by Debra Webb
A stern but affectionate voice echoed those same words in Paul’s head. The Judge. She’d heard her father say those words time and again. He surveyed the cherished room. Courage and strength resonated within these walls. Confusion pulled at him. Courage and strength and something else... another element much less pure. Less good but obscured by numerous concealing layers. All those sensations were underscored by a simmering desperation.
“Your father longed for you to follow in his footsteps.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
She faced him. “What?”
He swallowed tightly, searching for something amid the Judge’s worldly possessions that lent logic to such a knowing call. This was the precise reason he didn’t get personally involved with his cases. His control always slipped. It was a constant battle, one much easier won when he was alone with reports and photos. His gaze landed on the painting on the wall behind the ornate desk.
The Judge seated in a throne-like chair, the sister, Katherine, sat in her father’s lap, but Jillian stood at his side. He gestured to the painting. “You’re standing beside him... an equal. He knew you were the strongest.”
Jill didn’t bother looking at the portrait, only at him. He tensed... he’d made another misstep. Said too much. Those clear blue eyes searched his so closely he barely restrained the need to look away.
“How do you know it’s me standing beside him?” Her voice was eerily calm. “It could be Kate. We’re identical twins. No one has ever been able to tell us apart.”
Damn. “It’s you.” No point in attempting to evade the inevitable bullet of her suspicion. “How old were you when you decided to go to law school?”
That piercing gaze shifted from him to the portrait. “I was nine.” She moved to the cabinet where liquor decanters waited and poured two drinks, both bourbon, both neat. “I ditched school and sneaked into the courtroom where the Judge was presiding that day.”
His mouth watered as she handed one glass to him. “Did you get caught?” Every molecule of strength he possessed was required to prevent downing the bourbon.
She leaned against the corner of her father’s desk. “Of course, but he didn’t tell. Father took me into his chambers and spent the afternoon telling me all about his work. I’ve been in love ever since.”
But that wasn’t how the story ended. Sadness enveloped her. He could feel the hurt. He looked away. Surrendered to the thirst and took a long swallow. Relief surged through his body. But this one polite drink would never be enough.
“The framed photos are Kate’s.” She gestured with her glass to the array of small framed photographs on one shelf. “She’s as avid about photography as I am about the law.” Jillian smiled. “She always had a camera swinging around her neck.”
That smile tugged at him, made him want to look more closely. He downed another swallow of Bourbon and hoped it would dull his senses. It was all he could do to keep the voices and images at bay.
“I have an appointment with an attorney in an hour.” She knocked back a hefty slug of her drink, grimaced at the burn. “Before I go, I want this settled.” She looked directly at him. “As much as I respect Richard, I have to tell you, Dr. Phillips, I don’t see the point in pretending. I don’t see how you can help.”
A rather polite way of saying she had concluded he was a charlatan and not worthy of her time. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t staying. “I’ll review the reports, give you my conclusions and then I’ll be out of your way.” He finished off his drink. He’d done as Lawton asked. There was nothing else required of him here.
She shook her head, set her glass aside. “How do you live with yourself and do this?”
As hard as he tried to hold back the anger, he failed. He had nothing to prove to this woman. To anyone. “I don’t go to them, they come to me.” If he could have successfully stopped the hordes who begged him to help he would have done that long ago. Just like this one. He didn’t want to be here.
Indignation flared in her eyes. “I guess you’re just lucky the forty percent of the time you get it right.”
Damn he needed another drink. “I’ll be done here today. Three or four hours tops.”
She made a breathy sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Just leave your report on my father’s desk. As far as I’m concerned you and I are done now.”
Chapter 4
Paradise Country Club
“You’re suggesting an insanity plea?” Jill could scarcely believe she’d heard him right. The meeting with the attorney had turned into a late lunch, but she’d lost her appetite well before they were served.
How could she eat when her nephew was still missing? She couldn’t help thinking he was out there, scared and hungry. The advice she’d just gotten regarding her sister’s case only added to her anxiety.
Cullen Marks leaned back in his chair. “I believe that’s the only avenue we have available at this time. I’m familiar with the neurologist and psychiatrist reviewing the case and both men are excellent.”
Jill felt stunned. The great attorney Richard had highly recommended wanted to take the easy way out. Beneath that thousand dollar suit and store bought tan, the man who’d first impressed her as a mover and a shaker with his brilliant smile and distinguished looks, was nothing but a slacker. A well-polished actor who played at being a high stakes attorney.
He knew the law well enough. He could quote the landmark cases that would absolve Kate of responsibility... but not of guilt. He wanted to plea bargain to prevent having to go to trial. He wanted to win without the race, which in Jill’s book amounted to not winning at all. Especially since her sister would be the ultimate loser.
And, the worst transgression of all, he wanted to assume the child was dead.
This was exactly why she hadn’t gone with anyone from her firm. Malcolm Teller was a damned good lawyer but he took the easy way out far too often.
Was that the new malady among her peers? Or worse, the new standard for the top legal eagles?
First Phillips, now Marks. Had Richard wanted her to fail? That just didn’t make sense... he was her friend. She’d known him for nearly a decade.
Jill took a moment to gather her composure. She plucked her linen napkin from her lap and squeezed it in her hands to blot her damp palms, then laid it carefully on the table next to her untouched meal. “Mr. Marks—”
“Cullen, please,” he insisted in that refined, oily tone which was even less sincere than his high voltage smile. “We’re a team. I’m aware of your association with Malcolm Teller. I’m sure your expertise will be a bonus to this team.”
Jill glanced at the assistant seated to her left. The man spared no attention from his bone china plate. His boss had everything under control. Though she hated to judge him solely on his performance at a lunch table, if he represented the kind of team players Cullen employed, then she was out before they even started.
“It’s my goal to prove my sister didn’t commit the crime,” she clarified just in case he hadn’t gotten it the first two times she’d stated her intent, and obviously he hadn’t. She knew the law too, but she wanted this case to go all the way to trial if necessary. Yes, she readily admitted that her goal had an emotional base, but putting that aside she knew her sister was not guilty of murder.
“That’s an honorable goal, Jillian.” Cullen sipped his wine, swirled it in his stemmed glass, then set it aside. “But I’m not sure your family is prepared for the price of achieving that unlikely outcome.”
She lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “There’s no question. I’m prepared to go the distance in and out of the courtroom.” Was this guy full of himself or what?
Cullen sighed and considered her statement. “What about your mother?” His direct gaze sliced into hers. “Is she prepared to see her daughter’s name splashed across half the newspapers in northeastern Tennessee? You know the DA’s office will drudge up more dirty business than you can stir wit
h a stick. The fact that a major research corporation, which is already making its own kind of headlines, is involved will only bait the press hounds. It won’t be pretty. Nor will it accomplish your goal of proving a third party was involved if we don’t discover at least some substantiating evidence.” He leaned forward, speaking more quietly now, but with the same intensity. “I’ve reviewed the reports, Jillian, the case against your sister is concrete.”
Jill shook her head. She knew all that. “There’s no motive.”
He made a disparaging sound in his throat. “They’ll find one. Hell, they’ll find three just to be safe.”
She lifted her chin and met his steady gaze with the sternest one she could muster. She knew that too, but she wasn’t about to back down. “And what about the bruises? There had to be a third party.”
He nodded solemnly. “It’s from those very injuries, my dear, that they’ll produce the strongest motive. Think about it, and you’ll know I’m right. This is already labeled a domestic dispute that turned deadly. Did your sister have an illicit lover?” He stopped her with an uplifted palm when she would have raised an objection. “A man who, perhaps, had grown tired of her promises to leave her husband? A man who beat her when she refused his final ultimatum, then left her to face the wrath of her husband when she could no longer hide the truth?”
Shock quaked through Jill. What he proposed was preposterous. But a part of her, the analytical side, knew he was right. It was the DA’s job to come up with a motive, an affair on her sister’s part was the perfect solution. An angry lover, a jealous husband... a desperate wife.
God. That just couldn’t be the truth.
But any DA with even half the usual measure of ambition would make it the truth in the eyes of the jury. She knew it and Cullen Marks, damn him, knew it as well.
She sighed, defeated, weary of the struggle already and it had barely begun. “I’ll need to think about this.”
He nodded, his expression carefully composed, devoid of any signs of triumph and infused with sympathy. “I understand. Give me a call in a couple of days. The chief doesn’t expect the DA to pursue an arraignment until after the autopsy results are back. That’ll take a week at best.”
For the first time since their introduction, the assistant looked up and smiled. He was tall and thin, far from handsome with a high forehead and a narrow face that lacked a chin to speak of, but he was just as well groomed as his superior. “We’ll take care of everything, Miss Ellington,” he said knowingly. “We’re very good at what we do.”
Cullen Marks summoned the waitress and settled the bill, insisting that the meal was on the firm. Which meant that ultimately it would be added to the Ellington tab. They exchanged cell phone numbers and good-byes in the vestibule. Jill lingered, still a little stunned. She stared at the attorney’s gold embossed business card for a time after he’d gone.
Everything he’d said was right. There would be no way to turn this thing around. Unless Phillips found something everyone else had missed. How likely was that? He was probably gone already. He hadn’t said a word as he’d driven her back to her car so she could come to this ill-fated meeting. She should have kept her conclusions about him to herself until he’d put his assessments in writing. A forty percent probability rate of success looked far more appealing after this meeting. That familiar ache of failure, of not getting the job done where her family was concerned, coiled inside her.
There had to be something they were missing. Just because she couldn’t see it or Cullen couldn’t see it didn’t mean it didn’t exist. There was far more to her brother-in-law’s death than met the eye. Every instinct warned that she couldn’t give up.
“Jill? Is that you?”
She paused before reaching for the door and looked back to see who’d called her name. A short brunette, eyes bright with recognition, bounced in her direction. Connie Neil.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Connie enthused before throwing her arms around Jill.
Jill hugged her tightly, then drew back and looked at her old friend. “My God, you haven’t changed a bit.” And it was the truth. Connie still looked terrific and incredibly vivacious, like the cheerleader she’d been back in high school. She and Jill had been best friends all through those tumultuous years. After going their separate ways to college, they’d eventually lost touch. The realization added another layer of sadness to this already emotional homecoming.
“When did you get home?” Connie swiped at the tears in her eyes. “It’s so good to see you.” Her exuberant expression wilted. “Oh, God. Kate.” She shook her head sadly. “I’d almost succeeded in putting that out of my mind. It’s unbelievable.”
Jill nodded, the catch in her throat prevented speech. She hugged her old friend again and swallowed the lump of raw emotion. “It’s good to see a friendly face.” She fiddled with her purse a moment. “I feel like a stranger here now.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Connie placated. “You’ll never be a stranger here. This is home.” She patted Jill on the shoulder. “As soon as your head’s above water, let’s have a sleep over just like we used to and catch up on the last decade of gossip.”
The idea went a long way in soothing Jill’s frazzled nerves. “That would be really nice. I fear, though, that this investigation is going to take some time.”
Connie blinked. “Investigation? You mean finding Cody?”
Jill nodded. “That and I’m working on clearing my sister’s name. You know she couldn’t have killed Karl.”
“Oh.” Connie’s expression grew distant.
When the silence dragged on, Jill asked slowly, “Is everything all right?”
Connie’s lips stretched into an unnatural smile as she gave a resolute nod and fished around in her bag. “Ah... yeah... call me.” She jotted something on a piece of paper. “Here’s my number. We’ll have lunch.”
“Sure.” Jill watched as her friend hurried away. Connie’s abrupt change in demeanor completely baffled her. Any headway she’d gained in feeling more at home vanished.
She was still the outsider.
~*~
Paradise General
Paul scanned the papers spread across the dash and passenger seat of his Land Rover once more. Something was way off. He reread the ER report on Kate Manning. Multiple contusions. Scratches on her right arm and shoulder. An inordinate number of bruises. A green stick fracture on her left wrist. Complete disorientation upon examination. Yet her respiration and heart rate were low, as if she had been completely relaxed. He tossed that report aside and studied the crime scene photos for the fourth time.
The Manning kitchen was large with all the amenities one would expect in the home of a corporate CEO. Directly in front of the kitchen sink was Karl Manning’s body. A large pool of blood had coagulated on the tile floor around him.
But it didn’t add up. Paul shuffled through the pictures. The kitchen was clean, neat... perfect. Not the first item was out of place. No indication of a struggle. But a man lay dead on the floor. His wife, the supposed killer, was marred by what could only be called a beating nothing short of brutal. Even more confusing were the victim’s hands. No indication whatsoever that he’d lifted a finger to harm his wife. Had he worn gloves there would still have been some indication somewhere on his body that his wife had fought back. A single scratch. An abrasion. Something. But there wasn’t a mark on the dead man. When complete, the autopsy report would surely confirm Paul’s conclusion.
Karl Manning had not touched his wife.
Paul stared at the photos of Katherine Ellington and thought about the portrait of her with Jillian, and then the ones of her with her attractive family, scattered around the Ellington home. Unbidden, the image of the child intruded and blocked out all else. The boy, blond haired and blue eyed like his parents, had been missing for almost forty-eight hours now. Odds were against his being alive... but something deep inside Paul resisted that conclusion. He blinked away the image and focused on Kate.
/> She was the key somehow. She’d been beaten and then delivered to her home to face her husband’s wrath. Maybe for whatever she’d gotten herself into. Or whatever he’d gotten her into, Paul countered, playing out the scene in his head. The child wasn’t around. He was... away. Paul cautiously lowered his defenses... concentrated hard... tried to see.
It was the right thing to do.
The words reverberated inside him, around him, jerking his head up. The voice was too distorted to know if it was male or female... but the words were clear. It was the right thing to do.
Paul stared at the photograph of a bruised and battered Kate. He wondered why Jillian didn’t talk about the fact that she and her sister were twins. Only that once when he’d recognized her in the portrait with her father. Twins, especially identical ones, had a deep connection. Was that why Jillian was so certain her sister hadn’t killed her husband? Then again, he’d picked up on her serious need to be her own person. She’d left home and scarcely returned. To blot out that deep connection? Did she know more now than she realized? Had she convinced herself that if she pretended it didn’t exist, it wouldn’t?
But it did. The link was written in her DNA.
Paul had learned at a very young age that he was different. He sensed things... heard things others didn’t. He could read feelings as easily as breathing, could pick up on the last presence in an empty room. His parents had urged him to keep quiet about what they called the gift and he had. But when he’d begun his career there was no hiding his innate ability to know certain details. When his superiors had learned of his ability, they’d pushed him relentlessly to solve more and more cases. They’d pushed him until he snapped.
He closed his eyes and forced thoughts of his past away. He had to concentrate on the here and now. There was something rotten in this sweet little town. He should have left when he had the chance but he couldn’t. Jillian Ellington had unknowingly struck a chord deep inside him. He had to do this part. Give her something to go on and then get the hell out of here before he got dragged into this abyss.