Page 39 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

MURPHY

I ’m staring at a half dozen files on my desk, switching from one to the next as I try to identify common errors.

Captain Overton may have told me not to get in the way of IA’s investigation, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try and piece together my own pattern.

If I find anything, I am going to take it to Overton for her to turn over to IA.

But there’s no commonality besides the fact that all of the errors in each report were changed after I saved them to my computer and submitted them. The paper copies match the electronic system. Only my compulsive need to document everything on my laptop has saved me from suspension.

Otherwise, the errors are small. Almost unnoticeable. But enough for the attorney who represents the defendant to be able to get them off on a technicality. It’s a mix of private attorneys and attorneys from the public defender’s office with Kenneth only on one report—Vinny Ellis.

Balling my hand into a fist, I tap it against the papers fanned out along my desk and reach for my coffee with the other.

“Fuck,” I say as the cold coffee registers, resembling more motor oil than life-giving nectar.

I push back from my desk, stretching out the kink in my lower back before walking to the break area for a fresh cup.

“What am I missing?” I murmur.

Missing anything isn’t like me.

Might help if you were able to focus and not think of Leigh for more than ten minutes .

Frowning, I take a sip of the scalding hot coffee.

“What’d that coffee do to you, O’Connell?” Eli Warren asks.

Warren is a recent transfer from Georgia and I don’t know him well, but he seems okay. Better than Aldridge.

“Just got a lot on my mind.” I’m not willing to get into details since I don’t have many to share.

“Well, if I can help, let me know,” he says, lifting his now full cup in a salute before heading back to his desk.

It used to be Natalie Colburn’s. She retired last year, and it sat vacant until recently when Warren transferred in.

“Hey, Warren?” I ask.

“Yeah?”

“You settling in okay? You’ve been here what? Two months or so?” I deliberately get the timeline wrong, wanting him to confirm he transferred in just before my reports started showing up with errors.

“Not quite. A little over a month. It’s a good team. And Overton seems like a good captain.”

I nod. “One of the best.”

I head back to my desk, my mind in overdrive.

Is it a coincidence Warren transferred around the same time my reports started showing up with errors? He said he transferred from Georgia, but is that true? Why did he transfer?

Warren turns back to his computer and I refocus on my files, trying to make heads or tails of the mistakes.

When my phone rings, I lean back, welcoming the reprieve.

“Hello?”

“Detective O’Connell?” The woman’s voice is a whisper, my name a rush of breath. “This is Sara Connor—” There’s a commotion on her end of the phone, a pounding followed by a man yelling and she whimpers. “You…um…you gave me your card when we talked before about Vinny.”

Vinny.

Ellis.

This is his girlfriend.

I tune more into the phone call, forgetting everything else.

“Are you okay?”

“You told me to call if I needed help. And Vinny’s here. He’s drunk and—oh God.” There’s a sound of splintering wood.

I’m already standing, shoving all the files in a pile and into my desk drawer before I’m rushing for the door.

“I’m locked in the bathroom, but the door is breaking. I’m scared.” The tears are audible in her voice.

Her fear elicits an equal adrenaline rush for me and I pick up my pace.

“Where are you?”

I’m racking my brain for an address but only the general area is coming to mind.

“The Heritage Arms Apartments. Unit 3B. Please hurry.”

“I’m already on my way. Call 911.”

More splintering and Ellis’s voice is clear.

“Who the fuck are you talking to, bitch?” he bellows.

There’s a thud and the phone beeps in my ear.

I’m at my car and slide into the driver’s seat, immediately radioing dispatch to let them know to dispatch units closer to the apartment complex.

Call made, I drop the radio, concentrating on where to go, and I pull up to the dilapidated apartment complex as the first car does as well. Fuck. It’s been fifteen minutes. What the hell are we walking into?

It takes an agonizing few more minutes for me to brief the responding officers.

“3B,” I say and lead the way into the main entrance hanging on by a single hinge.

The dirty hallway smells like a combination of body odor, rotten food, and piss.

A lone lightbulb flickers over spray painted mailboxes and the stairs are dark.

My gut rolls, my hands gripping my gun as I make eye contact with the other officer.

He looks just as disgusted as I am but points to the stairs and I nod.

The second-floor landing brings the smell of cooking food and a baby crying down the hall. The wallpaper has deep gouges in it, the carpet duct taped in spots.

“One more,” I whisper.

He nods and we take the stairs as quietly as possible, despite the deep groans of the wood under every footfall.

The third floor is identical, the window at the end of the hall boarded up, making it darker than the other two so far. I point at 3B, not wanting to talk and give our presence away. Not until we’re ready.

I take a deep breath and hold it, listening at the door for any sounds coming from the apartment.

“I’ll teach you to cheat on me, you fucking bitch!” Ellis’s voice is as clear as if we were in the same room.

Rage hazes my vision and I have to take several breaths for the red to clear before lifting my hand to knock firmly on the door three times.

“Nashville PD. We need to speak with Sara Connor. Open the door.”

There’s a grunt, but no other response, and the next minute we’re required to wait feels like an eternity.

I knock again.

“Vinny Ellis, we have a warrant for your arrest. Open the door.”

Thirty seconds.

At twenty-five the other officer and I back up. The final seconds tick down and I lift my leg, kicking the door free of the lock. It shatters inside and the other officer and I enter the room.

Furniture is overturned, some sort of liquid running down the wall behind the TV with a starburst of pixels around a hole the size of a fist.

But no sign of Ellis. Or Sara.

I turn the corner to the hallway, and Ellis is visible through the splintered bathroom door. He’s got his pants halfway down his ass, and it takes me another moment to realize two legs peek between his.

“Freeze,” I yell, moving closer, gun raised.

When I get to the bathroom, I don’t know whether I want to throw up or kill Ellis.

I can’t even call him a man. No man does what he does.

Sara’s face is a bloody mess, one eye already swollen shut, a deep gash in one of her cheeks.

But it’s the facts that her shirt has been ripped open, her pants are down, and Ellis’s dick is in his hand that create a fury I have never known before.

I don’t even trust myself to yank him off her, waiting for the other officer to yank him up, slapping him into cuffs while I step in the bathroom. Reaching for a towel, I cover her up, kneeling down and feeling for a pulse.

It’s weak, but there.

Thank fucking Christ.

I’m not sure what I would have done if it wasn’t there.

Reaching for my radio, I request an ambulance.

She moans and Ellis struggles against the cuffs for the first time.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you bitch,” he snarls.

She whimpers, the one eye not swollen shut wide with fear as a tear leaks from the corner.

“Get him out of here,” I tell the other officer.

They lead him out and I look back at Sara.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve called for an ambulance.”

She tries to open her mouth, struggling as more tears track down the blood across her face.

Fuck. What the hell did he do to her?

Suddenly it’s not Sara lying on the bathroom floor.

It’s Leigh, lying on the asphalt of her parking lot.

Pure, unadulterated terror hits me like a freight train, and I have to take several breaths with my eyes closed to clear some of the fear. Opening my eyes, I find Sara watching me and I focus on her.

“Is there anywhere else that hurts?”

She lifts a shaky arm, pointing at her mouth.

Bruises are blooming on her neck, deep purple in the shape of fingerprints.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” I tell her, overwhelmed by regret.

I got here as fast as I could.

But it wasn’t fast enough.

You prevented her from being sexually assaulted .

I don’t want to think about what would have happened had I been a few minutes later.