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EACH SOB THAT RIPPED from his chest burned, and Tom couldn’t get control over the flow of tears or the pain hammering his muscles. Steve’s awkward pats on his back did nothing to help quell the hurricane, and all he wanted to do was curl up and die.
Steve gripped his shoulders and Tom pushed him away, giving him a glare that sparked a layer of anger under his skin. He hated it when either Steve or CJ read his mind, and he ripped himself out of Steve’s grip. Disgust roiled in his stomach and he stormed into the house, wiping his nose on the sleeve of the hideous police-issue jumpsuit he still wore.
CJ stood up from the couch and turned in his direction as he crossed the living room, but he ignored the concern painted on his brother’s face. He took the stairs two at a time and ripped at the fabric covering his skin, leaving the jumpsuit crumpled at the bathroom door. With his heart pounding in his throat, he reached into the shower and turned the water on. The scorching spray bit at his skin, dulling the pain in the center of his chest and he focused all his energy into scrubbing every inch of his skin, removing all traces of Tanya’s blood.
When his skin was raw enough to burn under the water flow, he stopped and turned off the shower. He ran his hands through his dripping hair, pushing it from his face, and leaned against the wall, waiting until his breath slowed to normal before he wrapped a towel around his waist.
Tom opened the bathroom door and stared at the hallway, thankful someone else had gotten rid of the orange jumpsuit. He stopped in the doorway of his room and met CJ’s gaze, before he continued to his dresser, and slipped on a pair of clean clothing. Tom didn’t want to talk about what he witnessed, or the near disaster at the jail, and he recognized the itch of CJ’s mind scan. After he pulled his jeans on, he turned to CJ.
“Stop,” he signed, and the release of CJ’s silent interrogation left him dizzy and unsteady. He reached for his bureau and blinked the swoon away. CJ stared at the floor with that guilty expression Tom was used to seeing, and he had to bite the derogatory comment to keep it from spilling into his mind or out of his mouth. He clenched his fists in response and slipped a t-shirt over his head before sitting on the edge of the bed next to his brother.
It sucked, he thought.
“I’m sorry,” CJ said and put his arm around Tom’s shoulder.
Tom blinked the sudden sheen of tears away and nodded, allowing his brother to offer him comfort in his own way. He could tell CJ wanted to say more, but he kept quiet and the sting of tears coated his throat. CJ understood, just like he always did, and while that silent knowledge sometimes angered him, this time he was thankful for not having to explain any of the emotions crushing his chest.
CJ pointed to the ankle bracelet, “Do you want me to remove that for you?”
Tom wiped his face and shook his head. No, he signed. I don’t want to go back to jail.
“Those assholes really believe you’re the Windwalker?” CJ asked with a voice filled with disbelief and disgust.
Tom nodded.
“Stupid hicks,” CJ muttered.
“He has to play by the rules on this, CJ,” Steve said from the doorway and met Tom’s gaze. “You about ready to go over those dates and times now?”
Tom nodded and stood. Thanks, he signed to CJ before he followed Steve downstairs.
Papers covered the table along with the calendar from the kitchen that had work and sports schedules scrawled all over the pages, and Tom slid onto the seat that Steve pointed to.
Steve turned the calendar back a month and pointed to the date circled in red. “He strikes on the new moon, when it’s the darkest in those woods.” He flipped the calendar backwards showing Tom the clear predicament they faced. Not one of the dates had work hours or sports events that coincided with the killings. “He likes to strike just after sundown or just before sunrise and the tide always works to his advantage.”
Tom bit his lip and took the calendar from Steve, flipping back over the last year. A ball of fire erupted in his stomach, burning his esophagus as he swallowed it. The morning deaths were easy to explain. He was either sleeping or jogging with Tanya. Neither of which provided him with any concrete alibi.
He couldn’t remember what he had done on the three evening dates on the calendar and raised his gaze to Steve. Most nights he took Tanya home after football practice. Again, a dead end as far as an alibi was concerned and he covered his face. He doubted her folks would offer any help, especially if they believed he killed her.
“There’s nothing?” Steve asked, leaning back in his seat. “No dinner dates or anything you can think of?”
Tom just shook his head, devastation increasing a notch in his bones. He lowered his hands and stared at the array of paper before raising his gaze. Doesn’t the Windwalker take the scalps?
“Yes, and nothing beyond the mutilated pictures and your fishing knife was found here,” Steve said and inhaled. “Will they find anything other than fish blood on that blade?”
Tom shook his head, but his mind drifted back a couple months when Tanya had gotten a splinter in her foot in their canoe. He used the blade to catch the end of the sliver and when that sucker came out, her foot bled enough for him to wrap it up in his t-shirt and take her home.
“Tanya’s blood is on the knife?”
I don’t know, he signed and shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he washed the knife since then or not. But her parents took her to get a tetanus shot.
Steve’s expression remained guarded. “That means there are traces of blood in the canoe, too, right?”
Tom nodded
* * * *
STEVE STARED AT THE array of papers on the table digesting this new fact. None of it boded well for Tom except the tetanus shot. If he could get the details on that, he’d have a reasonable explanation for the blood on the knife and in the canoe. The absence of the scalp was another item that could provide reasonable doubt; however, if the signature of the knife matched the murder weapon, then he was back at square one.
He raised his gaze and took in Tom’s pleading eyes.
“I know you didn’t do it, but this doesn’t look good on paper.” He waved at the table. “There’s nothing concrete we can offer up to exonerate you. Are you sure you didn’t catch dinner at Tanya’s on any of these days?” Steve asked, knowing he was reaching for any alibi at this point, but he had to be sure.
Tom glanced at the dates again, a crease between his eyes hammering home his level of concentration to remember details that just blended together in a teenager’s mind. And then the crease smoothed, and he tapped a date two months back. “Maybe,” he said, meeting Steve’s gaze.
“What did you have for dinner?”
Tom’s eyebrows arched, and he shrugged.
“Come on. You need to do better than that. What did you eat that night?” Steve waited while Tom clicked off the meals he had at Tanya’s for the past two months and then shook his head.
It was either lasagna or spaghetti or chicken parmesan, he signed. Wednesdays are Italian night and I always tried to get an invite if I could manage it. He offered a shrug. It beat trying to choke down Jennifer’s cooking.
Steve suppressed a grin. His wife had issues in the kitchen and most of his evenings had been taken up with the case, so he wasn’t around to save the kids from her cooking. “Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”
Because sometimes it didn’t work out.
“Are you sure you had dinner with her family on this particular night?” Steve asked, praying the answer was a solid yes, instead, doubt painted Tom’s face.
I’m sorry, Uncle Steve, he signed, and his thoughts echoed the same sentiment.
“That’s okay. I’ll talk with Tanya’s parents and see if I can get them to confirm you were there on that date.”
Tom’s gaze dropped to the table and he nodded.
The gate buzzer interrupted them, and Steve stood, crossing to the monitor. Cleary gave him a wave and Steve opened the gate for his boss. He turned back to Tom and said, “Why don’t you head upstairs.”
Tom nodded and with one last glance at the table, he turned and disappeared up the stairs.
Steve got to the front door before Cleary and he waved him inside without the normal salutations. Cleary’s tight jaw and fiery expression kept him quiet and he suppressed the urge to dig in Cleary’s mind to find out the reason for the open hostility radiating from the man.
“Are the kids around?”
“They’re upstairs, why?”
Cleary spun toward Steve. “Chris Ryan was involved in the kidnapping ring?”
Steve didn’t answer. He just turned and closed the door, keeping his back to Cleary while he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wood. “They watched the DVDs.”
“Jesus Christ,” Cleary muttered and peeled his jacket off. “You knew?”
Steve turned and met his boss’ glare. “I knew Chris wasn’t as clean as Ty made him out to be, but I had no idea those tapes existed. If I did...”
Cleary’s lips thinned, and the flurry of his thoughts matched the anger radiating from him. “Internal affairs got wind of the information and they are taking a closer look at your situation.”
“My situation?”
“The inheritance, the guardianship, control of their trust fund,” Cleary said.
Steve’s muscles clenched, and he had to force himself not to ball his hands into tight fists. “Why?”
Cleary took a deep breath. “They’re looking at the current case. The tips you’ve given the police and the involvement of one of the Ryan kids. They are looking over your entire career right now and we both know there’s enough unexplained events to draw even more scrutiny.”
Steve didn’t like where this was going, the unease that had taken over his bones increased, and he shifted his weight against the pressure. “They think I’m dirty?”
“They think you knew more about Chris Ryan than you’ve let on,” he said, making quotes with his fingers as he said the name. “I haven’t been contacted for a formal interview, but I’m sure I’m next.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because, until the investigation is completed, you are officially suspended. I’m here to collect your badge and gun.”
Steve blinked as the accusations and possible consequences flitted through Cleary’s mind. The shock of the suspension settled into his bones, creating a burning just under his skin. Instead of arguing or losing his temper, he turned and marched over to the table, grabbing his weapon and badge. When he turned, Cleary was a step behind him.
“I’m not sure I can protect your reputation this time,” he said and took the items from Steve.
“I only knew the truth for a matter of weeks before Ty died.”
“That doesn’t matter. You didn’t bring him in. Instead, you aided and abetted a known fugitive and they are going to leverage that against you.”
“Well, at least I’ve got one thing going for me,” Steve said and crossed his arms.
“What’s that?”
“New York. The district attorney there wouldn’t dream of prosecuting me.”
“You’re probably right, but the Federal prosecutor doesn’t have that kind of allegiance.”
Steve’s arms dropped to his side.
“Murder has no statute of limitations,” Cleary said. “And the Aris case crossed state lines, so it’s under Federal jurisdiction. If they choose to go after you...”
“I’m looking at a stay in Federal prison,” Steve finished Cleary’s sentence. He took a seat at the table and the mere thought of them questioning his integrity and his motives after more than fifteen years of dedicated service irked him.
“Are you telling me Steve could go to prison?” Jennifer interrupted.
Steve turned toward the stairs where Jennifer stood gawking at the two of them, her green eyes wide and shocked at the turn of the conversation. “It’s possible,” Steve answered with a shrug and swung his gaze back to Cleary. “Have they talked to Sarah, yet?”
“Yes. She wasn’t very happy with the line of questioning and said your heroics didn’t seem to faze them one bit. They are on a witch hunt and you are the target.”
Steve sighed and nodded, scanning the contents of the table. “Who is assigned to this now?” He pointed at the Windwalker case file.
“I’ll be working it with Sarah.” Cleary glanced at Jennifer. “So, when you have another one of your visions, you need to contact one of us.”
“We will,” Steve said. “What about the case against Tom? Can you talk some sense into the prosecutor?”
“Do you have anything I can go to them with?”
Steve looked at the one date Tom had circled and wrote it down on a slip of paper, handing it to Cleary. “Tom believes he was at dinner at Tanya’s house on that evening. It’s the only alibi I have for him.”
“The dead girl’s parents?”
“Yes.”
Cleary whistled and shook his head. “That’s pretty thin.”
“He was either sleeping in his room or with Tanya at the times the Windwalker struck.”
“Can anyone confirm they saw him here on those mornings you think he was sleeping?”
“We sometimes drive to school together,” CJ said as he stepped into the living room.
Cleary pointed to the calendar on the table. “Can you tell me if you drove on any of these dates?”
“Any of the murders on a Friday?”
Steve shook his head. “No, Jen and I already looked and none of the murders happened on days you two had sports events.”
“Shit,” CJ said and crossed to the calendar, flipping from page to page with disgust. He finally stopped and glared at Cleary. “My brother didn’t kill those people.”
“Ron, Tom doesn’t fit the profile,” Steve said, pulling the write up the FBI put together on the killer, handing it to Cleary.
“Have you ever caught him hurting small animals?”
CJ laughed. “Tom hand feeds the chipmunks. Animals flock to him like he’s something special. No, he’s never hurt an animal on purpose and the one time he hit one with the mower, he was so upset, he couldn’t bring himself to mow the lawn for the rest of the summer. He bribed me with everything from doing all my chores for the rest of the year to letting me use his things whenever I wanted, just to get out of doing the lawn.”
“What about the fish knife?”
“What about it?” CJ shrugged. “We fish off the bluff or out on the canoe all the time.” He stared at Cleary and then swung his gaze to Steve. “They honestly believe Tom did this?”
Steve nodded, seeing the transition in CJ’s facial features as they hardened, reminding Steve of Ty.
“That is fucking insane,” he said, and Jennifer cleared her throat. CJ turned in her direction. “It is,” he said.
“Language?” she said with her hands on her hips.
CJ turned away and rolled his eyes, meeting Steve’s gaze.
Steve raised an eyebrow, bringing Jennifer’s point home.
“Fine, sorry for swearing, but Tom didn’t do this,” he said as he waved toward the table before turning and heading upstairs.
Steve took a deep breath before bringing his glance back to Cleary. His boss knew enough about CJ Ryan to be nervous in his presence, but he was never willing to admit it. When his gaze met Steve’s he shifted. “I’ll check this out.” He lifted the paper and gave a nod on his way out the door.
“Jail?” Jennifer asked after the front door closed.
Steve gave her a knowing look. “We knew that’s always been a possibility if the truth about Ty ever got out,” he said.
“But...”
“Look, I made a choice and I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” he said and crossed to her, pulling her against him. “It’s all just hearsay, and with my record, no judge will convict me just on hearsay alone.”
“But what if they ask you if you knew who Chris really was?”
Steve shifted and dropped his gaze.
“You’d lie?” she asked, reading his hesitation wrong.
The one thing he prided himself on was telling the truth. He had lied for a living for years while undercover, but ever since he took down the cocaine ring and became the target of Kyle Winslow, he hadn’t lied to anyone, never mind in a court of law and he wasn’t about to start now.
“No,” he said and met her stare. They both knew what his honesty would cost, and Jennifer pulled away, heading into the gym to work off her worry.
Steve watched her go and sighed, turning his attention back to the papers strewn across the table, wondering if his boss would find a way to exonerate Tom, otherwise this all was going to culminate in the perfect storm.