Barbara McMahon – Truth Be Told (страница 5)

The video store was open, customers wandering through the rows of movies. Most of the other stores had closed at six. She wondered if there were any all-night places in town, then had to remind herself this was Maraville, not L.A.

Moments later Jo approached the hospital. The parking lot was less than half full, the emergency entrance quiet. The brick building was small compared to the hospitals she frequently visited in the line of duty. This one had been built to serve the county and was rarely used to capacity.

She reached the wide double doors and stopped. Beyond the threshold she could see the brightly lit lobby, with a woman at an information desk. A couple sat near the elevators as if waiting for someone. A man passed her and held the door.

She took a breath and shook her head. She wasn’t ready.

She had come from California for this express purpose, and yet she couldn’t make herself walk inside.

Jo wasn’t sure how long she stood outside the doors before turning and retracing her steps. She would have to come back tomorrow. Tonight was impossible.

When she reached the town square, she found an empty bench and sat. In the playground area of the nearby park, children laughed and shrieked as they slid down the slide or were pushed higher and higher on the swings by indulgent parents. A woman walked her dog on the far side. The scene was…peaceful. Unlike her neighborhood in L.A.

Jo had a thousand memories of Maraville. Many good. She should focus on those. It had been a quiet, sleepy, Southern town. Nothing inherently bad. All places had bad people living in them. She couldn’t condemn an entire town because of one man.

“Taking a walk down memory lane?” a familiar voice asked.

She looked up and to her left. Sam Witt stood there. She hadn’t noticed his arrival.

“Sort of.”

He sat on the bench beside her. “Nice time of day,” he said, taking off his hat and putting it on the bench between them.

“Mmm.” She wasn’t up to small talk with the sheriff. Her own badge was burning a hole in her back pocket. She should give him the courtesy of identifying herself. But right now to do anything seemed too much effort.

“Been to see Maddie?” he guessed.

“Went there, didn’t go in,” she confessed.

“Tough visiting someone sick,” he said.

“I screwed up. I need to apologize.” She could never make up for the damage her accusation caused. Was it that thought that kept her from going in tonight? Or fear of the repudiation she expected from Maddie?

She hated knowing she was just plain scared.

“I looked into your file, you know,” he said. “Sloppy piece of police work. There was never a resolution to the crime. No charges were filed, no suspicions even noted.”

“I’m sure there weren’t. Sheriff Halstead didn’t believe me.”

“He didn’t even report the person you accused,” Sam said.

Jo knew he was fishing. Maybe it was too late to do anything about the crime against her, but she hated that the man had gotten away with it. What could she do to let people know the truth? Had he tried to rape other young girls since she’d left? The thought made her shudder. Yet when she’d told the law, nothing had been done.

She needed to talk to Maddie first, then she’d open up to Sam Witt. A sheriff ought to know what was going on in his jurisdiction.

SAM LEANED BACK ON the bench, wondering why he was trying to make conversation with a woman who obviously didn’t want to talk. His effort wasn’t all about trying to learn what really happened twelve years ago. He sensed an aloneness in her that was at odds with her attitude. He chastised himself. So now he was playing Dudley Do-Right? Trying to make everything okay for this stranger? Patty would say it was like him.

The thought of his wife brought the familiar ache into focus. Three years and he still missed her.

“Seem odd to be back?” he asked, refocusing on the situation at hand.

She nodded, not looking at him, her gaze on the children in the park.

“Staying long?” Getting her to talk was worse than interrogating hardened criminals.

She turned and looked at him. “I’m here for as long as I want to be. You have a problem with that?”

He recognized the cocky attitude as a cover-up. Touchy. “Not as long as you don’t cause any problems.”

She reached in her back pocket and pulled out a leather wallet, flipping it open with practiced ease.

The gleam of the gold badge caught his eye. He took the wallet and read the identification card. Jo was a detective with the LAPD. That did surprise him. He tossed it back to her and studied her for a moment.

Just to yank her chain, he said, “Still, don’t be causing trouble in my town.”

CHAPTER TWO

“YOUR TOWN?” JO SAID, replacing the wallet.

“Adopted town.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“New Orleans before here. Born in Baton Rouge.”

“Quite a change of venue,” she said.

“I worked in the Big Easy PD a number of years.”

“Been here long?” she asked.

“A little over two years now.”

“And compared to New Orleans, this is satisfying?” she asked.

“It suits me. I worked the narcotics detail. It’s a never-ending battle.”

“But it’s a battle that has to be fought. I’m in drugs myself.”

Sam knew what she meant. It even made sense, remembering the dossier he’d read on Jo Hunter. Her mother was an addict. Kids often became crusaders against drugs—if they didn’t start using themselves.

“If you’re not going to the hospital, I’ll give you a ride home,” he said a few moments later. She seemed at a loss and Sam’s instincts rose. Part of the job of a cop was to help people, not only to catch criminals. He wanted to help this young woman, even though she probably didn’t feel she needed help. The attitude of hers would only cover so much.

She slanted him a glance. “Won’t that look great, first night home and already riding in a cop car.” He caught the hint of amusement.

“I’ll turn on the siren if you like,” he said.

She laughed at that and his breath hitched. She was lovely when she wasn’t trying to look and act like a street punk.

“Are you in disguise?” he asked.

“Undercover detail. I infiltrate high schools. Classy, huh?” she asked in self-mockery.

“You look young enough for it. Any luck?”

“Oh, yeah. More than I want. Several busts in the past couple of years. So three high schools and a junior high are safe for a little while. Until the next slimeball starts up trafficking. It’s a never-ending war, but one I’m willing to wage forever to rid the world of such bastards.”

“I felt that way.”

“Burned out?” she guessed.

Sam shrugged. Partially that, of course. But Patty’s death had been the final straw. He’d tried hard to make the world a better place, and lost his wife along the way. If he’d listened to her, they would have moved to a place like Maraville long ago, established comfortable lives, and Patty wouldn’t have been on that road the night the drunk careered into her.

“I’ll take you up on that ride, then screw up my courage to see Maddie in the morning.”

He rose. “Sounds like a plan.”

She stood beside him, coming to his chin. She was slender, almost boyish in figure. But strong-looking. Her bare arms were toned and tanned, probably from spending time at the beach in Southern California. He wondered what her hair looked like when it wasn’t spiked. Shorter than he liked on a woman.

He shook off the thought. He wasn’t interested in Jo Hunter as a woman. Was he?

She climbed into the passenger’s side of the car while Sam got behind the wheel.

“Was Jack over to dinner tonight?” he asked.

“Yes. He and Cade both. I felt the odd man out.”