Accused (23 page)

38

Once away and certain no one followed, Carly realized she needed a plan and she needed one fast. She flipped the radio on to an AM station and turned it low so she could listen and think. Guest had showed part of his hand; he planned to say she was suicidal, a danger to herself and others. By the time Trejo got the story, she’d probably be armed and dangerous, a terrorist who needed to be stopped.

Trejo.
She almost missed a red light as an idea sprang into her thoughts. Tapping on the gearshift while waiting for the light to change, she wondered if it would be possible to get to Trejo before Guest had a chance to poison the well. She certainly had a story to tell the reporter.

When a patrol car crossed the intersection in front of her, Carly tensed. She knew that soon, in addition to patrol cars, they’d have a helicopter up looking for her. She made a turn to head downtown, for the
Messenger
office building. Then she heard a news bulletin with her name in it and she turned up the volume.

“. . . is currently serving a suspension for an unspecified reason. Authorities stress caution if anyone comes into contact with her. Described as five-seven, with brown hair and eyes . . .”

The report went on describing how dangerous Carly Edwards was, what kind of car she was driving and the license plate, and urged anyone who spotted her to call 911 immediately.

Hearing the radio report made her rethink her decision to go downtown. As Carly pointed the car in a new direction, a question burned in her thoughts: if a coworker got behind her and turned on the light bar, would she stop?

A strange noise jolted her to consciousness. Carly grabbed for her gun, but it wasn’t there. The rush of adrenaline helped to clear her thoughts as she peered into the dark. After a few seconds, she recalled her escape from the hospital and her aborted attempt to contact Trejo. As much as she wanted to get to the reporter as quickly as possible, she knew it was foolishness to walk into the busy newspaper building after just barely escaping Drake’s clutches. She surveyed the area and tried to ascertain the source of the noise that woke her. A stray cat tussling with some trash appeared to be the culprit.

Carly sighed. Her heart rate slowed, and she yawned and stretched. Looking around the dark, empty parking structure, she remembered parking, eating Andrea’s lunch, and falling asleep. She’d picked the spot because it was secluded and not far from where Alex Trejo lived. She thought about Drake’s pursuit in the hospital parking lot, and a half smile played on her lips.

“I hope Drake is getting reamed by Burke for letting me escape a second time.”

According to the car’s clock, she’d slept for two hours. She carefully surveyed her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Satisfied she was alone and undetected, she stretched and sat back in the driver’s seat. Smiling in the dark, Carly congratulated herself.
I made it this far. I’ll make it the rest of the way. I want to be there when they click the cuffs on Drake. Burke deserves it too, but I take what Drake did very personally.
She remembered Drake fingering his weapon on the yacht and then the sound of gunfire when she hit the water and had the painful thought that Jeff had most likely given his life for her escape.

The long nap helped her feel more normal than she’d felt since Andi had awakened her in the hospital a day and a half ago now. Now it was time for her next course of action. A bold plan had formed in her mind during the daring hospital escape of how she could get the truth about Burke and Drake’s guilt and Jeff’s innocence out to the world. Remembering Jeff only made her more determined.

Carly was confident that even though they’d be looking for Andi’s car, she could move around the city safely at night if she kept off main streets and didn’t draw attention to herself.

She turned the key in the ignition and directed the car toward the home of the only person she thought could help right now. He’d be home, away from his busy office building, and he just might listen—even though he’d already be poisoned by the news report of her so-called instability. He was the last person she would have ever thought to go to for anything, much less for help. But that was before, when she thought the department was above the corruption she now knew existed. Now there was darkness over her department and the city. Her chest tightened as she heard Jeff’s voice in her head:
“Let’s shed some light on the situation and drive the roaches out of the darkness,”
he’d said.

“Oh, Jeff, thank you for what you did,” she said out loud as she drove, and swallowed back tears. There just wasn’t time to grieve. “I hope I’ll see you again. But if not, you can be sure everyone will be told you were a hero, not a murderer. I promise.” Carly knew exactly who would want to tell people about Jeff and who would be happy to shine a light on the real murderers.

Alex Trejo.

This has to work,
Carly thought.
I refuse to let anyone else die. It’s time for the guilty people to pay for the havoc they’ve wreaked on this city.

Trejo’s address was common knowledge at the police department precisely because he was an outspoken, nosy journalist. Once, in a series of columns, he blasted white supremacists, and they in turn vandalized his house. His home address was on the extra-patrol list for weeks. While in patrol, before she herself became the object of Trejo’s pen, Carly’s duties took her by the house often.

On a journey to do business with a real-life shark, Carly nervously chewed on her thumbnail. But this was the best option. No one would expect Carly Edwards to go to Alex Trejo for help.

Alex lived on the west side of Las Playas in a neighborhood of nearly identical homes. Carly cruised past his house once and then around the block. Everything looked quiet. There was only one car in his driveway, and Carly knew it was his. There weren’t any black-and-whites or detectable plain cars. In fact, there wasn’t any activity of any kind. Just a quiet Las Playas neighborhood. After parking one block down, Carly walked warily to the front door and knocked.

“Yeah?” Trejo swung the door open, and Carly watched his face blanch. He said nothing, only stared. She couldn’t help but recall all the bad blood that had passed between them over the past few months. Now she felt like she was facing a shooting board, justifying a bad shooting and not knowing where to start.

“Trejo, I need your help.” Carly shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking and waited.

“My help? You’re a fugitive. The entire city is looking for you!” He ran both hands through his hair, mouth agape.

“I can explain. All I need is a few minutes of your time.” She rocked back on her heels, painfully aware of how vulnerable she was. Would he let her in?

“I hope you do have a good explanation. I have the press release. It says you flipped, stole a car, and want to kill yourself. You’re supposed to be armed and dangerous! What do you want with me?” Wariness replaced the shock in his eyes.

“Look, they’re lying. Don’t believe a word of that press release. I want you to help me prove it’s all a lie. You know that hotbed of police corruption you’ve always said existed? I found it for you. And if you want the story of your career, you’ll let me in, you’ll listen, and you’ll help.”

He studied her for a long minute and shook his head. Fear climbed in her gut and danced as she stood in his doorway. Fear that he wasn’t going to listen, fear that she’d made a big mistake coming to him. Finally he stepped aside and swung his arm to invite her in.

“I’ll listen. But if you’re pulling my leg, I’ll call your buddies in a heartbeat.”

She walked inside. He closed the door and followed her into the house. The small living room was cluttered with books, papers, and magazines of all sorts. Trejo’s couch and easy chair looked well used, and he obviously wasn’t much for tidying up.

He pointed to the couch. “Sit. I’m all ears.”

“You won’t regret this.” Carly took a deep breath as she sank into the couch cushions. She told Trejo everything, starting with Londy’s interview and finishing with her swim and escape from the hospital.

Trejo took notes on a laptop and fired questions at Carly like a seasoned investigator. “The pen cam, the thumb drive, and the flip camera all in the same place?”

“I told you. I shoved them into a hole in the ground.”

“You’re sure the guys who grabbed you didn’t find it?”

“They weren’t interested. Burke figured he had me and Jeff, and that was all he wanted.”

“I want that stuff. Draw me a map; I’ll go get it.”

“Right now?” Carly stared at the foolhardy reporter.

“No time like the present. It’s already been out there for two days.” He tapped on the laptop with an index finger.

“There’s no guarantee you’ll find it.”

“I’ll find it.”

“If they catch you poking around near the dock, they’ll kill you, press card or no press card.”

“Relax, Edwards. I’ve been a very successful investigative reporter for fifteen years. I know how to sneak around and not get caught.”

“These people play hardball.”

“So you say. Look, you can’t tell me that as a cop you take everything people say at face value. You have to have
evidence
. I’m no different. No offense, but I would like a little something to prove you’re telling me the truth. I am, after all, harboring a fugitive. Draw the map.”

“Maybe I should go with you.”

Trejo shook his head. “No way. And get us both arrested? Or killed? I can wiggle out of just about anything on my own; being in the company of a wanted person would complicate things.”

Carly crossed her arms in resignation, a little glad he said no. She was still tired and not certain she wanted to tempt fate by leaving the house. “I hate to admit you’re right. Give me paper and a pen.”

Trejo slid a pad of paper her way and Carly drew a crude map, making a circle around where she’d stashed the items of evidence.

“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” she asked after handing him the map.

“Relax; take a nap; raid the fridge. I know you don’t like me, but you came to me for help. Now you have to trust me.”

He left the room for a few minutes and came back wearing black Levi’s and a black sweatshirt. Carly watched him pull a black jacket on and check the beam of a big Streamlight flashlight. In spite of the gravity of the situation, a smile flashed across her lips. He looked like a big kid getting ready to go play spy. Trouble was, none of this was a game.

“God,” Carly said out loud after the sound of Trejo’s car faded in the distance, “I don’t know how to do this, but please take care of that reporter.”

The effort of reaching Trejo and working to convince him to help had sapped Carly’s battered physical resources. Her desperate ocean swim had taken more out of her than she’d thought. She stretched out on the couch, and heavy eyelids closed. It was a fitful nap. Carly floated in and out of consciousness. Concern for Trejo weighed on her mind.

After tossing and turning on the well-worn couch for about two hours, Carly gave up and decided to raid Trejo’s fridge as he’d suggested. It gave her something to do and kept her from chewing her nails down to the quick. In spite of his messy, cluttered house, he kept a neat, clean, and well-stocked kitchen.

But while she ate, she watched the clock. Anxiety gnawed at her gut. Trejo should have been back ages ago. When she peeked through the blinds, she saw the sky beginning to brighten. She flipped on the television, hoping to catch an early news broadcast, and found herself the main topic of discussion. According to the anchorman, more adjectives had been added to her description. Carly was now a despondent, suicidal car thief, certainly armed and dangerous. She clicked the TV off.
Enough of that.

The news report brought on a cascade of uneasy thoughts. She started to pace.
I can’t believe they’re saying those things!

Desperate for a distraction, she surveyed Trejo’s living room, absentmindedly reading book titles and various plaques hanging on the walls.

He must have every book ever written on journalism,
she thought. There were also books on social issues; police brutality took up two entire shelves in one bookcase. Carly remembered the cutting articles he’d written about her. The irony struck hard and took her breath away: the man who once nearly ruined her life was the one she was counting on to save it.

But where was he? As time passed and Trejo still hadn’t returned, Carly grew more and more anxious. She ran through her mental list of allies, knocking off the names of those most likely to be under police surveillance now.

There was one last hope, but it was perhaps the riskiest of all. Carly could try Joe King. The problem was, addresses were easy to find from phone numbers. And she could imagine Drake or Guest watching Joe, thinking she’d go to him for help. If the wrong person saw the phone number on Joe’s BlackBerry screen, they’d be at Trejo’s fast. Carly decided to take the risk. She dialed Joe’s number and left a numeric page rather than a voice message, punching in Trejo’s phone number, followed by 999, a code for “officer needs help.” And she waited.

Her patience was rewarded after a few minutes. She grabbed the phone on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Carly? Is that you?” It was Joe.

She closed her eyes and looked up, silently saying thank you at the sound of the familiar voice. “Yeah, it’s me. Can you talk?”

“I can talk. Where are you? Everyone is worried sick about you, and you can’t believe what Guest is saying! Not only are you crazy; he’s saying you killed Jeff!”

“I’m in a safe place. And don’t believe anything Guest has to say. He would have killed me if I’d cooperated and let him transport me. I don’t believe he wanted me to reach the psychiatric hospital. Guest, Drake, and Burke are all in this. Derek Potter killed Teresa on Galen Burke’s orders. And either Drake or Burke killed Jeff!”