Archer
Fletch and I stride through the hospital front doors and make a beeline for the elevators. But there’s no way we don’t pause for a beat and glance toward the ER. Just casually listening out for a sniping Minka. Watching for Aubree or Mia or Fifi to run through.
“You checking too?” Fletch slaps the call button and stalks inside the instant the doors open. “Like we know to expect some bullshit every damn day.”
“Detective. It’s Brady Clay, sir. Officer from—”
“Midtown. Yeah, I got it. We’re actually in the building now and heading your way. Everything okay?”
“Well…” He swallows, audibly shuffling on his feet. “I just received a call from my CI across town, sir. He’s a guy who sometimes runs with the not-so-above-board types.”
“As most of them do. Headline it for me, Officer.”
“Uh, yes, sir. My CI visually identified Grant Freemon down by Chapel talking to a known runner. The runner’s name is Caleb Shuberman, and he’s currently on bail for a slew of smaller crimes.
My CI says Shuby and Grant were tight back in the day, and today was the first time Grant has been back in a good long while. ”
“Interesting.” I nibble on the inside of my cheek and meet Fletch’s honeycomb eyes. “Freemon’s daughter gets caught up in a shooting that involves the not-so-above-board types, and now her daddy’s back on the streets talking to his old crew. Your CI have anything else to share?”
“Yeah, he…” He clears his throat. “He said Freemon’s gonna do a job for this other guy, Beckman. Beckman is a mid-level gangster. He controls a few neighborhoods and earned his slice of power. Beckman is successful enough to require washing cash, and Freemon happens to know how to do that, so…”
“He would, I suppose.” I drag my free hand through my hair, scratching my scalp in frustration. “Street kid learns street skills, goes legit, and uses that same hustle to make regular life work.” Dropping my hand, I sigh. “Why? What’s he owe Beckman?”
“My CI couldn’t say for sure, but he’s of the opinion Freemon’s looking for information about his daughter’s shooter.
Shuby connected him to Beckman, and Beckman is receptive to helping, so long as Freemon’s willing to return the favor.
He’ll find whoever shot at Molly, and Freemon will repay that with a little laundry detergent. ”
“And just like that, the street boy who made something of himself slinks right back to where he started. Only now, he has a hell of a lot more to lose.”
“We’re coming around the corner now.” Fletch grabs my arm and strides through the opening elevator doors. “We’ll be with you in a sec, Clay.”
“Alright, Detectives. I’ll be here.”
I kill our call and walk, tilting my head back and groaning while we move. “Guess that proves Freemon himself isn’t our shooter.”
“I caught most of what he said.” Releasing me, he reaches around and scratches the back of his neck.
“Freemon’s about to start a shitstorm. Just stepping onto old turf and asking questions leaves him with a debt he can’t legally repay.
Two decades of doing things the right way, now it’s all gonna come undone. ”
“Fathers do what they’ve gotta do.” I slow just before the corner and wait for his eyes to swing back to mine. “Good, loving fathers will stop at nothing to make the world a better place for their daughters. We know that better than anyone, right?”
“Guess I’m just better at it.” He draws a heaving breath, combing his hand through short brown hair. “Freemon’s lost his touch. He can’t even walk onto Beckman’s turf without CIs calling it in. Beckman, too, will have his own eyes on the street.”
“So Grant’s already in debt and, if he hasn’t committed a crime yet, he will soon.
He’ll do whatever it takes to get answers.
We need a confession, and we need it fast. But I’ve got a bad fuckin’ feeling this isn’t gonna end with smiles, no matter how it shakes out.
” I push on again, rounding the corridor corner and spotting Clay at his post by Molly’s door.
“I hate when my dumb suspicions turn out to be right.”
“A kid is dead.” He digs his hands into his pockets and meets my stride, his shoulder brushing mine as we walk. “No matter what Ben did or didn’t do, whether he was a reformed street bully or not, he had a right to live.”
“I know.” I draw a deep breath, exhaling again with a sigh. And approaching Clay, I say nothing of how his spine snaps straight and his shoulders whip back. Kid needs to chill the fuck out. “Officer.”
“Detectives.” He swallows, his jaw flexing tight. “Molly Freemon is in her room. As is her friend, Tori.”
“Grant and Layla Freemon?”
“Grant hasn’t returned from his…” He makes a face. “Excursion yet, sir. And Mrs. Freemon went home to settle her other two children in for the night. She said she’d be back before bed.”
“Good. We need Molly to start talking before her folks get back and throw their shields up again. You wanna come in, Officer? Wanna watch?”
His eyes widen with surprise. Excitement. Then they dim again when his brain catches up and tells him to act cool. “Yes, sir. I would.”
I drop my chin and step around him, pressing my hand to the door. But before I open it, I glance back and meet his eyes. “You’re coming to Doctor Emeri’s wedding this weekend, right?”
“Y-yes, sir.” He gulps nervously. “I RSVP’d a while back.”
Of course you did. “You bringing a date, Officer?”
He shakes his head, frenzied swings of his jaw from left to right. “No, sir. A wedding may be a social event, but I’ll be in the company of my superiors. I’d rather attend alone and avoid female drama.”
I snort. Come to more social events with us, kid, and you’ll see plenty of female drama. “Find me on Saturday, okay? I wanna introduce you to someone.”
“O-okay, sir.” He pales. “Will do.”
Fletch makes a face in my peripherals, but I ignore it and move through Molly’s door in silence, as her wary eyes, red from tears and exhaustion, come to mine.
“Hi, Molly.” I walk to the end of her bed and wait as my colleagues follow me in, then as Fletch shuts the door with a snick of finality, I take stock of the room, the machines that track the girl’s heart rate—racing faster with every second our standoff drags on—and the whiteboard behind her with her name and stats written in rushed scribbles.
She’s yet to shower since her ordeal, which means her hair is a ponytail nest and her cheeks are a splotchy mess. Her jaw trembles and her pulse skitters. But she remains silent. Steady, despite her shaking hands.
I peer to her right, to her friend, who is legions more confident. Stronger. But then again, it wasn’t her heart that stopped this week. It wasn’t her boyfriend who was shot dead in the street. “Tori. How are you girls doing?”
“We’re okay,” Molly mumbles. “Is everything—”
“She’s pretty tired, Detective.” Tori lifts her jaw, proud and perfunctory. “Maybe you could come back another time.”
“Actually, I figure now is the perfect time to talk.” I bring my gaze back to the girl in the bed. “I know you’re in pain, Molly. And I know you’re scared. But trying to speak to you with your parents around is proving useless. They keep blocking you.”
“They’re her parents,” Tori bites out. “They’re literally protecting her. That’s their job.”
“Exactly. But we have a moment now, so I think it would be best if we get to the bottom of things real quick.”
“Detective—”
“What trouble did Ben get into recently, Molly? Who was coming after him?”
Her chin wobbles with emotion, and fresh tears spill onto her cheek.
“We need names. We need direction. If you want us to find out who did this, you need to help us.”
Tori shoves to her feet and repeats, “Detectives.”
“Ben is dead. You loved your boyfriend. You’d made plans with him.
You had a lifetime of ideas and adventures all teed up.
You were going to change the world, researching the topics that mattered and blasting them on every news channel across the globe.
Starting with Copeland City’s dirty underbelly and the teens being pulled into a life few survive, right? ”
“She doesn’t have to answer your questions,” Tori presses.
“She has a right to privacy while recovering from major surgery. More importantly, she has a right to her parents’ presence when the police are questioning her.
After discharge, when she’s had time to rest, I assure you, she’ll call, and you can organize a suitable day and time to talk this out. ”
“She also has the right to a thorough investigation.” Fletch steps forward, meeting me side by side.
“She’s the victim of a serious crime, Ms. Baylor.
And there’s a very real possibility that whoever shot Ben might want to clean up any loose ends.
The fact Molly is the only known witness to Ben’s death leaves her at the tippy top of a short list the shooter might like to take care of. ”
“She’s fine! She’s not in danger.”
“Tori,” Molly scowls. “Stop.”
“I’m going to law school after I graduate, detectives. Molly has a right to representation any time the police wish to speak to her.”
“Not sure why she’d need it,” Fletch counters seriously. “We’re trying to help.”
“What kind of trouble did Ben get into?” I repeat. “He was a street kid, right? With a spotty past and a rap sheet any cop worth his salt might take a second look at.”
“He’s dead.” Her breath catches in her throat. “What does it matter what he did? Why are you trying to get him in trouble? He’s not here anymore to defend himself.”
“It’s a matter of understanding the people around him. He won’t be charged for anything. Like you said, he’s dead. But it’s important we see the bigger picture, sooner rather than later. We need to know who he was outside of what his record says about him.”