by Erica Abbott
“Yes,” Jean said. “Sounds like you had a long day.”
“You could say that. Look, I’m downtown at the office anyway. Could I stop by for a few minutes? Tomorrow doesn’t look much better than today did but I’d like to see you.”
Jean took a quick look around the condo. Her dinner dishes were still on the counter and there were several days’ worth of newspapers on her coffee table. She sighed, knowing she’d want to see Lea even if the house was on fire. “Sure,” she answered. “See you in a minute.”
Jean managed to tuck the dishes into the dishwasher and dump the papers into the recycling bin before Lea’s knock sounded. She couldn’t do anything about her sweatpants and ancient T-shirt, but she did pull her hair back into a neat ponytail before she opened the door.
Lea looked as tired as she’d sounded on the phone. There were dark smudges under her eyes and her uniform was less than crisp, but when she saw Jean, she gave her a crooked smile. “Hi.”
“Hi. Come on in.”
Lea sat on the couch and sighed. “It feels like three days just since I got off my feet.”
“Do you want some tea? Or coffee maybe?”
Lea hesitated. “Only if it’s already made. I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“It’ll take two minutes. You look like you could use something.”
“Coffee, then,” Lea said gratefully. “It’s kind of a long drive home, as you know.”
Jean brought out two mugs when the coffee had brewed. Lea had her head back with her eyes closed. Jean wondered if she’d fallen asleep but Lea sat up straight as Jean approached and took the coffee gratefully.
“Thanks,” Lea said. “So tell me about your mother.”
Jean went through the story and Lea listened without interruption, although she stirred at Jean’s description of the altercation with her brother. “Didn’t know geeky lawyers could mix it up, did you?” Jean asked, smiling.
“I’m not surprised in the least,” Lea said. “He sounds like a jerk. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“Me too. But it wasn’t as bad as coming back and finding Todd…” Her voice trailed off.
Lea said, “We don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.”
“I really don’t. So do you want to tell me about your day instead?”
Lea sighed. “Nope. Don’t take it personally. It was just a bunch of stuff.” Her expression softened and she said, “I really am sorry about your friend Todd.”
“He wasn’t really a friend, not really,” Jean acknowledged. “But he was a colleague and a nice guy, though I didn’t think he was particularly good at his job. But I need to tell you something else.”
That got her an alert look. “About the murder?”
“I think so. The file I gave him to work on, the Lambert case? You remember the case where the man who was shot in his house had been suing the county? Well, the file folders have gone missing.”
Lea drank her coffee, then said, “Let me get this straight. First Lambert is killed at his home, supposedly by our Joya burglar, but apparently not. Then the attorney who is working on the Lambert case is shot to death during what looks like a carjacking or a mugging? This is not a story that is making a lot of sense, but the deaths have to be connected. Two coincidental shootings is no coincidence.”
“After I talked to Detective Munson about the phone call, I left a message with him to see if the file folders might have been in Todd’s car.”
“Good thinking. I’ll call him tomorrow as well. Maybe Moorman’s wife knows something. I’ll ask him to check their house, just in case he took the files home sometime before Friday.”
“You’re convinced the two killings are connected?”
Lea gave her an appraising look. “Yes. Aren’t you?”
Jean smiled ruefully. “You’re the police officer here.”
“You have a working brain,” Lea responded. “Do you think they’re not connected?”
Jean got up and began to pace around her living room. “I do, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out how. Killing Lambert wouldn’t stop the lawsuit from going forward, though it would certainly make the case more difficult to win, since Lambert himself wouldn’t be available as a witness. But if someone were going to kill him for a reason connected with the lawsuit, they should have done so before he was deposed. And Todd wasn’t going to try the case. He was just doing some research for me.”
“Wait,” Lea interjected. “Why would it matter whether Lambert was killed before or after his deposition?”
“Because a deposition is sworn testimony. His attorneys can admit it in court as evidence since his death makes him no longer available as a witness. It’s a way to get his story in front of the jury. If somebody wanted to screw up the lawsuit, they should have shot him before he was deposed.”
“Still, there must be something,” Lea persisted. “The fact that the file is missing seems to be some indication that there was something in it that connects the Lambert case with Todd Moorman’s murder.”
“Okay,” Jean conceded. “But I’ve been thinking about this all evening and I can’t figure out what could possibly be in the file that could be a motive for a murder, let alone two murders.”
Lea sighed. “I hope we’ll be able to figure that out when—and if—we locate the file.” She yawned and stretched. “Thanks for the coffee. I’m sorry I’m so exhausted. Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve had a really rough week, between your mother and then coming back to all this.”
Jean had a sudden urge to join her on the couch, wrap herself around Lea and hold on. Why had she been so resistant to becoming involved with her? Her reasons and her pain seemed to recede every moment she spent in Lea’s presence.
But Lea was already headed for the door and now wasn’t the time to explain her change of heart. Instead she said, “Let’s talk tomorrow. Dinner, maybe? If you have time.”
Lea gave her another half smile. “I’ll check my schedule and call you. Thanks for letting me come over.”
“You never really said why you wanted to,” Jean pointed out.
With her hand already on the doorknob, Lea turned back to her. “I wanted to see you,” she said quietly. “Just to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m okay,” Jean said softly.
Lea leaned in and kissed Jean gently on the cheek. “I’m glad. Take care of yourself, Jean.”
As she undressed for bed, Jean could still feel the warmth of Lea’s lips against her cheek.
* * *
It was almost noon the next day before Detective Munson called Jean back. She explained about the missing file folders.
“Just a sec,” Munson muttered into the phone. “Lemme get the—here it is. Inventory list. Um, yeah. Five manila file folders, in his briefcase. It was in the trunk of his car.”
Jean felt a wave of relief. “Is there any chance I could borrow them?”
“Borrow them? I can’t let you take them out of the inventory. They’re evidence.”
“I understand,” Jean said, thinking quickly. “What if I came over to the station and looked at them?”
She could hear the reluctance in his hesitation. “I think it might be important to your investigation,” she added.
“Uh, look, Ms. McAllister, I know you’re a lawyer and all, but…”
Before he could finish refusing her, she took a chance. “Have you talked to Sheriff Hawkins today?”
“No.” Now he sounded suspicious. “Why?”
“I think she’ll vouch for my trustworthiness. Please schedule me for his afternoon, say around two thirty? I promise to stay out of your way. You can put me in an interview room or something.”
Munson finally agreed but his reluctance was still clear in his voice. Jean was suddenly energetic. Surely there must be something in the file folders that would help them understand why Todd Moorman—and Fred Lambert—had been murdered.
She hadn’t seen Del since her return from Dallas and she
decided to check in. She considered telling him about her investigation into the murders and the connection with the Lambert file folders, but on the way down the hallway she decided to wait until she had turned up a firm lead.
Pacing on the carpet outside Del’s corner office was Carolyn Forsythe. Jean greeted her and, gesturing to the closed office door, asked, “Is he with someone?”
Carolyn looked unsettled. She toyed with her gold bracelet. “I heard voices, but I hated to interrupt.”
Jean looked surprised. Carolyn was Del’s boss, at least one of them. Jean wondered why Carolyn would be reluctant to disturb him. Turning, Jean knocked firmly on the closed door.
A moment later the door was jerked open and she was face-to-face with an angry Del Franklin.
“What the hell is the matter with you, McAllister? Can’t you see—”
Jean looked past him to see Commissioner Hayward Lyons standing behind Del. He looked even angrier than her boss did and Jean realized that she’d interrupted some serious disagreement between the two men.
“Never mind,” Lyons said, spitting out the words. “I think we understand each other, Franklin.”
He pushed past Del and Jean without apology and stalked down the hallway.
Carolyn was fluttering behind her. “Oh, Del, I’m sorry, Jean was just seeing if you were done yet.”
Del glared at Jean but softened his tone for Carolyn. “Well, obviously not, since the door was shut. It’s all right, Commissioner Forsythe. You know I always have time for you.”
He ushered her in, turning briefly back to Jean. “I’m sure whatever you had can wait, McAllister.” It was not phrased as a question.
“Just checking in,” Jean said as calmly as she could. “If you need me I’ll be in my office this morning. I have appointments out of the office this afternoon.”
“Fine,” he said brusquely, all but waving her away.
Good to see you, too, boss. Yes, my mother is recovering, thanks for asking. No, I’m not traumatized from finding my colleague murdered in the parking lot. Jean went back to her office in a sour mood, her energy of a few moments ago dissipated by Del’s rude behavior. Why had she ever thought she would work well with Del Franklin?
The hell with him, at least for the moment. She returned to the never-ending river of work that flowed through her office.
Chapter Eleven
Detective Munson was wearing a blue blazer that looked like he’d owned it since his high school graduation. It was a couple of sizes too small, shiny at the elbows and when he crossed his arms to look down at Jean, sitting at the battered table in the interview room, she feared that the shoulder seams wouldn’t stand the strain.
He laid the file folders, still in the heavy clear plastic evidence bag, onto the table’s surface, avoiding the metal ring used to secure handcuffed suspects. “I had a talk with Sheriff Hawkins earlier today,” he said, in his most lugubrious tone. “She seems to think very highly of your reliability and honesty. I gotta tell you, this isn’t exactly regular procedure.”
“I know and I do appreciate it,” Jean said in her best mollifying tone. “I hope to be of some help.”
He made a grumpy snort and left her alone. She wondered for a moment if he planned on watching her through the one-way window set into one wall of the room, but shrugged the thought away. Munson could observe her as much he wanted. All she was going to do was read.
Jean decided to attack the problem chronologically and pulled the pleadings file out first. She read everything, the Complaint, the county’s answer, the various amended pleadings and motions. Everything seemed straightforward enough. Fred Lambert claimed that he’d been wrongfully terminated but the Complaint’s allegations were vague, although that wasn’t unusual. All the Complaint was required to do was put the other side on notice of the claim, not outline every bit of evidence the plaintiff had against the defendant.
The Motions to Dismiss and the Amended Answers didn’t tell Jean anything helpful. She set aside the pleadings file and read the correspondence file next, the usual exchange of letters sparring over discovery details and haggling over dates. Del’s general strategy for this case, at least, had been to raise every possible difficulty for the plaintiff and his attorneys. The more she read the more disgusted Jean became. Del was skirting the edge of proper ethical behavior without ever actually going over.
She shoved the folder aside and opened the bottle of water she’d brought with her. She needed to wash the taste of her boss’s tactics out of her mouth.
The thickest files contained the discovery, the exchange of evidentiary information between the parties. The Interrogatories had been exchanged, written questions sent by one party to the other for answers. They helped define the issues and Jean read them closely. Lambert seemed to be claiming that his direct supervisor, a man named Bill Skelton, fired him because Lambert had complained about certain roadwork performed by the county for private citizens.
This was the first Jean had heard of the specifics of the allegations. She dug into the file until she found Skelton’s deposition. He testified that Lambert was fired because he had falsified his time sheets and copies of the time sheets in question were endlessly discussed.
Jean finished the deposition no wiser than she’d been when she started. Several other public works employees were deposed, some claiming that Lambert was always at work when he was supposed to be, others supporting Skelton’s version of events. The conflicting testimony didn’t surprise Jean. It always amazed her how much variation in the truth people could create.
She finished her water, surprised to see that it was after five o’clock. No one had disturbed her, but she supposed that a police station didn’t keep regular office hours. Jean stretched, made a quick trip to the ladies’ room, then returned to her little interview room. It was time to read Lambert’s deposition and she didn’t want to have to come back tomorrow.
The first sixty-three pages of the deposition covered Lambert’s personal history and his twenty-two years of employment at the county public works department. Finally Del got down to the specifics of the whistle-blower claim.
Q: I am showing you your Interrogatory answer number seven, do you recognize it?
A: Yes.
Q: You claim that you were terminated because you complained about certain paving activities.
A: Not paving.
Q: Not paving?
A: No. It was grading operations on gravel roads. Private gravel roads, not paved.
Q: So you’re claiming that you were ordered to grade private roads with county property?
A: I’m not claiming anything. I’m saying I was told to do work on private roads on county time.
Jean couldn’t read intonation or hesitation from the pages of the deposition, but she could almost hear the disdain in Lambert’s voice.
Del hammered Lambert about this claim for pages and pages. Jean shook her head. Del seemed to be trying to talk Lambert out of his statements instead of just pinning down the specifics of his testimony, the real purpose of the deposition. Arguing with the witness was the strategy of a mediocre lawyer.
Near the end, Lambert’s attorney asked questions of his client to clarify the allegations.
Q: When did you perform these grading operations on the private roads?
A: In April and May of last year.
Q: And for whom did you perform these grading operations?
Franklin: Objection. The question is irrelevant to the issues in this case.
Q: Go ahead and answer the question.
Franklin: No, don’t. I direct the witness to—
Q: Unless you’re planning on calling the magistrate right now, my client is going to answer the question.
A: A lot of places. The road to Commissioner Forsythe’s place out north of town. Deputy Treasurer Webb’s house. The county clerk’s brother, his house in Joya. And uh, Lou Hawkins’s ranch, the sheriff’s father.
* * *
The name “Hawkins�
� jumped off the page at her. Jean read the rest of the deposition in stunned disbelief. Lambert was claiming that his boss ordered him to do work on county time with county equipment for the private benefit of people with power.
People like Lou Hawkins.
Jean wanted to throw the deposition across the room or find the nearest shredder to destroy the ugly allegations page by page. If Lambert had been telling the truth, the motive was becoming clear. Lambert had been killed to prevent any further revelation about the misuse of county employees and county property. And Todd must have read the deposition and drawn the same conclusion, Jean realized. Todd had discovered the testimony from the deposition and that was when he must have called Jean. But the conspirators, whoever they were, somehow found out about it and killed him before he could talk.
What was she going to do? If she told Munson what she had discovered, she would involve Lea in a scandal involving her family. Jean couldn’t imagine how devastated Lea would be to discover that her father had violated the public trust.
A chilling thought hit her. What if Lea already knew? What if she was the person who had asked public works to do the grading on Painted Horse Ranch? Or maybe Lea had discovered it after the fact and had helped cover for her father’s corruption?
Jean couldn’t believe it of Lea. It was almost as difficult to believe that Lou Hawkins would have cheated the public, but Jean didn’t really know him. He certainly had plenty of powerful friends, so perhaps it was just a quid pro quo kind of favor. The thought made her slightly sick to her stomach.
Her cell phone rang. The caller ID read “Lea Hawkins.”
Lea was calling about dinner. Jean couldn’t talk to her. Not now. She had to think. She had to figure out what to do first.
She let the call go to her voice mail. She got two more calls from Lea that evening and she just stared at the phone lying on her coffee table. Jean wondered how long it would be before she could listen to the messages.
* * *
“We don’t give out addresses of retired employees,” said the officious voice on the other end of the line.