The Right Call (7 page)

“I didn’t really know Tal either, but I knew a lot about him.” Drew stared out the window. “His parents divorced when he was a kid. His dad’s been married four times and has six daughters. Tal was the only son. His dad expected him to take over the family business someday and was going to give him a position there right out of college. Tal probably would’ve become a millionaire. But you know what he really wanted to do?” Drew looked at Vanessa. “Go to the police academy.”

“He might have changed his mind if he’d ever lived with a cop. It’s not an easy life. They’re exposed to the worst of the worst, and it can make them cynical. But I think my mom’s a saint. She says law enforcement is her calling. It must be, because after all she’s been through, she still loves what she’s doing.”

“I just hope she can get the shooter,” Ethan said.

“Knowing Mom, she won’t stop until she does.”

Stedman Reeves keyed in Grant Wolski’s number on his prepaid cell phone and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello.”

“It’s Stedman. We need to talk.”

“I told you we’re never to talk about it,” Grant said. “What is it about
never
you don’t understand?”

“I know what you said. I need you to listen to me. I lied. I didn’t kill Tal Davison.”

“Sure you did. He’s in the morgue.”

“I didn’t do it! I followed him to a house on Mobley and waited for hours for him to come out. When he did, he stumbled around like he was drunk and then started walking. I followed him home, trying to get up my nerve. That’s when a red truck zoomed past me and pulled up beside him. The passenger shot him and sped off. Man, I beat it out of there. I called and told you ‘the pizza had been delivered’ because I wanted my gambling debt out of the way. I figured you got what you wanted. Why not take advantage of it?”

There was a moment of steely silence. “So why are you telling me this?” Grant said.

“Because I just watched the news, and that coed was shot with the same gun that killed Davison. I don’t want you thinking
I
did it. I didn’t have the guts to kill him, and I sure didn’t kill that girl.”

“You really think I’m going to tip off the cops?”

“I don’t know what to think. But I didn’t kill
anybody
.
”

“What did you do with the gun I gave you?”

“Nothing. It hasn’t even been fired. Why would I make this up?”

“To cover your tail. Maybe you tried to make Davison’s death look like a drive-by, and the girl’s death was an accident. Now you’re panicked.”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t kill either of them. You’ve got to believe me.”

“Fine. You didn’t do it. Then you still owe me sixty grand.” Grant laughed. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

“Come on, man, this isn’t funny. What if they know I saw them?”

“
Did
you?”

“Yeah, two guys. I couldn’t really see their faces. I’m sure the truck had Tennessee plates with the letter
S.”

“What kind of truck was it?”

“Red. Fairly new. I didn’t get the make and model. It happened so fast, and I was focused on Davison.”

“Do you think they saw
you?”

“Of course they saw me; they passed me. For all I know, they think I saw everything and got their license number.”

“I doubt that. You’d have told the cops by now.”

“Maybe they think I’m holding out! Maybe they’ll come looking for me! What do I do?”

“Calm down. If you’re worried about it, keep the gun and use it for protection. It’s stolen and can’t be traced to you. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. For every day you don’t pay me, the debt goes up a thousand bucks.”

“I’ll get it, man.”

“Not laying concrete for Ralph Langley, you won’t.”

“I need that job to pay the rent. I don’t gamble with my paycheck. I’ve always used my winnings.”

“Then you better hope your luck changes—and soon. I’ll be in touch. Don’t call me again.”

Stedman sat in the dead air that followed, his heart hammering, his stomach churning. What were the odds he could win that much money? What choice did he have? He had to try. His credit cards were maxed out, and he couldn’t afford to skip town.

Chapter 8

The
next morning Ethan Langley opened the front door of his uncle Ralph and aunt Gwen’s two-story frame house and was hit with the unmistakable aroma of his aunt’s county-fair blue-ribbon peanut-butter cookies.

“Hello, anybody home?”

“We’re back here,” said a muffled male voice.

Ethan headed for the kitchen, his mouth watering for a cookie—or even a spoonful of cookie dough.

He breezed into the kitchen and right into the arms of Aunt Gwen.

“You timed that perfectly,” she said. “The first batch is still warm. Ralph actually took a Saturday morning off, if you can believe it.”

Ethan grabbed two cookies off the cooling rack just as his uncle put him in a playful headlock.

“How’re you doing, kid?”

“Good.”

“How’s Drew?” Gwen said.

“
Not
so good.”

Ralph let go of Ethan and grabbed a cookie. “Did he know the girl they found shot?”

“No. But Drew tried to revive his roommate after he was shot. It’s going to take some time to get over it.”

“I wish I could be there to support him,” Ralph said. “But that stubborn twin brother of mine would make him feel guilty for talking to me.”

“People change. Don’t you think Uncle Richard would want you to help Drew through this while he and Aunt Becca are halfway around the world?”

“No. I think he’d be counting on his
other
brother to do it. And since Tom and Lisa will be here any minute, I’m sure I’ll get this same guilt trip in stereo.”

Try listening for a change.

“Don’t try to shrink my head, Ethan. Or at least wait until you get your degree.” The corners of Ralph’s mouth turned up. “I miss having you around here. How long are you going to stay with Drew?”

“Just depends on how he’s doing. His folks will be back in two weeks. Before I forget to ask, what time do I report for work on Monday?”

“Seven. We’re going to start laying the foundations for the tract homes in Misty Meadows. You going to be able to handle twelve-hour days?”

“Sure. Any chance I could come to work an hour earlier and leave at six p.m.?” He locked gazes with Uncle Ralph and tried not to smile first.

A broad grin appeared between Ralph’s salted red mustache and beard. “Something tells me we wouldn’t be seeing much of you even if you were staying here.”

“I want to spend as much time as I can with Vanessa and Carter over the summer. All I’ve got are evenings and Sundays.”

“You two getting serious?”

“It’s difficult being away from her, that’s for sure.” Ethan grabbed two more cookies. “These are to die for, Aunt Gwen.”

“Take as many as you want. I quadrupled the recipe so I’ll have enough to freeze. Want milk?”

“Sure, but I can get it.”

“No, sit. I’ll get it. Give us the inside scoop on the shooting investigation.”

“I don’t know any more than the media’s reported. Chief Jessup doesn’t discuss police business with me.”

Gwen’s eyebrows came together. “Doesn’t Vanessa?”

“Her mom doesn’t tell her either. There are some things the police aren’t free to talk about, not even with family.”

Ralph laughed. “Nice try, honey. Looks like your mahjong ladies are going to have to follow the story on TV like the rest of us.”

Brill sat at the conference table in her office, the Roberts and Davison case files open in front of her, and tried to sum up what they had determined so far.

The same nine-millimeter gun was used in both shootings, and matching bullets were recovered in the wall at Woodall’s Grocery and the door at Milligan’s Realty Company.

Taking into account the statements of eyewitnesses and the trajectory of the bullets recovered, the shooter was the passenger in a red late-model truck going west on Stoneleigh. He fired several shots and hit Tal Davison, then turned south on First Street and fired more shots and hit Woodall’s Grocery. He continued driving south five blocks, then turned east on Essex, still firing, and hit Skyler Roberts. He continued on to Fifth Street, then turned north and fired more shots, hitting Milligan’s Realty before arriving back at his starting point on Stoneleigh. Five square blocks. That could easily have been done in a few minutes.

What kind of message was this shooting supposed to send? Neither victim had any obvious connection to a gang or drug dealer. Were they just some random shooter’s collateral damage?

She heard a knock on the door and looked up just in time to see Trent come through the doorway.

He walked over and stood at the conference table, reeking of cigarette smoke. “We have a witness who said the shooter’s truck was a Ford F-150.”

“Good. One more piece of the puzzle.”

Trent smiled. “There’s more. We know that the bullets we recovered all came from the same gun. And ballistics has now determined that the rifling profile of those nine-millimeter Luger-type bullets is unique to Smith and Wesson’s second- and third- generation semiautomatic pistols, which includes all four-digit model numbers. They’re the
only
known manufacturer to use that rifling profile.”

“Well, that narrows it down. And we already eliminated Win Davison’s gun. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“I see you’re looking through the files. Did you come up with something new?”

“No. Your detectives did a thorough job. Have we heard back from the FBI’s gang unit about the graffiti?

“Not conclusively. They want to take another look at it. But they’ve never seen this graffiti before and aren’t convinced it’s authentic.”

“Then we’re on the same page. This looks to me like someone trying too hard to make it look like gang involvement. The question is who—and why?”

“We have no motive in the death of either victim.”

“Yet. We’re obviously missing something.” She paused for a moment and considered what she was about to do. “Trent, close the door and sit down for a minute. I want to talk to you about something.”

Trent pulled the door closed and sat across from her, his hands folded on the table.

She locked gazes with him. “When did you start smoking again?”

He got that I-don’t-know-what-you-are-talking-about look on his face and then stared at his hands. “How’d you know?”

“You reek of cigarettes.”

He sighed. “You going to lecture me too? Because Trish is already on my back.”

“She’d like to keep you around a long time. Whatever happened to giving up smoking for her and the kids?”

Trent shrugged. “It’s too hard. I find myself sneaking around to have a smoke—like a schoolboy behind the barn. I’m a grown-up, for cryin’ out loud. I should be able to smoke without being made to feel guilty by the reformed smokers of the world.”

“I never smoked, Trent. I have no idea what you’re going through. But I have some idea what Trish is feeling. They practically had to pry the cigarettes out of my grandfather’s hand, even when he had emphysema and then was diagnosed with lung cancer. I saw what it did to my grandmother—and my mom. He said he couldn’t help it.”

“Maybe he couldn’t.”

“Or didn’t want to badly enough.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve never been addicted.”

“Fair enough. But there’s so much available now to help people who want to quit that there’s no excuse to stay addicted.”

“I’m not looking for excuses. But not everyone can stick a Tootsie Pop in his mouth and kick the habit like Beau Jack did.”

“So find a support group.”

“Not my style.”

“Try the patch.”

“I did. It made me nauseated and made my skin itch.”

She sighed. “Look, your doctor even has medication you can try.”

“The truth is, I like smoking. I only tried to quit for everyone else.”

Brill studied his face—the spittin’ image of Denzel Washington. “You’re forty-one and fit as a fiddle. Why do you want to jeopardize your future by turning your lungs black?”

“Hey, just trying to keep all my body parts color coordinated.”

“I didn’t laugh the first time you pulled that line on me, and I’m not laughing now. I can’t tell you what to do, and I won’t bring it up again. But as a friend, not as the chief, I’m imploring you to do everything you can to kick the habit. God gave you a healthy body. Don’t deliberately mess it up.”

“And if I don’t quit?”

“I’m praying you will.”

“Hey, no fair.” Trent half smiled, lacing his fingers together. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. Trish already has her Bible-study group praying.”

“Prayer’s not a magic wand for a habit you
don’t want
to break.”

“I tried. Nothing worked.”

“Trent, you’re one of the most disciplined cops I know. You dot every
i
and cross every
t.
Be honest with yourself. You’re a slave to cigarettes because you’re
choosing
to be. Okay, enough said.” Brill stood. “I thought you should know how I feel.”

“Anything else?”

“No, you’re free to go.”

Trent lifted his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t exactly call this
free
.
”

Ethan stood at the curb on the south end of Cherokee Valley Park and opened the passenger door for Vanessa, then reached in the backseat, unbuckled Carter, and lifted him out of the car seat.

“Hey, big guy. You ready for a picnic?”

Vanessa laughed. “I brought everything but the kitchen sink. All he really needs are his toys and he’ll be happy as a lark.”

“Here, I’ll get that.” Ethan took the picnic basket from Vanessa. “Where do you want to go?”

“Why don’t we sit under that beautiful shade tree over there? Then if Carter gets fussy we can come back and get his Pack ’n Play and put him down for a nap.”

Ethan headed for the towering oak, Carter on his hip and Vanessa next to him, an old patchwork quilt under her arm and the toy toolbox in her hand. Was this what it felt like to be married?

“The weather’s gorgeous.” Vanessa looked up at the bluebird sky, her shiny dark hair falling down to the middle of her back. “I’m so glad I’ve got you for the summer.”

“You’ve got me, all right.” He smiled. “Will you look at that view?”

Beyond the rolling green terrain of the park, the spring foothills were cloaked in blue-white haze, the Great Smoky Mountains barely visible in the distance.

He drank in the beauty for a moment, then walked over and stood under the tree. He handed Carter to Vanessa and took the quilt and spread it on the ground.

Vanessa set Carter on the blanket and sat next to him. How did she get her figure back to almost perfect after gaining thirty pounds when she was pregnant?

Ethan sat cross-legged facing Vanessa and watched Carter dump the contents of his toolbox on the blanket.

“Did you ask your uncle if you could get off at six?” Vanessa’s clear blue eyes were provocative.

“I did. No problem. I just need to go in every morning at six.”

“You’re really going to work twelve-hour days?”

He took her hand. “Sure, I need the money. You know what it’s costing me to go to college. I’ll be paying for it the rest of my life.”

“I’m saving a fortune by taking online classes,” Vanessa said. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to quit. I need my teaching degree so I can take care of this little scamp.”

Ethan looked at the beautiful baby on the blanket. Reddish hair. Bright blue eyes. Angelic smile. He looked like his mother and not at all like Professor Nicholson. He shuddered to think how different each of their lives would be had Vanessa allowed Nicholson to pressure her into getting an abortion.

“So you start working Monday?”

“Yes, we’re going to lay the foundations for Misty Meadows.”

“Will you be working with the same crew?”

Ethan stroked her hair. “Just Stedman Reeves. Everyone else is new.”

“He’s the guy you worked with last summer, right?”

“Uh-huh. Uncle Ralph asked him to take me under his wing, and we really hit it off. I’m looking forward to finding out what he’s been up to.”