Chapter 3 #2
Esme gave up a tiny nod. “I couldn’t move,” she said, more to the table than to Chloe.
“I couldn’t even look away. He just pushed the knife in really far and said, ‘Nobody rips me off.’ Then, he stabbed him over and over, on his body and his face.
There was so much blood, and”—her voice wobbled, along with Chloe’s heart—“some other stuff. It was everywhere. But the man with the knife just kept going for what felt like forever, until finally, he stopped.”
As if she just wanted the rest of the story out—and really, who the hell could blame her—
Esme kept talking.
“The other guy was on the ground by then, and I knew he had to be dead. The man who stabbed him looked around, I guess to make sure no one had seen him. But I just stayed really, really still until he left a minute later. I wanted to run, but I was so scared he’d come back, and the other guy was bleeding, like, so much. I didn’t want to get any closer.”
“That’s okay,” Chloe said, truthfully adding, “I think I’d have felt the exact same way.”
Esme sniffled, but soldiered on. “I counted to five hundred, just to be really, really sure he was gone, and then, I blocked my number and called nine-one-one. I didn’t mean to hide from the cops,” she added quickly, her eyes darting to the camera still sitting between them on the table, “but I thought I’d get in trouble for sneaking out.
Which is really stupid, I guess, considering. But that’s everything that happened.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Chloe said, and Esme eyed her, wary.
“So, what happens now?”
Before Chloe could answer, a knock sounded off on the door, and Addison appeared in the doorframe a second later. “Hi, Esme. This is my friend, Camila.”
She gestured to Camila Garza, who Chloe knew from hanging out at the Crooked Angel with Ryan and his friends. She was Detective Garza’s sister, and if the sparkly ring on her left hand was anything to go by, recently engaged to her FBI agent boyfriend.
“She’s a sketch artist with the Remington Police Department,” Addison said, the same easy-does-it way she’d order a latte. “We’d love it if you’d work with her on pictures of the man you saw and the knife he had.”
Esme hesitated. “I can’t draw, or anything.”
Camila gave up a reassuring smile that Chloe could’ve hugged her for, right there on the spot. “No experience necessary,” she promised, holding up her sketch book. “All you have to do is describe what you want me to draw, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Having a picture will help us identify the man who did this,” Addison said, “and Ms. Thompson will stay with you the whole time in case you need something.”
Esme flicked a glance from the GAL to Chloe. “What about you?”
She opened her mouth to say she could stay, too, if that’s what Esme wanted, but Addison tilted her head at the door. “Actually, I need to borrow Chloe. But we’ll be right outside with Tom and my sergeant, and after Camila gets a sketch done, you should be able to go home and get some rest. Okay?”
After a long beat, Esme nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Chloe gave Esme one last reassuring look, then traded places with Camila. She followed Addison out into the hallway, barely keeping her emotions at bay until the door closed.
“Jesus. Please tell me you’re going to be able to catch this guy.”
“Oh, that’s happening,” Addison said, and Chloe had forgotten how lethal her best friend was beneath her sugar-sweet demeanor. “But it’s going to be a process.”
Tom and Sergeant Sinclair stood a few paces away, and Chloe waited until they’d reached them before asking Esme’s million-dollar question. “So, what does happen now?”
“Well, several things,” Sinclair said. “Maxwell and Xander are working with the crime scene unit to see if they can pull prints, DNA, or other forensic evidence from the warehouse. Capelli’s working on footage from nearby street cams, and patrol is combing a four-block perimeter around the warehouse to try and find that murder weapon. We need something concrete, here.”
Chloe’s brows rose. “Um, Esme saw the guy who did it. How is that not concrete?”
“We don’t even know who this guy is, yet,” Addison said, and okay, she had a point.
“The sketch is going to be a good start, but even if it leads to a definite ID, it won’t be enough to get us a warrant all by itself, no matter what Esme saw.
We need probable cause to make an arrest, which means hard evidence that puts this guy at the scene. Street cam footage, DNA. Something.”
“Okay.” Chloe tried to process her racing thoughts—or, at the very least, get them out of riot mode. “What about the guy who was murdered? Did someone have a beef with him, maybe?”
Sinclair nodded. “We’re looking at that angle. With those narcotics charges, he definitely wasn’t a saint.”
“So, this was a drug deal gone bad?” Chloe asked. It tracked with what Esme had said about the argument she’d overheard.
“It sounds like it,” Sinclair said, exchanging a glance with Addison that lasted for a microsecond, yet seemed to carry volumes.
“We’ve suspected Brinkman has been part of a pretty large DTO for a while now, but getting anything on the organization, and the guy who’s running it, has been a dead end.
We’ll put a rush on the crime scene investigation and hope it turns up something that leads to a suspect. ”
Chloe had forgotten—or maybe she’d blocked out—how much of a waiting game investigations could be. “How long will that take?”
“It depends on the lab,” Addison said, “but it’ll probably be a couple of days, even with the rush ask.”
Chloe wanted to protest, but she knew it was pointless, so instead, she asked, “And what about Esme? What happens once she’s done working with Camila?”
Tom said, “Thankfully, she’s not in any danger, so she’ll go back to the group home, for the time being. I’ve let the home manager know that she was involved in an incident, but didn’t go into details since the investigation will be ongoing.”
A few of the words snagged in Chloe’s head, sending a chill over her. Danger. Incident. Ongoing. “Wait. Do you think Esme will have to testify against this guy?”
“We want to avoid that if we possibly can,” Sinclair said, and Chloe noted that wasn’t a no.
“She’s a thirteen-year-old foster kid.”
“We’re getting way too far ahead of ourselves,” Addison said, shaking her head. “First, we need a suspect. Then, we work on a warrant and an arrest. Then, we talk about her testifying. Until then, Esme will be perfectly safe at the group home.”
“How many girls are living there right now?” Okay, so she was being nosy. But Chloe knew all too well how much even the best home managers had on their plates. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t a little.
Tom’s hesitation didn’t spark confidence. “Twelve. But you know how this goes. We don’t exactly have a lot of options. I’ll keep an extra eye on her while the investigation unfolds.”
“I know you will,” Chloe said, and she meant it. Tom was as good a case manager as Addison and Sinclair were cops. “But you’ve got dozens of other kids to care for, and you said Esme was struggling before this.”
“She has been failing to connect a lot more, recently,” Tom admitted, and Chloe couldn’t stop the words from flying past her already rickety brain-to-mouth filter.
“Of course she has. She’s a teenager who’s lived in group homes for most of her life. She doesn’t know how and she doesn’t trust anyone enough to ask.”
“Her situation is difficult.” Tom held up a hand to stave off the argument that must’ve been brewing on Chloe’s face, along with her mind.
“I’m not disagreeing with you. There’s no abuse in her history, and she’s been in some good placements—just nothing that ever led to an adoption.
But she has been in the system for a very long time, and her recent behavioral issues and that chip on her shoulder don’t make this any easier. ”
Not untrue. Still… “I get it, but she’s obviously struggling, and now, you’re asking her to just go back to business as usual after she witnessed a murder.”
“For now,” Sinclair said. “Look, we know this isn’t ideal, but it isn’t the worst spot we could be in, either.
Esme is safe. Whoever killed Brinkman didn’t see her—he doesn’t even know she exists.
Tom will make sure she gets counseling, and we’re doing everything we can to find the man responsible. It’s just going to take a little time.”
Chloe sighed out the frustration that had built in her chest. As much as she hated it (she really fucking hated it), she knew he and Tom were both right. “Sorry. I just want to make sure she doesn’t fall through the cracks.”
Tom nodded. “We really appreciate you talking to her. I’ll keep you posted, I promise.”
He took a half-step back, but oh, no. No way. This wasn’t going to be it. “With all due respect, I’m going to need more than that.”
“Sorry?” Tom asked, confused.
But Chloe had never been more certain in her life. “I promised Esme she could trust me, and she did. I can’t just walk away from this case. You wanted me on her side? Now you’re stuck with me there, all the way through.”
“You’re not certified as a foster parent,” Tom said, his eyes going wide. “I’m sorry, Chloe, but I can’t let you take custody of her. Not even temporarily.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Chloe almost laughed. “Oh, yeah, no. I don’t want to be her parent. I want to be her advocate.”
Addison was the first to react. “That’s not an entirely bad idea,” she said, swinging a look from Sinclair to Tom. “We did call Chloe in for a reason, and with what Esme saw, assigning her an advocate who’s spun up on this case would only work in her favor. And ours.”
Chloe took the in—which she could’ve kissed Addison for—and ran. “I’ve already got experience as a mentor, and I’ve been cleared by CFS. This would just be a step up.”
“A pretty big one,” Tom said, then slowly added, “but I agree that Esme needs the support. You’d still have to defer to me, the Guardian Ad Litem for legal matters, and Intelligence, of course.
But you’re the only person she’s come close to connecting with.
I can get the paperwork together for you to act as her advocate via CFS, and I’ll email her file over so you can get up to speed on her background. ”
Chloe’s smile was impossible to cage. “Thank you.”
“We’ll keep you both updated on the investigation,” Sinclair said, his eyes crinkling at the edges just slightly as he turned to Chloe. “Nice work today.”
Addison let out a low whistle as soon as Sinclair and Tom were out of earshot, both of them moving down the hallway that led back to the Intelligence Unit’s main office. “Gotta hand it to you, my friend. You don’t do anything in half-measures.”
“Nope,” Chloe said, because anything else would be a straight-up lie. “I learned from the best, remember?”
Now, Addison smiled. “Your brother is definitely an all-in guy. Still, the way you earned Esme’s trust? That was all you, girly pop.”
Chloe’s cheeks flushed, but only for a second before reality did its thing. “Thanks, but I think I’ve still got a long way to go with her. Speaking of which, I want to grab her something to eat before I head out. No offense to your cookie stash.”
“Yeah, you owe me,” Addison said with a mock frown. “Now Maxwell knows where I keep my stuff, and that big oaf will one hundred percent steal my cookies.”
“Something tells me you’ve got more than one hidey-hole in this place.”
Chloe started down the hall, her brain already running down the nearest options for fast, yet decent, carry-out when she realized her car was still at the fire house. “Shit.”
“You okay?” Addison asked from beside her, but she waved off her friend’s concern with as much of a smile as she could work up.
“Yeah, of course.” She hadn’t gone into detail about how she’d gotten to the precinct so quickly, and the last thing she needed was to trip Addison’s finely tuned gossip meter by blushing her way through the story.
She’d just dial up a ride-share after she grabbed something for Esme to eat. No big deal.
But then, she rounded the corner and walked directly into a very broad, very familiar chest, and for the second time in one morning, Tyler Gates had blasted her plans to bits.