Chapter Eighteen #4
“What if—” Emmy had to think how to phrase this. “Woody’s off the table, right? He was seen harassing Mandy, but we don’t think he’s wrapped up in the shooting, right?”
“Right.”
“You know how tiny North Falls is. We’ve got reports of an UnSub hanging around Mandy and now we’ve got the Pushy Juror. What are the odds that they’re the same guy?”
Jude started to nod again. “The Pushy Juror gets out of prison. He’s spent years inside banking on his blackmail plan to give him a big payday once he’s out.
Then he’s finally released and he realizes that Allison beat him to it.
He starts grooming Mandy either to get information, or to intimidate Allison, or because he’s a pedophile, or all three. ”
Emmy saw a giant hole in the scheme. “The statute of limitations on jury tampering ran out years ago. I don’t know that Gilchrist would feel threatened. Maneuvering to put away the guy who killed your wife sounds like the kind of scandal a man can survive these days.”
“It wasn’t just tampering. Ruel Clifton was murdered.”
“Tell me how to prove it.”
“Taybee—”
“If Taybee had evidence that her father was murdered, the killer would already be on death row. Three times.”
Jude’s laughter sounded forced. “You’re probably right.”
Emmy’s ears held on to the echo of the fake laugh. She couldn’t keep playing this game of chicken. “Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”
“Nothing’s going on.” The flippant shrug made another appearance. “I’m just tired.”
Emmy mulled over her words. Jude never said she was tired. She made it clear when she was being evasive. She hesitated sometimes, but only in a way that told you exactly how she was feeling.
Jude smiled. “Okay?”
Emmy heard a kind of finality in her tone. She didn’t have a translation for this new okay. It wasn’t if that’s the lie you want to tell yourself or I know there’s more to the story.
Jude clasped together her hands the same way she’d accused Emmy of doing. “You’ve got this, sweetheart. Well done. I’m going back to the house.”
“What?” Emmy sounded as stupid as Brett. “Why?” Jude hesitated, but didn’t answer.
Emmy asked, “What do they call this in therapy—prevaricating? Eluding?”
“Avoidance.” Jude shrugged again. “You don’t need me anymore. You’re on the hunt. I know you’ll find the shooter.”
“I—”
“Emmy Lou.” Jude braced her hands on Emmy’s arms the same way she’d shored up Cole at Myrna’s graveside. “It’s been such a pleasure working with you today. Thank you for letting me tag along.”
Emmy studied her face. She was so damn hard to read. “Why does it sound like you’re breaking up with me?”
Jude laughed again. Then she released Emmy from her hold. “I need to go back to San Francisco for a little while.”
The shard of glass lodged itself back in Emmy’s throat. There, finally, was the truth. She wondered how long Jude had been sitting on this. Probably since Myrna struggled to stop her last breath. There was no reason for her to be here anymore.
Emmy asked, “When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
She felt the familiar ache of needles racing through her heart. “How long?”
“Not long.” Jude’s smile had a weird tremble to it. “As soon as you have this case wrapped up, I want you to call me. I’ll come back, and we can talk.”
Now Emmy was the one gripping together her hands like a fool. The wrongness felt like a wave that was threatening to crush her body into the sand. She had missed something important. Said something stupid. Done something wrong. “What did I do?”
“Sweetheart.” Jude cupped her hand to Emmy’s face. “You’ve never done anything wrong. Even if you had, I would always forgive you.”
Emmy felt ridiculous for wanting to cry. “Okay.”
She grabbed her phone off the counter. Pushed open the bathroom door. Her ears strained for the sound of Jude’s boots thudding behind her. All she could hear was keyboards clacking and coffee brewing. Emmy shook out her hands to loosen her grip.
“Boss, take a look at this.” Julian turned his monitor so she could see it. “Shane Marcus Russell. I’ve seen his name somewhere before.”
Emmy felt herself snap back into her body. “Where?”
“In the old files you told me to look at.” Julian walked back to Brett’s desk fort. “I can’t remember the year.”
“Try 2002 to 2003.”
Jude came out of the bathroom. Emmy looked at the monitor. Shane Marcus Russell had chosen a defiant expression for his mugshot. His greasy brown hair was pulled back behind his head. He glared at the camera the way some cons do when they’re terrified.
Emmy heard the thud of Jude’s boots on the floor.
She scrolled down Russell’s rap sheet. She counted sixteen domestic violence charges between 1996 and 2004.
Only one of them had resulted in a conviction, but no jail time was given.
He’d finally been sent to prison for battery in 2006.
He’d been given the maximum five-year sentence but only served four.
In 2010, he’d been sentenced to ten years in prison for transportation with intent to distribute a Schedule one substance.
While inside, he’d attacked another inmate and gotten another four years added on to his sentence.
Drug paraphernalia found in his cell added another two.
There had been no reduced sentencing or time off for good behavior.
Russell had served every second of his additional time until he’d been released back into the world three months ago.
Because he’d done his full ride, he wasn’t on parole.
Emmy looked behind her, saw Jude had made it as far as the lobby. “Jude, you were right. Look at his sheet.”
Jude turned, but she didn’t come over.
“Boss?” Julian was reading from the file as he walked back over. “Shane Marcus Russell was picked up in North Falls in 2010 with two hundred OxyContin tablets.”
She asked, “Who was the arresting officer?”
Julian looked up from the file. “You, boss.”
Her surprise traveled around the room.
Jude started to walk over.
Levi sat up at his desk.
Emmy took the file from Julian. Her mind was drawing a complete blank. That was the year heroin started jockeying to replace Oxy. Every overnight shift had been a slow-moving horror. She flipped the page to read the incident report. Recognized her own handwriting. Her own signature at the bottom.
December 16, 2010. 11:32 PM. Spotted suspect vehicle near mile marker 16/Findlay Rd.
Driver identified as Shane Marcus Russell, 28 yo male; 5’9”/lt brn hair/brn eyes/185lbs.
Search of vehicle revealed four clear plastic bags located in center console containing approx.
200 tabs 80mg OxyContin. Suspect was advised of his Miranda rights.
Suspect claimed drugs did not belong to him.
When pressed for a name, Suspect refused to respond and requested a lawyer.
Questioning was ceased. Suspect was placed under arrest and transported to Clifton County Jail.
PC: erratic driving, fleeing area with high volume of short-stay traffic per AV/CPD.
Her gaze could not move off the last line.
Allison Vickery. Clayville Police Department.
According to Emmy’s own notes, Allison had provided probable cause to pull over a vehicle that had been spotted leaving an area known for drug deals.
Emmy found herself without the ability to speak. She passed the file to Jude. Watched her read the report. Jude flipped the page back to the front. Her finger tapped the mugshot.
She said, “I saw this man at the library. He works at the hardware store.”
Emmy’s mouth had trouble forming words. “Did he speak to you?”
Jude’s body stiffened. “He told me he hopes you catch the guy who shot that lady and her daughter soon.”
Emmy dialed Sonny Singh’s phone number. Listened to it ring through to voicemail. “Sonny, it’s Emmy Clifton. I need you to give me a call tonight. It’s urgent.”
“Boss?” Levi was reading the arrest report. “Who is this guy?”
“He’s our number one person of interest in the Vickery shooting. Put out an APB—wanted for questioning, history of violence, do not approach, locate and notify.”
Emmy dialed Louis Singh’s home number. He didn’t answer. She looked at her watch. It was almost six. “Levi, Sonny Singh’s either at home or at the Biergarten. Tell dispatch to locate. We need Shane Russell’s employment records and home address.”
Jude said, “At the store, his name tag said Carl.”
“Sonny’s been paying people under the table for years. His dad doesn’t know.”
Emmy texted Russell’s photo to Brett. Told him to show it to everyone in the hospital in case Russell tried to finish the job with Mandy.
“Emmy?” Jude nodded toward the lobby.
At first, Emmy had no idea why Valerie Wilkinson and her daughter were here. Then she remembered the scheduled interview.
Jude said, “I’ll say goodbye before I leave.”
Emmy pretended that sticking her phone in her pocket required the entirety of her concentration.
She had a thousand things running through her head right now, but she had to silence it all to focus on what mattered.
Talia Wilkinson didn’t care about APBs and manhunts and Jude Archer abandoning her family again.
She was a sixteen-year-old girl whose best friend had been the victim of a violent crime.
And she might have information about Shane Marcus Russell. “Talia. Valerie. Thank you for coming.” Emmy walked over to greet them. “I spoke to one of Mandy’s doctors today. She’s still in critical condition, but he’s hopeful.”
“Oh, thank God,” Valerie mumbled.
Talia looked like she was going to start crying.