Chapter Twenty-Five

Faith clutched her hands together tightly to stop them from shaking.

The detective glared at her across the interrogation room table. “How do you know Victor Telemann?”

“I worked for his company, Emmeline’s.”

“In what capacity?”

She wet her lips and shifted on the hard chair. “I was a website developer.”

“That was your cover, you mean. What were you really doing there?”

Tears flooded her eyes. Her brain seemed unable to function. Should she tell them about her plan to get Victor to confess? She wished she knew why she was here. “I told you. I was a website developer.”

“Why were you wearing a wire when you were picked up?”

Her mind bounced wildly from option to option. Keep lying, tell the truth. Keep lying, tell the truth. Fear stole her voice. Her conscience screamed inside her head, ordering her to explain. Her tongue was dry and numb.

The door clicked and opened. She blinked as another man stepped inside the ugly, cell-like room. Ronnie? What had he done that he was here too?

A tight muscle jerked in his jaw. His eyes, filled with something hard and unfriendly, settled on her. She shivered, suddenly wary.

He slapped his palms onto the tabletop and leaned across it toward her, closing the gap. “Did you shoot Victor tonight?”

She gasped. “Shoot Victor? What do you mean? Has Victor been shot? My God, Ronnie, what’s going on?”

Averting her eyes and biting her lip, she fought off pinpricks of guilt. Her mind’s eye struggled to shove back an image of Victor’s gun in her hand. Her finger had been on the trigger. She’d aimed at his chest. She’d wanted revenge.

They think I pulled the trigger.

She swallowed the lump of panic blocking her throat and frowned. They couldn’t think she’d shot him. Victor had been fine when she left.

Schooling her face to hide her building panic, she looked at her friend and tried to make sense of what was happening. “I don’t understand, Ronnie. Why are you here?”

He slipped a black, credit-card-sized folder from his pocket and flipped it open to reveal a silver and black badge.

She read the words on the ID card. Detective Ronald Rickowski. West Palm Beach Police. Her gaze shot back to his face. He was a police officer and had a different name? Why had he been working at Emmeline’s?

Her brain supplied answers. Undercover. Investigating Victor or someone else. He’d pumped her for information. He’d only been pretending to be gay. He’d known about her hacking.

“Tell us what happened, Josie. Or should I say Faith? Come clean and it will go easier on you.”

Faith? He knew her name. A massive, cold lump settled in her stomach. How?

He gave her a knowing look and went on as if she spoken the question aloud. “We ran your fingerprints. I’ve had you under surveillance since a couple days after you showed up at Emmeline’s. You’re not a very good liar.”

“Josie doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“We’ll decide that. The Virginia State Police are checking her out.”

Fear snaked through her bloodstream, and her chin quivered. What if they hassled Josie and caused her to go into early labor? What if the stress harmed her babies? “Please, don’t bother her. She’s pregnant with twins. She’s supposed to rest.”

“Why did you steal her identity?”

“I didn’t steal it. She’s my cousin. She told me I could pretend to be her. She knew about it all along. Please, keep her out of this.”

He gave her a sympathetic sigh and an understanding shrug that oozed with sincerity. Then he pulled out a chair, sat, and leaned back negligently. “If you want to keep your cousin out of this, Faith, you have to start talking. Come on, tell me the whole truth.”

Now his tone said I’m-your-good-friend-Ronnie, I’m-on-your-side. Was he playing both the bad cop and the good cop? Trying to confuse her or trick her?

Her heart squeezed and struggled to pump. It didn’t matter what tactics he used. She had to make them believe her and leave Josie alone before she did any more damage.

She pulled in a fortifying breath. “I borrowed Josie’s identity and came here from Virginia because Victor Telemann is my biological father.”

…

Kent handed his mother a mug of steaming coffee, set his down on the worn cafeteria table, and sat in the plastic chair across from her.

“Thank you, dear,” she said.

He scanned the area around them again, checking for anyone close enough to overhear. The only other couple in this section was at least five yards away.

Satisfied their conversation would stay confidential, he whispered, “Tell me what happened.”

She looked at him with questioning eyes. “I told you everything I know.”

He sucked in a breath, reached for her hand, squeezed and held it firm. “Mom, I need to know. I won’t judge you. I’ll help you. I just need a clear picture of where we stand. Did you shoot Victor?”

She closed her eyes. A barely perceivable quiver shook her chin.

His pulse raced, and his mind jumped to an image of this fragile, elegant woman, hands cuffed behind her, being led off to a cruel, dirty jail. His world stood still.

After what seemed like a lifetime, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “No, dear. I didn’t shoot him. I won’t deny having been tempted a few times in the last several years. But I’ve been too much of a coward to act on the impulse. Maybe all along I’ve been hoping someone would do it for me.” She squeezed his hand tightly, tears sparkled in her eyes. “Then it wasn’t you, was it?”

Overwhelmed by a need to comfort her, he jumped up from his chair, dropped to one knee on the floor beside her, and gathered her into his arms. “No, Mom. It wasn’t me.”

She clung to him, and he could feel her trembling, her heart pounding fearfully against his chest. “Thank God. I didn’t believe my little boy, my sweet baby, could do such a thing. But still, we all have rage inside. I was so worried.”

He wiped away a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’ve hated him for how he’s treated you, but shooting is too good for him. He needs to suffer humiliation.”

She smiled weakly. “What a terrible conversation to be having while a man’s in intensive care fighting for his life.”

“I’m sure he’d do the same for us.”

Her composure slipped back into place. She nodded and straightened her spine. “Who do you think shot him? Do you think someone was trying to blackmail him, like that detective said? Maybe someone threatened to tell me about Melinda Hart.”

He let the reference to Melinda slide. The fact that she knew the name of Victor’s mistress said volumes by itself. “Your guess is as good as mine. Victor wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity.”

“What about this woman, Josie or Faith? What do you know about her?”

He hesitated, decided what the hell. “Josie, Faith, whatever her real name is…we’ve been dating. I know she didn’t shoot Victor, because I followed her to the beach house tonight.”

She studied his face as if a message had suddenly appeared on his forehead. “You care about her.”

“Yes, but she lied to me. I let anger cloud my thinking and turned my back on her.”

Kent thought of Josie—Faith? Now that he knew his mom was innocent, his path was clear. He wouldn’t turn his back on Josie again. No matter what else she might have done, he refused to sit idly by and let her be falsely accused.

He stood and planted his fists on his hips. “I have to go to the police station and find out what’s going on. Jack is on his way here and will stay with you. Will you be all right?”

“Yes, of course. I’m mostly here out of misplaced loyalty and hypocrisy. I haven’t even decided yet whether I want Victor to live or die. You go. Do what you have to do, but please, be careful. Don’t get yourself into any trouble.”

…

Ronnie’s hard eyes fixed on Faith. “So you went there to make him pay for his crime, and you had a gun in your hand, but you didn’t shoot him? It that what you’d like us to believe?”

“Yes. It’s the God’s honest truth.” She moistened her lips, wishing she sounded less pathetic.

“You fought with him, you hated him, you were angry. You had motive, means, and opportunity.” He lifted his hands in a gesture of frustration. “Don’t take me for a fool.”

“I swear on my grandmother’s family bible. He was fine when I left.”

Ronnie shook his head. “He’s in intensive care now with your bullet in his lung. If I were you, I’d be praying on your family bible that he doesn’t die.”

An idea jumped into her brain. Hope sparked. “I have our conversation on the recorder I was wearing. Listen to it. It’ll prove everything I’m saying.”

He shook his head. “No good. The memory card was cracked and ruined.”

She glanced up in alarm. Her chest, her shoulders, her spine, her pelvis, every part of her body collapsed into a hopeless mass of defeated flesh. Victor had admitted the rape, but no one would ever know. He’d never be brought to justice.

He’d go free. If he lived. She’d go to jail if he died.

“Your fingerprints are on the gun he was shot with,” Ronnie said with crisp logic. “A man walking his dog saw you running away from the scene. The hairs we found in the dining room are going to give us DNA and place you inside the house. Even if Telemann ends up in a coma and can’t point a finger at you, we’ve got enough to put you away for attempted murder. If he dies, you’re facing a charge of murder one.”

First degree murder! She could spend the rest of her life in prison. She bit on her bottom lip. Oh God, did Florida have the death penalty?

Cold sweat soaked her body. Her voice shook. “Please, you have to believe me. I never shot him.”

Ronnie spread his palms on the table and pushed to his feet. “You’re going to be our guest here for a while. Get comfy.” He stepped away and knocked twice on the door.

Tears stung her eyes. She felt a visceral punch of fear. Did she get to make a phone call and speak to a lawyer? Or did she have to wait until she was officially arrested or charged with a crime? Defeat pressed heavy on her chest. What did it matter? She’d already answered all their questions and told them her side of the story.

And she had no one she could call for help.

A loud buzz shattered the silence and made her jump. Ronnie pulled open the door, and he and the other detective left. The door clicked shut.

She pictured him disappearing down the long, echo-filled corridor the officers had led her through when they brought her in. Terror gripped her throat at the thought of being in this barren room for hours imagining the worst. Was giving her time to wait and worry part of a plan to coerce a confession?

The chair seat was hard as a slab of granite. The flesh bruised from her battle with Victor felt like it was being smashed between rock and her pelvic bones. She shifted her weight trying to relieve the ache. She wanted to pace, but her legs were too much like Jell-O. The room was ominously quiet and smelled of sweat and urine, and she wondered if prior occupants might have lost bodily control in the grip of raw devastation and fear.

Her gaze went to the big section of glass. Was someone on the other side watching her, waiting for her veneer of bravery to crumble?

The walls seemed to be closing in. She squeezed her eyes shut and refused to look. This was temporary. They’d realize their mistake and release her. Soon. Right this minute, someone was probably on the way to open the lock.

She listened for approaching footsteps. The only sound was the loud ticking of an institutional clock.

The hateful room seemed devoid of oxygen. Her chin trembled as she said a silent prayer. Please God, let Victor live so he can tell the police the truth.

A terrifying thought made her open her eyes wide. Her chest tightened. Even if he lived, she still could be in trouble. Victor was evil. If he wanted her out of the way in jail, he might not clear her. He might choose to lie and say she fired the gun.

She rested her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands.

Seeing herself functioning as an outgoing, social person and finding acceptance by other people, she’d glimpsed what her life would be like if she stayed Josie. Over the last couple weeks, she’d built a deep yearning to be the woman she’d pretended to be. With Kent’s help, she’d found the courage to be that woman for real.

Facing Victor, she’d realized she didn’t have to be ashamed of her birth.

The temperature in the room seemed to plunge twenty degrees as she waited for something to happen and listened to the lonely ticking of the clock. All the lessons she’d learned could be for naught, because all she’d gained could swirl away like a cloud of cigar smoke rising above an evil man’s head. Heaven help her, her future depended on Victor.

…

Kent’s footsteps were loud in the hallway, but as he hurried across the squad room toward the man sitting at the desk in the far corner, they became lost in the noise of ringing phones, scraping chair legs, and the babble of multiple conversations. The detective he’d been directed to see looked vaguely familiar. Had he been at the hospital?

He stuck out his hand. “Detective Rickowski? I’m Kent Telemann. They told me at the desk that you’re in charge of the investigation of my stepfather’s shooting.”

The man glanced up and met his eyes. He completed a perfunctory shake of Kent’s hand then indicated a chair. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”

Kent was sure he knew him. “Have we met?”

The detective’s mouth twitched. “I’ve been undercover at your corporate offices for three months. You may not remember me, but I know you quite well.”

An undercover operation at the store? “What were you investigating?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that.” The man leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “What can I do for you? Have you had any word on your stepfather’s condition?”

He placed the face. Ronnie something. Inter-store communications. Efficient. Smart. Damn, the guy must be good at what he did. No one at the offices had suspected a thing.

Kent wiped thoughts of the man’s past investigations from his mind and focused on what was important. “He’s still in intensive care. I’m here about Josie.”

“Miss Rochambeau? What about her?”

“She couldn’t have shot Victor.” He set his jaw. “I saw her go into and come out of the beach house earlier tonight. I was there the whole time and would have heard a shot. There wasn’t any.”

The detective sat forward, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head slowly. “We’re aware of your relationship with the suspect. I understand why you might give false testimony on her behalf, but it’s not going to work. We have all the evidence we need to get a conviction. If your stepfather dies, the charge against her will be first degree murder. It won’t do any good for you to perjure yourself.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I followed her from her apartment because I wanted to talk. When she went to the beach house, I was curious why she’d be meeting Victor. I saw her go in then leave a few minutes later. I never heard a gunshot.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.” The detective gave a tired sigh. “If you don’t mind, I’m busy, and you’re wasting my time.”

“I’m not making this up.”

“Are you confessing to being an accomplice?”

“No.” Kent’s frustration surged, and he banged his fist on the desktop. “Damn it. Will you listen? Neither of us did anything to Victor.”

“Please go, Mr. Telemann.” He turned away, then swiveled his head back and said with a cold smile. “But in case we find evidence you were there, don’t leave town.”

Kent stood. They had to believe him. He had to do something.

Call Sarah. She’s a defense lawyer.

“I’m going, but I’ll be back with the best attorney in town. Your case won’t hold up. Too many other people hated Victor. Have you looked at his mistress? He might have been getting ready to dump her.”

The detective gave him a hostile glare. “I can assure you we’re conducting a very thorough investigation.”

Ken took two steps away from the desk. Maybe Melinda Hart had shot Victor. He treated her as bad or worse than Mom. She said she had a plan to get away from him.

A series of rapid-fire thoughts and images slammed into his brain. A jolt of adrenaline flooded his veins. There might be proof.

Fear slithered down his spine. Should he say anything? If he did, he could clear Josie once and for all. But what if Josie was guilty? He’d seal her fate, put her in jail for life.

His gut instinct said she was innocent and worthy of his trust. He spun back around. “One more thing, detective. Have you looked at the videos?”