James Patterson - Cross Justice

“I’d start with Marvin Bell’s niece,” Bree said. “If Sharon Lawrence would lie about a rape for him, she’d plant drugs for him.”

The sheriff’s detective pursed his lips, said, “I’ll talk to her. Meantime, take Jannie to the office. I’ll call ahead for someone to take the prints and blood.”

Pedelini walked off toward the other girls, who were acting annoyed that they weren’t being allowed to leave.

“Dad?” Jannie said as we stood up and got ready to leave. “Can you make sure I can still go down to Duke to train for the four-hundred on Saturday?”

“Meet you at the car,” I said.

I went over to Coach Greene, asked her. She hesitated.

“She’s innocent until proven guilty, Coach.”

“You’re right and I’m sorry, Dr. Cross,” she said. “In all my years coaching, I’ve never had anything like this happen. Unless those tests say different, Jannie can come run with us on Saturday and any other day she wants.”

I turned to leave, started toward the tunnel beneath the stands.

But Marvin Bell and his adopted son, Finn Davis, blocked the way.

“For such a big-time cop, you don’t listen so well,” Marvin Bell said.

“Yeah?” I said. “What did I miss?”

“Your niece brought up my name in court today,” Bell said.

“Your niece was testifying in court today,” I said.

“That’s bullshit,” said Finn Davis.

“It’s bullshit that she was testifying or that she’s Mr. Bell’s niece?”

Bell smiled sourly. “I warned you about besmirching my name in court.”

“Besmirching?”

“Slandering, whatever you want to call it,” Bell said.

“It’s only slander or besmirching if it’s not true,” I said.

Davis said, “Listen, Detective Asshole. That poor girl was raped by that sick fuck Stefan Tate. It took guts for her to go on that stand and face her rapist.”

“No argument there,” I said.

“Then quit trying to tear her down,” Bell said. “You go on and think anything you want about me, but you leave Sharon out of it. She is a victim in all of this, and I won’t have her made into a punching bag.”

“And I won’t have someone try to frame my daughter in retaliation.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Someone just put a vial of white powder in her gym bag,” I said. “That’s a sheriff’s detective out there investigating. I figure Sharon for the job.”

“Horseshit,” Bell said.

I took a step, got right in their faces, said, “No, gentlemen, horseshit is you trying to kill me and strong-arm my family. You’re on notice. I am officially declaring war on the two of you.”

Bree didn’t say much on the ride home after we’d taken Jannie to the sheriff’s office, where she’d provided blood and urine for analysis. I asked for and received samples from the same specimens, a precaution.

When we got home and went inside, I put the samples in a brown bag in the fridge. Jannie started telling Nana Mama about everything that had happened. Ali lay on the couch, watching another episode of Uncharted with Jim Shockey.

“Where is he now?” I asked. Shockey had traded his cowboy hat for a bandanna and was wading in murky water in a jungle.

“Like, the Congo?”

“That Jim Shockey gets around,” I said. “Bree come in?”

“I’m out here,” she called from the porch.

I went out, found her sitting in a rocker, looking out through the screen. She wasn’t happy.

“We okay?” I asked.

“Not really,” she said quietly.

“Why?”

“Did you have to say that to Bell and Davis? That you were declaring war on them?”

“I was speaking from the heart.”

“I get that, Alex. But now you’re more of a target than you were before.”

“Good,” I said. “We draw them out, and we shut them down.”

She looked up angrily. “Why do you always put yourself in harm’s way?”

My chin retreated. “Bree, you of all people should know that it’s part of—”

“The job?” she asked. “I don’t think so. I don’t put myself in harm’s way intentionally, and you do all the time. Did you ever stop for a second and think that it’s a pretty goddamn selfish habit?”

“Selfish?” I said, bewildered.

“Yes, selfish,” Bree said. “You have a family that needs you. You have a wife that needs you. And yet, at the drop of a hat, you’re ready to risk our happiness and well-being.”

I was speechless for several moments. I’d never heard Bree talk like this before. My late wife and Ali’s mother, yes. But Bree, no.

I hung my head and said, “What should I have done?”

“Defuse the situation,” she said. “Make them think you’re no threat until you’ve got damning evidence against them. But it’s too late, you escalated the threat, Alex, and—”

“Bree,” I said, holding up my hands. “I get it, and I’m sorry. In my own defense, because Jannie was being used, I got a little hot under the collar. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, getting up from the rocker and going inside. “But you remain a target.”

I stood there a moment feeling a weight that hadn’t been there ten minutes before. She was right. I’d pushed when I should have been smarter and laid off.

In the kitchen, Jannie was finishing up a dinner of country-style ribs with Nana Mama.

My grandmother studied me, said, “You in hot water?”

“Trying to get out,” I said, heaping rice on my plate and then helping myself to the ribs, which were falling off the bone and smelled incredible.

“Thank you, Nana,” Jannie said, clearing her plate. “That was great.”

“Easy recipe,” she said, waving off the compliment. “Orange juice and barbecue sauce. Then slow cook them at two fifty for four hours.”

“Still great,” I said after taking a bite.

Sitting down, I ate and watched Jannie for any sign that she was anxious about the events of the past couple of hours. But she seemed confident when she left the kitchen.

“Jannie told me,” Nana Mama said.

“We took care of it,” I said.

“What was bothering you this morning?”

Part of me wanted to tell her what my cousin had said, that her son had survived the fall from the bridge and the trip through the gorge and went on to live two years on the run before committing suicide.

Instead, I said, “Just a rough night.”

“Uh-huh,” my grandmother said, unconvinced, and left me to my dinner, which was remarkably good even by Nana Mama’s high standards.

When I was done cleaning my plate, I went to our bedroom and found the door shut. I knocked, and Bree said, “It’s open.”

I went in, shut the door. Bree sat on the bed, studying her laptop.

In a low voice, I said, “I am sorry.”

She looked up and gave me a halfhearted smile. “I know you are.”

“There’s dinner waiting for you. Outstanding country ribs.”

“I’ll go eat in a minute,” she said.

“I can’t tell Nana Mama what Pinkie told me,” I said quietly. “Why not?” she asked.

“I don’t...” I began and then rubbed at my temples. “I guess I don’t want her to hear any of it unless I can prove it’s all true.”

“Your uncle Cliff is in no position to corroborate the story,” Bree said.

“I know,” I said, and then saw how to solve two problems at once. “So I’m getting up early, driving to Raleigh, and catching a plane to Palm Beach.”

“Okay,” she said, confused. “Why?”

“It’s the closest airport to where my father killed himself,” I explained. “And it gets me out of Starksville for a day or two, which eliminates me as a target.”