Stone Cold

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Alex was deaf except for the ringing in her ears, her mind fogged as the sound of gunshots reverberated and faded. Everything around her had slowed to a crawl, Odyessy laboring to raise Dwayne’s head to her bosom as if she was immersed in glue, her mother’s cry drawn out and distorted.

She gazed at Dwayne’s bloody body, blinking to convince herself that he was dead, that she had fired the fatal shots, bending her arm toward her face, staring at the gun in her hand, weapon and appendage both foreign and unreal. Another voice broke through her sound barrier, her hearing restored.

“I said put the gun down, Counselor! Don’t make me tell you again!”

Alex turned toward the voice, furrowing her brow when she saw Rossi, struggling to understand why he was aiming his gun at her. Was he friend or foe? Was this kill or be killed?

She took a sharp, quick breath, tightening her grip on the gun for an instant, her brain shouting at her, It’s okay.Do what he says! Do what he says! They stood that way for seconds that passed as lifetimes until the fog lifted and she nodded at him, crouching to the floor and carefully laying her gun on the ground.

“That’s good, Counselor. Now step away from the gun.”

Alex nodded again, dropping her chin to her chest, backing up until she bumped into the wall, as Odyessy dove for her gun, grabbing it and aiming at Alex’s heart. Rossi bolted at Odyessy, crashing into her as she pulled the trigger, the bullet grazing Alex’s left shoulder.

He grabbed Odyessy’s wrist, slamming it onto the floor and knocking the gun loose, sending it skidding across the floor. Screaming, Odyessy tried to claw his face. Rossi flipped her onto her stomach, yanked her arms behind her back, and bound her wrists with plastic handcuffs. Dragging her by her shirt collar, he put her in a corner, face to the wall.

“Move and I’ll shoot you,” he told her.

“Fuck you!”

“Not today, Odyessy.”

“That bitch kilt my boy! I saw her do it. Whyn’t you put some cuffs on her?”

“Hold that thought. You’ll get a chance to tell your story, but for now, shut your mouth.”

“I ain’t gonna shut nuthin’!”

Rossi leaned toward her, his hand on her back, whispering, “Listen to me. You want Alex to hear your story before I have a chance to question her? All you’ll do is give her a chance to come up with a different version that puts it all on you. So if you want to help your son, shut the fuck up. Okay?”

Odyessy shook his hand off her. “Okay, but you don’t get that bitch, I will!”

Rossi turned toward Alex, who was slumped on the floor, back against the wall, legs extended. There was a hole in the right-side pocket of the jacket she was wearing. He knelt next to her, examining it. The edge of the hole was singed and still warm, meaning the gun had been in her pocket when she fired. He started to ask her but didn’t when he saw the vacant-eyed look on her face. He pulled her jacket off her shoulder, a blood blossom oozing through her shirt.

“Like they say in the movies, it’s just a flesh wound,” he told her, placing her right hand over the bleeding. “Keep pressure on it.” When she didn’t respond, he tilted her chin up toward him, shaking her head. “Hey! Pay attention!” Satisfied when her eyes focused, Rossi pressed her hand down. “Pressure! Got it?” She nodded. “Say it out loud.”

Alex searched his face, the reality of what had happened settling in, knowing but not believing what was coming. “Got it.”

“Good. Now, stay put. I don’t want to cuff you while you’re bleeding, but I will if I have to. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Alex listened as Rossi called for backup and two ambulances, watching as he felt Dwayne’s neck for a pulse they both knew had vanished. She paid close attention as he inspected the room, taking pictures with his phone of Dwayne’s body, the location of shell casings, and a bullet hole in the ceiling from Dwayne’s gun and one in the wall behind her courtesy of Odyessy, then wider shots of the room from each direction.

She realized that she was the focus of Rossi’s examination and that he was building a case that could send her to prison for the rest of her life. It was enough to sharpen her senses and overcome the initial shock of the shooting. She watched for any mistakes he might make, mistakes that could mean the difference between conviction and acquittal, disappointed but not surprised when she didn’t find any.

She looked at Dwayne’s body, waiting for some emotion, any emotion, to sweep over her, but none came. She’d killed a man and she felt nothing. She wondered if or when she would and what it would mean if she didn’t, certain that when Judge West told her to break the rules, this wasn’t what he had in mind.

Rossi was going by the book, securing the scene, keeping both her and Odyessy under control and quiet so that neither could influence or be influenced by the other, waiting until help arrived before questioning them. Soon detectives, uniformed cops, paramedics, someone from the coroner’s office, and a CSI team would be crawling all over the house.

She was about to be dropped into the muddy waters of the criminal justice system, left to sink or swim. Thinking about the conspiracy she’d entered into with Judge West, she shook her head, remembering a question her mother used to ask when their best-laid plans went horribly wrong. Who said God didn’t have a sense of humor?

It didn’t take long for the troops to arrive. A freshly scrubbed and earnest paramedic cleaned and dressed her wound.

“The bullet barely got you. The blood always makes it look worse than it is.”

“Tell that to him,” Alex said, nodding at Dwayne’s body.

The paramedic pulled back, slack jawed. “You’re kidding right?”

Alex blushed, embarrassed at her reaction. Bonnie had told her countless stories from the ER about how inappropriately some people responded to traumatic stress. They weren’t all jerks, Bonnie explained. It’s just that death and mayhem can aggravate the worst instincts. She’d joined their ranks.

“Bad time for gallows humor, huh? Sorry.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” he said, losing interest in her. “I don’t think you need stitches. If it keeps bleeding, have someone take a look at it.”

Rossi waited until the paramedic patched her up, offering Alex a hand to help her to her feet.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

She followed him outside to a late-model dark brown Crown Victoria sedan with enough dings in the fenders and rust on the body to make it a standard-issue unmarked police car. Gardiner Harris was standing next to the rear passenger door.

The last time she’d cross-examined Harris, she’d forced him to admit that he had consumed a bottle of wine before responding to a late-night crime scene. That he’d been off duty and hadn’t expected to be called out didn’t soften the blow. Harris gave her a devil’s grin as he opened the rear passenger door. She slid in as Rossi went around to the driver’s side and joined her in the back while Harris got behind the wheel.

Alex knew that this was where many cases were won or lost-depending on which side you were on. In these moments the odds were stacked heavily in favor of the cops. Suspects on their way to being defendants were out of their element, shocked, scared, stupid, or all three. Some tried to talk their way out of trouble. Others were too easily led into it. Few could resist the instinct to explain or defend themselves. She made a vow not to be one of them.

Rossi let out a long breath. “Hell of a thing that happened in there. You want to tell us what happened?”

“No,” Alex answered.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not an idiot.”

“Look, Alex, we’re just trying to figure this thing out, not that anybody is going to shed a tear over Dwayne except maybe for Odyessy, and she’ll be so high by sundown she’ll forget him by morning. You’re the only one we can rely on to explain this mess.”

“Sorry.”

“How about we get you a cold drink or something?” Harris offered.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“What would you like?” Rossi asked.

“A lawyer,” Alex said.

Harris pretended not to hear. “Odyessy Shelburne said you shot her son in cold blood, like he was a damn dog, is how she put it. You not cooperating doesn’t leave us much choice but to believe her and arrest you.”

“C’mon, Alex. You know you’re not helping yourself any,” Rossi said.

“I know that talking to you without a lawyer is the worst thing I can do,” Alex answered.

“You’re a lawyer,” Harris said. “Aren’t you good enough?”

“Like Abe Lincoln said, a lawyer who represents herself has a fool for a client, and I’m nobody’s fool.”

“How about this,” Rossi countered. “Let us test you for gunpowder residue on your hands. If it comes back clean, that would put you in the clear.”

“I’ll pass.”

Rossi sighed. “Then you know we’ve got to arrest you, and when we do, we don’t need your consent to test you.”

“You’ll have to get a search warrant first.”

“Counselor,” Rossi said, “we both know I don’t need one after I arrest you. Preserving evidence of gunpowder residue under exigent circumstances is grounds for a warrantless search, and I’d say these circumstances are pretty goddamn exigent.”

Alex cocked her head to one side, giving him a sly smile. “So why bother asking?”

“Have it your way,” Rossi said, squaring around to face her head-on. “Alex Stone, you’re under arrest for the murder of Dwayne Reed. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You are entitled to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?”

“Better than you do, Detective.”

Harris signaled a CSI tech waiting nearby. The tech opened the rear passenger door.

“Step outside the car, ma’am,” she said.

Alex complied, and the tech pressed the gummed surface of a small block against her hands, her forearms, and the sleeves of her jacket and shirt. When she finished, Rossi tapped Alex on the arm.

“Hands behind your back, Counselor.”

He strapped plastic cuffs on her wrists, pushed her head down as he guided her back into the car. They exchanged looks. His grim, hers resigned. Rossi closed the door and clapped his hand on the roof of the car.

“She’s all yours,” he said to Harris.