Page 76 of Steady Stroke
Driving southon a Monday morning was steady sailing all the way to Coastal Highway, where they hit the typical beach traffic, and they rolled up near Beatrice’s driveway a little after eleven. Emmett stared at the black sedan parked on the street in front of the house. Both Beatrice’s car and Adrian’s pickup were there, so someone was visiting.
The official-looking vehicle made Emmett’s stomach give a funny wobble, and he couldn’t make himself open the door.
Lincoln was already out, overnight bag in hand from their trip, and watching him curiously. They’d planned to hang here for lunch, before going over to the club for practice, but Emmett didn’t want to go inside. And he had no idea why.
“Dude, you okay?” Roxy asked.
Her voice snapped him back to reality. “Yeah, sure. Thanks for driving me.”
“Not a problem. I think Starr has a baby crush on you, though.”
He forced a soft chuckle but felt no mirth. “Fantastic. See you later.”
Lincoln didn’t bother concealing his concern when Emmett finally ejected himself from Roxy’s car. “Is someone here? Is that what’s freaking you out?”
“I think so. I don’t know.” Those types of dark sedans reminded him of the cars lawyers drove.
He grabbed Lincoln’s offered hand and let himself be led up the walk to the front door. He let Lincoln open that door and tug him inside. Aunt Beatrice was sitting on the couch with a man who made Emmett’s stomach erupt with acid.
“Emmett,” she said as she stood, her face giving nothing away. “You remember Detective Lyons?”
“Of course.” Emmett made no move to shake the man’s hand. He couldn’t even step away from the entry. “What’s going on?”
Lyons smiled. “We finally arrested Chandler Gunn.”
Emmett swayed, everything going gray for a moment. Two arms cinched around his waist, and he leaned hard into Lincoln, not trusting his own legs to support him. “You found evidence?”
“Yes, we did. We brought him in this morning on charges of arson, assault, and second-degree murder.”
Lincoln gasped. “This guy set the fire?”
Emmett could only nod. For a year and a half, he’d lived in hope that the police would find some kind of physical evidence linking Chandler to the crime. They had motive, but no actual evidence that Chandler had been involved. Nothing that could be used in court to convince a jury he’d thrown the Molotov cocktail through a bedroom window and caused the deaths of three people.
Lincoln led him over to the love seat and tugged him down. He stayed close while Emmett tried to absorb what was happening. All he could find was one word: “How?”
“The guy who gave him an alibi for the night of the fire?Pete Monroe?” Lyons said. “We found surveillance footage placing him inside of a bar on the other side of town for three hours, all of which occurred during the time the fire began. We brought him in, showed him the footage, and he admitted Chandler forced him to lie. Chandler said if he didn’t give him an alibi, he would tell police that Pete gave him the diesel fuel that he used to make the cocktail.”
“Is that true?” Lincoln asked.
“I’m sorry, you are?”
“Lincoln West.” Emmett squeezed his hand to show it was okay to say it. “I’m Emilio’s boyfriend.”
The detective blinked once, then nodded. “Pete admitted he gave Chandler the fuel, yes. He says he didn’t know why Chandler needed it at first, and that Chandler trapped him into the alibi after the fire occurred. Pete has agreed to plead guilty to a misdemeanor in exchange for testifying against Chandler.”
“Has Chandler admitted what he did?”
“Not yet. He asked for his lawyer right away. My partner is still at the station, in the small hope that he’ll want to cut a deal. Confess to what he did now that we have a witness against him.”
“But doesn’t cutting a deal usually mean he gets off easier?” Lincoln’s sharp tone made Emmett want to turn around and hug him. He was able to ask all of the questions Emmett wasn’t even sure how to voice, much less express his concerns over the eventual outcome of this arrest.
“In most cases, yes it does,” Lyons said. “To be frank, many cases are pled out and deals are made because trials are expensive. They take a lot of time, they cost a lot of money, and in a case like this, it would create a lot of spectacle in the local and state news.”
“Why?”
“Because it was a hate crime,” Emmett said. His voice wasas raw as his emotions, strained close to breaking. “He bullied me in school for being Muslim. For being Syrian. Accused my family of being ISIS plants. He made people scared of us.” Hate and fear warred inside of him, leaving him alternately hot and cold. “When my father was selected to a board of trustees over Chandler’s dad, he told me to my face that he was going to burn our house down with all of us inside it and rid the world of four more dirty Muslims.”
His voice did break then, and with that crack came hot tears. Chandler had cornered him in the locker room, no one else around, and he’d said those words with so much rage that a terrified Emilio Sharif had believed him. He’d told the principal, who did nothing. He told his parents, who reported it to the police, who did nothing. No one put his statements on record, so the police had nothing to go on after the fire, except Emilio’s own word.
