Page 36 of The Secrets We Hide
On the morning that Allison had reached out, Myrna had punched her fist through a window because she’d thought that a demon was on the other side. Blood had sprayed everywhere. The glass had sliced a tendon in her finger. Emmy had been waiting to talk to the hand surgeon when Allison’s name had shown up on the Caller ID. It wasn’t just a fear of losing her cool that had kept Emmy from answering. She hadn’t had the patience to listen yet again to Allison defending Bill, saying he was a good man with a bad temper, that she loved him, that she knew she needed to leave him, that she wasgoing toleave him, that she promised she would go first thing in the morning, that she meant it this time.
Now, Emmy tapped the voicemail. Put the phone to her ear. The sound of Allison’s almost manic tone sent a jolt into her brain—
“Hey, you. I’m sorry it’s so early. I’m hoping you’re asleep right now. I’m leaving this message so that I won’t back out. I want you to know I’ve got a plan. Don’t worry. I’m being careful. I just need a little help. That’s all. Just a little help. You were always so good at figuring things out. Your mama raised a smart girl. Call me back. Bye.”
Emmy returned the phone to her desk. Guilt tightened the vise around her chest again. She should’ve called Allison back immediately, but she had needed a few days to recover from the ordeal with Myrna, to brace herself for yet another conversation with Allison where she invariably backed out.
But now, Emmy could only wonder what would’ve happened if she’d answered the phone at the hospital. If she’d called back the very next morning instead of days later. If she’d helped Allison go to a motel or even offered her and Mandy the pull-out couch.
A plan—that’s what women in abusive relationships were told to have. Don’t just walk out the door. Prepare yourself ahead of time. Gather emergency cash, clothing, important phone numbers and documents, and hide them in a safe place. Practice your escape. Rehearse your plan so you know what you’re going to do if your abuser tries to stop you with his fists.
Was leaving Bill the plan that Allison had been talking about? Or was it a different plan, one that involved obtaining fake IDs and hiding $300,000 in her attic? A plan that had her packing up her bags in the middle of a Saturday morning. A plan that had put her daughter in the hospital and gotten Allison murdered.
A plan that might have worked out if Emmy had only called her back sooner.
Emmy could tell herself that her own life had been in freefall when she’d postponed returning the call. That it was reasonable to prioritize her own family. That Allison had always backed out. That Emmy wasn’t Allison’s only friend. But the fact of the matter was that Emmyhadbeen Allison’s friend. Even without that, Emmy had a duty of care as a law enforcement officer to help an abused woman.
But she had been tired. Just so heart-achingly, bone-crushingly tired. For the last seven years, every second of her life had been trapped in a state of prebereavement. Even now that her mother lay in a grave, she didn’t know how to wrap her head around mourning the loss of a body when the loss of her mother’s mind had been an excruciatingly slow turning of the screw.
Two sharp knocks on the office door pulled Emmy out of her misery. Brett walked in without waiting for an invitation.
“Okey doke.” He slouched into a chair and put his boots up on her desk. “Just got off the phone with Vanderbilt. They finished the door-to-door at Clifton Gardens. Talked to everybody except two folks who are out of town. Nobody saw nothin’ before, during or after the shooting, is the upshot.”
Emmy wasn’t surprised. North Falls residents tended to beproactive in reporting suspicious people in their neighborhoods. They didn’t wait for the cops to knock on their door.
She asked, “How well did you know Allison?”
“Enough to say hey, but that’s about it. You know how the Drama Queen freaks out when I talk to other women.”
Emmy wasn’t a fan of Brett’s wife, but she knew he’d given her good reason to freak out. “Did any of our cases overlap with Allison’s while she was working narcotics?”
“Beats me. You were chief when she was heading the drug squad. That’d be your territory. Why’re you asking?”
Emmy wasn’t going to explain that she was looking for connections between Allison and Woody. She waved for Cole’s attention, beckoning him to join them.
“Yes, boss?” He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. He looked tired. She was about to make his long day even longer.
“I need you to cross-reference any investigations our department worked on with Allison Vickery or the Clayville drug squad.”
“Might wanna expand that,” Brett said. “Something interesting came up during the door-knocks. Couple of the folks thanked us for being in the neighborhood so much. Said it made them feel safe.”
Emmy skipped the part where he was just now deigning to drop this information. “We don’t have any patrols in Clifton Gardens.”
“Exactly,” Brett said. “So, I asked them what color the squad cars were, and they said black with blue stripes.”
There was only one force in the county that drove vehicles with those colors. “What are Clayville squad cars doing patrolling North Falls streets?”
“You can ask Reggie when he shows up. Heard he had to get the fluid drawn off his knee after your little run-in.” Brett gave her a stern look. “You know, Emmy, I’ve never known you to play dirty like that.”
“It’sboss.” Cole’s tone was clipped. “She’s the sheriff, so you should call her boss.”
Emmy snapped, “And Brett’s your superior officer, so you shouldn’t be telling him what to do.”
Cole’s cheeks flushed.
She asked him, “Did you get anything off the doorbell cameras?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed. “Nothing yet. Four cameras caught the sound of gunfire. I emailed the files to you.”
