“Attempted shoplifting,” he said.
“Attempted shoplifting,” Rachel said. “What does that mean?”
“I didn’t actually shoplift anything,” he said. “Just tried to.”
“Right,” Rachel said. “Attempted shoplifting. Did you, like, stuff too many Kit Kats in your pocket at the drugstore counter?”
“No,” the man replied. He paused. “You know, ATM machines are heavier than they look.”
Rachel laughed. “Can’t say I’ve ever tried to carry one.”
She took a seat on the metal bench next to the would-be ATM thief and waited. She knew how this went. Tomorrow, she would be arraigned. Which meant she would need a lawyer. But with no prior record (she’d paid a lot of money to ensure that Rachel Marin had no arrest record) and the recent threats against her family, Rachel was reasonably sure she could agree to a fine with no prison time and be released quickly.
She’d messed up. Pushed too hard. But it felt like the threads were weaving together. Sam Wickersham. Albatross. Caroline Drummond. She was pleasantly surprised to find out that Serrano and Tally had already spoken to Wickersham—even if they hadn’t come across the Caroline Drummond angle yet. The detectives were growing on her. They were competent, and they cared.
If only they’d been the ones investigating Harwood Greene . . .
“Mom?”
Rachel’s eyes widened and her head snapped up.
No. No. I’m not ready. I don’t know what to say to my children yet.
Standing in front of the holding cell was Detective Serrano.
Eric and Megan stood on either side of him.
Megan looked confused. She couldn’t figure out the look on Eric’s face—revulsion?—but seeing her children broke her heart.
“Kids,” Rachel said, standing up against the cell bars. “Everything is going to be fine. This is just a big misunderstanding.”
The same thing she’d said to the lieutenant. He hadn’t believed her, and Rachel could tell her children didn’t either.
Megan stayed silent, then went over and hugged Eric. Rachel’s son just stared at his mother. He had his father’s eyes. God, were they striking.
“Mom?” Eric said.
“Hon, I swear this is going to be over very soon. Just stay with the detective for a bit while we figure this out.”
“Is this about the basement?” Eric said.
“What?” Rachel said.
“The basement. Is this about the stuff in the basement?”
Serrano looked at Eric. Rachel cursed silently.
“No, sweetheart, this has nothing to do with the house or you or anything else. Mom made a mistake, but it’s getting sorted out. I promise.”
Serrano knelt down so he could talk to the kids. “Listen. Eric. Megan. I’m going to take you to get a snack; then I’m going to talk to your mom.”
“People get killed in prison,” Eric said.
Serrano smiled. “This isn’t prison. And I promise, anyone who wants to hurt your mom is going to have to go through me. Nothing is going to happen to her.”
“How can you be sure?” Eric said. Serrano stood up and mimicked holding a staff in his right hand.
“Because I am a servant of the secret fire,” Serrano said dramatically, banging his invisible staff against the ground. “And you shall not pass!”
“In the books, it’s ‘you cannot pass,’” Eric said. “I never understood why in the movie he says shall not. And you’re a giant dork.”
But Eric was smiling.
“Guilty,” Serrano said. “Come on. Your mom will be fine.” As they left, Serrano looked back at Rachel, still clutching the bars of the cell. A few minutes later, the detective returned.
“Where are the kids?” she said.
“The lieutenant will watch Eric and Megan until we can figure out a longer-term solution. I’ll bring them some drinks and snacks.”
Rachel leaned against the cold metal. “Thank you,” she said. “And please thank the lieutenant.”
“I will. Now, one question.”
“Yes?”
“Just what the hell is wrong with you?” Serrano said. She lifted her head, shocked by Serrano’s sudden change in tone.
“Excuse me?”
“I thought I got through to you last night,” Serrano said.
“Oh, you did,” Rachel said coldly. “You got through loud and clear. You pretend to care for us, to care for my children. And then you do this?”
“You’re the reason you’re in here,” Serrano said. “Not me.”
“How many other single mothers have you told your sob story to?” she said. “How many other kids have you taken to that field?”
Serrano’s eyes narrowed.
“The world isn’t against you, Rachel.”
“You haven’t seen the world the way I have,” she said.
Serrano paused. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“What was Eric talking about? Your basement.”
“None of your goddamn business.”
“Ms. Marin, you’re the only reason you’re in this cell. Not me. Not Tally. Not Sam Wickersham. You. You want to be angry, be angry at yourself.”
After the intimacy of the other night, hearing Serrano call her Ms. Marin felt cold, impersonal.
“I’ve spent a long time being angry at myself.”
“Tell me why,” Serrano said. He gripped the bars, his finger brushing hers. “All these comments. Insinuations. I have no idea who you are. So tell me.”
“Detective, you’re trying way too hard to get laid.”
Serrano removed his hands from the bars.
“Call a lawyer,” he said. “Your arraignment is tomorrow morning.”
“What about my kids?” she said.
“They can’t stay in the lieutenant’s office overnight. There’s a room upstairs we call the Bunk. It’s where officers can catch some sleep after a long night or between shifts. There are a few beds. They’re not that comfortable, but they’re clean. They can share one. I have some paperwork, and after that I’ll take another bed up there to keep an eye on them. Nobody enters that room who isn’t law enforcement. They’ll be safe. Just be careful.”
She looked over her shoulder at her cellmates.
“Be careful?” she asked. “Am I not safe in here?”
“I’m not worried about what these people might do to you, Ms. Marin,” Serrano said. “I’m worried about what you might do to them.”
CHAPTER 30
Serrano collected Eric and Megan from Lieutenant George’s office and brought them up to the Bunk. There was a library with a few tattered paperbacks, a bunch of magazines of varying ages, a deck of playing cards, a few board games, and a television. Eric took a Michael Connelly novel from the shelf, and Megan grabbed a six-month-old copy of Field & Stream.
Sgt. Inez Fortunado, a twenty-year vet, occupied one of the other beds. Serrano explained the situation, and Sergeant Fortunado offered to stay awake an extra hour and watch them while Serrano finished his paperwork. He thanked her and said a bottle of Maker’s Mark would be waiting on her desk.