Chapter Three
Sam had seen the man before. He’d been in every other commercial for months. He was running for reelection to Congress. Apparently, it was a tight race, and he wasn’t taking any chances.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized him in the alley right away.
It was so obvious now, but her mind had most likely rejected the idea that a United States congressman would shoot a woman in cold blood in an alley behind a pizzeria. Or maybe she was so exhausted her mind was playing tricks on her.
Nikki looked back and forth between Sam and the bus, no doubt noticing she’d frozen as she looked at the bus. “What?” she asked.
Sam shook her head, glancing at the officer who couldn’t care less what they were talking about. She needed to think it through before she accused a government official of murder. The officer dropped them off at the restaurant, and Anthony came out from his upstairs apartment to check on her.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just need some sleep.”
“Take tomorrow off. I’ll cover your shift.”
“No. I’d rather come in.” Not only did she not want to sit at home thinking about all the things she couldn’t do to save Heather, she also couldn’t afford to give up the paycheck.
“If you’re sure. You’ve been through quite a shock.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks, Anthony.” She gave him a wave as she slid into the passenger seat of her car so Nikki could drive her home.
“So, what was that about in the police car?” Nikki asked immediately. “You looked terrified by that bus.”
“It was him,” Sam said quietly, still not believing it was true. She hadn’t lied before. She hadn’t remembered the man’s face when she was being questioned. But seeing the photo jogged her memory. Or had the bus created the memory? No. She knew it was him.
She remembered the way his hair fell across his forehead when he bent over to grab Heather and pull her across the pavement. She remembered the sharp profile of his nose.
Now that she had time to think without the pressure of being questioned it was all coming back to her.
“Who?”
“Congressman Howe. He was the man in the alley. The man who shot that girl.”
Nikki gaped at her incredulously. “Ashton Howe? You think a congressman shot someone?”
It sounded even more ridiculous when her friend said it out loud than it had in her own head. But however ridiculous it sounded, it was still true.
“I’m sure of it.”
“Don’t you think he would have people to do that kind of thing for him? Like a henchman or something? He wouldn’t risk his career by doing the dirty work himself,” Nikki pointed out.
“I don’t know why he did it. I just know he did. It was him. I swear.”
“Okay, relax.” Nikki held up her hand and let out a breath. “You’re exhausted. And—” Nikki stalled.
“And what?”
“Anthony told me about the text from Lance. I’m sorry.” Nik sighed and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
Shit. Sam had forgotten all about Lance. Her wrecked love life didn’t matter in comparison with a dead woman.
Nikki parked too far from the curb, but Sam didn’t complain. She wanted to crawl into bed and close her eyes to block out the things she didn’t want to see or think about.
“Things will be clearer in the morning,” Nikki suggested as they walked up to Sam’s apartment. “I’ll sleep on the couch, in case you need me.”
Once inside, Sam dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt before crawling into bed, still shivering.
She lay there for over an hour, trying to fall asleep. Every time her eyes closed, she imagined him there in her bedroom with that long gun of his. She heard the gunshots and bolted up, panting and gasping for air.
Finally, she gave up, went out in the living room, and curled up on the recliner, terrified of her bedroom because every shadow was his smiling face…as it had been on the side of the bus.
When she woke up the next day, it was nearly noon. She couldn’t believe she’d slept so long. It was a good thing she didn’t have to go into the office today.
Despair swept through her as everything that had happened the night before came back in a rush. She didn’t even have a moment of confusion or disorientation to give her a tiny second’s peace. The memories simply snapped back into place the instant she woke.
She ate lunch, fixed her hair, and put on lipstick before she left to go back to the police station. Not that she cared what they thought, but because it was Saturday, and she was alive. There was nothing like seeing death close up to make a person want to feel alive.
She called Nikki before going in, hoping her friend might offer some helpful advice. During the drive, she’d been planning what she would say. Basically, she’d decided to walk in there and tell them who the killer was, and let them take it from there.
“Don’t say anything about Howe,” Nikki said firmly.
Her friend’s advice wasn’t just unhelpful, it was illegal.
“Of course I have to say something. One of our congressmen is a murderer. I pay taxes. My tax money could have paid for that gun,” Sam said, appalled.
“Please. You’re a newspaper sales rep who works part-time at a pizza place,” Nikki scoffed. “I’m just saying, even if you’re right and it was him, what do you think will happen? Do you think the police will be able to do anything?”
“They sure can’t do anything if they don’t know.”
“What if he comes after you to shut you up?” Nikki whispered. She liked to joke around, but Sam could tell she was serious.
She swallowed as she thought it over. The whole scenario should have seemed preposterous. And it would have, if she hadn’t seen a woman murdered right in front of her.
“I have to do the right thing,” she said.
“The right thing for who?” Nikki demanded. “The girl who is already dead and can’t be hurt anymore? What about the right thing for you, Sam? What about the safe thing?”
“I have to go. I’ll call you tonight.” Sam didn’t want to get into an argument. Nikki was only trying to keep her safe. She knew that.
“I’ll stop by when you get off work. We’ll drink until you’ve forgotten all about this,” Nikki promised.
Sam didn’t think it was possible, but she was up for trying.
After hanging up, she took a deep, cleansing breath, squared her shoulders, and walked into the police station, determined to help bring Heather Riddell’s killer to justice.
The station appeared different in the daylight. Less gloomy, but just as in need of fresh paint as the night before.
Detective Richards came out and greeted her with a small smile. He was probably close to the age her father would have been.
“Thanks for coming in again. Have a seat.” Richards gestured toward his office. She took the same seat she’d spent hours in the night before. The chair groaned when she sat, as if it remembered her.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Okay.” She was doing far better than Heather Riddell.
“Did you remember anything about the man?” He asked the big question.
Sam nodded, but said nothing else. Nikki’s warning played over and over in her head.
“Good. I have some pictures I want you to look at. I’ll get a sketch artist—”
She shook her head and cut him off. “I don’t need a mug book or a sketch artist. I know who he is.” Her voice didn’t sound near as confident as she wanted.
The detective’s eyebrows rose. “You do?”
“Yes. You know him, too.” She twisted her fingers as he waited, his brow now creasing. She opened her mouth to do the right thing. To tell the truth. Her whole life, she’d been told that things would always get worse if she lied about them.
She heard Nikki’s voice in her head. What if he comes after you to shut you up? It was a valid question, but the answer still came back the same.
She had to tell the truth.