A Walk in Ashes

Gold serves pizza and beer to Belle and confirms that she has decided not to marry Killian Jones. Belle is intrigued with the man, trying to reconcile his clearly violent nature with his efforts toward rescuing things (houses, kittens, trucks). A late night phone call from Belle's cell to an unknown party interrupts Gold's sleep. Belle rises early and fixes him a superior breakfast. During breakfast, both tamp down their ever-growing interest in the other by focusing on the food. Gold drops Belle off at the Medical Examiner's lair.

Chapter 10

Hidden Things

"Swan!" Gold had called out sharply.

"Keep your panties on," came the surly answer. And a decidedly feminine face peaked through the latticed window. The woman had her hair pulled back under a cap and was wearing a clear face shield and rubber gloves. She opened the door and handed Gold a bound sheaf of papers.

"Here's your report already. Sorry I didn't get to it earlier, but we'd had those car crash victims that needed to be sorted. Couple of kids involved – that's always tough." The woman came on out into the lobby. "Since we already had an identification and everything looked like it was the French woman I put your autopsy on the back burner. I mean, we were already pretty sure about the cause of death. That's a preliminary. I still have some labs to come back." The woman then noticed Belle who had been hanging back. "Oh hi, you must be Belle French. I'm Emma. So glad you're alive. I'd shake hands but . . . " she held up her gloved hands which were stained with something. "probably not the best idea right now."

Gold had taken the report and was perusing it. "Same height, same hair color, same ethnicity. Ok, here it is: dental records didn't match up and blood type didn't match up." He suddenly realized that Miss French was standing at his shoulder peering over at the report. He shut it quickly not wanting her to see the grisly photographs of the body.

Swan had removed her cap, her face shield and then peeled off the rubber gloves. Belle could see the woman had gloriously long blonde hair and deep green eyes.

Swan was apparently checking her out and spoke up, "Wow, you are a cutie. I hear you spent the night with The Dark One?" she asked.

Miss French turned to Gold. "What?"

He shook his head, "It's a nom de ville I picked up after . . . well I . . . picked it up."

"The guys started calling him The Dark One during his undercover drug days. It's one of several nicknames that floated around." Emma explained it to Belle.

"Listen Swan, I have got to get somewhere right away. I should be back after lunch, probably later this afternoon and maybe then we can announce that Miss French is still among the living. I really appreciate you letting her stay with you."

"Yeah, you'll owe me." Emma turned to Belle. "Did he even feed you?"

Belle smiled and nodded. "We ate."

"Where are your clothes, honey?" Emma had noted the police-wear Belle was sporting. "Aren't you supposed to be this top drawer dress designer?"

"Well, I do all right. But right now my clothes are in the dryer at his house. I just had the weekend bag that I'd taken up to the mountain cabin and everything needed washing," Belle explained. "He lent me these."

"Well, we're pretty casual here. No one will notice you dressed like that. Come on," she led Belle back through the door she had come out of. "Tell me, are you squeamish?"

Gold left, knowing that Emma would take great care of his Belle. His Belle! When had she become his Belle? He doubted she thought of herself as "his Belle." After being dumped at the Medical Examiner's office, he doubted she'd want to spend any more time with him than she had to.

He sent Emma a text to remind her not to let Belle near a phone.

He didn't want to do this but the mountain cabin was the last place that needed to be searched. It had been all locked up earlier in the investigations and no one had been inside the place.

He settled into his truck. Belle had motive – forget this crap that she knew there was nothing going on between Lacey and Killian; what else was she going to say – that she hated the bitch and wanted her dead? Belle had opportunity – she could easily have invited Lacey up to her apartment, called Regina to let her know that she was going up to her cabin and then, when Lacey got to the apartment, Belle could have killed her, hoping that her alibi of being on the road would be a sufficient. Now all he needed was to find the weapon.

He didn't want to believe she had done it, but he knew if he presented the facts as they were now, other officers, his bosses, the D.A., all would believe she was guilty. A love triangle – one of the oldest reasons for murder.

He began the long drive up to Miss French's cabin listening to Lindsey Stirling's violin interpretations. He took the Interstate and drove toward Tryon, taking the Saluda exit onto 176, one of North Carolina's scenic highways, which meant it was damnably anfractuous and difficult to navigate. Eventually he turned off onto a narrow two-lane road which shortly turned into a one and a half lane road with shoulders that were chipping away. His GPS quit getting a signal and he knew he'd have to depend on his recall of the electronic map he'd looked over earlier. Then the one and a half lane road became a gravel one, winding, twisting. Thank goodness he was in a four-wheel drive vehicle, he thought as he finally pulled into her driveway.

It was indeed remote. A nice log cabin with a wrap-around porch and chimney. There were rhododendrons planted all around the place, along with some big rose bushes. There was a small detached garage next to the house. There was a breath-taking view of the valley below.

He drove around back so his truck wouldn't be visible to anyone who might come in after him. No particular reason – he wasn't expecting anyone but by long habit, he was habitually cautious. He already had the duplicate key from the one they had found in Miss French's office and he was able to let himself in.

Nice place – definitely had that Miss French touch he'd come to expect. The cabin was small, but not miniscule. There was clever use of space with built-in shelving and hidden cubby holes. There was a great room, a kitchen area, a bedroom and a bathroom. The furnishings were sturdy, a combination of solid wood, metals and some overstuffed natural cotton. Everything was comfortable looking. The kitchen appliances included a Miele stove and a top-drawer Samsung fridge. The bed was a sturdy brass affair that would sleep two comfortably. The mattress had been stripped, probably to air out. He turned on his phone and noted there was "No Service". There was a small television in the kitchen. He flipped it on and a local channel popped up. He changed channels a few times and cut it off.

He added a note to his notebook and then did a thorough search of the cabin. He was in the bedroom, when he heard the door unlock and someone come in. This was a surprise. He gave the person a few moments before he stepped out into the main room of the cabin.

There stood Killian Jones with a rifle in his hands - the kind that shot buckshot. And now. . . something that Gold in his quick going over the cabin, hadn't found, there was an opened wall panel - apparently Belle's version of a (secret) gun chest.

"Are you thinking of taking it away, Jones?" Gold asked him as Killian stepping into the living.

"Obviously you already know that I was taking it away. Damn. You'd already searched the cabin before I got here and you knew it was here," Killian responded blandly realizing that he'd walked into a trap.

Gold took the gun from him, using a handkerchief and handling it gingerly. He examined it. "Didn't know, but I had a hunch there might be something else here. It's been fired recently."

"Yes, I had gone out squirrel hunting with it."

"When was that?" he asked.

"Oh, a while back. I . . . I don't know exactly."

"You know about guns, don't you?"

"Yes," Jones answered him.

"So how come you didn't clean it afterwards?'

"I don't know. I suppose I forgot."

"Are these your initials?"

"Yes, but it belongs to Belle. I had given it to her for protection. She didn't want it, but I'd insisted. This cabin is rather isolated. She finally allowed the gun in the cabin when she had this secret wall panel constructed."

"Did you teach her how to use it?"

"No."

"Does she know how?"

"I don't know. It never occurred to me to ask."

"You're a vague sort of fellow, aren't you, Jones?"

"I've spent very little time in observing my own character, Lieutenant Gold."

"This morning was the first opportunity you had to come and get it," Gold stated flatly.

"You've had me followed me everywhere. You ought to know."

"You. . . you realize the spot you're in, Jones?" Gold continued. "I know Belle French is alive and so do you. Do you think Miss French killed her and stashed the murder weapon here?"

"Of course not. Belle wouldn't . . . couldn't kill anyone."

"Then let's try this. How about it was you who took that poor girl to Miss French's apartment. You knew all along it was she who had been murdered. Didn't you know that Miss French would come back any day and spoil the whole thing? Or did you plan to kill her too? Maybe hide the body some place to cover up your first crime?"

"You're delusional, Gold! I'd never kill Belle. I love her."

"Do you? You took a bottle of Jolly Roger to her apartment Friday night when you were there with Lacey Redfern."

"I took it over there more than a week ago.

"Ms. Potts said it wasn't there Friday night when she left. It was there Saturday morning."

"I can't help what Ms. Potts said."

"Where'd you get the key to her apartment?"

"Er. . . I've always had it."

"Not according to Belle French. She says that the only spare keys are in the shop. And you haven't been by the shop in the past few days.

"I . . . uh. . . I had gone by earlier," Jones protested weakly.

"Some time before last Friday, I would guess. That's how you got in. That's how you got the bottle of Jolly Roger in. That's how you got Lacey Redfern in."

"All right. All right," Jones gave in. "I already knew that Belle kept duplicate keys at her office. She hadn't told anyone they were there but I noticed them when I was getting some office supplies for a project. I went over last Friday and I got them and had copies made. I'd asked Lacey to dine with me. I wanted to talk with her. Well, we couldn't go talking in public places – she was fragile and easily upset. I couldn't go to her apartment and I didn't want to take her to mine. There were too many people who might see us."

"So you went to Miss French's empty apartment?"

"Yeah," Jones answered. "I knew Belle would be gone out to this cabin."

"Anyone else know that you were bringing Lacey up to the apartment?"

Jones considered. "I don't know. I know that Belle had talked with Lacey earlier that day. Lacey might have told her she was going to meet with me but I don't know that Lacey knew we'd go to Belle's place. I had talked with Regina that I was going to see Lacey, but I didn't tell her when. And I may have mentioned something to Cora that I was going to see her, but I didn't know any details when I talked with her."

"What was your relationship with Lacey?" Gold asked him.

"We were friends. . . from a long time ago. I was surprised when I encountered her working for Belle. We chatted and got to know each other again. Lacey had come from . . . well kinda a rough background and had run away, ending up in Asheville. She had drifted around quite a bit and had lucked out getting the modeling job with Belle. She was trying to get her life back together but had got tangled up with a . . . an abusive boyfriend. He'd slap her around some and take the money she earned working for Belle. I was trying to help her – I gave her an expensive watch to pawn so she'd have some money of her own. Once I talked to Belle about her, Belle was trying to help her too."

"So you weren't in love with her?"

"No, and she wasn't in love with me," Jones told him.

"So what happened when you got Lacey up to the apartment?"

"We talked there for about four hours . . . and then the doorbell rang and . . . "

"Go on," Gold told him coldly.

"Lacey seemed frightened. It was late at night. But knowing Belle as I've known her . . . I've learned to be surprised at nothing."

"What do you mean by that?" Gold asked him.

"Her friends would come to her with their troubles at all hours of the day or night. I asked Lacey to answer the door."

"Why didn't you go yourself?"

"Supposing one of Belle's friends had found me there. Belle thought me staying over looked a bit sleazy. She was rather old-fashioned that way."

"Why did you open the door at all?"

"We figured that they must have seen the light."

"What about the girl, Lacey? What about her reputation?"

"I asked her to tell them Belle had let her use the apartment while she was away. Anybody that knew Belle would have believed that."

"Yeah, go on," Gold told him.

"Well, then the doorbell rang again. I could hear Lacey's slippers . . . Belle's slippers actually. They were patting across the bare boards between the rugs. Then there was a moment's silence and then an explosion. Of course I ran out but by the time I reached her, the door was closed. She lay there on the floor."

"Did you go out to see who it was?"

"No. It was someone with a gun and I . . . I was too confused, too horrified, terrified, incapable of doing anything. The room was dark. I saw only a vague heap lying on the floor. I . . . I don't think I fully grasped the situation. I think I called her name, but I'm not sure. I . . . I remember kneeling on the floor, trying to feel for a pulse. My first instinct was to call the police."

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know or rather, I was afraid - not only for myself, but for Belle. In a panicky sort of way, I felt I must keep out of this to keep Belle out of it. She's a public figure and has her business to think of. This type of thing can hurt a business. I know now how foolish and hopeless it was but there was only one thing on my mind -the safety of a person whose life was dearer to me than my own. Don't you understand that?"

"Did you think Miss French had done it?"

Jones stammered, "I . . . I . . . "

"Did you?"

"I don't remember what I thought."

"Do you think so now?"

"No," Jones seemed sure.

"And you didn't kill Lacey?"

"No."

"On Saturday, when our men went to your apartment to tell you that Miss French was dead you seemed sincerely shocked."

"I was. I hadn't expected that mistake."

"But you had your alibi ready no matter who was dead. 'Course you knew the minute Miss French got back it wouldn't stick."

"Don't you see? I was incapable of thinking that far ahead. I was incapable of thinking at all," Jones was trying desperately to explain. "I was groping for some way to keep Belle's name out of it. I was heartbroken about Lacey and panic-stricken about Belle. I haven't slept a full two hours since this thing happened."

"Let's get back to the present. Miss French called you."

Jones looked up sharply. "You know. . .? Of course, you've been monitoring her cell."

"She phoned you after she told me she wouldn't call anybody. What do you think she wanted?"

"It's perfectly natural she should want to talk to me especially after what's happened."

"You two started talking in code pretty quickly, like you knew the call was being monitored."

Jones nodded, "Maybe we did know."

"Why don't you tell the truth for a change? She wanted you to come here so you could get rid of this gun."

"She did not!" Killian protested vehemently, "It was my own idea. She doesn't even know I'm here."

"It works fine, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Did you think it wouldn't?"

"I hoped it wouldn't," Gold told him.

"Well, am I under arrest?"

"No, but you're not to leave town again and it would be foolish of you to try it."

Meanwhile back at the morgue

"You've known Lieutenant Gold long?" Belle asked the pretty Medical Examiner who was working with some slides.

"About . . I guess it's four years now. I came on board when they had this case and they didn't know what had killed the person. The last M.E. wasn't the brightest bulb on the tree. Gold got me working on the case and, on a hunch, I just did a specific test for digoxin, it's a heart medicine that's lethal in large doses but doesn't show up with a usual tox screen. Gold called me 'The Savior' and that stuck, thank you." Emma rolled her eyes.

"He's pretty good at this job?"

"Oh Belle, he's the best. He worked Vice for many years, some deep, deep cover stuff, drug dealing, gun running, human trafficking, just smarmy. That's when people, the good guys and the bad guys, started calling him The Dark One. I don't know but I suspect all that deep cover work probably contributed to the demise of his marriage. He was always gone."

"He was married?" Belle asked. She shouldn't be surprised that he'd been married.

"Yeah, as I understand it, he married very young, like right outta high school. My purely personal theory is that he got her pregnant at the senior prom and did the honorable thing by marrying her."

"He has a child?" Belle asked. Why would she be surprised at this?

"Yes and no." Emma had stopped and looked up. "It's really sad. His wife left him for some douche-bag. He took over raising his son but there were some problems. And once, he didn't get back home in time and little eight year old Neil was left alone overnight. It ended up with Social Services investigating."

Emma sighed before she continued. "You know, Social Service folks are like cops. Most are fine, caring people who do a dangerous job that pays crap, but they do it to help people, help children. But just like there are a few bad cops . . . well, the worker investigating his case refused to understand what all Gold was dealing with, even with his supervisor's involvement. Neal was a good, healthy, self-sufficient kid who knew how to speed dial people if there was a problem, but . . . technically, Gold had left a child of nine on his own and . . . "

"Oh no," Belle guessed where this was going. "They took his child," she finished.

"Yeah," Emma confirmed. "I keep trying to convince myself that the social worker was just doing her job, but from everything I've heard, she was a smug, self-righteous bitch who took an instant dislike to Gold. I know he didn't like her at all, called her 'Mother Superior' behind her back, well, he probably called her that to her face – he's got a bit of temper. She didn't want to hear that his appearance, his hours, his associates, all of this had to do with his job. She basically treated him as if he actually was a drug runner, a criminal. It didn't matter why he was away from home for long hours. It all came down to the fact that he was away from home for long hours. Anyway, the ex-wife got custody and, no surprise here given the bad blood between the two, she set about making sure her son hated his father."

Belle listened to this story and her heart broke for the man. "Did he . . . has he reconciled with his son?"

Emma bit her lip. "Neal turned out all right but he certainly has some baggage. I've actually dated him a couple of times . . . well, more than a couple of times – we're kinda serious. But I can't get him to agree to meet with his father."

"How sad," Belle remarked and Emma nodded.

"Yeah, not something you get over. After his son was removed from his home, Gold pulled out of undercover and started working Homicide and a few years later developed the Special Crimes Unit. It gave him more regular hours but it wasn't enough for him to regain custody. Mother Superior had screwed him over in her report, I guess. What was bad for him turned out lucky for the department. He was a complete genius at solving difficult cases. A lot of times, other cops, desperate to solve their crimes, would bring their cases to him to get his help."

"So he is still with the Special Crimes Unit?" Belle asked.

"Sort of. He pretty much established that unit and was the heart and soul of it until he semi-retired."

"Semi-retired?" Belle wasn't sure how that worked.

"Yeah, after that incident when his knee was blown out, well, he began to lose his passion for the job and wanted out. The department didn't want to entirely lose him, so they offered him a special deal. He's still on the pay-roll but primarily works as a consultant. Other cops are still bringing their cases to him. He only personally works a handful of cases a year. Almost always high profile situations. Your 'death' is just the type of case he gets pulled for."

"No current girlfriends?" Belle tried to sound casual.

But Emma was too quick. "Oh dear. You like him, girl. I can tell. You've fallen under his spell." She smiled and shook her head, "Well, he can be charming when he wants to be. I know." She read another slide then sat back and slowly shared, "I don't feel this way anymore, partly because I'm dating the man's son and . . . eeuh, but when I first came to work here, I had just finished my residency working under this brilliant diagnostician. I had fancied myself in love with him and then, when I met Gold, well in so many ways, right down to them both needing a walking cane, I guess he reminded me of my diagnostician. I confess I had this big crush on the doctor and then developed this little crush on Gold. He was so mysterious and . . . deep, you know what I mean?"

"Like he's got these layers?" Belle asked her.

"Oh yeah. He could be sweet and helpful one moment and then just turn around and be plain nasty. I once asked him why he didn't have a girlfriend and he told me he was a difficult man to love or some such bullshit. Of course, part of me thought he probably did have a woman stashed somewhere, but he kept her locked up in spook manor, that dark dilapidated castle he lives in."

"I like his house," Belle told her.

Emma looked at her for a long moment. "You like him."

Thanks so much to my reviewers (we are two-thirds of the way through this story, so not much longer to hold on): kagi-chan2, juju0268, cynicsquest, Wondermorena, OneMagician, fulltimefanxgirl, Erik'sTrueAngel, Grace5231973, Robin4, deweymay, onlyinyourdreams77, Chauchi, MyraValhallah, jewel415, and orthankg1

NEXT: Gold and Belle spend the night together at her apartment, Belle's friends are told she is alive and Belle and Jones collude