Lisa Black - Evidence of Murder

She took nothing but her ID, her cell phone, and her ChapStick, and followed the chaotic trail of the shoe prints in the snow. At the crest of the hill, she saw figures conversing in pairs or triplets, standing by the marina entrance, the gas pumps, and lined up along the pier. The fifty-foot finger of dock that led to, among others, Drew’s houseboat remained clear.

As she grew closer, she noted Frank out on the pier and Evan standing with his lawyer near a group of what looked like plainclothes police officers. She meant to walk past the man without speaking, but he felt differently.

She had never been a physical girl, taking on running and scuba diving for their calorie-burning qualities only; otherwise, she never joined pickup games of baseball or touch football. But now she learned what a flying tackle was. Or at least what one felt like.

Evan struck her from the side, his momentum carrying them several feet before dropping her to the frozen ground. The snow provided very little cushion as his full weight flattened her, and her head managed to find the one narrow strip of concrete sidewalk in the area. The air left her lungs and threatened not to return. She could not comprehend his words as his face appeared above her, framed by the sky, which, she only now noticed, had turned blue.

With breath came hearing. “You bitch! You put him up to this! He’s going to kill my baby and it’s all your fault!”

A scuffling sound, and at least four men, including his lawyer, pulled him from her, which would have been better if he hadn’t stepped on her shin at least twice while getting to his feet.

Then hands levitated her up as well, much less gently than she would have thought her age, sex, and general innocence in the matter warranted. One set belonged to Frank.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m all right, thanks. Even the back of my head where the sidewalk put a dent in my skull.”

“I can see you’re all right. What are you doing here?”

She staggered toward the dock, putting some distance between herself and Evan before answering. “I can talk to Drew. He thinks I’m the only one on his side.”

“Maybe not after that custody hearing yesterday, huh? I heard you didn’t help him out so much. And what did you say about the back of your head?”

“Sidewalk. Concrete. It’s okay, brains still inside the cranium, I think. I gave the custody hearing my best effort, and Drew would have seen that. Let me talk to him.”

“SWAT’s got control of the scene.”

“But he’ll listen to me. He knows I agree with him about Jillian.”

“You agree that Evan wants to kill Cara? Yeah, that’s going to make him put down the gun.”

She paused with him, away from the other men, next to the snow-covered rocks and the weirdly silent sea at the edge of the land. “Maybe it will. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but Christine and I might have figured out how Jillian was killed.”

“Christine?”

“The pathologist.” When he continued to look blank, she added, “The pretty one.”

“Oh. Her.”

She gave him the scenario entitled Death by Nitrogen, in twenty-five words or less. She kept the technical parts to a minimum since his attention always returned to the motley houseboat dangling over the ice, as if it might explode any second.

“So you want to go out there and say, it’s all over, I’ve got the goods on Evan, turn Cara over to the authorities and she’ll be safe?”

“Something like that.”

He walked along the water’s edge toward the pier. “It’s not a bad idea. Problem is, this is a hostage situation now.”

“Yeah?”

“So I’m not calling the shots. They’re going to have to bring in the whole team.”

“Don’t tell me Chris Cavanaugh-”

“-will be here in ten. I don’t know why you don’t want to see the guy.”

The planks of the wooden dock vibrated only slightly under her feet, held stiffly in place by the frozen water. “Maybe because, fairly or unfairly, almost dying with him last year sort of put me off his company.”

“Maybe. Remember how you had such a crush on that kid in my band who came over to practice one day and said hi to you, and you ran outside and made your mother drive you home because you were too scared to say hi back?”

“No,” she lied.

“I can’t believe you could forget that.”

“I can’t believe you called that a band.” She flipped open her cell phone, scanning the list of incoming calls. Drew had called her to come to court, but she had been on the line with Leo and hadn’t picked up. Now she highlighted his number and pressed Talk.

“What are you doing?” Frank asked.

“Everyone thinks I started this, and maybe I did. Now I’m going to finish it.”

Drew picked up on the third ring. “Uh-hello?”

“Drew? This is Theresa MacLean. Are you in your houseboat with a gun to Cara’s head?”

“Of course not! I would never hurt-I mean, not yet. But you understand why I had to do this, don’t you? Of all people, you know.”

“Yes, Drew. I know. Look, you’re going to need a go-between. I’m coming out there.”

“No,” Frank said.

“Yes! Please!” Drew said. He gave a little huff of exertion, as if he had shifted a twenty-pound baby in his arms. “We have to do something or they’ll give Cara back.”

She switched ears, sliding her free hand under her arm to keep it warm. “What are you planning to do, Drew?”

“Just come out here, and we can talk. You’ll have to jump onto the deck, I took the plank down.”

“Absolutely not,” Frank said. The group of heavily bundled-up cops farther down the pier began to show more interest in her conversation with Frank. Their faces, pinched with cold, turned toward her.

She stepped onto the dock that led to the back of the Jillian, covered the receiver with a gloved hand, and told her cousin, “I’m the only person he’s going to trust, Frank.”

Drew’s voice sounded much farther away than sixty feet, coming from the tiny phone. “I can’t let him take her back. He’ll kill her. You know that. Besides, you had a baby, didn’t you? I’ve never tried to take care of one before. I might need some help.”

Cara chose that moment to start crying, her peeved mewls quite close to the phone.

“Absolutely not,” Frank repeated.

The SWAT commander materialized next to him. “This isn’t our policy-”

“Come down here,” Drew demanded.

Theresa spoke to her cousin, again covering the receiver. “He’s surrounded by big men with big guns and he’s got a baby in his arms. I’m a lot more afraid of what you’ll do to him than what he’ll do to me.”

“What if he bears a grudge against you for your family court appearance?”

“Come on!” Drew’s voice floated up from the phone in her hand. “Get out here and help me, or I’m leaving with Cara.”

She took another step along the dock.

“Wait. Take this. It’s a mic with a GPS.” The SWAT guy used her to block himself from Drew’s line of sight and tucked a thin rod about the size of a pencil into her coat pocket. He clipped it to the flap so that the tip stuck out.

“Where’s he going to go?” she demanded. “The lake is frozen solid.”

“Exactly. He can get off that boat and walk across it-keep it for the mike, okay? You talk to him from the dock, right? You do not get on that boat.”

She aimed her gaze straight into his crystal blue eyes, and lied, “Right.”

Frank insisted, “She can’t do this. Am I the only one who sees that here? Chris Cavanaugh will kill us.”

Theresa and the SWAT commander answered in near unison: “I don’t give a shit what Chris Cavanaugh thinks.”