Page 84 of The Alibi Club

Cliff, who had been bracing for impact, let his guard down and breathed heavily. He watched as Ott lay twitching on the pavement, out like a light, a neutralized threat.

Jamie collapsed onto the pavement, the most extreme level of exhaustion crumpling her will and her muscles all at once. Cliff rushed over to her.

“Jamie!” He gathered her in his arms and cradled her. Her breath came in short, gentle gasps as the trauma to her throat began to swell. She listened to his calm voice.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Nice easy breaths, that’s it.” Cliff patted his pockets for his phone but then gave up when he realized the police had taken it. He put his arm back around her and began to gently rock her. “It’s okay, it’s over, it’s over.”

Jamie let herself lean into Cliff and fall apart at the same time. She cried softly into his shirt as the adrenaline in her system subsided and gave way to shock and relief.

“You came back,” she rasped, but she did not go on. She merely stared into Cliff’s eyes and for the first time, quite ironically, she felt safe. Safer than she’d ever felt at any point in her life up until that moment.

He looked back at her, stroked her hair, and gave her a smile with a promise in it. “Guilty.”

“But, you’re not.” Jamie paused, realizing. “Are you?”

The alley was suddenly lit by giant halogen headlights from MBPD SUVs that had pulled in at high speed and screeched to a stop. Three police units plus a SWAT vehicle arrived in the alley and suddenly they were swarmed by law enforcement, all guns trained on Cliff.

“Freeze.” The steady and sure voice of Detective Roverson came through the alley. “Hands up if you know what’s good for you, Weston.”

Cliff slowly let go of Jamie and put his hands up. As he sat still on the pavement, two officers moved forward toward him, guns still cocked and aimed.

“Hey, keep the guns trained on me, not her, okay?” Cliff gently said.

In a flurry of activity, the police and SWAT took an unconscious Melvyn Ott into custody, as well as Cliff, who was not even trying to explain what had happened there.

Someone put a blanket around Jamie and led her to the back of the SWAT SUV, where they took her vitals. Jamie tried to protest, to tell them Cliff had saved her life, but no one could hear what she was saying, her vocal cords too weak, her throat too swollen. Her eyes liquid pools, she watched shaken and helpless as Cliff was taken away in handcuffs, stuffed into the back of a cop car, and removed from her life for the second time that night.

This time for good.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Fogged In

CLIFF

MBPD took no chances with him, especially after they had nearly lost their only suspect in a major theft and a violent killer assaulted a woman right under their noses. Cliff surmised that this was the most action these bored, yoked cops had seen all year, assuming their usual encounters were with drunk Manhattan Beach moms swerving into oncoming traffic in their Range Rovers, Yeti cups full of white wine.

They roughly cuffed Cliff’s wrists (and ankles this time, given his proclivity to escape) and tossed him into one of the short-term holding cells within the Manhattan Beach Police Department. He spent a rough night on the hard bench and woke up muddled and gloomy, except for the urgent need to take the longest pee of his life.

At around noon, two more cops came to escort Cliff to another room down the hall.

The room was outfitted like any interrogation room, gray cinder block walls, a table at the center, two metal chairs on either side, cameras in both corners, and a double-sided mirror. The only difference was a cheerful surf calendar hanging on the wall by the phone. Cliff had been seated for about half an hour before Detective Arliss Roverson entered the room with a thick file in his hands. Cliff presumed correctly that it was his rap sheet.

“Coffee?” he asked Cliff.

Cliff waved away the offer. “No, thank you.”

“I see here you were a guest at the State Correctional Facility as recently as a month ago.”

Cliff nodded glumly. It would be the same old game. Where the past took precedent over the present. “Doesn’t bode well for my side of the story does it, Detective?”

Detective Roverson didn’t say anything, just thumbed through the thick file, reading.

“I think that depends on what kind of story you want to tell.”

Cliff thought about this for a second then asked, “Is she okay?” As long as Jamie was safe, that was all that really mattered.

Detective Roverson sat back. “She’s a little shaken up, but beyond some bruising both psychological and physical, I think Ms. Frisco will be fine.”