Chapter Twenty #3
“You’re talking about a trial. You need to think about what you can do right now to compel Russell to take a deal: you’ll take the death penalty off the table if he pleads guilty to the shooting and agrees to testify against Gilchrist.”
“Russell’s not new to this game. He’s a hardened criminal. That’s a big bluff to pull off.”
“Is it?” Jude asked. “You’ve got a pile of circumstantial evidence that points to Russell as the killer.
There’s the timing. Russell gets out of prison, Mandy starts being abused, Allison starts making plans to escape.
Sherry documented the damage on Mandy’s body.
The neurosurgeon told you he found signs of past abuse.
Russell doesn’t know that Talia’s testimony is shaky.
Tell him that you have two of Mandy’s close friends willing to testify about Mandy’s relationship with him.
Then there’s the gift card and the money.
That can likely be traced back to Russell.
He must’ve been spending most of his salary from the hardware store to groom her.
You’re familiar with love bombing, where the abuser begins a relationship with excessive attention and gifts? ”
Emmy knew, but she wanted Jude’s interpretation. “Tell me.”
“The purpose of love bombing is to create an intense, dependent relationship that isolates the victim from her family and community. Then the cycle of abuse begins, the push and pull characterized by cycles of intense abuse followed by affection, followed by abuse. In this case, the affection came through money. Mandy is trauma-bonded to Russell. With time and intensive analysis, the cycle can be broken.”
“How much time?” Emmy asked. “Let’s say I can’t trick Russell into taking a deal. I can’t keep him locked up until Mandy has a breakthrough in therapy.”
“It could take years.”
Emmy let out a long sigh. She watched Jude grab the mouse and eject the CD.
She was going to say something about leaving again.
Emmy could feel her body starting to betray her.
The fear and uncertainty, the inability to let Jude go.
There was too much going on right now for Emmy to stare at her navel and figure out why she was so desperate to have Jude at her side.
She said, “Let’s go back to Allison’s house. I want to walk the scene with you.”
“Is that a good use of your time?” Jude’s question was loaded. She had said your time, not our time. “What else do you think you’re going to find at the house on the third go-round?”
“You’re the one who said to go back to the beginning. If Russell is the shooter, the beginning is whatever happened inside that house yesterday. The crime scene still doesn’t make sense. Maybe if we walk it with Russell in mind, we’ll figure out exactly what happened.”
“I—”
“Giddy up, Dr. Archer.” Emmy walked back up the row of computers before Jude could tell her no. She found Cole and Barbara sitting on one of the couches at the front.
She handed him the CD. “Log this into evidence. Take it back to the station. Make a copy. Put the original in the safe. If you can figure out how to watch the copy, I want you to write up a transcript of the video.”
He knew that she was throwing him a bone. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Let me know where you’re staying tonight. You can find me on my phone.”
Jude was waiting for her by the front entrance. Outside, the temperature had dropped another few degrees. Emmy suppressed a shiver. She got into the cruiser. Waited for Jude to put on her seat belt. Emmy couldn’t shake the cold. Her heart fluttered in her chest.
Jude waited until they were outside the city limits to speak. “I booked my flight for two tomorrow afternoon. That should give me enough time to say goodbye and drive to Atlanta.”
Emmy gripped the steering wheel to keep the world from sliding away. “When you said before—I didn’t think it would be so soon.”
“It’s temporary,” Jude said. “You’re close to the finish line, but you’ve got a lot of work to do on this case. I don’t want to get in the way. When you’re ready to talk, call me, and I’ll be on the first plane back. Okay?”
“Okay.” Emmy swallowed the glass in her throat. Questions floated in and out of her brain, but she couldn’t latch on to any of them because she didn’t trust herself to speak.
She took a hard turn into Clifton Gardens, bringing up her arm to wipe her eyes.
She coasted through the empty streets. It was almost midnight.
The only lights came from a few corner bedrooms. Emmy forced herself to breathe—in through her nose, out through her mouth.
She thought about the watch in her pocket.
The fact that it didn’t have a second hand.
She could still feel the mechanism working, a pulsing tick-tick-tick against her leg.
Allison’s Toyota had been towed from the driveway.
Only the porch light was on at her house.
All the windows were dark, almost black.
The garage doors were closed. Mandy’s bike was gone from the front yard.
Emmy parked on the street. She got out of the cruiser.
She felt like she was moving fast, trying to get ahead of whatever Jude wanted to talk about.
The anxiety caught up with her at the porch stairs. She turned around. Jude was still in the driveway. She was looking up at the house. Emmy turned to look, too.
A flashlight bounced across the bedroom ceiling.
Her heart punched into her ribs.
Shane Russell.
Emmy ran toward her cruiser at a low crouch, popped the trunk to retrieve her duty vest. She called Julian on her phone. “Possible sighting of Russell at Allison’s house. Send backup. Lights, no sirens. Secure the front and back. Seal off the neighborhood.”
“Yes, boss.”
Jude reached into the trunk and grabbed the shotgun. “I’ll cover the rear.”
Emmy couldn’t risk her getting shot at again. “No, cover me.”
Jude pumped a shell into the shotgun. “Let’s go.”
Emmy two-handed her Glock as she jogged toward the house.
She saw the flashlight moving in the upstairs windows, heading into the hallway.
Police tape sealed the front door. Emmy used her house key to slice it open.
She gently pushed the door. Checked to make sure the foyer was clear.
Shadows danced around from the streetlights.
Emmy followed her training, narrowing her eyes, trying to force her pupils to adapt.
Jude bolted ahead before Emmy could stop her.
She ran up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness.
Emmy chased after her. Saw Jude swing around the shotgun at the top of the hallway.
The only light came from Allison’s bedroom.
The low beam of the flashlight danced along the crack in the door.
Jude started to move. Emmy tried to overtake her, but it was too late.
Jude shouldered open the door. “Police!”
Emmy crouched, Glock out in front of her. She saw the flash-light drop to the floor. The intruder was blanketed in darkness.
“Drop it!” Jude shouted. “Let me see your hands!”
Emmy reached for the light switch.
Bill Garrison stood in the middle of the room.
Emmy was too shocked to do anything but point her gun at his chest. Had she got it wrong? Was Bill the shooter? Had she spent the last thirty-six hours spinning around like a dog chasing its own tail? Was her entire squad out looking for Shane Russell for no reason?
Seventy-five percent of abuse-victim homicides occur when the victim tries to leave.
Female victims of abuse are five to six times more likely to be murdered with a gun when a gun is in the house.
An intimate partner is guilty of the murder at least forty percent of the time.
Bill Garrison had strangled Allison. He had beaten her.
He had made her live in fear for her life.
“You,” Emmy said. “You murdered Allison. You shot Mandy.”
“Jesus,” Bill said. “I didn’t do a damn thing. Get that fucking gun out of my face. This is my house.”
His righteous indignation set off a kind of rage that Emmy hadn’t felt in over a decade.
She nodded for Jude to cover her, then shoved the Glock into her holster, because if Bill tried anything, shooting him would be too fast. “I’m telling you this once before I make you. Lace your fingers behind your head.”
Bill didn’t raise his hands. He lunged for her.
Emmy didn’t have to think about what to do.
She had spent countless nights alone in bed thinking about all the times Jonah had lunged for her and all she’d done was wait for it to happen.
She grabbed Bill’s wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, kicked out his feet, and slammed him onto the floor.
Then she jammed her knee into his back and shifted her weight on top of him.
“Jesus Christ!” he screamed. “I didn’t kill her!”
“You beat her enough times.” She started checking his pockets. Threw out his wallet, ChapStick, a wad of money. “Lace your fingers behind your head.”
He tried to buck her off. “I’m not—”
Emmy unholstered her Glock and pressed the muzzle into his fat neck. She leaned down, put her mouth close to his ear. “Give me a reason to hurt you.”
Bill slowly moved his hands to the back of his head. “Emmy, listen to me—”
“You have a right to remain silent.” Emmy holstered her weapon and took out her handcuffs. “You have a right to an attorney.”
“No,” Bill whispered. “No-no-no—”
Emmy finished reading Bill his rights as she tightened the cuffs around his wrists.
“You’re going to prison, asshole. You’re gonna know what it’s been like living in this house.
The fear grinding you down every day. You won’t be able to sleep or eat or take a shit without someone giving you permission. ”
“You don’t have proof!” he screamed. “Tell me what proof you have that ties me to murdering Allison!”
Emmy jerked the cuffs at the bracelet to make him stand. “You can’t arrest me.” The smug look was back on his face.
“You stupid bitch. You don’t have any evidence.”