Distortion (Moonlighters Series) (3 page)
“No, it’s not!” Juliet cried. “They won’t even put him in an ambulance. They’re just leaving him there . . .”
Holly covered her mouth, unable to stand it. Cathy looked white. Jay had his splayed hand in his hair. Michael said, “Juliet, we’re on our way over. Just hold on.”
Holly grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter. “Let’s go!” she cried. “Who’s driving?”
“I am,” Cathy said.
Jay stopped her. “What about the kids?”
“What about them? Zach is babysitting. They’re fine.”
“But . . . what if they hear about this on TV? Another murder in the family. Jackson’s over there with them. It’ll terrify him. And Zach and Abe . . . he’s their father!” His face twisted. “How could this happen to our family again?”
Holly rolled her hands into fists. The thought of her nephews suffering penetrated her panic. “Why don’t you go over to Juliet’s and keep them occupied?”
Jay hesitated. “But I want to go be with Juliet too.”
Cathy grabbed up her bag and took out her keys. “Jackson’s your son—don’t you want to be with him right now? Besides,
I’m an attorney. Juliet needs me. And Michael will be helpful at the police department, so he needs to come.”
“I’d get the kids,” Holly said, “but I’ll be a basket case. I won’t be able to hide anything from them.”
“She’s right,” Cathy told her brother. “She’s too emotional.”
“Okay, I’ll go,” Jay said. “But keep me informed of every little thing. I mean everything. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, we will,” Cathy said. “Just hurry.”
The moment Holly and Michael were in the car with Cathy, she punched her accelerator and flew to the police precinct.
T
ime moved like still frames in a blurry slideshow: the white Camaro, Bob on the ground, police lights flashing, fluorescent lights in the precinct, painted cinder-block walls. Juliet was freezing. It must be twenty degrees in the interview room . . . but that was impossible. This was Florida, and it never got down to twenty. Especially not in August.
She had called her family from the police car, but she couldn’t remember what she’d told them.
The door flew open, and Cathy and Holly burst in. Only two years younger than Juliet, Cathy always looked so polished and stoic and
ready
, as if she got up every morning prepared to fight an epic fight. Holly, on the other hand, looked as if she’d just staggered in from a rave, her blonde and pink hair stringing into her face and her pregnant belly straining against her T-shirt.
They both burst into tears as they threw their arms around her. “Are you all right?” Cathy asked. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” Juliet muttered. “He didn’t come near me. I don’t think he even got out of his car. Just shot Bob and drove away.”
“Did he try to rob him?” Cathy asked.
Juliet shook her head. “I don’t think he touched him. I heard the shots. Saw the handgun.”
“Did he say anything?” Holly asked.
“I didn’t hear it if he did. It all happened so fast. I knew that place was dangerous. I never should have rented the truck there.”
“You’re freezing,” Cathy said, shedding her sweater and putting it around Juliet’s shoulders. “You’re in shock.” She slid her chair next to her sister and put her arms around her to warm her up.
“The boys,” Juliet said. “They were expecting me home.”
“Jay went over to your house,” Cathy said. “He’s keeping the boys away from TV until you get home.”
Juliet nodded. “Okay, good. He . . . he didn’t tell them . . . about the shooting, did he?”
“No, of course not,” Holly said. “Jay knows better than that. We’ll let you do it when you’re ready.”
Juliet’s vision blurred, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt to the left.
“You have blood on you.” Cathy’s voice seemed far away. “Oh, honey, I should have brought you a change of clothes.”
Juliet looked down at herself, shaking her head to clear her vision. There was blood on her jeans, her shirtsleeves, her hands. Her husband’s blood.
Images flashed through her mind of Jackie Kennedy with blood on her elegant suit as her husband’s life drained out of him. The convertible . . . the grassy knoll . . . the book depository . . .
“I have to change clothes. Can’t let the boys see me. I have to go to your house first, Cathy. Have to borrow something.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve told them everything I know. I want to go back there. To the parking lot.”
Cathy took Juliet’s face in her hands and made her look into her eyes. “Honey, we can’t go there. That’s not where you need to be.”
“But I have to . . . he might need . . .”
“Sweetie, I know this is hard for you. But they told us when we came in. Bob is dead.”
“But they didn’t
do
anything to help him!”
“Honey, he didn’t have a pulse when they got there. He was gone. You know that, don’t you?”
Juliet’s head ached. She twisted her face, suppressing the horror of that truth. She did know that. She had held his head herself, had tried to wake him . . .
Oh,
God, why does it have to be true?
She looked down at the blood on her hands and let out a long, low, broken wail. “Oh, God . . . no!”
Cathy pulled her into her arms and held her.
“You’re going to be okay,” Cathy said in a hard whisper. “We’ll get through this.”
Juliet didn’t want to get through it. She wanted to go backward, through those blurry slides in that random slideshow to the last time Bob had met her eyes and smiled . . .
When
was
that? She couldn’t remember.
“I’ll see if they need you anymore,” Cathy said. “Maybe we can take you home.”
Juliet racked her brain for that moment when her husband hadn’t been distracted or impatient. Cathy let go, and
Holly took her place. Cathy left the room, but Juliet couldn’t remember why. “He was just walking . . . to put the key in the box . . .”
“I should have done it,” Holly whispered. “I should have been the one to take the U-Haul back.”
Juliet wasn’t sure why that made her angry. “And what good would that have done?”
“I don’t know. Maybe . . .” Holly’s voice trailed off.
Juliet got up. Her legs felt weak, shaky. “Why haven’t they found the guy? I told them everything. If they’d looked for the car when I first told them . . . if they’d come sooner . . .”
“I’m sure they’re trying to find him,” Holly said weakly.
“Michael. Where is he? I need to tell him everything. Maybe he could find the guy.”
“He’s here. He went to talk to his brother upstairs. He’s on this.”
M
ichael Hogan found his brother Max on the second floor of the police department, in the Major Crimes Unit. As he stepped into the doorway, his gaze gravitated to the desk that had once been his. Ironic that it was now his brother’s desk.
Max was on the phone, jotting down notes, his expression somber. Max’s partner, Al Forbes, a middle-aged man who was overweight and wore a perpetual wince as though in pain, was just getting off the phone. Michael crossed the room. “Hey, Al. Are you two assigned to the Cole murder?”
“Yeah, it’s ours,” Al gruffed. “We’re trying to track down white Camaros registered in town. Sounds like just another drug murder, though. Probably a crackhead looking for cash.”
Michael had figured as much. The area where Bob was shot had half a dozen murders every year. “Was he robbed?”
“Doesn’t look like it. Still had his wallet on him. Had cash
in it, all his credit cards. Wife was pretty sure the guy didn’t even get out of the car.”
Michael heard Max hang up, and he crossed to his brother’s desk and sat on the edge. “Hey, man. What can you tell me about Bob Cole’s murder?”
Max finished writing and looked up at him. “I figured you’d be here. It’s a shame. Wrong place at the wrong time.”
“But if there was no robbery, what was the motive?”
“Who knows? Juliet says she saw the shooter at the gas station earlier. Maybe Bob insulted him or something.”
Michael hadn’t heard that part. “Did she see them talking?”
“No, she says they didn’t get close to each other then, either.”
Michael looked at the back wall, where a line of dry-erase boards held notes for each open case. Bob didn’t even have a column yet. “If she saw him at the gas station, he must have been following them. It wasn’t random.”
“Might be that he planned on robbing him after he shot him. But when she started screaming, maybe he thought he should just get out of there.”
Michael considered that.
Max got up. “Is her family here?”
“Yeah, they’re downstairs with her now.”
“She’s pretty shaken up. That family’s been through a lot. Cathy all right?”
Before Michael could answer, Cathy burst in like she owned the place. “Max, she’s freezing. She’s in shock. Do you have a blanket?”
“Sure, I’ll get it.” Max got one out of the closet and came back with it. “She can take it home. She’s got blood all over her.”
“How is she?” Michael asked Cathy.
“She’s a wreck.” She turned back to Max. “Have you finished questioning her? Can I take her home? She needs to tell the kids before word gets out.”
Max slid his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, go ahead. I was just following up on some of what she told us. Trying to get the security video at the gas station, talking to the owner of the U-Haul property. Soon I need to develop a more detailed timeline with her leading up to the shooting, and get more info about Bob.”
“You know where to find her.”
“Yeah, she can leave now.”
Michael put his arm around Cathy’s shoulder and realized she was freezing too. The sweater she’d been wearing earlier was gone. She’d probably given it to Juliet. He wished he had a jacket so he could warm her up.
Michael tried to refocus. “I was with Bob most of the day, helping Holly move. He was all business—spent a lot of time on his phone—but he’s a doctor. That’s his life, right?”
“Did you hear any of those calls?”
“No. He took them outside, sometimes sitting in his car. I figured he was talking to patients. You can confirm that with phone records.”
“Yeah, I’m waiting for those now.” Max looked down at Cathy. “I’m really sorry you’re having to go through this again.”
Cathy’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back defiantly. “Me too.”
“You taking Juliet straight home?” Michael asked her.
“Not right away. We’ll detour by my house and let her clean up before the kids see her. Michael, will you stop by sometime? Maybe you can help jog her memory for clues.”
Michael nodded and glanced at his brother, watching for his usual bristling. “Sure, I’ll do whatever I can. Max, I’ll let you know if she remembers anything else.”
Max had the grace not to do the whole “stay out of our way and let us do our job” routine that he often did. Maybe Max was giving Michael grace because he was so close to this family.
“And hey, I could do some of the footwork you don’t have the manpower for,” Michael said.
“I think we can handle it. But let’s stay in touch.”
It was the best Michael could hope for.
J
uliet hadn’t realized she was freezing until Cathy brought the blanket. Her sister opened it and draped it around Juliet’s shoulders, cloaking her in warmth. “They said I could take you home,” Cathy said. “Come on, we’ll keep this around you so people won’t see the blood. Let’s go.”
Juliet stood and looked around, feeling as if she’d forgotten something. Her purse, where was it?
“They’ve got your stuff,” Cathy said. “We can get it on the way out.”
Juliet didn’t remember them taking her purse. She wondered how long she’d been here . . . how long since her husband died. The reality that Bob was dead bounced around in her brain, but she still couldn’t grasp it.
“Juliet, you okay?”
She shook out of her thoughts and looked up at Michael. “Michael, we can’t let him get away with this. This person . . . this monster . . .”
“We won’t,” Michael assured her. But how could he promise her anything? No one knew better than Michael that bad guys didn’t always get caught.
They led her out of the interview room. But she’d taken only a few steps when Max Hogan emerged from the stairwell. He’d been the one to corral her into the interview room when she’d arrived, and he’d recorded her statement, taking copious notes and asking questions.
“Juliet, I’m going to let you go,” he said, “but I’ll need to get back with you tomorrow. Call us if you think of anything else. We’ll keep you informed about the case.”
The case. Her husband—the love of her life—was now a case.
They escorted her out to Cathy’s car, and Juliet climbed into the passenger seat, hoping she didn’t get blood on Cathy’s leather seats. Michael left in his own car, hopefully to track down leads.
Juliet sat with the blanket wrapped tightly as the car jostled her. She looked out the window at the night sights flying by. If this hadn’t happened, where would they be now? They’d be back home with the boys, who would be begging for ice cream before bed. She’d be asking Abe and Zach if they had really brushed their teeth. Asking Bob if he wanted to sleep in tomorrow morning.
She would have herded the boys into the shower, folded a load of laundry, planned tomorrow’s lunch, gotten the kids to bed. Then she would have collapsed in bed next to her husband, his warmth making blankets unnecessary. Tomorrow they would have risen to another day in their perfect little oblivious lives.
“Juliet? Honey?”
Juliet drew her gaze from the glass to Cathy. “Hmmm?”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.” She couldn’t eat a thing. Her stomach felt like stormy ocean waves. “Where do you think they’ll take him?”
Cathy was quiet. “Let’s not think about that right now. He’s been moved. You don’t have to worry about him.”
The morgue, then. Juliet supposed she’d have to talk to the funeral home tomorrow to get him moved again. The thought exhausted her. So much to do.
She thought of Bob’s mother, living in an assisted-living apartment near his sister, two states away. She would have to call her and tell her what happened. Break her mother-in-law’s heart.