Beach Thriller(50)
“I’ll make a call, sweetie—or we could go to the station together,” said Gail. “If I can sell a house that’s not even on the market, I can certainly help you peek at an old case file.”
* * *
After Gail left, Holly set out to write at the beach. She settled into her chair at a spot near the shoreline, away from the umbrellas and noisy children. Though the sun hid behind clouds, Holly still lathered on plenty of sunscreen and wore a wide-brimmed hat made of dyed blue straw. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, reminding her you can still get sunburned on cloudy days.
The steady wind turned the sea frothy and rough. Holly put pen to paper and started to write.
Thirty minutes later, she had nothing but a stiff neck, achy butt, and plenty of scratch marks on the page. At least the ibuprofen was helping with her headache.
When her phone rang, Holly couldn’t have been more relieved. She’d take any distraction from her pitiful efforts. The sun’s glare made it impossible to see the caller.
She answered and was surprised to hear the voice of her lawyer, Allen Spellman.
“Glad I caught you,” he said after exchanging pleasantries. “I’ve got some news on our local cop.”
Holly moved to the edge of her beach chair, pushing it deeper into the sand.
“There are some disturbing allegations against him,” Allen continued.
She wrote on her pad: Dirty cop. “What kind of allegations?”
Allen cleared his throat. “Tom Walker was briefly suspended after a woman he’d arrested accused him of offering her a free pass in exchange for a little something in return if you know what I mean. The claim went nowhere—he said/she said kind of thing. But where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire.”
Holly cringed. “So there might be other women out there who were let go after being coerced into giving him sexual favors? That’s horrifying.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, but they were probably afraid to come forward. And remember how his wife left him? I wonder if she found out what he was up to.”
The idea of a corrupt cop abusing his power was hardly new. A cold shiver ran through Holly as she remembered Walker blocking her attempt to access Anna’s case file.
“I hate to tell you this,” Allen continued, “but, did you know Anna was nearly arrested?”
Holly’s throat closed. “Arrested? No … I know Maeve Carmichael accused her of stealing when she worked at Miramar—earrings or something, but she didn’t do it.”
“Well, Maeve did more than accuse. She called the cops and filed charges. The police investigated and spoke to Anna, but those charges were dropped. And the attending officer was none other than…”
“Tom Walker,” Holly guessed.
“You got it.”
“What if…” Holly had trouble getting the words out. “What if he made the same deal with my sister, and that’s why the charges were dropped?”
She remembered the jewelry incident and was sure someone had framed Anna, probably Elizabeth Ward, Conrad’s jealous fiancée. But the thought that it had turned into something so depraved made her stomach roil.
“My source at the PD told me there’s an incident report on file,” Allen continued.
“Can you send me the report?”
Allen’s sigh came through loud and clear. “My source can’t release it—it’s against department protocol. But I’ll see if I can get more details for you.”
The ocean waves grew larger and more menacing, mirroring Holly’s darkening mood. A new revelation took hold: Tom Walker wasn’t just a menace; he might also be a killer. Had Anna threatened to expose his predatory behavior, and that’s how she ended up in a house fire on the Carmichaels’ property?
It made sense to Holly why Anna had kept her in the dark about her near arrest, especially if Walker had done something to her. Shame was a powerful silencer. Or maybe Anna had tried to be brave, not wanting to burden her younger sister with her suffering. That was just like Anna, always there to protect her.
Holly thanked Allen for the insights—and for his generous check. “Really, it couldn’t have come at a better time. I was getting desperate.”
“It’s no problem. You can repay me after the funds clear. And if you need a little more, let me know.”
Holly resisted the urge to tell him she might be knocking on his door again soon.
* * *
Back at the cottage, Holly prepared lunch, if an apple and peanut butter counted as such. Ethan was gone for the day, so the house was quiet.
She went back to work, sitting on the couch, staring at her legal pad, full of self-loathing. Chester lay curled atop her copy of Meow Mindfulness, mocking her as if he and King Fluff were blood brothers.
Holly ended her pity party, reminding herself that her job was somebody’s dream—which only made her feel worse. So she did what most writers in her situation did: scrolled through social media. Such a mistake.
Two seconds in, Holly was writing a condolence tribute for a lost pet and another for a grandparent who had passed. Then she felt guilty about not donating to a GoFundMe for a boy she didn’t know who’d lost his parents in a car accident, a post from a total stranger that somehow wormed its way into her feed. Of course, morbid curiosity made her read the details.