Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NOAH
As soon as we enter Bayside Sporting Range, I’m hit with a wave of memories.
The tang of cleaning supplies mixed with the acrid scent of gunpowder and the pristine waxed floor leading down the hall to the range bring to mind those early days of training, of unfettered optimism. I hoped I would never have to use my gun in the line of duty—but I wanted to be as prepared as possible, for any scenario. I was a pretty good marksman, and I worked hard at improving my skills.
Now the prosecution is going to use that against me.
Stan is behind the reception desk and looks up as we enter. He’s a barrel-chested Black man in his fifties, strands of gray beginning to dapple his close-cropped black hair, and he wears a red polo with the Bayside logo emblazoned on one side.
“Noah,” he says, coming around the desk to shake my hand.
“Hey Stan,” I say. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to us. ”
“Of course. The minute I saw they’d arrested you, I thought, they’ve got the wrong guy. Noah is no killer.”
I give him a grim smile. “That means a lot. Not everyone in this town feels that way.”
“People are idiots. Sheep,” Stan says with a wave of his hand. “I’m not sure how I can help though.” He glances at Von, sizing her up from her expensive heels to her diamond studs.
“You’re Siobhan Everton,” he says.
True to her word, Von keeps her mouth shut and only nods.
I wonder how long that will last.
“Von is representing me pro bono,” I say, hoping to ingratiate her to Stan a bit. “We wanted to ask about the gun I used back when I was in training.”
“Sure, I’ve got that in my records somewhere, let me just check.” Stan goes back behind his desk. “It was a Glock 22, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Same caliber as my duty weapon when I officially became a deputy.”
Stan types in his computer for a moment. “Yup, it’s here.”
“Can we see it?” I ask
“Sure. Why?”
“We think it’s the gun that was used to kill my mother,” Von says. She made it longer than I expected without talking—almost a full minute.
Stan cuts her a shocked look. “You think one of my guns was the murder weapon?”
“We do,” I interrupt.
Stan studies Von. “Marion was a good woman,” he says. “She was always stepping up to help the people in this town.”
“I know,” Von says.
“Unlike your father,” Stan growls.
“I know,” Von shoots back.
“I assume he’s financing this whole thing,” Stan says.
Von cocks her head. “I work for a living. Like Noah said, I’m representing him pro bono. I’m not my father’s puppet. ”
That response seems to please Stan. He steps out from behind the desk and heads to the storage locker. We follow him. “You know, there’s many who could use legal help in these parts,” Stan says. “Those who can’t afford it. And who don’t have Noah’s connections.”
“Hm,” Von mutters noncommittally.
“Jake Stein over at the Crooked Screw is dealing with some belligerent drunk who slipped on his own spilled beer and now he’s suing Jake over it. It’s the little guy that always gets the short end of the stick, isn’t that right, Derek?”
Derek looks back and forth uncomfortably between Von and Stan. “Uh, yeah, that’s right.”
“I bet Jake would love to have some fancy city lawyer helping him out,” Stan says.
“I’d be happy to speak with him,” Von says smoothly. “How secure is this facility?”
Stan frowns and points to the front doors. “That’s reinforced glass. Two locks. I’ve got the keys.” He pulls a ring from his pocket. “And this here,” he points to the keypad next to the storage locker, “requires a six-digit code.”
“How many people have access to that?” I ask.
“My employees,” Stan says. “A couple of my longest, most trusted clients. And the sheriff, the undersheriff, and some top deputies.”
“Would you mind printing us out a list?” Von asks.
Stan raises an eyebrow and glances at Derek. “The sheriff okay with this?”
Derek flushes a blotchy red. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he says. “It’s in the interest of justice, Stan.”
“Justice,” Stan snorts. “You’re all acting like you’re just waking up to the truth.”
“What truth?” I ask.
Stan levels me with a look. “Innocent people go to jail all the damn time. ”
His words hit me like a sucker punch to the solar plexus, stealing the breath from my lungs. Because he’s right—I’ve just never looked the truth in the face before. I’ve always felt so confident in the righteousness of my career.
“And guilty people go free,” Von says. “I understand the flaws in the criminal justice system better than most.”
Stan raises an eyebrow and snorts. “You? I doubt it.”
Von takes the remark on the chin. “In the interest of keeping at least one innocent man out of jail, we really need that list.”
Stan glances at me. “I can print it out for you.”
“Thanks, Stan,” I say gratefully.
“Are there any cameras?” Von asks.
“I’ve got two outside and one on the range,” he says.
“How long do you keep the footage?” I ask.
“Bout a month. Then it gets taped over.”
My heart sinks. Even though I figured there was no footage after all these years, it’s just another roadblock.
“What are you all thinking anyway?” Stan asks.
No use in beating around the bush. “We think someone secreted my gun out of here,” I say. “Used it to kill Marion. Then replaced it before anyone knew otherwise.”
Stan stares at me in shock. “No way,” he says. “They’d need the keys to the front door and the code to the locker.”
“Not if they took it during normal business hours,” Von says.
“While I’m here? Not a chance.”
“Who else has the keys?” I ask.
“Just me,” Stan says sharply. He punches in six digits and the metal door clicks as it unlocks. I note that it’s pretty easy to see the numbers if you’re standing in the right place—the code is 658230. If I could see that, who knows who else might have noticed over time, with the right motivations. Stan pushes the door open, revealing racks of shotguns and rifles. There are drawers with handguns in them. He finds the right drawer and pulls out the case with my old training weapon. Opening it, I see the Glock nestled in foam, a full clip beside it.
“So if someone had taken this,” Von says, coming over to peer at it, “your prints would have been on all the bullets in that clip.”
“Yes,” I say.
She glances back toward the front doors. “Maybe someone didn’t even need a key or a code to get this gun. They just needed access. Mom was shot on a weekend. You weren’t training then, right?” she asks me.
“No,” I say.
“So someone could have come to the range on Saturday—say the end of the day, near closing time. They come into the locker under the pretense of returning the weapon they’d been using. They take Noah’s gun, shoot Mom Sunday morning, and return the gun before anyone could know it was missing,” Von says.
“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Stan says folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t let people just wander around this locker.”
“I’m certain you don’t, and I mean no disrespect,” Von says. “I think whoever this person was, they were smart, and they were trusted. This was never a random shooting. My mother was being stalked. Likely by someone close to her—maybe even close to my family.” For a moment, Von’s eyes grow cold. “This person fooled me too,” she says. Stan holds her gaze. The silence stretches taut and thin. Then he nods.
He closes up the locker and goes to the front desk to print out the list of people who could have had access to the locker. Though now that I know anyone could potentially have seen the code, the list doesn’t feel as useful.
Von glances at the printout. “Could we also have a list of everyone who was here that weekend my mother was killed?” Von asks.
“That may take a while. I keep sign in logs the old-fashioned way—in books, handwritten. There’s a bunch of them in storage. ”
“We’ll take whatever we can get,” I say gratefully.
Stan rubs his jaw. “I know the sheriff would not like that.”
“The sheriff is refusing to look at anything that might prove Noah’s innocence,” Derek says, speaking up with surprising confidence. “It’s not right, Stan. Noah deserves a fair trial, just like anyone else in this town would. Like you said, we’re waking up to the truth. And an innocent person should not go to jail. So which side are you on? Real justice? Or doing what the sheriff would want?”
It’s very rare of Derek to be so forthright. I’m impressed, to be honest. Stan looks the same.
“Seems you’re growing a set at last, deputy,” he says with a grim smile. “Okay. I’ll get the logs.”
He heads down a hallway and I turn to Von. “Well—” I begin but she holds up a hand.
“I think we both knew me keeping quiet was a pipe dream,” she says.
“I was going to say well done,” I tell her.
“Yeah, you were great,” Derek enthuses.
“Oh.” She purses her lips and looks pleased.
“Do you really think someone could have just walked out with Noah’s gun?” Derek asks.
Von nods. “I can easily see Stan being busy closing up shop, and someone—on the pretense of putting their own gun away—taking Noah’s. Unless Stan actually checked both the drawer and the case it was in, he’d never know it was gone in the first place. Noah was the only person using it. Stan should get a new system. Put metal detectors at those doors.”
“I’d love to hear you suggest that,” I say.
She shoots me a wry grin. “I’m not an idiot.”
Stan returns. “The logbooks from that year must be in storage,” he says. “I’ll let you know when I find them.”
Frustration pricks at me. I was hoping we could leave here with fresh leads to follow. If we could go to trial with an alibi and a new suspect, that would really be something.
“Thank you for your time,” Von says, extending her hand. “And I’m happy to talk to Jake Stein about his legal troubles.”
I glance at her, surprised, but she seems sincere. Stan looks surprised too.
“Oh,” he says, then shakes her hand. “Well. Good.”
“Do you have his contact information?”
“I do,” I offer.
“Great,” she says.
We head out to Derek’s minivan.
“I’ll keep at him for those books,” Derek says. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like you did this, Noah.”
“Yeah,” I say, chewing on my lower lip.
“Thank you for your assistance, Deputy,” Von says. “Would you mind giving us a ride to Everton Estate?”
“Sure,” Derek says. He starts the car and pulls out onto the street.
“Why are we going to Everton?” I ask. Von hides her expression behind her huge sunglasses.
“You’ll see,” she says smugly.
When we get to the estate, I feel my muscles release a fraction.
It may not be Pop’s little house on the opposite side of the bay, but this mansion was like a second home to me. And even as I’ve been enjoying my time in the city, it feels damn good to be home. I wonder why Von brought us here—that little smirk made me think she’s up to something. She’s suspiciously quiet as we head inside, leading me down the hall to the kitchen.
Daisy is there, wearing a pink bikini top and a pair of denim cutoffs, and mixing up a giant pitcher of margarita. “You’re here!” she shrieks excitedly when she sees us, rushing over to give first me and then Von exuberant hugs. “Ooh, I like the beard, Noah.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, bemused.
“Didn’t Von tell you?” she says.
“It was meant to be a surprise,” Von says.
Daisy beams. “Surprise! Von asked me to organize a pool party.”
“Huh?” I say as Daisy gestures toward the backyard. Out the huge French doors, I see Caden and Isla, Alistair and Finn, Charlotte and her sister Maria, and Jake Stein and Joni Lewis all hanging out around the Evertons’ massive pool.
“You did this?” I ask Von.
“Daisy called everyone,” she says, her cheeks turning pink. “I just had the idea.”
Daisy is looking at her sister like she’s sprouted three heads. “Are you blushing?”
The pink on Von’s cheeks gets darker. “No,” she snaps quickly. “Noah needs a swimsuit,” she adds, changing the subject.
“Right.” Daisy’s eyes linger on her sister’s face a moment longer. “I’ll grab you one,” she says to me. She pushes the pitcher into Von’s arms. “The press has been relentless—Everly Harris in particular. I think we all needed a fun distraction. Genius, Von.”
Daisy hurries off and Von gazes out the door after her, her expression a touch mournful.
“What?” I ask quietly.
“It’s so unfair,” she says. “Daisy was only a teenager when Mom died. And she has to go through all this again. Rumors and speculation, and now it’s worse because you’re dragged into it too.” The pitcher wobbles in her arms and I take it from her, acutely aware of the warmth of her skin where we touch. “She loves you like a brother.” She chuckles. “Daisy actually wanted more brothers.”
There’s a shriek from outside and Von clears her throat. “Charlotte’s here,” she says .
“Yeah, I saw her. And that’s Jake Stein, you know.” I point him out, his glasses catching the sun.
“Oh,” Von says. “Great. Well, I’m sure everyone is eager to see the guest of honor. Let’s go…pool party.”
“Okay,” I say, smiling as I carry the pitcher out to the gathered crew.