Justice

by Karen Robards

  “Not if I can help it,” Pearse said grimly, then discussed strategy with Jess all the way back to work.

  Jess reentered her office in a thoughtful mood. Sinking into her expensive chair, she looked around with fresh eyes. Her surroundings reeked of good taste; she was now one of the elite, big-time lawyers she had always dreamed of becoming. It was unbelievable, amazing—and it had all fallen into her lap because Allison Howard had gotten married and quit.

  Who quit a job like this with a phone message? Worked her tail off to get it, and then just threw it all away on a whim?

  For herself, now that she had it, Jess knew they would have to pry the job from her cold, dead hands.

  She was getting a feel for Allison by going over her work. She didn’t think she and Allison were so very different in that regard. Allison had relished her position with Ellis Hayes.

  Would she have walked away for a man?

  Jess thought of Mark. If he asked her, would she give up all this to marry him?

  Hell, no. Not in this life.

  So maybe Mark was the wrong man. Maybe Allison had found somebody incredibly perfect for her, her very own Mr. Right.

  Or maybe Allison hadn’t just walked away. Jess thought of seeing Allison here in their mutual office, of the red star around the awards luncheon on Allison’s appointment calendar. Of Allison’s phone call to Lucy.

  Something just didn’t feel right.

  Not your business. She could almost hear Mark saying it. And really, the last thing she wanted to do was get Allison back here trying to reclaim her position at Ellis Hayes.

  But …

  By the end of the day, despite her best intentions, Jess was deep into a background check on Allison. She was up to her eyeballs in other work, work that Pearse assigned her and that Ellis Hayes was paying her a fat six figures to do, so she had to shoehorn in her investigation of Allison. This she did by barely leaving her office, forgoing all but the most necessary breaks and staying in for lunch. By six thirty even she was impressed by how much work she’d managed to turn out.

  Especially given the fact that all afternoon she’d sensed what she’d gradually come to think of as Allison’s presence. Not that it really was Allison’s presence, of course. First, as far as she knew Allison wasn’t dead, and, second, Jess didn’t believe in things like ghosts anyway. In any case, today the plant remained a plant, and she had no sightings of the former occupant of her office.

  But what she did have was a feeling, this constant, pervasive, inescapable feeling, of being watched. While she was in her office, where she was indisputably (she kept looking over her shoulder to make sure) alone. As if someone was standing just behind her, silent and invisible, observing every single thing she did.

  The feeling was like a weight in the air.

  It was enough to give her the willies. It was enough to make goose bumps rise on her skin. It was enough to make her wish it hadn’t been raining, which made the atmosphere faintly gloomy even though she had her lights on at full blaze, and her door ajar.

  But the feeling persisted.

  She went through all the boxes containing Allison’s work files, prioritizing them, doing what she could on the spot and making note of what else needed to be done. She then accessed Allison’s online records, which, since they were still stored on the firm’s server, were easy enough to get to. At the time she’d left the firm, Allison had been hard at work on the Phillips case, which at that point had been right on the verge of going to trial. She’d been heading out on a weeklong business trip to the Bahamas, where Tiffany Higgs had allegedly spent a wild and wooly weekend just before her fateful encounter with Rob Phillips. No prizes for guessing what Allison had been trying to establish—whether Tiffany had a party girl past, in hopes that it would be admissible—but records from that trip were not on the computer. Probably Allison had put them on her laptop, meaning to transfer them to the office system when she got back. But then she’d never come back, although she had clearly planned to return.

  Jess pulled up Allison’s personnel file from Human Resources. That was a little tougher to get to, but she managed, because getting into things on the computer was one of her skills. Soon she was perusing the details of Allison’s life as seen through her employment history. Allison had been twenty-eight years old and unmarried when she’d come to work at Ellis Hayes, and she’d been there three years. Her next of kin was listed as her mother, Sharon Howard, at a local phone number. When Jess impulsively called it, planning to pretend to be an old friend from college trying to get hold of Allison, instead it produced one Marty Hagman, who claimed never to have heard of Sharon or Allison Howard and didn’t know why they’d be using his number, which he claimed to have had for forty years. Unlike the majority of Ellis Hayes’s Ivy Leaguers, Allison had attended the University of the District of Columbia (Clarke) Law School, an urban, way un-prestigious local school, on a scholarship. She’d come into the firm just as Jess had, on a part-time basis while still a law student, and worked herself up to full time.

  In fact, reading Allison’s file, Jess found an unnerving number of parallels to her own life.

  It was like the two of them fit a tiny, particular niche in Ellis Hayes’s hiring plan: token blue-collar girls, taken on board so that the firm wouldn’t be considered hopelessly elitist. Strivers who kept their noses to the grindstone, willing to arrive earlier and stay later than anyone else, workhorses who could be counted on to get the job done.

  Call them the anti-divas.

  Jess wasn’t sure she liked the idea of that. On the other hand, if it was one of the factors that had gotten her hired, hey, she wasn’t proud.

  Grace called as Jess was worming her way onto Allison’s Facebook page. Given the fact that Allison’s privacy settings concealed almost all her information from outsiders and Jess wasn’t listed as a friend, it was a little problematic, but nothing she couldn’t overcome with a few judicious moves.

  When Jess answered the phone, then hit the speaker button so that she could continue what she was doing while she talked, Grace greeted her with, “Have I got a gown for you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” That note in her sister’s voice made Jess deeply suspicious.

  “Galanos. Gorgeous. Your size, too.”

  “Is it suitable?”

  “It’s a dream.”

  “What color?”

  “Come see.”

  Taking an educated guess regarding Allison, Jess went to the University of the District of Columbia Law School Alumni Association page and joined it. As she had suspected might be the case, Allison was part of its network. Yee-haw. She was in.

  “Bring it home tonight for me to look at, why don’t you?” she said to Grace.

  Allison had 139 friends, most, from what Jess could tell, professional contacts. Jess started going down the list. She didn’t know what she was looking for, precisely, but she was looking. A man named Greg, maybe. If Allison had married him, it seemed likely that he would be her friend.

  “Well, um, I might not be coming home tonight.” Grace sounded self-conscious. That note in her voice was so unlike Grace that Jess stopped paging down the rows of friends to really listen.

  “What? Three nights in a row? With Mr. Divine? That sounds like deathless love.”

  Grace laughed. “When you see him, you’ll totally get it. Will you be all right? I hear Mark’s been staying over.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Where do you think?”

  “Mom.” Jess pegged it with a sigh. Probably somebody had driven by the apartment and seen the Suburban, and the news had flown around the family within the hour. Judy’s daughters had no secrets, and they’d pretty much become resigned to it over the years.

  “You know how it is. Jungle drums.”

  Explaining that she and Mark were not together would involve explaining why, then, he was spending the night. Some explanations, Jess decided, were just better not being made.

  “Sometimes
being a member of this family sucks, you know? Would the world end if everybody just minded her own business?” Her tone wasn’t quite caustic, but it was close.

  “Probably,” Grace said. “Are you coming by the store?”

  “How late are you going to be there?”

  “Since it’s tourist season, we’re open till nine.”

  “I’ll be there. And, oh, Gracie, thanks bunches.”

  “You’re welcome,” Grace said, and they disconnected.

  Not having found a Greg, Jess moved on to Allison’s wall, which relieved a worry she hadn’t even realized was niggling at the back of her mind. What she had seen in her office couldn’t have been Allison’s ghost, because Allison was alive and well and regularly updating her Facebook page. Her most recent posting was dated that very morning, Jess was interested to see.

  Allison had written: Having so much fun. This is simply bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss. I may never come home! Love and kisses to all.

  There were more in that vein, six in total since Allison had left for the Bahamas, four of them since she’d wed and embarked on her honeymoon.

  She sounded happy.

  Jess debated a moment, then sent Allison a message through Facebook: I’m your replacement, and I have an urgent question about one of your cases. Pls call. If Allison wouldn’t answer her phone …

  Then Jess had an epiphany. Maybe she could get in touch with Tiffany the same way. Of course, first she had to get to Tiffany’s Facebook page. Having had access to reams of information about the alleged victim during the course of Rob Phillips’s trial, Jess tried to remember as much about Tiffany as she could. After a couple of busts, she hit pay dirt with Tiffany’s high school graduating class’s network.

  Once again, she was in. She sent Tiffany a message—I found something of yours I’d like to return—then went to her wall. The most recent post made her eyebrows twitch together.

  “There is such a thing as overdoing it.”

  Jess was so absorbed that Mark’s voice made her jump. Looking up, she found him standing just inside her doorway, frowning at her. Since she’d left her door ajar in an effort to combat the whole it-feels-like-somebody’s-watching-me creepiness factor, it wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t heard him enter.

  “Did you want something?” She glanced back down at Tiffany’s post, reading it again. There was no mistake. An uneasy prickle crept across the nape of her neck.

  “Yeah. To get out of here.”

  Jess’s attention was once again all on Tiffany’s wall. “I’m in the middle of something.”

  “It’s quarter after seven. Your boss has gone. There’s nobody left to impress.”

  “Bite me.” Frowning, she glanced up at him. But whether she was on the outs with him or not, Mark was too good a resource to dismiss. “Come here and look at this.”

  “You know, the rest of us mortals get our kicks doing something besides working.” But he came over to where she sat behind her big mahogany desk in her cushy leather chair, and obediently leaned over to read the posting Jess pointed out to him.

  Tiffany had written, Getting away like this is simply bliss. I’m so glad I did it! Love and kisses.

  Mark looked at her. “So?”

  Jess called up Allison’s wall, then, as Mark looked at where she pointed, she read the latest posting aloud: “‘Having so much fun. This is simply bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss. I may never come home! Love and kisses to all.’ That’s Allison.” Then she went back to Tiffany’s wall and read her posting aloud: “‘Getting away like this is simply bliss. I’m so glad I did it! Love and kisses.’”

  “So?” Mark said again.

  “Don’t you notice anything?”

  “Besides the fact that you’re cyber-stalking Tiffany Higgs, which I’m pretty sure is some kind of big ethical no-no?”

  Jess dismissed that with an impatient grimace. “The similarity in the messages. Allison says ‘simply bliss’ and ‘love and kisses.’ So does Tiffany. The exact same phraseology. What do you think about that?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Mark straightened away from the computer. “Jesus Christ, Jess, you need to get a life.”

  “Don’t tell me you think that’s a coincidence.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “A mistake. The same person wrote both these posts, and they were careless about using the same phraseology because they never expected anyone to read both walls.”

  “Or else they’re common phrases that a lot of young women who probably watch the same TV shows and listen to the same music and surf the same web sites use.”

  “‘Simply bliss’ and ‘Love and kisses’? I don’t think so.” Jess tapped Allison’s calendar with her finger. “And look at this. This is Allison Howard’s appointment calendar. See this star she drew around Shelter House’s award luncheon in her honor? Do you think she would just take off and forget all about it?”

  “Next you’ll be asking me if there was a second shooter on the grassy knoll and if I think Neil Armstrong really walked on the moon.” His voice was dry.

  Jess gave him a withering look and stood up.

  “We’re still stuck with each other, right?” She asked. Mark’s response was a curt nod. “Then let’s go.”

  “Hallelujah.”

  Mark had been wrong about one thing. On the way out of the building, they ran into Hayley, who was also just leaving for the day. Instantaneously sizing each other up as fellow workaholics, the two women exchanged polite waves. Mark, on the other hand, was treated to a great big smile. Jess hadn’t known Hayley had it in her.

  “I think she likes you,” Jess informed Mark. Determined not to let Hayley’s unabashed appreciation of Mark bother her—or at least determined not to let it show—Jess pointed out the obvious. By that time, they were in the parking garage with the Suburban in sight. Most of the vehicles were gone, and the acres of vast, echoing concrete were unexpectedly intimidating.

  Sometimes having a Secret Service agent with her felt good.

  “What can I say? She has good taste.” He beeped the doors open and, just as he had before, came around to the passenger side to open the door for Jess. Her mouth twisted a little as she climbed in, but this time she made no comment as he got in a moment later and started the engine.

  “So what do you want to eat?” he asked as the Suburban nosed out onto 3rd Street and joined the crush of traffic. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still leaden and puddles lay everywhere.

  “We can eat later. First we’re going to Crystal City.”

  “What? Why?”

  Jess knew he was going to object, but that was just too bad. “That’s where Tiffany Higgs lives. With her mother.”

  Mark looked at her. “Oh, no. Not happening. We are not going to see Tiffany Higgs. First of all, like I’ve said before, she is not your problem. Second of all, Collins will shit bricks, I guarantee it. And third, I’m starving here.”

  “The trial’s over. There’s no ethical issue involved.”

  “Forget it. I am not driving out to Crystal City.”

  “Fine. Pull over then, and I’ll get a taxi. I don’t need you.”

  “The hell you don’t. What is it about bang, bang, you’re dead that you don’t get?”

  “Mark. I am going out to Crystal City. You can come with me or not, your choice, but I’m going. Right now.”

  “Damn it, Jess—” But something, either the look on her face or her hand curling around the door handle ready to open the door so she could jump out the next time he stopped for a red light, persuaded him. “Fine. If you’re bound and determined to go, I’ll take you.” Neither of them said anything else as he negotiated the city streets, until finally he asked, “What exactly do you think you’re uncovering here, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” Jess said as he pulled onto the freeway. “It’s just … I think there’s something wrong. I’ve thought that ever since Tiffany recanted on t
he stand. You never met Tiffany, never spoke to her. I did. She had just a high school education. I doubt if she’s ever read a book. By no stretch of the imagination is she the brightest bulb in the chandelier. I’m almost positive she wouldn’t say ‘simply bliss.’ And for her to use two of the same phrases as Allison: what are the chances?”

  Mark seemed to be thinking that over. A semi rattled by on Jess’s side, so close that she could have stuck her arm out the window and touched it with no problem, causing her to shoot it a startled glance. The gray waters of the Potomac below caught her eye, and she realized they were already on the bridge. Mark was driving fast, but no faster than the traffic around them.

  “And if you give me some smart-ass answer about Neil Armstrong and the grassy knoll, this conversation is ended right here,” she warned.

  “Maybe it’s a little weird,” he allowed with a flickering smile.

  Jess waxed triumphant. “See?”

  “So we’re going to Crystal City so you can check up on Tiffany Higgs.”

  “Yes.” Actually, that pretty much summed it up. They were across the bridge now, and she got a glimpse of the tall control towers of National Airport in the distance to her left. A blue minivan loaded down with kids and luggage cut too close in front of them, streaking across two lanes of traffic for the exit, causing Mark to brake. Up ahead, a sign announced Crystal City. Mark pulled into the far right lane.

  “After that, can we eat?”

  “Yes.”

  The Suburban curled down the exit ramp and stopped at the stoplight.

  “So give me the address.” He sounded resigned.

  Jess did, and Mark plugged it into his GPS. A few minutes later they were negotiating the streets of a 1950s era subdivision crowded with small houses in small yards. Some had aluminum siding, some had weathered shingles, a few were brick. The GPS ordered them to stop in front of a small brick ranch with peeling white trim and a crabgrass yard that badly needed cutting.