"Not at all." She swallowed a bite of fruit tart and closed her eyes in brief ecstasy. "Kendra might also have some ideas. She and Daniel are primary source material, after all."
"Another primary source is the police detective who handled that case, Xenon Barkley. I have a meeting with him on Monday. He might be able to tell me things that never made it into the police report."
Val nodded approvingly. "I'm scheduled to meet with the public defender who handled the original case next week. It's going to be tricky—I don't want him to feel that I'm attacking his work. If he's cooperative, he might have some good information."
Rob said, "Looking the way you do tonight, there isn't a man alive who wouldn't cooperate with you."
She smiled, tilting her head to one side. "You make me feel like the most irresistible woman since Cleopatra."
As she moved her head, one of the tiny shimmering butterflies in her hair came loose and drifted to the table. He picked it up with one fingertip and gently replaced it in her red curls. "If Cleopatra was anything like you, Marc Anthony was a lucky man."
Yet despite the romantic banter and the passionate lovemaking that came when they returned to Val's house, the evening wasn't what he had hoped for. As she slept in his arms, he stared at the dark ceiling, knowing that they were further apart than when she had visited him at his apartment.
He wanted more from her, and didn't know to get it.
Chapter 14
"Mr. Barkley?"
The man at the desk glanced up from his computer. "C'mon in and have a seat. I'll be through with this in a minute."
Rob took a chair, thinking that the private security industry had done well by the former police detective. This discreet, expensive agency offered a range of services from detecting white-collar crime to providing bodyguards for international businessmen. As a vice president, Barkley had a sleek, spacious office that resembled an upscale law firm.
There was nothing sleek about Barkley, though. Muscular and bullet-headed, he'd broken his nose more than once and was clearly not a man to be trifled with. He would have been a scary interrogator in his detective days. Rob's style was quieter, depending on persuasion rather than the coercive power of the law.
Barkley finished at the computer and stood to offer his hand. "I'm glad you called. Always ready to talk about when I was at the cop shop." His shrug indicated the comfortably furnished office. "Private security put my kids through college, but it hasn't got the same excitement." Taking his seat again, he said, "You're writing an article about the Malloy case now that his murderer has run out of appeals?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression. I'm a private investigator, not a journalist."
Barkley's bushy brows arched. "Why are you investigating this case? It has human interest for a news story, but the facts were established years ago. There's nothing left to investigate."
Rob hesitated, sensing that Barkley would not approve of his purpose, but he didn't want to lie. "I represent the family of Daniel Monroe. Monroe has always maintained his innocence, so this is a last ditch effort to find evidence that might exonerate him."
"Innocent!" Barkley slammed his chair forward, his affability vanished. "The bastard is guilty as sin. The night he's executed, I'm breaking out a bottle of champagne I set aside for the occasion."
Rob kept his voice level. "He was convicted on eyewitness testimony, which is notoriously unreliable."
"Tell that to Brenda Harris, the woman Monroe attacked. The other witnesses were across the street, but Monroe physically assaulted her. He was right in her face, and she knew damned well who she was identifying."
"Yet she couldn't pick him out of a photo lineup. It wasn't until later, when he was the only familiar face in a real lineup, that she decided he was the one."
Barkley shrugged. "Harris was badly rattled by the assault and seeing a man murdered right in front of her. Not surprising that she couldn't make a positive ID a few hours later. The other two witnesses picked him out easily enough."
But they had been farther away under poor lighting conditions. Brenda Harris, who had the best look at the killer, hadn't recognized him when she first saw his picture. Only later did she become certain of his guilt. Rob said mildly, "There are cases when a victim has misidentified a rapist.
The assault was over in seconds, and she might have had a much better impression of his general build than his face."
Barkley snorted. "Of course Monroe's family wants to believe it was mistaken identity. Every criminal in the world has a mother who will claim that he's a good boy who fell in with bad company. If you believe 'em, the prisons are full of innocent men, every damned one of them."
"Most convicted criminals are guilty," Rob agreed. "But mistakes are made. DNA tests have proved that."
"Yeah, but Monroe is no mistake." Barkley's face was like granite. "You've read the case files, so you know that he started by shooting Malloy in the face. When the kid fell to the ground, screaming, Monroe stood over him and pumped five more slugs into him. As cold-blooded a murder as I ever investigated."
"It was cold-blooded all right," Rob agreed. "But not necessarily committed by Daniel Monroe. He had an alibi for the time of the shooting."
"That hot girlfriend of his?" Barkley leaned back in his chair again. "You can't have been a cop or you'd know that girlfriends lie. Families lie. Suspects lie. Everybody lies, most of all convicted criminals. Monroe and the girlfriend lived only a couple of blocks away, and she admitted that she gave her baby a bath that evening. Even if she's telling the truth, which I doubt, Monroe had plenty of time to sneak out of the house, commit murder, and sneak home again."
"There was no physical evidence connecting Monroe to the crime. No blood, no fingerprints, no weapon."
Barkley waved that off. "It's always harder to find good physical evidence at outdoor crime scenes, and there are dozens of ways he could have gotten rid of that gun. Probably passed it to a friend who tossed it into the Inner Harbor."
"There weren't any other guys in the neighborhood who had the same build as Monroe?" Rob asked. "No junkies or gangbangers who might have resembled him in low light?"
"Sure, there were other guys as tall, but it was Monroe's face that was picked out of the lineup. That and the tattoo on his wrist. You're beating a dead horse, Smith. Don't waste any more of my time."
Rob got to his feet, knowing he'd get nothing more. "Thanks for seeing me."
Frowning, he left the security firm. From the beginning he had accepted that Daniel Monroe was innocent because the man was convincing, and Rob wanted to believe him. But maybe Barkley was right. Rob's experience in the military police was nothing compared to Barkley's years as a detective, but he did know that people lied all the time, and the most convincing criminals lied with conscienceless brilliance.
Even if Daniel had brutally killed a young policeman, Rob would try to save his life because he didn't believe in legalized murder, but he wanted to know the truth. He needed to talk to Daniel, and to Kendra. It was also time to check distances and times between the crime scene and the apartment where Kendra and Daniel lived. He needed to do a reenactment with a stopwatch. He also wanted to ask Daniel about that tattoo, which was a specific enough point to make the eyewitnesses more believable.
He also needed another car, he decided as he climbed into his pickup. The truck was great for remodeling and construction, and the Rolls was a perfect setting for Val, but both vehicles were way too distinctive for an investigator. He needed a sedan that was five years old and nondescript.
It was easier to think about cars than to wonder if Daniel really had murdered a young policeman in cold blood.
* * *
Kendra was hanging up the phone when her boss roared in. These days, Val was in perpetual motion even by her standards. Kendra picked up a file folder and held it out to be grabbed. Anticipating questions, she said, "Yes, I made all the calls you requested, and wrote a memo to you with the answers I got
. Here's the Hampton file, and your sweetie was just on the phone to enlist me in reconstructing a crime. If he hasn't asked you yet, it's because you never slow down enough for him to get a hold of you."
Val paused on the way to her office at that. "Too right. Hard to believe that in a few days we'll actually be in the new office. Thank God for your organizational skills. Am I paying you enough?"
"For now." Kendra smiled wickedly. "But you will give me a salary review in six months, won't you?"
"I guess." Val opened the file she had just received. "If I survive that long. What's this about reconstructing a crime? Malloy's murder, I presume?"
"Right. He wants to do a run-through, literally, to see how long everything took, with me there as a consultant and you to hold the stopwatch or some such."
Val's brows drew together. "Late Saturday afternoon is the soonest I can do that, if the time is all right for you two."
"It works for me. As for Rob—I suspect his time, among other things, belongs to you. Just don't wear the boy out before he finishes his investigating."
Val's redhead complexion showed blushes beautifully. "I haven't got time to wear him out just now, but maybe later, when things settle down. For the moment, we haven't gotten much beyond a Saturday night date."
A date which lasted until Sunday brunch, Kendra suspected. "Are you serious about Rob, or just out to break his heart?"
Val looked up from her file in surprise. "I'm always serious about relationships, Kendra. What makes you think I'm in the heartbreaking business? Rob is very special, and maybe... maybe even a keeper."
Kendra hesitated, trying to define why she had asked the question. "You may be serious about relationships, but Rob, I think, is really serious. Vulnerable. Be careful with him, Val."
Other bosses might fire an assistant for a remark like that. Val merely looked thoughtful. "That's perceptive of you. Trust me, I have every intention of being careful. One of the nicest things about Rob is that he listens, and will talk about something besides how the Orioles are blowing another season. I'm hoping that once we get past the giddy stage and hit a few potholes, we'll be able to talk them through." She made a face. "Time to hit the computer. This ninety-second chat is my break for the afternoon. Maybe for the whole day."
After Val vanished into her office, Kendra tried to visualize her boss and Rob together. Over the years, Kendra had developed a reputation as a fortune-teller among her friends because of her ability to predict which romances would last and which wouldn't.
Kendra wasn't sure herself how she did it, though her mother and grandmother had had the same ability. Sometimes when she visualized two wildly unlikely people together, they seemed to mesh just fine despite superficial appearances. Other times, she just couldn't see two people as a couple even though they seemed well-suited.
How about Val and Rob? On the surface, very different, but their traits complemented each other. He was a serious guy, and if he decided he was in love with Val, he'd be there for her come hell, high water, or the IRS. Val, sparkly as a hummingbird, would contribute the warmth and laughter and charm Rob needed. They could be a great, forever kind of couple.
Yet when Kendra visualized them together, there was something a little out of kilter. She frowned. Based on her experience as a part-time wise woman, there would have to be some major changes if Rob and Val were going to make it.
* * *
Rob's second visit to the SuperMax prison was a little easier than the first, though he would have preferred to be almost anywhere else. Daniel Monroe looked even larger and more ominous than Rob remembered when he was escorted in by the guards. Seeing the man's puzzled look, Rob picked up the communicating phone. "I'm Rob Smith, the investigator working with Val Covington. If I seem unfamiliar, it's because I had a beard the first time I was here."
"Sure makes a difference." Monroe studied his visitor's face, then gave a low whistle. "Damn. Your last name isn't really Smith, is it? No wonder you're interested in whether or not I get fried."
Rob sighed. "You're the first one to recognize me."
"Better grow the beard back if you don't want to be spotted. Of course, most folks don't follow news of executions as closely as someone on death row."
Rob couldn't help responding to the other man's wry humor. "To most people, I was a bit player in a story that's old news. I prefer it that way."
"Were you there when your brother was executed?"
Throat tight, Rob nodded.
Monroe looked away, his deep voice a whisper. "When they do me—don't let Kendra be there. Please."
"The whole point of this investigation is to keep that from happening."
Monroe's mouth twisted. "I told you before, I think you're gonna fail. I'm willin' to be surprised if you get my sentence commuted, but I don't expect it. Will you promise to keep Kendra away?"
Rob wondered if he would be as philosophical about approaching death if he were in Monroe's place. How had Jeff felt? Had he been resigned, like Monroe? Angry? Eager to get out of prison in the only way available? God only knew. "I'll do my best to keep Kendra away if you're executed, but I can't make any promises. She's a determined woman. Maybe you can get the warden to bar her from attending."
"Good idea. I'll see if that can be done. Now what are you here for?"
"Mostly I want to ask questions that are answered in the case files plenty of times already, but I'd like to hear your point of view on what happened."
"Ask away. I have nothin' better to do."
"I talked to Xenon Barkley, the detective who investigated the Malloy murder."
Monroe snorted. "He did damn all investigatin' once he had me in custody. He never even considered that someone else might've done it."
"Do you think he did anything illegal to set you up?"
Rob was curious to see if Monroe would take the opportunity to blame someone for persecuting him, but the other man shook his head. "No, his sin was not looking hard enough for other suspects. He may or may not have set other guys up, but I don't think he messed with the case against me. He didn't have to, with the witnesses all pointin' their fingers at me."
"Was your lawyer any good?"
"Cal Murphy was kinda rushed, but he was smart and did his best. The public defenders have guys who specialize in capital cases, and they try real hard." Monroe's eyes narrowed. "Why are you askin' about all this legal stuff? I'd've thought that was more Miss Val's job."
"I'm just trying to get a feel for what happened, and how you felt about it." What the hell, might as well ask him straight out. "A lawyer probably wouldn't ask you this for fear of what you might say, but I want to know. Did you do it? I'll work just as hard if you did, but I want to know."
Instead of exploding, Monroe said dryly, "If my word wasn't good before, it won't be now. I could be the sort of twisted sister who has spent so long lyin' to myself that now I believe I'm innocent even if I'm guilty as sin. Or I could just be lyin' to everyone else while knowin' I'm a stone killer. I still say I didn't shoot that cop, but whether or not you believe me is an act of faith. You choose."
Rob felt his doubts ease. Maybe it was irrational, but he had trouble believing that a man with Monroe's detached insight was lying. "I choose to believe you're innocent, and that a real stone killer got away with murder."
"Happens regularly. With somethin' like the Malloy murder, people want to see someone pay, but they aren't real picky about who. If Kendra and I had lived in another neighborhood, I wouldn't be here today."
Now there was a depressing thought. "Since it figures in the identifications, I want to ask you about that tattoo on your wrist. Does it have a story?"
Monroe held up his right forearm, back of his hand turned to his visitor. The lines of the tattoo weren't much darker than his skin, but the image of a striking snake twining around his wrist was clear. "Yeah, but it's less interestin' than you might think. You know I went to prison for car theft? When I was inside the first time, it was kind of a fashion among
the younger prisoners to get a tattoo to show you were a real man. There are plenty of ex-cons who have 'em."
That was useful information. "Was the snake a popular image?"
"That or a skull or flames were the top choices." Monroe inspected the tattoo. "I was lucky. The guy who did this was pretty good, and I didn't get AIDS from his needle. I hear he's a legit tattoo artist down in Fells Point now."
Rob surprised himself by asking, "I've wondered. Do you work at looking scary?"
Monroe smiled with an alarming flash of white teeth. "Hell, yes. The best way to get left alone in prison is to look like someone that only a fool would mess with. I'm tall to start with. Years of prison exercise, a few scars, shave my head, and I look like someone I wouldn't want to meet in an alley myself."
"The two men who identified you. Did you know them?"
"Sort of. They were street corner homeboys. Not friends of mine, just to recognize. They had no reason to frame me, if that's what you're wonderin'."
As he had told Val, alliances can shift and change, especially in the drug culture. "Maybe they weren't after you in particular, but what if they were trying to protect a friend who looked something like you. Is that possible?"
Monroe looked startled, then intrigued. "Could be, but hard to prove since one of 'em, Darrell Long, is dead. He served some prison time after fingering me. Maybe if you could find a cellmate of his, you might learn something more. Prison is so damn borin' that it's easy to spill your guts to anyone around who'll listen. Of course, it's easy to make up stories, too, which is why the word of a jailhouse snitch ain't worth much."
"Definitely worth checking. I'm still looking for the other witness, Joseph Cady. I can't find any evidence that he's dead or alive."
"His street name was Jumbo, if that helps. A skinny little guy."
Rob made a note. "It might."
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