CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
There were a lot of cops. Fields had sent everything he could spare, which turned out to be more than Ella expected.
Four cruisers on the dirt road, an ambulance parked at an angle near the gate, two unmarked sedans that belonged to detectives who'd come because they'd heard the call on the radio and decided they wanted to see.
A crime scene van was on its way. The coroner had been called, though there was no body here.
Edgar Borden was in the back of the first cruiser.
Ella had watched them put him in. He'd gone without resistance, which made sense because he had nothing left to resist with.
His nose was broken, and his ribs were cracked, and the cut on his palm from the roofing sheet was deep enough that the paramedics had wrapped it before they'd cuffed him to the seat rail.
He hadn't said a word since the fight. He'd just sat on the concrete with his cheek against the ground and breathed, and then they'd lifted him up and walked him to the car and he'd gone.
Ella should have been outside talking to Fields, giving a statement, and coordinating with whoever was running the arrest paperwork.
She should have been sitting on the ambulance tailgate, letting the medic clean the cut above her eye, check her ribs, and shine a light in her pupils to make sure she hadn't been concussed.
Instead, she was standing in Austin Creed’s bedroom.
She’d walked through the farmhouse on her way out, partly to retrieve her Glock from the kitchen floor and partly because her legs had carried her further than the kitchen before she’d told them to stop.
The hallway. The spare rooms with the boxes and the feed bags.
And then the bedroom, with the unmade bed and the bedside table, and she’d stopped.
The music box was still there. Of course it was.
The NOPD had processed the farm months ago and taken what they needed, including Creed’s computer, a few documents, anything directly tied to the ongoing investigations.
But they’d had no reason to strip the place bare.
Creed’s personal belongings were still where he’d left them the morning Ella had put him away.
Footsteps sounded behind her. Ella didn’t turn around.
‘You look like you lost a fight with a door,’ Ripley said.
‘You should see the other guy.’
‘I did. He’s in the back of a squad car. You really did a number on him.’
‘He should have come quietly.’
‘You should tell your lover boy the same thing.’
Ella tried not to laugh but couldn’t help it. Then she nodded at the music box. ‘That’s the thing that started it all.’
‘Yeah, I’m still not understanding it.’
‘Me neither, but I guess we’ll get the answers in time. Borden said that Lindsey Doyle talked him into this, but I don’t know why he fixated on music boxes, or how this one played into it. He said he wanted to go back.’
Ripley gently picked up the box then put it under her arm. ‘Go back?’
‘Back to Louisiana State, back to his cell, back to Doyle. And I opened my big mouth and told him none of that was going to happen. That Doyle was gone, the prison wasn’t an option, and the death penalty was on the table. That’s when he started fighting.’
‘So you took a cooperative suspect and gave him a reason to fight you.’
‘Yeah. That’s exactly what I did.’
Ripley, surprisingly, didn't pile on. She didn't need to.
Ella could feel the burden of it fine on her own.
She'd had Borden at her mercy. He was sitting in a chair with his hands up and his mouth open, and all she'd had to do was walk over, turn him around, and cuff him.
Instead, she'd ripped away the only thing keeping him docile, and the next five minutes had cost her a split lip, bruised ribs, and a Glock on the kitchen floor.
‘I wanted him to know,’ Ella said. ‘That Doyle had used him. That she’d thrown him away. I wanted him to know he wasn’t the angel of mercy anymore.’
‘And now you’ve got a black eye.’
‘And now I’ve got a black eye.’
‘It almost makes you feel sorry for him. Oh hang on. No it doesn’t.’
‘Yeah. You stealing that music box, by the way?’ Ella asked.
‘Yeah. This Lindsey Doyle bitch likes to play games, so be smart. If she lured us to it, she wants us to see it.’
‘I knew I brought you along for a reason. Just make sure it’s not a bomb.’
Ripley checked the music box from every angle. ‘If it is, it’s the worst bomb I’ve ever seen. It’s not even electronic, and it doesn’t even play a song. It’s jammed.’
‘Best to check just in case.’
‘Yeah. How’s the arm?’ Ripley asked.
‘Which one?’
‘The one you can’t lift above your shoulder.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘And the ribs?’
‘Also fine.’
‘And the eye?’
‘Mia.’
‘I’m just checking. You’re going to have to justify all of these wounds to Vernon, so get ready. Trust me, I remember those days well, and it’s never easy.’
‘I won a fight with a murderer. I’d say that’s a reasonable trade.’
‘For what it’s worth, you did good tonight. Following the chain, finding Borden, identifying the connection to the support group. That was clean work.’
‘Are you complimenting me?’
‘Don’t let it go to your head. Your head’s taken enough punishment for one evening.’
‘Noted,’ Ella said.
‘And next time, wait for backup.’
‘I’ll consider it.’
‘You won’t.’
‘No,’ Ella said. ‘I won’t.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m hungry. What about you?’
Ella almost laughed. It came out as a cough and the cough lit up her ribs. ‘I could eat a horse. I’m ready when you are.’
Boots thundered outside the door. Fields appeared in the doorway and he was too large for it, as usual, and the look on his face was not the look of a man delivering a debrief.
‘You two about done in here?’ he said.
‘Pretty much.’
‘How’s your face?’
‘Cosmetic. What’s going on outside?’
‘Borden’s on his way to booking. Forensics have the scene. Coroner’s been called for Parsons. All present and correct.’
‘Good, then we can-’
‘Not so fast. I just got off the phone with Dever. Paperwork’s cleared. All of it. The transfer order, the transport authorization, the receiving facility sign-off in D.C. Every box is ticked. We’re going tonight.’
Ella blinked. ‘Tonight?’
‘Tonight. Dever wants Creed in D.C. before the press gets wind of the Borden arrest and starts connecting dots. We go to Louisiana State, we collect Creed, and we put him on a plane. Two hours. Both of you. Get yourselves sorted. We meet outside the precinct in one hour, then we’ll get a convoy to the penitentiary. ’
Fields made himself scarce, and just Ella and Ripley remained. Ripley turned to her and said, ‘One hour. I guess it’s fast food or nothing.’
One hour. Austin Creed. The man she'd put on death row, who was sitting in a cell seventy miles from where she was standing and was about to become her passenger on a flight to Washington, where he'd sit across from a woman who was either Lindsey Doyle or her twin sister, and Ella would finally get to watch his face when he saw her.
She’d been waiting for this since before the figurines. Since before Borden. Since before she’d set foot in New Orleans.
'Well,' Ripley said. 'You going to stand there all night, or are we doing this? We've got a long drive.'
‘We’re doing this,’ Ella said. Ella walked out of Austin Creed’s bedroom and didn’t look back.