Read Online Crash and Burn by Allison Brennan, Laura Griffin - Free Book Online
Authors: Allison Brennan, Laura Griffin
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Isaac, you’re a smart guy most of the time. Don’t talk to Bishop without a lawyer.”
A half smile curved his lips. She could see the Isaac of the past, the one who hadn’t been in prison for attempted murder. The one who had tossed his daughter in the air, gone to her ballet recitals and coached her softball team. One vile predator had not only hurt a little girl, but had destroyed her family in the process. It was criminals like that child predator who made Scarlet want to be a cop in the first place, and criminals like him who helped Scarlet understand men like Isaac.
She didn’t feel sorry for him—he’d made the choice to beat his kid’s teacher to a pulp—but she understood him. Empathize. Even respect.
“The system is fucked,” she said, “but it also works most of the time. Innocent people need lawyers more than the guilty.” She was pretty sure most lawyers would disagree with her, but she didn’t care. Innocent people believed in the system, and didn’t think they needed to protect their rights because they didn’t believe they’d done anything wrong. “Tell me what happened after I went upstairs last night. Everything.”
He assessed her. Isaac was formidable with broad shoulders and tension that bulged his muscles. She’d never seen him relax, not completely. Scarlet could see him beating a child predator to death. She couldn’t see him shooting an arrogant college prick in cold blood. She didn’t know why that made her feel better, but it did.
“I told Detective Bishop the truth, and I’ll tell you. None of those college kids came back after we ran out the red shirt. The last customer left at one-thirty. I had already cleaned up, and I set the alarm at about one-forty. I walked Heather to her car, which was near the church, then I came back here and hopped on my bike.” Isaac rode a motorcycle. There was no parking at the bar or pretty much anywhere on the peninsula unless you were lucky enough to have a tiny garage or could find street parking. A bike was a lot easier to park than even Scarlet’s Jeep.
“That means I drove away sometime around two a.m. I didn’t check my watch, I wasn’t really thinking about much of anything, just getting home to crash before I had to open up. I didn’t see anyone hanging around the area, and I didn’t hear a gun shot.”
“The gun shot woke me up at ten after,” she said. “You swear to me, none of those kids returned after I left. Right?”
He practically growled at her. “That’s what I said. You don’t believe me?”
“I do,” she said. “Just making sure.” Her old interviewing techniques. Ask the same question a half-dozen different ways and see if the answer changed. “When did you get home?”
“It only takes ten minutes to get to my place in Costa Mesa in the middle of the night. But I can’t prove when I got there. I live in an apartment on Harbor. Most of my neighbors wouldn’t talk to the cops even if they did see me. And it was after two in the morning.”
“So he has no proof. Unless he can tie you to the murders with physical evidence or a witness, he can’t prove you killed anyone.”
“Which he won’t find because I didn’t do it.” He hesitated, and Scarlet pushed.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He didn’t say anything.
Scarlet held out her hand. “Give me a dollar. From your wallet.”
“I don’t want you getting in the middle of this.”
“I already am.”
Isaac reached into his pocket and took out four quarters. Dropped them into her outstretched palm.
She closed her fist. “As far as Moreno is concerned, you’ve hired me.”
“I don’t think there’s such a thing as PI-client privilege.”
“Just work with me here. What did you forget to tell Moreno?”
He glanced around and made sure no one was listening. “I ran the kid’s name off his credit card. The one who confronted me. Richard Sanders.”
Her stomach sank. “And?”
“Well, I got his address. Before he was
A half smile curved his lips. She could see the Isaac of the past, the one who hadn’t been in prison for attempted murder. The one who had tossed his daughter in the air, gone to her ballet recitals and coached her softball team. One vile predator had not only hurt a little girl, but had destroyed her family in the process. It was criminals like that child predator who made Scarlet want to be a cop in the first place, and criminals like him who helped Scarlet understand men like Isaac.
She didn’t feel sorry for him—he’d made the choice to beat his kid’s teacher to a pulp—but she understood him. Empathize. Even respect.
“The system is fucked,” she said, “but it also works most of the time. Innocent people need lawyers more than the guilty.” She was pretty sure most lawyers would disagree with her, but she didn’t care. Innocent people believed in the system, and didn’t think they needed to protect their rights because they didn’t believe they’d done anything wrong. “Tell me what happened after I went upstairs last night. Everything.”
He assessed her. Isaac was formidable with broad shoulders and tension that bulged his muscles. She’d never seen him relax, not completely. Scarlet could see him beating a child predator to death. She couldn’t see him shooting an arrogant college prick in cold blood. She didn’t know why that made her feel better, but it did.
“I told Detective Bishop the truth, and I’ll tell you. None of those college kids came back after we ran out the red shirt. The last customer left at one-thirty. I had already cleaned up, and I set the alarm at about one-forty. I walked Heather to her car, which was near the church, then I came back here and hopped on my bike.” Isaac rode a motorcycle. There was no parking at the bar or pretty much anywhere on the peninsula unless you were lucky enough to have a tiny garage or could find street parking. A bike was a lot easier to park than even Scarlet’s Jeep.
“That means I drove away sometime around two a.m. I didn’t check my watch, I wasn’t really thinking about much of anything, just getting home to crash before I had to open up. I didn’t see anyone hanging around the area, and I didn’t hear a gun shot.”
“The gun shot woke me up at ten after,” she said. “You swear to me, none of those kids returned after I left. Right?”
He practically growled at her. “That’s what I said. You don’t believe me?”
“I do,” she said. “Just making sure.” Her old interviewing techniques. Ask the same question a half-dozen different ways and see if the answer changed. “When did you get home?”
“It only takes ten minutes to get to my place in Costa Mesa in the middle of the night. But I can’t prove when I got there. I live in an apartment on Harbor. Most of my neighbors wouldn’t talk to the cops even if they did see me. And it was after two in the morning.”
“So he has no proof. Unless he can tie you to the murders with physical evidence or a witness, he can’t prove you killed anyone.”
“Which he won’t find because I didn’t do it.” He hesitated, and Scarlet pushed.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He didn’t say anything.
Scarlet held out her hand. “Give me a dollar. From your wallet.”
“I don’t want you getting in the middle of this.”
“I already am.”
Isaac reached into his pocket and took out four quarters. Dropped them into her outstretched palm.
She closed her fist. “As far as Moreno is concerned, you’ve hired me.”
“I don’t think there’s such a thing as PI-client privilege.”
“Just work with me here. What did you forget to tell Moreno?”
He glanced around and made sure no one was listening. “I ran the kid’s name off his credit card. The one who confronted me. Richard Sanders.”
Her stomach sank. “And?”
“Well, I got his address. Before he was
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