Page 146 of One Wrong Move
“Andi was right,” Deckard said, the air gut-punched from his lungs. How had he not seen it?
“Deck, who killed Anne?” Harper asked, jarring him from his thoughts.
“Mitch Abrams killed Anne.”
Randy sat back. “Do you understand now? If they’re powerful enough to get Mitch Abrams out of prison, who knows what they can—” He stopped short, his jaw tightening. “Wait a minute.” His skin flushed. “I thought you looked familiar. You worked for Mitch. I saw an article in the news about how your detective work got him off.” Randy stood. “You have to go now.”
“But he’s working for Miranda now,” Harper said. “He didn’t know—”
“No.” Randy paced, shaking his head. “I’m not sharing any more. You’re the one who got Mitch off.”
“I had no idea,” Deckard said. “I swear.” He stood, trying to corral Randy. “Look, man, if there’s any way I can right this wrong, I’ll do it.”
“You can’t re-try him for Anne’s murder,” Randy said. “Double jeopardy. He’s gotten away with it for good.”
Deckard tried taking a deep breath, but it wouldn’t come. “I didn’t know,” he choked out. “How could I not know?” He sank back down, letting the couch hold him up. Mitch Abrams had played him.
Randy studied him. “You really didn’t know?”
“I had no idea.” Shock riddled his limbs—cold and penetrating. He sank back against the cushions, trying to run everything from the case through his head. “I helped a guilty man get out of jail,” he said, swallowing. “And I can’t do a dang thing about it.”
“Maybe not about Anne’s murder, but there’s something else...” Randy looked at Harper. “You trust this guy?”
“One hundred percent,” she said.
Randy dipped his head, arching his brow. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” she said.
“I’ll be right back.” Randy stood, moving for the apartment door.
“Where are you going?” Harper asked.
“Across the hall.” Randy stepped into the hall, leaving the door open wide behind him.
“Deck,” she said, clutching his hand again. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine...”
“I got a guilty man out of jail,” he said again, his brain a fog of disbelief. How was he going to live with that?
A knock sounded in the hall, and he directed his attention back to Randy. The neighbor’s door opened, and Randy talked to the guy—their voices too low to hear. The man disappeared, and a few minutes later, returned with a lockbox.
“Thanks,” Randy said, loud enough for them to hear. He strode back in the apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. He paused, balanced the lockbox against his body, and managed to lock the door. “It took me a bit to figure it out,” he said, “but I got it. After I got Debbie settled here...” He cleared his throat. “Somewhere safe.”
Which was a matter of minutes away, he’d bet.
“I went back, laid low, and did surveillance. I needed to be on site, but out of sight.”
He was well trained for it from his years with the Bureau. At least Deckard was guessing it’d been years, based on the guy’s age.
“Then I was able to do a good amount of research and compile evidence from here.”
“Why didn’t you take what you learned to the Bureau?” Harper asked, the frustration and annoyance back in her voice.
Deckard rubbed his chin, letting it all sift through. He didn’t blame Harper for being irritated with the man. He’d hung her best friend out to dry, but they had to keep him talking.
“Because the men who did this were powerful enough to corrupt a Bureau crime lab. I had no idea who I could trust, who all had been corrupted. And, bottom line, I wasn’t willing to do anything to jeopardize my sister’s life.”
Deckard sat forward, straightening his shoulders. He understood the man’s deep concern for his sister. But sitting on evidence that could burn the men responsible ... He struggled with the thought of suppressing it as Randy had done.
