“Great. Paul, you okay?”
“Never better, thanks.” Over the past few weeks he’d debated coming out fully at work. At the moment, even though he and Cliff had been together for a year and a half, no one but Rob knew. Cliff deserved better.
“Okay, the boss is ready for you.”
“You know what this is about?” Rob asked before they went inside.
“Not a clue.”
Kraft sat behind his large wooden desk. Framed photographs with pictures of himself and the mayor and governor as well as his family took up most of the space around the computer monitor. Paul couldn’t imagine what he and Rob had been called in to discuss, but he respectfully remained quiet; he wasn’t going to speak first.
“Sit down, you two.”
Rob darted a glance at him, and they each took a seat in the chairs in front of Kraft’s desk. The last time they’d been called in was when they were suspended for their actions in solving the Ulrich murder the previous year, and Paul mentally ticked through the cases he and Rob had worked on lately, trying to come up with a reason why Kraft would want to speak with them.
“First of all, any update on the Main Street break-ins?” Kraft directed his question to Paul.
“We were about to go through the jewelry inventory, then head over to Oz’s Pawnshop to check things out there.”
“Good, good.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop. “I have some troubling news. It’s not official yet, but it looks like Remy Ellison is going to win his appeal. I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“You’re shitting me,” Paul blurted out.
“No way in hell,” Rob said and gave Paul a look of utter shock and dismay.
“I wish I were. That bastard deserves to rot in hell for what he did to the Sweeten girl. But unfortunately, they were able to prove jury misconduct—not one, but two jurors were shown to have had contact with their families during the trial. And it gets worse.”
“What the hell could be worse than that?” Paul asked. “Don’t tell me they’re dropping the case?” Problem was, it was built on a foundation of mostly circumstantial evidence except for one sneaker print and a few strands of hair which Ellison tried to explain away. Paul and Rob didn’t believe him and neither did the jury, but now it all went down the drain.
“No, no, they’ll retry him, but in the meantime, it seems he’s found a girlfriend with enough money to pay his bond.”
A cold chill settled over Paul. “You mean he’s going to walk?”
“He’s got the means now to post bail. You know there are people who love the jailbirds, and he found himself a sugar mama. Some woman named Annie Elliot. I’m sure you two will check up on her.”
“I don’t fucking believe this.”
“Says he’s found God now and is a man of peace and love.”
“Yeah, he’s a damn Gandhi, all right.”
“All this is to say that we’re going to have to gear up for a new trial eventually. Reinterview everyone, check and recheck, and when you think you’re finished, check again.”
“Will do, Lieutenant. We won’t let him get away with killing that girl. She would’ve been going to her senior prom this year. I can’t forget what he did to her.” Emotional now, Rob wiped his eyes.
There were things one didn’t forget. Ever. Your first kiss. The first “I love you.” And for Paul “Bulldog” Monroe, it was also his first murder investigation involving a child. Ginny Sweeten was only sixteen when she was killed, and seeing her young, broken body lying in the grass changed him forever.
“We’ll get on it right away.”
“I know you will.”
They remained silent on the way back to their desks, and both he and Rob sat staring off into space for a few minutes.
“That dirty, slimy bastard.” Rob clutched the edge of his desk.
“I know.” Paul put his arm around his partner. “We’re going to make sure he goes away for good.”
It wasn’t only the viciousness of the assault and killing, but the way Ellison carried himself through the trial. His smug face and overall nonchalance were proof enough that he thought his good looks would get him through life, and it now appeared to have worked for him. Somehow, he’d attracted a woman with the means to post a million-dollar bond.
Who the hell was this Annie Elliot?
Paul rolled his chair over to his desk and booted up his computer, then searched for the woman who’d bailed Ellison out. He whistled low.
“Now I see the attraction. Rob, look.”
Rob pushed his chair over to peer at Paul’s computer screen and read out loud from the press release that included Wilson Elliot’s obituary. “ ‘His daughter, Annie Elliot, 56, of Park Crescent Estates, inherits her family’s real-estate holdings, estimated at over thirty million dollars. Ms. Elliot attended Mountain View Community College with a degree in accounting. Her 2002 marriage to Earl Pfizer ended in divorce in 2004.’ ”
“So it could be she’s a lonely person, taken in by the younger, handsome, and charismatic Ellison.” Paul scribbled some notes on his pad.
“Either that, or she truly believes in his innocence and wants to help him, out of the goodness of her heart. And I’m sure the fact that he uses his looks to plead his innocence helped him.” Rob scrolled down. “No pictures that I can see, but we’ll take a deeper look.”
“Okay, you want to put in a request for the Sweeten file?”
“Sure.”
Rob called the records room, and Paul listened to his good-natured schmoozing with the harried clerk. When Rob disconnected the call, he gave Paul a thumbs-up.
“Got them to move the request to the top of the pile. Hopefully we’ll have it by the end of the day or tomorrow at the latest.”
“It’s that Gormley charm. You’ve got them eating out of your hand.”
“Yep, yep. It’s a gift, what can I say?” Rob cackled.
“Here you go, Mr. America.” Paul hit the Print button. “The complete inventory of stolen jewelry. Let’s go over to Oz’s and see if he’s got anything from here.” Paul held up the sheets.
“Ready when you are.”
They grabbed a set of keys to one of the sedans and strolled out into the morning sunshine. White clouds streaked the sky, and a warm breeze drifted past his face. He drew in a deep breath, enjoying the balmy temperature and the smell of freshly cut grass, a welcome break from the over-air-conditioned office.
Paul took the driver’s seat just as his phone rang. “Huh. It’s Cliff. He usually doesn’t call when I’m at work. He texts.”
“Maybe he misses you and wants to hear your voice.” Rob fluttered his eyelashes.
“Shut up, you idiot.” Paul took the call. “Hi,” he said with a smile. “I was—”
Cliff didn’t wait for Paul to finish talking. “Paul, I think you should come home.” His voice vibrated with tension, and fear sliced through Paul.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone fired a gun at the window. Please? Come home.”
Chapter Two
Earlier that morning, Cliff luxuriated in bed, intending to take full advantage of a rare day off. Paul had left about an hour before, but the smell of them remained warm in the sheets and pillow. Cliff hugged it close to his chest and smiled, recalling Paul’s good-bye kiss. He’d been grumpy as usual, but his kiss was soft and sweet.