<< Go Back

Skewed

By Rachael Margaret Molle

Order Now!

Chapter 1



There was always something behind his eyes, nothing cruel or scheming, but nothing ever escaped his observation. Grey-blue depths that never let the world in, but calculated the intentions of everyone within their scope. Both comfortable and on guard as he leaned against the wall, she could not guess what he was thinking or where his mind was going. Her husband’s partner was more suited for the job than Jim had been.
He had to believe her! How she wished he would look at her with care and concern in his eyes like he had yesterday. Yesterday? The events that brought him to her home seemed like a lifetime ago.
Until he found the truth and understood her role in the events before him she could plead her innocence until the cows came home and none of it would matter. He was the best because nothing could dissuade him against the facts; the quintessential detective, minus the suit.
No, he said he believed she had nothing to do with the events of the last few days, but then that was before this; before he found her at the scene of a murder. The murder of a man she admittedly hated. Still, she had nothing to worry about, right? Would the facts really tell her story? He knew about the meeting, she even invited him to stop by.
But then, she was Jim’s widow. His betrayal tainted everything. His death a year ago under nefarious circumstances didn’t help. Why did it mean so much that he believed her innocence? A man had just been murdered, how self-centered could she be! Disgusted with herself, she sent up a quick prayer asking forgiveness for her callousness. No matter how she tried to redirect her thoughts, she was desperate to convince Detective Shane McCloud she was no killer. Circumstances what they were, and given the events of the past week, her confidence was shot. She had to steel her thoughts to get her emotions under control. She couldn’t cry, not now.
More noise from the hallway caught her attention and she peered over her shoulder. Official looking people walked into and out of the small room she used for physical therapy for students. Many had badges hanging from chains around their necks, other officers in uniform brought bags of something out of the room. Their faces reflecting the somber realty that something very wrong had occurred in the room.
The room where he told her to meet him.
The room where she heard men arguing and fighting. The room she went running from because she was afraid. If she hadn’t run, maybe he wouldn’t be dead right now. Shame overwhelmed her. She didn’t like the man and what he’d done to Graham, but she didn’t wish him dead. If she had made her presence known, maybe he’d still be alive. Her mind rehearsed the encounter she’d stumbled upon. Who was the other man? It sounded like they were arguing about money.
The doorway cleared and she could see someone begin to bring a stretcher out of the room. A long black body bag lay on top of the stretcher, its bearers’ struggling under the weight. Apparently, dead people weighed a lot. Dead. Murdered. She shuttered at the image that word brought to mind. She’d never seen so much blood. How could something like this happen?
It had just the same. And she was right in the middle of whatever this was. Was she as good as dead?

---

Detective Shane McCloud slowly closed his notebook after taking extensive notes about the crime scene and its victim. Annye? How could she be involved in this? She couldn’t be. He needed to talk to her and get the whole story. Did this have anything to do with Graham’s cryptic monologue the other night? If only he’d gotten here sooner. She couldn’t be involved in this, he’d known she was going to be here. She told him about her meeting, even asked him to stop by this morning. What he found when he entered the building nearly stopped his heart. Annye standing over Johnston, her hands bloody her face white as a ghost. He’d drawn her into his embrace, away from the grisly scene in front of her. Then the shakes began, shock. Her first words were flat, distant, “He killed him.”
Had she witnessed the murder? Was she somehow involved with the killer? He had to establish a timeline of events, had to pinpoint what exactly she witnessed and what risk she now faced.
There were two cars in the parking lot besides her’s when he arrived to question Evan Johnston. And then there was the little matter of Sergei Rheznik and his gorilla he’d seen coming from the school building as well. He would bet the Russian mobster wasn’t visiting his favorite teacher or making a donation to the art supplies fund. Rheznik was cold, calculating and smart. If only he could toss him behind bars simply for showing his ugly mug in public!
He hated to see the look of utter despondency on Annye’s face. He had to maintain his objectivity, a man was murdered in her therapy room, stabbed with a pair of scissors apparently from her desk. Still, there had to be an explanation that had nothing to do with her culpability. She couldn’t have anything to do this, could she?
Almost a year passed since his partner Jim’s death, and just this week his wife had been accused of stealing drugs, almost run off the road, had her home broken into. And now she was a person of interest and the only witness in a murder investigation. Coincidence? Not likely.
Not many cops attended Jim’s funeral, given the circumstances, but none of that was Annye’s fault. It was hard to stomach when a cop turned to the criminal side, at least that was the assumption. Jim didn’t have many fans in the department. He preferred to work alone and that left his coworkers with low motivation to trust him. Few clues were found at his murder scene other than the slug taken from Jim’s body, identified as a 9mm. Then files and evidence taken from other department investigations were found in a storage unit. As the evidence mounted, the picture it painted spoke of Jim’s involvement in an international drug ring. The betrayal left a bad taste in every one’s mouth, especially Shane’s.
Sadly, in one of his memories of that day, Annye was standing by her husband’s gravesite; quiet tears wet her face. A face that looked much like the one she wore now. One that said she felt totally alone. It tore at his heart and for a moment he thought of trying to offer her some comfort, but he couldn’t do that. She needed him at his best, calculating and focused to find out what was going on and who was responsible for the murder she might be charged with.
He refused to believe she was involved. Regardless of how things looked, he couldn’t buy it. This was the same Annye he’d seen gently redirect her son to appropriate behavior and then graciously helped him find the files of Jim’s he was looking for in her basement. Could it all have been an act? No. Annye was no killer, but he had to maintain his objectivity. Otherwise, he’d be no good to her or the investigation.
His job was to get to the truth. To bring a killer to justice. To bring a family some closure. All without getting his heart involved. Ha. Like that had ever been a problem before. Annye was the first woman he could remember that held his interest for more than five minutes. Even the short time she’d allowed him to hold her, felt right and good, punching a fist size hole in his resolve to stay away from relationships.
He walked out of the room and let his gaze fall on Annye. She looked small and troubled, but at the same time anger and frustration emanated from her frame. How was she involved in this? Why hadn’t she waited for him to accompany her to the meeting? He should recuse himself from the investigation. Trapp would have his hide if any of the evidence was thrown out on a technicality because of his involvement. Someone was going out of their way to frame Annye. One way or another they wanted her out of the picture, dead or in prison, it didn’t really matter. The evidence would show she had a history with the victim. A history that gave her motive to kill Mr. Evan Johnston.

---

Order Now!

<< Go Back