21 Weeks: Week 3

Body twirling toward the floor - back and forth, back and forth, like a dancer in midair - Beck watched CSU clear a few steps back so Baxton could get at it first.

  “Can you believe this?” His neighborhood closer to the scene than hers, Williams was already there when Beck arrived, along with Bishop and every other detective under Martinez’s command.

  Uniformed officers waiting against the walls to lend a hand as soon as CSU finished, it looked like the place was playing host to a police convention.

  “I can,” Beck responded to Williams’ question as Bishop came their way.

  “Looks like a suicide,” he said, and that was definitely how it looked.

  Strung from the railing of the upstairs landing, Representative Derby could well have done the deed himself. With the accusations being hurled at him in the media, he certainly had good reason. And now that he was dead, he was automatically guilty. It didn’t matter what came next, or if his alleged victims’ names ever made it to light. In the eyes of the public, Derby was tried and executed.

  “Where’s his security team?” Beck asked.

  “Right there.” Bishop looked slightly surprised Beck knew Derby had one as he gestured to the three men in suits by the door.

  “Did you see anything?” Beck asked them.

  “No.” Three heads shook at once. “We’ve been sitting on the house all night. Representative Derby had a radio interview scheduled for five this morning. When he didn’t come down, we came in to check on him.”

  Nod jerky, Beck turned back toward the body as Baxton inspected the long red lines that ran down Derby’s throat, and she knew what they were. Derby had scratched himself trying to loosen the rope. That, in and of itself, meant little. A lot of people had second thoughts once the nooses were around their necks.

  When Baxton shined a flashlight into Derby’s mouth and waved an assistant over, though, Beck could tell she had found something before the M.E. even pulled the evidence from between Derby’s teeth and glanced their way.

  “Is this one important enough for you?” Beck asked.

  “What are you talking about?” When Bishop turned to face her, Beck assumed it looked like the opening move of a fight, at least enough to bring Martinez marching their way from across the room.

  “A man who hasn’t used in twenty years ODs and nobody cares,” Beck said. “A beloved politician gets eviscerated in the news and everyone cares, and feels bad for loving it. Did you know Derby did an interview a few years back?” Pulling the folded paper out of her pocket, Beck’s hands shook as she peeled it open. “In it, the reporter asked him, ‘Is there anything worse than being criticized over and over in a public forum for the mistakes that you have made?’ And Derby said, ‘As a public figure, you expect to be ridiculed for your mistakes in the media. The troubling thing is how easy it is for them to make the public believe you have done something you haven’t. I can think of no more frightening a thing.”

  Refolding the page, Beck slid it back into her pocket, looking up into stunned expressions. Though, Bishop’s didn’t stay stunned for long.

  “You knew?”

  “I told you being forced to use was Anthony Figueroa’s greatest fear,” Beck responded. “Going out like this was Derby’s.”

  “You knew, and you didn’t say anything?”

  “What would you have done if I had? Told Derby someone was about to kill him?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” Beck refused to let Bishop believe himself. “You would have told me exactly what you told me last week, that this had nothing to do with that. You should be happy. I spared you all a ton of guilt. You want me on this case? You believe me.”

  Fury out of her control, Beck stormed back through the door and halfway across the lawn, dropping forward with her hands against her knees when she couldn’t find enough air to breathe.

  “What?” She rounded as someone grabbed her arm. “Are you going to tell me I should have said something too?” she asked Williams. “That they would have listened to me? That anyone would have done anything any differently?”

  “No,” Williams said. “But there is a way to be tactful.”

  “Tactful?” Beck could do nothing but laugh.

  “Like it or not, they are your superior officers,” Williams reminded her. “Do you really want to get kicked off this case when you are the only person who has the slightest idea what the fuck is going on? You should have said something. At least to me. I would have listened to you. I would have at least tried to warn him.”

  “I did warn him.” Rage withering to regret, Beck realized why she was so angry. Because she did know. She was the only one who did, and she failed. She failed to convince Derby of the graveness of his situation, and had, thereby, failed to protect him.

  “When?”

  “When we found the video footage,” Beck said. “As soon as I knew who the victim wasn’t, I knew who it had to be. I knew this couldn’t be a coincidence.”

  “What did he say?”