Page 8 of Shield
“That would be Heloise Grant, admin?”
“Yeah, the perp—do you even use that word?”
“Not really.”
“Oh.” I blinked at him. “Yeah, well, I heard banging, and she was locked in the janitor’s closet, crying. I helped her out. She may have seen something I missed?”
“My partner is interviewing her.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll take it from here. Just a few more questions and then, you can get your girls or go see Joe at the hospital.”
“Thank you.”
“What is the nature of your volunteering here?” he asked.
“Is that relevant?” I asked quickly.
My secrets were mine, and Jackson could well talk to his ex-brother-in-law, who’d talk to Michael Zhang, and then, he’d talk to his brother, Charles, and the entire team could know. I didn’t want them to learn everything about me yet. I didn’t trust anyone enough to explain. Yet.
We entered an epic stare-off, and then he shrugged.
“I’ll just write volunteering,” he said.
Jackson stood, his tall frame unfolding in the cramped space. “One last thing, Mr. Cowan. Did you notice anything else unusual? Anything out of place in the room? Any sign of drugs, or?—”
“Joe has done nothing wrong. He wouldn’t break the law if it meant saving his own life.” I was damn fierce in his defense.
“I’ve seen the best people cross ethical lines for the strongest of reasons. Maybe Joe was dealing to get money for the clinic, maybe he’d made a deal with the local gangs to?—”
“No. There are no deals, whatever you mean by that. The local guys come in with their families—they need this place as much as anyone else, sick parents, or kids who need help. This is a good place, and Joe is a good man.” I stared at the cop, who was being an asshole. “Check your bias at the door, Officer,” I snapped.
Jackson blinked at me, then his gaze softened for a second, and I could see a hint of empathy in his hardened gaze. I thought he might defend himself, but he just looked so damn tired, as if he’d seen so much that he couldn’t see the good in things. I felt a twinge of sympathy, but kept it hidden.
“If you remember anything else, anything at all, call me.” He handed me a card with his number on it, and I knew I was scowling at him, but all he did was half-smile.
“I will,” I said, taking the card gently and not snatching at it like my temper wanted me to.
As Jackson turned to leave, his steps echoing slightly in the hollow room, I realized one more thing.
“Detective Jackson,” I called out before he left.
He paused at the door, peering back. “Yeah?”
“He said something to Joe before running out. ‘Get the fucking codes!’ I don’t know what that means. I get it was a threat, but Joe was mostly out of it by then.”
“Was he threatening you?”
I reared back. “Shit, no. He was shaking Joe.”
Jackson gave a slight nod, pulled out his book, made a note, then, with a dip of his head, was gone. After he left, I was alone with the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights, the scent of ink and paper, and my temper began to ease.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Heloise came over and sat next to me, her hands in knots, mascara blotchy under her eyes. We didn’t talk for a moment, both lost in what had happened.
“I didn’t see much,” she murmured. “They kept asking, but…” Her voice dissolved into sobs. “He just shoved me.”
