CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I’M EXHAUSTED FROM my long walk and from coming to terms with the latest revelations from Bernard Flowers. I just want to get home and put my feet up, knit all the thoughts and implications together. But as I turn up Rhododendron Street, my phone throbs in my pocket. The caller ID announces Claire Chandler.
I sigh, but pick up. “Audrey here.”
“Oh my God, I need your help! I’ve discovered something and I don’t know what to do.”
I press the phone against my right ear and cover my left, turning away from the street. “Where are you?”
“The church. I was looking at some of the computer files.”
“Wait, Claire, that’s a crime scene. You shouldn’t be there. You could get in trouble.”
Irony. That’s what this is.
“I know, but I couldn’t wait, I had to know. And Audrey, the books aren’t right! At least, I don’t understand them. Please, I don’t know what to do.” Her voice cranks up a notch and I pull the phone away a titch. Take a breath for calm.
“Okay, first, you should get out of there before someone discovers you.” My own capture gleams sharp in my memory, and Olafson probably wouldn’t be so generous with another intruder. Then reality clicks. “Wait, the computer is still there?”
“The detectives told me they had to get a forensic team from the State police, and they haven’t come yet. So I thought it would be okay.”
“Claire, you’re contaminating the scene. Get out, and go home, and then call me back.” I end the call.
Well, aren’t we concerned about law and order now that you’re not the one breaking the rules.
I know, I know. But I knew what I was getting into. Claire doesn’t.
Like you knew what would happen when you agreed to go undercover? What are you, psychic?
I’m a cop! I knew there might be consequences! I knew things might go to shit. But if that’s the price to prevent what went on at that place, then it was worth it. Worth it to see Sonny and his gang apprehended. Worth it to get those kids out of his clutches.
Please. Those ‘kids’ were all more streetwise than you’ll ever be. Do you think any of them were surprised that the cops were involved up to their eyebrows? ‘Justice’ isn’t a word in their vocabulary.
Not all cops are crooked. I wasn’t.
Does it matter? Tar, brush. Even if you weren’t feeding at Sonny’s trough, you chose to shut your eyes to what was going on.
No. I was there to get information. Not to arrest people.
Too bad you didn’t get the relevant stuff. You know, like the other dirty cops. Maybe that’s why you had a ‘psychic vision,’ since you weren’t very adept at putting two and two together. How convenient, that you couldn’t participate in the trial.
No. The breakdown. I wasn’t fit —
That’s exactly right. You’re not fit to be a cop, or a detective, or anything else. Go hide in your hole, little mousie. Let other people deal with the dead.
“Shut up! Leave me alone!”
Sweat, streaming down my face. The sound of my own voice jolts me with a fearsome realization. I’m standing alone on the sidewalk. Talking to myself. Waving my arms like a lunatic. Knees buckling. With an effort, I look around. Don’t see anyone, but it doesn’t mean I’m not observed. Go back up the street, toward my house. Three-sixty-degree glance at the top of the steps before I dash to the door. This time my perimeter walk is outside first. Look for footprints, try the windows, any sign of intrusion. Don’t go inside until I’m happy with the outside, and once through the door I do the whole thing again. House is empty, entry points secure. Gun is nestled at my shoulder.
Still shaking, I go into the bathroom. Force my gaze into the mirror. The face is my own, white and padded with extra flesh. Scar, thin line ridging the skin below my collarbone. Hair, disheveled. But the eyes are Zoe’s. Frightened, feral, and mean.
My fist cracks out, into the glass. Full impact. It shudders up my arm, into my shoulder. A spiderweb shivers across the reflective surface, turning my face into a fractured mosaic. This image is closer to the truth. So close it burns my eyes with tears. I shut them, quick. Run cold water over my hand. Leave the room, shuck my coat. Realize I haven’t eaten anything so I pour out some cereal. Put my gun on the table beside me. The flakes are cold and crunchy, and the spoon rattles against the bowl.
I will not have a breakdown. I owe it to my client — my friend — to finish out this investigation. And I owe it to the dead.
The phone rings. Claire. Don’t want to answer but I do anyway.
“Okay, Audrey. I’m home.” She’s breathing hard.
Tighten the screws. Cop mode, not crazy mode. “Okay. What did you discover?”
“I was looking at the books. It should be straightforward, but I don’t understand it. There’s all these entries for artwork being sold, eBay accounts and shipping addresses. But I don’t see any matching revenue for the church.”
“How did you know what to access?”
“I just started looking at the flash drives on the desk. I didn’t know what was important.”
Something is off here. “Claire, why did you want to look at the church books in the first place?”
“I was trying to find a copy of Pastor Harkness’s manuscript. But then I find all this stuff about art. It must be the spirit offerings. Some of them have been sold for hundreds of dollars. And when I tried to check the church books to confirm, I didn’t see any revenue. Audrey, I think — I think Daniel might have been stealing.” She hiccups past a sob.
“Just hang on a second.” I pace, thinking. “Okay, just to clarify, do the spirit offerings belong the church, officially? Like donations? Or are they on loan from the congregants?”
Claire sniffles. “Well, I don’t think
