Page 60 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

“More like a vendetta.”

“Personal?”

“For Beauregard? Who knows? I don’t think so. But we all wanted to solve this one. Everyone working the case tried like hell to be professional and just do our jobs, but those poor kids. Jesus. Never seen anything like it.” He let out a long breath.

The light changed. They were rolling again.

“We all thought the mother was the doer, but we couldn’t prove it, not and make it stick.”

“So Niall had to testify that his mother shot him or you had no case,” Reed said, caught in his own thoughts, not noticing the familiar sights on Bay Street as it turned from West to East.

“That’s about the size of it. Amity was already dead, and little Blythe really didn’t see a whole lot that we could determine. Plus she was only five, hardly a credible witness. But that scared eight-year-old boy, who had to whisper his testimony because of what his own mother had done to him, he was a different story. Flint and the DA knew no jury on earth would let a mother get away with the cold-blooded murder of her child and unborn grandchild if her own injured son put the blame on her.”

“You had nothing else?”

“If we had, we would have used it. As it was, we had the son. Niall, he was a nice kid. Shy. Scared. Not some punk. So anyone on the jury would feel for him. Helluva case, y’know. I remember Beauregard saying to me, ‘The kid’s testimony is gonna take out that whole damned reasonable doubt clause.’ ”

“Therein lies the problem,” Reed pointed out.

“Just so we’re clear. Flint Beauregard was a helluva cop. Sometimes a bit . . . enthusiastic, and he occasionally bent the rules, but I trusted my life with him. He was one of the good guys.”

Reed wasn’t convinced, but having suffered the tarnishing of his own reputation, he wasn’t eager to go down that path with Beauregard, even though Flint was dead.

“Well, look, if there’s anything else I can do, just call,” Acencio said. “But that’s about all I know.”

“Thanks.”

Reed hung up as Morrisette turned the corner and the red bricks of the station house came into view. “Acencio throw any light onto the situation?” she asked, tapping the wheel impatiently, waiting for jaywalkers to hurry across the street.

“Just more about Beauregard’s ham-fisted technique.”

She lifted a hand and spread her fingers at the pedestrians in a “what gives?” gesture. “In front of the damned police station? They’re lucky I don’t write them up!”

As if they heard her, the couple hurried to the sidewalk.

“That’s right, move your lazy asses,” she muttered and pulled into the lot. “So did Acencio know what a jackass Beauregard was?”

“He used the terms ‘enthusiastic’ and ‘a helluva cop.’ ”

“There it is again, more boys’ club shit.” After pulling into a parking lot, she rammed the car into park. As she cut the engine, she added, “I’m telling you, Flint Beauregard was a rogue cop who did things his own way.”

“The same could be said of you.”

“What? I stay within the law.” She skewered him with a blistering glare. “And I don’t mess with scared kids’ heads to make my case.” Yanking the keys with one hand, she opened her door with the other. “If you ask me, Beauregard was too lazy to go at Blondell the right way. And now, you and me, bub, we get that little privilege!”

CHAPTER 18

Nikki parked on a side street three blocks over from her uncle’s house, then checked her phone. No return call. No responding text. So far, Reed wasn’t answering.

She wasn’t surprised. Of course, he couldn’t tell her anything about his interview with Blondell, but it didn’t mean she didn’t want to know. Beyond that, Reed had other cases as well and was inundated with work.

/> She placed another call to the elusive Holt Beauregard, but once again he didn’t pick up. She wanted to talk to him, but so far he’d ignored her messages. Well, too damned bad, she was getting just frustrated enough that she intended to show up at his office if he didn’t get back to her soon.

Checking the time, she made one more quick call to her aunt’s home. When no one had answered by the fourth ring, she hung up before their antiquated answering machine could pick up. Silently praying no one was home, she switched her cell to vibrate only for all incoming calls and texts. Ever since visiting Uncle Alex, she’d been bothered. He’d seemed lucid when he’d warned her away from Blondell and the investigation, but then again, he’d gone in and out of reality.

What was the danger he’d spoken of, if there was any?

The only way she knew to figure it out was to go over the defense attorney’s case and notes, try to learn what he knew.

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