Carefully, almost lovingly, I rewrapped the framed photograph back in the T-shirt and pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket. I hit the speed dial for Lew’s cell.
“How did it go with the bond officers?” Lew asked, clearly expecting my call.
“Three strikes, you’re out.” I said.
A man with a long, ratty ponytail walked out of the exotic dance studio.
“I’m not surprised,” Lew said.
“Not surprised. Well, that’s encouraging.” I kept an eye on the man so that I could kick him where it counted, if need be.
He lit a cigarette and leaned against the studio’s door.
In my ear, I heard Lew light a cigarette. “It never hurts to try.”
“It hurts me,” I muttered. “What’s our next step? Give me some more names.”
“That’s all I got. Those were the only names I thought would have even a remote interest in bailing out Mark.”
“But . . .”
“I’m sorry, India, but unless your parents take the initiative to post bond, he’s going to prison.”
I scratched my head angrily. “Will you speak to them?”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised.
I paused.
“What?” Lew rasped. Lew was a good attorney and knew when someone was holding something back.
“I found something,” I said, still unsure if I wanted to make a confession.
To my relief the pony-tailed man finished his cigarette. Throwing the stub back on the sidewalk, he reentered the studio.
“India,” Lew said impatiently. “What did you find?”
“A picture.”
“Am I going to have to guess of what?” He took a drag of his cigarette.
I took a breath and told him about my clandestine adventure and the engagement photograph.
Lew was not pleased. “Do you know how much trouble you could get into for this? Even if I can prove that your brother is innocent, you can still be charged with tampering with evidence.”
My chest constricted. I knew he was right. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Lew snorted into the phone so loudly, I jumped.
“Don’t you see? This proves that Mark was framed.”
“It would have, if you hadn’t removed the evidence,” he complained.
“Listen, Lew, I’m giving you a heads-up. I’m turning the photo over to the police.”
“I don’t know if that’s . . .”
“My mind’s made up. I can’t keep driving around with it in my car. It’s making me crazy. Maybe, I can use it to show them that Mark really was framed. I found the picture before the scarf was found, didn’t I? This shows that whoever planted the scarf in his apartment, first tried the picture. I foiled the first plot when I found it before the police did.”
“That, my girl, is called conjecture.” Lew took another drag of his cigarette. “You can keep Mark company in county prison.”
On that note, I said good-bye and disconnected.
I reached through the open window for my shoulder bag. After sifting through it for a few seconds, I dumped its contents on the hood and over the ugly message that Kirk had keyed there the day before. Compact, wallet, spare change, a small army of pens and pencils, sketch pad, used tissues, and gum wrappers clattered onto the metal surface. I rummaged through the mess and located the card, crumpled and covered with charcoal pencil.
Standing outside North and South Bond Offices, I examined it. Medium-weight paper with simple black lettering and the department’s seal in the upper left-hand corner. I gathered my things back into the bag.
With shaky fingers, I punched the number into my cell. Mains’s line at the police station rang four times before his voicemail picked up. “This is Detective Richmond Mains of the Stripling Police Department. I’m sorry to have missed your call. If this is an emergency, press one. If you’d…” The recording stopped abruptly. “Mains speaking.”
I held the phone away from my ear, dumbstruck. I was hoping to just leave a message that said something like, “Oh hi, Detective Mains, I happen to pick up Olivia Blocken’s engagement picture, and I wanted to turn it over to you. Oh, and by-the-way, I found it in my brother’s office just a day or so after she was attacked. Thanks. Bye.”
“Hello?” Mains asked.
I found my voice. “Rick?”
“Yes.” He was impatient.
“This is India, uh, India Hayes.” I mentally slapped myself on the forehead; how many other Indias could he know?
“What’s up?” I heard a smile in his voice. I could’ve imagined it, or worse wished it. Focus, India, I told myself.
“I think we should meet about my brother’s case.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I had done over the phone. It was better to get the confession over with and turn over the picture all at the same time. Or, so I thought.
Mains agreed to meet me in Ryan Memorial Library’s parking lot in thirty minutes.
I climbed into my car, made an illegal U-turn in the middle of the deserted street, and headed back to Stripling.
Chapter Forty-One
Summer students lounged on the quad as I drove through campus. Two coeds of indeterminable gender played catch on the edge of the library’s lot. Mains waited outside of his cop sedan. His arms were folded across his chest.
When I got out of my car, I pulled at the hem of my shorts. “How’s Mark?”
Mains took a pair of sunglasses out of the breast pocket of his shirt and shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun. “He asked for paper and pencil so that he could work on calc problems in his cell. I gave him a box of tissue too. He’s been crying off and on. He hasn’t really said much.”
“That sounds like Mark.” I pushed the worry for my brother to the back of my mind.
“You could have asked me that over the phone.”
“You’re right.” I looked at the ground.
“Is there something else you wanted to tell me?”
I looked at the trees, the sky, the library, the sexless catch couple, everywhere but his face. When I had decided, I looked him directly in the eye. “Someone is framing Mark.”
He uncrossed and crossed his arms. I saw my reflection in his sunglasses—I looked small, misshapened, frightened. I straightened my shoulders, reset my jaw, and walked toward the back of the car.
Mains followed but then stopped short. He removed his sunglasses and stared at my car’s hood. “What the . . .”
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“Nothing? It’s a threat.” Mains clenched his jaw. “Who did this?” He leaned over to examine the angry letters more closely.
“It doesn’t matter. The car’s a piece of junk anyway. Bobby’s been begging me to buy a new one for years. Now, I have the proper incentive.”
Through clenched teeth, “Who did this?”
I turned to face him. “I didn’t ask you to meet me here to show you that.” I gestured at the hood as if I didn’t care, as if every time I saw it, it didn’t hurt me.
