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Forty-Four

Madison sat on a stool in the forensics lab, munching on a Hershey’s bar. She was already halfway finished when she looked at it with suspicion, curious about how much caffeine it might contain. She’d do what was necessary so Junior was healthy, but if she had to cut out chocolate along with coffee and wine, she might not have any friends left by the time the baby was born.

“What took them so long to get the video over here?” she asked Cynthia.

“The person who would normally take care of it was out sick with a bad cold.”

“And no one else could forward the footage,” Madison mumbled.

“No one else had access to their voicemail. Anyway, we have it now.” Cynthia started the video, and it played on a wall-mounted TV that was connected to Cynthia’s computer.

The feed showed from Market Street, looking down Burnham Street toward Luck of the Irish pub and the public lot where Carson had parked. Potentially a great vantage point, but because of the rain, the feed wasn’t too clear.

“I’m just going to forward closer to the time-of-death window.” Cynthia proceeded to do just that.

“Actually, go until about eight. That’s when Carson parked in the lot. Maybe we can see where she went from there.”

“Got it.” Cynthia forwarded and let it play when the time stamp in the bottom corner showed 7:58 PM. “How’s that for precision?”

“Impressive.” Terry smiled at Cynthia.

When the time stamp read 8:03 PM, Madison pointed at the screen. “There.” Carson, identified by her clothing, was walking out of the lot to the sidewalk toward Market Street. “Can you pause and zoom in? Just to confirm it’s her?”

“Sure.” Cynthia did that.

“Unmistakably her,” Terry said.

“Notice that she had a purse.” Madison pointed toward the screen. “She also seems to be hugging it to herself.”

“Nerves?” Terry suggested and shrugged. “Or she’s protective of what’s in it.”

Madison bobbed her head at Cynthia, and she resumed the video. Carson’s strides seemed determined, and her upper body angled forward as she went uphill. She stopped, turned around, and stood still for a few seconds before resuming her trek along the sidewalk.

Outside the pub, she looked up and then over her shoulders again—left then right, back left, right.

“She’s nervous,” Terry said. “Could have been for a date?”

Cynthia paused the video.

Madison shook her head. “I think she was there to confront Elliott. Either she called him and arranged to meet him, or she just knew he’d be there.”

Terry faced her. “Assuming he was there.”

“Right. I get that we might be off the mark with suspecting Elliott, but it’s the fact we haven’t been able to find him that bothers me. And if she was going to confront the con man who ripped her off, she’d probably want to do so in a public place.”

“Because she feared him?” Terry shook his head at his own question. “No indication that she had or she would have said something in her files…or surely told her friend Lana that if anything happened to her to send the police to Abbott.”

“Hit play again, please,” Madison requested.

Cynthia did so, and Carson entered the pub.

“Now forward ahead to when she leaves,” Madison said.

“You got it.” Cynthia took them past ten, eleven, midnight… Still no sign of Carson exiting the front door. But at twelve forty-five Saturday morning, Carson emerged onto the sidewalk from the alley that led to the pub’s parking lot, limping and hugging her arms around herself.

“No purse.” Madison stiffened. “She must have been attacked in the back lot. We need the area searched for the murder weapon. She was stabbed somewhere behind the pub and restaurant.”

“Right about where we were,” Terry said.

“I didn’t miss that,” Madison replied.

“But you also know it’s a week later. The knife used in the attack could be long gone,” Terry started. “It and Carson’s belongings could all be in the city dump.”

“Or in the killer’s possession,” Madison countered, though Terry’s theory was more likely.

Cynthia paused the video. “I’ll get Mark on scene, and I’ll go too.”

“Well, someone needs to watch this video from earlier than eight until, say, two or later to see if there’s any sign of Elliott or anyone else suspicious who comes up behind her.” Madison hopped off the stool. “Shit.”

“You okay?” Cynthia rushed over, and Madison held up a hand.

“I’m fine. I just keep forgetting that my body’s against me at the moment.”

“Hey, you’re still alive,” Cynthia shot back, driving home how lucky Madison had been—even if the entire event could have been avoided.

“I am.” Her throat constricted from nerves as she spoke. She resisted the urge to put a hand over her stomach. She headed for the door with Terry.

“Madison, can we talk for a minute?” Cynthia asked.

“Ah, sure.” Her heartbeat picked up speed and her palms went a little clammy. “I’ll meet you in the lot,” she told Terry, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment and was gone. She turned back to Cynthia and met a hardened expression. It was a look Madison was familiar with and normally came when her friend was concerned. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know. The doctor told me I’ll be fine.” She reached out to touch Cynthia’s shoulder, but she stepped back. “Something wrong?”

Cynthia crossed her arms, loosened them, let them drop. “I was terrified, Maddy. I thought that you might never wake up, that I lost you.” Tears filled her eyes, and she sniffled.

“You didn’t though.”

“What is it with you?” Cynthia spun, sighed, turned around. “You think you’re—what?—invincible, untouchable?”

“No—”

Cynthia held up a hand. “You must. Before I went on my honeymoon, before the wedding even, you were prying into the Mafia’s affairs again. You had it in your head that the Stiles PD has corrupt cops.”

“It’s not in my head. It’s a fact.” Her heart was hammering, and it was suddenly feeling like her best friend was turning on her.

“Tell me you stopped pursuing this obsession of yours, that you’ve let it go.”

Madison held her friend’s gaze but said nothing.

Cynthia threw her arms in the air. “Yep, just as I thought. They did this to you. And let me guess—that woman whose picture you gave me has nothing to do with the Carson investigation.”

Madison opened her mouth, unsure what to say, so snapped it shut.

“Uh-huh, as I suspected. You think she’s tied up with the mob.”

Know, thanks to Leland. “As far as the Stiles PD is concerned the mob’s not even in town anymore.”

Cynthia narrowed her eyes to slits. “Please. This is me you’re talking to, not Stiles PD. They’re in town still. I’m not blind, Maddy. And that’s why I know here—” she laid a hand over her heart “—that your hit-and-run accident wasn’t an accident. Do you really think it was?”

Madison hesitated but eventually shook her head.

“Good, at least you’re not going to lie to my face about that.”

She bristled. “What do you mean?”

“You used me,” she spat. “Had me run her picture through facial rec databases.”

“I never told you she was possibly connected to the Carson case. You assumed—”

“No.” Cynthia shook her head. “You don’t get to do that. And you have Troy, a man you supposedly love, running all over asking questions, interrogating people to find who did this to you. Have you bothered to tell him you think it’s someone associated with the mob or even possibly a mob hit?” Cynthia crossed her arms again, this time tight, and she held the stance. Her gaze pierced through Madison’s skull.

“I—”

“You don’t need to answer my question. It was more rhetorical anyway. But tell me this: why was he asking Garrett Murphy where he was at the time of the…” Cynthia rolled her hand, as if not wanting to say accident one more time.

Cynthia was her best friend, her confidante, the person she went to when the world went sideways. She was the last person she’d ever want to hurt or have conflict with, but it seemed too late to avoid that. Her friend was far too smart for her own good. There was nothing Madison could say at this point, and even if she remained silent, Cynthia would probably connect the pieces: Madison’s desire to bring down corrupt cops and Murphy being questioned for the hit-and-run…

Madison counted off the seconds in her head.

“Oh my God.” Cynthia clamped a hand over her mouth, dropped it. “You think that… I can’t believe this.”

“I saw him.”

“You saw him?” Cynthia spat.

Madison bristled and jutted out her jaw. “I did.”

“Where?”

“As he drove past, just after… Before I passed out.”

“How do you know you didn’t just imagine it? See something you wanted to see?”

“Trust me, I never wanted to see his face!” She raised her voice, and Cynthia drew back.

“You know what? I’m glad you’re okay. I really, truly am, Madison, but…” She swallowed roughly, and a few tears spilled down her cheeks. “Garrett is one of Lou’s best friends.”

“I know.”

“But you still…” Her chest heaved. “You know what? We have work to do.”

“Cyn.”

“No.” She waved over her head.

Madison stood there, watching her friend go to the closet for her coat and gather an evidence collection kit. Her heart was hurting so badly. First, Troy. Now, Cynthia. At least for now, Terry was on her side.