Chương 8
Doyle’s weapon skidded beneath the ambulance.
Officer Patel kicked it away and drew his own gun, aiming at Nathaniel because Nathaniel had also drawn.
“Drop it!” Patel shouted.
Nathaniel did not.
Wren stepped between them.
It was not brave. It was furious and poorly considered and happened before fear caught up.
Nathaniel’s pistol was pointed toward the ground, but Patel could not see that from his angle.
Wren raised both hands.
“Put it away,” she told Nathaniel.
His eyes moved to hers.
“Now.”
For one terrible second, she thought he would ignore her.
Then he placed the weapon on the hood of a parked car.
Patel stared.
Nathaniel lifted his hands.
Doyle lay beneath Brutus, breathing in short, terrified bursts.
Gabriel leaned on the ambulance, his face gray with pain.
Phones recorded everything.
By eight thirty, the street had filled with supervisors, detectives, union representatives, and three local news vans. Sergeant Doyle was taken away in handcuffs, though not before an officer covered his head with a jacket to hide his face.
Nathaniel’s pistol was seized.
So were the bodyguards’ weapons.
Brutus refused to enter animal control’s van. The officer assigned to him made one attempt with a catch pole, and Nathaniel said something so quiet that the man lowered it.
Wren gave her statement in the back of an ambulance.
Officer Patel sat across from her, writing carefully. He asked her to repeat dates. He asked what she had remembered before the restaurant and what returned after seeing the medal.
He did not tell her what anything meant.
That made her trust him more.
When she finished, he turned his body camera toward the page and asked her to sign across the bottom and initial each margin.
“You did this last time?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Three pages?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward Doyle’s cruiser. “We didn’t find them upstairs.”
“You won’t.”
“I know.”
Dahlia waited outside with Gabriel. Nathaniel stood near the curb speaking to two attorneys who had arrived in separate cars. Even without a weapon or jacket, he seemed to occupy more space than anyone around him.
Wren watched him.
Officer Patel followed her gaze. “You should be careful.”
“I’ve been told.”
“I don’t mean only Morrow.”
“I know.”
Patel closed his notebook. “A detective from the state police is coming. Major Crimes. Not Providence.”
“Does Nathaniel control them?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“It’s honest.”
He handed her a card. His personal number was written on the back.
“If anyone asks you to meet alone, don’t. If anyone says a message came from me, call this number. Don’t reply to the message.”
“You think someone in the department helped Morrow.”
Patel glanced toward the cameras and lowered his voice. “I think Sergeant Doyle fired a gun on a residential street after a witness recognized him.”
“That was not my question.”
“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
The state police detective arrived forty minutes later.
Her name was Elena Ruiz. She wore a dark blazer, flat shoes, and an expression suggesting she had already been disappointed by everyone involved.
She separated Wren from Nathaniel immediately.
He objected.
Ruiz ignored him.
She interviewed Wren in an unmarked sedan while rain began tapping against the windshield. Wren repeated the story again. The restaurant. The gray coat. The ring. The crash four years earlier. Doyle’s missing statement.
Ruiz listened without interruption.
When Wren finished, the detective asked, “What did Vale promise you?”
“Nothing.”
“What did he threaten?”
“To follow me.”
“That sounds like him.”
“You know him?”
“I know his lawyers.”
Ruiz looked through the windshield at Nathaniel. “He told us Morrow would be at the restaurant thirty-two minutes after shots were fired.”
“He said he called the police.”
“He called a deputy superintendent who called dispatch.”
“Is that unusual?”
“It is if you don’t own half the city.”
“He says he doesn’t.”
Ruiz almost smiled. “He doesn’t. He owns enough.”
Wren folded Officer Patel’s card between her fingers.
“Do you believe me?” she asked.
“I believe Sergeant Doyle recognized you.”
“That wasn’t my whole story.”
“I don’t believe whole stories on the first morning.”
Wren appreciated that too.
Ruiz opened a folder. Inside was a photocopy of a hospital intake sheet from four years earlier. Wren’s name appeared at the bottom in her own handwriting. Beside it was a report number.
“Where did you get this?”
“A federal prosecutor sent it to us yesterday.”
“Nathaniel said the prosecutor was in Massachusetts.”
“She is.”
“Why didn’t anyone contact me?”
“They tried.”
“No one called.”
“A certified letter was delivered to your building last week.”
Wren thought of Mr. Peloquin stacking mail on the radiator when boxes overflowed. “I didn’t receive it.”
“Someone signed your name.”
“Who?”
“We’re finding out.”
Ruiz closed the folder. “Until this morning, you were a possible witness in an old attempted homicide. After the restaurant, you are also the target of a new one. We can place you in protective housing.”
“With Dahlia?”
“We can discuss her risk separately.”
“And Gabriel?”
“He has federal protection available. Whether he accepts it appears to be a family argument.”
Wren looked through the wet windshield.
Gabriel stood beside Brutus. Nathaniel faced him, speaking with controlled intensity. Gabriel’s replies were sharper. Neither man touched the other.
“What happens to my job?” Wren asked.
Ruiz paused.
It was not the question she expected.
“I don’t know.”
“My rent?”
“We can connect you with victim services, but assistance is not immediate.”
“So protective housing means I disappear and stop getting paid.”
“For now.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Morrow found the restaurant and your apartment within hours.”
Wren looked at her worn apron.
She had forgotten it was still tied around her waist.
The restaurant owner called before Detective Ruiz finished speaking.
He did not ask whether Wren was injured. He said the incident had disrupted service, damaged a custom table, and exposed Providence House to unacceptable publicity. He used the phrase failure of judgment twice.
May you like
“My judgment?” Wren asked.
“You brought a private situation into the workplace.”
