Tell Her No Lies Page 17

  “It was a simple job. Simple instructions. They did not include killing a reporter.” Peter slugged back a scotch and soda. He banged the glass on the table and paced in front of the windows in his oversized corner office that overlooked Travis Park.

  At a loss for an explanation, Rick joined him. Silence reigned for one, two, three, four seconds. Around the park three churches vied for downtown churchgoers—the Fischers’ conservative Presbyterian church, an Episcopalian church, and San Antonio’s most liberal Methodist church famous for its homeless programs. Nina would like that, but she always toed the line, always went to her father’s Presbyterian church because he’d insisted.

  Maybe Peter had it out of his system just like that.

  “I said find out what she knows, that’s all. Have a drink, pump her for information, that was it. You idiot, moron, buffoon.”

  “She went for a run. That usually takes half an hour, at least.” Rick dove in before Peter ran out of synonyms. Everything had gone wrong. “She came back early before I could find her notes or her recorder. I thought I would sneak out, but she heard me. And she had a gun. I had no choice but to take it. But Melanie wouldn’t let it go. She came after me. And even after I had the gun, she refused to tell me anything. She lunged for her phone and I thought she was coming at me. The gun went off.”

  “The gun went off? You killed her and got nothing.”

  “McClure and Nina showed up before I had a chance to finish searching.”

  “Killing her was your only choice?”

  “Once she saw my face.” Rick couldn’t control an involuntary shudder. So much blood. He’d hunted deer, wild hogs, and turkeys. But this was different. One minute she was sassing him. The next she lay a corpse, her smart mouth silent. “I needed to know what Serena had told her before it showed up on Fox 29’s newscast.”

  “Like she would tell you.”

  “She claimed Serena didn’t tell her anything. She claimed her story would be autopsy results and stuff she got from digging into his biggest cases. Second-day junk.”

  Peter shrugged off his jacket and laid it across a leather swivel chair behind an oak desk as big as Rick’s office. His pits were wet. “What any reporter worth her salt would say.”

  “Except I had a gun pointed at her.” Melanie might think she knew how to handle it, but like many women who became victims of their attackers, she forgot to factor in size and strength. She was so sure of herself. The story was more important to her than her own life. If she’d pulled the trigger, he’d be dead and she would be alive.

  “Thank God. I’m pretty sure if she thought she had her story, she would’ve shot me and went out for breakfast tacos afterward. I got out of there without being seen by McClure and Nina. The cops could treat it like a home invasion. She interrupted a burglary. It doesn’t have to be connected to her job. She’s not usually home at that time of day.”

  “And we’ve cleaned up any loose ends with Serena Cochrane.” Miles leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. His presence gave Rick the creeps. He wore the cat-ate-the-canary look permanently. “Everybody needs to chill.”

  “Serena would never have soiled the image of her boss, the great and glorious Judge Fischer.” Rick’s eyes burned. Serena was a nice lady. Too much collateral damage. He never signed up for this. All he wanted was a life of service. Sure, money too. Enough that he never had to eat beans and rice again. He needed sleep. He needed time to think. He needed a shower. And a jug of bleach to wash away his deeds. “You didn’t have to kill Serena. She was harmless.”

  “Every time we plug one hole in the dike another one spurts open.” Peter paced the floor, his leather loafers silent in the thick navy carpet. “You have to get over to the Fischers’ house and talk to Nina. Find out what Serena told her and McClure this morning. Find out what Nina told King. But don’t kill anyone.”

  “I would never hurt Nina.”

  “I hope you don’t have to.” Peter’s icy-blue eyes glittered. “Just don’t forget whose political career is on the line.”

  A chance to rub elbows in DC. A chance to leave behind a childhood that stank of cheap beer, beans, and burned corn tortillas. “There’s no chance of that. Just don’t forget whose firm is on the line.”

  Peter took a step forward. “We both know who’ll come out on top if push comes to shove.”

  Jerome stepped between them. His lean frame smelled of body odor and garlic. “Nobody’s pushing or shoving anybody. We’re all on the same team. As long as we stick together and keep our mouths shut, we’re fine.”

  Attorneys were not known for keeping their mouths shut.

  “That includes Nina.” Rick turned his back. He poured another finger of Jack and chugged it. “She’s off-limits.”

  “Do your job and your girlfriend might survive.” Peter’s tone could cut glass. “But I wouldn’t place any bets on it.”

  Rick slammed the glass on the bar and whirled. Jerome shoved him back. “Get out of here. Now.”

  He had no choice. He squeezed past the bailiff and stormed to the door.

  “Rick.”

  He glanced back. Peter’s expression had returned to its normal neutral stare. “Take a shower. You stink.”

  He mumbled a response and kept going. He should’ve kept the Glock. If it were in his hand right now, he’d use it.

  “If Nina knows too much, she’s a liability.”

  Rick gritted his teeth and kept walking.

  “If you can’t do it, I’ve got someone who can.”

  He let the door slam behind him.

  He would have no regrets about killing Peter Coggins.

  None like he felt when he stood over Melanie’s body and watched the blood drain from her wound. The look on her face had been almost comical. Midsentence, she stared at him as if trying to make sense of something. Still trying to get the details for her story.

  Melanie saw the bullet coming, but she knew there was nothing she could do. She had that split second of horror before death enveloped her.

  He never wanted to see that look on Nina’s face. How much was he willing to give up for her?

  That was the question.

  21

  The newsroom—usually filled with the noise of people talking, half a dozen TV screens blaring at the same time, and the scanners squawking—went quiet. Eerily so. Acutely aware of Detective King on his heels, Aaron took a breath and walked through the cubicles. Most “civilians” didn’t get to see the inner workings of a newsroom. King probably didn’t know that and wouldn’t care. Rows of cubicles, some messy, some neat, a bank of TV monitors tuned to news channels, the scanners, the news desk. Not much to see really, but it was home. And right now Aaron needed home.

  Her chubby face streaked with tears, Claire Chagra stepped from her desk next to the scanners and opened her arms. “Aww, A-Plus. Sorry it had to be you.”

  “Thanks. Don’t call me that.” He leaned into her hug. She was a fluffy woman who favored embroidered Mexican dresses in bright aqua or pink and huarache sandals. She smelled like cigarette smoke and bubble gum. She quit a least once a month—smoking and her job. Being an assignments editor at a top-thirty-five news market TV station was one of the toughest jobs in the industry. She juggled scanners, spot news, photographers, reporters with delicate egos, irate calls from viewers, news tippers, and schedules with aplomb. Only occasionally did she slam a receiver on the desk and cradle her head in her hands.

  Today would’ve been one of those days.

  “I can’t believe it,” she whispered as her hands rubbed his back. “What do you need?”

  Others had gathered round. Joey, one of Aaron’s photog colleagues who worked the afternoon shift; a couple of interns; Smitty, the equipment guy; Sherri, who did the noon weather; and Chuck Dillon, one of the five o’clock sports anchors. A laptop in one hand, Greg Stevens, the news director, strode toward them. Their faces were pinched with disbelief and wariness. People in the news business saw the worst up close and
personal. They understood that bad things could and would happen. Even to them. It was still a shock when it did.

  Aaron introduced King. The detective said nothing. Aaron’s colleagues nodded. Claire sniffled. King offered her a tissue from a box on top of a cubicle wall. She took it with a mumbled thanks.

  Those outside the business liked to think the media was cold-blooded, immune to the misery they saw, intruding on the most painful moments of loss and horror in people’s lives. In truth, some reporters were like that. But most believed in what they were doing. They believed in telling stories the world needed to hear and see. They also needed to put food on the table for their families, just like everyone else. Aaron had never considered any other job.

  He wiped at his face with his sleeve and cleared his throat. Claire squeezed his arm. “Take your time, love.”

  “Someone shot Melanie. They think it was with her own gun.”

  Sherri gasped. Chuck put his arm around her.

  “It’s all over social media. Channel 5 has it on their website.” Greg held up his laptop. “I’m sorry to be so abrupt. I’ll call a newsroom meeting for six o’clock tonight. We’ll take time to talk about Melanie then.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Right now, we have jobs to do. If anyone needs to go home, go. We’ll all understand.”

  No one moved.

  “Okay, hang tough, guys.” Greg turned to Aaron and King. “Let’s grab an editing bay in the back. We can watch the video together. Diana is getting sound at the scene with Joey. They’ll bring back the interviews and b-roll.”

  He talked and walked. Aaron let King go first, then followed. The grim silence of his colleagues continued until they went into the editing bay and closed the door.

  “Grab a seat.”

  Aaron took the swivel chair in the middle, popped the tiny STM card from his camera, and stuck it into the card reader connected to the computer. A few seconds later they were staring at his video on the dual twenty-two-inch monitors.

  What had seemed likes hours had lasted a few minutes. He sprayed the broken back door, the kitchen, and dining room. Nothing out of place. In the living room he focused on the overturned chair and the broken lamp. Then the hallway. There’d been enough ambient light to make out the photos hanging on the walls. Video of the office and the spare bedroom.

  Then a frame or two of the open bedroom door.

  The figure coming at him. Blurred and indistinct. No time to focus. Shouting. He didn’t remember shouting. “Stop. Stop. Melanie? Where is she? Stop.”

  A jumble of images and sounds of grunting. The arms. The shove and tilting dizzying distortion. A cry. Nina? The wall, the ceiling, the floor. A few seconds of brown tile.

  Aaron’s stomach rocked. He swallowed bitter bile and breathed through it.

  The sound of footsteps running. The camera came up and the shot continued, blurred, the floor, the hallway. The figure dressed in black. Black sneakers. Then the figure was gone. Out the kitchen door. The back door. The same way he’d gotten in.

  Sun. Red cedar deck. Across the grass. Through the gate into the front yard. Sirens. Cops.

  Grass.

  He cleared his throat. “That’s it.”

  The other two men didn’t speak for a few seconds. Greg’s breathing sounded heavy. King leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap. “Again.”

  Aaron played it three more times, stopping each time on the frames that showed the intruder.

  “Can you enhance it?”

  “It’s not like NCIS.”

  “I know.” King leaned forward, stuck his elbows on his knees, and stared at the screen. “You never went in the bedroom.”

  “No, I wanted to stop the guy.”

  “You wanted to get video for your story.”

  “I wanted to grab him and rip that ski mask off his face. Whoever he is, he’s a coward and he killed a woman.”

  “You didn’t know that at the time.”

  “Melanie wasn’t answering her phone. She always answered her texts. She was an addict. She couldn’t help herself. She’d answer a text in the middle of her own wedding.”

  “She didn’t have an alarm system?”

  “She did, but knowing Melanie, she turned it off when she went out to get her newspaper. She always read the Express-News. She was old-fashioned like that. Then she went for a run and took a shower. Maybe he got in while she was running. Or showering.”

  “Her hair was wet. There was a wet towel on the floor.” King seemed to be thinking out loud. “You think it was a man?”

  “He ran like a man. His hands felt like a man’s when he shoved me.” Aaron closed his eyes and relived those terrifying moments. “His sleeve rode up on one arm. Hairy. Black hairy arm. It was a man.”

  “Women sometimes have dark hair on their arms.”

  “It was a man.”

  “You never made it into Melanie’s bedroom.”

  “No, I told you that.”

  “You didn’t see what happened while you went after this intruder.”

  “No, and I know where you’re going with this. We heard a shot before we went in. There was no second shot. I would’ve heard it. Nina didn’t kill her.”

  “What was Melanie working on?” King directed the question to Greg.

  “Last time we talked she was digging around in Judge Fischer’s life. She wanted to do some kind of follow-up on his murder.” Greg stared at the computer screen where Aaron had frozen a frame of the intruder. “She was pretty secretive about her investigative pieces. She was paranoid about her ideas getting stolen. Aaron was her shooter. He probably knows more than I do.”

  Both men looked at Aaron. He worked hard not to drop his gaze. “She didn’t tell me a lot.” The key Serena had given Nina burned a hole in Aaron’s psyche. Did she still have it, or had they searched her and taken it? “She said some of his staff thought the judge might be into something hinky.”

  “Hinky like what? Hinky with women?”

  “No, like on the take.”

  King’s face brightened as if Aaron had given him a Christmas present. “The pillar of the community taking bribes.”

  “Maybe. She didn’t have any proof. Yet.”

  “If you knew more, you’d tell me, right? Or are you more concerned about getting the jump on the story like your friend Melanie?”

  Aaron turned and began copying the video onto a thumb drive. He could never play poker. Everything showed on his face. “Melanie was my friend and I want whoever killed her caught and prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

  “Oh, he or she will be.” King leaned over his shoulder. “You can be sure of that, A-Plus. I’m headed downtown to interview your girlfriend. You need to come with me and get in line.”

  “Don’t call me that. What I know is what I shot on the video.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. Swing by on your own recognizance. You can talk to my temporary partner. He’ll go easy on you. In and out. Get you back here in a jiffy.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll get the station’s lawyer on the phone.” Greg stood and held out his hand to King. They shook. “You can be sure, Detective, that we want justice for Melanie. Whatever she was working on got her killed. We want that story. She would be extremely put out if we didn’t go after it with everything we’ve got. So we will. Aaron will. I will. Count on it.”

  Aaron held out the thumb drive. King shook his head. “We need the original for court. We have to be able to say it’s an original so no one can say we tampered with it.”

  Greg nodded and Aaron dumped the video on the computer and ejected the STM card. He handed it to King, who pocketed it and made a production of providing a property receipt for it. “Just so everything is buttoned up with every i dotted and every t crossed.”

  “Right. I hope you expend as much energy finding Melanie’s killer.”

  “Count on it.”

  Aaron didn’
t breathe until both men left the edit bay. He wanted this story bad. He wanted it for Melanie. He wanted it for himself. What he didn’t want was to hurt Nina in the process. She’d been hurt too much already. She couldn’t catch a break.

  Neither could Aaron.

  22

  Déjà vu all over again. After hours in a Public Safety Headquarters interview room, Nina expected darkness to greet her. Instead, a crowd of reporters and photographers called her name and closed in around her. She put her hand to her forehead and squinted against the late-afternoon sun. They were a patient lot, waiting all this time for her. One or two had followed her downtown from Melanie’s house. Others had been sent by assignments editors glued to the scanner, to social media, and the other stations’ websites. The TV stations often got their leads from the newspaper’s website, mysa.com. It didn’t matter now.

  In a fierce, overwhelming déjà vu, she’d found herself walking out, her attorney, Fred Teeter, at her side. No GSR on her body or her clothes. No blood. Aaron’s video confirmed the intruder. She was not under arrest.

  Exhaustion weighed her down. For all his East Texas charm, King had been relentless. He hammered her with question after question. He knew things. Things that had nothing to do with Melanie and everything to do with her dad. Her dad liked to visit gambling sites. Did she know that?

  No, she hadn’t.

  She needed to talk to Aaron. They needed to figure out what bank deposit box the key Serena had given her opened. She needed to dig through the receipts and read the letters.

  Her feet didn’t want to work. She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. One step at a time. Just get to the car. Get home.

  Those letters. She needed to tell Jan about the letters before she deployed. Nina owed her sister that.

  “Nina! What happened to your face? Did you get into a fight with Melanie Martinez?” A reporter from Channel 12 who looked twelve noticed Nina first. She had a ton of blonde hair and the flat chest of a child. “Did she hit you so you shot her?”

  Nina’s hand went to her face. The ibuprofen the paramedic gave her at the crime scene had worn off. Her head ached and her mouth hurt every time she moved it. “No, no.”