The Deceiving Look (Shepard & Gray), page 11
Solomon’s daily walks were a source of solace and contemplation for him. He often lost track of time and distance, only realizing he needed to head home when the sun began to set. He was undaunted by the elements, braving cold nights, the snow, and the sweltering summer heat. On one walk, he came across a wolf—or at least, that’s what it appeared to be in the moonlit glow. Wolves in Utah had been hunted to extinction, so if it was a wolf, it was the last.
As he walked, he saw litter and cigarette butts line the gutters, and homeless people shivered in corners under snow-covered awnings.
Feeling the need for caffeine, Solomon stopped at a Starbucks and leaned against the redbrick wall. It was then that he noticed a string of missed texts, including one from Billie that made his heart race.
The sniper was in custody.
He summoned an Uber and paced impatiently.
20
Solomon had attended meetings at the District Attorney’s Office held in one of the conference rooms, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the skyline. He remembered being impressed by the state-of-the-art technology and equipment, and the various departments that worked together.
Solomon thanked the Uber driver and got out. Unease gnawed at his belly like rats, and it gave him a sickening taste in his mouth. He checked his pockets for gum and didn’t have any. He took a deep breath, tapped his cane, and went inside.
After screening, he had to wait for someone from the DA’s office to allow him up. Unfortunately, it was Roger’s secretary who got the call. When Roger stepped off the elevators to greet him, he was certain Roger had told his secretary to notify him if Solomon ever showed up again.
“Hello, Counselor,” Roger said with a smile. “It is still Counselor, isn’t it? You didn’t get disbarred or something?”
“Not yet. Roger, I’m in—”
“A hurry? Because we caught your shooter, I’m assuming? Well, you’re a little late, Solomon. I struck a deal with him.”
Solomon’s eyes narrowed a little as he stared at Roger. “What kind of deal?”
“He’ll be telling us all about your old friend Bigfoot Tommy’s operations and how he hired him to put a bullet in your brain. So you’re welcome, Solomon.”
Solomon said, “Let me talk to him,” and hoped the desperation stayed out of his voice.
Roger chuckled. “You’re not one of my prosecutors anymore. You’re not going anywhere near him.”
Roger turned away, and Solomon grabbed his arm. “Whatever he’s telling you is a lie. If he kept his mouth shut and went to prison without saying a word, Tommy would make sure he lived like a king in there. If he snitches, Tommy could reach him anywhere he runs to. There is no way he would make that deal, Roger.”
“Even if so, it’s not your concern anymore. Go home, Solomon.”
“Let me talk to him,” Solomon pleaded. “I can get him to tell us what Tommy wants.”
Roger’s expression was concerned for a moment before it became amused again. “Don’t be jealous, Solomon. I’ve always been the better negotiator between us.”
He turned and began walking toward the elevator, but Solomon called out, “This is even stupider than usual, Roger.”
Roger stopped and turned back to Solomon. He put his hands in his pockets and approached him, speaking quietly so that only they could hear. “You always looked down on me and thought you were better. But I’m the one who’s succeeded, Solomon. I have everything you could have ever wanted, while you’re hiding away from the world in some hole.” Roger flicked a piece of lint off Solomon’s jacket before continuing. “Take care of yourself, Counselor.”
He turned away, but then stopped and turned back again. “Oh, I almost forgot. You might want to stay away from the sheriff. She’s up for reelection, and you tend to bring bad luck wherever you go.” He couldn’t help but smile. “I heard your ex-lover moved out of state and left you. I’m guessing she wished she’d never met you. Don’t make the sheriff feel the same way. Stay away from her and keep your nose out of this case.”
Roger returned to the elevator.
“You kill that guy’s goldfish or something?”
Mazie stood next to him, dressed in her uniform. Her hair was pulled back tightly, revealing her makeup-free face. She wore short sleeves, showcasing the tattoos that covered her forearms.
Solomon said, “Were you and Billie separated at birth?”
She chuckled. “I gotta admit, she’d make a pretty cool older sister.” She looked toward the elevators. “What was that all about?”
“It was about a very insecure man putting people in danger because he doesn’t recognize his insecurity,” Solomon replied, exhaling. “Where you headed?”
“I have a meeting with a prosecutor.”
Solomon glanced around and put his hand on her arm, leaning heavily on his cane with the other hand, pretending that his injury was worse than it was. “I need you to guide me to the interview rooms at the sheriff’s office, milady,” he said.
“Interview rooms? Why?” Mazie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Roger wouldn’t let you talk to him, would he?”
“Roger’s an idiot. There’s no way one of Tommy’s men would flip that quickly, especially not on Tommy. If this guy is flipping, it’s because Tommy told him to, and I need to know why.” Mazie rolled her eyes and let out a groan, and Solomon pressed a little harder. “I just need five minutes, Mazie. If I’m wrong, we’ve wasted five minutes, but if I’m right and Tommy has something planned, someone’s going to get hurt.”
She sighed. “I could get in so much trouble for this. You’re not even a prosecutor anymore.”
“I know, and I hate to ask. But I really need your help.”
They looked at each other for a moment, and finally, Mazie said, “Fine. But you owe me for this, and I’m not kidding.”
“Whatever your heart desires shall be yours, my queen. But for now,” he said, tightening his grip on her arm, “lead the way.”
21
After her morning meeting with the city manager, Billie’s time was filled with mundane tasks, and she felt frustrated with the never-ending cycle of paperwork that seemed to consume her job as sheriff. Despite her best efforts to stay on top of things, she had fallen behind since the body of the former Honorable Mayor was found.
As she left the Public Safety Complex, a young man in a dirty coat approached her and handed her some papers. “You’ve been served, ma’am,” he said before quickly walking away. The snow had started to fall, and the once-sunny sky was now gray and overcast. She watched the sky a moment before turning to the papers.
Billie assumed the papers were related to a lawsuit filed against the sheriff’s office, and she prepared herself for yet another battle to defend her department. But when she looked at the names on the document, she was shocked by what she saw. Her blood went cold as she read:
MOTION FOR TEMPORARY PROTECTIVE ORDER
DAX M. GRANGER
v.
ELIZABETH J. GRAY
Dax had accused Billie of threatening to kill him and asked the courts for protection. As she read through the document, she couldn’t believe the lies it contained. Dax claimed that Billie had visited his home two days ago, held a gun to his face, and threatened to shoot him if she saw him again.
She frantically texted Solomon, sending him a picture of the documents and asking if Dax was allowed to do this. When he didn’t respond right away, she let out a frustrated breath and stared at the sky, trying to calm herself down. But the anger and emotion inside her were too strong.
She walked to her truck and got in, taking a moment to tap her finger against the steering wheel as she tried to clear her mind. Her emotions were running high, and she remembered her father’s advice to do nothing when angry. He had always told her to take a moment to do nothing, to say nothing, and to allow herself time to cool down before making any decisions. She took a deep breath and tried to follow that advice.
Screw that.
As she sped down the freeway, she knew she was going too fast. The ground was slick with ice, and she had to constantly adjust her speed to maintain control. Despite the treacherous conditions, her truck’s snow tires kept her stable on the road.
She hadn’t heard much about Dax since he was fired from his job for assaulting a coworker, but she knew where he lived now. He had lost his house and was now living in an apartment on the outskirts of the city.
When she finally arrived at the apartment complex, Billie parked the truck and reached for the pistol tucked away in the holster under her coat. She ran her fingertips over the handle.
The apartment complex was a drab brown color, with each building rising three stories. A tall, imposing gray brick wall stood at the edge of the complex, marking the boundary between the apartments and the grocery store next door. The parking lot for the grocery store was on the other side of the wall, a sea of concrete and parked cars.
She approached Dax’s second-floor apartment and took the stone steps up to his door. She knocked and could hear footsteps inside. The door swung open, and Dax stood in front of her, shirtless and wearing sweatpants. His skin was pale and flabby, a far cry from the muscular and tanned appearance he had maintained when they were together. Billie had never been particularly concerned with physical attractiveness, but she was struck by how much Dax had changed.
She knew she had to be careful around him, and she braced herself.
“I’m glad you came,” Dax said with a smile.
“You didn’t leave me much choice. It was either confront you here or in court,” Billie replied.
Dax looked her up and down. “You look good,” he said.
Billie glanced behind him into the cluttered apartment. It was a mess, with garbage and dirty dishes scattered everywhere. Boxes were stacked up against the walls, overflowing with what appeared to be junk: trinkets, documents, old magazines . . . it was clear that this wasn’t the Dax she knew, the one who was fastidious about cleanliness and couldn’t stand the thought of germs in the kitchen overnight. Even without looking inside the apartment, she could tell that the Dax she knew was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.
Dax opened the door and stepped to the side, gesturing for her to come inside. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was best to show no fear or exercise caution.
“No, let’s go for a walk,” Billie said.
The surrounding neighborhood was zoned for mixed use, and the eclectic mix of businesses, storefronts, and residential homes gave the area a disorienting and chaotic feel. It was a part of the city that Billie didn’t often visit, as she didn’t find it aesthetically pleasing.
Dax led her to the back of the apartment complex, where a chain-link fence separated the residences from the elementary school to the north. There was a hole in the fence where the children had rolled it up to create a shortcut to school rather than going all the way around. Dax held up the section of fence for her to pass through.
“After you,” he said with a grin.
“You first. I insist.”
He smiled and then went through the opening in the fence.
Billie crossed the school’s field, her heart racing as she tried to distance herself from Dax, who walked to the bleachers near a diamond where a group of kids were practicing their hits. Billie sat as far away from Dax as possible, her eyes fixed on the children as they played.
Dax spoke up, his voice laced with nostalgia as he watched the kids. “I come here sometimes to watch them. It calms me down. Reminds me of when I was a kid and had no worries . . .” He trailed off before turning to Billie, his eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry I threatened you. I was drunk and angry.”
Billie clenched her fists, struggling to keep her composure. She remained silent, doing her utmost to restrain the overwhelming urge to punch him squarely in the face. Weeks of relentless terror and harassment . . . and all he could muster as an excuse was that he had been drunk.
“What do you expect to gain by filing a protective order against me, Dax?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t plan to gain anything. This was just the only way I could talk to you.”
“You’ve thrown my life into chaos, and you think all you want is to talk to me?” she snapped.
“That’s all I want, I swear. I know what I said, but I’d never hurt you,” he insisted, reaching out to touch her.
Billie recoiled, her hand instinctively grasping the concealed weapon under her jacket. “Try to touch me again, and you’ll regret it, Dax.”
He chuckled, unfazed. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have brought you to a field full of kids.” He turned back to the children. “I am really sorry how this all happened.”
Billie let out a sigh, her voice laced with desperation. “I don’t care, Dax. I just want all of this to stop. You said you loved me once, and I truly believe you did. I’m asking you, as someone you loved once, to stop this. Let me live in peace.”
Dax seemed lost in his own thoughts, his eyes fixated on the kids as he spoke. “Do you know what I miss most about you? Your smell. I used to stay up sometimes after you had gone to sleep and smell you. It was like flowers after a rain.” He leaned in closer to her, as if trying to catch a hint of her scent, causing Billie to recoil again.
Dax slowly pulled away, his voice filled with frustration and sadness. “That’s why I can’t let this go, because I repulse you. But that won’t last. You’ll see.”
Billie’s anger flared as she stood up, her voice spiked with disgust. “The only thing I see is a sick, pathetic man who finds joy in torturing someone who had the audacity to actually care about him.”
As she stormed off, Dax called out to her, his words chilling her. “I can wait.”
Billie fought back tears as she got into her truck and sped away, her heart heavy with the knowledge that Dax’s obsession would not end anytime soon. She pulled over to the side of the road and let out a sob, her head resting against the steering wheel as the tears flowed.
22
The third floor of the sheriff’s office contained a series of interview rooms, which were located in a separate area from the main department. These rooms were monitored by CCTV cameras placed at regular intervals along the hallway. There was a total of six interview rooms, with the most comfortable and welcoming room reserved for victims who needed to be interviewed.
To access this room, Mazie and Solomon had to pass through a screening desk, where a girthy deputy was currently seated and speaking on the phone.
Mazie flashed a friendly smile at the deputy as they walked past him, and the deputy responded with a dopey grin, much like a ten-year-old boy might give to his crush. Solomon, on the other hand, kept his eyes fixed on the floor as he walked, exaggerating the limp in his leg and hunching his back slightly. The deputy gave him only a quick glance before returning to his conversation on the phone.
Each of the interview rooms was equipped with a small square window on the door, which was just wide enough for a single person to peer through.
As Mazie and Solomon made their way down the hallway, they passed the first interview room, where one of Billie’s detectives was speaking with a man dressed in a blue coat. The man was visibly distressed, and tears were streaming down his face.
The last room on the right was the victim interview room, and Roger had put his prize witness in there. It was a space designed to look as casual and welcoming as possible, with couches, recliners, and a selection of toys and Disney movies on DVD for children. A large, muscular man with a massive potbelly was lying on one of the couches, dressed in jeans and a white tank top. He had several homemade tattoos, including a prominent skull on his neck and a military tattoo on his forearm.
Solomon turned to Mazie and said, “You shouldn’t be here when I talk to him. Plausible deniability.”
Mazie glanced through the window at the man.
“You want me to leave you alone with him?” she asked. “The dude is huge. He looks like a bookshelf.”
“The bigger they are and whatever,” Solomon replied.
Mazie looked at him skeptically, and Solomon added with a grin, “Don’t let the cane fool you. I’ve got a mean left hook.”
Mazie let out a long breath and said, “I’m going to my meeting and will be right back. If you let him kill you, I will be so insanely pissed.”
Solomon watched Mazie leave, then turned and entered the victim interview room and closed the door firmly behind him. The room had a distinctive aroma of potpourri, which stood in contrast to the less pleasant smell of body odor.
Solomon made his way over to the love seat using his cane and sat down across from the couch. The man looked at him with a big grin spreading across his lips, seemingly pleased to see Solomon.
He had his head resting on his hands as he watched Solomon. “You remember me?” he said.
“No,” Solomon replied.
“Jack Barre. They called me Blackbird. You remember me now?”
Solomon did have a faint memory of Blackbird, recalling an old case where he had prosecuted him for some crime. “Not really, sorry,” Solomon said.
“Well, you were pretty cool. Treated me fair considerin’ I was guilty as hell.”
“Huh. You take a shot at everyone that treats you well?”
Blackbird pushed himself up and leaned against the couch. “If I wanted to tag you, I wouldn’t miss. Not from fifteen yards.”
Solomon recognized the tattoo on Blackbird’s forearm, and he said, “Semper fi.”
“Do or die,” Blackbird replied.
“Marines are the best snipers in the world. I have no doubt you could’ve taken me out if you wanted to. Why didn’t you?”
Blackbird shrugged and smiled, then put his hands on his prodigious belly in a relaxed gesture. Solomon sensed that Blackbird was trying too hard to appear casual, and that he was actually scared. Something had gone wrong, something he wasn’t expecting. “You’re really flipping on him, aren’t you?” Solomon said.
