A Good Killing (3 page)

“Idiot,” I muttered.

She glanced at me, and the coach took that opportunity to move on. Wendy was furious.

“What’s your problem?” she asked me.

“Can’t you see he’s got coaching to do? He doesn’t need an old
cheerleader interrupting his halftime.” Ah, for the days when eighteen seemed old.

“He’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions. I certainly don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she said. “Frankenstein.”

I was used to kids making fun of the scar on my cheek. It was a cheap shot, and usually I could shrug it off, but I was pissed, and, yeah, I’d had a few beers in the parking lot before the game. We exchanged some words, none of which were kind. Some f-bombs were dropped, and insults concerning our relative chastity. There was snatching at clothes and grabbing of hair. I pushed Wendy, hard, and she stumbled down two risers, into the arms of some spectators. She bounced right back and clawed me in the face. We started trying to hurt each other in earnest. Kids chanted, “Catfight! Catfight!”

I know, it was stupid, right? What can I say? The teenage brain isn’t fully formed. And my method of resolving conflict has always been more likely to involve physical force than yours. It wasn’t my first fight. Or my last.

Some adults eventually pulled us apart. When I got home later that night, I saw that I had four red fingernail scratches going across my forehead. I got a month’s detention for that. Wendy got nothing, since she wasn’t actually a student anymore.

The whole town saw it. Seriously. Holly Grove had, like, fourteen thousand residents, and the stadium had ten thousand seats. Everyone showed up for games. Wendy and I were the unofficial halftime show that night.

The silver lining was, after that, people stopped calling me “Anna Curtis’s little sister” and started calling me “the chick who got in a catfight with Wendy Weiscowicz.”

After the coach died, everyone remembered that fight. From what I hear, hundreds of people claim to have held back me or Wendy. There’s an ongoing dispute about which one of us won. But everyone agrees on one thing: “Those two girls always did have it out for each other.”

5

T
he police station was a low-slung brick building across the street from the Meijer superstore. Anna hopped off the motorcycle and strode through the front doors before Cooper finished strapping the helmets to his bike. A young officer with a Bulldog amulet and a cleft chin sat at the front desk, tapping at a computer. His name tag read F. Ehrling.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m here to see my sister, Jody Curtis.”

His eyes flicked up. “Ms. Curtis is being questioned right now.”

“I’d like to be there with her for that.”

“Sorry, you can’t go back there.”

“I’m a prosecutor, from D.C.”

“Then I’m sure you know everyone is interviewed
alone
.”

His eyes went back to the screen. Anna felt the full sting of being an outsider. She was law enforcement; she was used to being one of the guys. Not here. She made a quick decision. Blood might be thick, but in a police station a J.D. carried more water.

“I’m also Ms. Curtis’s lawyer,” she said.

The kid glanced up but didn’t seem impressed. “You just said you’re a prosecutor.”

“A prosecutor can represent a family member in matters outside of her own jurisdiction.” Anna said, with more certainty than she felt. That was the written rule, but she probably needed a supervisor’s permission to do this. She hadn’t asked for, much less received, that permission. “If you don’t take me to my client right now, I’ll make sure that anything my sister says from this point forward—the point at which her lawyer was denied to her—will be suppressed. And you can spend the rest of your life explaining to
your drinking buddies how you were the rookie who screwed up Coach Fowler’s investigation.”

Ehrling’s hands hovered over the keyboard. “Bullshit?”

Anna took out her phone and flicked to video recording mode. She handed it to Cooper. “Film this?”

He took the phone and pointed it at her. She turned back to the rookie.

“It is 2:17
P.M.
on June 4, 2014, and I’m here at the Holly Grove police station requesting to see my client, Jody Curtis, who is apparently being interrogated somewhere inside. She has invoked her right to counsel, through me. Officer Ehrling?”

The officer stood and looked nervously at the cell phone. There was nothing like videotape to spook a cop.

“Turn that off,” he said.

“I’ll turn it off when you take me to my sister. If you don’t, I’ll post it to YouTube.”

The officer stood, opened his mouth and closed it. “Fine,” he said. “But just you. Not the big guy. Follow me.”

“Nicely done,” Cooper said quietly. He handed back the phone. “Just holler if you need me.”

Ehrling led Anna through the bowels of the station, then gestured to a closed door. She grabbed the handle and pushed in.

It was a run-of-the-mill interrogation room, small and windowless, with scuffed white walls and a video camera mounted in one corner. At one end of a faux-wood table sat a police officer with a badge hanging around his neck. Facing him sat Jody, wearing jeans, a pink T-shirt, and a stoic expression. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her eyes were red and puffy.

Both of them looked up. In unison, they said, “Anna!”

Anna did a double take. The officer was Rob Gargaron, her high school boyfriend. Ten years ago, he’d been a lean, mean, borderline-gorgeous quarterback. Now he wore a mustache, a short-sleeve shirt and tie, and thirty extra pounds. The cocky kid who used to sneak beer into parties had been transformed into a staid authority figure. Their relationship in high school had been short
and intense, and ended badly. He was not the person Anna wanted interrogating her sister.

Jody appeared surprised but not overjoyed to see Anna there. She didn’t stand up. Anna looked from her scowling sister to her smirking ex-boyfriend.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” Rob said. “I’d love to catch up, but your sister and I are in the middle of something.”

“I see that. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Jody said. “It’s under control. I’ll meet you outside.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No,” Jody said. “Rob asked to talk to me, so of course I came down here. Did you hear about Owen? It’s awful. I want to do everything I can to help.”

“I’m all in favor of cooperating with the police,” Anna said. “Can you tell me what we’re cooperating in?”

Rob said, “We’re trying to determine the circumstances of Coach Fowler’s death.”

“What does that have to do with Jody?”

“She was the last person to see him alive,” Rob said.

“So she’s a suspect,” Ehrling added, from behind Anna.

“Dammit, Fred!” Rob glared at his colleague.

“Do you hear that, Jody?” Anna said. “You’re a
suspect
.”

“I’m sure once I talk to Rob, he’ll realize he has nothing to suspect me of.”

“Doesn’t always work that way,” Anna said. “As your
lawyer
, I advise that you consult with me before you say anything else to Detective Gargaron.”

“My lawyer.” Jody looked at Anna for a long moment. “I like that. Do I get to boss you around?”

“The opposite. I get to boss you around. Seriously, Jo. Can we talk?”

Jody flashed the officer an apologetic smile and stood. “Sorry, Rob. My sister flew all the way in from Washington, D.C. I guess I should go catch up with her. We can talk more later.”

Rob stayed in his seat. “This is your chance, Jody. If you don’t talk to me now, I can’t help you.”

“Help her with what?” Anna asked. He shrugged. “Let me take your card. I’ll talk with Jody and then call you. Let’s go, sis.”

Anna put an arm around her sister’s shoulders and ushered her out of the room, through the hallway, and into the lobby.

“Jody!” Cooper stood and gave her a sideways hug. “Good to see ya. It takes a lot to get your sister out here for a visit, huh?”

They walked out of the police station. The natural sunlight and warm summer air were a relief after the air-conditioned fluorescence of the police station.

“Where the hell have you been?” Anna asked, as soon as the door swung shut behind them. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

She studied her sister, parsing her appearance for any signs of what was going on in her life. Jody looked the same as always, which was to say, a lot like Anna. Jody was two years younger, but people always asked if they were twins. They both had standard midwestern blue eyes, blond hair, and easy smiles. In recent years, their different lifestyles had started to carve their bodies in different ways: Anna was thinner, from the stress of being a prosecutor and the habit of walking everywhere in D.C., while Jody was stronger, more muscular, as a result of years of installing panels on the GM assembly line. The most notable difference in their appearance was still the scar on Jody’s cheek. Today, Jody looked exhausted and pale.

“Sorry,” Jody said. “My cell phone fell in the toilet. I haven’t been getting any calls or messages. But it’s great to see you, Annie.”

“You too.” Anna pulled her into a tight hug, relieved to have her sister out of the police station and in her arms.

“Ouch,” Jody stepped backward, out of her embrace.

“What?”

Jody whispered, “I hurt my wrist. Can you drive my truck?”

Anna glanced around the police parking lot to see if anyone had noticed Jody flinch. Thankfully, it seemed to be empty.

Anna drove Jody’s GMC Yukon while Cooper followed on the motorcycle. She steered the big SUV past the trailer park where their family lived, years ago, when their father lost his job on the assembly line.

“What’s going on, Jo?”

“I should ask you the same thing. What are you doing here? I thought you were in the middle of a trial?”

“It finished up.”

“How’d you do?”

“The bad guys went to jail.”

“They always do when you’re on the case. Congrats. How’s Jack? Just a few weeks till your wedding! You must be stressed.”

“Not in the way you think,” Anna said. “I called it off last night.”

“Oh, Annie.” Jody looked almost as hurt as Anna. She knew the reasons behind the breakup. Anna’s relationship with Jack had changed forever as a result of her prosecution of the MS-13 gang case and the secrets it revealed. Jack had been the victim of a terrible tragedy, the full extent of which even he hadn’t known. Olivia’s mother had come back into his life. Now, he had to see if he could make things work with her. Anna had to give him the space he needed to do it. Jody reached over and squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s for the best.”

“Yeah,” Anna said unconvincingly. “What is going on with Coach Fowler? Why were the police questioning you?”

“I—well, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“The police called you in for questioning about a man’s death. Disappointing me is the last thing you have to worry about.”

Jody took a deep breath. “I was hanging out with him last night. Before his car crash.”

“Define ‘hanging out.’”

“I brought him home with me, okay? From Screecher’s bar. We were—how would you say it in D.C.? Intimate.”

“Isn’t he married?”

“I didn’t say he was a saint. Neither am I. We were adults in
volved in an adult relationship.” Jody glanced at Anna’s face. “See, I knew you’d be mad.”

“Not mad,” Anna said, although she was disappointed. Why did Jody always have to get involved with the least appropriate guy in any ten-mile radius? “When did he leave your house?”

“Around two, maybe two thirty, this morning.”

“Were you guys drinking?”

“Now you sound like Rob. Yeah, we were drinking. I told the police that. Can I get in trouble for letting him drive drunk?”

“Maybe.”

“Shit.”

“Was this a onetime thing, or something more?”

“We’ve been . . . er . . . friendly, for a few weeks. We ran into each other at a Lions game and reconnected. We met the next day for an innocent little coffee, and things took off from there. I wonder how many affairs have started at Starbucks.”

Anna turned the truck into Jody’s subdivision, a neat grid of ramblers, each a slightly different take on white aluminum siding. Anna could just make out Cooper’s Harley in the rearview mirror, behind a blue sedan.

“What happened to your wrist?” Anna asked.

“I fell in the shower.”

“I’ve handled enough domestic violence cases to know a cover story when I hear one.”

“You’ve gotten so cynical, Annie. To a hammer, everything looks like a nail, huh? I’m not a domestic violence victim. I’m not Mom. I took a shower after Owen left, while I was probably too tipsy to be taking showers.”

“Is that when you just happened to drop your cell phone into the toilet?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“I came to help you, Jo. Kathy thought you needed help. But I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“I appreciate that, Annie. But I didn’t ask Kathy to call you. I didn’t want you to come here today. And I don’t need your help.”

Anna turned the car into Jody’s driveway but had to brake quickly. The drive was already filled with other cars, many of them flashing red and blue lights. Three police cruisers, a white van, and two unmarked sedans were parked in Jody’s driveway and at the curb. Men with badges walked in and out of the house like ants from an anthill, carrying boxes instead of crumbs.

The blue sedan pulled up behind her, followed by Cooper’s Harley. The car door opened and Rob got out. He waved at Anna, then walked right into Jody’s house, calling hello to another officer he passed.

Anna stared at the activity. She recognized the execution of a search warrant when she saw it. She turned to her sister. “Still think you don’t need my help?”

Jody met Anna’s eyes. For the first time, Anna saw fear there.

6

A
s prosecutor, Anna was accustomed to search warrants—but being on the government side of them. She liked sifting through the seized items looking for evidence, like combing through pebbles and fragments on a beach, looking for that one perfect shell. This was the first time she’d been on the other side. This wasn’t evidence; the police were carrying out boxes of her sister’s private possessions.