Page 55 of Innocent Intent

“Let’s go inside and talk.” Davis remained hovering over Cassidy while she turned to face the door. His body brushed hers as she held the key card up and waited for access to enter. She stepped inside, and when Davis didn’t follow, he explained. “Leave the door open. I’ll be right there. I need a minute.” She nodded and didn’t question him further. He joined her moments later, and once inside, they both moved to the tiny table in the corner near the bed.

Davis filled one chair, legs set wide, arms lazy in his lap until he lifted one and allowed it to rest on the table. Cassidy sat with her spine straight after she kicked off her flats and tucked one leg beneath her. He took note of how nervous she was.

“I supposed you want to know how that happened since it’s immensely frowned upon.”

“I’d rather know if your relationship with him is why you’ve been questioning things with the Arnold case all these years later.”

“Yes.” She huffed as her shoulders deflated. “It feels good actually to say that out loud. I’ve been wanting to for a while. I just . . .” She shook her head and lowered her eyes. “Who could I hand my concerns over to? So many lives would be affected. The department, the families that received justice because of my testimony. It would be such a mess.”

“They would, but the truth is the truth, Cass. Sometimes, the truth is ugly.”

“What Arnold did was uglier. Those women . . .” She paused and swallowed. “He was guilty. There was never a doubt in my mind, and had I not handled things the way I did, he would have gone free—again.”

“What exactly did you do?” Davis’s body was stiff with anxiety while he waited. He didn’t want to believe Cassidy to be dishonorable, and even if she lied, that didn’t make her one. Only someone who chose to serve a greater justice than the facts presented would have allowed. He would never judge. How the hell could he? No one was perfect—least of all him.

Here he was, sitting across from a beautiful woman, wanting the opportunity to have more of her than he should be allowed to have. He desperately wanted that opportunity.

“His wife and daughter were his alibi. They both remembered him being home that night. Arnold and his wife argued. It got bad. Their stories contradicted, but there was no way to prove the timeline for him being home that night.”

“Did you believe them?”

“The wife, no. She’d lied for him before. They had him, but she provided an alibi, and he got away with killing another woman. She knew who he truly was back then. I could see it in her eyes when I watched the tape of when I talked to her. She believed him guilty back then and with Allison’s case. There was no missing the truth. I felt her lies, and she knew I had.”

“Then what’s the problem? It doesn’t seem like you did anything wrong.”

“I didn’t,” she quietly defended.

“What am I missing, Cass?” Davis frowned at Cassidy, and she looked away when she said the next thing.

“His daughter. I believed her. She wasn’t lying, and she remembered him being there. The wife wasn’t credible. Everyone knew her history of lying for Arnold, but his daughter, she would have raised reasonable doubt. I kept my true thoughts out of my notes that I believed the daughter’s testimony when she said her father was home during the time of the murder. One slip, a small margin of doubt, and he would be free again. I shouldn’t have caved, but . . .”

“Trent convinced you to?”

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“He used you, Cass. He was your superior. Your training officer and someone you should have been able to trust. He took advantage of the fact that he was sleeping with you to manipulate the case.”

“But I agreed.”

“You did, and there’s accountability for your role, but he should have never asked.”

“Right, but there’s not much I can do about it now. It just . . .”

“Haunts you?”

Cassidy’s eyes expressed so much remorse. “I lied to her. His daughter. She asked me if I believed her, and I said yes. I made her a promise to make sure everyone knew that she was telling the truth, which I broke. She was a kid protecting her family. No matter how dysfunctional they were, they were hers. I can’t blame the child for wanting to protect her father . . .”

“Who was a rapist and a murderer.”

“You don’t think I know who and what he was? That I haven’t gone over my decision a million and one times trying to justify my actions?”

“I’m sure you have. With the case file and all the notes and questions, I know you have.”

“Which makes me a horrible person.”

He shook his head. “Not a horrible person. Someone with a conscience who considered the greater good, and that’s okay.”

She nodded. “So now what? You know what I did.”

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