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“Finish your food and then we go to the authorities, okay?”
He smiled gratefully and dug in. I couldn’t stand the thought of Ronan being in prison for one more minute, but Frankie wolfed down his sandwich and drained his soup bowl, and we went outside to call an Uber—I wouldn’t have him in my car alone.
We waited in the bright April sun for our ride to arrive. Any minute, I expected Frankie’s cackling laugh that said I’d fallen for his sick joke. Then I took a closer look at his drooping eyelid and shuffling gait and knew he was telling the truth.
At the station, I was directed to the Investigations Division where I asked to speak to Detective Harris.
The detective’s eyes widened as he walked up. “Hello, Shiloh…and Frankie Dowd.”
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I asked.
Harris stared at Frankie as if he’d seen a ghost. “Sure.”
He led us to a small room—white walls, a table with a chair on either side, and a two-sided mirror. I wondered if Ronan had been questioned in this room before he was arrested for the crime he didn’t commit.
Frankie sank into one of the chairs; Harris took the other. I remained standing like a guard in case he decided to bolt. “Tell him what you told me.”
Frankie took a breath and told Harris everything. The detective’s face remained impassive as he listened, but his eyes widened more than once.
“You’re willing to put this in writing, Frankie? Because making false allegations—especially allegations that lead to a wrongful conviction—is a serious crime. You could do real time.”
Frankie shrugged his skinny shoulders. “I’ll have a roof over my head, anyway.”
Harris studied him a moment, and I held my breath, but Frankie didn’t back down.
“Okay. I’ll make some calls. Frankie, stay put for a bit—I’ll have a few more questions for you. Shiloh?” Harris motioned for me to step outside with him.
“When?” I blurted when he shut the door. “When will Ronan get out? Because this changes everything, right? He’s innocent. He’s always been innocent.”
Harris held up a hand. “It’s a process. There will be a hearing before a judge. Frankie has to make an affidavit and I’ll have to haul Mikey Grimaldi in for making a false police report. He might put up a fight. But Frankie’s willing to risk jailtime by coming forward. If he recants and says Ronan didn’t do it, that holds a lot of weight—more, now that we have the full history between Mitch and Ronan.”
I nodded, absorbing every word, then tensed up all over again when Harris rubbed his chin, frowning. “What is it?”
“Shiloh, I’ve been friends with your grandma for a long time,” he said. “All of us here at the station love Bibi. But we can’t let friendships interfere with doing our jobs.”
“Okay…”
“But sometimes the job becomes everything. You get a suspect in the room; he’s got a history of violence with the victim. He’s got banged up knuckles…” He shook his head. “You get excited that you nailed your perp, case closed. And nine times out of ten, you’re right. It’s Occam’s Razor: the simplest explanation is the best and almost always the truth.”
I crossed my arms, my voice low. “Not always.”
“Not alw
ays,” he agreed grimly. “As soon as I saw you come in here with Frankie Dowd, I knew. I knew this was the one time in ten that we’d made a huge fucking mistake. I’m sorry I didn’t dig deeper, especially considering what I knew about Mitch. I’m sorry about that, Shiloh.”
I swallowed hard. “Thank you, Detective Harris. But if that’s the case, I would appreciate your help now. If there’s any chance the judge believes Mikey or wants to keep Ronan where he is…”
He smiled gently. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
I left the station and went back to Rare Earth but only to secure the inventory, lock up for the day, and drive home. I parked in the garage at our house and came in through the kitchen. Antoinette, the day nurse, was making a pot of tea.
“Hey, Toni,” I said. “How’s it going over here?”
She smiled her megawatt smile. “You’re home early. Bibi’s taking a nap and—”
A playful squeal sounded from the living room. Toni grinned wider. “Someone else is not taking a nap.”
I hung up my sweater on the back of the kitchen door. “You can cut out early if you want. I’ll take it from here.”
