chapter 9
WEAK KNEES & SHAKEN TREES
Graham
Bishop had been calledinto the precinct for more questioning, and despite my efforts—even with a statement from the victim—Nettles was determined that he did it. I hated that the captain didn’t believe him. He knew him just as well as I did. And there was no way that this man—a man who spent practically every waking moment helping people—would do this. He volunteered on his days off at foot clinics and homeless shelters for Christ’s sake. If I ever needed medical assistance ASAP, he’d be the guy I’d go to.
“Locke, I need you to take a look at the surveillance tape before we ask him any more questions. Things are not looking good.” Nettles waved me into his office where he had the tape pulled up on his computer.
I leaned over his desk, eyes on the screen, and let out a sigh. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.”
He started the video.
It was dark. The camera faced The Cove, so you could see the houselights reflecting off the black harbor below. At the bottom of the screen, the sidewalk was in view, but the bushes blocked most of it along the right side.
At about thirty seconds in, Mia walked across—hair in a bun, just like she said, headphones on, carrying a backpack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say she looked exactly like Maggie. Then she disappeared behind the bushes.
Two minutes later, Bishop followed her.
Ten minutes later, Mia came crawling into view. Hair down—disheveled, visibly shaken, trying to get away. And right behind her?Bishop.
“Aw, fuck,” I breathed.
What I saw was him trying to calm her, help her up, get her to safety… But what Nettles saw was a predator trying to calm her down and make sure she didn’t say a word—guilty.
I rubbed my eyes. “There’s gotta be a goddamn explanation. Maybe the other guy came from the other direction. Maybe he waited for her. Is there any other video?”
“No. The next camera is three blocks down, and there’s nothing the whole day. It’s a pretty dead part of town.”
“What if he sat and waited? What if he came from The Cove via boat and came up in a spot where a camera never touches?” I asked, grasping at anything to clear Bishop’s name.
“Locke.” Nettles sat on the edge of his desk and pulled the toothpick from the corner of his mouth, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. “There’s nothing. Your pal Bishop’s the guy. I want you to go in there and see if you can figure this mess out.”
We entered the interrogation room. Dark. Cold—icy even. For fuck’s sake, give the man a little heat—almost felt colder in here than it did outside.
“Hey, man. We’ve got a bit of a problem here,” I said, sitting down in front of him. “I know you didn’t do it. But this here…” I gestured to the laptop in Nettles’ hand. “Says otherwise.”
Nettles set the laptop on the desk and played the video. I watched Bishop’s expression change.
“Yeah, that looks really bad. But you know me. I wouldn’t do that.”
“I do. But I also know the goddamned judicial system. And they’re not going to give two fucks about whether I know you or not until we find a way to prove that you didn’t go behind the bushes and try to rape a girl—one that looks an awful lot like the victims in a serial killer slaughter zone—fail, then try to shut her up.”
He placed his head in his hands. When he looked back up, his jaw was tight. “Look, I’ve got nothing. Like I told the captain earlier. I came home from work, saw her struggling with this guy, and tried to help.That’s all.”
“You saw him?” I asked.
Bishop nodded.
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t know, man. It all happened so fast.” He stared at the table, searching his memory. His fingers drummed once against the surface, then stopped. “My height, I guess… maybe a little thinner… he had a hoodie under one of those double-breasted trench coats… and a mask. Yeah, a white mask.”
Same thing Mia said.
“All I know is that he heard me coming and ran.”
“Do you know which way he went?”
