4:35 P.M.
Miranda had never been good at inaction. So sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop—or a hatchet to fall—was not working for her. Lawyer’s advice be damned; she and Buddy were going to have a chat.
She parked in front of the station and climbed out. It felt strange walking in without a badge and knowing that everyone was staring at her, even if they were pretending otherwise.
She stopped at the information desk. “Hey, Gloria, how are you today?”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Miranda, hey. I’m … okay.” She glanced around her, then leaned closer. “How about you?”
“I’m okay.”
“I’m glad, I…” She lowered her voice. “What’s going around, I know it’s not right.”
Miranda smiled. “Thanks, Glo. And no, it’s not right.”
Jones appeared at the squad room door, saw her, and turned around and went back inside.
Gloria cleared her throat and straightened back up. “What can I do for you, Miranda?”
Her hands, Miranda noted, were shaking. The last thing she wanted to do was get someone else suspended. “Is Buddy around?”
“He is. Let me see if he’s available.”
Two minutes later, Buddy waved her into his office. “C’mon in, girl. Close the door behind you.”
She did and took a seat. “You seem in good spirits.”
“Just surprised to see you.”
“I thought you might be.” She crossed her legs. “How’re you doing, Buddy?”
“I’ve been better.” He cocked his head. “I’ve lost my two most experienced detectives.”
“And whose fault is that?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here, Miranda?”
“I thought we could have nice little off-the-record chat.”
“Your lawyer give you his blessing on that?”
“What do you think?”
“All right then.” He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “Let’s chat.”
“I hear you like me for these murders. What do you have?”
He laughed. “You’re not serious.”
“Dead serious. How about I tell you what you don’t have? DNA, because there’s none to be had.”
“As you know very well, DNA’s not back yet. Forgive me for doubting you, but I’ll wait for the test results before I agree with you.”
“You have the prints.”
“Yes.”
“One set on a water bottle.”
“The kind of water everyone’s seen you drink.”
“A piece of evidence so easy to plant it’s laughable.”
“I’m not laughing.” He leaned forward. “And I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Is that so?”
“Why’d you lie, Miranda?”
“I’m not aware I did.”
“You took off your gloves? To make that call to Jake?”
“I did.”
“You have an Apple iPhone, correct?”
“I do.”
“We tested it, Miranda. The keypad worked with the gloves.”
“It didn’t that day.”
“Bullshit. And a jury won’t buy it.”
“You know what else a jury won’t buy?” she asked. “Why my fingerprints weren’t found anywhere else besides that so very portable piece of evidence. The bottle was planted.”
“Says you.”
“You’re not the least bit worried about that possibility?”
“Not at all.”
“I’d call you a liar, but considering our long relationship that’d be rude. But wait, you’re sitting there calling me a murderer.” She leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed. “You’re a liar, Buddy Cadwell. I never thought I’d say that. Not ever.”
Something ugly moved across his expression. She’d struck a nerve, no doubt about it.
“Careful,” he said softly. “Considering how we found Wheeler, you’re building our case.”
“Then there’s the clipping,” she went on. “It’s a bit of a conundrum for you, considering it’s a link between Stark and the crime I say he committed.”
Cadwell shrugged. “I think that works in our favor.”
“Interesting thing is,” she went on, tone nonchalant, “my prints aren’t on it. And neither were his.” He didn’t reply and she pressed on. “Which suggests, like the bottle, the clipping was planted.”
He snorted. “To what end?”
“The killer, our unsub, wanted us, particularly me, to know who Stark was. And why she’d killed him.”
“Again, to what end?”
“Justice. Pure and simple.”
“And that’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it?” He leaned back in his seat, the picture of confidence. “You wrongly fingered Richard Stark as the one who abducted you all those years ago—”
“Now you admit I was abducted? Wow, I am making progress here.”
He ignored her and went on. “And now, their murders are your idea of justice.”
“I’m not the one looking for justice—” She leaned forward, studying him. “She is. Does that frighten you at all?”
A dull red crawled up his cheeks. “Of course not.”
“Maybe it should.”
“Are you threatening me?”
She tilted her head. “Where were you that night?”
“What night?”
“C’mon, Buddy, what night are we talking about here? Fourteen years ago. Ms. Roxy called you. It was an hour before you arrived. Where were you?”
“I was home, sleeping.”
She recognized he was lying and her heartbeat quickened. “You were winded when you got here. And sweating.”
“It was summer.”
“You told Roxy you needed a minute,” she went on. “To pull yourself together.”
“Of course I did. It was the middle of the night. I was awakened from a dead sleep with a tenuous situation on my hands.”
The more he talked, the deeper hole he dug. “Tenuous?”
“I needed to focus myself.”
“Why? Because a fifteen-year-old had been picked up for pot?”
“Because she was spreading a very serious story that could have hurt a lot of people.”
That was it. Her story. The people it could have hurt.
She had thought him her savior that night. Besides Ms. Roxy, the one person who had believed her and tried his best to help.
He believed her because he’d known it was true.
“You covered it up, Buddy.”
“I don’t know what you’re … for God’s sake, Miranda! You were making some pretty big accusations that night.”
“No, I wasn’t. Who was I making accusations against?”
“Claims,” he corrected. “Abduction and rape? Come on, that’s serious stuff.”
“Yeah, it was.” For a moment she wondered if she’d ever breathe again. And then she did. “That’s why you needed to compose yourself, isn’t it? Because you’d just covered up a crime and were going to have to look a fifteen-year-old victim in the eyes and lie? And pretend that you were such a good guy?”
“You’ve gone off the rails, Randi. Just like all those years ago.”
A diversion instead of a denial. She felt sick to her stomach. “You were so kind to me that night. I remember being surprised by that kindness. Really … touched by it. “But I get it now.” She made a choked sound. “Why you’ve been kind to me all these years. Why you took me under your wing. Guilt.”
“I think you should go, Miranda. For your own good.”
She didn’t make a move to stand. “Fourteen years ago you did exactly what you’re doing now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You covered up what happened. Because of whose son he was.” She shook her head, disappointed to her core. “You’re his puppet. That’s that what happened with the roofies, isn’t it? Who’d you call? Wheeler?”
He didn’t respond and she went on. “That night, that’s why you kept stalling. You had to hear every detail of my story, you said. Truth is, you had to give Wheeler or whoever enough time to get rid of all the evidence of the crime.”
At his silence, she stood, flattened her hands on his desk and leaned toward him. “Say something, dammit!”
“You’ll never prove any of this.”
She flinched, the words affecting her like a physical assault. “All the women Stark assaulted, all these years. You could have stopped him. And that’s what it comes down to? I’ll never be able to prove it?” She made a sound of disbelief. And of disgust. “I always thought Wheeler was a bad guy. A crooked cop. And now I see you’re even worse.”
“This chat is over, Miranda,” he said, voice shaking. He stood and crossed to the door.
“Go ahead,” she dared. “Open it. I think everybody should hear this.”
As she had known he would, he stopped and turned back to her.
“Did you know about the lockbox? About Stark’s escape papers? Maybe you even helped him pull all the documents together.”
She pictured the contents, remembering the self-storage contract. “What was in the self-storage unit, Buddy?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Keys, she remembered. Of course. “It was a car, wasn’t it? Registered to Michael Weisman.”
“You’re losing it.”
“Tell me what happened, Buddy. Just between you and me. When I got away, young Mr. Stark freaked out, didn’t he? He called his daddy and his daddy called you. Is that the way it went down?”
When he didn’t respond, she went on, “What did he promise you? His undying loyalty and sponsorship for as long as you both shall live?”
“Do you have a recorder, Miranda? Is that what’s going on here? You trying to trap me? That’s never going to happen. Never.”
“It already has.” He blanched and she smiled grimly. “You were trapped fourteen years ago, the minute you agreed to lie for him.”
She stood and walked around him to the door. “You’re not the man I thought you were. You’re not even close.”