Chapter 23 Cece #2
“A warrant based on the uncorroborated statement of an ex-husband with an obvious motive to lie.” Joe closes his notebook with deliberate slowness.
“Detective, let me be clear. If you proceed with formal charges against my client without substantial corroborating evidence, I will file a civil rights lawsuit so fast it'll make your head spin.”
Simmons' face reddens.
“I'd advise you to think very carefully about your next move, Detective,” Joe continues. “My client has visible defensive injuries that contradict Mr. Kincaid's version of events. We have a legitimate claim of self-defense against an alleged sexual assault.”
I watch Simmons' Adam's apple bob as he swallows. The mention of sexual assault has clearly thrown him off-script. This wasn't part of Ethan's carefully crafted narrative.
“That's a serious allegation,” he says finally.
“Yes, it is,” Joe agrees. “One that should have been investigated before you slapped handcuffs on the victim.”
Simmons shifts his weight, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “We're just following procedure based on the complaint filed.”
“A complaint filed by the son of the man who signs your department's budget,” Joe points out. “Quite a coincidence.”
The detective's eyes narrow. “Are you implying something, counselor?”
“I'm stating facts. You can draw your own implications.” Joe stands, gathering his papers. “Now, unless you're formally charging my client—in which case we'll be requesting an immediate bail hearing—I believe we're free to go.”
I hold my breath, watching the internal struggle play out across Simmons' face. He nods towards my bruised wrists, then back to Joe's impassive expression.
“We'll need to discuss this with the Sheriff,” Simmons finally says, his authority crumbling under Joe's steady gaze.
“By all means,” Joe replies, gesturing toward the door. “Lead the way.”
I stand on shaky legs, trying not to show how relieved I am. Joe places a steadying hand on my elbow as we follow Simmons down the hallway toward the Sheriff's office. My heart pounds against my ribs with each step, hope and anxiety warring in my chest.
The station is busier now than when I was brought in, deputies moving between desks with coffee cups and file folders. A few glance our way, their expressions ranging from curiosity to discomfort.
Sheriff Miller looks up from his desk as we enter, his weathered face giving away nothing. Mayor Kincaid sits across from him, and the sight of him makes my stomach clench. He rises slowly, straightening his expensive tie with manicured fingers.
“Well, well,” he says. “Ms. Montgomery. I was just discussing your situation with the Sheriff.”
“I bet you were,” I mutter, earning a warning squeeze on my elbow from Joe.
“Mayor Kincaid,” Joe says smoothly, extending his hand. “Joseph Mendez, Ms. Montgomery's attorney. I wasn't aware you had an official role in the justice system.”
Kincaid's face tightens as he takes Joe's hand, his grip visibly firm as if trying to establish dominance through a handshake. “I'm simply here as a concerned citizen, Mr. Mendez. When a violent assault occurs in our community, it's my duty to ensure justice is served.”
“Violent assault?” I can't help the bitter laugh that escapes me. “That's rich coming from the father of the man who did this.” I hold up my wrists, the bruises now darkening to an ugly purple-blue.
Sheriff Miller clears his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Perhaps we should discuss this privately.”
“I think that's an excellent idea,” Joe says smoothly. “Though I'm curious why the mayor needs to be present for a law enforcement matter. Unless, of course, this isn't about law enforcement at all.”
Kincaid's politician smile slips for just a second. “I'll leave you to it, Sheriff. I trust you'll handle this...appropriately.” The threat in his words isn't even thinly veiled. It’s spelled out in flashing neon lights.
As Kincaid brushes past us, he pauses beside me. “Such a shame, Cecelia,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. “Your father must be so disappointed.”
I bite my tongue until I taste copper, forcing myself not to respond. Joe's hand on my elbow tightens, silently warning me not to take the bait.
Once the door closes behind him, Sheriff Miller gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit down.”
Joe and I take our seats, and I notice how the sheriff avoids looking directly at my bruised wrists. Guilt, maybe? Or just discomfort at being caught in the middle of Kincaid's political machinations?
“Sheriff,” Joe begins, “my client should never have been arrested in the first place. The evidence clearly contradicts Mr. Kincaid's statement.”
Sheriff Miller leans back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “The evidence I have is a sworn statement from Ethan Kincaid claiming he was assaulted.”
“And the evidence I have,” Joe counters, gesturing to my wrists, “is physical proof that Ms. Montgomery was the one being assaulted. Not to mention potential witnesses at Tony's who can testify to Mr. Kincaid's aggressive behavior prior to the incident.”
“Those marks could have happened during the struggle.”
“With all due respect, Sheriff, those are fingerprint bruises,” Joe retorts. “Look at the pattern—four distinct marks where fingers gripped, and a thumb print on the opposite side. These aren't random injuries from a struggle. They're consistent with someone forcibly restraining her wrists.”
I watch the sheriff's face as he processes this, seeing the conflict playing out behind his eyes.
He's known me since I was a child, watched me grow up singing in my father's church choir.
Now he has to decide if he believes I'm the kind of woman who would follow her ex-husband into a bathroom to assault him.
“There's something else you should consider,” Joe continues when the sheriff doesn't immediately respond. “My client is prepared to file sexual assault charges against Ethan Kincaid.”
The sheriff's eyebrows shoot up. “Sexual assault?” Sheriff Miller rubs his hand over his face, suddenly looking tired. “This complicates things.”
I barely hold back a bitter laugh. “Complicates things? A man with a history of emotional abuse cornered me in a bathroom and left bruises on me. What's complicated about that?”
“Cece,” Joe warns softly.
I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my anger. Getting emotional won't help my case, even if it's completely justified.
Sheriff Miller opens a folder on his desk, flipping through several pages before looking up at us again. “The problem is, we have conflicting stories and no witnesses to what actually happened in that bathroom.”
“Except Brayden,” I point out. “He saw Ethan with his hands on me.”
“Mr. Cole has a...complicated relationship with our department,” the sheriff says diplomatically. “His testimony might be viewed as biased, given your relationship.”
“So my word means nothing because I'm dating Brayden?” The injustice of it burns in my throat. “What about these?” I thrust my wrists forward again. “Do these mean nothing too?”
The sheriff shifts uncomfortably. “Those injuries are concerning, Ms. Montgomery. I'm not dismissing them.”
“Then why am I the one sitting here in handcuffs while Ethan walks free?”
Joe places a calming hand on my arm. “What my client means, Sheriff, is that there seems to be a double standard at play. Mr. Kincaid's statement was taken at face value, while hers is being dismissed without proper investigation. We're asking for the courtesy of due process.”
Sheriff Miller studies us for a long moment, then sighs heavily. “I'm going to level with you both. This situation is...politically delicate.”
“You mean because of Mayor Kincaid,” I say flatly.
The sheriff doesn't deny it. “The mayor is an influential man in this town.”
“And that trumps justice?” I can't keep the bitterness from my voice.
“No,” Sheriff Miller says, surprising me with his firmness.
“It doesn't. But it does mean we need to be thorough. Careful.” He closes the folder and leans forward, clasping his hands on the desk.
“Here's what I'm prepared to do. I'll release you on your own recognizance while we investigate both claims—yours and Mr. Kincaid's.”
Joe straightens beside me. “And the charges?”
“Pending,” the sheriff says. “Not dropped, but not formally filed either. We'll take statements from potential witnesses at Tony's, review any security footage if it exists, and have a medical professional document Ms. Montgomery's injuries.”
It's not a complete victory, but it's something. I feel a knot of tension loosen slightly in my chest.
“And what about Ethan?” I ask. “Will you be investigating my claims against him with the same...thoroughness?”
Sheriff Miller meets my gaze directly for the first time since I entered his office. “Yes, Ms. Montgomery. Your claims will be investigated with equal thoroughness.”
Something in his tone makes me believe him, despite everything. There's a weariness in his eyes that speaks of a man caught between duty and politics.
“Thank you,” I say, the words feeling inadequate but necessary.
Joe stands, extending his hand to the sheriff. “We appreciate your fairness, Sheriff Miller. I trust you'll expedite my client's release paperwork?”
The sheriff nods, rising from his chair. “Detective Simmons will handle it. You should be out of here within the hour.”
An hour. After everything that's happened, sixty more minutes in this place feels like an eternity, but it's better than spending the night in a cell.
“One more thing,” Sheriff Miller adds, his hand on the doorknob. “I'd advise both you and Mr. Cole to stay away from Ethan Kincaid while this investigation is ongoing. Any contact could complicate matters.”
“Believe me,” I say, “the last person I want to see is Ethan.”
The sheriff gives me a look that's almost sympathetic before opening the door. “Detective Simmons will be with you shortly to process your release.”
Once we're alone again, I slump back in my chair, the adrenaline that's been keeping me upright suddenly draining away. My wrists throb, a constant reminder of how close it all came to going wrong.
The clock on the wall ticks louder than it should. Every second stretches. I stare at the door, waiting for it to open.