“What the hell does that mean?” Baxter asked.
Talking fast, Harper explained about the documents, describing them as best she could.
She read from the most loaded line in Naomi’s injunction: “Defendant threatened to kill plaintiff if plaintiff continued to date current boyfriend. Defendant said plaintiff belonged to defendant. Plaintiff fears for her life.”
Baxter let out an audible breath.
“And you’re telling me some guardian angel left that in your car?”
“Yeah and the weird thing is the car was locked,” Harper said. “How’d they get it in a locked car?”
Baxter dismissed this concern. “You probably only thought you locked it. And you don’t have any idea who might have put it there? A source?”
“Not a clue,” Harper said. “What do we do now?”
“Start by authenticating them. Someone could be screwing us over,” the editor said. “What do you think? Are they real? Or is this some kind of twisted joke?”
Harper lifted up the top document.
“It’s a photocopy,” she said, holding it up to the light. “It’s got the official stamp, dated in the right place.” She flipped to the last page. “I recognize the name of the judge who signed it. It looks real. But I’m not an expert on court papers.”
Putting the document down, she said, “I’d need somebody more official to verify it before I’d trust it.”
Baxter thought for a second, tapping one nail against the phone.
“You got plans today?”
“I need food,” Harper said. “But otherwise, no.”
“Eat later,” Baxter ordered. “Go straight to the police station. Show those documents to someone high-ranking. Your usual cop buddies aren’t going to be enough this time.”
“You’re thinking Blazer?” Harper guessed.
“Yeah, it better be him. If we go to anyone too low on the totem pole we leave our asses hanging out. And I want us to have pants pulled up on this one, Harper.”
There was no humor in her voice at all. “Randall Anderson is on the newspaper’s board of directors. He’s a close friend of everyone in this town who matters. And he won’t hesitate to use that against us.”
Harper put the car in gear.
“Meet me at the newspaper when you’re through,” Baxter said. “I have a feeling this story’s going to need some time. Lawyers will have to look at it. Don’t tell anyone aside from Blazer what you’ve got. And for God’s sake, keep those papers safe.”
“On it.”
Harper ended the call, dropped the phone on the seat, and made a U-turn, heading for the police station.
When Harper walked into the lobby at police headquarters a few minutes later, Darlene Wilson did a double take.
“What are you doing here on a Monday? You forget how to take a day off?” She leaned her elbows on the front desk. “Tell you what, on my day off you won’t find me anywhere near this building. You better believe it.”
“Something came up and I need to talk to Lieutenant Blazer,” Harper said. “Is he in?”
Darlene’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yes he is. You really want to see him?”
“Yes,” Harper said. “If he’s not too busy.”
Darlene gave her a look. “That man is always busy. Let me check with him.”
She pushed some buttons on her phone, tilting her fingers so her long nails, which had been painted with red, white, and blue stripes, didn’t touch anything. Holding the receiver to her ear, she hummed tunelessly as she waited.
“Oh, hello, Lieutenant.” She put the emphasis on the first syllable of his title, giving the word a jaunty tone. “I’ve got Harper McClain from the newspaper here, asking if you’ve got a minute for a quick question.”
She flashed Harper a supportive smile that faded as he responded.
“I’ll ask her.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “The lieutenant wants to know what you need him for.”
God, he was such a pain in the ass. He did this every single time.
Harper said, “Tell him I’ve got some documents related to the Scott case. I think he’ll want the chance to comment.”
Apparently, Blazer heard this, because he didn’t wait for Darlene to transmit the message. Harper could hear his barked command.
A second later, Darlene set the phone down, and flashed her a mischievous smile.
“He says you can go right back.”
“Thanks, Darlene.” Harper headed for the security door. When she reached it, Darlene pressed the buzzer.
“Have a nice conversation,” she sang after her.
This was why Harper worked nights. Everyone was so perky during the day.
She made her way down the crowded corridor, conscious of the weight of the documents she carried in her bag.
This was big. Those papers changed everything.
How could the police have kept this quiet? If Peyton Anderson stalked Naomi, he had to be suspect number one. Why hadn’t Luke mentioned it the other night?
Her excitement was tempered by the strange way she’d received them. Why would anyone choose to give them to her like this? It would be so easy to drop them at the newspaper office and run away.
And Baxter was wrong—she knew the car had been locked. She’d heard the locks release before she opened the door.
The only logical answer was, it was a cop or a lawyer—someone who knew about Peyton’s history, and wanted to expose it.
The only problem was, nobody she knew fit that description. In fact, the one person she could think of was Luke.
At their meeting, she’d told him about her suspicions. He’d said he’d look into it.
If he’d gone straight to the office the next morning, he could have obtained copies of the documents.
If he didn’t want her to know they’d come from him, maybe he would have dropped them off to her anonymously.
Perhaps this was his new system to avoid putting them both in a tricky position.
But even she wasn’t sure she believed this.
Lieutenant Blazer’s door was ajar—she could hear a low hum of voices inside. After a brief hesitation, she tapped on the frosted glass.
“Enter,” a voice commanded from within.
When she walked in, the lieutenant was sitting at his desk, and Detective Daltrey sat in one of the chairs across from him. Both watched her with cool caution.
“Sit down, McClain.” Blazer sounded irritable. “Since you insist on discussing the Scott case, I’ve asked Detective Daltrey to join us.”
Harper did as she was told.
“And make it quick.” Blazer dropped a pen onto his clean desktop. “We’re busy.”
Whatever rapprochement she and Blazer had reached the other day, it clearly didn’t mean they were friends now.
Harper got straight to the point.
“I’ve come into possession of a number of legal documents involving Peyton Anderson,” she said. “These are restraining orders, filed in state district court over the last twelve months. One was filed by Naomi Scott.”
The two detectives exchanged a loaded look. Harper kept talking.
“The allegations these documents contain are explosive. I want to know if the detectives investigating Scott’s death are aware of these documents. And whether they impact the case.”
For a second, neither detective moved. She could see them deciding what to say.
Daltrey spoke first.
“We are aware of the documents filed by Naomi Scott.” Her voice was even.
“Are you also aware of previous injunctions filed by two other women?” Harper pressed her. “Their names are Cameron Johnson and Angela Martinez. They made very similar allegations of intimidation, threats of violence, and stalking.”
“We do our jobs, McClain,” Blazer snapped. “Of course we’re aware.”
There was the confirmation Harper needed that the documents were real. She kept her expression steady, hoping he wouldn’t realize what a gift he’d given her. She hadn’t once said this meeting was off the record, and neither had they.
“Detectives, the charges contained in those documents seem to make Peyton Anderson a person of interest in this case,” she said. “And yet, as far as I’m aware, you’re not investigating him. Does this have to do with his family’s influence? After all, his father was the district attorney.”
Blazer’s eyes were chips of ice.
“Mr. Anderson is not above suspicion because of his father,” he said. “He’s not a suspect because he has an alibi.”
“What alibi?” Harper pulled out her notebook.
“We are not at liberty to reveal that,” Blazer said.
Harper made a show of writing that down. She wanted him to imagine the “no comment” in the newspaper.
“His history of intimidation and threats toward Naomi would seem to make him a prime suspect,” she said. “Six months ago he said he’d kill Naomi if she ever dared to date another man. She dated Wilson Shepherd. And then someone murdered her. And your answer to this is, ‘Trust us it wasn’t him’?”
“McClain…” Blazer began, but Daltrey talked over him.
“I’ll tell you something off the record,” she said. “I agree with you, on one thing at least. If there were any way he could have done it, Peyton Anderson would be my lead suspect right now.”
Blazer shot her a narrow look. She kept her eyes on Harper.
“The problem is, there isn’t any way he could have killed her. His whereabouts at the time of the murder have been verified by numerous people,” she continued, steadily. “And that’s why we focused on Wilson Shepherd. Shepherd’s alibi is crap. He says he was home alone. Friends say the two of them were potentially breaking up. We have to look at him.”
Stopping, she let out a long breath, and for the first time Harper could see how frustrated she was. Her body was held tight, every muscle taut.
“You can see our situation,” Daltrey said. “If we thought for one second Anderson might have had the opportunity to kill our victim, we would be on him. But he couldn’t be in two places at once. His alibi is rock solid. He can’t be the killer.”
“What’s his alibi?”
Blazer spoke before Daltrey could. “We’re not at liberty to share that.”
Harper didn’t want to accept this. The wording of Naomi’s injunction was striking. She kept her focus on Daltrey.
“Detective, have you read those restraining orders? Personally read them?”
Daltrey’s lips tightened. She gave a curt nod.
“Then you know what Naomi Scott was dealing with.” Harper leaned toward her. “She was afraid of him. Her fear is on every single page. He turned up inside her home. He threatened her.”
“I know that.” Daltrey’s voice was clipped. “But he didn’t do it, McClain. Somebody else killed Naomi Scott. And now you’ve got to step back and let us find him.”
“If it wasn’t Anderson, then who?” Harper didn’t hide her frustration. “Don’t tell me you still like Wilson Shepherd for this. Because I don’t see it.”
“Oh sure.” Blazer threw up his hands. “Now I’m going to take investigative advice from a reporter. You want to look at our case files? Flip through our forensic evidence? I know you like going through our records, please help yourself.”
He shoved the papers on his desk toward her.
Harper didn’t reach for them. “Come on, Lieutenant.”
“No, you come on.” His face hardened. “This is an active murder investigation. We have been very patient with you. But if you seriously consider writing about Peyton Anderson as a suspect we are failing to investigate, it won’t only be his father gunning for you. You’ll hear from our attorney, as well.”
He pointed at her. “You have no idea what we’re doing behind the scenes. And that’s the way it’s going to stay. For once. Now, we have to get back to work.”
But Harper wasn’t done.
“Just tell me this.” She fixed Blazer with a challenging look. “On the record. You aren’t giving Anderson a pass because his father was district attorney, are you?”
Blazer flung out his arm, pointing at the door.
“Get out, McClain,” he said. “We’ve given you enough time. We have work to do.”