Chapter Sixty-One: What Greets Me Makes My Blood Boil

 

Officer Holder rises from his desk, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Hi, Mrs. Summers. Can I help you?" The audacity. Trice, there's no proof it was Holder. Calm down.

"I'm just meeting Gray here. He had something he needed to talk to me about." I try to act nonchalant, but if he could read my emotions, he'd sense the nerves and anxiety. His demeanor shifts, a hint of annoyance and even anxiety creeps in. "I see. Well, go ahead and wait in his office." I nod, swiftly walking to the office without daring to look behind me. True to his word, Gray appears about 15 minutes later. He strides into the office, shutting the door behind him.

He sits down, leaning back in his chair. "Okay, Trice, this theory of yours is razor-thin, but I'm going to hear you out because you've been right about most everything." I want to acknowledge his correctness but don't want to rub it in.

"Think about it, Gray. When did Holder show up here?" I say, trying not to talk too loudly. "And, he's had access to our home this whole time. I know it wasn't Officer Lopez who planted a camera in my vase."

"Yeah, I know. Holder did get transferred here, about a month after Troy was found. It could be why he volunteered to patrol your home while you were gone, to gain access, plant the camera. He knew when you were here and gone. The only problem is proving it."

I fold my arms, anger evident in my voice. "He stood there and greeted me with a smile out there," I say, turning to the window. "We, you, trusted him with your city and everything that has happened on my street." A newfound rage takes over, and I have to ask, "Gray, did he kill Goldie?"

Gray closes his eyes, contemplating this very real possibility. "I don't want to admit it, but it makes sense. He had access to a gun, and who knows, he could have bugged her home as well, knew she was leaving and then followed her to Home Depot. He also could have known about the text messages you were sent. Maybe he even knew you met her at the park. She was collateral damage."

I feel my fist balling up. "That –" and before I'm able to finish my words, we hear a knock. Gray puts his finger to his lips to hush me.

"What is it?"

"Chief, sorry to bother you, but I need to speak to you. We just got a call from the prison." Officer Holder's gruff voice comes through the door, and I want to open the door and punch him. Gray backs up his chair. "Stay here. I'll be back."

I do as instructed. My knees are shaking, and anxiety rises to my throat. I suddenly feel nauseous. I take some deep breaths and chant, "Inhale, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, hold 1, 2, 3, 4, exhale, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7." After doing this for a minute, I start to calm down. I get up, walk to the window, and stare out. I need some air. After opening the window, getting some fresh air, and closing it again, I hear the doorknob rattle, and I hurry back to my seat.

Gray comes in and closes the door. He doesn't return to his seat, just stands at the door. "Well, an inmate murdered Jeff a while ago. They were out in the yard, and someone came up to him and stabbed him in the back. It was quick. No one came to his aid until it was too late."

"What?" I jump out of my seat. "And why?" But I already knew. Melanie is picking them off one by one, and we're next. "This isn't just a coincidence…"

"Now don't assume something you have no proof of, Trice," he interjects. He knows me all too well.

"Come on, Gray. You know it's true. First Troy, then Goldie, Dimitri, and now Jeff. You need to remove the drugs from our property. They won't stop until they get what they want, and I'm tired of being a target." The tears bubble up, and Gray comes over and hugs me.

"I'm sorry, Trice, you're right. Tomorrow, first thing, we'll get the drug unit to seize the drugs. We have a secure location to store them while everything gets sorted out. We'll issue a press release, diverting attention away from you. And I'm going to question Holder. Go back home and stay there. I'll text you in the morning. Oh, and there may be more cameras around the house, so be careful. Don't discuss the case or anything related to Jeff's murder. When we come tomorrow, we'll scrutinize the house for any more cameras."

I ease out of his embrace. "Yeah, okay. But we can't keep doing this, Gray. I haven't seen my kids or grandkids in almost a year. My best friend's home was vandalized, and we've narrowly escaped death a few times, along with you and Officer Lopez. Please, solve this so we can all return to our normal lives." Desperation colors my voice, but it's been too long. I promised Goldie I would find her killer. I vow to keep my promise, with or without Gray's help.

Returning home, I share the events with Brock. He sits on the couch, hands to his face. "I can't believe someone killed Jeff. This whole thing is so damn messed up, Trice."

"I know."

"The more I think about it, the more I believe Jeff wasn't going to hurt us. When we escaped, he was trying to find us, not kill us. It was his wife – Melanie – who wanted us dead. It still doesn't excuse what Jeff did to Troy, but he didn't deserve to be murdered." He falls silent, tears welling in his eyes. I realize how deeply this is affecting him, and I draw closer, wrapping my arms around him.

"I'm sorry, Babe. I know this whole nightmare is taking its toll."

He looks pensive, a shadow of sadness passing over him. "The world is so messed up. How did we get caught up in it?" I hang my head down in shame.

"It's my fault. If I hadn't answered Goldie's texts—"

"No, this is NOT your fault. If you hadn't answered back, we wouldn't have known who killed Troy or what he was caught up in that ultimately led to his death. Goldie would have been killed with or without you. But now, you can avenge her death. I just meant, you know, you never think it's going to happen to you, to your family. A year ago, we were completely oblivious to any of this. It just seems this rollercoaster will never end."

"It will, but it may mean we have to end it." I hang my head.

Brock lifts my head back up. "Look at me." I meet his eyes. "I will not let anything happen to you. I will go down if it means I can save you."

"No, Brock! This isn't a you or I deal. We are going to make it together." We come together and kiss like it's our last day on earth and then go upstairs hand-in-hand.

In the morning, I groggily open my eyes to the sun filtering in through the blinds. The days are getting longer, and usually, by this time, I'm planning out my gardens for the season, but I can't even focus on that right now. I glance over at Brock snoring softly and get up, shuffling to the bathroom, rubbing my eyes. Herc follows me, wagging his tail. I look in the mirror littered with water droplets and push down under my eyes. I look like the dead. I take out my undereye cream, dab some on, and then brush my hair, smoothing it with a little oil for some needed shine. After getting dressed and feeling more awake, I quietly leave the room with Herc by my side and head downstairs to make some coffee.

The sun streams through the windows, and I look out back, scanning from right to left, always aware these days. Relieved I don't see anything, I pour myself a cup and grab a bagel with cream cheese. Walking into the living room, I turn on the TV. Gray said he would be here around 8:00, so I have nearly 80 minutes more to wait. I flip through the channels and settle on a geographical program about ancient Egypt. About an hour later, Brock comes downstairs, yawning but dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt.

"Hey."

"Hey," I say, patting the couch and motioning him to sit down. "Gray should be coming soon. I want these drugs out of our shed now."

"Same. And before you say anything, I’m going to ask some of my legal team to dig up some dirt on Petra and Greg. The more we find, the better, you know?"

“Brock, no, you could get in real trouble.”

“I'll just tell them it’s for a case I’m helping out with. Don’t stress about it. If the cops can’t sort this mess, we will, just like you said.”

I did say that. It’s time to put an end to this crazy ride.

Almost twenty minutes later, Gray texts saying he’s here. Brock and I spot him, Officer Lopez, and the drug unit hanging out in our driveway, each person clad in white hazmat suits.

“Hey, Trice, Brock. We’re going to do this quick and low-key. That's why the drug unit truck is sneakily backed up in your driveway. Let’s grab these canisters out of your shed.” We all head to the backyard fence. Brock opens it, and we stroll into the yard. We slapped a lock on the shed, and it's still holding firm when Brock opens it. In one smooth move, they snatch the blue canisters, toss them in the back of the truck, and slowly drive away, leaving just us, Gray, and Officer Lopez.

It took all of 5 minutes or less.

“With these substances gone, you should be safer. We’ll set up a press conference saying you found them and we're doing some tests to determine what they are. Who knows? Maybe Troy slipped up, and we can pull some DNA from the cans,” Gray says, nonchalantly shrugging.

“It’s a bit of a long shot,” Brock comments, arms folded.

“Probably, but you never know,” Gray says. He snaps his fingers, making me jump. “Oh, and we've got some news about Greg and Petra, the other two in Troy’s mess. The gun used to kill Goldie, well, DNA came back saying it's registered to Greg. We’ve got enough to nab him, so I told the squad to quietly get a warrant for his arrest. And Petra's address? She's in Salt Lake City, moved there like nine months ago.”

“Right after Troy got dumped,” I say.

“Yeah. We can quietly bring them both in, Trice. Once we get solid proof, we can put them away for good,” Gray turns, checking out the surroundings.

“What about Holder?” I ask, noting that his name is still the big unknown.

“I’ll have a chat with him, but there’s no real evidence he killed Demitri.” I know Gray's got a point, but who else has had easy access to our place? I’m not convinced Holder's in the clear just 'cause he’s a cop.

“Well, we’re gonna take off. We'll keep an eye out for a bit, you know, patrol the area, but now that the stuff’s gone, you shouldn’t be a target anymore.”

“I won't totally buy that until every person tied to Troy, Goldie, and anyone else’s death is dealt with,” I say, determined.

“They will be. We’re putting most of our energy into these cases, Trice. Just hang tight a bit longer.”

We say bye to Gray and Officer Lopez and head back inside when my phone buzzes. It’s Leah.

“Trice, what the heck is going on at your place? And don’t give me any bull.”

“Got time to chat?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

True to her word, Leah swings by, and I invite her in. “Okay, spill it,” she demands, hands on her hips.

What do I tell her? If I spill everything, I could drag her into this mess, but if I don’t, and she hears it from someone else, she’ll never let it go.

“You better sit down.”