Brian Freeman - The Voice Inside

When he held the tiara in his hand, he didn’t just see Katie’s face now. He saw Rudy Cutter, too, smiling at him in San Quentin. It infuriated him, having Cutter there in the middle of his memories. Everything was about to come crashing down. Friends, family, strangers, would hate him. All because of Melanie Valou’s watch. All because he was a Boy Scout who couldn’t live with a lie.

On the lower level of the house, he heard the chime of the doorbell. He checked his watch in surprise. It was late. He went downstairs, with Shack hopping beside him. He opened the front door, where the rain beat down, loud and strong.

The woman on the step was soaked to the skin, but she still had a cigarette smoldering in her mouth.

“Hey, Frost.”

It was Jess Salceda.

“I got a phone call today,” Jess told him as she crushed out her cigarette and marched into the house without an invitation. “It was Camille Valou. She was freaked out. She said you ambushed her at a restaurant and started asking some very odd questions.”

“I guess I did,” Frost agreed.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Funny, that’s what I was going to ask you, Jess.”

That elicited a sour laugh. Jess peeled off her khaki trench coat and shook rain out of the chocolate-colored bangs that hung down below her forehead. She stepped out of her wet boots and wandered into the living room, shivering at the cold. Shack, who knew Jess well, followed beside her. She put her hands on her hips and watched Frost with angry eyes, which didn’t surprise him. Anger was Jess’s calling card. She’d grown up in a cop’s world — cop father, cop ex-husband — and she was typically tough, hard, and serious.

“Want a drink?” Frost asked.

“Yeah.”

He went to the bar and poured a shot of Trago Reposado. He didn’t drink tequila himself; he kept it in the house for Jess. She downed the shot and handed him the glass, and they stood there for a moment, looking at each other. The house was silent, except for rain thundering on the roof. They stood very close to each other, and he could see, not far behind the wall in her eyes, that she was scared to death.

He felt a fleeting desire to kiss her. He could see her debating whether to slap him or rip off his clothes. It was always that way between them. They’d slept together twice last year when she was breaking up with her husband, but then they’d cut it off because they both knew it was stupid. Neither of them was looking for love or a relationship, but that didn’t lessen the electricity when they were alone and together.

She was heavy and didn’t waste time with diets. Her nose was hooked like the beak on a bird of prey, and she had copper skin. She was in her forties and didn’t try to hide it. She had a rose tattoo high on her forearm, which was the only hint of softness in her armor. Being in bed with her was like taming a tiger.

“Where is it?” Jess asked.

“The watch? It’s safe.”

“Give it to me.”

“So you can get rid of it?”

“Yeah.”

Frost shook his head. “Sorry, Jess. It’s too late for that.”

They were still only inches apart, like lovers, like prizefighters. Finally, she spun away with a low growl of frustration and marched to the patio door and slid it open. Shack followed, but when the rain spattered his fur, he shook himself and retreated. Jess lit another cigarette and blew smoke outside, but Frost could smell it wafting toward him.

“So what happened?” she asked.

He told her everything. The overnight break-in. The alarm clocks. Copernicus and the watch and the inscription. Meeting with Camille Valou and Rudy Cutter, and then confirming Cutter’s story. Jess stood by the patio door, smoking, listening, but not looking back at him. When he was done, they were both quiet.

“All these years,” she murmured, as if there were a statute of limitations on ghosts coming back to haunt you. Then, after another minute of silence passed, she added, “We can still beat this.”

“By lying?”

“Yeah. What does Cutter really have? The sister of some punk mugger? She won’t hold up on the stand. We can say Cutter had a duplicate watch made and paid this girl to say she got it from her brother. Lamar’s not around to say yes or no.”

“There are photos, too,” Frost said.

“Then we’ll say the photos are fake. Camille will stick to her story, and so will I. We’ll win. No judge wants to turn this guy loose, Frost. That’s not how you get reelected.”

Frost shook his head. “I won’t do that.”

“Are you kidding? You’re really going through with this?”

“I have no choice.”

“And you don’t care about Cutter getting out?”

“I care, but that doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Jess threw the cigarette onto the patio, where it sizzled as it burned out. “I can’t believe you, Frost. This guy murdered Katie.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” he replied icily.

She folded her arms across her chest. He watched her breathing. The room got cold. She closed the door, but she stayed there, staring into the darkness and the rain. He could feel her trying to contain an explosion. She was ready to scream. To lash out. To throw things. They both knew what this meant for her. She’d lose her job. She’d probably go to jail. In the shadows, her eyes were like black holes. Her lips were pushed together, her mouth turned downward.

“Do I need a lawyer?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I hate lawyers.”

“I know.” He caught the irony, because he was a lawyer himself. He added, “Why did you do it, Jess?”

She shrugged. She left the patio door and came around and sat on the sofa. It was obvious that she wanted to talk. To confess. Maybe to brag about what she’d done. He knew how she felt about “the line.” You crossed it when you had to. You took the consequences when they came.

“Melanie’s father came to me,” she said. “It was his idea.”

Frost said nothing.

“Melanie was killed in November,” Jess went on, as if he didn’t remember. “I knew it was Cutter, but for the life of me, I couldn’t find any hard evidence. Nothing we could use in court. And I was running out of time. You know that. By the next November, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he struck again. He had a pattern. If I didn’t put him away soon, we’d find another body in a car.”

“I know,” Frost said.

“And then Melanie’s father called me. Sam Valou. He asked me to meet him in Golden Gate Park. Somewhere no one would see us. That was when he showed me the watch. He said Melanie’s mother, Camille, bought two watches, one for Melanie, one for herself. Sam said Camille never wore hers, because he got her a kick-ass diamond watch around the same time. They kept the other watch — the match for Melanie’s watch — in a safe-deposit box. No one knew about it. Just him, Camille, and some ninety-year-old jeweler six thousand miles away in the Alps. He said the watches were identical . So if his wife’s watch were to show up in Cutter’s house, who would know the difference?”

“He convinced you to plant it,” Frost said.

“Convinced me? Hell, I jumped at the chance. I didn’t think twice about it. Not for a second. When we got the next search warrant for Cutter’s place, I made sure I had Camille’s watch in my pocket. It was easy to pretend I’d discovered it in the ceiling.”

“But the two watches weren’t identical.”

“No, Sam didn’t know that Camille had added an inscription before she gave the watch to Melanie. Camille always called her daughter ‘the dreamer,’ and so she had the words engraved on Melanie’s watch in French. It was a little thing for the two of them. I didn’t find out about that until it was too late. I showed Camille the watch to identify it, and she looked at the back, and she was speechless. She knew what we’d done. Sam persuaded her to go along with the ruse at Cutter’s trial, but when she was on the stand, I really didn’t know whether she’d back us up. I was holding my breath the whole time.”