Burden of Proof Page 14

  Gary watched her walk to the duty sergeant, who handed her the phone. “You two have a spat?”

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Man, does that ever sound familiar. I’ll go see if we can speed things up.”

  Eventually Gina passed the phone back and thanked the sergeant. Ethan saw how her molten gaze flashed angrily everywhere but directly at him.

  He said, “Gina, if the money makes you so upset, I’ll take it back right now.”

  In response, she walked over to the long wooden bench running down the side wall. There was one other occupant, a sullen youth with a tall pompadour and what appeared to be a massive hangover, cuffed to the opposite end, directly across from the duty sergeant. Gina planted herself as far from the youth as possible. She crossed her arms over her purse and glared at nothing.

  Ethan walked over and said, “Whatever I’ve done, I apologize.”

  “Really, Ethan?” She lifted her gaze, showing unshed tears. “Really?”

  He remained standing, watching her, trying to understand exactly what was going on.

  As if in response to his unspoken question, she whispered, “Why won’t you trust me?”

  He lowered himself slowly, giving her a chance to deny him the right to join her.

  Gina’s internal cauldron mangled her softly spoken words. “I know you’re hiding something.” When he did not speak, she said, “Thank you for not denying it.”

  This attitude was new. No boiling rage, no acidic biting tone. Instead, she revealed to him a severely wounded heart.

  “Gina . . .”

  “Do Adrian and Sonya know?”

  Ethan sighed.

  Her face crimped in the effort not to cry. “That’s what I thought.”

  Gary chose that moment to emerge through the security door and say, “We’re on.”

  The detectives’ bullpen contained twenty cubicles, with about half of them staffed. Almost all the heads rose up far enough to watch them proceed to the conference room in the far corner.

  A dark-skinned man built like a block of solid cobalt stood in the doorway. “Not every day we have a real lifesaver in here.” He offered Ethan his hand. “Stan Lauder. That’s usually our job, Mr. Barrett. Running toward trouble, taking a bullet in the process.”

  “I might have done it,” Gary said. “Only I was looking in the wrong direction.”

  Ethan knew he probably should say something—tell the detective to use his first name, make a joke of his injury. But there was a faint buzzing in his brain, remnants of hearing that Gina was all too aware of his secret. Sooner or later he needed to tell her everything, but he had no idea what to say or how to say it.

  The detective introduced himself to Gina, then led them into the windowless room. An empty whiteboard ran down two walls, streaked and smudged from whatever investigation was no longer there. A heavyset Latina in a rumpled navy business suit sat in the far corner. She watched them enter with a dark, unblinking gaze.

  Stan said, “Estelle Rodriguez, US Marshals Service.” When everyone was seated, he went on, “Gary was my partner for his last four years, which means I can cut you some slack. Some, mind you. Not a lot.”

  Ethan heard the words, but had no desire to respond. He felt disconnected from the outside world, shrunk down to some internal space by Gina’s revelation. The fact that she knew suggested some connection beyond logical thought. She was welded to him at some far deeper level. As if their married life and the love they once shared had managed to transcend whatever barrier he had crossed and was still with them. In the new here and now.

  The woman from the marshals’ office demanded, “What role does Ms. Devoe play in all this?”

  “Funny,” Gary replied. “I was about to ask the very same thing about you.”

  “Officer Rodriguez is now attached to our investigation,” Stan replied. He slipped into the seat two away from the marshal.

  “Which tells me nothing at all.”

  Rodriguez said, “Answer my question.”

  “Ms. Devoe serves as Mr. Barrett’s researcher.”

  She turned to the detective. “Why are we hearing from this gentleman and not Mr. Barrett directly?”

  “Because we’re waiting for you to ask the question they won’t answer,” Gary replied.

  “Which is what, exactly.”

  Gary just smiled.

  Rodriguez’s expression tightened a notch. “Ms. Devoe wouldn’t also happen to be your source, would she, Mr. Barrett?”

  Ethan’s reply was halted by Gary lifting one finger. “No, she would not.”

  “Who is your source, Mr. Barrett?” When Ethan did not respond, the marshal’s tone hardened. “This is me asking nicely for the last time.”

  “And this is the only response you will be getting.” Gary continued to smile across the table. “I have been instructed by Ethan’s attorney of record to say that if you insist on inquiring any further into the matter of a confidential source, this meeting is concluded.”

  “That is not for you to say.”

  “The meeting will resume when said attorney is present, at which time he will be the only person who speaks.” Gary swept his hand toward Ethan. “Forget pressing Mr. Barrett any further about his confidential source and we can continue the conversation. Otherwise, have a nice day.”

  Stan watched the marshal for a long moment. When the woman remained angrily silent, he asked, “What line of work are you in, Mr. Barrett?”

  “Investments.”

  “Did you meet this confidential source of yours through your investment work?”

  “Nice try,” Gary said. “Moving on.”

  “This is ridiculous,” the marshal said.

  Stan asked, “Will you tell us what happened in the run-up to the assault?”

  “Yes.”

  Stan reached under the table and came up with a cheap cassette deck. “Can I record this?”

  Ethan nodded. “If you want.”

  Ethan found himself marginally rejoining the group as he repeated the events. The detective stopped him several times, shifting back and forth, clearly trying to have him reveal the source’s identity. When they reached the point where Ethan attacked the shooter, the images flashed crystal clear once more. The sunlight glinted off the gun barrel. The drugstore bag dropped to the step. The shooter lifted his weapon.

  Ethan was sweating hard by the time he said, “My head must have hit the step. I blacked out.”

  All through Ethan’s description, the marshal continued to shift her glare from Ethan to Gary to Gina and back again, as if she could not decide who to arrest first. A professional distaste radiated from the woman.

  When Ethan finished and the silence had lingered for a time, Gary asked, “Can I ask a question?”

  “You can certainly ask,” the detective replied. “Absolutely.”

  “We’re clearly missing something here,” Gary said. “A US marshal doesn’t fit into the case as I know it. What is Ms. Rodriguez doing here?”

  Rodriguez demanded, “What exactly do you know?”

  “That’s simple enough. A shooter was apprehended and arrested.” Gary spread his hands over the scarred tabletop. “See how easy that was?”

  Stan told Gary, “We’ve had a development.”

  “Don’t say anything more,” Rodriguez snapped.

  “See, ma’am, here’s the thing.” Stan continued to aim his words across the table at Gary. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “This is an ongoing investigation handled by the US Marshals Service.”

  “You go right ahead and investigate whatever you want.” Stan gestured to the trio seated across from him. “I will continue to handle my investigation exactly as I see fit. And right now, I’m getting a lot more willing assistance from these three than I am from you.”

  Ethan studied the Jacksonville detective, more certain by the minute that all this was a show. Not for the marshal or for Stan’s former partner. For him.

 
Rodriguez rose from her chair. “I will be seeking a federal injunction to pull you and your entire department from this case.”

  “You do that.” Stan watched her storm to the door. “Have a nice day, now.”

  When the door slammed behind her, Gary asked, “What just happened?”

  Stan tapped his pen a couple of times. He then realized they were still recording. He cut off the tape deck and popped out the cassette. “Hang on a second.”

  When he had left, Gina asked, “What is going on?”

  “Something big enough for Stan to need the lieutenant’s permission.” Gary leaned back and laced his fingers across his middle. “When do you need to leave for Sonya’s lab?”

  Ethan checked his watch. “We’ve got another ten minutes.”

  “I suggest you hang around.” Gary smiled at the door. “Whatever this is, it should be good.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  As soon as the door closed behind the detective, Ethan said, “That argument we just saw, I’m pretty sure Stan set it up for our benefit.”

  Gary did not merely turn to Ethan. He shifted his entire bulk. “Now that’s an interesting thought.”

  “You disagree?”

  “Not at all. Matter of fact, I was wondering why they felt a need to air their disagreements in public.” Gary stared at the closed door. “Stan deals with the feds often enough to know getting them riled doesn’t pay off in the long run.”

  “He wanted to show us he’s on our side,” Ethan guessed.

  Before Gary could comment further, Stan returned. With him was an older man, lean as a greyhound and completely bald. He wore a white button-down short-sleeve shirt, a clip-on tie, and a gold badge attached to his belt.

  Stan did not bother to introduce the newcomer. He reseated himself and said, “Rickie Schofeld. Know that name?”

  “The shooter,” Gary replied.

  “Right. Until this week, Rickie was in his second year of ten to twenty at Raiford. His third count of armed robbery. If anybody had asked me, I’d say the guy was going nowhere in a hurry.”

  “Except maybe to court for an appeal that wouldn’t fly,” Gary said, nodding.

  “Rickie got himself released on early parole,” Stan went on. “And nobody can tell us why.”

  Gina asked, “Is that normal?”

  “Early release from Raiford for a three-timer,” Stan said. “Would you class that as normal, partner?”

  “Not in a million years,” Gary replied.

  “And yet nobody can tell us how it happened. Raiford points to a federal judge’s order, the prison board ain’t responding to my questions, and the judge is on vacation and can’t be reached.”

  “How does a federal judge have jurisdiction over a burglary?”

  “We plan on asking him that very same question,” Stan replied. “Soon as the judge gets back and unseals the court records.”

  “What do you know,” Gary said.

  “Hang on, I’m just getting started.” The detective glanced at the older man standing by the door. He must have received what he needed, for he turned back and said, “Day before yesterday, Rickie Schofeld was checked out of the county jail for a psychiatric evaluation requested by his attorneys. At arraignment these same lawyers informed the judge they intended to enter a plea of temporary insanity.”

  Gary said, “Tell us what happened.”

  “The plaintiff never arrived at the hospital.” Stan gave that a beat, then went on, “We know this because four and a half hours later the doctor phoned and said he couldn’t wait any longer, he was late for his rounds.”

  Ethan asked, “Who checked him out of the jail?”

  “That’s another interesting question. The answer is, we don’t know, on account of the page is missing from the record book. There’s been an almighty ruckus. The sheriff handles all the county lockups. He’s been on some kind of tear, I tell you what. Two people arrived during the visiting-hour crush and showed the duty officer US marshals’ badges. One of them wore a cap that masked him from the camera, but we got a good shot of the other. She’s definitely not one of their current officers. They checked thoroughly. That’s why we couldn’t meet yesterday. They were still checking.”

  “The Marshals Service suspects somebody on your staff of being behind the escape,” Ethan said. Which explained the marshal’s hostility toward the local detective. “What about Schofeld’s attorney? Did Carstairs have anything to say?”

  “Another interesting question.” Stan nodded. “That lawyer either knows nothing or deserves an Emmy for his act.”

  Ethan looked at Gary, who responded with a single nod. Go for it. “Carstairs represents the investors in Sonya’s company,” Ethan said. “They hold a majority share and now intend to buy her out.”

  Stan lifted the recorder and made sure it was running. “This would be Dr. Sonya Barrett, your brother’s wife.”

  “Correct. She has vowed to leave the group the instant she loses control. But they’re still pushing for the buyout.”

  Stan took a pad and pen from his jacket. “What is she working on?”

  “Pain management through brain waves. That’s all I know. I’m due to meet with her as soon as we finish here.”

  The lieutenant spoke for the first time. “You think there’s a tie-in between the attack and these investors?”

  Ethan said, “My brother is fighting them tooth and nail.”

  Gary pointed out, “He doesn’t think he’s got a Florida snowball’s chance of winning.”

  Ethan looked at the PI. “What if they know there’s a weakness, something they see but we don’t? What if they’re worried the longer this case drags on, the greater the chance we’ll discover it and force them to back off?”

  Stan said, “There’s a lot of empty spaces in that conjecture.”

  “And a lot of coincidences to back Ethan up,” Gary replied.

  “Man’s got a point,” the lieutenant said. He asked Ethan, “Gary told us your source said something about the getaway ride.”

  “Right. A stolen minivan. That’s all I know.”

  Stan asked, “Driver?”

  “No idea.”

  The lieutenant said, “A dark-grey Dodge minivan was reported missing yesterday from a Walmart parking lot. It was found burned to a hulk down a Duval County hunting trail.”

  Stan said, “Cameras outside the courthouse don’t show much of the street. We haven’t spotted it, and nobody remembers seeing one around.”

  “Still,” Ethan said, “it’s another coincidence.”

  “I need something concrete,” Stan said. “Some shred of hard evidence. Bring me that and we’ll be on it like a dog on a bone.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  During the drive from the police station to Sonya’s lab, Ethan outlined the questions he needed Gina to ask. He was resigned to the lab tests and did not want to spend a moment longer in the place than absolutely necessary. Gina spoke only to acknowledge his requests. When Ethan pulled into a visitor’s spot in front of Sonya’s building, he felt like a pet dog being hauled into the vet’s office against his will.

  He gave their names to a uniformed woman with the security company’s logo on her jacket pocket. Sonya arrived two minutes later, followed by an attractive Asian woman in her early thirties.

  Sonya motioned them through the lab entrance, waited for it to click shut, then launched straight in. “One of your security details spent the night parked in front of our home. They followed me to work. Now I’ve got another team who’s taken over the receptionist station. The group who tracked me here is out there somewhere doing foot patrols.” She crossed her arms and took a tight grip around her middle. “I don’t care what Adrian says. We’re doing important work here, and I don’t want this sort of interference.”

  Even now, when she was upset with him, Sonya lacked the heat Ethan had always known before. He replied, “Gary and I are becoming increasingly certain the shooter did no
t act alone. The police don’t think it’s definite, not yet anyway. But they’re treating this threat as real. You need to as well.”

  Sonya and the other woman exchanged a wide-eyed look. When neither spoke, Ethan pressed on. “Adrian’s told me to handle this. I’m doing my best here, and part of this is keeping you safe.”

  “I can’t come up with an argument to that,” Sonya reluctantly allowed.

  “Thank you, Sonya.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m not feeling particularly agreeable. And I may change my mind.”

  He risked a smile. “I’ll tell the teams to keep their distance.”

  Sonya gestured to the other woman. “This is Dr. Madeline Wang, the head of my lab. She is up to date on all my work.”

  “This is Gina Devoe. She’s working the case with us.”

  “Tell Gina everything,” Sonya said to her associate. “Ethan, come with me.”

  Sonya’s lab was a series of large glassed-in chambers about forty feet square. Ethan could see Gina and Madeline enter a room two over from where he sat with Sonya. The two women sat by a narrow white desk with two whiteboards flanking the opposite glass wall. Their room was filled with desks and clunky computers and stacks of journals and printouts. Gina held his gaze for a long moment, then turned her chair so that her back was to him. Ethan sighed.

  Nothing escaped Sonya. “Did you tell her how you came to be here?”

  “No. But she knows I’m withholding something.”

  “Of course she does. She might not know what it is, but she can see there are pieces missing to what you’re saying.” Sonya seated herself on a padded lab stool, pointed Ethan to one on the other side of a table set on rollers, and began laying out syringes and empty ampuls for blood. “Adrian was absolutely wrong to say what he did. As wrong as you are not to tell her. Roll up your sleeve.”

  “I don’t have any idea what I should do.”

  “Make a fist.” Sonya fit a tourniquet around his upper arm, then wiped the vein that appeared in his elbow. “Adrian made me promise to say that it is your decision. I feel like I spent the morning in court, arguing a case against my husband.”

  “Ow.”