Never Fear by Scott Frost Read Free Book Online Page A

thinking I was Williams’s killer. Even after the detectives had cleared me, the look of suspicion that I was somehow responsible for Williams’s death accompanied every glance my way. In LAPD minds I was an amateur, a woman who had gotten one of their own killed.
    The chief of Pasadena police, Ed Chavez, and Harrison were waiting for me as I stepped out of the paramedics’ truck. EMT had done their best to wash Detective Williams’s blood off me with saline, but it still clung to my pants and stained the skin on my legs. The bandage around my ribs where Hector Lopez had hit me with the baseball bat had softened the searing pain, but each breath was still accompanied by a dull, lingering ache.
    Lacy’s big Latino godfather, the tough ex-marine, took one look at me and began to fume.
    â€œGoddamn LAPD,” Chavez said.
    I looked into his big brown eyes and shook my head. He had spent much of his career protecting me, even when I didn’t need it. The thought that LAPD would have put me in cuffs for even a second was enough to ignite his fuse.
    â€œI really need a bath,” I said.
    He softened, if just a little.
    â€œThey wouldn’t even let me take a look at the scene,” Chavez said.
    The image of Williams’s dark glistening wound and the severed pearl-white windpipe flashed in my mind.
    â€œI could have done without seeing it,” I said.
    They each took an arm and began walking me to my car. There were more than two dozen LAPD units, a SWAT truck, crime-scene investigators, and a mobile command center surrounding the apartment building now. A secure perimeter had been set up in a two-block square. Most of the residents of the building were still out on the street awaiting questioning or because they were afraid to go back inside, thinking a madman was loose in the building.
    We crossed the street and stopped at my car. The smell of smoke was stronger now. Tiny flakes of ash were drifting on the wind, covering windshields like a dusting of snow.
    â€œWhat do I need to know that can’t wait until tomorrow?” Chavez asked.
    I took a careful breath, easing the air past my damaged ribs.
    â€œHe didn’t do this,” I said.
    Chavez looked at me, not understanding.
    â€œI think the wrong man has a target on his back right now,” I said.
    â€œLopez?”
    I nodded. “He told me he didn’t do it.”
    â€œRight after he whacked you with a baseball bat,” Chavez said. “Innocent people don’t whack cops with baseball bats.”
    I glanced at Harrison and saw in his eyes that he understood.
    â€œThere was no reason for him to let you live if he killed Williams,” Harrison said. “He had nothing to gain, not the way Williams died.”
    Chavez chewed on that for a second, then looked over toward the members of SWAT walking by dressed in tactical black and carrying Mac-10 machine guns.
    â€œLAPD has a different opinion,” he said. “We would be doing the same thing if we lost one of our own.”
    â€œThat doesn’t change the fact that Lopez isn’t a killer,” I said.
    â€œSo what is he?”
    â€œHe’s the only person who can ID the man who took the surveillance tape,” Harrison said.
    I started to nod, then realized that might not be entirely accurate.
    â€œThere may be someone else. Dana Courson, my . . . Manning’s girlfriend may have seen him.”
    â€œIf so, she could be in danger,” Harrison said.
    â€œShe said she sensed something was wrong and told him she lived down the hall. He may not know who she is.”
    â€œHe found Lopez,” Harrison said.
    â€œAnd he killed Williams by mistake.”
    Chavez looked at me for a moment. “You think the killer thought he was murdering Lopez?”
    I nodded. “At least until it was already over, then it was too late.”
    â€œAnd Lopez walked in and found a dead cop on his floor,” Chavez