Karissa didn’t know what to think as she drove through the snowy mountain passes on her way to the jail. All she knew for sure was that Marsh, the man she thought she knew, the man she was falling for, hard, would never have provided steroids to kids. But how could she trust her instincts when they’d been faulty in the past?
How could she believe in Marsh now that he’d been proved a liar and a cheat? A drug dealer? Was she just telling herself that he couldn’t do it to make herself feel better? What did it say about her as a person if she always seemed to pick the guys she shouldn’t date? What was wrong with her?
And more, what was wrong with him? How could he be that kind of man?
Of course, her time as a cop had shown her that crooks weren’t as easy to fit into a mold as television made them out to be. There may be certain segments of society that were more inclined to be crooks, but there were plenty of people outside that range who were every bit as dirty as the dealer on the street.
But how could it be Marsh?
She fought her inner demons, trying to decide if she wanted to see him more because she wanted to tell him off for making a fool of her, or to find out what was going on and help him. Her gut churned, her heart was breaking, and she didn’t know if she could deal with this right now, on top of everything else.
The trip to town didn’t seem to take nearly as long as usual, and she soon found herself in the jail, waiting for them to seat her in one of the visiting rooms. In a moment she would face Marsh through a piece of glass and hope to get the truth.
Would she be able to tell if it was the truth? She doubted it.
Marsh entered a few minutes later wearing the orange jumpsuit that indicated he was a county inmate. He looked tired, upset, and anxious. Surprise crossed his features when he saw her.
“I didn’t expect you. Definitely not tonight. How did you find out so quickly?” he asked when he sat across from her.
“Hank came by.”
“Of course, and you rushed right over because there’s nothing I want more than for you to see me like this.” Bitterness seeped out with every word.
She crossed her arms over her stomach, wondering what she should think or say. “I can’t decide if I’m more incensed that you’ve been arrested when you’re obviously not guilty, or if I’m angry because you’ve been tricking me, making me think you’re someone you really aren’t.”
Hurt crossed his features and he sat back in his seat. “So you don’t believe in me.”
Hot tears rose in Karissa’s eyes and she fought the emotion back, hoping to keep control of herself. “I don’t know. I want to believe in you.” She sucked in a breath and felt relief when the tears didn’t fall. “More than anything, I want to believe in you. Just, please, give me a reason.” She leaned closer until her face was only inches from the glass.
Marsh held her gaze for a long moment. “I would never hurt you, Karissa, not on purpose, and I swear I’ll never lie to you. I have no idea why the kid used my name, or how those drugs ended up in my place, but I had nothing to do with it. You have to believe me.”
Karissa’s chest tightened with pain, but she decided to believe him, for now at least. It didn’t make sense that he would be the drug dealer. It wasn’t like him. She may not know him as well as she’d like, but Hank did, and he believed in Marsh. She grasped onto the hope that thought provided and decided to focus on it for now.
“Okay. So we need to move ahead and find a way to prove you’ve been framed. Hank said he called a lawyer for you, but Bruce won’t be here until tomorrow. Do you know when you’ll get to speak with a judge? Did they say if you might get your hearing tomorrow?” She set aside her misgivings and personal hurt and focused on what was ahead. She was a former cop; she knew how they worked, how they thought. Time to see what she could scrounge up in Marsh’s defense.
***
After spending another fifteen minutes grilling Marsh for information, Karissa left the visiting room, but the dispatcher called to her on the intercom before she reached the outside door and told her to come back to talk.
When she arrived, Trent was waiting for her, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Do you believe him?” he asked.
“Yeah, I do,” Karissa said with more conviction than she felt. “I know you pretty much can’t tell me anything since I’m involved with him. But I’m going to ask you for a favor.” She twisted her fingers together in front of her, wondering what Trent would think about her request. She really didn’t know him that well yet. “Marsh says he’s not part of this. That means whatever packaging the pills were in won’t have his fingerprint on it. Please, will you dust all of the bags or containers or whatever? Just check to see if someone else’s prints might be on there. And that his aren’t, because if they were under his mattress like you said, he’s got to have something on there, at least a partial print. But if he’s telling the truth, you won’t find anything.”
Trent folded his arms over his chest as his jaw set in a hard line. “Are you telling us how to do our job?” He lifted a brow, stony faced, but his tone was nonthreatening.
“Please, as a favor to me, and to ensure you’re being as thorough as I’ve seen you be before.” Karissa was tired and needed an hour to herself to pull her thoughts back into line. “I know you’ll probably do this anyway, but sooner rather than later, do you think you could do that much for me? So we know where to go next?”
There was a long pause before he nodded. “Fine. I’ll do it. Detective Carlson will have to look it over before we decide anything else, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
“Thank you.” Karissa turned back to the door.
“You realize even if his fingerprints aren’t on the containers, it doesn’t mean that he’s innocent,” Trent said before she could reach the hall.
She looked back over her shoulder. “Yeah, but it’ll help you build your case one way or the other. You’re smart enough to put two and two together if his prints aren’t there. That’s all I need.” Karissa left the room, glad she wasn’t working that night.
She would figure out what else ought to be investigated and then talk to the lawyer about it in the morning.
***
Karissa went home but spent the next couple of hours watching the clock, wondering if they’d dusted for fingerprints yet. Would Trent let her know? Would they even do it that night, or would he put it off until the next morning? His shift was nearly over when she spoke with him.
And when everything came back free of Marsh’s prints, then what? Trent was right that it didn’t prove that Marsh wasn’t the dealer; it just proved that his fingerprints weren’t there. What was the next order of business?
Finally her cell phone rang and she recognized the number from the Sheriff’s office. Her hands shook as she pushed the accept button.
“Hey, it’s Trent,” he greeted her. “There were none of Marsh’s prints on the containers inside the main bag.”
“I knew it.” She pumped her fist in celebration as relief poured into her.
“However,” Trent continued, “his prints were on the outside bag. All over it, actually.”
She stopped in surprise. “What?”
“The bag the drugs were in, the big one, it has his prints on it. More than one set.”
Karissa slumped against the wall as her heart broke all over again. She’d believed Marsh was telling the truth. But then how did his fingerprints get on the drug bag? “Oh. Thanks for checking for me. I know it was more work for you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Trent said. “Look, there were other prints on the bottles inside; most had been wiped clean, leaving just a smear of oil, but there was almost a full thumb print on the bottom of one bottle. The computer doesn’t know whose it is, but it isn’t Marsh’s. I have them running the print on some other databases. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
It could be a long shot, but they didn’t have anything more to go on. “Okay, thanks again.” Karissa hung up and tried to decide what to do next, but her head was spinning and she was totally lost about the next step.
She decided that she needed sleep. Maybe she’d feel better in the morning.
***
Marsh slept poorly, waiting for the clock hand to turn back around and make it morning. He’d convinced Karissa to give him a chance, which was better than having her write him off completely. On the other hand, she thought he might be guilty. Would she continue to believe him if the detective didn’t find out who was really selling to the kids?
The cell door opened and an officer walked in. “Your lawyer is here, so we have some questions for you.”
Finally. Marsh had started to wonder if Bruce was ever going to get there.
The officer led him to an interrogation room where his attorney and Detective Carlson were seated.
Marsh took the chair beside Bruce and waited for the detective.
“So, now that you’ve got your attorney present, are you ready to talk?” the detective asked.
Marsh shrugged and tried not to let out his irritation. “I don’t know anything, so there’s really nothing I can help you with, but you can ask.”
Detective Carlson picked up a large, clear plastic bag from the chair beside him and set it on the table. “You know nothing? So how did these drugs get in your place? And how come your fingerprints are all over the bag they were in?”
That made Marsh stare in surprise. Why did he keep getting blindsided like this? “No way. You could not have found my fingerprints on any of it. It’s impossible.”
The detective poked at the extra-large zipper bag. “Yes, we did. So unless you’ve got a magic wand to make this all go away, we’re going to nail you for it. Might as well tell us where you got them.”
Marsh followed the detective’s finger to the red seal on the inner bag. He shifted closer, trying to get a better look. It was familiar. “Hold on. Where did you get that?”
“From under you bed.” The detective sounded short-tempered now.
“That bag is the one the water bottles for the team came in,” Marsh said, his mind racing. “The logo is from the bottle company. Lone Tree Engineering donated them.”
“Marsh, keep your mouth shut,” Bruce advised him.
Marsh lifted his manacled wrists to point at the red symbol. “I handed them out at practice a few days ago.” His mind raced as he tried to remember what he’d done with the bag. Had he thrown it out? That’s what he thought he’d done, but he couldn’t remember for sure.
“Maybe they’re from earlier in the season,” the detective said.
“No, we’ve never used that brand before, but Cless had them shipped straight to me at the school, so I didn’t pick them out.” He bumped his forehead with his manacled fist, trying to remember. “I could swear I tossed the bag in the garbage can in the gym.”
“This isn’t proving anything,” Detective Carlson said. “You could have taken it home and used it to stash the drugs.”
“Except that I didn’t. I tossed it after I passed everything out.” Whoever was framing him was being thorough. The thought was a bleak one, but Marsh refused to give up.
“The whole basketball team would have had access to that bag. The whole school, if it comes to that. The gym isn’t exactly locked down,” Bruce pointed out to Detective Carlson. “It would have been easy to lift it later and plant the evidence. You said the house was unlocked when you arrived.”
Marsh brought his head up to stare at the detective. “Wait, it wasn’t locked? How could it have been unlocked? I always lock it.”
Detective Carlson sat back in his seat and settled his arms over his chest. “Since you can’t prove it, it’s all about your word. Sorry, but it’s just not good enough.” He flipped his wrist over and looked at his watch, as if he had better things to do, then stared at Marsh. “Now, do you want to try again? What do you know about the drugs your team has been taking?”
Marsh felt his stomach drop as he realized nothing he said would make the detective look at anyone else. He was sunk.