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Fifty-Three

Madison pulled a report through the on-board computer, and no Mary Smith lived at the rental address. A reverse-address search proved useless. Next, she tried a quick DMV search, but no Mercedes SUVs tied back to the rental property or Smith. But she wasn’t sure if that meant anything or not.

Madison parked in front of the house, and no vehicles were in the drive, but there was a garage. She walked around the side, and there was a window.

“What are you doing?” Terry said.

“Just trying to get a peek inside.” She pressed her hand to the glass to cut the glare and said, “No car at all.”

“Maybe no one’s home?”

Madison knocked on the front door. She was braced to knock again when it opened.

“Hello, Detectives.” Smith smiled at Madison and Terry.

If this woman was the devil that Palmer had painted her out to be, then she deserved acting awards, but there were holes that needed filling. “Do you have a minute to talk?” Madison plastered on sweetness herself, but she’d never claimed to be a good actress.

“Sure. Come on in. I was just making tea.”

Smith set them up in the living room that was tastefully decorated but sparse with no personal touches or pictures of Jake Elliott. Sort of odd for a mother who was supposedly so infatuated with her son.

They waited several minutes for Smith to get herself a tea and return to the room.

“Ms. Smith,” Madison started. “We understand that Jake Elliott is your son. Is that correct?”

Smith sat straight in a cushioned chair, her tea in a teacup on top of a saucer, held primly in her right hand. “That’s correct, dear.”

“We’re trying to reach him about some important news.” She was going to stick to the plan of saying that he stood to inherit. Smith might be willing to part with her son’s whereabouts if there was money at stake.

“Oh? What would that be?”

“Well, it would be best if we could tell him in person, but we’re having a hard time reaching him,” Madison said. “Would you know where we could find him?”

Smith’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Whatever you have to tell him, you can tell me.”

“Yeah? You’re sure?” Madison smiled, calling upon acting skills once again.

“Of course, dear.”

“Okay, well, we have come into the knowledge that he is the beneficiary of a substantial life insurance policy.” Half of that was true; they didn’t know the amount.

“Wow. Really?” Her voice took on a high pitch that was seemingly uncharacteristic of the older lady. She set her plate and teacup on a nearby table.

“But as I mentioned, we will need to speak with him,” Madison started. “If there’s some way you could put us in touch?”

“He’s actually out of town on a job.”

“Okay, well, what about a phone number for him?” They had one, assuming the one Palmer had provided belonged to Elliott, but Madison was getting a feeling in her gut Mary Smith was stalling.

“I’d love to, but…dang.” Smith slapped her leg. “Just before you got here, I was looking for my phone. That’s the problem with all these high-tech, finagled gadgets. The numbers go in them and straight out of the noggin’. But maybe you could help me understand something, dear. Why are two detectives here about something like this?”

This woman was as shady as a downtown alley at night. “The deceased was a woman he was involved with, and she was murdered.” Madison paused to insert a frown. “I’m sure your son had deep feelings for Ms. Carson, too, so it’s best that we break the news about her death to him. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Ms. Carson, you say?”

“Uh-huh,” Madison replied. “You knew her?”

“I met her once.” Smith put her teacup to her lips. “Such a shame.”

Madison’s skin crawled. Something wasn’t quite right here. She’d just told Smith that Carson was murdered. Most people inquired as to what happened to cause the death. Smith hadn’t. But what was Madison thinking—that this older lady stabbed Carson? Was that even physically possible?

“Well, we should go. But please have your son call us.” She handed Smith her business card, and she and Terry left.

Back in the department car, she said, “That woman gives me the creeps.”

“I think something’s off, too, but she’s an old lady. Hard to imagine her killing Carson.”

“I thought the same. Let’s just hope she bought what we said.” She drove down the street, turned around in someone’s driveway, and parked facing the direction of the rental house. “And now we wait.”

Terry shifted his body toward her. “For what? Elliott? He could be home and inside.”

“Sure he could, but I think he’s out in the Mercedes. It’s not in the driveway or the garage.”

“So we’re just going to sit here?”

“Yep.”

“I hate stakeouts,” Terry mumbled. “Especially ones without food or coffee.”

His complaint made her stomach rumble. She could do another Hershey’s bar, but when couldn’t she? And now chocolate made her think of Troy and how he was making out at that very moment. Was Murphy doing or saying anything to implicate himself?

She pulled out her phone and fired Troy a quick text. Thinking of you. R U ok? Having any luck?

A few seconds later, her phone bleeped back. Nope. Doing OK. Hope ur taking it easy.

She’d told him she planned to work today, and pecked off, With Terry, following lead.

Nothing for a bit, then, Ok.

Her phone rang, and it was Cynthia. She put her on speaker.

“Okay, so I spoke to Judge Myers, and he gave me verbal approval. But no luck tracking the phone.”

“Knew not to get too excited,” Madison mumbled.

“Wish I had better news.” With that, Cynthia disconnected.

Terry looked over at Madison. “You want to keep hanging out and see what happens?”

“Not sure what other choice we have.”

“Okay.” He clasped his hands on his lap and put his head against the rest.

She was quite sure he’d closed his eyes. Terry wasn’t exactly the prize stakeout partner.

A couple hours passed, and her butt was beyond numb. She got out of the car to stretch and wasn’t sure if her back was going to straighten. By two in the afternoon, still no visible activity on the rental property, but she called Cynthia and begged for a favor.

She dropped off the Greek salads and gyros Madison asked for, and Terry dug right in.

“Thank God,” he said. “I was about to die.”

Madison laughed and took small forkfuls to gauge how the food was settling. The smell was intoxicating, so she took that as a positive sign.

The afternoon turned to evening, and she sent a quick message to Troy to let him know she was on a stakeout with Terry and wasn’t sure when she’d be home. He responded with, Just be safe.

The sun sank in the sky, and the clock on the dash read 9:10 PM.

Terry had dozed off at least an hour ago and was snoring. Probably more boredom than anything. Madison was pretty much right there herself.

Headlights caught her attention, and she sat up straighter. The vehicle pulled into the rental house driveway. It was an SUV. A Mercedes? Elliott behind the wheel?

“Terry,” she said. He didn’t stir. “Psst. Terry.” She nudged him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He inclined his chair.

“What’s wrong with you anyway? It’s only after nine, and you’ve been asleep for a bit.”

“Dani’s keeping us up.”

Eight months later… Add sleep to the list of what she’d have to give up. “Well, it’s time to move.” She pointed out the windshield.

Someone got out of the SUV, dressed in black from head to toe, and went in the front door. Madison crept the department car past the rental. Definitely a Mercedes SUV. She said to Terry, “Grab the plate.”

Then she drove down the street and parked several driveways from the rental. She keyed the plate Terry read off to her into the system. “Registered to a Gloria Barker.” She paused there. The name sounded familiar. She shook that aside, unable to place why. “She’s twenty-eight, but look at the address.” She swiveled the laptop as much as she could toward Terry.

“That’s down by the harbor. High-priced condos.”

“Brownstones,” she blurted out. “I should have remembered.” The Mafia used to have a warehouse down by the water. She would have driven past the homes a lot of times. “The bulk of Carson’s pictures were taken of Elliott outside a brownstone.” Her stomach flopped. “And her initials, Terry. GB. Could Gloria Barker be who Carson meant when she wrote the letters in blood?”

“We’re gonna find out,” Terry affirmed.

“You bet we are.” Madison started into a U-turn, and sweat trickled down her back as she remembered the last time she’d intended this maneuver. Today, it was executed without issue.

She parked out front of the rental, blocking the driveway. “It’s time to get some answers. Starting with: who is Gloria Barker, and how does she fit into all this?” She turned the car off and headed down the driveway with Terry behind her.

“Shouldn’t we call for backup? Just in case this turns sideways?”

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with—”

A shot rang out. He ducked around the side of the house.

“That came from inside,” she hissed, crouch-walking to join him.

Another shot was fired and blasted out the front window of the house.

Shit! She hadn’t expected things to go this way. And who was firing on whom? “That backup you mentioned? Now would be a good time.”

Terry was already on his phone. “I request backup to—” He prattled off the address. “Shots fired.” He hung up and said to her, “We’re to hang back and wait for SWAT.”

She wanted to run in there, and she might have in the past, but not now with the baby. She put a hand on her stomach.

“Now’s not the time to be feeling sick.”

“I’m fine.”

He pointed a finger at where her hand rested. “Doesn’t look like it.”

There was nothing but silence now, a deafening bookend to the thunderous reports.

“Did they say how long they’d be?”

“Dispatch knows it’s urgent.”

It would still take them precious time though, and she and Terry were right there, armed and trained to handle the situation. “Maybe we should just—”

“No,” Terry said firmly. “And there’s no way in hell I’m going in there with a partner who’s still on the mend.”

Hell was a swear word to Terry, and he meant business if he pulled it out, but he was right. She was in no condition to go in there and had no right to put her baby at risk.

Terry’s phone rang, and he filled his caller in on the details—two shots fired; he and Madison were on the north exterior side of the building; the occupants were suspected to be a Mary Smith and Jake Elliott, allegedly mother and son; or it was Gloria Barker with Smith, relationship unknown.

The sound of vehicle traffic intensified, and she caught the sight of colored lights reflecting off neighboring buildings. No sirens.

Madison poked her head around the bend, saw the SWAT command vehicle, and watched as the men unloaded. It was Troy’s men, which meant he would be there.

The SWAT team moved up the driveway toward the house. Nick Benson led the way and held up a large bulletproof shield to cover the rest of the men who followed. All of them kept their focus on the house, as one distraction could prove deadly.

Troy spoke through a megaphone. “Stiles PD. Put down your weapon and come out with your hands on your head.”

Madison heard the distinct creaking of the front door opening, then Mary Smith appeared.

“Please, please. She’s hurt.”

“She?” Madison turned to Terry, who shook his head, also confused.

“Stay there, ma’am,” Troy commanded. “Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head.”

“Please…there was an accident. She shot herself.” Smith was crying, but there was an insincere edge to her voice.

Had Gloria Barker been the one to arrive in the Mercedes and get shot?

“Gun down,” Troy barked.

“Yes, yes, sorry.”

“Hands on your head,” Troy repeated.

“Please help her.”

Footsteps advanced to the front door. Troy was likely securing the weapon. “Tell us where she is, ma’am.”

Smith directed Troy to the dining room.

“Hurry! She’s bleeding out!” Smith cried. “Why, God?”

Just hearing that woman say God made Madison bristle.

A few minutes later, the all-clear was given, and the paramedics from the waiting ambulance were allowed to go inside.

Troy rounded the corner of the house. “I can’t leave you alone for one minute,” he said to Madison.

She stiffened. “I couldn’t have anticipated this.”

“Trouble follows you wherever you go.”

She angled her head. “Guess you better get out of Dodge, then.”

“You kidding me? Do you think I joined SWAT because I can’t handle trouble?” He held her gaze and was the first to smile. “Trouble can just be another word for excitement, and you give me that in spades.”

Terry put a hand on her shoulder and left her with Troy.

“I should have taken the day off and gotten some rest,” she volunteered.

“You have a hard time doing what you know you should.”

“I do.” Verbalizing the two words tugged on her heart. She would love to say them to Troy in a different context, and if he wasn’t going to ask… Her heart sped up, and she couldn’t believe she was even considering doing what fired through her mind. She had to be insane. She was a feminist, but she still clung to the old-fashioned tradition that the man should be the one to ask. And here and now really wasn’t the time... “Will you marry me?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, lowered it, peacocked her stance, unapologetic.

He hesitated just long enough to make her want to disappear into the earth.

“Never mind, it was stupid of me to—” She turned to walk away, but he caught her hand on a backswing.

“I’d love to marry you.”

“You…you…” No more words would form.

“Yes, Madison, and I should have answered you when you asked if I was going to propose at Cynthia’s wedding.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

Her stomach clenched. “Why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t the time or the place. I didn’t want you to think I’d just made the decision impulsively.”

“You get caught up in your emotions and make impulsive decisions? Not a chance I’d think that.” It was the opposite of his character—unless he was pissed off.

“Truth is I was planning it for a few weeks. Been thinking about it for a lot longer than that.”

Troy’s men shuffled down the driveway, and the paramedics loaded up the injured woman. Gloria Barker? Madison hadn’t seen her face.

The ambulance drove off, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

“You still haven’t asked though,” she said timidly, not used to this feeling. “Why? Because of what you said to me earlier about feeling second place?” Her voice caught.

“Yes. I just need to know that we’re in this together—all the time. No more secrets. I know your job’s important to you, and it will always be a priority for you. That’s who you are. It’s one of the things I love about you. I just want to be a priority too.”

“Always.” She fell against his chest. To hell with making a “scene” at a crime scene. Let the neighbors see two cops hugging and— She put her mouth on his, and he cupped her face.

She pulled back and said, “I love you, Troy.”

“I love you.”

“Do you guys have a job to do, or are you going to stand around all night making kissy-face?” Nick had come around the corner and was sticking out his lips.

“Hey, man, we just got engaged,” Troy announced proudly and swung an arm around Madison.

“Congratulations!” Nick sauntered off, and Madison was confident the rest of the team would know before Troy returned to the command vehicle.

“You think right now was the best time to make it public?” she asked.

“I’d shout it through the megaphone,” he said. “Just dare me.” He winked at her, then slapped her on the behind. “I’ll see you at home.” He walked a few steps and turned around. “I will, right?”

“You will.”

At that time, one of Troy’s men came down the driveway with Smith. She’d be taken downtown to make a statement of events, and Madison had her own questions.

Smith noticed Madison, and her eyes widened, then she smiled. And it was there: the spacing between the eyes, the bridge of the nose, the knobby chin. Madison didn’t know who had been shot, but she was quite certain Mary Smith wasn’t who she claimed to be.

Madison trudged toward Smith and grabbed her white hair and yanked.

Smith screeched.

Madison was left holding a wig and the “old lady” had blond hair wound in pins. “Well, hello, Gloria Barker.”