The judge twisted his mouth to one side in deliberation and leaned back in his chair. “You know, I’ve been doing this a long time, Stacy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It might surprise you to find out that Warden Glassy over there is a close friend of mine. And I know for a fact that she’s as keen to keep young people from wasting their lives in prison as I am.” He laced his hands over his belly as he spoke. “And believe me, I see them come, and I see them go. Time after time. It’s such a waste of young lives, not to mention taxpayers’ money.”
Stacy had no idea where this would go. It could fall to her, or against.
“And yet,” he continued on, “I see the same young people doing the same stupid things over and over. And I wonder why in God’s sweet name they don’t learn. Do you understand what I’m trying to say here?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“I would love to let you out again, give you that chance that you’ve been working so hard for. But…”
She knew it. That But. It hit her in the chest like a sledgehammer and her heart hit the floor.
“The way I hear it,” he said, “your mother is not willing to have you reside with her. And I don’t blame her. Do you?”
Stacy felt the air sucked right out of the room. “No, sir.”
“So even if I wanted to re-release you, you have one immediate problem of having nowhere to go, and a second immediate problem of the leg bracelet you have to pay for. And that’s around fifteen hundred dollars, according to the Department of Corrections.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. I didn’t know they cost that much, sir.”
“Sir? Your Honor?” A voice behind her—Curta. “Sir, if Stacy’s okay with it, I can sell my car that she borrowed and loan her the money for the bracelet. I never use the car. Got the thing back this morning and I don’t need it. We could come to some arrangement, and then she can pay me back over time. I wouldn’t charge her interest or nothin’. I owe this girl my life. I could tell you what she done for me, but it would take the whole rest of the day, Your Honor.” All at once, she realized everyone was staring at her. Her cheeks blazed apple red while her eyes darted around the room. “I mean, that’s if she’s released, of course,” she added, and sat again, clinging to the seat in front for support under the weight of the sudden attention.
Henley frowned. “Well, that’s very kind of you, ma’am, but Stacy needs to find a way of paying you back for that loan. That means finding a job.”
“The offer still stands, sir,” Curta said, half standing, then collapsing back, drawing her enormous purse onto her lap, both hands gripping the top of it.
Stacy turned, smiling and mouthing out the words “thank you,” before turning back to the judge.
“You certainly have a lot of people going to bat for you.”
“I do, sir. And I’m truly grateful.”
He leaned his elbows on the table, chin resting on his knuckles, frowning. “So what am I to do with you, Miss Charms?”
“Your Honor, if I may?”
Judge Henley let out a long, weary sigh. “Yes, Mr. Templeton,” he said with forced patience.
“I have a petition to present to the court on behalf of Parole Officer Nancy Pattrenko. She’s requested permission to have you consider Stacy May residing with her for the duration of her parole period, if it pleases the court.”
Henley drew the corners of his mouth down. “Well, that’s a very nice gesture, but isn’t Miss Pattrenko in the hospital?”
“She’s expecting to be discharged in a couple of weeks. She said she has a room Miss Charms can stay in, and she says she thinks the company will be good for her after the loss of her partner. Although,” he added in a low voice, “that’s probably neither here nor there.”
Judge Henley turned a questioning look on Stacy, who felt her mouth drop open.
“Seriously? Nancy Pattrenko wants me to stay with her?”
“That’s a generous offer,” Henley told her. “What do you think of that?”
A broad smile cracked Stacy’s face. The first grin she’d mustered in days. She placed her hand over her mouth in disbelief, then dropped it again. “I’d think that’s an incredibly generous offer, sir.”
“So do I.”
“And I’d work day and night to pay for the bracelet. And I promise you won’t see me back here again.”
“I’d better not,” he said. “But that leaves us the next couple of weeks that you’ll need to stay somewhere.”
Jay leaped to his feet again. “Your Honor, I believe we have a solution for that problem, too.”
*****
Curta had been the first to throw her arms around Stacy, hugging her and sobbing into her shoulder, until the bailiff told them they had another case and asked them to please move on.
Stacy had told Curta she’d pay her back whatever she owed her for the car—somehow—but Curta had waved it away and told her just to keep in touch, that that was all she wanted. Then Stacy had been swept out into the morning air by her supporters and a clutch of journalists.
Now, outside the courthouse in the brilliance of the sunshine, Stacy tipped her head right back, feeling the warmth, soaking in real freedom for the first time in three long years. How a person could take this for granted, only someone who’d never been inside would know. This was the first day of a long line of good ones. She’d make sure of that.
The clearing of a throat a few feet in front of her snapped her out of the moment and back to the courthouse steps. Standing a few feet in front of her was Bear, a bunch of tulips and daisies in his hand.
“I’m really happy for you,” he said, and handed her the flowers. “Congratulations.”
She took them, put them to her nose. “Thank you.”
The small crowd of supporters had thinned to but a few. Only one journalist remained. Obviously, good news doesn’t rate so well. She scanned the steps and along the street each way.
Bear followed her gaze, seemingly picking up on her disappointment but misreading it. “You need a ride?”
“Can’t.” They both looked down at the bracelet on her ankle. “But thank you.”
“Oh, right. Well, this one better stay there.”
They both smiled, a little awkward, until she felt a hand on her elbow.
Jay Templeton. “We should go.”
“Sure.”
They walked to the curb to the waiting car. The door opened and she hesitated, still searching. She was about to get in, when a second car raced up and drew to a halt behind them. The door flew open and Kay Heathers jumped out, saying, “Oh, thank heavens we caught you.” She hurriedly opened the rear door and Tyler scrambled out. For a second, he looked around, a little bewildered. But the instant he spotted Stacy, he shambled over, reaching for her and calling, “Mommy, Mommy.”
Stacy dropped to her knee, arms outstretched while he stumbled into her embrace. “Oh, baby, baby,” she said, and planted a firm kiss in his hair. “Mommy thought you’d forgotten.”
“Mommy come home,” he said.
Kay Heathers bent next to him. “You remember what I said, Tyler? That you’ll be home with Mommy soon, but Mommy has to find a house especially for you and her to live in.”
Tyler’s little face dropped and his eyebrows went up in the middle. “Mommy home?”
“Soon. I promise.”
His little face puckered and Stacy’s heart broke into a million pieces. How could something she’d wanted so badly carry so much pain?
“Oh, Tyler,” she said, and pulled him in, feeling him fold into her, his shoulders heaving with the first sob as his arms tightened around her.
“Oh, sweetheart, please don’t cry.” She tightened her embrace for a second, then pulled back, ducking her head to catch his eye. Thumbing the tears away, she said, “Hey, guess what I still have.” She waited until his eyes lifted on her, then she pulled the toy car from her pocket.
Tyler reached up a tentative finger and touched the car, his
eyes widening as though mesmerized by it. “Mommy car.”
“I know, but you know what? I’m giving it to you to look after. This is my promise that you’re coming home one day soon. And you’ll never go away again.”
She drew him back into the embrace, felt his arms circle her and tighten like he’d never let go.
“Mommy an’ Tyler house?” he said into her hair.
“Mommy and Tyler’s house,” she said.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
MONDAY: 3:04 PM—ELIZABETH
Elizabeth shook out the skirt she’d been wearing the day before and checked it over—ruined. A tear down the side, dirt ground into the seat that she’d never get out. She balled it up and tossed it into the hospital trash can and continued hurriedly packing the pajamas, the robe and the toiletries Katy had brought in for her the previous night.
She couldn’t wait to get away. Hospitals gave her the creeps. Ever since she’d lost her mother, the smell of antiseptic and floor wax nauseated her, made her feel small and insignificant. It was almost as though on some deep level she still blamed the hospital for her mother’s death.
The flowers could stay. A huge bouquet from Richard, another from Charles, her father-in-law. She suspected they were token gestures of apology. Not that her ex or his overbearing parents had made the effort to bring them in person. They’d simply picked up the phone and had them delivered, or gotten one of their underlings to do it. It would be weeks before they could look her in the eye again. Only once the hoopla had died down and Charles could talk about investment opportunities without the name of Clay Farrant coming back to bite him. But eventually, he’d be back. Nothing would again cut his ties with Holly, his only granddaughter.
Behind her, a tap on the door to her private hospital room made her turn.
“Come in.”
The door opened and Detective Delaney peeped around, looking a little out of place.
“Detective,” she said in greeting, and continued packing.
He moved into the room and crossed to the foot of the bed, watching her zip up the bag and place her purse next to it.
“They tell me you have Stacy May Charms as a house guest until Officer Pattrenko is discharged from hospital,” he said. This seemed to amuse him.
Elizabeth lifted her head high, chin up. “Why not? She might be an ex-convict, but she’s a kid who found herself in a no-win situation. Even the judge saw that.”
“So you’ve discharged yourself. Against hospital advice?”
She paused, both hands rested on the top of her overnight case while she regarded him. “I’m fine. A few cuts and bruises, but otherwise, I’ll live.”
There was no way she would admit to the pain she was still suffering, or the nightmares that had woken her during the night. The bruising on her face and the welts around her wrists would fade, and she’d go back to her life as it was. “Besides, Penny’s organized some home help. She’d kill me if I told her to cancel it now.” When he gave her a doubtful look, she said, “Anyway, I have a ton of work waiting for me at home and it’s not doing itself.”
Feeling ill at ease under his scrutiny, she dropped her eyes to the bag, drew the zipper up. “I guess I should thank you for coming along when you did. How did you know where we were?”
He hesitated, apparently considering his response. “Ms. Pattrenko had the forethought to call in and leave me a message with the location Patricia Tomes’ car was last recorded. Something I wish you’d done.”
“I didn’t know where the car was.” She looked away. “Anyway, I tried to call you. I left you a message. You didn’t get back to me.”
She didn’t intend the accusation in her tone. She knew he didn’t deserve it.
When he spoke, his voice was soft, reassuring. “Elizabeth, when I got that message I was already investigating the disappearance of Patricia Tomes. That’s why we arrived when we did.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was trying to distance you from all this. Stupid, I know. I should have known what a stubborn, obstinate, hard-headed woman you are, and that you’d carry on regardless of what I said.”
Her grip on the overnight bag tightened. “Clay Farrant murdered Amy Dixon and Patricia Tomes. I hope he goes to hell for it.”
He shuffled, looking slightly less at ease. “Believe me, we’re doing everything to see that he does.” He let his gaze drift around the room before coming back to her. “Elizabeth, you could have been killed. If we’d been two minutes later…” He shook his head and let the implication hang.
Feeling a little sheepish now, she fumbled with her purse, drew out her car key. “So what happens now?”
Delaney nodded, lips pursed in thought. “He’s under arrest on charges of conspiring to misrepresent information leading up to the float of his company on the stock market. Plus, we’ve charged him in connection with the murders of Amy Dixon and Patricia Tomes. New evidence pointing to Kathy Reynolds for the murder of Amy Dixon means that Warden Glassy will be lodging an appeal for the retrial of Lois Hankerman.”
“And what about Christine Wentworth? You can’t tell me she knew nothing about this.”
“That’s what she maintains.”
She gave him a dubious look. “Seriously? That’s what she’s saying?”
He flicked his eyebrows, the gesture one of cynicism. “Apparently, Clay started up Millcreek under his mother’s name without her knowledge. Of course, now her precious son is up for so many charges, she’s suddenly decided to retract her earlier statements and gotten her own lawyer.”
“Oh, what a great mom.”
He tipped his head and smiled. “We’ll get her to recant. It’s only a matter of time. Turns out he had deals with four other prisons—two in Indiana, a couple in other states, all apparently signed off by her.”
She turned to face him and smiled, more relieved than she could know. “So they’ll get him on forgery as well. Good.”
Delaney gave her a long, hard look. “It is good. As long as we secure a conviction.”
Her smile faded. “What do you mean, as long as you get a conviction? All you have to do is go to Millcreek. You’ll find all the evidence you need. Nancy and I saw their operation—saw everything.”
He cut her off, saying, “Are you saying you were invited onto the premises?” His eyebrows rose, waiting for her response.
“Well, no. But everything’s right there. All you have to do is get a search warrant and you’ll see.”
“We went out there with a search warrant just this morning.”
“And?”
He raised both hands, and dropped them again. “And nothing. The place is empty. Clean as a whistle.”
She blinked at him. “But it wasn’t. We saw—”
He glanced down at his hands. “You can bet your bottom dollar that if we bring evidence forward under those circumstances, Clay Farrant’s attorney will find some way to throw it out as having been solicited by the police and therefore inadmissible. Then they’ll fire a breaking and entering charge right back at you and Nancy. The press would have a field day with that and any testimony you offered could be deemed questionable.”
That bastard. He must have called in the entire cleaning crew to gut the Millcreek operation the second he hung up from speaking to her. No wonder he was in such a rush to get out. His undoubtedly illegal workforce was probably already paid off and on their way out of state.
“But he’ll still be charged with murder in the first degree, won’t he? I mean, he was the one behind Amy’s death. And Trish Tomes’s.”
Delaney spread his hands. “Clay Farrant has already hired the best criminal defense in Ohio. According to Farrant, he has no idea of Kathy Reynolds’ whereabouts, or who put Patricia Tomes’ body in that Dumpster. And, as he’s pointed out numerous times, setting up supply programs with prisons is perfectly legal. Lots of companies do it. Now, he’s laid the entire scheme at the door of Christine Wentworth.”
“Who, naturally denies all knowledge.”
“Naturally.”
“But surely you don’t believe her?”
He shrugged.
“Well, I’m happy to testify. And I’m positive Nancy Pattrenko would. And what about the women in Carringway? Can’t you question them?”
“I could. They’re unlikely to talk. They know what happened to Amy Dixon, and to Stacy May. They don’t want to be next.”
A sickening silence hung in the air while she processed the information.
“You’re saying he could get out?”
“It’s unlikely. He attacked three women and he was found with Trish Tomes’s cell phone in his possession. Apparently, he’d been texting messages to Nancy Pattrenko after Trish was dead, trying to throw her off the track. We found Trish's body in the Dumpster and traces of blood in his car. Next time,” he said and jabbed his finger at her like a father warning his daughter about curfew, “you do exactly what I say, when I say it.”
She dropped her head a moment, then met his gaze, held it. “Thank you. I mean it.”
He said nothing, just nodded and walked out, leaving the door to hiss closed in his wake.
Elizabeth’s hands were trembling, her heart pounding. Suddenly alone, it was only now that she realized how badly the whole series of events had shaken her. She lifted her purse, unclasped it, and found her phone. She scrolled through until she came to the entry three slots down, and hit send.
“Hello, Penny? I’m ready when you are,” she said.
“I’m leaving right now. Traffic being what it is, I’ll be there in around twenty minutes,” she said and hung up.
Elizabeth put her phone back into her purse and moved across to the window.
Out beyond the glass lay Cleveland, a beautiful, vibrant city—the city she’d grown up in, the place she’d always come back to. It was where she’d found love, and lost it, only to find the real love of her life: Holly, the child she came within a hair’s breadth from also losing. It was the place she’d finally made peace with herself, found herself, found her place in.
For the first time, doubt lay sour in the pit of her stomach.
The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set Page 58