt from the sidewalk and road into the air. Stacy coughed as they crossed the road.

Stacy traipsed cautiously up the sloped driveway. Ahead, the house at the top of the hill looked new. It was a series of rectangles constructed of white brick. The shutters that adorned the windows were jet black and looked like they’d just been painted.

It rested at the top of a knoll, the lawn so well-manicured that it looked fake. The roof was metal and flat, and there was no chimney. No cars were located anywhere near the property.

Austin found a clearing in between a thicket of bushes and led Stacy over to it. Despite the lack of leaves on the trees, the area smelled minty. The light and shadows of the sun overhead danced across her face.

The front door was made of wood and had a definitive crack down its spine. To Stacy, it looked heavy, too.

Nothing or nobody moved. The air was still, except for the faint sound of rushing cars behind them. Austin crouched down; his breathing quickened. Stacy could hear her own heart beating through her chest.

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“How long do we wait?” Austin asked.

“For a little bit,” Stacy replied. “We aren’t going to charge in today, but I just want to get a sense of what might be going on in there.”

After a few minutes, a guy and two girls emerged from the house. The guy that came through the front door was not the same one they had followed. This guy was shorter, more muscular, and his blond hair hung in thick wisps over his forehead.

Although one had dark hair and the second girl wore a ball cap to hide her features, the two girls looked like him.

The girls were giggling as the guy said something to make them laugh. They crossed the small area in front of the door and pulled something from the mailbox. It was dark black, matching the hair color of one of the girls. The guy casually flipped through the mail and then stuck an envelope into the girl’s stomach wearing the ball cap. She slipped her fingers around it but didn’t even look down to see what it was. In a few seconds, they both disappeared around the door.

Stacy pushed back a branch and saw something resting against the front wall of the house. It had a long, thin neck and an angular base.

She could see Austin looking at her intently.

“What is it?”

Stacy moved around Austin and took a step out of the thicket into the driveway.

“Stacy, get back. They’re going to see you.”

She swung her arm back and held up an open palm. The wind sliced across the opening, tossing her hair in front of her face. As Stacy got closer, she pushed her hair back from her eyes.

That was when she noticed another long, thin object resting next to the mailbox.

It didn’t take Stacy long to retreat to the opening by the thicket. Austin was standing there, fingers hovering over the holster that held his Glock.

His eyes met hers, and they searched her face looking for an explanation.

“There are high powered assault rifles outside of the house.

We move in tomorrow with a full-tactical SWAT team.”

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24 Stacy looked up from her desk to see Officer Charlie Harris standing over her.

Charlie patted his chest with an open hand in a small gesture of self-assertion. “These came in this morning, Lieutenant. With email, we don’t get lots of big packages like this much anymore.”

Stacy peered up from her notepad. “It’s fine, Charlie. Having printed copies saves me the trouble of printing it all off myself.”

Charlie shifted his weight between both feet. “Working on another big case, huh?”

Stacy scoffed. “Huh is right. That’s about all we have to go on right now.”

“It will work out. It always does,” he said, flashing a broad smile of capped teeth. Charlie Harris was young, enthusiastic, and an idealist. Thin and lithe like a knife’s blade, he had a square face, round glasses, and a hooked nose, which made him resemble a person working in a chemistry lab, not in a police department. But Harris had a thirst for learning and loved being a cop.

Even though Stacy sometimes bristled at his optimism, he did anything any superior officer asked without question or hesitation. In high-profile, complicated murder investigations, Stacy liked to call on Charlie for help.

“I’d better be going,” he said, a slight rush of excitement in his voice. “More to do.”

Stacy reached up and took the large stack of correlated pages from his hands. The large block of white paper completely enveloped his small, slender hands.

“There always is,” she said with an exasperated smile. “Thanks again, Charlie.”

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He pursed his lips and nodded. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

The floor was quiet, except for two other detectives scanning copies of documents using the scanner near the elevators.

They spoke to each other in hushed tones, and the only way Stacy knew they were talking at all was because the detectives asked each other questions occasionally. The phones had stopped ringing, and the only sound was the slow thrum of the vacuum cleaner turned on by the janitor. This moment gave Stacy some of the uninterrupted time she needed.

With Austin briefing the SWAT team on the plan to storm the Grand Boulevard house, Stacy sat the block of paper on her desk. It had come from the Harris County Clerk in Houston. Inside were the trial transcripts of Colton DeVito’s murder trial.

Stacy knew what she was looking for, or at least she thought she did. Something Gavin had said back in her apartment resonated as she looked for anything to connect the case’s disparate threads. Sometimes, this meant going back to where everything started.

She tucked a pen behind her ear. But if they did testify against DeVito, any lawyer worth anything would’ve made sure to cut a deal with the DA in exchange for testimony. Stacy wanted to know if any of the gang that stomped Jesse Williams to death had pointed the finger at Colton DeVito.

Stacy perused the opening statements from the prosecution.

In those sentences, Stacy saw how John Bolmer, the assistant Harris County District Attorney assigned to the case, framed the argument: the death of Jesse Williams was premeditated and was over nothing more than money and access to an underground pipeline of men pushing drugs through Houston.

A cold shiver ran up her back. This was the same motivation Brandon Deerfield and his crew used in Cleveland.

As she looked through more than four hundred pages of transcripts, she identified the others’ names mentioned in the assault: Hector Corassco, Brian Dowdy, Juan Martinez, and LeCharles Wayne. Moving through the information, she saw their names mentioned several times by the prosecution and the defense.

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Stacy nestled her fingers in between a thick stack of pages and pushed them back. The dull thud of paper against the chipped surface of her desk made the legs under it groan with displeasure.

The only two from the group to testify at the trial were Brian Dowdy and Juan Martinez. Stacy read over his testimony.

They told ADA Bolmer that Colton DeVito talked about Jesse Williams a lot with them in the weeks before the attack. Colton felt that Jessie had been asking a lot of questions about Colton’s associations with the group and that they needed to send a message.

Corassco, Martinez, and Wayne testified that Dowdy had been the lead man in the attack on Jesse Williams. As she turned a couple of more pages, she saw the words kicked, skull fracture, and bleeding mentioned by ADA Bolmer. DeVito and his group had surrounded Jesse Williams and had his brain bludgeoned by their kicks and stomps.

Stacy stabbed her finger under that line of testimony and flipped a few pages ahead. She studied the questions asked by Bolmer. He didn’t ask Colton DeVito anything about Jesse Williams’s relationship with Brooke Crawford and her connection to Colton. Stacy let that thought hold in her mind a moment. Did the ADA not know about this detail that connected those three?

Stacy did a casual flip through more pages of the transcript.

Brooke Crawford’s name was not mentioned in the transcripts.

Certainly, she would’ve been there, Stacy thought. If not asked to testify, she may have been in the gallery.

In cross-examination by the defense, Attorney Joseph Castiglione asked Dowdy if he’d been given a deal from the DA’s office in exchange for his testimony.

The next word made Stacy fall back into her chair, its letters nearly pinning her to the seat. No. Stacy read on. Dowdy claimed that after Williams was dead, he went to the police and confessed. Stacy flipped another page.

She reached up and turned on the dusted, faded green lamp. The hot, white light cast a gray film over the pages, giving the black, typed transcript text a slightly smeared appearance. Pale light pierced her eyes.

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Dowdy refused to indict Colton or the others in their roles in the death of Jesse Williams. Dowdy told Bolmer he’d been the one that initially went behind Williams as they were all walking down Hardy Street in the Greenspoint neighborhood of Houston and pushed him down. According to the transcript, DeVito and the rest of the men stepped around Dowdy and began kicking Jesse Williams in the head and face.

Juan Martinez was more forthcoming. Bolmer indicated in his line of questioning that Martinez landed the most blows against an outmanned Jesse Williams. Stacy read ahead. Martinez stated that the men left RIPCORD, a local gay bar in Houston, the night Williams was attacked. Martinez noted the group often met DeVito and Williams there for drinks and to shoot pool. He corroborated Dowdy’s testimony, indicating that Brian had pushed Williams down, and then the rest of the men circled Williams and began their assault. As she read ahead, when pressured by Bolmer, under little objection from Castiglione, Juan Martinez eagerly identified Corassco, Wayne, and DeVito as those who helped beat Williams to death. Nothing about Dowdy was mentioned.

The image of that scene made Stacy nauseous. Stacy leaned back in the chair and stared at tendrils of dust illuminated by the sickly yellow light coming from the lamp. She wondered why Brian Dowdy would turn himself in to the police and then refuse to help them implicate the rest of the group. Why didn’t Martinez mention Dowdy as one of the assaulters? Stacy chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment. Certainly, the district attorney’s office would have offered Dowdy something in exchange for his testimony. Stacy had sat in on trials before where the former assistant prosecutor Carl Gibbs could get damaging testimony in front of the jury by offering an accomplice a deal in exchange for the testimony.

Stacy wondered why Brian Dowdy wouldn’t implicate the others, even when he had the chance.

She looked and resettled her gaze on the transcript. She turned a few more pages and kept reading. When ADA Bolmer asked him what he saw, Dowdy pled the Fifth Amendment, which al155

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lowed people to avoid incriminating themselves in a trial under oath. Stacy had only seen a handful of witnesses in a trial evoke the amendment and never someone as young as Dowdy. Stacy clenched a fist and put it under her chin. She needed to know if there was another reason the connection between Dowdy and DeVito was so strong.

In the distance, Stacy heard the heavy footfalls of someone coming up the hallway from the elevator. The steps were quick and purposeful. Being the only senior detective on the floor, Stacy pushed back her desk chair and stepped into the narrow hallway space.

There, she saw Gavin Knox charging at her, his face tight with concern.

Stacy let a smile crease her face, but it was wiped away when a set of folded papers was tossed at her. They fell to the floor in a heap.

“Thanks to your help, Stacy, Brandon Deerfield is dead.”

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25 Words had left her. She stared into Gavin’s blue eyes, burning with anger, and her voice fell silent. She couldn’t get her lips to move.

“The guards found him dead in his cell after dinner.”

Her mind was blank as she stared at Gavin in horror. He wore a dark-trimmed suit with a white shirt and maroon tie. He furrowed his brow as the color in his face changed.

“When the guards went to check on him before lights out, they found his body on the cot. There was some swelling around his throat.”

Stacy searched her mind for something reasonable to say, but to her surprise, nothing came out.

“Then I get a visit this evening from Deerfield’s attorneys.

Apparently, they claim you offered Deerfield some leniency on the charges against him for information about Chance.” His eyes desperately searched Stacy. “Say something,” he roared. “Did that happen? Because I am in danger of losing my job based on the answer.”

Her brain stuttered for a moment. Every part of her paused while her thoughts tried to catch up. A wash of cold crept over her.

“Gavin,” she said, her voice soft. “That’s ridiculous. I did visit Deerfield. That part is true.”

He pinched his brow. “And what for? What did you possibly hope to achieve?”

Stacy looked down at the floor for a moment and collected herself. The intensity of his gaze caught her as she locked eyes with him.

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“My mom is in town.”

Gavin blinked. He held his stare.

“She has a postcard from Chance that was sent a few weeks ago. He said that he’s okay but that we’re not safe.”

Gavin made a face. “And you think Deerfield had something to do with it?”

“Deerfield claims that Chance sent him a card as well.” Stacy set her jaw. “I don’t know,” she said, a pleading tone creeping into her voice.

“That’s not proof. A ten-year-old could’ve written that note.

We have no idea if Deerfield had any connection to that note or not, and I doubt he would admit to it even if he did.”

“But I needed to be sure,” Stacy interjected. “Deerfield didn’t tell me anything. He lied the entire time.”

“How do you know that?” At the question, Gavin paused, allowing his ears to hear the words spoken. “Never mind. I know you can spot someone lying.”

“And he was,” she added. “I was there for less than fifteen minutes. Check the visitors’ log.”

“That’s already happened,” he said, his voice taut. “Deerfield’s attorneys already did.”

“I wouldn’t betray our relationship by stepping outside of my authority like that.”

“It’s not about our relationship, Stacy. What happened was an abuse of power and authority.”

His words entered Stacy as if through a narrow vein.

“I’m trying to find out what happened to Chance.”

His blue eyes flared sharp. “And rid yourself of guilt.”

They both said nothing as the looming sodium ceiling lights above them cast down a pale white light, hazing the edges of the room and bleaching out the space between them.

Gavin’s face hardened and dimmed with confusion and worry. “Thank you for telling me the truth. But this isn’t over. Not at all. My office will initiate an investigation into this—assuming I’m a part of the office after today. My office is likely going to recommend IAB get involved, as well.”

Stacy felt her throat clench. “I understand.”

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Gavin picked up the papers. “This is a copy of the motion made by Deerfield’s lawyers to have the case dismissed. They want to tell what they think happened to the judge and get it on the record.”

Stacy bent down and picked up the papers and unfolded them. She glanced at the words but didn’t read them.

Gavin started to walk away. As he did, he stopped and turned around to face Stacy.

“Chance Tavitt is not a good person.”

Stacy blanched. Gavin leered at her again, his skin became grayed, and his moth hung with lips slightly parted. He was waiting for a response.

“Excuse me,” Stacy said, her voice surprisingly low and rough.

“I wondered if Chance was worth all of this trouble, and he’s not.”

Stacy felt her shoulders hunch together like she was trying to disappear inside of herself. “I can’t believe this. Chance is my brother. My family. It’s no concern of yours.”

Gavin frowned. “I did some investigating on him. He’s never held steady work, he has two arrests on his record for drunk driving, and he owes the mother of his child over $25,000 in overdue child support.”

Stacy knew what Gavin said was true, but she didn’t realize the overdue child support money had ballooned into a five-figure number.

She pinched her brow under squinted eyes. “Is Chance currently under investigation by the Cuyahoga County Prosecutor’s Office?”

Stacy found herself biting off the last word. This was not the moment to tell Gavin what Brandon had told her about Chance and his involvement with the dirty cops and the protection-fordrugs racket they were running. Eventually, she knew everyone would know, including Gavin.

Gavin sealed his rounded mouth into a flushed pout. “No.” “Then, aren’t you abusing your authority as an officer of the court? Why would an AP use office resources to investigate someone not yet charged with anything? Is Chance the subject of an active investigation?”

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He made a face. “Chance is a missing person. That situation is not the same as the other.”

Stacy shook her head in defiance. “Seems similar to me.”

Gavin’s eyes lingered for a moment, then flitted away when she caught them.

“Stacy. I’m sorry, but Chance is a loser, and I think you need to decide if he’s worth this obsession and you bending the rules to save him.”

His comment was so out of character and so far from what she knew of him that Stacy just stared at him, slack-jawed.

“He’s my brother, Gavin. I’m not going to let something bad happen to him.”

Gavin took two long strides toward her and leaned close. His piercing eyes nearly bore through Stacy.

“Chance is going to cost you everything if you don’t back off,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Look what’s he done already. Think about it.”

Gavin held his stare at Stacy until she blinked back tears and looked to the side.

“He’s had more than enough time to come forward and explain himself.”

In her pocket, her cell phone buzzed. She pulled it out and answered.

“SWAT is ready,” Austin said through the line, his voice bright with pleasure. “They’ll be armed and ready before dawn and will wait for instructions.”

Stacy sniffed and cleared her throat. “Thanks, Austin.” She ended the call as he was ready to say something else.

Stacy leaned around the cubicle wall separating her desk from the hallway. She reached forward and closed the transcript’s binder.

When she turned around, Gavin arched an eyebrow at her.

She wanted to discuss what she’d read in the trial transcripts with him, but Stacy found herself too flummoxed to concentrate.

“I need to go,” she said to herself and nobody at the same time. She pushed past Gavin.

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“Where?” he paused. “What’s going on, Stacy?”

His voice trailed off as she reached the elevator. The discussion of Chance and Brandon Deerfield had reminded Stacy of something.

“I’m going home,” she muttered into the faded chrome elevator doors. “It’s time for a family meeting.”

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26 When Stacy pulled back the steel front door leading to her loft, an unfamiliar picture emerged.

The bitingly crisp mid-April air had given way to the scent of lemons and disinfectant as the door opened.

Inside, the loft floors shone with a deep, rich glow that bracketed the gray tile and gave each one a shine that reflected the light overhead. The couch had been vacuumed, the pillows fluffed and rearranged, and the two lamps on the end tables displayed the same finish as the floor.

Stacy sauntered over to the galley kitchen. The countertops had been wiped, and the cooktops cleaned to a dull shine. The exterior of the kitchen appliances, which Stacy didn’t use often, had been polished, and the faucets and cabinet hardware also shone. The kitchen floor was mopped and shone like the floor in the living room.

The loose items Stacy had arranged in different parts of the main floor were picked up and placed into three stacks on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“I thought I heard someone,” Melinda said.

She wore a sweat-stained white T-shirt and blue nylon shorts. Stacy knew they had come from one of her drawers upstairs. Melinda’s bare arms and legs were as pale as her face. She had combed her hair back into a ponytail, and there was dirt smeared across her face. She cradled a bucket with some sponges and cleaning supplies close to her chest.

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the floor. She set down the bucket. “Those hoses and the filters in that machine hadn’t been cleaned in God knows how long.”

“Mother, I am perfectly capable of cleaning the oxygen machine and everything else here.”

Her mother turned to her slowly. Melinda looked at Stacy like she was unsure. Stacy could sense the doubt radiating from her mother.

“Well, don’t get mad at me. I get yelled at, and then you storm off out of here and leave me here with nothing to do. I thought the least I could do was clean this filthy place.”

Stacy folded her arms and arched an eyebrow. “I don’t remember cleaning being a big priority for you.”

Melinda stuck two clenched fists onto her hips. “I’m not going to be lectured at again. Hear me? Not again. I already got one of those.”

Stacy rolled her eyes, not impressed by her mother’s flair for drama. “I think it was deserved.”

“Ha,” Melinda scoffed. “That is a matter of opinion.” Her mother bent down to pick up the bucket and shuffled past Stacy.

“That bathroom was almost as filthy as that air machine. Really, Stacy. You can’t expect that handsome young friend of yours to spend the night if the bathroom looks like one of those crime scenes from TV.” “Mother, I told you that Gavin is just a friend.”

Melinda turned around and made a face. “Okay. Sure.”

“I need another favor.”

Melinda searched Stacy’s face, waiting for an explanation.

“Did the closets get cleaned?”

Melinda threw up her arms. “It’s taken me all day to clean what I did, and now I’m going to be accused of not cleaning the closets? I was hoping to hear a thank you, but I guess that’s not coming.”

Stacy sighed. “Thank you, Mother. I wanted to make sure nothing had been taken from them.”

Melinda became defensive. “Why would I take something from the closets? I’m not a thief.”

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“That’s not what I meant.”

Melinda blinked a few times. Her knee creaked as she leaned forward.

Stacy stalked across the floor and reached into the closet under the stairs. After pushing around some boxes, Stacy removed a camera. It was a Nikon D5600 digital camera, according to the nameplate attached to the side. It was one of the cameras Chance always had with him. It was recovered from the back of the mangled police cruiser after the collision.

She smiled for a moment as she remembered what Chance had always said about cameras and photographers: a good photographer sees what others miss and that to capture the overlooked scenes, image quality is everything. Chance loved this camera because it captured the subtle textures and rendered images with supremely crisp detail. He also said the camera had the technology embedded to allow for clear images in low-light scenes and difficult lighting situations like at night.

Stacy felt these thoughts hang heavy in her mind as she recalled the conversation with Brandon Deerfield about why his group had targeted Chance and that his excellent knowledge of photographs made him a valuable asset.

Stacy tilted the camera to the side and pulled back a narrow slit of plastic. She tapped the back of the camera with the heel of her palm, and a small chip card popped out. Stacy popped the plastic back into place and put the camera back in the closet, burying it under some blankets and jackets, hoping it would stay there forever.

Melinda was expectantly waiting when Stacy returned. “Take this somewhere and get the pictures developed.”

Melinda slipped the chip in between her nicotine-stained fingers and held it up to the light.

“How do I do that?”

Stacy had already retreated to the stairs. “I don’t know, Mother. Take it to a store that develops pictures and ask them. You’re resourceful. Figure it out.”

Stacy had learned that Melinda was more compliant when she spoke to her mother like a police lieutenant and not as a daughter.

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“I guess I can do that,” Melinda said, her tone subdued.

Stacy spun around and came around the steps. “One more thing, Mother.” Stacy carefully spoke as if the words she was saying would catch fire and spread. “Don’t look at the pictures too carefully or show them to anyone else.”

Melinda walked over to the base of the stairs. The sweat and dirt gave Melinda’s face a shifting expression. “I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter. I just need you to agree to do as I’ve asked.”

“Stacy, I don’t—” “Agree to what I instructed, Mother.”

“But I—” Stacy stomped her foot. She reached out and touched the side of her mother’s arm. “Tell me you understand and will do as I’ve asked.”

Melinda stiffened her posture. “Fine,” she said, her voice low.

“I will.”

“Good.”

Stacy pulled herself up the stairs. “I’m going to shower and then get some sleep. Early day in the morning.”

When Stacy got to the top of the steps, she turned and called back to her mother.

“What is it?”

“What’s on that camera chip relates to Chance.”

Her mother stopped moving. Stacy imagined her mother looking at the small chip in her hand again and thinking.

“What I asked earlier about the pictures still matters, but I thought you’d want to know.”

The phone in Stacy’s pocket buzzed and shifted in her pocket.

When Stacy pulled it out, she saw Austin’s number flash across the screen.

“Hey, Austin.” She walked down the hall and pushed back the door, entering the bedroom. It had the same smell and shine as downstairs.

“Stacy,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ve been monitoring Colton DeVito’s bank account tonight. There’s been more activity on it.”

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Stacy entered her bedroom and bent down to turn on the oxygen machine. “Okay.”

“Get this. There are four more withdrawals of money from his account using the debit card. The total amount today is over three thousand dollars.”

Hearing the number made Stacy pause. “Colton might be needing some extra money to make a run for it.”

“Exactly.”

Stacy looked outside the bedroom window. The last bands of light from the setting sun disappeared. The distant downtown skyline stood silhouetted against a dusty purple sky, and the copper hues of light beamed into the room in angled curves.

“If Colton’s in that house, we need to get him before he leaves town.”

“On it,” Austin said, hanging up the phone.

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27 Stacy closed her cell phone. “That was Charlie Harris. They have established the perimeter. No traffic will be coming down Grand Boulevard in either direction for a while.”

The wooded area that framed the road and the driveway leading to the house at the top of the driveway was still. Utterly still. With no car traffic passing by, the grass was straight and silent, and the tree branches dangled in place. Stacy imagined that if birds were in those trees, she’d be able to hear the beating of their hearts.

This scene was much more pleasant despite what would transpire in a few minutes. Stacy appreciated this taking place outside of downtown Cleveland, with its web of towering spires, bridges, and expressways planted away in the distance.

Stacy had changed into a pair of black pants and a black blouse. Her blue windbreaker jacket was a dark blue emblazoned with CPD and an embroidered police shield, jutting out from the right breast pocket. Austin stepped behind her and buckled the clips connecting both sides of the bulletproof vest.

Austin, clad in jeans and a dark polo shirt with the same jacket style, reached into a pocket. “I got the warrant from Gavin.

He was able to get a judge to sign it around three this morning.”

Stacy made a face as she tugged the front of the vest around her breasts. “Thank you. I know I’ve been a little distracted.”

“Yeah,” Austin said, unfolding the search warrant. His lips formed into a grim line, and he shook his head.

“Listen,” Stacy said, studying his face. A sudden rush of combativeness overtaking her. “I overhead the argument with Gavin.”

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Austin feigned innocence, his dark features washing blank with confusion.

“Stop denying it,” Stacy retorted. “I was in the hallway after the Miguel Olivo interrogation and heard the two of you arguing. It has to stop, Austin.”

“He’s taking advantage of the situation and crossing a line in the relationship.”

Stacy’s eyes flared with anger. “And as I’ve said many times, the relationship is purely professional, and that’s all it will be. I don’t need you to protect me. Gavin is assigned to our unit. Get used to it or ask Diana for a transfer.”

Stacy felt a surge of guilt spike in her gut. She tried to take it back, but the words left her. She stared into his dark eyes, burning with hurt, and her heart sank. His eyes desperately searched hers, waiting for an explanation. When none came, Austin stuffed the crinkled warrant in his pocket.

He swallowed and pursed his lips. “Three of Brandon Deerfield’s posse arrested in that safehouse will be arraigned this afternoon.” His voice was low and wounded. His words seemed to come out slow and warbled.

Stacy blanched. A lump formed in her throat, and she pulled harder on the vest padding near her waist that would protect her from any potential stray bullets. She wanted to tell Austin more about Brandon and Chance and a brewing scandal that might roil the police department, but she bit down on her lip.

“I know that you went to see Deerfield.”

The shock registered on Stacy’s face before she could hide it.

“I’d meant to tell you about that.”

“It doesn’t matter. One of the guards inside the visiting room, Stuart, was in the academy with me several years ago. I ran into him downtown at Bar 32 last night. He’d had a few and was quite forthcoming.”

Stacy felt her face flush. “I needed to find out—” Austin held up a hand. A loose frown danced against the creases in his mouth. “I don’t need to protect you, remember?”

Stacy closed her eyes and sighed. “Austin—”

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Someone bumped her from behind. Chad Means, one of the members of the SWAT team, spoke behind a protective plastic shield that covered his beefy face. His short, muscled neck was dappled with sweat as he clutched both hands around an MP510 submachine gun. Two Sig Sauer 9mm pistols jutted out from his belt as the rest of his protective gear covered his chest.

“We’re ready, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

“I told the men that some high-powered assault rifles, possibly AR-15s, were seen on the property and to be ready.”

“Excellent. Thanks, Chad.”

He stepped past Stacy and held up a hand and made a wave.

Five other men dressed in protective gear and dark clothes huddled around Chad when he did. From behind him, a thin, waifish kid with dark curly hair and acne splotched across his face and arms emerged from behind the wooded area. Stacy heard his steps and watched him emerge, the shadow of the boxy SWAT van framing his features. He wore a red shirt with a red jacket that had Vincenza’s Pizza and Pasta splayed in white on the pocket. His red hat matched the uniform and complemented his faded jeans with scuffed white sneakers. He looked terrified.

“Uh. Am I in the right place?”

Austin grimaced. “What the hell is this?”

“I ordered pizza this morning,” Stacy said, “just like you like it. Extra pepperoni and sausage.”

Austin’s eyes darted back and forth between the kid and his partner. Stacy handed him sixty dollars. “I need the jacket and hat. Austin, hold the pizza.”

The kid did as he was told with wide-eyed amazement. Austin clutched the pizza box as if it would break apart in his hands.

“Okay.” Stacy zipped the jacket up. “Thanks. Give Mickey the extra twenty bucks and tell him I owe him one for opening up early for me.” She chinned back into a clearing behind the trees and to the left of the SWAT. “Head back there now and ask for Officer Harris.”

The kid shuffled off. Austin flashed her a perplexed look.

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“It’s part of the plan,” she said, taking the pizza from her partner.

Austin shook his head. “I guess so.”

Stacy pushed ahead and made her way from Grand Boulevard, clutching the pizza. She took in a deep breath and then exhaled as she scaled the small incline leading from the road to the driveway.

The SWAT team pushed ahead in two small groups of four.

They flanked into the thickets and dense brush that bracketed the driveway and faded away. Austin, with his Glock drawn and down at his side, trailed several feet behind Stacy.

The coolness of the early morning was deceptive. The sun had barely risen. The sky wasn’t gray, but the emerging colors of morning contrasted with fading colors of the night to merge the skyline into neon pink and peach bands. The air was clear, and the lingering shadows of night began to withdraw.

A chorus of birds overhead chortled and squawked in between the tree branches and served as a nice contrast to the passing car traffic from earlier in the morning, now rerouted as part of the road closure.

Stacy strode confidently up the driveway. In the wash of new light, the house looked garish, standing at the top of the driveway. The white brick façade looked like it was streaked with lines of gray and soft yellow. Stacy cut a look at the overhang on the house’s left side, where she had seen the assault rifles perched against the wall. They were gone now, but that didn’t mean they weren’t inside the house, ready to be used by someone. The grass, now dew-drenched, still looked regal and stately.

Stacy walked up to the front door and sucked in a breath. She could feel rivulets of sweat running down her breasts under the vest. She pulled her right leg slightly behind her as her Glock 22 bulged from her small-of-the-back holster, and anyone with a downward gaze would be able to see it.

Stacy rang the doorbell. It let out a gong and echoed for several seconds. Not waiting for the chime to reset itself, she pressed the round, white knob again. She leaned an ear against the door

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and heard the heavy, uneven footfalls of someone coming to the door.

The door groaned and heaved back. A balding college kid with a dark mustache, glasses, and a runner’s physique filled the space.

Sleep-smeared, he smacked his lips and squinted through eyes that were narrow slits as they tried to adjust to the light.

Stacy dropped her voice an octave. “Somebody ordered a pizza.”

The kid made a face. Rubbing the back of his neck, he frowned. Stacy could feel the still air moving behind her. The SWAT team was approaching.

“Fuck, it’s like, morning. Nobody delivers pizza that early.”

Stacy held a firm gaze on the kid. As if the details of the situation finally connected in his mind, his eyes widened. Stacy watched as he looked over her shoulder and saw the SWAT team approaching.

“Oh, fuck,” he screamed.

Stacy shoved the pizza box at him. He stumbled back, not sure of whether he should catch it or not. When Stacy tried to push her way in, he hollered out again.

“Fuck!”

At that point, a piercing scream echoed from the top of the stairs behind them, and a gunshot rang out.

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28 in.

At that moment, the SWAT team pushed in behind Stacy.

“Go, go, go,” Chad Means called out, leading the first group

The boy tried to disappear into a narrow gap between the moving bodies, but Stacy grabbed his shoulder.

“Hold it,” she said, firm and resolute. Before he could say a word, Stacy had spun him around and pulled his arms behind his back. He whimpered as she removed the handcuffs from her belt and clicked them around his bony wrists.

Austin trailed behind the team. Stacy looked behind her as he came into focus. “Get him out of here.”

The boy squirmed and mumbled something Stacy couldn’t understand as Austin led him outside onto the porch and passed him off to a uniformed officer.

Stacy nodded. “Let’s move.”

Stacy trailed up a narrow set of polished, wooden steps behind the entryway. She didn’t notice them earlier, but she realized that this gave whoever was upstairs an advantage as they could look down from the second-floor landing onto anyone coming up.

Having the SWAT team go in first was a smart decision.

Stacy dislodged her Glock from the holster and cocked the hammer, holding the gun firmly with both hands with the weapon pointing at an angle to the steps as she crept along the left wall. Austin moved a step behind her, flanked against the right side of the wall.

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At the top of the landing, two SWAT team members whirled by them in a streak of dark gray.

“Colton DeVito,” Stacy called out. “Cleveland Police.”

Nothing could be heard except for the SWAT team’s heavy movements and doors opening and closing.

When they reached the top step, Stacy and Austin locked eyes. Austin looked at Stacy and nodded to the hallway behind her. Stacy returned the nod, and Austin pivoted to the right as Stacy moved left.

After a few seconds, one of the SWAT team called out from a doorway near the end of the narrow hallway. “It’s clear in here, Lieutenant.”

Stacy peered into a bedroom on the left, which contained a small bed that was disheveled and covered in clothes and had a dull-stained bureau—without any mirror—bracketed by a small table.

At the end of the hall, two men from the SWAT team emerged, their submachine guns resting loosely in their hands.

Stacy locked eyes with one of the men, whose pale gray eyes dulled behind the protective mask. He shook his head.

Stacy entered the room. It was a room with a bed and nothing more. The bed wasn’t pushed up against the wall but occupied more of the center of the room. A mahogany headboard stood out from behind the bed. The windows had no drapery curtains, and there were no pictures on the wall.

“Lieutenant, we’ve found something.”

Stacy cocked the safety back on her Glock 22 and put it back in the holster. She took off the delivery jacket and hat and dropped them casually on the floor.

Several uniformed officers from the department ascended the stairs and began moving into the room to the right.

Austin, sweat-smeared and breathing heavy, bowed in front of Stacy, resting his hands on his knees. “We found the rifles.”

Stacy stepped around Austin to find another handsome boy.

His thick, dark hair was wrapped in a tight bun and held in place with a rubber band. He sat on the floor with his right hand cuffed to one leg of a large couch. He had a welt forming on the side of his cheek that had begun turning a sickly shade of purple.

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Austin followed her eyes. “This one was particularly nasty.

He put up a fight,” Austin said between breaths.

Chad Means held up one of the AR-15 rifles in a gloved hand and studied it intently. “It was freshly fired.” He stepped back and made a gesture into a room behind him. “Bullet landed in that wall over there.”

“It was a warning shot,” Stacy said, flashing a look of anger at the boy on the floor. She squatted down beside him. “Tried to scare us away. Sorry. It didn’t work.”

“Cops,” the boy snarled. “Never trusted them.”

Austin had slipped by Stacy and into another small room off the living room and reemerged with two girls, one blonde and the other dark-haired, both wearing nylon shorts and loose hanging T-shirt tops. Both girls stared at the floor, their heads lolling like they were detached from the shoulders. The sickly pungent odor of marijuana wafted from them. Both girls had been handcuffed.

“The party was either just starting, or it never stopped,” Austin said as he and the other SWAT member passed the girls off to two of the newly arrived uniformed officers. They led the girls away, one of them sobbing quietly.

When they disappeared into the hallway, Austin watched them leave and then whirled around. “I think the crier was also the screamer.”

Stacy blinked back tears from her watery eyes as the marijuana odor lingered in the room. She crouched down over the boy. Chad laid a hand on her shoulder.

“We’re going to finish up here in a minute and then move out if that’s okay, Lieutenant?”

“It’s fine,” Stacy said coolly. “Thanks for the help.”

She felt Chad step back. “Okay, boys. Make one more pass through, and then let’s move out.”

Stacy waited a moment for the men to leave the small room.

It was cramped and cave-like, with broken, mismatched pieces of furniture in different colors lining the space. A narrow strip of carpet ran through the middle of the stained wood floors, graying with filth. There was a small single bed to the right of the room, sheets crumpled. The small window in the room was layered with dust, and the net curtains swayed slightly. Stacy 174

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thought about how nice the house looked from the outside but smarted when she remembered how college-aged kids could ruin anything through sloppiness and laziness.

Stacy looked over at Austin. “Sit him up.”

The boy squirmed and began flailing his legs. Stacy pressed a hand into the bend behind his knee. “Stop it, or we’ll bind both legs together.”

Stacy reached into the pocket of his shorts and removed his wallet. “Will Akers,” she rattled off, staring at the driver’s license as she looked through the flaps in the wallet. Stacy came across a fuchsia red card protruding from the top flap.

When she removed it, she saw Colton DeVito etched in silver lettering on the front of the card, and it also had Wells Fargo Bank emblazoned on the front.

Will stopped squirming long enough for Austin to drag him up to a seated position. The boy pressed his back into a faded orange recliner. Stacy pinched the card’s edge between two fingers and bent her wrist, nearly flipping the card at Austin. “It’s Colton’s card.”

Austin cleared his throat. “How long have you had the card, son?”

His skin became gray.

“Answer my partner,” Stacy said in a low growl.

“A couple of weeks,” he murmured.

Stacy and Austin exchanged glances. “Cut the rubber band.”

At hearing the command, Will’s face scrunched, and his eyebrows arched.

Austin put his hand behind Will’s neck and squeezed, tugging him close. “Hold still.”

Austin removed a knife from his pocket and cut the rubber band. The bundled hair whipped and unraveled. Austin took some strands, pulled it around the boy’s ears, and put a few wisps near his forehead.

Austin pulled out the picture of the suspect from the surveillance camera at the Wells Fargo ATM. He stood back and regarded Will for a moment and then tossed a glance between the boy and the picture.

“Looks like the same guy to me.”

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Stacy glanced at the photo and slid on one knee across the floor until her face was a few inches away from Will.

“Colton DeVito.”

He looked down at the floor and shook his head.

A beat passed. Stacy took her hand and slapped Will hard on the side of his head, just near his ear. Will winced and whimpered. Stacy felt her hand sting, which meant she had connected with the right amount of force.

“Think.”

Will’s eyes were as wide as they could stretch, and his mouth hung with lips slightly parted.

“I don’t know who that is.”

Stacy slapped him on the other side of his head, but harder.

“That’s funny because you’re the one that’s been using his ATM card at the Wells Fargo Bank on Euclid Avenue.”

Will looked down at the floor again. Stacy reached back and took the folded picture from Austin.

Stacy put her hand under Will’s chin and pushed it up. She pushed the picture under his nose. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

When Will looked away again, Stacy grabbed his chin and jerked his head to the side.

“This isn’t a game, Mr. Akers, and I’m running out of patience.”

Will flared his nostrils and took in short, heavy breaths.

“That’s me.”

Austin crouched down beside them. “Why do you have Colton DeVito’s bank card?”

“I don’t know anybody by that name.”

Stacy felt her face burn red. She tried to maintain a stony expression but felt the anger smoldering beneath her.

She snarled more than she spoke. “We’ve watched you take money out of an ATM using a card that doesn’t belong to you.”

Stacy leaned closer. She could smell the remnants of cigarettes on his breath.

“Where’s Colton?”

The whites in his eyes turned dark, and his eyes glowered a shade of teal.

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“I don’t know anyone named Colton.”

Austin leaned into his left ear. “Don’t be protecting anybody,” he spat out in clipped words and harsh tones. “Everyone we took out of here is going to be questioned and talked to, and people are very forthcoming when it means saving their own ass.”

“I don’t know him,” Will barked. “I don’t know a Colton DeVito.”

Stacy leaned closer until she was nearly touching his nose with her own. “How did you get this card?”

Will said nothing. Stacy felt her entire body stiffen. She frowned and leaned away. As she reared back to swat Will again, he began to stammer and slur his words.

“I got the card from a woman I’ve been seeing recently.”

Stacy froze, her cupped hand in mid-air, keeping the threat there.

“Keep talking.”

“Her name is Maria.” Will nodded, flexing his shoulders against the chair, trying to loosen the grip of the handcuffs.

“Does this Maria have a last name?”

Will looked away again. “I can’t… I can’t remember.”

Disgust rippled through Stacy. “Don’t play me, Mr. Akers.”

“I-I’m not,” he said, frothy streams of saliva crowding the corners of his mouth. “She’s Hispanic. Her last name begins with an F…Fer-Fernando or something like that.”

Stacy looked over at her partner, who kept eyeing Will suspiciously.

“Fernandez, perhaps?” he asked Will.

Will’s head snapped back. “That’s it. Fernandez.”

Stacy folded her arms as Austin pulled out his small notepad from the pocket.

“I never met this Colton person,” Will blubbered, his tone more manic. “I didn’t get the debit card from him. Maria gave it to me. She asks me to make some withdrawals using the card, and she gives me some money to do it. That is it. I swear to God!” Stacy cocked her head to the side. “Did Maria ever mention how she got the card, or did she ever mention Colton’s name?”

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“No,” Will said, defeated. “She told me not to ask too many questions. If I did, she said she’d find someone else to make the withdrawals. And she’d break up with me.”

Austin pulled out a small notepad from his pocket. “Got an address for this Maria Fernandez?”

Will shook his head. “We’ve only been dating a few weeks.

She and I always meet in public.” Will cast a lazy look around the room. “I’ve got roommates, and there’s never any time for privacy, and she hasn’t offered to meet at her place.”

Stacy sighed, and Austin’s shoulders bowed in response. She wanted to reach over and slap some more information from Will Akers, but she was tired of him and his talking.

“Okay, let’s go,” Stacy said, grabbing Will by the arm and lifting him up. Austin moved over and unlatched the handcuffs.

“Wait, wait. Where am I going?” His eyes darted between the detectives, frantically seeking an explanation.

“To the station downtown for booking,” Austin said. “Drugs and firearms are not a good combination to have illegally.”

His eyes cut over to Stacy, pleading. “But I answered all of the questions.”

Stacy patted his cheek. “I know that, and we appreciate the cooperation.” Her tone changed, and her mouth tightened. “Get him out of here.”

Another uniformed officer came into the room. Stacy held an icy gaze on Will, who began to sweat and stammer.

“Please, don’t arrest me. If my parents find out….”

The uniformed officer grabbed Will by the shoulder and led him out onto the landing and down the stairs.

They stepped out onto the landing near the steps. The air felt brisk as a breeze wafted up the stairwell. Stacy looked over at her partner. Austin wiped a streak of dust from his face. In the harsh overhead light, his cheekbones had been erased, and he looked wide-eyed into the glare shining up the stairs from the open front door.

Stacy puffed out a breath and ran a hand through her hair.

The vest was heavy and sticky against her skin, and she wanted to rip it off, but she knew not to do that until the scene was completely clear.

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She looked over to Austin. “So, what do you think?”

Austin tucked his notepad into his pocket. He waved a hand in the open space between them. “I think Maria and Colton and their friends here are in this together. They got this punk Will to withdraw the money from the ATM. He gives it to Maria, who probably gives it to Colton while he’s in hiding. That’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

Stacy pursed her lips. “So Maria is helping Colton go on the run or hide. That means Maria might know that Colton killed Brooke. And they roped in Will to do the work so that neither of them will be discovered.” She recited the words in the space between them, addressing both and neither of them simultaneously.

“Now we just have to find Maria Fernandez,” Austin said, stepping toward the top step. “And let’s hope she’ll give up where Colton is hiding.”

Austin took a couple of long strides down the steps. Stacy followed, although her footfalls were lighter and shorter. Austin sensed the growing distance between them and looked back.

“What is it?”

Stacy picked up her pace and moved through the entryway.

Outside, two police cruisers were pulling away. The SWAT team had cleared the scene, and Stacy could see a procession of headlights shining on the entryway to the driveway below and heard the hiss of car tires on the pavement.

“I’m thinking about something Monica DeVito told me.”

Austin stopped walking and whirled around to face her.

“She said that Colton would never date anyone after Brooke dumped him.”

Austin arched an eyebrow. “So? He could’ve been lying about that, or maybe Monica was embellishing the story.”

Stacy thought back to the frantic and pained look on Monica’s face when she was retelling the story of the relationship.

Stacy felt a silence in her gut. “I think she was telling the truth. She seemed sincere when she said it.”

Austin sighed and put his hands in his pockets. His vest pushed out from his chest slightly.

“Okay. What does that have to do with this situation?”

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“Maybe something, maybe nothing.” Stacy proceeded to walk ahead. “If he loved Brooke as much as he claimed, and he refused to date anyone else, then why would he give Maria Fernandez his debit card? That implies a lot of trust and you don’t do that with someone you barely know.”

Stacy shook her head. “Why would he trust a woman and some kid he barely knows to handle the withdrawals over a prolonged period, especially because he had such a large sum of money? Why didn’t Colton have them take out one big cash withdrawal and then take the money and run? Why have them do it repeatedly?” Austin, trailing his partner, finally caught up.

“There could be more to these relationships than we know.”

As Stacy and Austin reached the slope in the driveway, Charlie Harris came racing up the middle of the pavement, holding Stacy’s cell phone away from him like it was an explosive.

“Lieutenant, it’s Captain Bannister.”

Stacy had left the phone in Charlie’s cruiser so it wouldn’t chime or get damaged during the raid.

“Yeah, Captain,” Stacy said. “Okay. Yeah. We’ll be right there.”

Charlie and Austin exchanged glances.

Stacy ended the call. Every muscle in her body froze. Charlie and Austin’s eyes desperately searched hers, waiting.

“Diana said that dispatch got a call last night from Ace Taxi Service. Miguel Olivo didn’t clock out after his shift from two nights ago.”

Charlie stepped closer while Austin shrugged his shoulders.

“A patrol car found the disabled cab this morning.”

Austin then leaned in, his face washed blank with confusion.

“Did they find Olivo?”

“They did.” Her voice went hoarse. “They found pieces of him wrapped and stuffed in the trunk of the vehicle.”

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29 Stacy looked over at her partner, who had dialed a number on his cell phone. “I asked Charlie Harris and Chad Means to track down Maria Fernandez. I don’t want them to approach her—just find out if she has any friends staying with her.” Austin cradled the cell phone under his right shoulder. “Maybe her friends run in the same group as Will Akers’ friends.”

“Maybe.”

Stacy turned her Camry down East 71st Street. The Fairfax neighborhood was on the east side of Cleveland, and it roughly bounded between Euclid Avenue to the north and Woodland Avenue to the south.

There is a total of thirty-six neighborhoods in Cleveland, Ohio. Each one is as diverse and unique as the residents that call each neighborhood home. Unfortunately, Miguel Olivo was found in one of the city’s most undesirable places—the Fairfax neighborhood.

The Fairfax neighborhood has a rich history. Cleveland’s most iconic institutions, including the Cleveland Clinic and the Karamu House, the nation’s oldest African American theater, are located there. Unfortunately, the area had seen crime take hold as many factory jobs that supported a once-thriving shipping and steel industry were gone, leaving a vacuum for crime to take over as poverty increased.

Stacy and Austin didn’t say much as they drove through Fairfax. Austin had called dispatch to find out any additional information on the call made last night.

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He dabbed the end of his pen on the tip of his tongue as he dropped his cradled phone from his neck and let it land in his lap. He furiously scribbled some notes in his notepad.

“The call came in from a woman who was walking her dog.

Her name was Laquita Moore. She told the 911 dispatcher the same cab had been sitting on the side of the street for two days.

When she approached, she smelled a terrible odor.”

Stacy leaned over the steering wheel as she saw Woodland Cemetery appear from the right side of the windshield. Turning the car onto Quincy Avenue, she saw the clarion of circling lights pulsing red and blue beams onto the chipped asphalt and the sides of homes that bracketed the road. The perimeter had already been established. There were several cruisers on the scene along with an ambulance and the Cuyahoga County Coroner’s van.

Stacy parked her car in the middle of the street. As she got out, a thin, baby-faced officer with protruding ears approached, but before he could even raise his hand, Stacy had flashed him her shield. Austin followed when the young officer cut a look at him.

“What have we got?”

“It’s a mess,” a baritone voice boomed, cutting through the franticly busy but eerily still scene. Kendall Jackson approached, his uniform perfectly coifed. Stacy noticed his polished shield, with Corporal arched above it, shone against the rotating blue beams of the cruisers’ lights. His face was creased with worry, and his eyes held the energy of someone that had seen something horrific.

Stacy arched an eyebrow. “Kendall.”

“Hey, Lieutenant.” He grinned, but the expression defaulted back into his thick lips pressed tightly against his face.

Stacy stepped back, putting a wider berth between herself and Kendall. “Kendall, you remember my partner, Sergeant Cerrera.”

“Good to see you, Sergeant,” Kendall said, extending a hand.

“Same here, Kendall,” Austin said, closing the grip with a right hand. “I never got a chance to formally say thanks for all the help with the Devon Baker case last fall.”

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Kendall lowered his head. Stacy saw his face turn slightly red.

“It was nothing. Glad to help.”

“We didn’t know there would be a familiar face here already,” Stacy said, refocusing the conversation. Behind Kendall, various first responders aggressively paced back and forth behind him.

“Yeah. Well, I got a few hours of sleep at home, and I was heading into the precinct on the east side when I heard the call go out that a body had been found in Fairfax. Two patrolmen from the Fifth got here first.”

Stacy felt a burst of adrenaline surge through her, and her mind began to snap with questions and anticipations. “Take us back there,” she said in a declarative tone.

Kendall made a face. “It’s bad, Lieutenant.”

“How bad?” Austin asked.

Kendall shook his head in disapproval. “One of the worst scenes I’ve ever seen.”

Stacy looked to the left at the young patrolman. His face went white at hearing Kendall’s words, meaning he must have also seen the crime scene. Austin swallowed hard and a lump formed in her own throat.

“Let’s go,” she said, pushing past them both. The group lifted the yellow ribbon draped across the road, indicating Quincy Avenue was an active crime scene and that trespassers and onlookers were not allowed.

Overhead, the wispy clouds from earlier in the morning were now denser and darker. The gray hue hung over the scene like a thick carpet, reflecting the mood of everyone involved.

People moved about, only speaking to one another in small conversations and hushed tones.

“Is Myers here?” Austin asked.

Kendall pointed up ahead. “He’s back there.”

Stacy slowed her walk as she approached the front of the old yellow taxi. The hood and door frames were dented and scratched. Streaks of rust curled up around the door handles and ran along the bottom of the door frame itself. The body frame looked like an old set of rusty, crudely fused metal sheets. The rubber tires sagged under the weight of the frame, ready to peel apart at any moment. The sight of the stationed cab was odious.

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She peered her head inside the cab and looked around. Stacy began to cough. The cab’s inside smelled like a mixture of burnt food, urine, and stale cigarette smoke. Stacy held her nose and her eyes began to water. Whatever had led to Miguel Olivo’s death, he probably wasn’t physically well before.

Stacy jerked her head back and began to cough again. Austin ran back to her.

“Hey,” he said as Stacy pressed her palm against her chest and wheezed. “Is it—” “No, it’s not that,” she said, blinking back the tears. Stacy wondered if the smell would burn itself into her clothes.

“I didn’t see any blood,” she said, in between inhaling a gulp of air. “The glove compartment didn’t seem damaged.”

“So, probably not a robbery gone bad,” Austin surmised.

Stacy nodded. “Get the crime scene guys to spray some luminal inside the cab and see if there are any traces of blood.”

Austin nodded.

As Stacy whirled around, Adam Myers flashed a mischievous grin. “Lieutenant Tavitt. We’ve been waiting.”

Cuyahoga County Coroner, Dr. Adam Myers, was a thick, stout man with a grizzly beard and rounded glasses that always drooped near the end of his bulbous nose. Stacy and Austin relied on his wealth of information regarding trauma and death.

Still, his nonstop prattling and sarcastic wit often aggravated Stacy, mostly when she just wanted the information she needed clearly and concisely.

“I’d say it is a pleasure to see you, too, Lieutenant, but the circumstances are tragic.”

Stacy locked eyes with Adam. Her heart was beating at an elevated rhythm.

The coroner stepped back, and the dark expanse of the taxi trunk revealed itself. Stacy gagged. The familiar smell coming from inside nearly knocked her over. Dead bodies give off a distinctive, sickly-sweet odor. More than four hundred volatile organic compounds that make up the body fluids begin to coalesce and break down after death, leading to the smell.

Stacy felt a few thick fingers touch her arm. “It’s really bad.”

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Kendall cleared his throat and coughed, affected by the odor coming from the car.

She looked over at Austin, who had removed a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth.

Stacy approached the tailgate and froze. “Oh, my God.” Inside the trunk were the partial remains of Miguel Olivo, hacked to pieces. Inside, the palm of one hand was upright, fingers splayed in an extended position, almost as if it were ready to high-five another hand. The fingers and fingertips were devoid of skin and pitted with puncture wounds and burns. The cloth covering inside the trunk was stained with blood.

His torso, complete with a swollen, distended stomach, had been pushed to the right side of the trunk. Under it, blood had once flowed, thick and sluggish, and now it pooled in a dark stain near the point where the neck should attach. The torso’s front and sides had been gutted repeatedly with some type of sharp object, flecks of doughy tan skin mangled and torn, the flesh ripped from the organs inside. Nothing else remained of Miguel Olivo.

“Jesus Christ,” Austin said breathlessly, stepping away from the trunk and bending over near the side of the taxi, vomiting.

Stacy felt her gut lurch as a churning mixture of bile filled her mouth, and her nostrils flared with the smell of rotting flesh. She stepped back from the trunk, almost into Kendall’s arms. Stacy took two quick breaths and swallowed back the bile, trying not to let it catch in her throat.

Adam approached, and Stacy held up a hand. “I’m okay,” she said. Kendall had walked around the group to check on Austin, who dabbed the corners of his mouth with the handkerchief.

Stacy took a step toward the open trunk again, but not getting too close to the body. She had seen bodies badly destroyed by knife wounds, gunshots, and fire, but she had never seen a severed body with limbs and pieces missing. Whoever did this to Miguel Olivo was sick and violent.

Dr. Myers loped around Stacy until he stood next to her.

Stacy blinked, trying to stop her watery eyes. “Time of death?”

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The doctor folded his arms, his black rubber coat billowing at the bottom. “Based on the way the blood congealed around those stab wounds and the rate of decomposition, I’d say eight to twelve hours.” He cocked his head to the side and peered up at Stacy over the rims of his glasses. “I need to show you something else.”

Adam put a hand on Stacy’s back, and they slowly walked closer to the trunk. With a gloved hand, Adam slid his fingers under the back of the hand.

“There,” he said, nodding at the hand. “His fingertips. They’ve been burned off.”

Stacy shuddered. “This was personal. Someone basically dehumanized the victim.”

“If so, they succeeded. There are some cuts to the inside of the fingers on this hand. He put up a fight. There are some black specks near the base of his fingers, which could be anything. I won’t know more until I look closer.” The doctor paused. “Based on the depth and width of the wounds on the torso, whatever struck him was heavy and sharp. The deepest laceration was near the stomach, probably clipping the celiac artery. Once it was punctured, the victim would’ve lost a lot of blood quickly. I’ll know more after I examine it.”

Stacy looked back to Kendall. “We’re sure this car belongs to Miguel Olivo?”

“The first car on the scene ran the plates. It registers with Ace Taxi and Miguel Olivo.”

Austin stared anxiously at the trunk, still wiping his lips with the handkerchief. “I’ve never seen a body look like this.” He turned to face the rest of the group. “Why do this to Olivo?”

“He saw Colton DeVito, one of the few people that remembered seeing him the night Brooke Crawford was killed,” Stacy answered.

“Someone found out and didn’t want him telling,” Austin said.

“Or someone knows he talked and silenced him for it.” Stacy crouched on the ground. The smell of rotting flesh still hung in her nose, and she wanted to get it away. She also felt a dull burn 186

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moving up from her chest into her throat. She took a couple of breaths to try and suppress it. While the burning dulled, it persisted.

Stacy popped upright. She clenched her fists, rivulets of sweat forming on her forehead.

“All right, listen up.” Four more uniformed officers from the Cleveland Police Department huddled around the group. Stacy cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Keep the perimeter tight,” she called out. “The media will be here soon, but they do not breach the perimeter under any circumstances. In the meantime, canvass the neighborhood.

Six blocks back and deep. Make sure we get a statement from the woman who found the car. Ask if anyone saw anything over the last day or so. It can be a strange car in the neighborhood, a strange person, whatever. Document anything witnesses say, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

Stacy took a moment and flashed a look at Kendall. “The people in this part of town don’t trust cops, so be polite and persuasive but don’t put up with any crap from anyone. Get everything processed and back to headquarters as soon as possible.

Any questions?”

The silence pooled around them. Stacy could see the adrenaline pulsing through everyone, especially the young patrolman who had probably never been called to a crime scene like this one before.

“Okay, move out.”

Dr. Myers went back to the trunk and leaned inside. Stacy pointed at Austin. “Come with me.” Before Austin could say anything, Stacy pointed to the right door of the cab. “Open the door and get in.”

Austin scrunched his brow and pulled back the door. Stacy slid into the driver’s seat as Austin plopped into the passenger side.

Stacy wanted to roll down the windows to get rid of the vile smell inside the cab, but she held her breath. The burning in her lungs returned, stronger and sharper than before.

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compartment. Stacy removed some latex gloves from her pocket and pointed at the screen.

“Push some buttons on that thing and see what comes up.”

Austin removed a glove from his pocket, slipped it on, and began pushing.

Stacy stared anxiously at the taximeter in front of her. She pressed a few buttons on the interface below the numbers as desperation grew inside her. No matter what buttons Stacy pushed, the numbers flashed with five zeros.

“Find anything useful?” she asked.

“Just a map of the routes that Olivo had been driving last night.”

“Make sense of any of it?”

“I’m trying.”

Stacy pushed more buttons, harder this time. Disgruntled, she slapped the side of the box. It rattled and nearly tilted to one side. “Dammit. I can’t see how much Olivo charged the last person he transported.”

“Well, we know where he went,” Austin said. “Look here.”

Stacy leaned over. On the screen was a digital map of the city crisscrossed with streaks of red crossing through the squared-off sections of the city.

Stacy reached over and pressed a key on the keyboard. The screen turned sideways, flipped backward, and zoomed in.

She leaned in and squinted. Her heart sank.

“Shit.”

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30 Stacy traced a finger over the red band running across the screen, this time more defined and clearer than before.

She caught a glimpse of Austin’s dark eyes in the reflection on the glass, following her movements.

“According to this, Olivo spent most of yesterday and last night picking up people in North Olmstead, Bay Village, and Parma Heights.”

Stacy’s finger ran slower across the red band. “If this is accurate, then he would’ve driven a far distance to come to Fairfax to pick someone up.”

Austin leaned back in the seat. The faded, torn leather seat groaned and wheezed as he sat back. “Maybe he wasn’t over here to pick someone up. Maybe he was here to meet someone.”

Stacy was listening to what her partner was saying, but her mind trailed elsewhere. She leaned back into the doorframe.

“And since somebody erased the numbers on the rate meter, we don’t know if he picked anyone else up before he came over here.”

Austin nodded thoughtfully. “And whoever killed Olivo cleared off the machine to throw us off.”

Stacy pushed open the door of the cab and got out. She longed for the burst of fresh air that hit her face the moment she stepped outside. It helped her mind refocus.

Austin walked around the hood of the car. Stacy pivoted to her right and stopped in front of him.

“Where are we with Ace Taxi? Did you go over there and check their computer systems to see if we can track Olivo’s movements in the last few days?”

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Austin stared anxiously at his partner. “No. I haven’t. I’ve been trying to find out who has been taking money from Colton DeVito’s bank account.”

“Work harder and faster,” Stacy said in a disgruntled voice.

“I’d say now is a perfect time to go over and look at his recent driving history.”

Stacy whirled around and stalked away. The burning pain in her lungs increased, and it felt like her entire chest was on fire.

Austin trailed behind her. “Hey,” he called to Stacy. When she kept walking, he called out again. “Stacy. Wait a minute!”

Stacy stopped and turned around. Every second that dragged on made Stacy more anxious.

“What, Austin?”

He looked at her with soft eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Fine.”

“I noticed you splayed a hand over your chest. I wanted to make sure that everything is okay with you.”

She ignored his statement about the gesture she didn’t remember doing. “The fact that we haven’t thoroughly investigated a clear lead on this case, even though Diana and I had asked for it, now has us here,” she said, pointing to the scene behind them.

“We asked you to go to Ace Taxi and check out their travel logs and find out where Miguel Olivo has been driving within the last week, and I come to find out just now it hasn’t been done.

If the task had been completed, maybe we could’ve discovered that this wasn’t the first time Olivo had been over here in Fairfax after hours.” Stacy leaned in. “I gave an order, not a request. I am the superior officer assigned to this case, and I wish that you’d remember that. And all of that has nothing to do with my emotions or feelings. Multitask, Austin. Do two things at once.”

Austin stood there, startled and dismayed. When it was clear Stacy was finished, he shook his head and pushed past her.

She turned around to see his broad-shouldered silhouette fading into the distance.

“Where are you going?” she called out, her voice a croak.

Austin looked back. “Eat shit,” he said before crouching down and going under the caution ribbon.

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At that, Stacy heard heavy footfalls behind her. “Lieutenant, I’d like to help.”

She turned around and saw Kendall, his fists clenched and his eyes hard and focused.

“I appreciate the offer, Kendall, but you don’t work in my unit. Peter Banks would have my ass if he knew I took one of his men without permission.”

Kendall flashed a wide grin. “Already got it.”

Stacy pursed her lips. “When?”

Kendall playfully wagged a cell phone in his hand. “Just now.”

Stacy folded her arms and regarded the corporal. “This case is going to be a lot of work, and it’s messy. We’re trying to pull together some threads, and I can’t say we’ve got much yet to work with.” She paused and arched an eyebrow. “Still want in?”

Kendall clapped his hands together with delight. “Hell, yeah!”

Stacy grinned and chinned behind them. “Start by managing the scene here. Stay close to Sergeant Cerrera. Keep me posted on any developments.”

“Got it.”

With that, Kendall turned and moved back into the stream of moving people with a bounce in his step.

Stacy appreciated Kendall volunteering. The case needed some more work, and Kendall could provide some invigorating intensity and focus to it. Stacy trusted him, and she recalled how he wasn’t afraid to take risks. He had continuously put himself in jeopardy guarding Stacy during the Devon Baker investigation and endangering himself by engaging in conflicts with suspects without once questioning the rationale behind the engagements.

She hoped he could also provide a fresh perspective to some of the details and evidence collected concerning the case so far.

Kendall also knew Austin, so working him in as a new member of the team would be smooth and seamless.

Austin. Stacy quickened her steps as she moved under the police tape and went back to her car. Stacy hoped Austin would be there. For a moment, Stacy clung to the idea she was justified in what she had said to Austin, but a pang of guilt quickly replaced the feeling. Stacy didn’t want to make Austin feel infe191

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rior or as if his work didn’t matter to her. It did. The more they learned and discovered about the people connected to Colton DeVito, the more dangerous and deadly everything became.

“I’m looking for Detective Cerrera,” Stacy said to the young officer they’d met when they arrived on the scene.

“I saw him walk back that way,” he said, his eyes darting in the direction of the crime scene. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Didn’t hear where he was going.”

Stacy stalked back to her Camry and jerked open the door.

She scooped up her cell phone and called Austin. The call went right to voicemail.

She also checked the missed call, highlighted in red on her phone screen. Melinda had tried to call.

This time, Stacy called her back. The phone rang several times before an exasperated voice on the other end answered.

“Mother—” “Stacy,” she said, sucking in a breath. “Thank God. Please come home. Please.”

The words came out fast and clipped. “Mother, slow down.

What’s wrong?”

“The police are here.”

Stacy’s gut clenched. “Mother, is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine.” Melinda pulled the phone away from her ear, and Stacy could hear muffled words from someone else.

“Mother, who are you talking to?”

Melinda pushed the phone back to her mouth. “He was just here. I know it.”

“Who, Mother? Who was just there?”

“Chance,” she blurted out. “Chance was just here.”

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31 Stacy could feel her body scream. The burning in her lungs intensified, leading to several short coughs. She wanted to pull the car over to the side of 9th Street and sprint to West Superior Avenue to spend the energy that kept piling on despite her inability to use it.

Stacy managed to call Peter Banks in the Fifth District and asked him to take the lead on the Miguel Olivo murder for a little while because of a family emergency. During the call, she confirmed with Detective Banks that he had provided Kendall Jackson permission to assist her with the Colton DeVito case.

Stacy had also tried to call Austin again, but the call went straight to voicemail again.

Chance had finally come home? Or had he? But the police were also there. Had one of Brandon Deerfield’s accomplices squealed during or after their arraignment about what the group was doing? With Deerfield dead, they had no reason to stay silent any longer. Gavin would undoubtedly offer them some type of a deal to get them to snitch on each other. Would that include explaining how Chance was involved?

The scenarios roiled her. Stacy felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably at the thought. If that happened, then the racketeering drug scandal would be known, and it would expose Chance’s role in it. That meant Chance would be a target of the police, and so would anyone else still involved in the group who wasn’t arrested at the safehouse that night. Brandon Deerfield never told Stacy if there had been anyone else involved. Knowing him, it was likely.

That possibility also made Chance a target.

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Stacy was facing sensory overload, and her mind was racing with awful scenarios. Traffic stretched through downtown Cleveland like long, flowing ribbons. The roads were flooded with cars, and hordes of people bisected the streets at various crosswalks. Her left foot tapped incessantly, and she gripped the steering wheel of the Camry so tight that her knuckles turned white.

She finally pulled up in front of Superior Lofts to find three Cleveland Police Department patrol cars stationed outside.

Stacy bounded up the steps. As she got to the stairwell inside, she dropped to one knee. Her breathing became more labored.

She gagged as she tried to open her lungs up for air. The pain and burning made her vision hazy, but she managed a wracking hack that was deep and forceful enough to allow some air into her chest. The sound reverberated in the stairwell.

By the time she reached the top floor, the metal door to her loft was already pulled back. Stacy saw the frame of a tall, narrow-shouldered officer with his arms folded, looking down at someone. Stacy leaned an ear forward and heard the smoky rasp of her mother.

“He was here, I know it,” Melinda said.

Stacy had sauntered into the room when another cop, this one older with a square jaw that matched his graying crew-cut, marched over.

“Ma’am, if you’re a tenant residing in another unit, I need to ask you to leave.”

Stacy unclipped her shield and held it in front of him. His eyes slid left to right as he examined it.

“Actually, I live here, and that’s my mother being interrogated.”

At hearing the voice of her daughter, Melinda stopped speaking. She looked over to Stacy with wide-eyed panic and confusion. Stacy noticed her usually straight hair was in matted clumps and that her white skin seemed mottled and slick with sweat.

Stacy looked at the older officer with a disapproving glare.

“What happened here? Why are you all in my loft?”

The officer pointed his finger at Melinda. “She called it in.

Said it was a break-in.”

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Stacy shot her mother a look and then locked eyes with the officer. “Was anything broken or damaged?”

He shook his head. “No, Lieutenant.”

“Anything missing?”

“No, ma’am.”

“How did my brother get in? Where is he now?”

The officer made a face. “Excuse me? Who’s your brother?”

“Chance. Chance Tavitt. My mother told me that my brother was here.”

“Stacy, thank God,” Melinda said, racing over to her daughter and ending the discussion. Her green eyes pulsed with worry.

“These men don’t believe me.”

Stacy looked over at the tall officer, whose nameplate read Jamison. He flashed Stacy a sympathetic look and shook his head in disbelief.

“Mother,” Stacy said, putting her hands on her mother’s slender shoulders. “Tell me what happened. Don’t leave anything out.”

Melinda put a finger in her mouth and began chewing on the nail. “I came back from that nice store up the street with those pictures you wanted. The young man there was so nice. He just hooked them up to a machine, and they all got printed one after the other.”

Stacy could feel Jamison and his partner listening to her mother and watching them closely.

“Fast forward past that part, Mother. The break-in. What happened?”

“Well,” she said whimsically. “When I got home, I put the pictures on the coffee table, and then I went to make some coffee.

While the coffee was brewing, I thought I would go out onto the fire escape and smoke a cigarette. As I got my cigarettes and my lighter, I heard a noise. It was coming from upstairs. It sounded like it was coming from the bathroom.”

Stacy looked up and thought about the location of the bathroom inside the loft. The bathroom was in the back part of the second floor, near a wall. The burglar must have been here a while, and she startled him.

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“Go on, Mother.”

Melinda looked up and pointed to the ceiling where the floor of the bathroom would be. “I heard footsteps. It sounded like someone was upstairs.” She waved her hand in a circle. “Moving around.”

Melinda’s hands began to shake. “I didn’t know what to do, so I called the police. When I turned around after making the call, I saw him. I saw Chance.”

Her mother brightened at the mention of his name. Stacy was nonplussed. Jamison walked over to them.

“We searched the entire apartment,” he said. “We didn’t find anyone here.”

“That’s because he was scared,” Melinda snapped. “He was scared and ran off.”

“Mother…”

Melinda jabbed a finger at the open front door. “I saw him go right out there.”

Stacy looked over at Jamison and then over at the older officer as he spoke to another officer who looked like him.

“What did Chance look like?”

Melinda scowled. “What?”

“Chance, Mother. What did he have on? Did he say anything before he left?”

Melinda pressed her lips tightly against her face and shook her head. “No, I didn’t see him, but it was him. Chance was here, Stacy. I know it. He was wearing a dark sweatshirt with a hood and dark jeans. Chance walked like he always did, with a little bit of a limp and his shoulders slouched. The room even smelled like him when he left.”

Stacy sighed and closed her eyes. The burning in her lungs offset the headache that was forming behind her eyes.

Jamison adjusted his gun belt. “If there’s nothing else, my partner and I would like to go.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you all,” she said. “And thank you as well,” she said to the third officer, who waved at Stacy as he trailed behind the other two.

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The older officer turned and pulled the heavy metal door shut. He gave Stacy one final look of pity as the lock clicked into place.

Stacy whirled back around to lay into Melinda.

Her mother held up a hand. “Before you say anything, he was here, Stacy. I know it. I’m his mother. Moms always know. There’s something inside us that we can feel when our children are near or in trouble.”

“Mother, relax. I believe someone was probably here, but whoever it was, left before the cops or you could catch them.”

“Stacy—” “Think about it, Mother,” she pronounced, her voice higher pitched and shrill. “Chance wouldn’t run. He loves you, remember? The two of you have this special bond. He’s been coddled and had excuses made for him his entire life. Why would Chance run away from the one person who never betrayed him?”

An unease blossomed from within her. Stacy didn’t want to start a fight with her mother over an issue that had created a permanent divide in their relationship, but Stacy meant what she said. Melinda must have discerned some truth from it because she didn’t contest anything her daughter had said.

They looked at each other for a long moment before the cell phone in Stacy’s pocket burbled.

“I think I’ll check to see that nothing else was broken or taken,” her mother said in a quiet, deflated voice.

“Yes, do that.” Stacy turned away and swiped her finger over the phone screen.

Stacy loped over to the coffee table. Despite the thorough cleaning Melinda did in the loft recently, a thick curtain of dust had already formed on the coffee table again. One would expect to have dusty furniture when living in an old building on a busy downtown street.

She looked around the table. Nothing seemed out of place— until she looked at the corner of the table.

A perfect square, free of dust or other blemishes, stood out on the bottom right corner of the table. Stacy looked up and looked back at the door. If something had been placed there, it 197

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would be easy to grab quickly and make it through the front door undetected.

“I can’t find them, Stacy,” Melinda called out. “I had those pictures, and I can’t find them. I promise I didn’t look at them.”

Stacy swallowed back the tension and frustration building in her. “They were right here, Mother.” Stacy pointed down to the corner of the table.

Melinda raced over. “I think I put them… Oh.” Melinda covered her mouth with a hand as her eyes widened with worry.

“Whoever left through that door took the pictures.”

Melinda slowly looked over at Stacy. Her hand slid away, and a slack-jawed expression took its place.

“Stacy, honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I mean, I didn’t know…”

“Not good enough, Mother,” Stacy replied.

Suppose Brandon Deerfield was right, and Chance had pictures of the police pushing drugs and providing protection for drug pushers in some of Cleveland’s seedy neighborhoods. It could ruin the department’s integrity and reputation. Worse yet, protecting that reputation could prove costly. And Stacy believed some of those pictures were on that camera chip.

Before Stacy could plan her next move, her cell phone thrummed.

“Stacy Tavitt.”

“Lieutenant Tavitt, this is Nate Fryson, with the Forensic Unit.”

Nate always introduced himself, even though his voice was unmistakable. His handling of most forensic investigations concerning homicides within the Cleveland Police Department meant detectives only received reports from him.

“Yeah, Nate.”

He spoke quickly and passionately without taking a breath. “I examined that postcard.”

It took Stacy a second to recall that she had dropped it off before watching the questioning of Miguel Olivo. That was when

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Miguel Olivo was alive. Stacy felt drained. All of that seemed like a long time ago.

“What about the postcard?”

“I think it would be best if we talked in private.”

Stacy looked back at Melinda as she kneeled on the floor, looking under the couch in the living room.

“I’ll be there in a little while.”

“Fine,” he said. The dejected tone in his voice had Stacy concerned. Nate was always wired and chatty.

“Something wrong, Nate?”

“Please come fast. Captain Bannister is standing next to me, and she’s not happy with either of us.”

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32 Stacy had made it back to her desk at headquarters without drawing Diana or anyone else’s attention. Even Marty, the desk sergeant, had given Stacy a perfunctory nod as she entered the building and then promptly looked away also.

Charlie Harris and Chad Means called Stacy and told her they had found Maria Fernandez. She lived in one of the neighborhoods that ringed Fairview Park. They had been watching the house from different vantage points for several hours. Maria had only left her home once, and that was to get groceries. Nobody had gone in.

Looking across her desk, Stacy frowned. Austin wasn’t there, and she really needed him. They needed to question Maria Fernandez, and soon. Stacy tried him again on the way from her loft to headquarters, but the call went to voicemail again.

Stacy had also contacted Detective Peter Banks, and he ensured Stacy the Olivo murder scene had been cleared. The taxi would be towed to the police department garage to be examined in detail by the forensics team. Adam Myers had transported the torso and hand to the coroner’s office. Miguel Olivo’s family had been notified, and everything at the scene was processed correctly and thoroughly. Banks complimented Kendall Jackson for his ability to handle the situation and provide leadership as well.

Banks told Stacy that Kendall claimed he learned how to do it from watching her.

Stacy blushed in hearing those words, but she had to refocus.

A note had been taped to her phone by Nate Fryson. Stacy assumed it must have happened before his phone call. Stacy moved 200

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the transcripts of Jesse Williams’s murder trial to the other corner of her desk and turned on the dim desk lamp near the phone.

The note read: Checked postcard for prints. Just one set. Probably the mailman. Thoughts? Talk later.

--Nate Stacy folded up the note and sat it by the telephone. She sat back, scanning the desk for the card. Certainly, Nate would’ve given it back, she thought to herself.

Stacy felt a presence near the space between the desks and the hallway.

“Looking for this?”

Stacy peered up to see Diana pinching the sealed evidence bag’s corner between two fingers. The bag contained the postcard. “We need to talk.”

Stacy nodded at the bag. “About that and other things.”

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33 Diana said nothing to Stacy as they marched down the corridor to her office.

When they stepped inside, Diana slammed the door shut behind them. She pointed to a faded green chair with a wooden leg bent to the chair frame’s right.

“Sit.” The captain reached for something on her desk, which was piled with papers and folders. The phone cord near the handle and unit had been twisted into several small knots. The slategray walls of the office were adorned with several corkboards full of pinned pieces of paper. Apart from a small picture at the end of her metal desk, displaying Diana with her husband and young son, there was little in the office other than the standard office equipment like the telephone and a computer.

Diana took a manila folder from the top of the stack. Stacy’s eyes scanned the desk quickly. She wanted to see if she saw the red folder with her name and the word retirement written on it.

Instead, all she saw were folders pressed in between stacks of papers and squared pink slips of paper with recorded information from phone messages.

The captain, dressed in a dark blue polo with the police department shield and logo over the breast tucked into dark black pants and boots, sat at the edge of the table.

Diana pushed the folder in front of Stacy. “Here.”

Stacy looked at it a second and then tugged at the folder. Diana had a tight grip on it, and Stacy pulled hard, nearly collapsing into the back of the chair.

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“Austin and I interviewed the kids from the house near Grand Boulevard.”

Stacy read over the statements and then peered up at the captain. “Will Akers claims to have a permit for those assault rifles we found at the house. Did that check out?”

“It did.”

Stacy turned another page in the folder. “And the rest of them?”

Diana went around the desk and collapsed in her chair. “The girls claimed to know Will but said they knew nothing about Colton DeVito. My sense is they were there for drugs and some booze and a good time. I let them go after they called their parents.”

“And Will Akers?”

“We’ve got him on possession of an illegal substance and illegal possession of a firearm. We also have him on unlawful possession of a debit card and fraud. Austin showed me the bank records. The number of withdrawals he made on Colton DeVito’s account could push the charge from a misdemeanor to a felony charge in terms of money taken. Gavin came by, and I gave him copies of everything. It’s up to his office if they want to press charges.”

Stacy closed the folder and set it back on the edge of the desk.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Austin.” Stacy looked over her shoulder as a chill entered the room.

“Where is he?”

Diana pressed her hands onto the surface of the desk. “He says you told him to multitask better. He stormed out of here before I had a chance to ask him what that meant.”

Stacy closed her eyes and drew in a breath. When she opened them, a change had overtaken the captain. Her brow pinched, and her face tightened with anger. Diana tossed her hair aggressively over her shoulder.

Before Stacy could say anything, Diana picked up the sealed evidence bag with Chance’s postcard and threw it at her.

“Here,” she said, her voice sharp. “I know this is the only thing that matters to you.”

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“Captain—” “Save it, Lieutenant. I found out that Peter Banks is supervising a crime scene for my lead detective because she decided to take off. And her partner is not around because that lead detective bitched at him until he left.”

Stacy swallowed hard. “It’s not like that.”

“And this isn’t just an ordinary case. A cab driver has been butchered and dismembered like a cow at the slaughterhouse.

Hell, we don’t even know where the other pieces of him are. I would think my lead detective would make that a priority.”

Stacy could sense the anger building in the captain’s face as her voice grew louder and sterner.

“And then I find out Nate Fryson puts aside examining some evidence that I need to help solve a shooting over in Little Italy from a few weeks ago to examine a personal matter involving you and your brother.”

“Captain, I can explain—” Diana slammed her hand on the desk. The motion took the air right out of the room.

“We might have a serial killer at work here, Stacy. A young mother was butchered. A boy is missing, and he just so happens to be a suspect. A fire burned up his parents. And our missing boy might be tied to our lead witness’s body pieces, which are probably at the bottom of Lake Erie. Of all things, my lead detective is distracted with a personal matter and intimidating a jailed cop, who is now dead.”

Stacy slid down in the chair. What Diana had said was accurate, but Stacy felt justified in her decisions.

Diana paused and regrouped. “The coroner’s report is back on Brandon Deerfield. It turns out he died from a diabetic stroke.”

Stacy sat up in her chair a bit and leaned forward. “A stroke?”

Diana pushed herself back from the desk and bolted up from the seat. “Deerfield was a Type II diabetic. Adam Myers found traces of an undiagnosed sugar pill in his stomach.”

“Someone put it in his food?”

“Probably,” the captain said, moving around the side of the desk and perching herself on the corner. “He had to have a spe204

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cial diet to keep his blood sugar regulated, but somehow, the pill got into his food. The Department of Rehabilitation and Correction is launching an investigation, and the jail administrator has resigned.”

Stacy leaned her head into her hand. “Jesus. Someone tried to kill him. Someone with access to the inside of the jail.”

Diana clapped her hands together. Stacy’s head snapped back up. “That doesn’t exonerate you.”

“Diana, look,” Stacy said, leaning forward with her hands folded in her lap. “I was just trying to get more information from him about why he and his crew targeted us at that safe house and what the bigger plans are.”

The captain’s face hardened. “Stop it, Stacy. You’re lying to yourself, and now you’re lying to me! That trip to the jail was to help with this fishing expedition to find Chance. Nothing more.”

Stacy felt her face flush as sweat reams formed around her neck.

“Brandon Deerfield’s family is planning to sue the department and the prosecutor’s office for harassment leading to death.

They claim that your unlawful, unauthorized interrogation led him to emotional distress that contributed to his death.”

Stacy looked up. “That’s ridiculous. That prick was arrogant and smug when I talked to him. He didn’t seem distressed to me.

I’ve interrogated hundreds of witnesses. I know what distressed looks like.”

Diana leaned forward. “It doesn’t matter.” She snarled. “As an officer of the law, you approached an attempted murder suspect promising a deal that neither this department nor the Cuyahoga County Prosecutor’s Office authorized. They’ve already asked to speak to the guards in the room during the questioning, Stacy.

They’re going to tell everything they know. Everything.”

Stacy folded her arms and looked down. “I could tell those guards hated him as much as I did.”

Diana leaned closer, her eyes sharp and focused. “It doesn’t matter, Stacy. We’re all civil servants. Nobody is going to fall on their sword for you.”

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Diana leaned off the corner of the desk and went back to sit down. Stacy searched her face as the silence hung in the air. She expected Diana to gripe or lecture her with stabbing words about accountability and responsibility. Instead, the captain folded her hands on the desk and leaned over them.

“I need to know why, Stacy.”

She studied Diana for a moment to collect her thoughts.

There were plenty of reasons why, but the answers she uncovered, if Deerfield was right, led to corruption within the police department that could have consequences beyond anything either of them could imagine.

Stacy bit down on her lip. “I did it for myself, and Austin, and those cops he tried to kill in that safehouse. For the others he hurt and the others he would hurt.”

Diana looked up, fury in her eyes. “Not for others. For one person. You did it for one person.”

Instead of feigning indignation, Stacy gave in. “Yes, for Chance.”

The captain cocked his head to the side. “Did it help?”

Stacy blinked. “Help what?”

“Ease the guilt.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ease the guilt that Chance couldn’t be saved. He was in that patrol car with Deerfield when it got smashed to hell. Nobody, especially you, could save him or protect him. Now he’s sent a little bell ringer in the mail to get your attention, but you still don’t know where he is. What you did with Deerfield and what you are doing now… I promise, the guilt never goes away.”

Stacy had felt the guilt, but not at first. It crept up on her quietly and then grabbed her by the throat. She’d been in denial about what happened between them: the fight that made Chance homeless, his kidnapping by Jamal Harris, which nearly got them both killed, and her inability to keep him safe when the danger had subsided. Sometimes the anger would well up inside her and creep up slowly. But she’d been able to sustain it. She had learned not to think about it. When she saw Brandon Deerfield in handcuffs and chains inside that jail cell, something clicked in 206

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her mind. Stacy no longer cared about protocols or laws or ethics. Anger pulsed within her that she finally couldn’t suppress. It was the price for loving Chance.

She wiped away the tear that came down her cheek.

“How much trouble am I in, Captain?”

Diana’s voice grew quiet, and her demeanor softened. “I don’t know. Internal Affairs will get involved and investigate. They will scrutinize everything that has ever happened to you inside and outside of this office. Everyone in this department that has ever met you will be questioned.” She paused and took in a breath.

“The prosecutor’s office will investigate Gavin Knox, as well.

They’ll need to find out his role in all of this.”

Hearing that statement sent a stab of pain into Stacy. “Gavin had nothing to do with it. I did this on my own. Alone.”

Diana shrugged. “He’ll have to prove it.”

The silence between them returned. This time, it hung over the room like a thick fog.

Diana pushed her seat closer to the desk and leaned forward, her chin resting a few inches from the surface.

“Stacy, look at me.”

Stacy brushed away another tear and looked up.

Diana’s lips collapsed into a stressed, hard line. “I can’t protect you this time.”

At hearing those words, Stacy recoiled. At that moment, Stacy wanted Diana to reach into her and tell her that what happened couldn’t be the end of her career. Everything could be explained and justified. Stacy dismissed the thought. It was a selfish one and went against the evidence. Too much had already happened, and there would be more to come.

Stacy looked at Diana, who had leaned back in the chair and begun shuffling papers on her desk—a sign the meeting was over.

Stacy sat at the edge of the seat and bent down to take the postcard from the floor. The bag crinkled, but Diana didn’t look up.

Despair overwhelmed her. Stacy wanted to tell Diana about what Brandon had said about the protection-for-hire drug racket, how cops from CPD were engaged in it, and how Chance had been blackmailed into taking the photos. And there was possible evidence of it all.

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Telling the captain was a way forward that could put some space between Stacy and what was to come, but these thoughts slipped to black in her mind. With the pictures from Chance’s camera missing, Stacy’s words would be taken as hearsay or conjecture. Diana or anyone else could quickly charge Stacy with deflecting blame from her brother and herself by turning on a dead dirty cop. If Diana were right, everything would come out during depositions and hearings in front of an Internal Affairs panel.

Her despair now became a heady blackness. Stacy stumbled up from the chair. Her phone chirped in her pocket. “I need to go,” she told Diana, her voice pinched.

By the time Stacy made it back to her desk, Austin was standing in the corridor talking to someone.

Stacy looked over at Austin, but her partner looked away.

“Lieutenant, thank goodness.”

Stacy jumped, startled by the sudden presence of Chad Means, clearly agitated and in need of her focus.

Chad took a breath and gained his composure. The intensity of his gaze and taut tone of his voice meant something had happened.

“Charlie and I just got back from watching the Maria Fernandez house. We saw her come out, pick up something from the front porch, then shut the door and turn on the porch light.”

Stacy set her jaw. “What did she pick up?”

“We couldn’t tell, but it looked like an envelope of money.

She flipped through it, and it looked like she took some green pieces of paper out of the folder. Someone came by earlier in the day to drop it off, but we didn’t get a good look at the person.”

Austin dropped his head and finally tossed a look at Stacy.

“It’s time to go pay a visit to Ms. Fernandez.”

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34 Chad gave Stacy the Fairview Park address where Maria Fernandez lived. Austin declined to ride over with Stacy and insisted he would take his own car. He planned to go home and get some rest after questioning Maria.

Austin looked tired, with dark circles impressed against the warm brown skin near his eyes. His shirt was untucked, and his pants were wrinkled and creased from the long day. Strands of his inky moussed dark hair hung in clumps on his forehead.

“I checked with Ace Taxi this afternoon,” he said as they rode the elevator to the first floor. “Their tracking system for their taxis is a little old, but I discovered that each driver has a territory.”

Stacy made a note of the detail. “And I assume that the Fairfax neighborhood wasn’t a part of Miguel Olivo’s territory.”

“Right. In fact, some of their drivers have recently been robbed and harassed by the Fairfax residents, and Ace decided not to assign a driver to the area.”

Stacy pushed open the doors to headquarters and ambled down the ramp. A whispering hum filled the air as rain began to fall. The sky was starless, and gray puffs of clouds had swooped low into the sky and cornered the moon on all sides. The falling raindrops slapped against the parking lot, pinging the pavement in a tap dance.

“Why did Olivo go to Fairfax last night?”

Austin shook his head as he walked alongside his partner.

“Olivo took some people to the airport, and that was the farthest trip he made. He mainly worked on the west side that night.”

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Stacy thought about that detail and chewed on the insider of her lip. “So he went over there because he wanted to or because he was meeting someone he knew.”

A flicker of light caught Austin’s eye. “That’s what I think.”

Stacy opened the door to her Camry. The rain pelted her car harder now. “Good work. Listen, I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier about multitasking. I know you’ve been working hard. We all have. I just have a lot on my mind with this case and with Chance.”

“It’s a reason, but not an excuse,” Austin said as he walked away. “See you in about an hour. Don’t forget—131 West 31st Place.”

Austin disappeared into the cascading rain as Stacy got inside her car. She gripped the steering wheel tight and wanted to scream, for herself, for Chance, for the dirty cops that had infiltrated the police department, and for Monica and George DeVito, and their son Colton, who had yet to be found but was also a suspect in the death of Brooke Crawford.

Stacy took a deep breath and refocused her thoughts. She decided to drive back to her loft and change clothes, freshen up, and get some time on the oxygen machine to hopefully stave off any problems that might arise during the questioning of Maria Fernandez.

By the time Stacy made it back to Superior Lofts, a startling low rumble had begun to run loud in the cool early spring air, the sky roaring with delight.

As she pulled back the front door to the loft, she heard a cackling laugh that radiated outwards and rang across the entire floor.

“That’s wonderful. Simply wonderful. Oh, I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”

Melinda sat on the couch facing the door while Gavin sat in the chair to her right, doubling over with a slap to his right leg.

“That is the best lawyer joke I have.” He roared, a short, trilling laugh that Stacy had seldom heard before.

Stacy cleared her throat. “Sorry I’m late to the party,” she called out. The jubilance in the room silenced immediately like someone had cut the jovial noise with a knife.

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“Stacy, honey. Look who came by to visit!”

Gavin pulled himself up awkwardly. He looked at Stacy with a pensive expression.

“I’m sorry. I came by earlier so that we could talk in private, and Melinda said you were out.”

Stacy looked over at her mother. She was grinning and pointing at Gavin with one finger and giving a thumbs-up with the other.

Stacy couldn’t help but smirk. “Mother, can Gavin and I have a minute, please. Alone.”

Melinda pulled her mouth to one side in a lopsided pout and crossed her arms. “Fine.” She walked behind Gavin and curled her fingers around his muscular bicep. “It was so nice meeting you, Gavin, and you are the nicest and most handsome lawyer I’ve ever met.”

Melinda patted his arm and skirted away, humming a tune to herself as she went upstairs. He turned to look at Stacy. As his eyes glistened like pure stones, and with his teeth clenched, his dimples flexed at Stacy.

“I’m sorry for coming by unannounced.” Gavin stepped back and regarded her for a moment. “Stacy, you’re soaked.”

“I know. Got caught in the rain.” She motioned to the couch.

“Sit down.”

Gavin walked over to the couch and sat in the space Melinda vacated. Stacy walked over to the kitchen, took a yellow hand towel from the counter, and began to pat her face dry.

“What’s going on?”

Gavin told Stacy that he was the on-call assistant prosecutor tonight when he was notified about Miguel Olivo. When Gavin arrived in Fairview, he was surprised to see Peter Banks handling the scene and that her former bodyguard, Kendall, was there assisting.

Stacy took a minute to explain his involvement. Gavin also asked Stacy if she knew the kids arrested at the Grand Boulevard house had been questioned. Stacy told Gavin that Austin and Diana questioned them and that the information was being sent over to Gavin.

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“Based on what we know, is there enough to prosecute Will Akers?”

“I think so,” Gavin said. “Will Akers still says he doesn’t know Colton DeVito or anything about him. He was just using the card Maria Fernandez apparently gave him.”

“Illegally gave him,” she added. “Austin and I are going to talk to Ms. Fernandez in a little while.”

Gavin leaned closer to Stacy. A wave of fatigue overcame her.

This was the first time she had been able to actually sit down and breathe today.

It didn’t feel right to be sitting. Stacy felt a constant need to move. If her movements were purposeful, then the anxiety that pulsed within her would wane, or at least she could ignore it for a while. She wanted to lose herself in something other than this case and the mess that had come from Brandon Deerfield’s apparent murder and Colton DeVito’s disappearance. Staying inside her thoughts about those details made the anxiety race through her body again, like it had gripped her muscles and wouldn’t let go.

Stacy stiffened. Gavin sensed something was wrong.

“Stacy, what is it?”

Her eyes began to brim with tears, and she blinked hard to hold them back. “It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s something,” Gavin replied, his voice soothing and concerned. “We can talk. There are no prying eyes and ears around.”

Stacy chuckled. “Except Mother.”

Gavin looked down and smiled. “True.”

Stacy looked down at her hands. She felt weak, letting herself feel fear.

“Diana told me about Brandon Deerfield and that someone put a sugar pill in his food. And she knows that I went to question him and that I told him there was a deal if he would tell me about Chance.”

Gavin leaned closer. His face creased in the right places.

Stacy looked up, her eyes blurred with tears. “There’s more.

Brandon and his guys were up to no good, and it involved other officers in the department being accomplices to their crimes. I 212

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think I’m in real trouble, Gavin. There’s going to be lawsuits and investigations and interviews.” The dread crept over her like an icy chill. “And I think that I got you in trouble, too.”

Gavin laid his hand on her shoulder. Stacy would usually wince at the gesture, but this time, she felt soothed by the move.

“That’s why I came by,” he said calmly. “I think you need to get an attorney. Don’t have any more conversations like that with Diana or anyone else in a supervisory capacity unless a union rep and your lawyer are present. From now on, act like a suspect.”

Stacy shot him a frightened look.

“I know that seems unreasonable, but as you know, anything you say can be spun and misconstrued in some way to be used against you.”

Stacy sniffed. “I know.”

Gavin searched her eyes. “I can recommend some good attorneys.”

Stacy nodded. “What about you?”

Gavin flashed a disingenuous smile. “Don’t worry about me.”

Stacy felt her lip quiver. “But Gavin, I am.”

“I’ll be fine.” He paused for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry what I said the other day about Chance. I had no right to say what I did.”

Stacy stood up and wiped her nose. “It’s okay. Chance isn’t perfect. I get it.”

Gavin slipped a finger under Stacy’s chin and tilted it up.

“The things we do for the people we love.”

Stacy smiled and held her gaze with Gavin’s. She was lost in the pulsing intensity of his eyes for a moment, but she recovered.

Gavin moved around the table and headed for the door.

“Hey, Gavin?”

He turned. “Yeah.”

At that moment, Stacy wanted to unburden her conscience and tell Gavin about the postcard from Chance, the pictures, and the possibility that Chance had broken into the loft and taken them. Instead, she changed the subject. There was another angle Stacy wanted to explore.

“The trial transcripts from Colton DeVito’s trial in Houston.”

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Gavin tilted his head slightly to the right. “What about them?”

“I read them. I want to know what happened to the boys in Colton’s group who were arrested? I mean, where are they now?”

He thought about it for a moment. “I can look into it. Why?” “Just thinking about something.”

Gavin smiled and left. When he was down the corridor, Stacy pulled the steel door shut and locked it, then reached for her cell phone. Something else unnerved her and made her feel uneasy.

Kendall Jackson answered on the second ring.

“What’s up, Loo?” “Hey, Kendall,” she said. “Listen, can you do me a huge favor?

It’s not connected to the DeVito case.” Not really.

“Shoot.”

“I need to go out for a while. Can you come by my loft and check on my mother?”

Silence and static permeated the line for a moment. “Like a welfare check?”

“Yes. She’s in town and staying with me. She’s alone and doesn’t really know anybody or her way around. Someone broke into the apartment earlier today. I don’t have time to go into it right now, but it’s important that she not be alone tonight.”

“I got you,” he said with a burst of energy in his voice. “My shift starts in a couple of hours, so I’ll stop by on my way to East Cleveland.”

“Thanks, Kendall.”

Stacy ended the call. Melinda began to descend the steps.

“That Gavin is handsome and so funny,” she crowed. “Just so charming for a lawyer.”

Stacy ignored her. She needed to change and get ready for her next date: Maria Fernandez.

214

35 Stacy parked at the intersection of Mabel Court and Fulton Road. She had already circled the block on West 31st Place, making sure she could identify the condo that belonged to Maria Fernandez.

The description Chad Means and Charlie Harris had given them about the condo was correct. Stacy pulled her Camry to the intersection so Maria couldn’t see her approaching on foot or get suspicious if she saw a strange car on the block. Austin’s navy blue Honda Accord was already parked at the end of the street.

The rain had steadily fallen since she’d left her loft. Outside, the darkening sky roiled under the tumbling gray clouds, smoky and silver. The watery white-silver glow of moonlight made the puddles of water gathering on the uneven pavement and chipped concrete sidewalks glisten.

Austin emerged from his car with an umbrella arched over his head. He pushed forward in the rain with the tip of the umbrella pointed toward the Camry. His gray suit was sprinkled with drops of rain, and the cuffs on his pants had a dark ring of water circling them.

He closed the umbrella and paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before pulling open the door handle and falling inside.

“I’m damn near soaked,” he said, tossing the wadded and wet umbrella onto the floorboard.

It was awkward small talk from her partner. In most cases, she and Austin would pick up a conversation mid-stream, no matter how much time had passed or what had transpired since 215

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their last conversation. This time was different, and Stacy knew why.

“Austin, listen, I wanted to apologize again for what I said at Fairview about multitasking and giving the impression that I didn’t think—” “It’s fine. Really. This case is testing all of us.”

Austin pursed his lips and looked out the window. The cold rain laced the windowpane.

“I don’t want you to resent me for what I said or what I might have meant.”

Austin looked over at Stacy. His features were neat and smooth beneath his Latin skin. He stared, wide-eyed, into the sliver of darkness, where the moonlight and streetlight overhead had not punctured it.

“It’s fine,” he said, the taut tone of his voice matching the intensity of his gaze, “but this is the last time I’ll be talked to like that. You’re the senior detective, but I was embarrassed in front of my colleagues and Dr. Myers. I am your partner, not some rookie flatfoot patrolman who is trying to dry the wetness behind his ears. I won’t be spoken to like that again. If it happens again, I’m giving my transfer papers to Diana. And I’m telling her and everyone else why I’m doing it. Understood?”

Stacy licked her lips and looked ahead. She wondered if Austin had already filled out a transfer request and was holding onto it.

“Understood. Again, I’m sorry. In addition to not being able to find Colton DeVito, the only thing I’ve managed to accomplish over the last few days is to push everyone away, including Chance, my mother, Gavin, Diana, and now you.”

Austin snapped his head back toward Stacy. “What about Diana?”

Stacy took a moment to explain to him the conversation she’d had with Diana about her unapproved interrogation of Brandon Deerfield and the fact he died under suspicious circumstances.

Austin set his jaw as he listened, smoothing his wet and wrinkled tie with one hand when the details were grim.

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“Austin,” Stacy said, putting a hand on his arm. “Diana thinks I’m in big trouble, and so does Gavin.” Her partner winced at hearing his name. “Am I?” Austin remained silent.

“I think I might be too,” she added. “I don’t want this to affect you in any way. There’s still time to put some distance between us. I know you have ten years left and that you’re fully vested in your pension. I don’t want something I did to jeopardize that.”

Austin held up a hand, his thick fingers halving his face. “We will cross the bridge when we get to it. If we get to it.” He tilted his head and smirked. “Right now, let’s make a house call.”

They got out of the car and walked up Mabel Court. Stacy crouched under Austin’s umbrella as the rain continued to beat down on them. To the left, Stacy could see the outline of Fairview Park, which had become more silver between the shadows of moonlight. To Stacy, it seemed like the edge of the park was yawning.

They crossed the street until they were facing the condo. A light beamed from a second-floor window. Although the misty haze created by the falling rain appeared to fracture the light, the front porch light was also on.

By the time they reached the front door, Stacy felt the black jacket of her pantsuit dripping with water, the heels of her boots sticky with mud. Austin’s suit was wrinkled, and his purple and maroon striped tie looked limp and frail.

Austin pulled down the umbrella and nodded at Stacy to begin.

Stacy rang the doorbell. The chime was short and highpitched. She stepped back and looked down at the ambient light shining under the base of the door. She wanted to see if there were any shadows to darken the streak, an indication that someone was near the door but might be choosing not to answer.

Stacy rang the doorbell again. Austin leaned in and banged his fist on the door. The door sagged a bit in the frame.

“Maria Fernandez, Cleveland Police. We’d like to talk with you.”

They both held their breath and waited. When nothing happened, Austin swung a look over at Stacy. “I’ll go around back.”

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At that moment, the lock on the door clicked, followed by the heavy thud of the deadbolt being turned. The door opened slightly, and Stacy could make out the beady eyes and long dark hair of Maria Fernandez.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, her voice more high-pitched than Stacy had expected.

“There is,” Austin said. “May we come in, please?”

The emphasis put on the last word indicated it was more of a command than a request.

Maria slowly pulled the door back and slid around it to fill the space. She wore a black sweatshirt and faded jeans with white socks that made her feet shine white against the floor. Her thin, straight hair hung just below her shoulders. Stacy noticed the split ends were still wet, indicating that Maria was either in the shower or had been doing something to her hair.

“I’m Lieutenant Tavitt, and this is Sergeant Cerrera with the Homicide Division.” Stacy removed her police shield from her belt and showed it to Maria. “We’re here to talk about Colton DeVito.”

A cold shiver came over Stacy. She wanted to get the information she needed and get inside someplace where it was warm.

Maria blinked. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Stacy slammed her hand on the door face. Maria leaned back, her eyes widening as she glowered at Stacy.

“We aren’t going to play that game tonight. We arrested Will Akers yesterday. My partner and I have been watching him make several cash withdrawals from a Wells Fargo ATM on Euclid Avenue downtown. The withdrawals are coming from a bank account connected to Colton DeVito, the lead suspect in a murder who is now missing. When we questioned Mr. Akers, he claimed that he got the card from you, and in exchange for his cooperation, you generously gave him a little snack money for his efforts.”

Stacy pressed her lips flat against her face and slowly cocked her head to the side. “That story seem familiar? And think very carefully before you answer, Ms. Fernandez.”

Maria gave Austin a worried glance, ignoring Stacy completely. “Colton is missing?”

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Stacy and Austin exchanged glances. “Yes. He’s been missing for a few days now. A cab driver claims that he picked up Mr. DeVito from this location on Sunday—four nights ago. Know anything about that?”

Maria shook her head. “No. I mean, Colton was here. He came to visit me from Houston after we had been talking online for a long time. Then he decided to meet me. He told me he was from Cleveland, and he had family here, so I said yes.”

Stacy leaned a little closer, wanting to keep Maria talking.

“How was the first date?”

Maria narrowed her dark eyes, partly out of frustration and annoyance at the question. “We, or I, decided that it would be better if we were just friends. He didn’t take it well.” Maria leaned to her left and looked out into the rain-filled night. “He got mad and took off in the direction of the park. I haven’t seen him since.”

Maria continued to stare at them, wild-eyed. “Colton dropped his debit card when he left. I found it on the sidewalk. I told him I had it, and he told me that I could use it if I needed anything.”

Austin raised his eyebrows. “He did? Why would someone who got burned by a girl he liked permit them to use his debit card?”

Stacy watched as Maria’s eyes became hard-rimmed and fixed. She was getting ready to answer, but Stacy wanted to see if she was making up the story as she went.

Maria looked down and twirled a lock of hair with two fingers. “Detectives, I am guilty of something.”

Austin took out his pocket notepad, which remained surprisingly dry, and began writing. “What would you be guilty of, Ms. Fernandez?”

“Of being a user,” she said, the words bursting out hard and fast. “I used Colton. When I realized that he liked me, I took advantage of it. I asked him to buy me things.”

Stacy interjected. “What types of things?”

“Nice things. Clothes. Jewelry. Whatever I wanted. Colton didn’t care. When I asked him where he was getting the money, he said to not worry about it, that his parents would put more money in his account if he asked them to.”

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Austin stopped writing and pursed his lips. Stacy also made a mental note of her answer. That information answered one lingering question: George and Monica DeVito had been making deposits into Colton’s bank account. But did they know some of it was for Maria?

“So, Colton said to just hang onto his card and gave you permission to use it?”

Her arched eyebrows drew lower. “Yes. I have proof.” Before Stacy could say anything, Maria turned and called back. “I’ll prove it.” She slinked away into the hallway.

“What do you think?” Austin whispered.

“She stinks, and she’s involved deeper than she’s letting on.”

Maria returned and held her iPhone flat in the palm of her hand. “He and I have been text messaging each other.”

She almost smiled as Stacy took the phone from her hand.

There were several text messages date and time-stamped from the last two days. Stacy felt her brain stutter a bit as she tried to absorb the news.

“Show me the messages where Colton said it was okay to use his bank card.”

Maria took the phone back and ran her finger across the screen. The light from the screen highlighted her unblemished skin and sharp jaw, which she set hard as she scrolled.

“Here.”

Stacy took the phone back and read the messages.

Austin eyed the screen. “Houston PD told me there was no phone or computer found in Colton’s apartment.”

“Circumstances have changed.”

Stacy whipped the phone over in front of Austin, and he wrote down the telephone numbers. He took a moment to review the messages.

“Even though you had permission to use the card, Ms. Fernandez, no permission was given to Will Akers to use the card.

Mr. Akers posing as Colton is bank fraud, and that makes you an accomplice.”

Maria looked pensive and sagged a little in the shoulders.

“Will is a friend of mine, Detective. I wouldn’t have given Colton’s card to someone I didn’t trust.”

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Austin met her gaze. “Ms. Fernandez, is Colton a boyfriend?”

Maria chewed on her lip. “I guess. More or less.”

Austin made a face and pointed at the door with the tip of his pen. “Is he in there, Ms. Fernandez? He’s in some trouble, and it would be better if he came out and talked to us right now.”

Stacy observed a twitch in Maria’s mouth, and her eyes grow soft. “Listen to my partner, Ms. Fernandez. If you care about Colton at all, tell him to come and talk to us.”

Maria kept chewing on her lip. Stacy wondered if she would bite it off. Sensing some confusion about what to do, Stacy added another layer to the request.

Stacy pushed her wet hair behind her ears. “Ms. Fernandez, tell Colton that Brooke Crawford is dead. She was found butchered in her bedroom on Sunday night, the same night he came to see you.”

Austin stiffened beside Stacy. She knew he understood the tact she was taking with Maria.

“Also, his mother and father were killed in a house fire, and that foul play is suspected. The taxi driver that picked him up the night he disappeared was found yesterday—dead and dismembered.”

At hearing that word, Maria’s skin went sallow. Stacy had struck something inside the girl that got her attention.

“And what I mean by dismembered is that we found pieces of him in the trunk of his cab, and we are still looking for the rest of him.”

“Please,” she interjected. “No more.” She pressed her fingers over her lips, and her skin paled. “That’s disgusting.”

Stacy leaned closer to Maria until she was inches away from her face. “Colton might be acting alone, but I don’t think so. If Colton is involved in something, it’s bad, and it’s nasty. If somehow you are involved as well, you might be the next victim.”

Maria began to sweat. She let out a tight breath and looked at Stacy and Austin before eyeing the gap in the door.

“I need to get one more thing,” she said.

Austin nodded. “Make it fast.”

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Stacy watched her disappear into the lighted gap between the door and the frame. When suspects were often defiant in routine questioning, sometimes blunt, honest statements about the situation they were in served as a way of heightening the reality.

Stacy hoped what she had said struck a nerve with Maria and that she would contact Colton or bring him to the door.

They waited a moment, and suddenly the door closed. Behind them, the falling rain had slowed to a light mist, but the air now had a biting chill that made Stacy shiver harder. Stacy and Austin exchanged a glance as the heavy churn of the lock clicked into place.

“Hey,” Austin said, reaching down to jiggle the door handle.

“It’s locked.”

“Shit.” Stacy pounded on the door. “Maria!”

A second passed. Stacy looked over at her partner.

“Let me go around back.”

At that moment, something stirred in the rain-soaked air behind them. Stacy could feel the whir of wind and something wheeze past her.

As she turned her head toward Austin, the porch column near the wall exploded into a dusty, blurred mess.

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36 The corner porch post had a gaping hole in the front of the wood.

“Fuck,” Austin bellowed, covering his eye.

Stacy reached over and pushed him down onto the porch.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three more heavy rounds from a shotgun blasted chunks of wood from the remaining two columns of the porch.

Stacy looked over and saw Austin trying to reach into his pocket for a handkerchief. His right eye was nothing but a large red and maroon smudge, with rivulets of blood streaking down his face and onto his lips.

She tried to lean over when four more shotgun blasts hit the side of the house.

The window shattered, and pieces of it blew apart from the house’s frame, blowing dust and shattered glass over Stacy and Austin.

Stacy leaned up slowly and looked down the steps into the yard. Nothing emerged but blackness freckled with the slowing rain. As she did, another shot rang out.

Bang!

This one zipped past her head and hit the side of the house.

Austin moaned. “Goddammit! My eye!”

Stacy patted herself to see if she had been hit with anything.

“I think I got some splinters in my eye from that post.”

Austin managed to press the handkerchief firmly onto his eye. The white cloth absorbed the blood and stained red. Stacy withdrew her Glock. “Can you move?”

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He groaned. “I think so.”

“Good. Call for backup.”

Austin grabbed her forearm. “Where are you going?”

“To find out what the hell is going on and who shot at us!”

Austin shook his head and winced. “Don’t. Not alone.” He hissed through clenched teeth. “Not without me or backup.”

Two more shotgun blasts pierced the air and landed on the right side of the house. Another window shattered along with more brick blown off the frame.

Austin dug his cell phone out of his pocket and placed the call.

Stacy rolled off Austin and pulled herself up to one knee.

The sidewalk disappeared into the darkness. She waited and listened. Nothing. Stacy scanned the scene for movement. There was none. The rain had stopped, and even the tree branches from the park ceased to rustle, the whirl of traffic also notably absent.

Stacy and Austin were at a disadvantage. Whoever was firing the shots was masked in darkness while Stacy and Austin were featured in the light.

She looked over her shoulder to see if Maria had returned or if the door had opened. Stacy swiveled her head back around. If Maria had been close to the windows when the shots rang out, she was likely dead or gravely wounded.

Austin pulled himself up, and Stacy shielded herself around him. “Try to hide until backup gets here. Keep putting pressure on that eye.”

“I’m not hiding, dammit,” he said. “We don’t know where the shooter is or if there’s more than one. Either way, you’re outnumbered.”

“I’m going to hold them off until help comes.”

“Stacy…”

Stacy, still crouched down, crab-walked her way down the front steps. Holding up her Glock, she fired a shot into the expanse of darkness. She wanted the shooter to know she was armed.

In the faint distance, she could hear the piercing roar of sirens.

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Stacy slithered behind one of the bushes near the porch. She felt the chill of the damp air in her bones before she heard a loud clang, followed by a person’s heavy footfalls moving fast behind her.

Fearing an ambush, Stacy learned back into the narrow space between the bush and the side of the house. Behind the house, she saw a slender shadow, cut like a knife’s blade, moving into the dark distance behind it.

“Maria,” Stacy shouted. “Maria, stop!”

Stacy wasn’t going to allow another witness and potential suspect to get away. She silently counted to three in her head, waiting to see if she could detect any movements from the house’s front or back. With nothing, Stacy stood up.

“Maria, get back here!”

As soon as Stacy uttered the last word, another shotgun blast slammed into the side of the house. A piece of the brick façade absorbed the bullet, sending granules and dust onto her damp shoulders.

Stacy yelped and fell on her stomach. Clutching the Glock in her hand, she waited to see if she could hear any other sounds.

Ahead, she could hear faint arrhythmic stomps. She held her breath and listened. The steps came closer and grew louder.

They seemed to be coming from one person, but Stacy couldn’t be sure.

She pulled herself up to her knees. Squinting, Stacy waited to hear if the steps grew louder. To her left, Austin had crawled over to the front door and leaned his back into it. He continued to press the blood-stained handkerchief over his eye as he steadied his gun with his other hand. He was breathing heavily but inaudibly.

The heavy stepping appeared to come toward the porch at a right angle from where Stacy was hiding. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the yard’s layout as they had approached the house earlier.

Her eyes snapped open. She remembered that there was a little bit of a rise from the ground to the sidewalk. The shooter would have to take a slower step as he got to the pavement from the grass.

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Stacy waited a few more seconds. The stomping feet slowed a bit. Then there was a pause. Stacy made her move.

She dug her boots into the soft earth and pushed off from her heels with all of her strength. She made a slight scream and ran into something thick and large. It was a man, and he groaned with surprise at the collision. While she wanted to knock this person off-balance, his strength and standing position gave him an advantage. Stacy bounced off him. Unable to gain traction, Stacy felt something large grab her shoulder. She was then thrown to the ground, knocking her gun away from her.

Austin called out from the porch. “Stacy!” Then, a bullet from his gun erupted into the night. Almost immediately, another shotgun blast rang out and ripped into the front porch post. The shotgun’s sound came from behind Stacy, meaning the shooter wasn’t the same person she ran into.

Away from the porch, the darkness in the yard was suffocating. The outline of Fairview Park still arched into the yard from her left. Stacy reached her arm out and patted the wet, muddy ground, looking for her gun.

The darkness in front of her and the blackness suffocated her senses. The wet air, wet clothes, and damp chill smothered her body, and it felt like every inch of her skin, even her mind, was being suffocated.

Stacy could hear steps coming from the right. These steps were lighter and less purposeful, but closer. Stacy held her breath and waited for them to approach. Stacy kept searching for her gun. Suddenly, a pair of hands lifted her from the ground.

She pushed and squirmed as the hands pressed into her shoulders. It felt like they would tear the shoulders of her jacket. As Stacy was spun around, she whipped her leg around and drove her knee into the air.

A thud was followed by a pulse of air coming out of the figure in front of her. Stacy had landed her knee into something. She heard a dull groan, which sounded like it came from a man, but this groan was higher pitched. Stacy reached back and punched the person in the face.

This time, he yelped. Stacy felt the sting of a hand strike the side of her cheek, the blow discharging some blood and spit from 226

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her mouth. The force of this knocked Stacy to one knee. The whole side of her face felt like it was on fire, and she struggled to blink back the white stars that filled her vision.

The person behind began to retreat. As Stacy tried to stand up, her foot collided with something. She reached down and found her gun.

She staggered herself to her feet. “Police. Stop!”

The footsteps stopped. Stacy thought she could hear the pump action of a shotgun. In an instant, Stacy fired her Glock.

The bullet disappeared into the dark, but then a guttural scream rang out.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” the higher-pitched voice screamed.

A dull thud followed the words. Then silence. Stacy didn’t have time to approach the sound because headlights had emerged from beside her.

An engine roared and purred. Two headlights kicked on from the front of the car. Stacy held her hand over her eyes as the sudden light coupled with the searing pain in her face, making it hard to see. Before she could react, the tires on the car spun, screeched, and then the car came speeding toward her.

Stacy backpedaled slowly and then cut to the left. The car, which looked boxy like an SUV, made a sharp turn to follow and came barreling toward Stacy. The headlights washed over her and then illuminated a path in front of her.

The briefly lighted path in front of her was problematic. The distance between herself and Mable Court was too far to make by running. The car could easily catch her before she made it to the road.

Sirens wailed louder in the distance, and they were coming closer. Stacy had to stay alive long enough for them to arrive.

She stopped, made a sharp turn to the right, and then began sprinting toward the park’s entrance. All Stacy could see was darkness and fog in front of her. The engine of the car thrummed harder and louder. Stacy ran as fast as she could, her boots sinking into the soft, wet ground. She knew that mud would be congealing around her heels, which would make her steps slower.

As she ran into the park, the car struggled to maintain consistent positioning behind her. The tires swerved and scudded 227

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against the same wet ground. Despite this, when Stacy looked back, the vehicle continued to close the distance between them.

Her lungs began to burn. Not now, she screamed to herself.

This was not the time nor the place to have an attack.

Stacy felt her entire body burning, her legs becoming heavy as her boots kept pressing into the soft earth, and fatigue set in.

She didn’t know how long she’d been running, but the main area inside the park was still far away.

The car cut sharply to the left and then veered back to the right. The motion made Stacy lose her sense of distance, and she stumbled. When she did, the driver pounded the accelerator pedal and aimed right at Stacy. Stacy leaped as the right fender clipped the back of her leg, feeling the heat from the engine behind her.

Stacy tumbled to the ground, her hands landing in two shallow puddles of water, which smelled dirty and earthy as thick mud encased her fingers. Her lungs seared with pain, the burning in her stomach only matched by the stinging pain in her legs and feet.

But she had to keep moving. As she looked ahead, she saw a light in the distance. It was the front porch light of Maria Fernandez’s house. The beam of light was long and white, and it looked as if it were suspended in the fog.

Behind Stacy, the car engine revved again, and the driver slammed the accelerator pedal. He was going to try to run Stacy over.

She pulled herself up and began running toward the light.

Her pace was slower and more stilted than before. She managed to turn and get a wild shot off from her gun, aiming toward the car, but the round didn’t reach near it. Stacy cut a path to the right. The car veered to the right behind her and stayed on course. And it was gaining on her.

As she got closer, the porch light started to form a shape.

Stacy kept running as hard and as fast as she could.

The car finally closed the distance between them. Stacy could hear its frame rattling as it moved. This time, she darted to the left. The car didn’t anticipate her move, and it wasn’t able to follow her. Instead, it drove ahead.

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Stacy had looped back around to the right and to the porch light when she lost her balance and fell. As she fell face-first into the ground again, her chest and lungs felt like they were being smashed with a hammer. Stacy rolled over to one side and looked back to see that a large divot in the yard had been covered up with grass and water, hiding its actual depth below the surface.

She stared at the depression in the ground for a minute. Then, as if she had just made up her mind on something, drew her gun at eye level.

The car had stopped and gone into reverse, cutting to the left and then slowly straightening. Once it did, Stacy fired a shot. The bullet managed to shatter the plastic dome covering one of the headlights. Stacy fired again, this time exploding the blub into pieces.

“Yes!” she shouted.

The light dimmed between her and the car, but its speed accelerated. Stacy jogged backward a few yards as the automobile grew close. She gripped the handle of her gun tightly. She only had one bullet left, and she didn’t want to waste it.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” she growled. “Come on. Hit me! Come on!” she screamed, her voice cracking and shrieking into the night.

With one headlight out, the driver didn’t have enough light to see the divot in the ground. Stacy stepped closer until she was a few feet from the divot. The car grew closer. Stacy clenched her teeth and began running in a diagonal line, away from the oncoming vehicle and back toward the park entrance.

The driver followed her movements, but the ground’s speed and unevenness were too much for the massive SUV to handle.

Once the two tires hit the divot in the ground, the car started to tip to the right. Brakes squealed loudly, and smoke wafted out from under the frame. The driver tried to regain control by jerking the wheel to the right, but it was too late. The SUV rolled to one side and collapsed into the ground.

Stacy stopped running and leaned down for a moment, resting her hands on her knees. She opened her mouth and tried to gulp down as much air as she could. When she felt more composed, she held her gun out and approached the car.

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The driver’s side window was shattered, and Stacy could see a shadow creeping along the ground, growing larger with each passing second.

“Cleveland Police,” Stacy said. “Stay on the ground.”

It was too late. The driver stood up.

“Hands over your head. Hands over your head. Do it! Now!” The driver froze.

“I’m not asking again. Hands. Over. Your. Head!”

The spool of light from the car headlight, and the backlighting from the porch, helped define the driver’s features. As Stacy approached, she could see the driver was a light-skinned black man with an angular face, broad nose, and pockmarked skin. His face was tight with concern.

“Slowly, and I mean, slowly, get down on your knees with your hands still on top of your head.”

The driver held a steely gaze on Stacy. As he began to drop down to his knees, the light that framed him went away, and his silhouette darkened.

At that moment, he made his move. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a small handgun. He aimed it at Stacy’s chest.

Before he could pull the trigger, a gunshot rang out. The driver’s mouth grew slack, and his eyes suddenly widened and became hollow. The center of his chest had been blown open, revealing a gaping red wound. He collapsed in front of Stacy without saying a word.

As Stacy stepped closer and prepared to take a shot, she saw Austin.

“Are you okay?”

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37 The burning chill of the icepack against her cheek made Stacy bite down on her lower lip. The elastic bands on the oxygen masks flexed and strained as she pulled the plastic cradle from her face.

“Just a few more minutes,” she said, letting go of the mask, and it snapped back against her face.

Detective Pat Moise from the second district was the senior officer on the scene. Like Stacy, he was in his mid-forties and stocky, with a round face and a full head of dark hair. He leaned into the ambulance’s tailgate and glared at Stacy with deep-set green eyes that gave him a doleful appearance.

“No signs of Maria Fernandez inside the house,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “I’ve got men canvassing the neighborhood to see if anyone saw anything before or after the little incident tonight, but nobody seems to be home.” Stacy shook her head in disbelief. “We did find a laptop computer in one of the bedrooms. There were some web pages open and connected to social media sites.”

Stacy pulled the oxygen mask away from her face. “She might have been trying to contact other men in the same way she contacted Colton DeVito.”

Pat looked at Stacy and blinked, unsure what Stacy was talking about, but Pat didn’t refute her statement.

“How’s Detective Cerrera?”

“Okay,” he said, looking back into the vast expanse of the park. The sections dotted with emergency vehicles were the only lights that stretched into the wooded gloom. Stacy scanned the 231

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area. No movement. The adrenaline pulsing through her body had begun to dissipate, but her mind still expected to see the SUV coming for her. The only lighting on the scene was from some decrepit streetlamps scattered around the neighborhood that barely lit up the ground.

Pat looked back at Stacy. “Paramedics think he has a torn cornea, but he’s going to be okay.”

Stacy pulled the straps of the mask over her head and then laid it beside her. Her suit was wet, stained with mud, and smelled like mold. Her hair clung to her scalp in clumps, and her fingers were too sticky and wet to fix it.

“Has the rest of the scene been processed?”

“Still working on it,” Pat said, holding out a hand. Stacy grabbed it as she slid down the tailgate of the ambulance. Stabbing pain shot through her legs and hips as she steadied herself, but at least the burning in her lungs was gone, for now.

“We recovered one of the shotguns and a couple of shells from the area near the house. One of them was a pump-action Remington 870 model.”

Stacy was familiar with the model and the design. It was a popular choice for the police to use during raids or situations where the law anticipated a shootout with a suspect. The Remington 870 was extremely reliable, versatile, and easy to operate, which was why it was the weapon of choice for the perpetrators.

“The second perp is dead?” Stacy asked, knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Pat said, extending a hand into one of the dimly lit areas in the yard that had been illuminated by the flickering light bar from a police cruiser. “Austin told one of my men that when you ran into the field in front of the house, the second shooter pumped the shotgun and aimed it at your back. He managed to take it from him. They got into a wrestling match over it, and Austin pushed him onto the sidewalk. The perp smacked the back of his head onto the edge of the steps. I guess the force of it killed him.”

Stacy was annoyed that neither man could be questioned but was also very glad they were both dead.

“What happened out here, Lieutenant?”

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“Maria’s connected to Colton DeVito.”

“I’m familiar with the case,” he quipped. “It’s been in the news.”

“She and another guy have been fraudulently using his debit card to withdraw money. We came out here to question her.

When Maria got uncomfortable, she went back inside the house, claiming to have something for Austin and me to look at, and I think she tipped off her homeboys that we were here.”

Pat looked out on the field again. “I have no idea how you managed to avoid getting hit by that car.”

Stacy managed a strangled smile. “My clumsiness saved me.”

Pat cleared his throat.

“Any ID on them?”

“Licenses belong to a Malik Moore and a Ruben Jones. We’re searching the house to see if they’d been staying with Maria Fernandez. The car was registered to an Enterprise Rent a Car in Westlake, but it had been sold by the company a few months ago.”

Stacy planted her feet. The heels of her boots sunk a little into the soft earth.

She looked at Pat with a fleeting glare. “Let me guess.”

“I’ll give you two, and the first two don’t count,” Pat said, chuckling. “Maria Fernandez bought it. Paid cash for it, too.”

“Great.”

Pat put a hand on her shoulder and looked up at her through the tops of his eyes. “Austin gave us a good description of her, and we’ll put an APB out for her.”

“I didn’t see where she went, Pat. She could be anywhere right now.”

Pat snorted. “Well, other things were going on at the time, Stacy. No way you could’ve accounted for everything.”

Stacy took in a deep breath, let her cheeks fill, and then slowly exhaled. “I know. Still. She got away.”

Pat squeezed her shoulder tighter. “We’ll get her, Stacy. Let me know what I can do, okay?”

She gazed into his green eyes, pulsing with sincerity. “I will.

Thanks, Pat.” 233

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“Don’t mention it.”

As Stacy watched Pat disappear into the shadows, she looked back at the house. It was a racked and smoldering shell of a structure. The glass windows had been blown out, parts of the siding and brick were cracked and fissured from bullet holes, and the porch columns looked like they had been split apart and turned inside out. Pat was right: they were both lucky to be alive.

As Stacy gathered her thoughts, someone called from behind her.

“There you are,” a breathless Gavin called out, stopping his jog a few inches behind her. “The cop guarding the entrance gave me shit for trying to get in here.”

Stacy turned around to find Gavin looking at her. His blue eyes lit up with excitement, crinkled at the corners. They had a prime focus as they bore right into Stacy.

Weary and frustrated, Stacy leaned into Gavin and wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face in his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” His voice was taut with concern.

“I’m okay.” Her voice was muffled, but she leaned into Gavin and felt his taut, runner’s physique envelope her. Gavin smelled fresh and clean—his scent was spiced with a hint of ginger cologne.

“Maria Fernandez got away.” Stacy loosened the embrace and stepped back. “She took off during a shootout that she initiated.”

Gavin made a face. “Two dead?”

“Yeah. No ID on them, so we’re trying to find out who they are and how they’re connected to this whole damn mess.”

Stacy reiterated to Gavin what had happened to Austin. He kept a blank expression as Stacy recounted the events of the shootout.

In the end, Gavin nodded. “I’m glad Austin will be okay,” he said flatly. “In that case,” Gavin added, stepping alongside Stacy and putting his arm around her, “let me take you home.”

A cold shiver ran over Stacy. She had to get out of these wet clothes. “I brought my car.”

“It’s already taken care of. I had a patrolman take it back to your apartment. It should be there by the time we get there.”

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Stacy felt relieved. She was too exhausted to drive.

“Thanks, Gavin.”

They drove home in Gavin’s silver Honda Prelude. Stacy was too tired to engage in conversation, but she was cordial when Gavin wanted to talk.

“I’ve got my friends in the DA’s office in Harris County looking into what happened with the guys involved in Jesse Williams’s murder trial.”

Stacy leaned her head against the glass. A dull headache began to form behind her eyes. “Thanks. I hope I get a chance to solve this case before it’s too late.”

Gavin looked over at Stacy, confused. “That’s a little cryptic.”

Stacy summarized the conversation she’d had with Diana earlier. Gavin’s face paled at hearing the information.

“Deerfield’s goons won’t hesitate to sing like canaries about what they’d been up to if it’ll save their asses some time in prison.”

Stacy swallowed, her mouth dry and lips chapped. “I know.”

She reached over and put her hand over Gavin’s hand positioned on the gear shift. “I’ve put so many people I care about in a bad spot with what I did. I-I just don’t know what to do or say.”

The Honda pulled up in front of the Superior Lofts building.

Gavin put the car in park and killed the engine.

“I think you need to spend more than a few minutes here.”

Stacy removed her hand from his and unlatched her seat belt.

“I can’t. I need to check on Austin, and we’ve got to find Maria Fernandez. And whoever dismembered Miguel Olivo, and then maybe we’ll find Colton DeVito despite ourselves.” Gavin grinned at Stacy’s sarcasm. She leaned back into the cabin before she closed the door. “I’m sorry. Forget I said any of that.” She sighed. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Kendall is watching Mother.”

Gavin blinked. “Why?” Stacy had forgotten to tell that story. “I’ll explain in a bit. Be right back.”

She marched down the sidewalk against a harsh, biting wind.

Stacy could feel the hairs on her arms tingling as she marched into the breeze, the chill of which sapped her body heat away faster than her body could restore it.

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When she got to her apartment, the door was closed. Stacy leaned her ear to the door and heard no sound from inside. As she inserted the key and pulled back the handle, Stacy let out a muffled scream. In front of her lay Kendall, his body folded in a crumpled heap on the floor, blood trickling down his head.

As Stacy looked up, Melinda stood over him with the handle of a broken vase in her hand. Melinda was breathing heavily, and she lifted her arm into the air.

“My God, Mother! Stop! What’s going on?”

Melinda kept an icy stare on Kendall. “That man. That man was in those pictures. He was in all of those pictures Chance took.”

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38 Stacy bounded over to Kendall. “Mother, put that down.

Now!” Melinda slowly lowered her arm. Her lips trembled, and her hands were shaking. Something had scared her.

“Kendall,” she said, crouching down beside his body and touching the side of his face. Her dull headache suddenly became a throbbing nightmare. “What did you hit him with?”

“The… the vase that was over there on the table,” Melinda stammered, her voice quivering with each word.

“Shit, Mother.”

Stacy pulled back the loose collar of his police uniform and placed her fingers near his neck. “His pulse is weak.” Stacy looked down. “Where’s Kendall’s utility belt?”

Melinda pointed to the other side of the room. Stacy followed her finger and saw it wadded up in the corner, behind the coffee table.

As Stacy flashed a confused expression, Melinda said, “I didn’t want him to wake up and take his gun and shoot me or us.”

“Mother,” Stacy called out. “Kendall is my friend. He protected me in the fall when Jamal Harris was stalking me. I sent him here to check on you, in case that person that stole the photos came back.”

“I don’t need protection from my own son.”

“Mother, stop it! Chance wasn’t here. It was somebody that probably looked like him. The dirty cops who want these photos are young, and they all look the same from a distance. It was just your mind playing tricks.”

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Stacy walked over to the kitchen and removed a hand towel from the counter. She walked back over to Kendall and began dabbing his head.

“He needs an ambulance.”

Melinda crossed her arms. “Nope. I’m not calling anything for him.” Melinda took a small but shaky step closer. “That man, he was in all of those pictures that Chance took.”

Stacy looked back at her mother. “I thought you didn’t look at the pictures.”

“So? I lied.”

Stacy shook her head. She hadn’t seen the pictures yet and was now caught in an argument with her mother about what was in them.

“Stacy, listen to me. He was in every picture. Chance took closeups of several of the policemen, and I recognized his face.

Those men, they looked like they were taking money from other people, people who weren’t in uniform. And they were passing stuff to people in bags. I’ve watched enough cop shows to know that it looked like drug deals.”

Stacy felt a knot form in her stomach, which almost matched the one at the base of her neck, making her miserable.

Melinda knelt behind Stacy. “I thought he was coming here to kill us.”

Stacy snorted. “Kendall wouldn’t do that. I’m sure he had a good explanation for why he was in those photos.” Stacy shook her head vehemently, and a tremor coursed through her body.

“And it doesn’t give you an excuse to assault him with a glass vase. Jesus, Mother. You could’ve killed him.”

Kendall began to moan and move his lips. Stacy pulled out her cell phone and called for an ambulance, identifying herself and her badge number to the dispatcher.

Kendall began to roll around on the floor. “Kendall, it’s me, Stacy. Don’t move too much.”

Stacy leaned over him to see if any pieces of glass had punctured his scalp, forehead, or neck. It was difficult to see, but Stacy did note the large chunks of glass separated from the vase when Melinda slammed it into Kendall.

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“Paramedics are coming. Stay calm.”

“Melinda,” he mumbled. His eyelids fluttered. “She...”

“She’s here, and she’s safe,” Stacy interjected. “Just stay calm.”

Stacy could feel Melinda move behind her. “That’s right. Melinda is right here and still standing. I wasn’t going to stand here and be taken advantage of, no sir. You’re nothing but a crook. A thief. Chance has proof.”

“Mother. Not. Now!” Stacy impatiently looked out the front door and into the hallway, wondering what was taking the paramedics so long.

“I’ve got a first aid kit underneath the sink.” Stacy reached back and grabbed Melinda’s right wrist and stuffed her hand with the blood-spackled cloth. Melinda looked at Stacy as if someone had assaulted her.

“Wipe off the blood and check for pieces of glass in his skin.

I’ll be right back.

“Stacy, I can’t….”

“Just do it, Mother.”

Melinda traded places with Stacy and barely hovered the cloth over his face. He moaned again as Stacy retreated to the kitchen. She flung open the beige drawers under the sink and removed the kit.

A gasp came from the living room a moment later, followed by a heavy thump.

Stacy whirled around and entered the living room to find Kendall on top of Melinda.

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39 “Get off me!” Melinda shouted.

Stacy could hear Kendall groan from his gut like he was straining to move or lift something. The snapping crack of an open fist against skin soon boomed throughout the living room.

Melinda squealed.

Stacy charged into the room to see what was happening. Melinda had been knocked against a wall and sliding down when Kendall grabbed her and spun her around. Stacy arrived too late.

“Don’t move, Lieutenant, or Mommy here gets it!”

Before Stacy could react, Melinda, now marked with a deep red and purple bruise across her nose and cheek, was pinned against Kendall. He had managed to push them both away from the wall. Kendall’s meaty forearm was wrapped around Melinda’s throat while a 9mm handgun was pressed into her temple.

“Mommy didn’t check the holster under the leg of my pants,” he said, cackling at the mistake. The deep baritone of his voice made the laugh sound louder and more sinister.

“Kendall, what the hell is going on?”

Melinda squirmed a bit, and Kendall tightened his grip on her throat. Melinda gasped and wheezed as her face continued to swell. Small pools of spittle formed in the corners of her mouth.

“Kendall, stop! You’re hurting her.”

He looked over at Stacy with a wide-eyed look of anger. The blood from the cuts to his face and forehead began to dry and stick to his face.

“She knows.”

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Stacy moved, and Kendall aimed the gun at her head.

“Don’t move, Lieutenant.”

Stacy froze, then exchanged a glance with her mother. Melinda was frightened. Her eyes were rimmed with tears as they pulsed with fear.

“I’m just going to set down the first aid kit,” Stacy said, slowly bending down to put it on the floor.

“After that, take your gun and kick it over here.”

Stacy pursed her lips. “Fine. I will. Just take it easy.”

“I am taking it easy!” he barked. “I’m in charge here. Me!” “I know,” Stacy said softly, trying to release some of the tension in the room and in Kendall. “I know. But what I don’t know is why all of this, and why my mother.”

Kendall jerked his grip tighter around Melinda’s throat. She let out a pitiful yelp and began sobbing. “Let me go,” she blubbered, but Kendall pressed the barrel of the gun harder into her head.

“The gun, Stacy.”

She reached back and removed it from the small-of-the-back holster and held it. Kendall was too close to Melinda for Stacy to have a chance to get off a shot. Instead, Stacy kept her hand around the handle and her fingers loose.

“I’m sliding it over,” she said. Once on the floor, Stacy slid it over. Kendall took one of his large boots and kicked it to the side as it was in motion. The gun spun around in a tight circle as it darted away from them.

“Good,” he said. A sinister tone had crept into his voice. Kendall cocked his head to the side so that his cheek pressed against the crown of Melinda’s head.

“She knows. The old bitch knows.”

Stacy was confused. “Knows what, exactly?”

“About the pictures.”

The phrase caught in Stacy’s mind. She tried to catch Melinda’s eyes but couldn’t.

“So, you were in those pictures.”

Kendall grimaced. “Damn straight.”

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moved. Stacy could hear her heartbeat; she could even hear Kendall’s nervous breaths.

“Dealing drugs? Running a racketeering scheme? Did Brandon Deerfield put you up to this? You swore an oath to serve and protect the citizens of Cleveland, not to exploit them for financial gain.” The anger welled up in her gut. “You’re a disgrace!”

Kendall cackled. “It don’t matter. All that matters is getting what I want.”

Stacy tried steering the conversation in a different direction.

“Were you the one that broke into my loft from the fire escape and took them?”

Kendall winced. “Hell no! The old lady here kept talking about ‘em, so I figured they had to be here someplace.” He tugged on Melinda’s throat again. Her sobbing intensified. “Where are they? I want them!”

Melinda attempted to mention Chance through gritted teeth, but Stacy cut her off. “We’re looking for the person that did it now.”

Melinda’s eyes darted back between Stacy and the forearm around her throat. They looked sad and desperate. Stacy caught her gaze and narrowed her eyes for a moment, an indication for Melinda to go along with her story.

“Those pictures are proof that you were a part of Brandon Deerfield’s operation.”

Kendall nodded. “And he’s gone, and I ain’t going to jail.”

“What do you know?”

It was now Kendall’s turn to seem confused. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Kendall, tonight is going to end badly. Your career with the Cleveland Police Department is likely over.”

“This ain’t about a career, Stacy.” He shifted his weight between both feet. “It’s about respect. I’m a black guy on a police force that is still mostly white and run by white folks. They send us black cops to East Cleveland because we blend in with the population and can connect with them. Fuck that! I did this for power. For respect. When we work those drug rings all over the

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city, we’ve got lawyers, businessmen, teachers, athletes…all of them depending on us to make sure the supply is there and to make sure nobody knows what happened.”

His breathing quickened. “That’s power and influence that money can’t buy. It makes a nobody into a somebody.”

Stacy took a few beats to respond. “Something’s happened to you, Kendall. You’ve lost your way. Think back,” she said.

He looked at her with a perplexed look. “What the fuck you talkin’ about now?”

Stacy flicked the side of her head with her fingers. She raised her voice in anger and frustration.

“Think back to the memories of being smart. How good it felt to be smart. Because this, none of this now, nor any of what you did protecting drug dealers and users, was very smart. The rest of the gang has already been arrested. Gavin Knox will be bringing charges against Deerfield’s goons for the attempted murder of Mike O’Neill. They’re going to start talking to save their own asses. Trust me. I’ve seen it enough.” Stacy tightened the muscles in her face, and her look grew serious. “And they’ll start telling on each other like the cowards they are. Who knows what they’ll say when Kendall Jackson’s name is mentioned?”

The confidence and control on Kendall’s face fell. He was thinking about what Stacy had said.

“But we’re friends, and I certainly owe you for keeping me safe and alive during the Devon Baker case last fall. Thanks to you, Jamal Harris wasn’t able to kill me. So, let me return the favor. Tell me what happened. I can help. I can talk to Gavin, and we can make a deal.” Stacy felt the words cling in her throat.

Again, she’d offered a deal without authorization, but this time, the immediacy of the situation warranted it.

A shadow moved to the left of the front door.

“Stacy?”

Gavin stood in the door space with an unblinking stare and a bewildered expression.

“Oh, no!”

Kendall swung the gun to the left and fired.

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40 The motion was so smooth that it almost seemed rehearsed.

Gavin ducked as the bullet nicked the right corner of the metal door. The sound pierced the silence and made Stacy’s ears ring.

When Gavin bounced up, Stacy charged Kendall. But he was ready. He held the gun on Gavin and pulled as tight as he could on Melinda. She wailed as Kendall leaned back and pulled Melinda off the floor. Her face turned a dark red, and she clawed and slapped his arm with her hands.

“I’ll choke her. I’ll do it,” Kendall snarled. “I’ll fuckin’ kill her.”

Gavin didn’t move.

“Hold it, Stacy,” Kendall said, pointing the gun back at her.

“Good to see more people came to the party,” Kendall said, the words pouring out of his mouth. He held an intense stare on Stacy. “Get back into the doorway, Gavin.”

Gavin appealed to Stacy with a pleading look, but she looked over at him and nodded. Gavin took a step back and filled the space.

“Hands where I can see them,” he said, boring a look through Stacy. She slowly raised her hands above her head.

“That means you too,” he snapped at Gavin. Gavin reluctantly raised his hands. The rancid smell of cordite stung Stacy’s nose as a blue haze of gun smoke filled the room.

Melinda sniffed in between sobs. “Let us go. Please… we don’t have… the pictures.” She struggled to speak as her larynx was crushed.

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Kendall looked down at Melinda. “Shut up. I’m going to ask one more time. And one of you bitches better tell me the truth, or I’ll put a bullet into Gavin. Where are the pictures?”

Stacy’s skin felt cool and moist. “Mother is right,” Stacy blurted out. “We don’t have them. Chance does, and neither of us has seen him.”

Gavin’s eyes darted around the room. Kendall kept switching the gun back and forth between Gavin and Stacy. Stacy watched Gavin’s eyes and wanted to make a move. But Kendall was too strong to take down by herself. All it would take was one false move by her, and he could break her mother’s neck.

“Don’t bullshit me. You all are family. Where’s that motherfucker? I know the police have been looking for him when they’ve had time. And if he’s taken all of these pictures like Mom here says, then he’s got to be in town somewhere. Cleveland ain’t that big.”

“Come on,” Stacy said. “Be smart here. I would never tell you where Chance is.”

Kendall looked confused again.

“Why would I? So he can be hunted down and killed? Please.

I’m not doing that. But I can get the pictures.”

Kendall looked both appalled and aroused. “Yeah. Now we’re talking. How? Where?”

“Mother went down the street to Neo Pro Imagining. She got the pictures developed there. The card disk came from Chance’s camera. We found it in the closet, didn’t we, Mother?”

Melinda wiggled her head repeatedly. “Um-hum. Um-hum.

Yes,” she hissed, her cheeks still flushed red.

Stacy had to keep talking to keep Kendall talking. The only way he would lose control of the situation was to think and respond to a conversation. As a cop, he was trained to focus and listen intently for word clues in a story. Stacy would use that to her advantage.

Kendall seemed to forget about Gavin in the doorway. While Stacy was talking to Kendall, he had managed to slip back inside the living room. Cutting him a glance, Stacy could see Gavin eyeing her gun where Kendall had kicked it away earlier.

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Stacy refocused. “Let me go down to Neo Pro. The hard drives on those photo printing machines will save several recent jobs.

I can go down there and get them and bring them back. Then you’ll have the evidence of your involvement, and there will be no way the police can see it.”

Kendall stopped eyeballing Stacy, looked down at Melinda, and over to Gavin, who had managed to get a few steps closer to the gun without drawing Kendall’s ire. He was thinking about the offer.

She removed the handcuffs from her holster as well as the cell phone from her muddy and musty-smelling jacket. “Here are my handcuffs and phone. Handcuff Mother and Gavin. Take my phone. That way, I can’t contact anybody.”

Kendall didn’t twitch or otherwise make any involuntary shifts in his movements or expression. Stacy changed tact.

“Come on,” she shouted. “Time is wasting. Let’s do this! Quit being an indecisive prick, and let me do this! I’ve told you what to do. I’ll even handcuff Gavin if you want me to.”

Melinda began squirming under Kendall’s grip, and her sobs became a full-on cry.

Stacy unconnected her handcuffs. She and Gavin exchanged a glance. Stacy made a twitch with her mouth that she hoped he saw.

“Come over here, Gavin.”

Kendall opened his mouth and aimed his gun. At that moment, Gavin bent down to the floor and grabbed Stacy’s. The motion made Kendall loosen his hold on Melinda, and she collapsed to the floor.

“Kendall!” Stacy screamed. She leaped at him, getting both hands around the arm holding the gun as he was getting ready to fire a shot at Gavin. Stacy sank her fingers and nails into his arm and pulled it back toward her.

Kendall made an inaudible groan and then grabbed Stacy by the throat, tossing her to the floor. As Kendall stood over Melinda to grab her again, Gavin came in from the side and slammed the butt of the Glock into the side of Kendall’s head.

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Kendall screamed and then slammed a fist into Gavin’s face.

Stacy heard a loud crack as she scrambled to collect Melinda.

Her mother shrieked and coughed as Stacy dragged her across the floor by her arm.

Blood ran from Gavin’s nose. He drove the handle of the gun into Kendall’s gut, knocking the wind from his body. Gavin reared back and slapped Kendall across the head with the gun again.

Gavin pushed an off-balance and weakened Kendall into the wall with all his strength. Kendall flashed his clenched teeth at Gavin and snarled, but then his face went soft, and his eyes expanded. Gavin pushed until Kendall’s head slammed against the wall, weakening his grip.

Gavin wiped the blood running down his nose with the back of his hand. As Kendall lay motionless on the ground, Gavin took the gun’s barrel and struck it across his face.

He tossed the gun to the side and grabbed Kendall by the uniform collar. His head lolled back and forth like it had been pulled apart from the rest of his body. Gavin began punching him.

“Son of a bitch,” Gavin sneered. “Dirty cop. Worthless.” As he went to punch Kendall again, Stacy grabbed his arm.

“Gavin, that’s enough.”

Gavin lunged forward, trying to break away. Stacy held on and dragged him back by his waist.

“He’s done!” she shouted. “It’s over. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

Gavin whipped his body around and yelled. He stalked across the living room again, cocked his head to the ceiling, and yelled again. The booming sound echoed. Stacy could hear Melinda’s sobs in the background.

Stacy grabbed her handcuffs and checked for a pulse. Kendall was alive, but his pulse was weak. She cocked her head to the side and leaned around one of his broad shoulders. A large head wound near the back of his skull was open and bleeding. Stacy could see some pink tissue sticking out of the hole.

She took her handcuffs and snapped them around his wrists.

If he did manage to wake up, he wouldn’t be able to grab anything.

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Stacy felt the entire weight of her body leave her at that moment. She collapsed against the wall beside Kendall and let out several heavy breaths. Her hand covered her forehead, and she tried to process what had just happened. Her head felt like it was filled with static from the tension.

When she looked to her right, she saw that Gavin stood in the living room with clenched fists, staring icily at Kendall.

“It’s okay, Gavin,” Stacy said in a soothing voice. “It’s done.”

Gavin kept looking ahead like he didn’t hear anything.

Stacy got off the floor and raced over to her mother, whose face was contorted in a panic, and her eyes had the fear-smeared look of someone that had been through trauma and entered shock, possibly dissociation.

Stacy grabbed her mother and pulled her into a close hug.

Melinda began to sob harder and faster.

“I’m sorry,” Melinda mumbled. Stacy could feel the trembling of her chin. Her cries were raw and visceral.

“I didn’t know, I swear. I didn’t know that he was going to do this. I shouldn’t have said anything about those pictures. I thought he was a friend.”

Stacy rocked her mother slowly. “He was. But it’s okay now.

It’s over, and we’re all safe.”

The cries punched through the words, but Stacy let her have her moment. Gavin picked up the gun and set it down on the table, looking at it like it might explode.

Stacy looked back. “Gavin, is everything okay?”

His eyes flickered over to her for an instant before retreating to the gun on the table. He nodded.

As Stacy held her mother, a scraping noise came from the back of the loft. It was a sharp sound. It started in small bursts, followed by a long sound. To Stacy, it sounded like someone was trying to find a soft spot in a windowpane to break it.

Stacy let go of Melinda and rose slowly. “Everyone stays here.

Nobody moves!” Stacy went over and took her gun from the table.

“Block that door,” she said to a shocked Gavin. “In case someone tries to go in or out.”

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Stacy held out her gun with both hands and moved across the living room slowly. Stacy felt hollow. She could feel the pulse of her heartbeat in her fingertips. Stacy didn’t know if she had any more of anything to give, but she pressed onward.

The streetlights cast elongated shadows on the floor at the back of her loft. As she approached the window, a shadow framed the glass. The scraping sound on the glass had reached such a high pitch point that it made Stacy shiver with each scratch.

Stacy came within feet of the window. Suddenly, the scraping stopped. The shadow froze. Then, its odd formations and shapes wiped across the window and disappeared.

“Hey,” Stacy called out. She lowered her gun and went to the window. The sealant keeping the glass attached to the frame had been picked away, and Stacy easily pushed the window outward toward the street. The swinging frame holding the glass moaned with displeasure as Stacy pushed.

She looked down onto the alley to see a figure running up the street and turning right, heading for Superior Avenue.

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41 Stacy sat at her desk. There was plenty of work to do, but all her body wanted to do was rest while her mind wanted to pump out the anxiety that burned her thinking.

The Homicide Unit’s main floor was quiet, except for another detective in the cubicle across the hall, making a series of phone calls. Stacy could hear him sigh in between each call, and each removal of the phone handset receiver from the cradle got slower and seemed heavier for him.

Stacy slumped in her desk chair. The side of her face was swollen. She threw her police shield on the table. Her eyes settled on it for a moment.

“I’ll take Melinda’s statement,” Diana said coolly, trying to balance a tone of authority and compassion in her voice. “She might feel more comfortable talking about what happened to another woman.”

Stacy looked over at the captain and agreed. Stacy had managed to get some time on the oxygen machine as police and paramedics arrived. It took them around an hour to process the scene, including getting statements from her, her mother, Gavin, and a few neighbors who had been home during the incident.

They even canvassed the building looking for signs of the person who had climbed onto the fire escape but couldn’t find anything.

The fresh oxygen calmed the pain in her lungs and chest but did little to alleviate the headache, which was roaring at full strength.

Gavin sat across from her in Austin’s chair. He’d broken his nose during their confrontation, but he refused to go to the hos250

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pital, which required him to sign a waiver with the paramedics.

Gavin claimed he wouldn’t give a sleazy cop like Kendall Jackson the satisfaction of sending him to the hospital.

Diana tucked a folder under her arm. She wore a red turtleneck sweater, black pants, and heeled boots and had pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, which accentuated the creases and lines in her forehead. When that happened, she overapplied makeup to hide the wrinkles. The makeup near the top of her forehead always began to run near the base of her forehead as the day wore on.

A chime burst into the corridor space from the end of the hall. “Excuse me for a minute.”

When Diana disappeared, Gavin folded his arms and leaned on the desk. “I’m so glad I came upstairs when I did.”

Stacy picked up a pencil from her desk and began twisting it in her fingers. “I am, too. It kept Kendall from strangling my mother and bought us all some time.”

Gavin pursed his lips and then touched the thick white bandage taped across the bridge of his nose. He winced.

“I got concerned when you didn’t come back after a while, and I thought something was wrong, so I came up.” His face twisted into one of anger. “And what he did and what he would’ve done….”

Stacy watched his face turn beet red.

“But he didn’t. That’s the important part.”

“The guy is dirty, Stacy.”

“And corrupt.”

“Did you ever think he could do something like this?”

Stacy looked away, internalizing the question. “No. He kept me safe during the Devon Baker murder investigation. He did anything I asked without question.”

Gavin rolled his shoulders. “Which makes him the perfect dirty cop. Nobody would suspect him.”

Stacy kicked her chair back from the desk and crossed her legs. She had managed to shower and change out of the sopping wet, muddy clothes from Fairview Park. Her brown sweater and dark jeans felt warm and comfortable on her body.

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“Gavin, what this group has done is unbelievable. It’s bad, and it’s going to lead to some serious problems for this department. Internal Affairs is going to get involved, and they are going to want cops, supervising officers, and anyone and everyone involved to be held accountable.”

Gavin frowned. “We often say that public officials are not above the law, but that’s not enough. Public officials serve the law.

If they don’t respect it, who will?

“I know.” Stacy exhaled. “And then there’s the Brandon Deerfield interrogation, which is separate from but connected to Kendall Jackson.”

“And Chance,” Gavin added.

Stacy looked away. “I know I’ve said this before, and it probably doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry for what I did.”

Gavin held up a hand. “It’s okay.”

Stacy watched his eyes flicker with sincerity and gave Gavin a sympathetic look.

“What should I do, Gavin?”

He looked down at the desk for a moment and then looked up. “Maybe something else.”

Diana came back up the corridor. “I’ve got some news.”

Stacy and Gavin looked at each other and then looked expectantly at the captain.

“Forensics finished examining Miguel Olivo’s taxi. Hairs found in the cab of the taxi match hairs found in the trunk. It looks like the body parts found in the trunk were from Olivo.

There were some specks of a faded brown substance between some of his fingers, but the lab couldn’t determine what it was.

Probably grease from his fingers. No sign of where the rest of him is, though.”

Stacy turned a green shade as her eyes stared off, recounting the terrible scene she had witnessed in the Fairfield neighborhood.

“Lutheran Hospital also called.” The captain leaned against the partition with her tall frame and crossed her arms.

Diana stared at Gavin as she spoke. “Kendall Jackson has been put into a medically induced coma. He has a cracked skull 252

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with some brain swelling and a brain bleed. Doctors say he is critical but stable. I’ve got a guard stationed outside of his room.”

Gavin looked at the floor. He tapped his right foot nervously.

Diana swung her gaze over to Stacy before looking down at the tops of her shoes.

The captain smacked her lips. “I also called Neo Pro Imaging and spoke to the manager. The print station that handles picture printing from digital devices holds the files in a temporary folder for only twenty-four hours.”

Stacy felt defeated. She’d told the captain about Kendall wanting the pictures and that her mother came into possession of them. When Stacy told Diana that Chance had taken the photos, the captain became quiet and reflective.

“So that means the evidence of Kendall in those pictures with the other cops is gone.”

Diana ignored the comment and continued. “Lastly, Pat Moise’s guys found that laptop computer inside Maria Fernandez’s house. They were able to see that she had been talking with someone using one of those online dating services, but nothing on the screen connected to Colton DeVito.”

Diana looked over at Gavin again. “We are going to need a search warrant to access the rest.”

Gavin clucked his tongue. “I’ll take care of it.”

“See that you are—both of you. I feel like I have to do everything around here. Stacy, some information came into the general homicide email address from the Harris County District Attorney’s office. Some follow-up information about the guys charged in the Jesse Williams murder connected to Colton DeVito.”

Her bones felt tired and her head foggy, but she needed to press on. “Thanks, Diana.”

Gavin stood up, informally ending the unplanned meeting.

“I’m going to get to work on that warrant.”

Stacy could hear the dull ding of the elevator at the end of the hallway. Diana stepped into the cubicle and put her hand on Stacy’s arm.

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“I’m going to go check on Melinda to see if she’s finished writing her statement. I’ll bring her back up here when she’s finished.

And I know she’s pretty shaken up, so I’ll tread lightly.”

Stacy cocked a half-smile. “Thanks, Cap.” Stacy logged into her computer to find the files from the Harris County DA. She selected the print icon and sent the information to the printer on the other side of the room. As she closed her browser, she could hear a whimper coming from near the desk.

Diana had stepped into the corridor but then froze, her weight shifting to the front of her feet.

“Stacy, come see this.”

Stacy moved around her desk and into the corridor outside of the cubicle. The whimpering had evolved into sobbing that sounded like it was coming from a woman.

When she looked up, she could see a wet figure with stooped shoulders approaching, her right arm covered with a white towel soaked with blood.

“I’m looking for Stacy Tavitt,” the woman said in a wounded tone.

Stacy felt her throat clench at what she saw. “I’m right here, Maria Fernandez.”

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42 Diana looked at the blood-soaked arm with wide-eyed amazement. “I’m calling a bus. Meanwhile, let me get the first aid kit.”

Gavin nodded at Maria and exchanged a glance with Stacy.

“I’ll get a judge to sign the warrant and have it to you within the hour.”

Stacy nodded her approval. Maria looked up to the ceiling and around the walls of the corridor. She resembled a person stranded on an alien planet, trying to find her bearings.

“Let’s go someplace where we can talk,” Stacy said with an extended arm, motioning for Maria to walk in front of her.

Maria just stared at Stacy with a wary look. Her lips quivered.

“I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” Stacy reassured. “It’s just a talk.”

Stacy led her back down the hallway and into the conference room. The leather chairs were all facing inward around the ovalshaped table. Its faux wood was chipped and stained from too many sweating coffee mugs and fists that had pounded into the surface during heated disagreements over sensitive matters.

Maria seemed to shrink inside the room as she maneuvered around the table. She had changed clothes from earlier and was wearing a green T-shirt and jeans with tan Birkenstock shoes.

Her arms had gashes with cuts below the skin, and the bruising had turned the area purple and faded yellow.

Her skin seemed sallower than before, with white pockets splotching her tanned skin.

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Stacy pointed to a seat at the end of the table. “Sit here,” Stacy said, more of command instead of a suggestion.

Maria delicately pulled out the chair and slid down into it.

She would be facing the door, which was what Stacy wanted. The lights from downtown skyscrapers shone through the windows running the length of the wall on the far side, casting a fantastical glow of slatted, colored lights into the stained carpet.

Stacy pulled out a digital recorder and a bottle of water from the cabinet against the far wall, then found a rubber band on the table and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

“I’d like to record this with your permission.”

Maria stared down at the recorder and nodded. Stacy slid the bottle of water down the table.

“Since you’re here voluntarily, you’re free to leave at any time.

But understand that what is said could have an impact on the investigation.”

Maria continued to stare down at the table but nodded her head in agreement.

Diana came into the room, her latex-gloved hands clutching the first aid kit to her chest. “Paramedics are on the way,” she said. “In the meantime, let’s look at that arm.”

Diana opened the kit and began removing items. Both Maria and Stacy watched her for a moment, and then Stacy turned her attention to Maria.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

Maria started chewing on her bottom lip. Stacy wondered if she’d bite it off before she answered. Maria unscrewed the cap to the water bottle and took a small sip from the tip.

“I came home earlier.”

“Let’s be clear about something first,” Stacy interjected.

“When my partner and I were questioning you about the whereabouts of Colton DeVito, we were told there was another piece of evidence we needed to see. Then we were ambushed, and I saw someone leaving out the back door of the house. I assume that person was you.”

Maria lowered her head, and her usually defined cheekbones sunk in, then she took in a breath and exhaled.

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“Yes, that was me. I heard the gunshots and heard the wood on the porch pole explode. I knew something was happening. I went out the back door and hid in the clearing behind the house.”

“What happened next?”

“Well, the men started shooting at you, Detective.”

Stacy bristled at Maria’s attempt to guide the conversation.

“That’s not what I meant. What happened after you took cover in that clearing? The police couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Maria didn’t hesitate with an answer. “I hid,” she said. “For a while. When the gunshots stopped, I managed to walk through some more of the woods for what seemed like a few blocks. I found an old shed painted a light orange, and I stayed there.”

Stacy looked over at the captain. “Those faded orange sheds used to belong to the Cleveland Public Works Department. They keep cleaning supplies and maintenance tools for Fairview Park there.”

Diana chimed in. “When the city quit managing the parks, they sealed the entrances to those sheds. I’m surprised you were able to get inside.”

Maria lowered her head. “I stayed there most of the night.

Then I called a friend to come and pick me up.”

“Does your friend have a name?”

Maria nodded. “Yes. Brittany Morrison.”

Stacy made a mental note of the name. “I’m going to check with Brittany to corroborate the story.”

Maria’s chin dropped to her chest. Stacy leaned back and crossed her arms.

“The police have your laptop computer, and Assistant Prosecutor Knox is getting a search warrant that will allow us to access all of the computer files. We know that Colton isn’t the only guy solicited by you online. I don’t care so much about that, but I do care about Colton.”

Diana pulled over a chair from the opposite side of the table and sat on the lip of the seat. She removed a set of scissors from the kit. Maria looked over at Diana with a flat expression.

“I’m going to have to tear the sleeve of the sweatshirt to see the wound,” the captain said. “It might hurt.”

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Maria said nothing, and Stacy ignored the interruption.

“Colton DeVito,” she repeated. “How did you meet?”

“Just chatting. I put a profile on an online dating site, and he messaged me. At first, we just talked about stuff.”

“Define stuff.”

“Things we liked, our families, etcetera. Colton seemed embarrassed about talking to me online, but then he opened up. He talked a lot about a girl named Brooke and how she was the love of his life.” Maria winced as the captain cut into the sleeve and pulled back the fabric. There were two streaks of punctured skin on her arm, each with fresh blood running down her upper arm and into the bend of her elbow.

Diana turned the arm slightly and looked. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

Stacy leaned back even further in her chair. “And after all of this online chatting, things got serious.”

Maria patted her shoulder and rubbed the top of it as Diana tore open the end of a small packet of antibacterial ointment.

Maria gave her full attention back to Stacy.

“I was just having fun, but Colton took our chats seriously.

He wanted us to set aside time to talk each day. If I was late logging in, he would blow up my inbox with messages and leave me these panicked voicemails.”

“Panicked voicemails,” Stacy repeated. “So, the two of you did talk on the phone?

“Yes.” “We never found Colton’s cell phone.”

Maria paled a bit. Stacy waited for a few beats before speaking again.

“Would it be fair to say that Colton liked you more than you did him?”

Maria looked antsy as Diana smeared the ointment onto the bloody cuts with the swab included with the ointment.

“Yes,” she replied quietly.

“So how did he end up back in Cleveland? AEP and Houston police told us he was helping restore powerlines in Houston after Hurricane Harvey. I imagine he was too busy making out-ofstate house calls.”

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Maria sighed. “I started asking Colton for money.” Diana looked back at Stacy, and they exchanged glances. Both women turned their attention back to their original targets.

“At first, it was just small amounts—fifty dollars here, twentyfive dollars there. Colton never told me, no, and he never asked me why I needed the money, so I kept asking for more.”

Stacy shook her head. “Wow.” Maria perked up and straightened up in her seat. Diana’s hand slid down her arm. “I know. I know it was wrong, but I expected him to tell me no at some point and that he wouldn’t give me any more money.”

Stacy uncrossed her arms and set her hands on the table. “So, you basically hustled him?”

“Yes. I guess so.” Stacy just stared back at Maria. Then Maria continued. “I knew Colton would eventually ask me for something. I couldn’t just keep taking all of that money from him without him wanting something in return.”

Stacy leaned over the table. “And that something was an inperson meeting.”

“Yeah. So, I agreed that Colton could come to see me. He was supposed to arrive this next week.”

“And instead, he arrived and surprised you.”

“That’s right.”

Maria was getting edgy, but Stacy didn’t care. This story was more than a star-crossed romance. This was the story of a man getting set up by a premeditated scheme concocted by a vixen willing to risk anything to get what she wanted.

Stacy just stared at Captain Bannister as she taped several small bandages over the wounds. The bandages were not long or wide enough, but they covered some of the deeper skin wounds.

“The cab driver that picked up Colton the night he came to see you. He said that something had spooked Colton. Then the driver saw two men in dark clothes and masks running out of one of the back entrances of Fairview Park, almost like the men were chasing Colton.”

Maria’s eyes suddenly got a little more distant.

“Who were those men after Colton?”

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“Some friends I had met at a party.”

Stacy arched an eyebrow.

“It was a party over in Rocky River. Some girl that Will knew was throwing a party, and he invited me.”

“Will as in Will Akers?”

Maria nodded.

So they did know each other, Stacy thought.

The realization was not lost on Diana, either. She locked the latch on the kit back into place and then paused for a moment.

“We just hung out that night. Drinking. Smoking a little pot.”

Stacy’s tone got more serious. “I need names, Ms. Fernandez.”

“One of the guys was named Ruben. The other guy was named Malik.”

Stacy stood up, and Maria flinched. “Last names, too!”

“I don’t know, I swear.”

“So, how did they end up at your house chasing after Colton DeVito?”

Maria just looked over and stared at her bandaged arm. “I owed Ruben and Malik some money.”

“For what?”

“Drugs. Cocaine and crystal meth.”

Diana put the first aid kit back in the cabinet and slammed the door shut. Maria jumped a little in her seat. Stacy moved her way to the side of the table.

“I told them I had someone coming over. But not that day.

Colton was supposed to come the next week. Anyway, I knew…I knew that Colton would give me whatever money I asked for.”

Diana stuck clenched fists on her slim hips.

Maria seemed to panic. “We did them at parties. Never at home.”

Stacy waited a moment. She began to fill in the blanks. “So Colton takes off running, Ruben and Malik think that Colton’s isn’t going to pay, and they try to jump him for it.”

Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “Yes. That’s how I ended up with Colton’s debit card. Ruben found it after they chased him through the park.”

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“And then you paid Will Akers to withdraw money from Colton’s account at the Wells Fargo ATM.” Maria wiped a trickling tear with a thumb and sniffed. “Yes.” Stacy stopped and sat in the chair Diana had vacated. Stacy leaned in, and her eyes narrowed into slits. The good cop portion of the interview was over.

“Look at me, Maria.”

Maria continued to stare at the table. Stacy grabbed her bandaged arm and squeezed. A line of sweat crossed Maria’s brow, and her head instinctively snapped over to Stacy.

Maria’s lip began to quiver, and the tears ran down her cheeks more forcefully. “Malik and Ruben are dead.”

Maria put a hand over her lips. A look of astonishment came over her. “What? Why?” “I think those two thugs were more than just your party boys or your dealers. I think they were the ones that chased Colton.

When you went inside your house to get something for us, you made a call, and the enforcers showed up.”

Diana stepped closer to the table. “If you did tip them off and had those men try to kill two of my detectives, I will personally make sure you regret for the next 25-years-to life.”

Stacy leaned close to Maria. Maria leaned back in her chair and slid down, but Stacy kept encroaching. The detective could smell the fear on her breath.

“Where is Colton DeVito?”

Maria shook her head.

“Liar,” Stacy snapped. “Where is he? Where is Colton?”

“I don’t know. I swear,” she babbled.

“I think you do.”

Maria shook her head dismissively. “I don’t.”

“Someone is out there killing anyone and everyone that had an association with him—a serial killer. The cab driver is dead, and Colton’s parents were murdered and burned to death in a house fire. How long until this person comes after you?”

Stacy could smell peppermint on Maria’s breath. “Tell us where he is, Maria, and we can end this. We can stop this thing.”

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Maria ducked her head and shielded her face with her hands.

“I don’t know. I swear. I came down here because I’ve been attacked. I don’t want to be that next person.”

Stacy leaned back slowly as Maria watched her every move.

Stacy stood up and smoothed her clothes with her hands.

“What happened?” Diana asked.

“My friend dropped me off at my house after the cops left.

When I was coming through the back door, someone grabbed me. He had his hand over my mouth and was grabbing at my chest with the other hand. At first, I thought it might have been Malik or Ruben, but…” her voice trailed away. “But the man was thinner than them. I stomped on his foot with mine, and I landed a fist near his dick. When I turned around, he sliced my arm with a knife. He limped away, and I ran into the house.” She paused and swallowed hard. “I thought he was going to kill me. Please help me. I need protection. I don’t feel safe going home tonight.”

Stacy excused herself and stepped outside the conference room, out into the hallway. Stacy had heard enough of the story and was tired of dealing with Maria Fernandez.

Two uniformed officers entered the room. “Stand up,” Stacy said, motioning with her hand. “Turn around.” Maria, wide-eyed with fear, slowly turned around. “Hands over your head.”

“No, No,” she whimpered. “Please. Please, Detective, don’t do this. I don’t want to go to jail.”

Stacy stared at her with a resolute intensity. “Maria Fernandez, you are under arrest for credit card fraud and conspiracy to commit murder. Officer Jenkins will read you the rest of your rights.”

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43 Stacy pressed the stop button on the recorder. She waited for the room to empty before speaking. “Now she won’t have to worry about someone coming after her.”

Diana put a hand on Stacy’s shoulder. “Nice work, Detective.”

Stacy pursed her lips. “I’m just glad we have her in custody, although we still don’t know where Colton DeVito is.”

“We’re getting closer,” the captain replied. “I’ll go talk to your mom.”

Stacy locked her hands behind her head and let the tension from the last moments escape. “Thanks, Diana.”

Stacy made her way back to her desk. Someone was hunched over it, rustling through papers. Stacy smiled as she leaned into the cubicle wall and crossed her arms.

“Turn around with both hands up.”

The figure rose and lifted both arms. “Guilty as charged.”

Stacy recognized the smooth but firm voice. “Let me see that eye, Austin.”

He turned around and raised both eyebrows. He had a dark leather patch over one eye connected to a slender, black leather strap that went around his head. He was wearing his clothes from earlier. They were dry and wrinkled, and the suit coat was missing.

Stacy leaned into him and hugged him. She didn’t say anything, but she pulled him close as he wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

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Austin patted her at the base of her neck and then lowered his hands. “I’ll be fine. I’m a little sore, and the fragments that ricocheted from that wooden post scratched the cornea of my eye. It hurts like hell, but the doctor said I should be okay in a couple of days.”

Stacy stepped back and rubbed a finger over the patch. “At least the patch is stylish.”

Austin frowned. “Hell of a way to get one, though. The worst news is that I’m going to need glasses.”

Stacy looked away and smirked. It was just like Austin to redirect a conversation when it involved him personally.

She eyed him while maintaining the smirk. “I think glasses will look good on you.”

“Yeah.” He scoffed. “We’ll see. I’ve been looking through the information here. It involves Colton DeVito’s friends, the ones that beat up and killed Jesse Williams. Why?” Before answering the question, Stacy told Austin to sit down at his desk. She took a few moments to explain what had happened at her loft with Kendall Jackson and the sudden appearance and arrest of Maria Fernandez.

Austin puckered his thick lips and let out a long whistle. “I go to the hospital for a few hours, and all hell breaks loose. Is your mom okay?”

Stacy leaned back in her seat and removed the rubber band from her hair. Pieces of hair were tangled in the band itself, pinching her head as she pulled. Her hair unfolded and fell loosely past her jaw.

“She is, but she’s a little shaken up.”

Austin drummed his fingers on her desk. “And Kendall Jackson. Jesus, Stacy, he’s at the center of a big problem for this department.”

Stacy rolled her shoulders. She was also a part of the problem but in a different way.

“I know. I want to go by the hospital and talk to the doctors and find out when he’s going to wake up from that coma.”

Austin blinked. “Or if he wakes up from the coma.”

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Stacy seemed dismissive of that idea. “I want the names, dates, and places where he pedaled the drugs and who got protection as a result. If we can get that information on the record, he’ll go to prison for a long time, and hopefully, so will everyone else involved.”

Austin scratched the stubble on his chin and looked down at the papers on the desk.

“What’s up with trying to find out where the guys from the DeVito trial are now?”

Stacy picked up some of the papers and started thumbing through them. “It’s just a feeling. Those guys in his group that killed Jesse Williams had plenty of reason to get even with Colton. When the charges against him were dismissed, and he was released from prison, I’m sure that didn’t sit well with the rest of them.”

Austin adjusted his eye patch strap. “Provided that they wanted to get even or even knew where Colton was living and working.”

He’d brought up a good point. Stacy had testified at many parole hearings. The victim’s friends and family members always promised the perpetrator that they’d show up to everything and do whatever it took to ensure the killer’s life would be ruinous. In a few cases, most people who make that statement in court show up to the hearings. But in many cases, just a few of the victim’s close relatives show up. Life has a way of changing priorities and prerogatives. Despite a brutal crime like murder, people have jobs to work, children to raise, and communities to serve. When time creates distance between the murder and the present and the raw emotions begin to heal, and seeing justice served loses its importance.

Stacy blinked out of the thought and saw Austin taking notes.

“I’ll take notes on the important information and create a grid.”

“Good.” Stacy reached down into her desk drawer and pulled out the sealed evidence bag with the postcard Chance supposedly sent. Stacy regarded the note Nate Fryson had left about the card for a moment.

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“I highlighted some sections of the trial transcript.” She pushed the stack across the small crack of space that separated their desks. “It makes for some interesting reading. I’m interested in Brian Dowdy.”

Austin stopped writing and looked up. “Why him?”

“Dowdy turned himself into the police, but he wouldn’t implicate anyone else involved in the death of Jesse Williams.” Stacy shook her head. “I just wonder why. We’ve sat in on plenty of group arrests, and when one person has a chance to save themselves at the expense of their buddies….”

“They sing like canaries,” Austin added. “Okay,” he said, taking in a breath and turning a page. “I’ll work on this for a while.”

Stacy turned her head to the side. “Don’t work too long tonight. If Diana comes back up here, she’s going to wonder why you aren’t home getting some rest.”

Austin waved a hand. “Sleep is overrated.” He gave Stacy a wink. It had been a long time since he’d done that. For Stacy, it meant the tension between them was over, and their relationship was back to normal.

“I need to take my mother home, as well.” Stacy’s phone thrummed on the desk. As she picked it up and swiped her finger across the glass face, Marty began speaking immediately and with urgency.

“Lieutenant, it’s Marty,” he said, his words tumbling out. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I just got a call from Lutheran Hospital. They got my number by mistake, I think.”

Stacy felt her stomach clench. She remained calm. “It’s okay, Marty. Just calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”

Marty pulled in a breath and then continued his rapid-fire delivery. “It’s the charge nurse at the hospital. There’s been an incident outside of Kendall Jackson’s room.”

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44 By the time Stacy had reached the third floor of Lutheran Hospital, the metallic tang from stainless steel in the open air had made her forehead sweat.

She’d spent the last hour with her mother. Melinda assured Stacy that giving a statement to Diana went well, but she repeatedly said that she wanted to go home. As they drove across town and back to the Superior Lofts, neither woman said much to each other. Melinda spent most of the time rolling an unlit cigarette between her fingers and tapping her foot incessantly, vibrating the cabin on the Camry. Her nerves were more than just a nicotine fit. Anxiety had fully seized her mother.

Melinda muttered the phrase, “I can’t believe what happened tonight and that we’re all alive.” Stacy agreed but didn’t have time for a discussion. She told her mother to lock the door to the loft, not let anyone in, and make sure the window leading to the fire escape was sealed tight.

Her mother looked at her with hurt and a forlorn expression when Stacy told her she had to go to the hospital to check on a situation involving Kendall. Melinda appeared to have aged several years in just the last few days. The lines in her face were deep and creased, and the wrinkles around her mouth protruded from her lips, giving them a waxy appearance. Stacy changed into a navy pantsuit with a crisp, light blue blouse underneath. She told her mother to toss out the muddy clothes she’d been wearing.

Lutheran Hospital was part of the Cleveland Clinic hospital system. Originally designed to serve the Ohio City, Tremont, and Gordon Square Districts of Cleveland, an intensive care unit was added as part of a new wing at the hospital’s rear. Cleveland Police had faster access to Lutheran Hospital from headquarters 267

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downtown. The hospital’s various sections were easy to maneuver through compared to the vast expanse and labyrinth of buildings and hallways that made up the Cleveland Clinic facility.

Stacy got off the elevator with her shield clutched in one hand and marched up the hallway. A small waiting room with bland walls and a round table with torn magazines greeted her first. An older man with a round face and a sharply pointed nose leaned forward in one of the chairs, his hands locked together and resting under his nose. He was praying silently to himself.

An orderly passed by Stacy with a crash cart. He nodded at her but didn’t say anything. His face was kind and soft, even though it was framed under the harsh white lights from the ceiling that made everyone on the floor appear sick.

The clack of a keyboard and people talking in hushed voices greeted Stacy as she reached the nurses’ station. There, she found a female nurse dressed in navy blue scrubs. She had a slender waist and long, skinny arms. Her skin was the color of cream.

Stacy immediately flashed her badge. The nurse didn’t hesitate. “Thank God. Right this way.”

The nurse weaved her away around the desk and propelled up the hallway at a pace that Stacy even felt was fast. At the end of the hallway was a male nurse, tall with red hair and freckles, talking to one of the uniformed officers.

Stacy held up her shield as she approached. “Lieutenant Stacy Tavitt. Cleveland Homicide.”

The female nurse spun around. “This is where it happened.”

Stacy looked at all of them. “This is where what happened?”

The male nurse cupped his hands. “Someone tried to break into Mr. Jackson’s room,” he said in a hushed tone.

Stacy looked over at the young patrolman. At six foot four, he towered over everyone. He had a trim build, black hair, and bright blue eyes, which seemed to bore into Stacy. She glanced down and saw the nameplate Maddox on his uniform.

“I was talking to Ethan here after he checked on Jackson,” Maddox said. “I heard something coming from that direction.”

He chinned to the stairwell entrance at the end of the corridor, just past Kendall’s room. Stacy turned and saw the bend in the hallway that led to a door covering the stairwell.

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“Officer Maddox, what happened next?”

Maddox hung his head. He couldn’t take Stacy’s stare a second longer. “This guy came dressed in a red jacket and jeans, holding a set of flowers wrapped in paper. He said he had a delivery for Officer Jackson. Before I could react, he threw the flowers at me and tried pushing his way into the room.”

“Great,” Stacy said sarcastically. When Maddox looked puzzled, she said, “The ICU units at all hospitals have very restrictive visiting hours, and they don’t like visitors at this time of night.”

Stacy faced Ethan, who nodded in agreement. “Local flower stores don’t normally deliver to hospitals at this time of night, and neither do the national chains. He lied.” Stacy turned her focus back to Maddox. “And then?”

“And then Ethan helped me pull him back away from the door to Kendall’s room. He managed to break free of Ethan’s hold, and the guy dropped to the ground, crawled between our legs, and bolted around the corridor into the stairwell.”

“Did you go after him?”

“I did, but he had a good enough head start on me. Ethan called security. They made a sweep of each floor in the building and also of the parking lot’s perimeter.” Maddox’s face knit with worry. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”

“It’s fine, Maddox,” she said, looking over to Ethan and the pert female nurse. “All of you did what was necessary.” She turned back to face Maddox. “What did he look like?”

Officer Maddox closed his eyes, trying to recall the details.

“He was short and scrawny—bushy hair. Brown, I think. Eyes the color of the water you see in those beach commercials on TV. A real light blue. He did have some power in his arms, though.

When he pushed forward, he was hard to stop. I didn’t get a good look at his face because he had the hood from the jacket pulled tightly around his head.”

Stacy narrowed her eyes and let out a slow breath. That description could fit thousands of teenagers and men.

She patted Maddox on the chest, indicating to him that he was okay. Maddox seemed to relax and release the tension from his clenched muscles. Stacy looked over to Ethan and the female nurse.

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“I’m going to check with Captain Bannister about getting an extra guard stationed here.” She pointed to the bend in the hallway leading to the stairwell. “Someone needs to be watching that door at all times while Kendall is here.”

Overhead, a ding echoed from the speaker in the ceiling twice. The female nurse craned her neck upward and then whipped it back to level.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m needed at the nurse’s station.”

Stacy watched her leave as Ethan took a step closer. He furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to watch the door ourselves without another guard.”

“Getting an extra guard won’t take long,” she pronounced.

Stacy put her arm around Ethan and led him a few steps away from the door and Maddox.

“Ethan, I know you aren’t a doctor, but what’s the prognosis on Kendall Jackson?”

His face was grim. “Pieces of his cracked skull got lodged into his brain. Doctor Mobans thinks there could be some brain damage. The bleeding on his brain has stopped, but not the swelling. He’ll be in a coma until that goes down.”

Stacy motioned for Ethan to follow them back down the hall.

She slipped him a card. “This is my cell phone number as well as the direct line to my office phone. Anything suspicious happens, call me. If there’s a change in his condition, call me.”

Ethan took the card and read over the lettering on the front.

He held it away from his body and wiggled it. “I will.”

The click of a latch ended the conversation. Stacy pushed Ethan back and kept him at bay with an outstretched arm while she put one finger over her lips and glared at Maddox.

A squatted shadow broadened and deepened across the white hospital tile. Stacy took a cautious step forward. “Excuse me. Visiting hours are over.”

The shadow came into focus. The figure in front of them matched Maddox’s description. Except, this time, he was dressed in black sweatpants and shoes. The hoodie he wore was a few sizes too big, and his face was covered.

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He looked up, and Stacy was able to see his eyes. They were tropical blue. Stacy noticed some discoloration on his hand.

Maddox stirred behind her as Ethan held his breath.

He must have sensed Stacy watching him because he jammed the hand into one of his pockets. The man quickly dropped his head and backpedaled.

“Hey! Stop!” Stacy called out.

He pushed open the door and entered the stairwell.

Stacy turned and called back. “Where does this lead?”

“The last floor is the laundry room. There’s no exit to the street, just the door to the room.”

She cut her eyes between Ethan and Maddox. “Guard that door and call security. Seal the exits.”

Stacy leaped into the darkened stairwell. It had the same smell of disinfectant as the rest of the floor, although the lights overhead were whiter and brighter.

She could hear the man leaping down the steps, taking two at a time. As Stacy ran down the stairwell, she could see the angles of his shadow fading. He was moving fast, and she wasn’t gaining any ground.

“Stop running. Police!”

Her words bounced off the cinderblock walls and linoleum floor. Stacy clacked her boots against the rubber strips on each step, careful not to trip.

She heard him fling open the door on the last floor. Stacy leaped down the last flight of stairs after him, skipping three steps. This time, her boots gave way, but she managed to lean forward and balance herself with one hand on the floor when she landed.

Stacy pulled back the door. Workers inside the laundry room were busy folding clean sheets and stuffing dirty ones into the large round faces of industrial-sized washing machines.

“Police!” she called again.

Stacy bumped into a housekeeper strolling through the room with a stack of folded sheets in her hands. The sheets fell as the woman made some type of an inaudible groan under her breath.

Stacy kept churning her legs, seeing the man in front of her dash to the left as he reached the back of the room.

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Stacy went through the small door and found herself in a mostly empty waiting room.

A robotic voice called out a code over the intercom system, and two security guards emerged from a door across the room.

They made eye contact with Stacy but appeared uncertain.

She pointed to the right. “Out that way.”

The two men, older and slightly overweight, pushed through the door, moving slower than Stacy wanted. Ahead, she saw the man push through another set of double doors and out onto West 28th Street.

The guards followed, each stopping on the curb and catching their breath. Stacy felt her heart pounding in her chest, her mouth as dry as sand. The night had grown cold and the traffic moving up and down the road was light.

The guards split up, each going down one side of the block and around the hospital. Stacy decided to cross the street onto Fulton Road.

A lack of light from the streetlamps made it hard to see too far up the street. The yellowing hue from the lamps cast a smudgy filtered effect onto the street. Buildings and homes lay in a jigsaw pattern up and down the road, resembling broken teeth in their shapes and sizes.

Stacy looked back and forth. She let out a yell. What she really wanted to do was throw a tantrum and beat her hands onto the sidewalk until she couldn’t feel them anymore. The man got away, for now, leaving a trail of questions as long as his running strides behind him.

Stacy took her time as she crossed the street. The running had left her lungs burning, and the dull, aching pain that formed in the bottom of her gut had ignited. Closing her eyes, she went through her breathing exercises to try and subdue the pain, at least for a while, until she could get home and get some more oxygen.

As she rounded the corner and approached West 28th Street, the security guards approached her, their Tac Lights shining a large, wide circle of white light around them.

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“We didn’t see anything,” the thinner of the two guards said.

“There are two more of us searching the other side of the building.”

Breathing heavily, Stacy nodded. “I’ll wait for a little while until everywhere has been checked.” She eyed them cautiously.

Her experience with security guards was that they didn’t invest a lot of energy in their jobs, especially for the minimum-wage pay and the degrading fact they didn’t have the same authority as real police officers.

“And you’re sure you didn’t see him?”

The thin guard exchanged a look with his heavier partner.

“Positive. We’re going to check again.”

“Do that.”

“Let’s go,” the more rotund guard said, his voice surprisingly higher pitched than Stacy expected. They turned to the right and went down the same path Stacy had tracked earlier.

Stacy walked up West 28th Street. She passed the exit doors from the waiting room and braced her hands on the glass. Other than one desk clerk and a thin man with white hair sitting in a chair bent over at the waist, the room was empty.

Stacy leaned back, hearing a scraping noise to her left. It sounded like someone dragging their shoes against chipped pavement. She untucked her jacket, which had been caught around her small-of-the-back gun holster. That way, she could have easy access to her Glock if she needed it.

The noise stopped, but Stacy cautiously approached anyway.

A small car with one busted headlight lit up the space in front of her. Stacy kept walking until she reached the corner of the back of the hospital.

As she leaned around, someone grabbed her. Stacy struggled to get away, but a gloved hand had smothered her mouth and nose.

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45 Stacy tried to scream under the pressure of the glove covering her face. She kicked and swung her arms back. The pressure increased, and the lack of air made the stinging pain in her lungs almost unbearable. Her chest felt like it was going to explode.

Another arm came around her waist and pulled her back away from the street. It was dark at the hospital’s rear except for a single light mounted on the wall at the building’s far end.

Stacy felt her captor lean back into the wall, and he pulled Stacy close to him.

“Shhh,” he hissed, speaking right into her ear. “Stop struggling.”

Stacy kept flailing her hands and kicking.

“Damn it, stop it, Stacy,” he said. “Calm down, and I’ll let you go.”

There was something odd and familiar in the staccato burst of words and cadence of speech. Stacy kept resisting, and the voice leaned into her ear again.

“Stacy. It’s me. Chance.” Stacy nearly froze at hearing his name. “I’m going to remove my hand, but don’t scream or act all hysterical as I do. Promise?”

Stacy nodded her head, and Chance lowered his hand. He released the grip around her waist. She managed to wiggle free and then pushed away from him.

When she turned around, Chance stood pressed against the brick wall of the hospital. He held up a hand.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Stay put.”

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A few seconds passed. Chance pressing Stacy close to him had managed to take all the heat and energy from her skin. Her brain couldn’t contemplate a thought. The emotions of delight and concern swirled in her like a thundercloud, roiling her heart.

She wondered if Chance was disappointed or angry with her. Did Chance know that she hadn’t given up looking for him? Did he know that their mother never gave up hope that he would come home? In truth, Stacy always had nothing but love for her brother, and she wanted to keep him safe.

Chance stepped forward. Stacy saw his face for a moment.

He always wore his light brown hair in a pixie cut, but now it was long and stringy, dirty, in need of a wash. His face seemed more worn and drawn than she remembered; even his thin lips appeared chafed and chapped.

Stacy felt her eyes slowly fill with tears. She stepped forward, and he went back into the shadows.

“Don’t come any closer. Please.”

“Chance…” Her voice was hoarse and croaked. Stacy tried choking back a sob. “My God. Are you okay?” She sniffed. “How did you know I was here?”

Stacy watched him drop to his knees before he glanced back up, catching her eye. “I will explain. But not here. Not now.”

Stacy reached out a hand. “Chance, please. It’s been so long.

So many months.”

“I know,” he said in a tone that Stacy had never heard before.

It snapped with intensity and sharpness. “But it’s too dangerous to talk here. Meet me at the ContainerPort Group facility near Garfield Heights in an hour. And don’t be late. Please, don’t be late.”

“Chance, I don’t understand….”

His figure moved. “I’ll explain everything. Now turn around.”

“Excuse me?”

He sighed. “Please don’t argue with me now. Just. Turn.

Around.”

Stacy wiped away the tears in her eyes, and she turned around, facing the street.

“Remember. ContainerPort Group near Garfield Heights.

Meet in one hour.”

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He stepped behind Stacy. She could feel the heat of his breath on her neck.

“And bring Mom, too.”

276

46 The Kirkland Port Group near Garfield Heights was a Cleveland success story.

Founded in 1971, the group had supplied transportation and intermodal services to businesses throughout the Midwest and East coast. The family-owned company provided delivery of cargo for businesses over local, regional, or long-haul destinations.

Kirkland Port Group could even offer transportation and storage of hazardous materials. The company had developed into more than just an intermodal trucking company. Instead, it was a business that could help other companies with a much wider variety of supply chain needs.

Their facility in Garfield Heights was also a familiar place to police.

Due to its proximity to the city, it was an easy rendezvous point for criminal activity. So it had become a place that was more heavily patrolled by Cleveland Police in recent years. The company had invested a large amount of money into durable fencing, security cameras, and armed guards, but criminals still found ways to distribute drugs and hide bodies.

Melinda had refused to go with Stacy at first. She didn’t understand why Chance couldn’t come to the loft and meet with them and even more serious doubts about Chance using a show of force against his sister. Stacy refused to argue her story and told her mother that it didn’t matter if Melinda believed it or not.

They were both going to meet Chance.

Stacy pulled her Camry slowly and cautiously down the outer fence area of the property. Chance hadn’t told her where to 277

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meet, but she assumed by his demeanor at the hospital that he wouldn’t want to meet anywhere that might attract the attention of guards or security cameras.

Melinda wore a puffy teal jacket from Stacy’s closet and dark gloves, and a scarf looped around her neck. Even then, she shivered as Stacy killed the ignition.

“I’m freezing,” she said. “This is just totally ridiculous. A few hours ago, I had a cop with a gun pointed at my head. Then I was in the police room being questioned like a criminal. Now I’m out here in some junkyard meeting the son that my daughter swears is not here, despite my comments to the contrary.”

It was the arrogant, self-righteousness Melinda deployed when she thought she was right that made Stacy roil with frustration.

Stacy gave her a heavy-lidded glance. “Do I have to say it?”

Melinda looked perplexed. “Say what?”

“That you told me so.”

Melinda looked out the window and shrugged. “It would be nice, but you’ve never been one to give me much credit for anything.”

“Mother, let’s not do this now.”

Before anything else could be said, Melinda pushed open her door and stepped outside the car. Stacy followed and waited for her mother to come around to her side.

The night was cold and crisp. The quarter-moon was protected by the looming clouds that had been in the area. In front of them, and behind the gated fence, long, squared shadows of stacked intermodal containers rose into the sky like hands trying to reach up into the night. The chilly breeze whipped around the crevices between the containers and through the fence openings, shoving the air into them with a force that chilled them both.

Stacy zipped up her heavy blue jacket with the gold Cleveland Police Department seal on the breast. The phrase Cleveland Police was etched on the back and sleeves.

Stacy felt anxious and uneasy. Her mind was wandering in all directions. She agreed with Melinda on one point: meeting Chance out here seemed odd, but she wanted to see her brother and hear what he had to say.

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Stacy’s boots dragged against the gravel as Melinda followed behind her. For a few minutes, they trudged along the gravel perimeter of the facility. Stacy could make out the honeycombed metal fence that followed them as they walked.

Melinda rubbed her hands together. “We don’t even know if he’s going to show up or where he’s going to show up,” she scoffed.

“I still say the loft would’ve been a better meeting place, and you should’ve insisted on it.”

“Enough, Mother,” she replied dryly. “Stay focused.”

In a few minutes, Stacy noticed a shadow coming toward them. The footfalls were light and quick, but they slowed down as Stacy and Melinda walked closer.

“Stacy. Mother. It’s me.”

He stepped forward. A square light mounted on one of the storage buildings inside the fenced area produced a diagonal swath of light that accented his face.

Despite his slightly gaunt face and greasy hair, Chance was still handsome. He had smooth skin that looked like milk under the light. His bright green eyes flickered with a seriousness that matched his chafed lips, fixed in an expression of moodiness. He wore a dark trench coat that hung below his knees.

As he glared at them, Stacy looked thoughtfully at her brother before glancing at Melinda.

“Chance. We’ve been so worried.”

He took his eyes off Stacy and looked at Melinda. She cupped her gloved hands around her mouth, eyes welling with tears.

“My boy, my baby boy,” she said in the same endearing voice that a mother would use to speak to an infant.

Melinda’s face then seized with worry. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he said flatly. Stacy watched him reach into the inside pocket of his coat and pull something out. As she watched his motions, Stacy heard something fall heavily in the space between them.

When she looked down, it was a small clasped envelope that was so full that it bulged at the edges.

Stacy cut a glance at her mother. Her features turned grim.

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Stacy was uncertain. “What’s this?”

“Call it leverage.”

“For what?”

“To get things moving and to get out of trouble.”

Unsure, Stacy stepped forward. Chance didn’t move but put his hands inside his jacket. His eyes followed Stacy as she bent down to pick up the pictures.

“Don’t look at them now,” he instructed, “but later. Those are the pictures that have Kendall and the other cops all over the city protecting these drug dealers.”

Stacy gripped the envelope tightly and walked back to stand next to Melinda. “I know what happened, Chance. Brandon basically stalked you. I know that the truck collided with the cruiser that day to send a message. I know that you threatened Brandon that you would tell me what the real purpose of the pictures was and that it wasn’t for some department brochure.”

Melinda looked over at Stacy, surprised. Chance turned his head and looked at them in amazement, eyes wide. “Stacy, I agreed to do it. I didn’t come and tell you what was going on. I’m not innocent here. Not at all. Now I’m trying to make up for it.”

He nodded to the envelope in her hand. “Those are copies of pictures I took without Brandon or anyone else knowing what I was doing. There are pictures of them taking money from the dealers and exchanging it with them and the users. It’s all there.

Take that to the police and the prosecutor,” he said earnestly.

“What about the postcard, Chance?” Melinda called out. “It was sent to me. Why me and not to Stacy?”

He glanced at Stacy. “You were in danger. I knew that Dearfield and Jackson would be frustrated that they couldn’t find me. Plus, you and your partner had made some arrests. I kept thinking back to what Dearfield said about killing all of us.

I needed you to know, but I couldn’t take the risk of you finding me and then putting all of us in danger.” Chance swallowed and then refocused. “So, I sent the postcard to Mother in hopes that she would contact you.”

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her brother. “Chance, it’s not that simple. These pictures make you an accomplice to what these men were doing.”

Stacy looked over at Melinda as she looked at her daughter like she had spoken the worst words. Melinda began to talk but then shut her mouth. Stacy noticed her hands were trembling, and tears streaked down her face. Her chest was heaving unevenly.

“I know. That’s why I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Stacy replied brusquely. “Where?”

“Mexico.”

Stacy looked at Chance as if she were seeing him for the first time. “I can’t let that happen, Chance. It’s time to stop running.”

Stacy removed handcuffs from her holster. Chance pulled something from his belt. He stared down at his hands for a moment then looked up, his eyes watery.

He pointed a .357 Magnum revolver at them. “I’m not going anywhere in handcuffs.”

Stacy cleared her throat. Melinda stood frozen in place, weeping quietly.

“The evidence is there. Take it and use it!” He eyed them carefully. “I want both of you to know that I did this for us— for our family. Deerfield and his cop buddies threatened to kill my entire family and me if I didn’t do what they asked. I had no way of knowing if he was bluffing me.” Chance kept the gun steadily pointed at them while he flailed a hand overhead. “The police have all of these fancy databases and weapons… I figured if Deerfield said he would do it, then he could do it.”

He looked over at his mother and pointed the gun at her. He shifted his gaze to Stacy before he spoke. “It was me that broke into the townhouse. I couldn’t take a chance that Kendall or any other dirty cops in the department would find out about the pictures. I watched you go to Neo Pro, and that’s when I knew that you had found my camera.”

Stacy made a face. “The camera in the closet. Was that planted there?”

“Yes,” he said. “I remembered the seal on the fire escape window never closed tightly, and I slipped in one afternoon and hid 281

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the camera.” He ran a hand through his greasy hair. “I thought you’d forget about it or think I had it with me. When the pictures were developed, I wanted to make sure Kendall Jackson or anyone else in that group didn’t find out about the existence of duplicates.”

Stacy let a few beats pass. She pushed off her back heel and came forward. “I’m sorry, Chance.”

He frowned. “For what?”

“For everything.”

He gazed at her, puzzled. His eyes rimmed with tears.

“All of this is my fault. I kicked you out of the loft in a moment of anger because I wasn’t strong enough to manage my thoracic condition and keep my professional and personal lives separate. I took out my frustrations on you. Had I not done that, none of this would have happened. Jamal Harris wouldn’t have kidnapped you, and there would’ve been no need to get in Deerfield’s police car. My actions, mine, sent everything spiraling out of control.”

Stacy dropped her handcuffs onto the walkway. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. But please,” she pleaded, her eyes burning. “We just got you back. Let us have a chance to be a family again.”

Chance noticed Stacy flick her gaze down to the barrel of the gun. Sensing that she would pounce, he pulled back the hammer and backpedaled.

Chance then gripped the barrel of the revolver with both hands. Melinda gasped.

“Please know that I love both of you, but that I need to go.

Don’t follow me. When I arrive where I’m going to be, I’ll reach out.”

Melinda raced up to Stacy and tugged her arm. “Stacy, please.

Do something!”

Chance still had the gun pointed at them. Stacy swallowed nervously and then looked down. “Go on, Chance, before I change my mind.”

Melinda was incredulous. “Stop him, Stacy. He’s your brother! My son! Don’t let him just go like this.”

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Stacy held up an arm, blocking Melinda from moving forward. Still looking down, she hollered. “Go. Now!” Chance lowered the gun, then he turned and sprinted into the darkness behind him. At that, Melinda broke down into sobs.

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47 Stacy tried to assuage the guilt she had for letting Chance go. Like Chance, Stacy wanted to protect her family. Despite Chance’s newly found confidence, he had always been emotionally fragile and would never be able to survive prison. The idea that Gavin Knox or anyone else in the Cuyahoga County Prosecutor’s Office would be willing to cut Chance a deal for his testimony against Jackson and the other men from Deerfield’s group was gone thanks to Stacy’s interference when Deerfield was in lock-up.

She had tried to explain those details to her mother as she drove her home. Melinda just twirled an unlit cigarette between her fingers and gripped the lighter tighter the more Stacy talked.

She remembered seeing them look a pale shade of white at one point, thanks to Melinda’s firm grip.

Her mother had stared catatonically at the windshield as they drove, her chest still heaving in and out unevenly. When Stacy pulled the Camry up to the front door of Superior Lofts, Stacy had finished her final explanation as to why she felt letting Chance go was the best option.

Melinda slowly opened the door and swung her legs out. Melinda slowly opened the door and swung her legs out. She lit the cigarette, and white plumes of smoke trailed around her.

“That decision was made for him,” she said drily. “By you. I’m his mother. I should’ve had some input.”

“Mother…”

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voice turned to ice. “I am his mother, and I wasn’t even asked what I thought.”

“Mother, a decision had to be made,” Stacy replied, pleading.

“I make those types of decisions all the time, every day. Chance helped us. He saved us. We don’t know how deep this operation is or how many cops are involved. I didn’t want him to become a target and put himself or us at any more risk.”

Melinda took another drag and exhaled. “Good night, Stacy.”

She didn’t look back and slammed the door shut. *** Austin pushed some paper across the desk. It snapped Stacy out of the memory.

“I’ve been doing some checking,” he said brightly. “I think what I came up with is good.”

Stacy rubbed her eyes. It was past midnight. She was bonetired and mentally weary, but she needed to press on. She didn’t tell Austin about meeting Chance, although she did tell Diana about the man that rushed officer Maddox and tried to get into Kendall Jackson’s room.

“Hector Corassco, Juan Martinez, and LeCharles Wayne are all serving sentences in Allred Prison, although Wayne is set to be let out next year.”

Stacy thumbed through his notes and looked up, eyeing her partner. “What about Dowdy?”

Austin reached across the desk and poked a stubby finger at his writing at the bottom of the page. “He was given probation.”

Stacy thought back to the fact that he confessed but didn’t implicate the others in what happened.

“Why just probation?”

“He admitted to pushing Jesse Williams, but there was no DNA evidence on him that he did anything to him.

“What’s he doing now?”

“According to one of the Harris County probation officers I spoke with, he’s working on an Exxon oil rig about a hundred miles off the Louisiana coast in the Gulf of Mexico. Works one month on and two months off.”

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Stacy heard a knock on the cubicle wall. Charlie Harris stood in the space between her and Austin.

“Lieutenant, I had the pictures enlarged as you requested.”

She took the large envelope from his hand. “Thanks.”

She tore open the top and pulled them out. Charlie cleared his throat and shifted his weight between his feet. Austin looked at Stacy and then over to Charlie.

“Something else we can do for you, Charlie?” he asked.

Charlie blushed. “No. I mean, I was hoping I could listen in on the discussion about the pictures.”

Stacy looked up from the photos and scowled. “That will be all, Charlie.”

He seemed embarrassed. “Okay. Yeah. Well, good night.”

Austin gave a subtle wave as Charlie left. Stacy flipped through the pictures, and as she looked at each one, a knot formed in her throat. Chance had taken several photos from a distance but close enough to show several Cleveland Police officers watching and laughing as groups of men and women swapped drugs for money.

In one picture, Brandon Deerfield had one hand bracketed over the exchange of drugs between a slovenly dressed man and a petite, well-dressed woman. With his other hand, the man was handing over money to Deerfield.

In several of the pictures, Kendall Jackson was facing away from the clusters of people, eyes narrowed and cutting in different directions. To Stacy, it looked like he was the lookout.

Stacy noticed a slender shadow huddling just on the outskirts of a few of the photos in each picture. He wore a baggy sweatshirt and faded jeans that rode down low on the hips. The face of the shadow was facing down or turned to the side, away from the camera.

“Take a look at this,” she said, looking at a few photos.

Austin collected a few of the pictures and arched an eyebrow.

“What exactly am I looking for?”

“That skinny shadow standing in the pictures doesn’t seem to be taking an active role in the exchange of money or drugs.”

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“Where did you get these?”

“A reliable source.”

Austin groaned and pulled one of the pictures closer to his face. “It looks like he just stares at the ground or away from the action.”

Stacy looked at a few more pictures of the shadow and then pushed them over to her partner. “Notice that he’s always standing near Kendall in these pictures.”

Austin scooped up the second picture and squinted. “Yeah.

They are close together. What does it all mean?”

Stacy bit down on her lip. “It’s probably nothing.”

She thought the shadow looked familiar. Then again, she’d seen dozens of kids and young adults wearing puffed-out sweatshirts and jeans. It was fashionable, and it helped them stay warm as the long winter in Cleveland dragged on through March.

The last picture in the stack revealed a stunning image. As she looked closely, Stacy pressed her fingers against her lips.

Austin set down the pictures and glared over at his partner.

“Stacy. What is it?”

Stacy turned on the green lamp on her desk and shoved the picture under the light. One of the last images that Chance took revealed the face of the man in the sweatshirt and jeans. He stared in the direction of the camera.

She stared ahead and turned off the light switch, then handed over the last picture.

Austin furrowed his brow as he took it. He seemed surprised.

“This is the best picture yet. We can see the face of the guy in the sweatshirt.”

Stacy pushed her chair back and stood up slowly.

“And it’s a face I’ve seen before.”

287

48 Exhausted, unable to focus, and with her chest burning, Stacy decided to go home and get some sleep.

When Stacy woke up the next morning, she shivered with cold. Outside her bedroom window, which overlooked downtown Cleveland, the sunlight struggled to penetrate the murky clouds. Stacy was so tired when she went to bed last night that she took off her clothes and collapsed into bed without even pulling a cover over her.

Her legs and fingers felt stiff, and her nose had begun to run.

The tips of her ears and nose were as cold as ice. Stacy walked into the narrow hallway and saw the door to the spare bedroom was cracked open. Stacy poked her head in, looking for her mother, but only saw the crumpled, wrinkled sheets of a slept-in bed.

She got into the shower. The hot water pinked her skin, and she could feel the strength in her legs and hands return. Afterward, she turned on the oxygen machine in her bedroom and inserted the cannula under her nose. The cool oxygen hissed as it pumped through the tubing, aided by the compressor in the machine beside her bed.

The loft felt unnaturally still. The only sounds Stacy heard were her own breathing and a creak beneath her feet with every step she took across the bedroom floor.

In her closet, Stacy put on a gray pantsuit with a mauve-colored shirt under the jacket. She clipped her shield onto her belt and secured her Glock and handcuffs in the small-of-the-back holster underneath her coat.

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As she traipsed downstairs, Stacy noticed her mother sitting on the couch, leaning forward with both arms folded across her lap.

“Good morning.”

Melinda leaned back but didn’t turn around. When Stacy reached the bottom of the steps, she saw a suitcase near the front door.

“Mother. What’s going on?”

Melinda slowly stood up and turned around. Stacy was startled for a moment. Her mother looked like she had aged dramatically over the last few days. Her skin was sallow, and her eyes were red-rimmed and watery. Melinda didn’t wear any makeup, making her face appear craggy and drawn.

“I’m going home, Stacy.”

“Back to Sacramento?”

Melinda gave a curt nod.

“Why?” “It’s time,” she said. “I already called for a cab. I was able to get the last seat on a nonstop flight back to Sacramento.”

Stacy sauntered over to her suitcase. Melinda cut her off before she could get there.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Melinda eyed her suspiciously. “Don’t patronize me, Stacy. It was never one of your better qualities.”

“Mother…”

Melinda held up a hand. “Chance is gone now. My son is gone, and he made it clear that he wants no communication from us in the future.” Melinda looked around the loft as if she was appraising its space and value. “And you have your life,” she added, waving a finger at her daughter. “There’s the police work and everything else. And there’s no place for me in it.”

Stacy sighed and tossed up her hands. “Mother, believe it or not, I like having you here.”

Melinda leaned forward and closer to Stacy. Stacy could smell stale cigarettes on her breath.

“Stop it, Stacy. You never were a good liar. You’ve hardly spoken to me since I arrived here a few days ago. The only time you seemed genuinely interested in me was when I could be of help 289

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in the investigation.” Melinda accentuated the last word with a dramatic effect. “Police work is your life, and you do it well, even when one of your colleagues has a knife to my throat.” Her face softened, and a crooked smile appeared. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a while. It’s the first time I’ve had a man pressed up against me like that since your dad left us when you were little.”

At that, Stacy grinned.

“Maybe I can come back and visit sometime. But being here now is not what you want or need.”

Stacy felt guilty. Her thoughts and memories of Chance and her mother often got suppressed as Stacy got more absorbed with her work. When she did think about her family, it was often sporadically and not always with concern. A tear fell from her right eye. She swiped it away with a thumb. Looking at her mother and thinking about Chance being in another country left her feeling devastated.

“Mother,” she managed to say, her voice cracked and strained.

“Please don’t go.”

Melinda glared at her daughter and folded her arms.

“I’m sorry about Chance. I really am. As I said earlier, it’s my fault. I kicked him out of the apartment because I was too stressed out over the Devon Baker murder case, and I took it out on him. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. I have to live with the fact that Chance is in Mexico because of me.”

Melinda looked away, her cheeks tear-streaked, as well.

“But I couldn’t let my decisions send Chance to prison. He got pulled into my work for no reason other than bad people wanting to get to me. And I made him a target by throwing him out on the street. He was here for me after I was dumped and left for dead in the Cuyahoga River. His presence meant so much to me, even when he drove me crazy.” Stacy paused. “That’s why I let him go, Mother. He didn’t ask for any of this, and it’s not his responsibility.”

Melinda seemed nonplussed at the explanation. “And where does that leave us?” she huffed.

“I don’t know,” Stacy answered. “We’ve been separated for too long.”

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Melinda appeared wounded at the remark. “Some of that was your choice.”

Stacy agreed. “You wanted a fresh start in a new place as far away from Cleveland as possible. And I agreed with the decision.

And now I regret it. Seeing that suitcase over there and thinking about you flying back across the country away from me is something I’m not ready to accept.”

Stacy watched as Melinda’s lip quivered, and the light in her eyes brightened.

“I’m sorry about Kendall, and I’m sorry that you had to spend an evening at police headquarters. But this is my life, and these are parts of my life that are not going away. But Mother, I need you. And I want you here.”

“Oh, Stacy.” Melinda charged her daughter and flung her arms around her neck. “I’ve wanted to hear those words for so long.”

Stacy hugged her mother tightly. “I love you, Mother.”

“And I love you.”

The embrace and sniffling between sobs lasted a few more seconds before Stacy’s cell phone vibrated.

“Speaking of my life….”

Melinda waved a dismissive hand. “Go ahead and answer it.”

Stacy swiped her finger across its face and answered.

“Stacy, where are you?” It was Austin.

“I’m still at home.” She turned back around to face her mother and smiled. Melinda had a sparkle in her eyes that Stacy had never really noticed before. “I got a bit of a late start.”

“Knox is here, and I’ve been working on those pictures. The digital investigations division is on their way upstairs.”

“Good. I’m on my way.”

“Stacy, one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“Lutheran Hospital called Diana this morning. Kendall Jackson died last night.”

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49 Stacy waited a moment before looking at the pictures again.

Austin leaned against the wall in one of the interrogation rooms used to take information from the public and question individuals with specific info connected with an ongoing investigation. Stacy felt a lump form in her throat when she realized the last person she had seen questioned in this room was Miguel Olivo.

Stacy stared at the blown-up color pictures of Hector Corassco, Brian Dowdy, Juan Martinez, and LeCharles Wayne. Gavin leaned against the wall on the other side of the room. He was dressed in tan slacks with a navy sports coat and a crisp white shirt. His freckled purple tie was crumpled under his arms, both of which were crossed over his chest. Gavin had remained silent, although she noticed his sharp blue eyes darting back and forth between Stacy and Austin as they spoke to one another.

“I got these headshots from some of the articles in the Houston Chronicle during the coverage of Jesse Williams’s murder trial. I blew them up as large as I could. Some of them ended up a little grainy.”

Stacy looked at the image on the far right of the row. It was Brian Dowdy. Stacy squinted and cupped her hand over the top of the page to shield the overhead lights from casting a white hue on his features.

Stacy studied the picture. He had light brown hair, but it was shaven close to the scalp and didn’t match the description of the hair that Maddox mentioned at the hospital. But when she looked 292

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closer, she saw the blue-green hue of his eyes. It reminded her of the color of water seen in the Caribbean. They were sharp and full of emotion. Stacy wondered at what point during Dowdy’s arrest or the trial was this picture taken.

“Those are the same eyes from the picture we looked at earlier,” Stacy announced. Austin came around the table and held up the picture. The color of the eyes matched.

“Those eyes are certainly distinct,” Austin said.

Stacy pointed to the pictures Chance had taken of the man facing the camera. “That’s the same outfit as the man I saw at the hospital. Dark and baggy.” She pointed down to his legs. “The sweatpants he wore at the hospital swelled out from his legs, just like in this photo.”

Gavin was restless behind them, and he finally spoke, his voice creeping into the conversation like it had been let out of a trapped space.

“Let us assume that the person at the hospital was Brian Dowdy. If he’s trying to stay in hiding, why would he risk being seen by Officer Maddox or anyone at the hospital?”

Stacy turned around to face him. “In several of those pictures, Brian is standing near Kendall, so perhaps they were friends and had a relationship.”

Gavin leaned forward, away from the wall, and walked over to the pictures. “Has any consideration been given that these two might be working together as a team on something else connected to the group?”

Stacy seemed confused by the question.

“It happens. I’ve prosecuted several cases where a group of thugs is working toward a common goal when a couple of them don’t like the way everything is going, so they break off from the main group to form their own alliance.”

Austin looked over at Gavin. “All possibilities are on the table, Counselor,” he huffed.

A knock on the door interrupted the questions.

Nate Fryson poked his head in. “Am I interrupting?”

Austin waved him in. “No, come in.”

Stacy folded her arms. “I hope this is good news.”

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Nate nodded curtly. “It is.” He wore a black T-shirt and brown pants with tennis shoes. The gold shield of the Cleveland Police Department was stitched onto the tee pocket. As he turned to close the door, Stacy could see the word FORENSICS emblazoned on the back.

Nate looked at Stacy with a gaze that was direct yet meek.

His small, narrow-set eyes, thin black beard, and monkish, closecropped black hair fit the appearance of someone who worked in a laboratory most of the day. A woman was standing next to him.

“This is Karen Wexley from the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation.”

Gavin raised his eyebrows. “From Columbus, Ms. Wexley?”

“That’s correct,” she said. She was small, with dark hair tinged with gray, brown eyes, an olive complexion, and a tiny pockmark on her forehead.

“Nate and I did an internship together at BCI during college.

He came to Cleveland. I never left.” She flashed a wide grin. Austin gave her a stern look in return as Gavin stared at the folder tucked under her arm.

Stacy introduced herself and conducted the introductions.

Once they had finished, Karen refocused the conversation.

“I was able to analyze the computer found in Maria Fernandez’s house.” She spoke with an accent that reminded Stacy of someone from New York, but softer and less harsh. “She had quite an active social media life,” Karen added, untucking the folder and holding it out in front of Stacy. “She did a lot of messaging with guys on a social media platform named Okay Cupid.”

Stacy shook her head. “I’m not familiar with it.”

Nate pursed his lips. “It’s like Grindr or any other hookup site where people want to meet for sex. Except this site is designed for people who want to get to know each other first before they hook up.”

Stacy blinked. Austin furrowed his brow while Gavin frowned.

“He’s right,” Karen added. “Maria had been talking to over forty different men using her profile. She made hundreds of calls using the dating app. Calls are their version of messages.”

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Stacy broke the spine of the folder and flipped through the pages. “Was her profile real, or was she catfishing other people?”

Karen and Nate exchanged a look. “No, it was hers. I printed off the conversations that she’d been having with a CleveGuy2001.”

Austin broke in. “Colton DeVito.”

Karen brightened. “Yes. They’d been talking to each other for several months when the chatting stopped about a week ago.”

Austin walked over to Stacy and peered over her shoulder.

“That’s what we thought.”

“I didn’t read the messages closely, but there is some discussion between Maria Hernandez and CleveGuy2001 about meeting in person.”

Gavin walked closer to Stacy and peered over her shoulder.

“That must be when they scheduled his visit back to Cleveland.”

Karen folded her arms and set her jaw. “There’s a lot of messages between the two, and I imagine any questions you might have about their relationship will be addressed in them.”

Austin let out a breath and took the folder from Stacy. “I’d better get on it.”

Karen held up a finger. “There’s something else, Detective Cerrera.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

She and Nate exchanged a look. “In addition to the messages between Maria and this CleveGuy2001, there are many messages with another person. Deckhand1801.”

Stacy gave the woman a hard look. “And?” “The HTML inscription behind that screen name was hard to decode. This person was skilled at hiding his personal information.” Karen pointed to the folder. “I wasn’t sure if this person was important to the case, but he had the most messages sent to Maria outside of CleveGuy.” Austin flipped through the pages until he reached the backside of the folder. When he read the name, his face paled. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them up, staring at Stacy and Gavin with dismay.

“Deckhand1801 is Brian Dowdy.”

295

50 Stacy marched off the elevator onto the first floor of police headquarters. Her heavy footfalls startled Marty, who turned around from the front desk just in time to watch her pass by.

“Has Maria Hernandez been arraigned yet?”

Gavin bent his arm and checked his watch, the silver and glass-plated face twinkling under the overhead lights. “She’s due in court in about ninety minutes.”

“We need her to contact Brian Dowdy.”

Gavin pushed the door and held it open for Stacy. He clutched an evidence bag containing Maria Fernandez’s laptop near his chest with the other hand.

“There’s no guarantee that she will.”

Stacy stopped walking and turned on her heel. Gavin kept walking for a moment but stopped in time to walk back to where Stacy had stopped. The wash of the early morning sunlight brought Gavin’s smooth skin and sharp blue eyes into focus. A sky that had merged into neon pink and peach by the rising sun framed his physique.

“That’s why I need a favor.”

Gavin eyed her suspiciously. “What type of favor?”

“A deal.”

“Excuse me?”

“I need you to offer Maria Hernandez a deal for her cooperation.”

Gavin made a face. “After what happened with you and Brandon Deerfield, I have to get that cleared with my boss.”

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Stacy looked down at the parking lot and shuffled her feet.

“Then do it. Please.”

Gavin switched the evidence bag to the other arm. “Stacy, her actions led to the attempted murder of two senior detectives within the Cleveland Police Department, not to mention bank fraud, and who in God’s name knows what else connected to the disappearance of Colton DeVito.” He looked side to side and then leaned close to her. “The Cuyahoga County Prosecutor’s Office is not going to want to go soft on her, especially in light of her charges. I want Maria remanded until trial.”

Stacy bit down on her lip for a moment. “I’m not saying that the deal has to do anything substantial to reduce the charges.

Anything that will make her think she’s helping herself by helping us will do.”

Gavin let out a long breath and looked away. “I’m not sure I have enough goodwill or clout left to pull this off.”

“Gavin, please.”

“And you think Brian Dowdy is the mastermind?”

“I do,” Stacy said, turning and walking over to her car. Gavin trailed behind her. “He was best friends with Colton. He likely knew that Colton had money and that his parents were putting money into his account regularly. Brian refused to implicate Colton in the murder of Jesse Williams. But that doesn’t mean that Brian was fine with what happened. Revenge and anger can simmer for a long time.”

She opened the door to the Camry and turned around to face Gavin. “Dowdy works off the coast on an oil rig for Exxon.

It gives him the perfect cover. Austin is checking on his whereabouts.”

Gavin cocked his head to the side. “But, Stacy, these murders connected to Colton DeVito are the trademark work of a serial killer.”

Stacy leaned into the gap in the open door and folded her arms. “And we both know that serial killers are like bees. Serial killers commit crimes close enough to home, but far enough away that neighbors don’t get suspicious. Bees collect their pollen close to the hive, but far enough away that predators can’t find it.”

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Gavin shook his head. “I’m not following.”

“If Brian Dowdy is the killer, and he knows where Colton is, then Maria Fernandez and anyone else involved don’t know what’s going on other than they are stealing money from Colton’s bank account. They can’t connect him to anything else. And even if Maria knows that Brian kidnapped or killed Colton, she doesn’t seem to know anything about Miguel Olivo’s death or the death of George and Monica DeVito. All of that happened close to home for Colton, but far enough away that nobody else can follow the connections.”

Gavin rubbed his chin. “That’s one hell of a theory, and if it’s right, it is also pretty sick.”

“I agree.” Stacy folded herself into the driver’s seat and then leaned out. “Please see what you can do. And meet me at the county jail. I won’t go inside without you. Promise.”

“Fine,” Gavin said dejectedly. “What’s the plan?”

“Convince Maria to lure Brian Dowdy out of hiding with a final call.”

298

51 Maria Hernandez slumped forward in her chair, resignation settling on her features.

Her dark hair was greasy, and she had bloodshot eyes. Her lips quivered as she swung a look at Stacy and then at Gavin.

Stacy thought the girl had aged ten years since she’d been taken into custody.

Maria shook her head. “Why should I help you?”

Stacy sat down in the chair opposite the metal table in the interrogation room at the county jail. This room was down the hall from where she visited when Brandon Deerfield was alive.

This time, Stacy had more confidence and the support of the Cuyahoga County Prosecutor’s Office.

“Look at me, Maria.” She resisted. “I’m not playing games.

Look at me!”

Maria slowly raised her head. The dark hues of her eyes pulsed with fear. “What?”

“We know everything.” Maria blinked.

“We examined the laptop,” Gavin said, pulling it out of a paper bag. Maria’s eyes grew wide with terror as she studied it from across the room. “Our technicians were able to download all of the conversations that you and Colton DeVito had. We were also able to decode the conversations with Deckhand1801, who we know is Brian Dowdy.”

Stacy leaned closer as Maria looked away. “Brian Dowdy was arrested as part of the group that killed Jesse Williams in Houston. I’m sure he told you about that. Brian was the only one not 299

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to do any jail time, but we think he wanted his revenge on Colton in another way.”

Maria squirmed in her seat. “Fine. He and I did talk some on OkCupid.”

“Over fifteen hundred messages between both accounts,” Gavin added. “That’s more than some. Detective Cerrera is going through the messages now, and he’s going to highlight every piece of information that suggests you and Brian conspired to bring Colton back to Cleveland.”

Stacy stuck her index finger into the side of Maria’s cheek and pushed her head to the side until their eyes locked. Maria made a face. Stacy narrowed her eyes.

“I think the original plan was extortion. Take Colton’s money and toy with him emotionally. But then Brian took it to a whole different level. I think he was the one that grabbed you from behind the night that Ruben and Malik nearly killed my partner and me.”

Maria looked back at Gavin with a pleading look. Tears rimmed her eyes.

“I think Brian’s plan was more than just revenge, but he had you and Will Akers and the rest of the crew to steal his money.”

Maria seemed to shrink as Stacy spoke. The dank, bland room closed in around them as she spoke.

“But Maria, Brian is dangerous. He’s a serial killer.” Maria’s eyebrows met her hairline.

“He likely killed a young mother, Colton’s parents, and a taxi driver. All in cold blood. He even tried to kill you. He’s dangerous. We need to get him and find Colton. And make no mistake, we will do it with or without your cooperation.”

Gavin stepped over and put the laptop down on the table.

“Maria, this is serious. Some serious charges are pending against you. If Brian Dowdy has made promises, they aren’t going to happen. It’s time to think about yourself. My office is willing to consider some lesser charges for your cooperation.”

He slipped a finger into the computer’s small black crease and lifted, separating the monitor from the keyboard.

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“Make a final call to him,” Stacy said, her voice flat and serious. “Tell him to meet you at Fairview Park.”

Maria wiped away a tear with the back of her handcuffed hand. “What do I say?”

Stacy wrapped her fingers around Maria’s wrist and squeezed tightly. “I don’t care, and it doesn’t matter. Tell him anything that will get him to come. But tell him to meet you at Fairview Park.

In the woods next to your house. Tell him it’s to avoid being seen by anyone during the day. He’s got to be there in two hours.”

Maria stared at Stacy, unsure. “Just do it,” Stacy demanded.

Gavin leaned on the edge of the table on two hands, his lips stretched into a tight line, his eyes as hard as blue granite.

“Lieutenant Tavitt is right. Tell him whatever it takes to get him to show up.”

“Will I be there?” Maria’s voice trembled, and her fingers pulled out of Stacy’s grip.

“No, but we will be,” Stacy snapped back. “Hopefully, the judge denies you bail and remands you until trial.”

Maria blinked and turned her head away. Gavin pushed the power button on the computer. “All charged up and ready to go.

Get to it.”

As Maria leaned over the keyboard, a grim-faced guard with round shoulders and a flat jaw re-entered the room. Stacy didn’t remember him leaving the first time.

“Mr. Knox, there’s a call for you at the main desk.”

Gavin raised his eyebrows and looked at Stacy with a plaintive look.

“I’ll be fine,” she said before he could ask.

“I’ll be right back.”

Stacy watched as Maria typed using the keyboard, the keys clacking in rhythm as the chains from her handcuffs grated against the table. After a few beats passed, she looked up.

“There,” Maria pronounced with finality. “It’s done.”

“What did it say?” Maria shot Stacy a look. “We’ll check it anyway, so tell me.”

She sighed, filling her cheeks with air. “I told him that something is wrong with Colton’s bank account and that we aren’t able 301

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to get any more money out. He’s freaked out. He’s always freaked out about the money. He said he’d meet me.” Maria looked up at Stacy, anger fresh in her features. “That will get him to come.

Now, leave me alone.” Her voice grew quiet. “I never want to see you again.”

Stacy smirked. “Good girl.”

“I’ll be at every trial for every suspect charged in this case, and I can’t wait to testify on behalf of the state against you.” Stacy bent over until her forehead rested against Maria’s. “When it comes to your trial, when I tell them that Ruben and Maurice tried to kill me and that you knew about it….” Her voice trailed away. Stacy didn’t want to push too hard now. Fear was a powerful emotion that only grew larger in the unknowns.

The door opened behind her. “All done here?” Gavin asked blithely.

Stacy had closed the screen to the laptop and slid it back inside the evidence bag. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Can we talk for a minute—outside?”

Stacy nodded her head to the guard. “We’re done here.” He took two long strides around the table and lifted Maria from the seat by her arm. Stacy watched Gavin leave the room first, and she closed the steel door behind them.

Gavin marched down the narrow corridor until the hallway widened at the end, near the front desk.

“The police searched Kendall Jackson’s home.”

Stacy slowly turned her head to the side. “I don’t understand.

He’s dead. Why are they searching his home?”

“Diana had been looking at the pictures of Deerfield and Jackson working their neighborhoods. She wanted to see if there was any more evidence connecting Kendall to the rest of Brandon Deerfield’s crew other than being in the same place with them.”

Stacy folded her arms around her chest.

“His wife was less than cooperative, but they found insulin tablets in a small locked safe under some floorboards in the bedroom.”

Stacy felt a large lump lodge in her throat. “He made sure Deerfield got the tablets.”

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“It’s likely. Kendall would’ve been able to get inside of the jail as well as have access to Deerfield’s information.”

Stacy felt some burning and pain blooming in the center of her chest, rippling outward. “But why kill Deerfield? He was the guy that included Jackson in on the racketeering scheme.”

Gavin shrugged. “No honor among thieves. Maybe Deerfield promised him payment or something else that he then reneged on.”

Stacy’s lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes softened.

“Gavin, Kendall was going to be a father. He was so excited about it.” She paused for a moment, trying to push back the wet pinpricks, which pushed into the back of her eyes. “I just don’t understand.”

Stacy thought back to Deerfield’s time and how conniving and coy he’d been with her, especially when she asked him questions about Chance. She also remembered him with that explosive device in his hand at the safehouse and how he would have blown up the entire house and killed everyone inside rather than be arrested. Deerfield didn’t care about sacrificing others to get what he wanted, but Deerfield’s group had remained loyal to him, putting their careers and lives at risk in the drugs-for-protection racket. That required a great deal of persuasion on his part.

Gavin searched Stacy’s face as she thought back to Deerfield, the pictures, Kendall Jackson, and now the fact that both were dead. She thought of the others in the group, especially the front men for the scheme, and what Chance had told her about Deerfield and his penchant for threats. Then something hit her mind like a sharp needle. Nothing Deerfield did with the scheme or the safehouse could be accomplished alone. Like Chance, and probably Kendall, he had to seek out help from others to accomplish anything frequently. Stacy thought back to the last time she saw Kendall alive and when she saw him unconscious in the hospital.

“All of this still doesn’t explain what Dowdy was doing in the hospital. Why he came back twice to see Jackson.”

Gavin made a face. “Kendall was someone Deerfield asked to help him with protecting the drug dealers. It added legitimacy to the operation. Kendall did it. But something happened, and Kendall decided to rub out the head of the operation.”

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Stacy bobbed her head. “That decision wasn’t made alone.

Kendall couldn’t have decided on his own because it would risk the whole operation being compromised if a less experienced cop took over. Jackson has only been on the force for three years.

He doesn’t know the culture and the bureaucracy like Deerfield.”

Gavin pursed his lips. “Maybe someone else decided to wipe out Deerfield. And they used Jackson to do it.”

Stacy put her hand on Gavin’s hand, her eyes wide with revelation. “We need to get back to headquarters. Brian Dowdy is the key to everything.”

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52 Stacy knew what she was asking and didn’t like it.

With Diana’s permission, Stacy had received approval to authorize a tactical team to be in position around Fairview Park.

The risks of such an operation in broad daylight were immense.

Not only could spectators and people engaged in daily activities cross the paths of law enforcement preparing to engage, but also, a desperate criminal with nothing to lose would often look to innocent bystanders as pawns to gain an advantage over police.

They knew the law would do everything possible to protect an innocent from becoming a victim.

Stacy also knew that serial killers and narcissists would hang themselves if given enough rope. Stacy hoped Maria had provided Brian Dowdy with just enough.

The midmorning weather in Fairview Park resembled a portrait painting. The morning was one of the most beautiful mornings Stacy had witnessed during the entire month of April, and it was certainly the loveliest morning since she and Austin had discovered Brooke Crawford’s mutilated body earlier in the week.

Beneath her feet, the dew-drenched grass sat under a golden skyline that shaded the forested part of the park in darkness. A cool breeze followed behind the wooded area, and Stacy wished she had a sweater on. The sky was morphed from a deep purple at dawn to a light blue by day. The sun had changed from a small pink marble into something that was a molten yellow, the color of butter.

Stacy taped the wire to the side of her bra and buttoned up the shirt around it. Austin came over and helped her fasten the Kevlar vest around her waist and snap the buckles shut. Tech305

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nology had made wearing a wire for recording purposes sleek and unnoticeable. Instead of wearing a bulky and cumbersome transmitter box under her clothes, the wire would carry the conversation back to a recording console inside a van where the information could be heard and transcribed. If Stacy got into a conversation with Brian, she wanted to make sure all the information was recorded and preserved.

Austin walked around Stacy, his face hard and features set.

“The Tactical Unit will stay out of sight until we say go, and not before.”

Stacy nodded quickly and tapped her Glock, resting in its holster on the side of her belt. “I want him taken alive, Austin.

He’s our only hope in finding Colton.”

Austin’s eyes stayed on Stacy’s face until he averted them to the wooded park behind them, rocking on the balls of his feet and clearing his throat.

“I know.” He sighed and cupped a hand on her shoulder. “I just want you to be careful.”

Stacy felt emotionally and physically heavier than she had in months. “I know the last time we came here….”

“Don’t think about that,” Austin said. “We were fine then, and we will be fine now.” His voice was bright, but Stacy could sense the frailty in the depths of the words.

“And Gavin will be listening on the other end. So just get him to say what we need and then get out of there.”

Stacy’s eyes slid toward the ground and the few inches of space between them as she bobbed her head. “All right. Is Josie ready?”

Josie Clark was a patrol officer stationed out of headquarters who fit the physical build of Maria Fernandez. She came to Stacy at Diana’s recommendation. Josie was interested in doing some undercover work for the department, and Diana would use this moment to see how serious Josie was about the position.

Austin looked over his shoulder. His blue shirt and striped tie strained to stay unwrinkled under the pressure of the vest tied around him. “Josie’s ready and in position. As soon as you approach Brian, we’ll get her out of here.”

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Austin had Stacy recite some words to test the volume of the mic and earpiece. His earpiece was tucked inside the curved area of his ear, just near the ear canal. “Coming in loud and clear.”

He saw Stacy flex, a look of tenseness in her shoulders as she scrunched her face. “He’s likely here, Stacy. I checked with human resources at Exxon, and they verified that Brian Dowdy requested three weeks of personal leave.”

Stacy checked her watch. Fifteen minutes until Brian Dowdy was supposed to show up—if he did show up.

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53 Stacy found an old tree near the east side of the park.

The base of the trunk was broad enough that she was able to stand behind it. Stacy dropped her chin to the vest base and asked Austin if anyone surrounding the park, including the team’s tactical snipers, could see her. Austin replied with a firm no to her question.

These next few tense minutes drove Stacy crazy. A mild panic overcame her. It would grow or fade depending on if Brian Dowdy showed up and what he might do when he did. Stacy twisted the earpiece in her ear, making sure that it didn’t fail to communicate a message from Austin or one of the tactical team’s men. Her stomach shifted uneasily. Stacy couldn’t decide what to do with her hands, so she clasped and unclasped them as if she needed to feel them to be reassured.

“There’s a car approaching,” Austin said, his voice flat and robotic through the earpiece. “It’s pulling in behind Maria’s house.

Standby.”

That was a problem. Stacy had assumed that Brian would park his car in a different location away from Maria’s house. If Stacy’s theory were right, that he was the killer that had murdered Brooke Crawford as well as George and Monica DeVito and Miguel Olivo, then he wouldn’t want to draw suspicion from “Maria” or anyone else. Josie planned to come down the porch’s front steps and walk toward the park’s wooded area, allowing Stacy a chance to approach Brian from behind.

Now, everything would have to change. “Austin, get Josie off that front porch and into the yard,” she commanded, biting off the ends of each word as she spoke.

Some static came over the line. “Got it.”

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Stacy felt a surge of panic overwhelm her as the potential for her plans to fall apart heightened. “Get her walking across the field and toward me. If Brian sees that she’s not Maria, we’re done.”

“I’m on it,” Austin replied, slightly annoyed.

Stacy felt her breathing become rapid and shallow. A pulse was pounding in her temples. Not now, she said to herself, thinking about having another thoracic outlet incident.

Stacy closed her eyes and held her breath. She counted to five and slowly released. Then, she did it again, only this time she counted to seven when inhaling. Stacy whipped her head around the tree trunk for an instant. Through a partially squinted eye, she saw the lithe and lean frame of Josie, wearing a long trench coat with a hoodie, scampering off the porch and heading toward her.

Stacy let out another long breath. Her breathing exercises had avoided the debilitating pain and searing burning that would overtake her breathing and lungs. Still, she had to be careful and not let this episode become a full-blown attack.

Austin’s voice through the speaker in the earpiece, “He’s not stopping at the back door. He’s coming around the house.”

A pause. Stacy looked around the trunk again. Austin and the Tactical Unit were nowhere in sight. Only two of the neighbors were home, and the team had managed to get them to leave.

The rest of the streets surrounding the block had been sealed off.

The perimeter had been established and secured. Fairview Park was quiet except for the presence of three people.

The tactical team had decided to monitor from the other side of the park, inside an abandoned trailer that had belonged to a contractor doing some culvert work for the city. Stacy could barely make out the outline of the trailer from her position. Still, Austin benefited from using P-series binoculars, which made everything happening at a distance seem like taking place up-close.

Josie kept walking faster. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a baseball cap pulled low around her ears, and it hid most of her face, except for her sharp, pointed nose, which resembled Maria’s nose.

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Austin and Stacy had not told Josie where to walk to specifically. The plan was for Brian to approach her, not chase her away from the house.

Suddenly, the plan changed again. Josie slowed her walk and turned around for a moment, looking back to see Brian gaining on her.

“What the fuck is she doing?” Austin called out over the feed.

“I don’t know,” Stacy said with a hiss, “but she’s risking being seen.”

“It’s too late,” Austin called back. “He’s got a gun, Stacy.”

Stacy reached down and dislodged her Glock from the holster. As she moved around the tree, a shot rang out.

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54 Josie didn’t scream, but the sound of the bang coming from the gun and the echo of it under the tree cover made her stumble.

“I’m going to engage. If he takes another shot at her….”

“Okay.” She heard Austin’s voice grow faint over the earpiece.

“Everyone standby.”

Stacy fled her position behind the tree and moved behind another tree about 10 yards from her position. She looked over and locked eyes with Josie, who managed to pull herself up from the ground. Josie’s eyes did a quick scan of the scene. Stacy quickly thumbed at the tree behind her. Josie saw the signal, and she nodded at Stacy.

Stacy would take advantage of her movement. As Josie ran, Stacy sprang out from behind the tree and knelt behind another tree. Josie knifed in behind the gigantic tree, and Stacy held her breath, waiting for another gunshot.

Instead, all she heard was the heavy panting of a man running deeper into the woods. His footfalls grew slower and heavier.

“Maria!” he called out, with the breathy earnestness of someone trying to find out what had happened to the person he was supposed to meet.

Stacy didn’t have time to communicate with Austin or wait for them to arrive. She removed the safety from the trigger and emerged from behind the tree.

“Stop. Cleveland Police!” She lifted her arm straight out and pointed the Glock at the man. “Don’t take another step!”

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as he gritted his teeth. He stopped moving for a moment but then took another step.

“I said, don’t move!” Stacy held the Glock 22 steady. She loved the gun for situations like this because it hit hard, and the bullets moved straight. Brian Dowdy would find out how straight the shots traveled if he took another step.

“Hands on top of your head and turn around now, Brian Dowdy.”

In moving his hands to the top of his head, his wrist knocked off the hood connected to the dark black sweatshirt he was wearing. His physique matched the one Stacy had seen at the hospital and was described to her by Officer Maddox. Brian had bushy brown hair, and he was short and slightly heavier than he looked in the newspaper photos, although the dark jeans he wore made him seem thinner.

He slowly settled his gaze on Stacy. That was when she knew the man was Brian; his turquoise blue eyes glimmered under the slanted sunlight slicing through the canopy of trees overhead. It gave his eyes a twinkle as he blinked.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said in a tone that resembled a threat more than a statement.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. Turn around and get on your knees.”

Brian had managed to lock his hands together on top of his head, and he widened his stance. Stacy’s arm jerked at the movement, generating a sly grin from Brian.

“Where’s Maria, Lieutenant Tavitt?”

The fact that Brian knew her name caught Stacy off-guard for a moment, but she recovered quickly. “She’s in jail, and that’s where you’ll be soon.”

Brian slowly spun around until his back faced Stacy. She noticed a flash at the corner of her right eye. Josie had emerged from behind the tree with her weapon drawn, her trench coated loosened, and her ball cap removed. Josie’s dark blue police uniform could be seen inside the coat, which billowed outward from her as a calm breeze moved through the park.

“Just in case he tries anything,” Josie said, steadying her weapon on Brian.

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“This isn’t fair,” he scoffed. “Two against one.”

“It wasn’t fair what happened to Colton DeVito either,” Stacy said, taking a step closer. She wanted to get some information out of Brian before handcuffing him, but she had to maintain control of the situation.

“Colton got exactly what he deserved,” Brian said in a sinister tone that made Stacy’s skin crawl. “After what he did to Jesse.

And to us.”

Josie scowled and looked over at Stacy. She was trying to follow the details of a story she knew nothing about.

“After what all of you did to Jesse,” Stacy reminded him. She took another step toward Brian and then stopped. “He was ambushed and beaten by a bunch of cowards.”

Stacy watched Brian straighten and square his shoulders at the statement. Stacy tried to push him. “He has a son. A little boy.”

Brian cackled. “Maybe. Or it could be Colton’s. Who knows?”

Stacy lowered her weapon slightly. “Where is Colton?” A beat passed with no answer. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Josie took another small step closer and held her gun tightly in her hand.

“It doesn’t matter because I took everything from him just like he took everything from me.”

Stacy paused a moment. Her mind recalled the details of the trial transcripts. Brian didn’t testify or make any public statements inside the courtroom during the trial. So what did he mean—or was he just teasing Stacy?

“What did he take? You didn’t testify during the trial, and you were the only person that didn’t get a jail sentence.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t lose anything,” he snapped back, with a hitch in his voice. Stacy looked over and motioned for Josie to step closer. Wisps of sweaty hair dislodged from Josie’s ponytail as she moved.

“Get down on your knees,” Stacy said, her voice calm and resolute. “Keep both hands on your head.”

Brian hesitated but complied. Stacy moved around him as Josie stepped closer from the right.

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When Stacy came around, she found Brian wobbling a bit in his kneeled position. He pulled his eyebrows together, and wideopen, glaring eyes stared straight ahead.

“What did you lose?”

His lips tightly closed with the red margins of them becoming more narrow and thinner.

“I asked a question.”

“I lost Jesse.”

Stacy blinked, lowering her weapon to her side. She hoped that Austin and Gavin could hear everything he was saying.

“I knew Colton better than anyone. He and I spent more time together in Houston doing repair work on gas lines and electric poles. Gave us lots of time to talk.”

Stacy watched as he lowered his eyes. “Colton liked to talk himself up. He bragged about his money and the fact that his parents took care of him. He claimed the job with AEP was just something that he did for fun so he could see the country.”

She knew that was a lie, but she let him keep talking. Psychopaths love to hear themselves talk. Stacy would use that to her advantage.

“I liked him, but he could be an arrogant fuck sometimes,” he said, spitting out those last words. “Everything had to be his way.

I met Jesse and Colton one night at a bar in Houston. We were going to snort some oxycontin and other pills Colton had managed to get from a doctor for pain. Jesse and I hit it off well. We hung out a lot together and did things together without Colton.

He didn’t like the fact that Jesse and I became close, and so he always did things to get under Jesse’s skin.”

Stacy crouched down in front of Brian. She could feel the heat coming from his skin and hear his heavy breathing. “Why?” His upper eyelids rose in a stare. “Because he could. Because Colton had made friends all over Houston. Guys with lots of money and lots of drugs and lots of influence. We were all scared to cross him.”

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psychopath description didn’t exactly sound like the person she understood either.

Stacy grew impatient. “What did he take from you?”

In an instant, the anger from his features waned. A sadness settled on his features. For a moment, Brian smiled a slight, asymmetric smile, but an expression of sorrow became a frown, the crinkles in his eyes sharp and defined.

“He took Jesse. That’s what I lost.” His voice was heavy, his words slow and thick.

“He was beaten. I know…”

“I loved him!” Brian shouted, and Josie flinched. Spittle coated his lips and dripped down his chin. The anger was back as the muscles in his face tightened, and those unique blue eyes grew hard and sharp. He leveled a heavy gaze at Stacy.

“I grew up in foster care and bounced from place to place. I never loved anyone or anything until Jesse came along. I loved Jesse. And he loved me. I think Colton knew that, but he didn’t care. Jesse wanted to have a larger part in what Colton was doing, and Colton didn’t like it. He didn’t like the fact that we loved each other.”

Stacy bit the inside of her lip. She remembered reading from the trial transcripts where Juan Martinez stated that the men left RIPCORD, a local gay bar in Houston, the night Jesse Williams was attacked.

Stacy’s moment of sadness was replaced with anger. “The mother of Jesse’s child was brutally murdered. That baby is going to grow up without his parents.”

Brian spat on the ground. Stacy flinched at the gesture. “The baby is Colton’s and not Jesse’s. Jesse had a DNA test, and he showed me the results. The baby wasn’t his. I made sure that Colton would never get to be a father.”

Stacy let the comment hang in the air for a moment. “So, you killed Brooke Crawford?”

“Not at first. I tried to convince her that Colton would be a terrible father for her and the baby and explained to her all of the terrible things he’d been doing, but she said that we needed to tell him the truth….” The sentence trailed away.

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“We got into a fight, and it went too far. I didn’t expect Colton to be there that night, so I handled him.”

Stacy looked down at Brian’s hands—thin, spindly fingers stained a light brown color. She removed the Maglite from her belt and shined it at his fingertips.

At first, Brian flinched, trying to blink away the bright light, but then he looked down and snapped his gaze back up at Stacy.

He tucked in his teeth and folded his lips over them.

“No blood from me at the Crawford house. I was careful.”

“But oil,” she said, standing up over him. Stacy gripped the handle of her gun tighter. Josie took another step closer. “The medical examiner found dark specks and smudges on the fingers of Miguel Olivo and Brooke Crawford. I imagine traces would be on George and Monica DeVito as well, but you burned them to death.”

“Oil stains are part of the job when working on an oil rig,” Brian smirked and nodded. “Impressed by my work? I’m a welder, Ms. Tavitt. I know how to cut heavy things with sharp tools, and I know how fossil fuels and gas work.” His face grew pensive.

“I had to figure out how to do it all. I wanted to make sure that nobody could say anything.”

Stacy opened her mouth to speak, but Brian cut her off.

“I know the next question will be, ‘How did I do it?’” He mockingly winked at Stacy. Josie sighed.

“That big dope Kendall was a big help.”

Stacy felt her tongue get thick and dry in her mouth. “Kendall?”

“I came to Cleveland to finally meet Maria and learn more about Colton’s life. I wanted to fuck him over! When I went looking for drugs, imagine my surprise when I found out Kendall and some of your cop buddies were protecting the dealers and users.

I know that Chance caught me and Kendall together.”

“Come on, Lieutenant! I know that Chance took pictures of our little group and probably caught me and Kendall together.”

Stacy grimaced. Shit.

Austin’s concerned voice came over the earpiece. “What’s he talking about, Stacy?”

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She blinked and ignored the question.

“When I transferred to Exxon, I had a lot of time to sit on the deck of a rig in the Gulf of Mexico, thinking about how I wanted to take everything away from Colton. When I got some ideas, I asked Kendall how a body could be dismembered… hypothetically, of course. Killing Colton’s mommy and old man was easy. Cutting a gas line was much easier than cutting through bone, although his dad put up a good fight. Kendall taught me everything I know about police work.” He raised his eyebrows.

“But I know nothing about that one cop that was in charge of the group. He and Kendall fought a lot. Kendall said he’d get him back somehow, but I had nothing to do with that.” He smirked.

“I’m not a complete monster.”

Stacy felt her face fill with blood. Cutting a sharp look at Josie, she noticed her face flush as well.

“Kendall was such a fucking blowhard,” Brian said, the hard edge returning to his words. He spat on the ground in front of Stacy. “Cops think they’re above everyone and everything. They have the same demons as the rest of us.”

“Where. Is. Colton?” Stacy sneered.

“He’s alive, but probably not for much longer. I set it up so he’ll suffer as much physically as I have emotionally from losing Jesse.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” Josie intoned, drawing out the words.

“I’ve heard enough.”

Stacy stepped toward Brian and stood him up. Josie lowered her weapon as Stacy brought Brian’s arms around his back and began to cuff them. He looked to the side and noticed her earpiece.

“Make sure that everything I said gets recorded,” he remarked snidely. “I want to make sure I’m not misquoted.”

Stacy felt her body rush with the conflicting urges of anger and sadness. Brian Dowdy was the worst kind of human and killer, and she wanted nothing more than to slam his face into the ground.

Josie came over to Stacy, and Stacy said, “Finish cuffing him while I search him.”

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Stacy reached down and patted the inside of his right leg. As her hand slid upward to the pocket on the jeans, she felt something square and dense inside the pocket. She patted the area once and felt Brian’s leg quiver at the touch. At that moment, smoke began curling out of the pocket.

When Stacy looked up, Josie made a face and leaned back away from Brian—coughing. By the time Stacy looked down at the pocket, the tendrils of smoke had spewed from it.

Stacy felt herself gag as she struggled to breathe. She collapsed back, clutching her throat.

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55 Austin’s voice was frantic as it came through the earpiece.

“Stacy. Talk to me, Stacy. What’s going on?”

Stacy felt every muscle in her chest burn and ache. The blinding pain made spotted circles impact her vision as the figure of Brian Dowdy blurred into a shadow she couldn’t recognize.

“Fuck it,” Austin said. “Let’s move. Now!” Stacy rolled to the side, hacking and wheezing. As she turned back over, Brian swung around and pushed Josie back. Josie stumbled and dropped her gun. He bent down with one uncuffed hand and grabbed the gun, pointing it at the young officer and firing.

Bang!

Josie’s body disappeared under the park trees. Stacy tried to scream, but her voice wouldn’t respond. Her face felt hot, and the muscles in her neck had tightened.

Brian stalked over to Stacy and stood over top of her. “Sorry.

I’ve got gas,” he cackled. “Hydrogen sulfide, to be exact.” Sweat and saliva ran down his lips and onto his sweatshirt.

His entire face was sweat-smeared. Stacy gazed up into his eyes, wheezing, gasping, and clawing at her throat. Nothing inside her chest felt like it was working. The muscles seized and hard. Stacy panted like a dog, trying to get air to her lungs.

She looked down and noticed that Brian had straddled her legs. Her mind was paralyzed with fear, and her brain tried to use its synapses to determine why the oxygen wasn’t getting to where it was needed.

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At that moment, everything around Stacy turned into a haze that blurred the sounds and images around them. Instead, her eyes focused on the man who stood over her with Josie’s gun pointed down at her face. In the distance, Stacy could hear sirens and felt the heavy steps of feet vibrating against the grass.

Stacy peered up into the chamber hole at the end of the nozzle. He spat on Stacy again and turned around, his head whipping around the park, looking for a place to escape.

She made her move. Before Brian could refocus on her, Stacy managed to take her right foot and lodge the toe of her boot into the bend of his leg. The kick’s force, coupled with the fact that Brian had most of his weight shifted to the other leg, caused him to fall to one knee. Stacy reached up and slammed the heel of her palm into the soft space under the bridge of his nose. The bones cracked and buckled as blood spurted from his nostrils.

Brian wailed and dropped the gun, covering his bleeding nose with both hands. Stacy took the toe of her boot and drove it into Brian’s crotch, knocking him backward.

“Stupid bitch,” he cried out.

Still coughing and wheezing but able to think more clearly, Stacy stumbled to her feet. She found her gun and picked it up.

Brian locked eyes with her for a moment, then pushed himself off the ground and lunged for Stacy. She sidestepped his charge, and he fell onto his stomach.

Brian flailed on the ground for a moment like a displaced fish. Stacy coughed heavily before taking in a deep breath. Twisting in the air was the loose handcuff that had not been connected to Brian’s right wrist.

“Stacy,” someone called out from behind. It sounded like Austin, but her senses were on overdrive, and her body was still reeling from the gas fumes.

Stacy snagged the swaying handcuff and pulled. Brian snarled as she pulled back. He pushed himself up with a freed hand and managed to turn sideways. Stacy took the barrel of her Glock and slammed it against the side of his face.

“Sit still,” she breathlessly said. Stacy spat on the ground next to her, spittle and sweat denting her lips and tongue. She slapped 320

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the second mental cuff around his other wrist, clamping it tight against his skin.

“You’re under arrest, you son of a bitch.”

Brian moaned inaudibly as Austin approached. His weapon was drawn with the Tactical Unit members flanking him on each side. He holstered his weapon and reached down to lift Stacy, pulling her into a tight embrace. The gesture startled Stacy for a moment as Austin was not the type to show physical emotion.

“Jesus Christ.” He panted. “I thought he’d shot you.”

Stacy pulled away and pushed some wisps of hair away from her face. “Check on Josie. Brian shot her.”

Austin made a gesture for the men to head in that direction, and he pressed his earpiece into his ear with two fingers, then pulled out his cell phone. “We need a bus now,” he barked into the phone at dispatch. “Fairview Park. Officer down.”

He hung up the phone and approached the disheveled clump on the ground, moaning and turning his head from side to side.

“We heard everything.”

Stacy nodded in affirmation. “Good.”

“Everything,” Austin repeated, arching an eyebrow at Stacy.

Stacy knew he meant Chance and his role as the photographer of those photos.

Austin lifted Brian by the bend in his arms and stood him upright. His face was bruised and bloody, the mottled skin changing into dark shades of violet and black. His nose was swollen, the tip smashed inward near the top of his lip.

“Let’s get this piece of shit out of here,” Austin said, looking back to two of the tactical officers that approached casually from behind.

Stacy pointed at him. The officers’ eyes followed the end of her finger. “Be careful. He has some type of cartridge in his pants that is emitting hydrogen sulfide.” The men looked at each other and pulled out their plastic facemasks as they held up the bruised and woozy suspect with two hands under his armpits.

“Take him to the trailer and get a patrol car ready to take him downtown. Don’t leave him alone for a second.”

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Stacy watched Austin turn around, but she didn’t meet his gaze. She’d tucked her teeth inside of her lip. The breathing struggles she had from earlier had waned, but her lungs felt like they were on fire. Stacy felt lightheaded as she looked down at the ground, staring at the bald spaces devoid of grass where she had tumbled with Brian earlier. Imprints of their bodies resided on some of the wet ground surrounding the flattened grass.

“This isn’t over yet,” Stacy said quietly.

Austin made a face. “What?” He settled a look at Stacy, and his eyes widened with surprise. “What is it? I know that look….”

“Colton is alive.”

“Stacy…”

She closed the small distance between them and looked up at her partner.

“Brian Dowdy had no problem bragging about everyone else he killed that was close to Colton, but he said Colton was alive.”

Austin sighed. “He didn’t exactly say Colton was going to be alive for long. He might have killed the kid already.”

For a fraction of a second, Stacy felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. Her brows were creased and her face tense. Austin studied her for a moment and frowned.

Both tracks of Stacy’s thinking were moving backward and forward against one another. One track had her thinking back to everything that had occurred in the investigation until today, including everything she knew and had discussed with others.

These thoughts centered on what she had done right and what she had missed. The second track of thinking was focused on the present and what she knew and understood after listening to Brian Dowdy. When these tracks of thought converged, Stacy knew she could take a chance.

“Stacy?”

She lifted her eyelids and locked her gaze on him. “Sorry.”

“I think you went away for a bit.”

“Yeah,” she said, her body suddenly recoiling from the decreased rush of adrenaline and fatigue. “I think I know where Colton DeVito is.” Stacy grabbed Austin by the arm. “We need to hurry.”

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56 The sun broke through the cracks of the mostly naked canopy of trees, splashing light on the dirt path below.

Austin pushed ahead, deeper into tree cover. His heavy steps cracked the twigs and small branches under his feet. Stacy looked over to see him clutching his fists as they moved farther into the woods.

“I have no idea how far the old maintenance shed is back here,” Austin said, “but we’re a good distance away from Maria’s house.”

Even though the bright sunlight cast slanted rays of warmth on them, Stacy felt cold inside. She felt tired and needed rest, but there was no time to waste.

“I’m sure of this,” Stacy said. A pang in her gut convinced her that the hunch was right. “When Maria turned herself in at the police station, she claimed to be hiding out near this shed. If she were so concerned that someone connected to Brian was coming after her, why would she hide out here all night? Maria should’ve fled the scene at the first opportunity.”

Austin flexed his fist. “Especially if she thought Malik and Ruben had killed us.”

“Exactly. And why did Brian Dowdy approach the park from the back of the house? He had to know we’d be watching the front of the house and the park. He tried to slip into the park from the space beside the house.”

Austin looked over at Stacy and furrowed his brow. “Which means?”

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“I think he came to check on Colton first. Make sure he was still alive.” Stacy locked eyes with her partner. “I know it’s a stretch, but we have to try. I told Monica I would find her son.”

The words trailed away into the open space in front of them.

A clearing in the woods appeared ahead. In the middle of it stood a gable shed with a gently sloped roof that peaked with a ridge on top, although the roof sagged in the middle as if someone had sat on it. All of the four windows were encased in glass, but it was wavy and yellowed by time.

Stacy unholstered her Glock. Austin, who wore a Kevlar vest but had a more equipped utility belt wrapped around his waist, removed a flashlight and his Sig Sauer P226 from its holster. Austin shined a light on the front door.

“If anyone is in there,” he whispered to Stacy as they stood a few yards away, “this will get them moving.”

They listened for movements or voices. All Stacy managed to hear was the rustling of branches overhead and the earthy smell of mud and grass. The shed’s front door was sealed, but the door itself hung on its hinges at a jaunty angle. The Parks Department had sealed it with something more permanent to keep people out, the door a mere decoration. The entire shed was a rotted heap, bowing down, and chafed and broken by the cold Cleveland winters.

Stacy cut a look over at Austin. “Cover me,” she said as she pushed ahead to the front door.

The wooden steps Stacy stepped on bowed and creaked, nearly snapping in half as she stepped on them. She scanned the porch for any signs that someone had been in and out recently, but all she saw were some splotches of dried mud and dirt granules that had probably blown up on the porch during the heavy rainstorm from two nights ago.

Stacy opened the sloped and rotted door and pushed it back.

Austin slid alongside it, bracing it against his back. He ran his flashlight over the surface of the door.

A faux wall had been used to seal the inside of the shed from the outside. As Stacy looked down, she saw several pieces of the drywall had been chipped away, and that jagged, sloped holes 324

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had been punctured into the material. Several holes were carved in various places along the inside of the frame, an indication the door had been opened more than once.

The edging of the door was yellowed as well. Stacy raked a finger across one of the holes and found that material brittle. It wouldn’t take much for someone to get inside the shed, given the condition of the door.

Stacy looked back at Austin and held up three fingers. He nodded slowly in response. Stacy held her breath and clenched her gun in her hand. With one shoulder, she leaned into the fake wall, knocking it back against the frame.

Austin shined a light inside the shed, running up and down the four sides.

Stacy’s voice nearly croaked when she looked up at the far back wall.

Pinned against it was Colton DeVito.

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57 Austin reached Colton first. His mouth became slack-jawed when he approached the body.

“Jesus, Stacy. He’s been nailed to the wall.” Austin used his cell phone and called the unit station near Maria’s house, informing them they needed an ambulance and probably a life flight helicopter; Colton DeVito had been found.

Stacy raced over to find Colton DeVito barely recognizable from the pictures they had discovered of him earlier. His head lolled to the side, and he had a large plastic ball stuck in his mouth, wired to a chain and strap that was tied to the back of his head. His nose was swollen and bent, with dried mucus crusted in small spots near his mouth. Both eyes were blackened with deep, purple bruises under the eye sockets. His torso was naked, and his jeans hung extremely low around his hips. They had been torn and tattered to the point where only a few strips of fabric covered his thighs. His entire body was soaked with sweat.

The acrid smell of urine and feces made Stacy wince. She looked down at the floor to see blood mixed in with the fecal matter.

Dried streaks of it ran down his legs, and there were burn marks all over his body.

Austin’s gaze followed her own. “He’s probably been sodomized.”

Stacy put a hand over her mouth. “My God, Austin…”

Austin reached up and placed a hand near the base of Colton’s neck near the carotid artery.

“He’s alive,” Austin pronounced. “Barely, though. His pulse is very weak.”

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Stacy stepped back to take in the scene. “We need to get him down from there.”

Stacy looked over to see an industrial-sized nail had been driven into one of his hands, and a rope was wrapped around the wrist. A trail of blood had pooled in a perfect circle around the entry point.

Stacy looked back at the door reflexively and noticed something else. On the sidewall, newspaper clippings from The Plain Dealer and other outlets had been cut out and taped to the wall.

Stacy scanned the headlines. The articles were reports about Brooke Crawford’s murder and the house fire that killed Monica and George DeVito. Stacy looked back up at Colton. His placement on the wall and the articles’ height meant he would have no choice but to see them every time he opened his eyes.

The thoughts of that act of cruelty fueled an already smoldering fire that burned inside of Stacy. Stacy felt the muscles in her neck seize and her jaw rooted in place. She reached up and tapped Colton on the face.

“Colton, it’s the police.” She struck his cheek a little harder.

“Colton. I need you to wake up. Come on, honey. Wake up.”

Austin noticed that his right hand wasn’t nailed to the wall, but a thicker rope had been tied tighter around the wrist. The same circular pool of dried blood was present. His feet had been bound together with the same rope and hung helplessly a few inches from the floor.

“I think he managed to free one hand,” Austin said, grunting as he pulled on the rope. “This rope is thicker and the knots tighter.”

Stacy kept rapping her hand against Colton’s face, harder and more frequently. Finally, Colton rolled his head to the side. He started chewing on the rubber ball, moaning and beginning to breathe heavily. Austin cut a sharp look over at her.

“What’s he doing?”

As his breathing became faster, it clicked in Stacy’s mind. “His nose is broken. With that ball in his mouth, he can’t breathe.”

Austin reached around the back of Colton’s head and began streaking his fingers across the nape.

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“Found it,” he announced. Soon, the strap and ball fell out of Colton’s mouth. He smacked his lips together.

“Help me,” he mumbled pitifully. His high-pitched voice made Stacy’s heart sink.

“We’re the police, and we’re going to get you out of here.”

Colton’s eyes rolled around in their sockets for a moment before settling on the punctured drywall door at the rear of the shed. He began to flail against the wall. Austin released his grip on his hand.

“Fuck, is he having a seizure?”

Stacy tilted Colton’s head down. “Colton, what is it, son?” She kept her voice calm and flat. “We’re going to get you down and out of here, I promise.”

“No, no,” he groaned.

Stacy looked into his eyes, and a storm of anger and worry hid behind them.

“The room,” he mumbled. “It’s wired to blow.”

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58 Austin flashed a panic looked at Stacy. “Is he serious, or is he just having a delusion?”

Stacy looked over at his nail-scarred hand. “I don’t plan on waiting around to find out.”

Stacy looked around the room and found a piece of metal with a forked end near the newspaper clippings. “Listen to me,” she said. “I’m going to take this nail out of your hand. It’s going to hurt like hell.” She looked over to Austin, who was using his pocketknife to remove the ropes.

“Don’t,” Colton said, his voice a little stronger this time as he kept sucking in air. “The nail is connected to a wire. If the nail goes, the wire gets cut.”

Stacy tried to remain calm even though her guts were on fire.

“Then what happens?”

“I don’t… I don’t know….” Colton said. He closed his eyes again.

Panicked and unsure, Stacy tapped his face again several times. “Stay with me, Colton. Come on. I need to know if you can walk.”

Austin looked over at his side. “His side is red and swollen.

He’s probably got some broken ribs.”

“We’ve got to get him down,” she said.

Stacy and Austin exchanged a glance between them, a look that registered the danger and fear that pulsed through them.

“What about the wire?”

“I don’t know,” Stacy barked back, her voice harder-edged than she wanted. “Brian could’ve been bluffing him.”

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“Or not.”

“Either way, we can’t leave him here.”

Austin went back to sawing the rope with the knife. “Just another second, and I’ll have him loose.”

The rope finally snapped, and Austin reached down to cut the binding on his feet. Austin braced Colton against the wall and set him down easily. Colton’s body went limp.

“I think he’s passed out,” Austin said, pressing Colton flatly against the wall.

“Shit.”

Stacy took the forked end of the piece of metal and slipped it around the nail head. She pulled, hearing the flesh tear against the pull.

Colton snapped back awake and squealed.

“I know it hurts, and I’m sorry. Hold him tight against that wall, Austin.”

She dug into the nail head again, wiggling and twisting the nail. Colton screamed and tried pushing himself away from the wall, but Austin held onto him tight.

“Almost… there.” Stacy finally pulled the nail out. A sucking sound of wet, bloodied flesh being pulled from the hand made bile rise in her throat, but she managed to swallow it.

Colton closed his eyes and pressed his lips tightly over his teeth. “Goddammit…” he said breathlessly.

As Stacy lowered his hand, she noticed a hole in the wood.

As she looked closer, Stacy could see a small wire that had been severed at one end, sticking out of the whole.

“We need to go—now!”

Austin put one of Colton’s arms around his neck, and Stacy did the same. With little strength, Colton’s legs dragged limp against the floor as they both lifted him.

Stacy looked over at Austin, and that was when she noticed heavy beads of sweat forming on his brow, the color draining from his face.

“Stacy, I’m having trouble breathing,” he said, and they started walking forward. “Something is burning in my throat.”

Stacy looked up to see that the dust from a vent had been pushed away from the metal blades.

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“It’s gas,” she said. “The cut wire sent it through the vents.”

As Stacy took in a breath, she felt her mind lose focus. She whipped a look over at Austin, who slumped near the floor with Colton hanging off his side. His dark face had paled, and his eyes were glazed in a way that reminded Stacy of those eyes belonging to drug addicts who had just gotten high.

Stacy felt her legs go limp. She nearly dropped Colton on the floor as she fell to her knees, her hands bracing her fall. Colton slid down between her and Austin, his head thumping against the floor as he moaned quietly.

Stacy drifted into unconsciousness and then back out. She called out Austin’s name, but the words felt heavy and like lead in her mouth. The inside of the cabin was a blur, and the thoughts she had were being tossed around in her mind like they were in a storm. Her lungs and chest didn’t burn as they did in the park earlier, so this gas must have been different.

Austin rolled over to his side and began coughing. The noise woke Stacy again. She had rolled onto her back while Colton still lay on his stomach with his head splayed to one side.

Then, she felt it—something warm under her spread to other parts of her body. For a second, the warmth felt good, but then the heat intensified. The acrid smell of burning wood stuck in her nose and throat, causing her to cough for a different reason.

Stacy managed to squint across the room, past Austin’s body, to see the emergence of an orange flame rising from the crack in the floor, licking the chipped wooden window ledge.

“No! No!” she proclaimed. “Austin, get up. There’s a fire!”

Austin mumbled something inaudible but didn’t move. Stacy dragged herself over Colton’s body, pulling herself to Austin and then rocking him back and forth. He didn’t respond.

“Dammit, wake up!” Stacy cried out, slapping him with heavy force, although her limbs and movement felt slow and sloppy.

Stacy felt a wave of guilt and regret slam into her. She’d led them into a trap, and it was the same type of trap that Brian created earlier when he burned down the DeVito house. This time, Stacy and Austin were all alone.

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The flames behind Austin had widened and now rose higher, consuming more wood in the wall. Through her gas-afflicted thinking, Stacy knew that the fire would consume the wall and the shed quickly.

Stacy grabbed hold of Colton’s arms and dragged him across the heated floor of the shed with all her strength. His body was heavy, and Stacy felt the muscles in her limbs ache and pull as she tugged. She could see the skin on his arms and legs bump and rise against the wood, and the skin swallowed up splinters, but she had no other options.

When they reached the door, Stacy rolled Colton over. The sudden rush of blood to her head nearly made her pass out. Stacy’s limbs splayed all over the porch. She kicked and wiggled her legs until the heels of her boots found solid footing on the steps, and then she pulled herself up. Colton’s head began to roll back and forth, and he started coughing, hacking up a mixture of spit and pale-yellow bile that ran down his chest.

“I could use some help here,” she said.

Colton wrapped his hands around Stacy’s wrists. His grip wasn’t strong enough. Stacy pulled back and leaned backward down the stairs, bracing her fall with one boot firmly planted on the last step. Colton’s body had cleared the doorway.

Inside the shed, Stacy heard a loud crash and saw the light and flames escaping the side of the shed. The outer wall had collapsed.

Stacy stepped over Colton and went back inside the shed.

Dark, thick smoke hung in the air like a thick blanket over the shed, and Stacy could barely see. Closing her eyes, she snapped her mind back to the place where Austin’s body was and where she hoped it would still be.

Behind her, Stacy could hear the pulsing wave of sirens in the distance, but she couldn’t wait. They would both be dead before help arrived if she didn’t do something.

Another loud crash echoed in the room. Stacy stepped forward and could see that the back wall had begun to buckle inward. Austin was still passed out on the floor, not moving. Stacy tried grabbing him by one arm, but his hulky frame made that attempt impossible.

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Stacy looked to the left and ran her hand across the floor of the shed, which was so hot that it burned her skin. She bit her lip as splinters knifed their way into the palm of her hands. Finally, she found the metal with the forked end.

Her hand instinctively recoiled as she touched it, and the burned skin on her hand began to blister instantly. Stacy removed her Kevlar vest and tore a piece of fabric from her shirt.

She wrapped her hand in the material and grabbed the metal piece.

“I’m not letting you die on this floor,” she said through strained breaths. Stacy grabbed around Austin’s waist until she found his belt and hooked the end of the metal into one of the belt loops on his pants.

Stacy leaned back and pulled him. The wall in front of her buckled and collapsed, sending flames shooting at them. The ends of Austin’s feet just missed the fire. With her legs about to give way from fatigue and strain, she kept pulling. An explosion blew a hole in the floor, and the shed began to list forward.

As Stacy got Austin to the door, the metal rod slipped from her hand. Stacy tried reattaching it, only to discover that Austin’s belt loop had torn.

Stacy screamed and grabbed Austin by the shoulders, pulling him out onto the front steps. With one final burst of strength, Stacy pulled back with all of her might. Austin rolled over on his side, his legs flopping down the steps, and he eventually rolled over and on top of Stacy.

Flames cascaded higher into the air. Suddenly, a crack and slow groan came from above them. Stacy looked up to see the roof of the shed as it collapsed.

A final burst of noise filled the clearing, and an intense heat washed over the three of them as Stacy fell unconscious.

333

59 Stacy stepped into the hallway outside of the Cleveland Police Department briefing room. It was the same room where commanders and shift supervisors addressed officers before a shift change. She felt like she’d been thrust in the middle of something that would lead to change.

Against the wall was a table. Stacy leaned over it, pressing her hands flat against its scarred and chipped wooden surface, and caught her breath.

A month had passed since the incidents at Fairview Park, and Stacy had never felt so unsure of herself before. The Complaints and Internal Investigations department had sent a representative from the Inspection Unit, the Internal Affairs Unit, and the Office of Professional Standards Unit to grill Stacy for over two hours about her involvement. They questioned her about promising Brandon Deerfield reduced charges without authorization and her failure to let all of her colleagues and superiors know that the photos used as evidence to track down Brian Dowdy had come from her brother, Chance, who had been missing and was the subject of an investigation himself.

After the questioning, Stacy bolted out of the room. In many ways, she didn’t recognize herself, and she certainly wondered whose mouth was moving as she spoke to the panel from CII. At times, Stacy felt like she was watching herself answer questions from a different vantage point. It resembled the out-of-body experiences Stacy laughed at on cheesy television shows, which depicted those experiences as rationales for bad behavior.

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The thought was enough to make a chill run up her spine.

A light hand touched her arm. “How did everything go?”

Stacy snapped her head to the right and let out a quick breath.

“Oh, Gavin,” she said.

He took a step back and held up one hand in surrender as the other hand gripped his leather briefcase. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was on my way to the courthouse, and I thought I’d stop by.”

She’d contacted Gavin about the date and time of her hearing last week. Since her improper conduct had connections to him and his office, she felt it was the right step to take. Stacy assumed Gavin would be too busy to check on her himself.

Stacy’s hand moved its way to her hair, where she raked her fingers through it. “It was as bad as I could imagine,” she said.

“It’s the first time I’ve sat before a panel like that and taken questions about issues like my ethics and if I understood what the words in the policeman’s oath meant.”

Stacy let out a sigh, feeling defeated. Gavin put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He was wearing a navy sportscoat, with tan slacks and a burgundy tie and white shirt. The tie drew out his eyes’ deep blue hues, and his features looked flawless and handsome. He gave Stacy his trademark grin to reassure her.

“As I said on the phone last week, tell them the truth, but don’t reveal too much, and it will be fine.”

Stacy closed her eyes and shook her head. “I haven’t even asked about what happened at the prosecutor’s office.” Her face wrinkled with worry at the thought. “Gavin, if what I did got you fired….”

He shrugged off the comment. “It didn’t. Since I’m still a newbie, I’ll have a babysitter watching over me for the next ninety days, making sure that I behave.” His flippant tone made Stacy slightly uneasy.

“Plus, given what’s come to light about Brandon Deerfield and his connections to Kendall Jackson and Brian Dowdy, the Deerfield family dropped their lawsuit against our office, the police department, and the City of Cleveland.”

Stacy felt a huge relief wash over her. “That’s good, Gavin.”

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“One of my old law school professors once said that ninety percent of problems go away if they’re ignored. A month has gone by since Brian Dowdy was arrested, and that’s what’s happened with everything else.”

Gavin winked. His statement drew a slight chuckle from Stacy. “I like that statement, although I don’t want to put it to the test too often.”

Gavin dropped his hand and checked his watch. “I need to go. I’m due in court for an arraignment hearing in an hour.” He leaned close to Stacy and then pulled away. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin, and a part of her wished he could lean in and kiss her.

“Thank you again for all of the help.”

“Don’t mention it.” He looked up and around the hallway, then back at the doors to the briefing room before looking back at Stacy. “That’s what being a part of a team is all about. Coffee later?”

She smiled and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Gavin gave her a half-wave and then disappeared down the hallway. Stacy felt a warmth of goodness come over her. It always seemed to happen when Gavin was around. From her peripheral vision, she saw another officer exiting the briefing room and entering the hallway. The sight was enough of a snapback to refocus Stacy on the grave situation she was involved in.

Stacy bounded down the hallway to get away from the room.

As she entered the lobby of headquarters to head upstairs, Marty waved a hand at her.

Stacy turned to face the doors when she saw Colton DeVito come through the glass. The cold chill of April had given way to the warmth of early May, and Stacy felt a warm, scented breeze blow in behind the man she’d helped rescue.

As he approached, Stacy studied him. He was still rail-thin, and his head had been shaved. He had some deep cuts that had scarred on his face, but they looked like they were healing. His right arm was in a sling, and the blue collared shirt he wore bulged out from his body, a sign that he was wearing a rib protec-

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tor to guard his broken ribs. His left hand was heavily bandaged, and he walked with a slight limp.

“Hey, Colton, how are you doing?” She kept her voice light and positive, although seeing him standing in front of her brought back a flood of memories that made her stomach lurch.

He stopped in front of her and looked down, his face flushed.

“I’m good.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Is everything okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I just finished my last session of physical therapy.” He looked down at his hands and then over at his arm.

“Now, all I need to do is heal.”

Stacy smiled and crossed her arms. “Good. I’m so glad to hear that.”

Colton shifted his weight between his feet as he avoided eye contact with Stacy. “I’ve needed to come over and say thanks for a long time now.” He lifted his eyes slowly from the floor and held Stacy’s gaze.

“When I was in that room, nailed to that wall….” A lump seemed to have formed in his throat, and Stacy could see that he was blinking back tears. “I’d lost all hope. I thought about Jesse and what happened to him.” His eyes flared with fire. “I had no idea that Brian was in love with Jesse, Lieutenant. If I did….”

He paused for a beat. “I’ve done some awful things that I’m not proud of. Still, I just wanted Brian to kill me. He killed Mom and Dad, and….”

Stacy touched his arm with her hand. Some tears ran down from the pool that had gathered in his eyes.

“But you never gave up on me. I owe you everything.”

Stacy pressed her lips together tightly. “I’m just glad you’re going to be okay and that we got Brian and Maria before they could hurt anyone else.”

He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his bandaged hand. “When that Browns player got killed in September, I remember Mom telling me that his killer would be caught, and it would happen because you were the detective assigned to the case. I knew that if I got into real trouble in my life, Mom would come to you.”

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“And she did.” Now Stacy felt her face flush. “Well, it was a bit more complicated than that.” Stacy swallowed back a lump that lodged in her throat. “I’m going to miss Monica.”

Stacy glared at Colton for a moment. “Brian Dowdy was a miserable prick, but he loved Jesse. And I think Jesse loved him. Brian says that you disapproved of the relationship.” Stacy paused. “It didn’t require your approval, but it certainly gave you no right to target Jesse because of it.”

“I know. I thought about Jesse a lot when I was tied to that wall in that shed.” Colton blinked. “Yeah. That’s why I’m leaving.”

Stacy made a face. “Leaving Cleveland?”

“Yeah,” he said, his features softening. “With Mom and Dad gone, there’s really nothing for me here anymore. Being here is just too hard and hurts too much. The D.A. in Houston is going to retry me for Jesse’s murder.”

Stacy folded her arms. “So, I guess this is goodbye.”

“It is.” With that, Colton leaned in and hugged Stacy. She could feel his heart beating hard and fast against her chest.

Colton broke the embrace and smiled weakly. “I’m ready to be punished for what I did to Jesse.” He looked away for a moment. “If I hadn’t hurt him, none of this other shit would’ve happened.”

Stacy pursed her lips. “Goodbye, Colton DeVito.”

He flashed a frown, turned and went out the doors. Stacy let out a long breath, her emotions in complete tumult. These feelings would not stop wrenching her heart.

Stacy reached into her pocket and took out her cell phone.

She had one more phone call to make and one more person to see.

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60 Stacy decided to take the stairs to the Homicide Investigations floor. It felt good to walk, and she wanted to prove that despite the hold that thoracic outlet syndrome had on her life, she would never let it decide her fate or future.

When she reached the top of the stairs, another day in homicide had begun. People hummed around the floor, weaving around one another, talking to each other and to nobody at the same time. In between those conversations, the phones rang, and doors to rooms opened and clicked shut.

Stacy walked by her desk. It had been tidied up earlier, but she wanted to take another look to make sure it stayed that way.

She looked over to Austin’s desk. He was either out of the office or enjoying a day off. Stacy had been placed on administrative leave to recover physically from her injuries at Fairview Park, and she and Austin hadn’t talked much during that time.

Stacy saw Diana’s office door cracked open at the end of the hallway, a sliver of light coming through and splaying a shadow on the hallway.

“Come in,” the voice inside called out, slightly annoyed.

“Got a minute, Captain?”

With her back to the door and her body bent over at the waist, Diana waved Stacy in. Diana was wearing a red sweater and navy pants. Stacy felt comfortable in her blue pantsuit with a white blouse blooming from inside the jacket. It felt weird to be dressed better than the captain.

Stacy looked around the office. The room was neat and tidy, and many of the folders and papers that always littered Diana’s 339

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desk had been removed. Some of them had been filed away in plastic containers behind her desk. Stacy even saw the entire receiver handle attached to the desk phone. That handle was usually littered with taped messages and notes.

Stacy arched an eyebrow. “If this is a bad time, I can come back.”

“It’s not,” Diana said, plopping down in her seat. “Take a seat, Stacy.”

“I’ll stand. I won’t be long.”

Diana peered up through the tops of her eyelids. “Something wrong? You’re supposed to be home, resting.”

Stacy reached behind her and removed her Glock from the holster and her shield and placed them on the captain’s desk.

Diana’s eyes nearly exploded from their sockets. “What the hell is this?”

“I’m leaving the department,” Stacy said. “I’m going to apply for disability.”

Diana huffed and leaned back in her chair, thrumming her fingers at the end of the table.

“Mind telling me why?”

“Because of what happened this morning, in that hearing.

I’m in a lot of trouble. I’ve let down the department, myself, and my family.”

Diana eyed the gun and shield at the end of the desk. “Isn’t this a bit of a rash decision? CII is just doing what they have to.” She leaned forward over the desk. “I’m not going to bullshit this, Stacy. The chief is furious over the pay-for-drugs protection racket that Deerfield and Jackson had been running right under our noses. But Stacy, you’re one of the best cops in this department—with an unblemished record.” Diana tossed up a hand and made a nonsensical wave. “That means more than any answers given in a CII hearing.”

Stacy pursed her lips. “I’ve lost perspective, Diana. I put Chance first above everything.”

“That’s called being human and being a big sister.”

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from becoming who we pursue, I had one foot over that line and the other one right against it.”

Diana leaned back in her chair again. “We all make mistakes.

This job requires all of us to make split-second decisions, often without all the facts. What happened at the jail with Deerfield was a mistake, but I know you admitted it in that hearing this morning, and you apologized to everyone in this unit.”

“That’s not the point,” Stacy replied, trying to keep her voice even and professional. “This job requires us to see everything in black and white. The Devon Baker case, and now this one, have revealed the shades of gray that are there. I can’t operate here and do it effectively. I’ve got many people inside this department who’ll be furious with me when the details come out about what happened and my role in it.”

Diana and Stacy both let the comment hang, and the silence in the room pooled. Something had moved in the silence between them, which Diana noticed.

“What else is going on, Stacy? There’s something else.” She held up a hand. “And don’t lie and say that there isn’t. I know better than that.”

Stacy’s mind raced back to the time she saw Kendall outside of the captain’s office. Her stomach soured at the thought because he was probably there connecting loose ends and plotting his next moves.

“I came by the office a few weeks ago, and you were out.”

Diana uncrossed her arms. “I saw a red folder on the desk. That folder had my name on it—and a note attached to it that said Retirement.”

All the peachy color from Diana’s face drained away. Her features grew slack as she set her jaw.

“I think the plan was eventually to force me into retirement, and these internal investigations are the excuse to make it happen.” Stacy stood at the front of the desk and bent down, facing the captain. “So, please don’t patronize me with statements about my record or value to the department. Moving me along is a way to cover your ass.” Diana looked away and didn’t make eye contact with Stacy. “I’ll be meeting with human resources tomorrow to file the paperwork.”

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The captain remained stunned and motionless in her chair.

Stacy could feel her eyes boring into her as she left the office, slamming the door behind her.

As she made it back to the elevators, she picked up her phone and called Austin. It went to voicemail. Stacy didn’t leave a message.

The second call she made was to her mother. “Ready?”

“I’m on my way to the station now. Where do you want to go?”

Stacy shrugged as she got onto the elevator. “I don’t know, but I have enough gas in the car to make it West Virginia.”

Melinda let out one of her raspy laughs. “Good enough.”

“I’m going to get some coffee, and I’ll meet you outside.”

Stacy waved at Marty as she went outside the glass doors, dodging plain-clothed citizens and men and women in suits coming inside to continue with the business of the day.

Outside, Stacy walked down Superior Avenue. She wanted to go back to the Starbucks inside Tower City, where she had met Monica DeVito for a conversation that would lead to events that would change her life forever.

As she crossed the street, she passed a small alley between two buildings. From behind her, someone called out her name.

Stacy turned around, recognizing the face. “Hey!” Her eyes widened in horror as she eyed the barrel of a gun and heard a pop. A flash of white heat and light discharged from the end.

Stacy felt something rip into her stomach. Instinctively, she looked down. She braced her hands near her gut and saw blood soaking through her hands.

Her body went limp, and she felt like someone had let all the air out of her body. Stacy dropped to her knees and looked up.

The shooter was gone, and so was the daylight.

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Acknowledgments Writing is often a solitary endeavor, but so many people were involved in making this book a reality.

Thanks to Rogena Mitchell-Jones, Collen Snibson, Elizabeth Tettleton Mason, and Lee Ingram, for reading drafts of the various parts of the book and for offering me feedback.

Special thanks to the public information office with the Cleveland Police Department for allowing me a chance to learn more about their department and to the officers who took time to talk to me and tell me their stories. Some of them, loosely, made it into the book.

Thanks Lisa.

Thanks to the Cuyahoga County Chamber of Commerce and the Cleveland Chamber of Commerce for all the information about the city of Cleveland and thanks to the staff of the Cuyahoga County Public Library for the assistance with locating records and data.

Thank you to my “attorney squad” who helped me understand the law and how it applies to police investigations. Thanks for always answering my procedural questions at 3:00 a.m.

To Bob Johnson, Julie Hensley, Nancy Jensen, and my classmates in the Bluegrass Writers Studio at Eastern Kentucky University, thank you for teaching me what makes a story and for encouraging me to keep writing. Thanks to your support, I can’t stop writing.

To Cathy Teets and Headline Books, thank you for believing in Stacy Tavitt and for allowing her story to continue. I can’t wait to tell more of her stories!

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A Final Call

To my friends and family, I love each of you far more than my actions might suggest otherwise.

To Rob, thanks for believing in me and supporting me when I disappeared for days at a time to write.

To the places within and around West Virginia and (Cleveland) Ohio that helped raise me, thanks!

And, finally, to each of you readers: thank you! Time and money are precious commodities in our society. The fact that you spent either or both on this book is heartwarming and please know I do not take it for granted.

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“Eliot Parker’s eye for detail is on full display in A Final Call as a simple missing persons case turns deadly. Protagonist Stacy Tavitt is damaged and complicated and has the relentless drive to find the truth that forces you to root for her.”

—MATT COYLE, author of the award-winning Rick Cahill series “From the first tender moment of A Final Call to the final, luminous sentence, I was riveted by the latest Eliot Parker thriller featuring Homicide Detective Stacy Tavitt. I will miss spending time with Tavitt in Parker's atmospheric Cleveland, and can’t wait for the next one!”

—AMANDA EYRE WARD, NYT bestselling author of The Jetsetters

A FINAL CALL

Cleveland Homicide Detective Stacy Tavitt is contacted by a former college classmate who asks for help in finding her missing son, Colton. Still reeling physically and emotionally from her last investigation—which led to the disappearance of her brother—Stacy reluctantly agrees. At first, there is little reason to suspect foul play in his disappearance until he becomes the primary suspect in the murder of an ex-girlfriend. It’s a race against the clock as Stacy tries to find out what happened to her brother and clear his name, all while stopping a lethal killer who continues to target the friends and family connected to Colton. Beset by threats inside and outside of her life, Stacy must go to great lengths to find a killer and save her brother.

“This fast-paced thriller has plenty of twists and turns sure to delight and surprise even the most seasoned thriller reader, all set against the gritty and gripping backdrop of modern-day Cleveland.”

—JESS MONTGOMERY, author of The Kinship Mystery Series (The Stills)

E L I O T PA R K E R

ELIOT PARKER is the author of four previous thriller novels and a collection of short stories. He has won the West Virginia Literary Merit Award, the PenCraft Writing Award, and the Feathered Quill Book Award for his work. He hosts the podcast program Now, Appalachia, on the Authors on the Air Global Radio Network and teaches English at the University of Mississippi. For more information visit www.eliotparker.com.

E L I O T PA R K E R “Stacy Tavitt forces you to root for her.”

—MATT COYLE