Resolute Investigation
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Leslie Marshman
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18
Chapter One
Chief Deputy Adam Reed snaked his way through the Friday-night crowd of spectators, a tired-looking horde reeking of booze, sweat and desperation. It was two in the morning, closing time. Bad luck for him to be on call but here he was, breaking up a fight that had begun inside the Dead End bar, then spilled through the doors and into the parking lot.
Max, both bartender and owner, had called it in to the Boone County Sheriff’s Department, claiming Eric Miller had started the whole thing. Max wanted him arrested for damages to the establishment. Adam scoffed. The Dead End was no more an establishment than the dumpster out back was a receptacle. The place was a dive bar, plain and simple.
Some in the mob shoved back as Adam elbowed through, but when they noticed who they were pushing, even the drunken patrons apologized and shuffled sideways. Breaking through the innermost ring of bystanders, he stopped and took in the view. A light spring rain had ended minutes earlier, and the bar’s neon sign reflected off the wet asphalt. Eric, his face bloodied and already swelling, faced off against a shorter but powerfully built man Adam hadn’t seen before. They circled each other, throwing jabs and punches.
“Enough. Step away from each other.” Adam issued the order in an authoritative voice and gave the two combatants a moment to follow his demand. Not likely to happen, but always worth a try.
Both men glanced at him, then apparently decided to finish their fight before the law could intervene. At least, the stranger did. He curled his left hand into a fist and swung before Adam could act. Eric took a brutal uppercut to his chin. His head jerked back violently, and he staggered. Shaking away the stars he must have been seeing, his eyes narrowed. Then, like a bull enraged by the matador’s blood-red muleta, Eric charged, fists swinging, pummeling the other man with ineffectual blows.
Adam grabbed Eric’s shirt collar and pulled him back several paces, then turned toward the stranger. Just in time to be blindsided by the full force of a roundhouse punch to the side of his head.
He hadn’t seen that one coming, literally or figuratively.
His ears ringing and his vision blurred, Adam staggered sideways and went down on one knee. Two men in the crowd looped their arms beneath Adam’s, keeping him from going horizontal on the wet pavement.
An agitated female voice called out, “Someone call 9-1-1.”
Adam made it back to a standing position with help from the men.
“Lady, I am 9-1-1.” He got his bearings and shook his head, everything falling back into place.
He blinked a few times, then peered toward the two fighters, worried he might see four of them. But as his vision cleared, only one, Eric Miller, stood in front of him.
“Where’s the other guy?” Adam asked, surveying the crowd.
Still drunk, Eric swayed on his feet. “He disappeared right after he clocked you.”
“Who was he?” Adam pulled his cuffs from his duty belt. “The guy you were fighting?”
“No idea.”
Adam gave him a skeptical look and motioned for him to hold out his arms. “Eric Miller, you’re under arrest for drunk and disorderly conduct and destruction of property. You have the right to remain silent...” Adam went through the spiel while cuffing him with his arms in front. Eric was done fighting for the night.
“What were you fighting about, anyway?”
Eric shrugged.
“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to remember while you sober up in a cell.”
“Come on, Adam. The other guy started it. I was just defending myself.” He perked up a little. “I told Rach I’d watch the kids tomorrow. You wouldn’t want me to disappoint them, right?”
“Yeah, right. You don’t care about your kids any more than you ever cared about Rachel.” Adam had overheard enough snippets of conversation between Rachel and her boss, Marge, to figure that out.
Adam walked the cuffed man to his cruiser and loaded him in the back seat, then glanced at his watch. Almost two thirty. Eric wouldn’t be arraigned until Monday. That gave Adam two days to question Eric and get the name of the stranger who’d sucker punched him.
There was something about the stranger that piqued his curiosity. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but he was sure Eric knew the man.
Driving to the justice center, he glanced in his rearview mirror at Eric, already passed out and drooling. Adam would never understand how any man married to Rachel could be dumb enough to let her go. Dumb enough to choose booze and adultery over the incredible woman he had at home.
At least Rachel had the sense to divorce the bum as soon as she found out about his cheating.
Adam had had a crush on Rachel Novotny since the day she’d beat him in their middle school’s pitch, hit and run competition. She’d never paid him any attention, and he’d been too shy to start a conversation with her. Each school year he’d promised himself that he would talk to her. Get to know her. Ask her out. And each year he’d chickened out.
Realistically, what could he have offered her back then? She was smart, athletic and beautiful. And he was just...what? Smart, but not as smart as her. She’d started school early, so even though she was two years younger than him, she was only one grade behind. He’d held his own in sports, but Nate was always the athletic brother in their family. And while he was no slouch in the looks department, she’d been...a goddess. Still was.
Her thick blond hair had always been long and wavy. He wanted to drag his fingers through its smoothness, its silkiness. And her eyes—oh, those bewitching eyes! They alternated between pale green and blue depending on what she wore or even her mood. It was almost a game for him to guess their color before he saw them.
He’d had one serious relationship in college. At least, he’d thought it was serious. But when the woman had pressured him for a long-term commitment, he couldn’t make one. It was Rachel he wanted. By the time he’d returned to Resolute with a BS in criminal justice from Sam Houston State, Rachel was married to Eric and working at the Busy B Café.
A bitter pill to swallow, but he’d learned from it. Once his heart had healed, Adam built a stone fortress around it for protection. Imaginary, but it did the job.
Since her divorce, Rachel’s job at the diner and his frequent patronage there offered him plenty of opportunities. They spoke, joked, smiled at each other.
But still the fortress held.
When Adam bumped over a set of railroad tracks, Eric’s head lolled back against the seat, and he started mumbling.
“Can’t understand you, Miller. What are you talking about?” Adam checked the mirror, made sure his passenger wasn’t choking. He wasn’t. “You talking about your friend at the bar? Your boxing buddy?”
More incoherent mumbling.
“What the heck did you do to that guy to get him that ticked off at you?” Adam asked, talking to himself more than to Miller.
As his head rolled toward his chest again, Miller uttered one clear word. “Dead.”
Interesting. Didn’t mean anything, but still, an interesting word to blurt out.
“You feeling so bad, you wish you were dead? You’re mad at me and wish I was dead?” He couldn’t believe he was having this one-sided conversation, but at least it passed the time. “Who’s dead, Eric? Your buddy at the bar?”
He took a left turn into the center’s back parking lot, the access to the jail entrance. Eric jostled with the turn, and Adam’s gaze flicked to the mirror and held there.
As if possessed, Eric sat upright, his blank eyes wide with what looked like terror. “He was dead, but now he’s back for me,” he said in a calm, clear voice.
Then he slumped, leaned forward and threw up all over Adam’s cruiser.
THE BUSY B’S Monday lunch crowd seemed larger than usual. And louder. Picking up a tray of dirty dishes, Rachel speed-walked from table eight to the kitchen, wishing she’d taken something earlier for her stress headache. Anger had brought on the pounding inside of her skull, the pain beating a relentless rhythm behind her eyes ever since Saturday morning when Eric hadn’t shown up to take the kids.
Surprise, surprise.
A man held up his mug. “Darlin’, can I get more coffee?”
“Be right there, Harold.” Rachel took an order from another booth, sped to the kitchen pass-through and stuck it in the ticket carousel, grabbed one carafe of regular and one of decaf, and filled Harold’s mug before he asked again. She made a route through the diner, topping off every mug, her anger still simmering.
With her mom visiting a friend in San Antonio and an important project due for one of her online college courses, she’d asked Marge for the weekend off and asked Eric to switch weekends with her. He’d managed to dry out and shape up enough before the custody hearing to get the kids every other weekend—though, it still shocked her that he wanted them at all.
Even so, she’d managed to work out an amicable schedule that was flexible for them both when necessary. And this past weekend had been necessary.
She’d worked on the project as much as possible while caring for Brad, almost five, and ten-month-old Daisy. Which wasn’t very much.
Then, to top it off, her deadbeat ex-husband woke her up early this morning and asked her to bail him out of jail. Jail!
He actually had the nerve to get mad at her when she refused. For all she cared, his sorry butt could rot in a cell. Be easier to find him when it came time to serve him for zero child-support payments.
“Rachel.” Marge, owner of the Busy B, called her name.
She glanced toward her boss and groaned.
Speak of the devil.
Marge’s ample frame was blocking Eric from getting past the front counter. Her face burning with unspent rage, Rachel strode through the diner and stopped behind Marge.
She took in Eric’s bruised and battered face, pleased that she held not one speck of sympathy or compassion for him. “What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you.” His eyes darted around the diner and desperation filled his voice.
“I’m working.” She tried to keep her expression neutral, what with the place filled to capacity and most of the customers watching the exchange. “Go away,” she managed between clenched teeth.
“It’ll only take a minute. But it can’t wait.” He fidgeted. “Please.”
Rachel glanced at Marge.
Sighing, as if disappointed with Rachel for the unasked question, Marge stepped aside. “If you want to talk to him, go ahead. Best to do it outside.” Marge glared at Eric, then met Rachel’s eyes. “And if you don’t want to talk to him, I’ll have Adam remove him from the premises.”
Damn. She’d forgotten Adam was here. Rachel died a little on the inside knowing he was a witness to her humiliation. A member of the prestigious Reed family, he no doubt disapproved of very public displays of domestic problems.
Eric’s intake of breath was loud as he looked over Rachel’s shoulder at the chief deputy.
She pictured Adam’s broad, square shoulders and straight spine, sitting in a nearby booth within earshot. She hoped her loser ex was properly intimidated by the gun-toting lawman.
“Just one minute, Rach. I swear.”
“Fine. Outside. And don’t call me Rach.” She followed him out the door, partway down the sidewalk, and checked her watch. “Your minute starts now.”
“Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t watch the kids this weekend.” His phony tone of apology was one she’d heard often before.
“You’ve got the sorry part right.” Her fury reached the surface. “You promised you’d take Brad and Daisy. Brad was in tears when you didn’t show. And you knew how important that project was for my class. Thanks to you, I’ll have to turn it in late.” Her hands curled up and released in a continuous pattern. “And your excuse is that you got yourself arrested?”
“It wasn’t my fault. Some guy started a fight with me.” He shrugged.
Rachel couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “It’s never your fault, is it? Out getting drunk at the Dead End, I suppose.” It never failed to amaze her how often he could use the same excuse and expect it to work. “And if it wasn’t your fault, why were you arrested?”
“The other guy ran. He punched Adam and disappeared.” His eyes narrowed. “By the way, thanks for bailing me out.”
Shaking her head, Rachel’s lips curled in disgust. Disgust that she’d ever loved this man. “And why would I? You’ve never given me a single dime toward child support, and you expect me to save you every time you screw up.” She scoffed. “Maybe you should have called your latest girlfriend.” She couldn’t stop herself from using air quotes.
Eric threw his hands up in the air. “Whatever. Where are Brad’s backpack and Daisy’s diaper bag?”
Definitely not the important topic she’d expected. “I had so much extra time this morning after you woke me, I went by your apartment and picked them up.”
“I need them back. And my spare key while you’re at it.” When she hesitated, he grabbed her upper arm and squeezed it. “It’s a matter of life and death.”
Rachel yanked her arm from his grasp. “Don’t sound so dramatic.” Mimicking him in a sarcastic voice, she said, “Ooh, I’ll just die if I don’t get to see my kids.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t need the bags back. You’re done getting the kids.”
“We’ve got a custody agreement. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
Rachel leaned toward him. “Wanna bet? I’ll haul you back into court, and when the judge hears you’re still getting drunk and fighting—not to mention arrested—and you still haven’t started paying support, he’ll award me full custody.”
“You’re insane. You’ll never win in court.” This time, Eric laughed. “Who would award full custody to an uneducated diner waitress who lives in her mother’s garage?”
“Better than a no-account drunk who spends his under-the-table cash wages—when he can manage to keep a job long enough to get them—on loose women and booze instead of diapers and groceries for his kids.”
All amusement gone from his voice, Eric took a step toward her, making Rachel step back. “Just try and take my kids, Rach. See how that works out for you.” His voice, low and menacing, sent a chill racing down her spine.
Tears threatened. From frustration, from fear, from lost love and newfound regret and despair that not only was this her life but also it would always be her life with this man as her children’s father. Unless she did something about it.
Stepping back into his space, Rachel’s voice rose like the tide of emotions welling up inside her. “You’ll never spend another minute with my children.” Pointing her index finger, she jabbed at his chest to accentuate her words, taking great pleasure when he winced and stepped away from her. “And if you try to, so help me God, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”
As she spun around to go back in the diner, she noticed people on the street staring at her. Every passerby had stopped to take in the show. Nothing like airing dirty laundry in public.
She glanced toward the diner, and her heart sank. Everyone inside was staring through the windows at her, getting a front-row view of that dirty laundry.
Including Adam Reed.
