Chapter 5

Wyatt’s frustration had reached its limit an hour ago, but he couldn’t leave the scene of the accident. It felt like the world and everything in it was conspiring against him and Deirdre, who’d expected him for dinner a half an hour ago.

“Excuse me,” he said to his sergeant, and Wyatt stepped away from the witnesses who couldn’t seem to get their story straight. He had his doubts about whether they’d seen anything at this point, and he wasn’t sure why Noel wanted to keep questioning them.

I’m not going to make it, he typed out. I’m so sorry. Turn on the news and you’ll know why.

“Chief?”

He tapped send quickly and turned back to one of his officers. “Yep.” He moved over to Sandi, who was crouched down in front of a bullet casing. “What have you got?”

“Why do you think this is here?” She indicated the casing. “Does it look new, or like it could’ve been here for a while?”

“Bag it anyway,” Wyatt said, looking up at the office complex. Had there been a shooting here too? Or just a reckless driver who’d rammed straight through the wall?

He really liked putting together the pieces of a puzzle, and that was all a crime scene was. The car had missed the benches and fountain in front of the building, so it had hit at an angle, almost to the front entrance, but not quite.

Had that been planned?

The driver had gotten out of the car on his own volition, and the paramedics who’d arrived first had him strapped to a gurney in the back of the bus already. No one had questioned him yet, as his officers and several other teams of paramedics were still assessing all those who’d come pouring out of the building, or who’d been standing in the outside courtyard when the car had come careening off the street.

“Sandi,” he said. “Spread the word to get everyone asking if anyone heard any gunshots.”

“Yes, sir.” She supervised the collection of the casing and then lifted her radio from her shoulder. Wyatt heard her voice come through his earpiece, and several officers looked his way.

He folded his arms, his silent affirmation that he wanted them to be sure to ask everyone about a gunshot or what they might have heard.

Part of him longed for his younger days when he was the one out questioning the witnesses, gathering the information he’d take to the staff meetings, the roundtables, the discussions with his superiors.

Problem was, now he was the superior, and all of his men and women would report to him. He’d assign a team of detectives to this case, and they’d take everything from there. But the initial gathering of information and actual forensic evidence was the most crucial stage of a new case.

He’d known when the call came in that he wouldn’t make it to dinner with Deirdre, but he hadn’t texted. His hope had gotten the best of him again.

His phone rang, and his heart leapt. But it was only Prudence Jorgenson, the woman who lived next-door to him. “Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath. Tigger had probably been barking, and Pru wasn’t happy about it. He hated bothering the older woman, and Wyatt would need to take her a box of her favorite pastries from Nuts About Dough and make sure he mowed her lawn on time.

“Mrs. Jorgenson,” he said. “I’m sorry about Tigger. Has he been bothering you?”

“I heard him barking,” she said, and she didn’t seem upset. “So I went next door and got him. He’s in my backyard, chasing squirrels.”

“Pru,” Wyatt said, smiling. “You didn’t need to do that.” And she could’ve broken a hip even though the distance between their houses was small.

“I’ve seen you on the news,” she said. “It’s no problem. He can stay the night if you’re done late.”

“And by late, you mean after eight.”

“That’s right, sonny,” she said. “I don’t open the door after dark.”

Wyatt chuckled even as someone else called, “Chief.”

“I need to go, Pru. Thanks for grabbing Tigger.” He hung up before the woman could say anything else, already moving toward Noel. He and Tom would be the best choices for the detectives on this case, and Wyatt would check their workload when he got back to the office.

“Yeah,” he said when he arrived.

“Mister Christopher says he heard a gunshot.” He nodded to the man who’d first said he was sitting on the fountain wall. Then a bench. Then he’d been inside. Wyatt didn’t believe a word he said.

“Oh?” He turned toward the dark-haired man. In Wyatt’s expert opinion, the man certainly hadn’t been inside the office building. This place housed a tech firm and a private physical therapy unit.

This guy wore a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top with a giant wolf head peering out at everyone. He wasn’t injured, and he wasn’t dressed like anyone from the technology firm. They all wore khakis and button-up shirts or stylish polos, and loafers.

More likely, Mr. Christopher had been smoking in the courtyard as he passed by. If that.

“Two shots,” the man said.

“From where?” Wyatt asked.

“Over there.” He pointed to where Wyatt had just been standing with Sandi. The crime scene team was still there, sifting through things on the street.

“Start at the beginning,” Noel said, and Wyatt cut his eyes to the sandy-haired man. He had a full head of hair, worked out for an hour every morning, and a wife and three kids at home. Wyatt had been invited to his house for dinner, and he liked Noel’s wife and kids.

“I was sitting here,” the man said, and Wyatt almost rolled his eyes.

“Sitting where?” Noel asked.

Wyatt’s phone rang, but he still heard Mr. Christopher say, “Right here on the fountain wall.”

Noel made a note in his tablet, and Wyatt said, “Be right back,” so he could answer Deirdre’s call. “I’m so sorry,” he said in lieu of hello.

“I turned on the news,” she said. “It’s fine. You look beyond busy.”

“I’ll be lucky to get out of here before darkness falls.” Wyatt sighed. “Raincheck?”

“Sure,” she said. “I have a wedding this weekend, but after that, my workload is fairly open.”

“I have no idea what my schedule is like,” he said. “I’ll talk to Norma in the morning.” He loved the woman who ran his office, and he’d never minded that she knew the intricate details of his personal life.

“You know my number,” Deirdre said, and Wyatt liked that she wasn’t upset. She was mature enough to know that things came up, and Wyatt wished he’d been ready for a relationship when she’d first moved here.

“Talk soon,” he said as a commotion erupted near the back of the ambulance. “I have to go.” He didn’t bother hanging up as he broke into a run. Deirdre would end the call, and Wyatt would be lucky not to lose his phone in the sprint.

“Ma’am,” he said while two of his officers held a woman back from trying to leap into the back of the ambulance and throttle the man who’d been driving the car.

She yelled something he couldn’t discern, and Eli pushed her back again. “Ma’am, calm down,” the officer commanded. “I will arrest you.”

The woman fell back, and Wyatt recognized her as he arrived on the scene. “Bella,” he barked. “Come with me.”

The woman who had once been his late wife’s friend turned toward him. Her face held a furious flush, and she panted. “Wyatt.”

“Now.” He gestured for her to come toward him, which she did. “The last thing you need is an arrest,” he said as they moved away from the ambulance and the other officers. “Think about Joey.”

Her son was only ten, and Bella’s divorce had happened right on the heels of Christine’s death. Wyatt didn’t know all the details, but he knew Bella had spent a lot of time in court, fighting her ex over custody of their son. If she got arrested, that would seal her fate.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But that man tried to kill my sister.”

Wyatt waved to another detective, indicating he should come over right now. “Wait a second. I want someone else to hear this too.”

Tom came over, and Wyatt said, “This is Tom Pilfer. He’s a detective with my department. Tom, Bella Murphy. She says the driver tried to kill her sister.”

“Is that right?” Tom tapped on his tablet before he looked up. “Why do you think that?”

Wyatt stayed right next to him as he questioned Bella, who went on to tell a tale about an ex-boyfriend of her sister’s who’d been showing up at work, sending her letters, and leaving things in her car for the past six months.

“And now he tried to drive his car into her office.” She pointed to the car still halfway inside the building. “That’s her office right there. She works at the desk next to the window. I know it was him.”

Wyatt watched the photographer taking pictures from every angle of the entrance, the car, the building, the fountain, all of it. Pictures were crucial to an investigation, as sometimes cases went cold and when new investigators picked up the photos, they saw something the initial detectives hadn’t noticed or didn’t think was appropriate.

He’d solved a cold case in his early days as a detective by examining an old crime scene photo with a bottle of mayonnaise sitting on a chair near the front door. It had only taken one question—why was that there?—to spark a lead that led to a fingerprint on the jar of mayo that had identified a murderer in a case that had been twelve years old.

“What’s his name?”

“Stephen Villalobos,” Bella said. “And he’s in the ambulance.”

The driver’s name was Stephen Villalobos, and Wyatt’s police instincts were firing like cannons.

“What’s your sister’s name?” Tom asked.

Bella gave it as “McKenna Lotus.”

“Is she here?” Wyatt looked around. “Who’s she talking to?”

“She’s inside,” Bella said. “I came as soon as she called me, and when she told me it was Stephen, I freaked out.” She held up both hands. “I’m fine now. I’m fine.” She wiped her bangs back off her forehead and blew out her breath. “I’m fine.”

“Tom,” Wyatt said. “Get Noel and go talk to Miss Lotus.”

“You got it, boss.” The detective walked away, and Wyatt stood there with Bella as he surveyed the scene. It was a huge space to canvas and cover, with people coming in and out every second.

He was very good at locking down a crime scene, and he’d trained his people to do the same. But there were witnesses to contain, and forensic investigators, and officers, paramedics, and even firemen. And Bella had gotten past his blocks, and she clearly hadn’t been on-site before the accident.

“Chief.” Norma’s voice came through his ear.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Press conference in forty-five minutes?”

His muscles tightened and then he sighed. “Yes,” he said. “Spread the word that it’ll be on the steps in front of the courthouse, same as it usually is.” That would get the media away from the crime scene, where they currently circled like sharks just beyond the yellow caution tape.

He’d do the press conference, and he’d make sure this crime scene was picked clean and absolutely pristine before anyone else left. Wyatt was getting a bit old to pull an all-nighter, but he’d do it if he had to. Anything for the job, that was what Christine had always said.

Hopefully, he’d get a moment to talk to Norma about his schedule and get a dinner date with Deirdre on the calendar before too much time passed.

“Chief,” someone said, and Wyatt was getting really tired of the word.

But he turned toward the man and said, “Yep,” just like he always did. After all, the Chief of Police didn’t get to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He was a public face, and everyone on the island of Getaway Bay would be watching to see how this situation was handled.

So he’d handle it with professionalism and power, the way he’d been doing for years now. Hopefully, Deirdre would wait for him and be available when he was able to call and make another date with her.