Merciless

by Mary Burton

  Malcolm shook his head. “How do you know this?”

  “I worked a summer in a bone-processing plant out west. We handled thousands of bones just like this. Of course they were animal bones.” She lifted a forearm bone. “Whoever did this, I think, did not finish the job.”

  The process had soured Malcolm’s stomach, but Garrison stared at the bones with a vague curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Got any theories why the killer didn’t finish?”

  “Maybe the only goal was to strip evidence. I don’t pretend to understand why anyone would do this.” She adjusted her eye gear. “I can tell you that the victim’s right femur is missing.”

  “His idea of a souvenir?” Malcolm said.

  Henson shrugged. “You’re the detective, not me.”

  Malcolm laughed. “Yep, that’s why they pay us the big bucks. Call us when you’ve thoroughly checked those dental records.”

  At one minute to one, Angie glanced at the small gold ivory-framed clock on her desk. It had belonged to her father, and it was one of the few things of his she’d kept. She thought about her promise to represent Lulu Sweet as she tapped her pencil on her desk and watched the seconds tick. Regret nagged her.

  A part of Angie hoped Lulu wouldn’t show, or would be terribly late or even would show up high. Any one of those reasons would be excuse enough to banish Lulu from her thoughts and confirm that Angie’s courtroom character assassination of the woman had been just.

  Angie had left the courtroom that day satisfied that she’d shattered the prosecution’s case. She’d not expected Lulu to be waiting outside the courthouse. She’d not expected the girl’s outrage or anger.

  You twisted my words well enough, but that man you are defending is evil.

  The memory had Angie straightening. That day in the courtroom Angie had been defending the justice system and a defendant’s right to representation. She needed to be the one who believed in the system and what it represented. She needed to provide Dixon the defense that Eva had been denied so many years ago.

  Her phone buzzed.

  She pressed intercom. “Yes?”

  “There is a Ms. Lulu Sweet to see you.” The voice belonged to Iris Stanford. Iris had run the offices of Wellington and James since the days the doors had opened—six years ago. A paralegal/administrator/mom, she kept Charlotte and Angie organized. The other named partner was overseeing a murder defense trial in Texas now and had been out of the office for two months. She wasn’t expected back until the first of November.

  The clock chimed once, signaling Lulu’s punctual arrival. “Bring her back.”

  Rising, she smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt and pulled the jacket off her chair. She slipped it on and fastened the middle button just as Iris appeared.

  Iris had short, neatly trimmed hair with a subtle black headband. Her blue preppy dress and patent leather flats always gave Angie the sense that the woman had been plucked from the 1950s.

  Right on her heels was Lulu Sweet. To Angie’s amazement the young woman had lost the pink spiked tips on her blond hair, the nose ring, and dark black eye shadow. A long-sleeved turtleneck covered her tattooed arms and chest. New jeans hugged her figure, which had filled out to a healthy weight. Even her scent had changed from dark and spicy to a clean soapy aroma. Without the hooker getup, Lulu looked a decade younger, reminding Angie that she couldn’t be more than twenty-one.

  Angie extended a hand and a cool smile. “Lulu, you look great.”

  The young girl’s grip was firm and her gaze direct. “That was the plan. I need to look the part if I’m going to get my son back.”

  Iris slipped away, vanishing down the hallway.

  Angie released Lulu’s grip. “So is this just an act for the court? Because I can tell you right now, I won’t represent you if you aren’t completely serious.”

  Lulu’s fingers tightened around the strap of her purse, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I’m very serious. I want my kid back.”

  “Kids are a lot of work, Lulu. And you’re young. From what Eva tells me you barely have gotten your life back on track.”

  “I know I’m not the perfect anything. I know I’ve made more mistakes than I should have. But I love my kid, and I want to be his mother. He is the only really great thing I’ve ever done.”

  Whatever Lulu’s motivations were in the past or whatever they’d be in the future she couldn’t see. What she could see was that right now Lulu was willing to move heaven and earth for her son.

  Angie held out a hand toward an empty chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”

  Lulu moved toward it but didn’t sit. “You’ve got to be wondering why I chose you.”

  Angie arched a brow. “Eva told me you needed a mean bitch like me.”

  Lulu didn’t flinch or appear remotely embarrassed. “That is true. My mom’s got a good attorney, and I need a better one. I know you’re good. But I know it’s more than just that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I wouldn’t even have my son if it weren’t for you. The path I was headed on when I took that witness stand was a bad one. I was using a lot. David would have been messed up good even before he was born if you hadn’t torn me apart on that stand.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I was so pissed.”

  “I remember.”

  “So pissed that I could have been made to feel so low. Even when I was with a john, I always felt in control. Even when Dixon did his worst I thought I’d find a way out of the fix. But with you there was no escape. You brought me down lower than anyone ever had.”

  Angie raised her chin. She’d done her job. She hadn’t seen Lulu as a person. She’d been an obstacle to be overcome. Now, she couldn’t dismiss the woman so easily. “Okay.”

  “If I hadn’t hit rock bottom that day, I’d have stayed on the same path. I was so mad at you I wanted to show you I could be a better person.”

  Angie knitted her fingers in front of her, not sure why she didn’t trust her voice at that point.

  Lulu dug a picture out of her purse and set it on Angie’s desk. “That’s the last picture I took of David. It was taken last week. Mom only let me visit for a half hour with him.”

  Angie picked up the picture. The boy was staring up at Lulu. His smile and eyes were bright in his mother’s presence. Angie suffered a twinge of jealousy for the girl who had given birth to such a perfect child. She wanted to trace the curls framing his face. Instead, she laid the picture down. “Why did your mother limit the visit?”

  “The court said I only get a half hour at a time. Mom plays by the rules.”

  “She’s trying to protect this child—your son.”

  “I know. I see that.”

  Angie picked up a Montblanc pen and pushed a legal pad in front of her. “I’ll help you, but I need to know if you are using.”

  “I am not.”

  “So I could drug test you right now.”

  Lulu lifted her chin. “Sure. Bring it on.”

  Angie stared at her a long moment. Instinct whispered Lulu was on the level. “I’ve got a list of things I’m going to need you to do.”

  Lulu scooted forward in her seat, her eyes anxious and ready. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “First, if you’re still hanging with people who are using you need to dump them. They can drag you into trouble in the blink of an eye, and if that happens your case will be damaged.”

  “Sure.”

  “You do have a place to live?”

  “Yes. An apartment. It’s small, but there’s room for a crib.” Lulu rattled off the address.

  “And a job?”

  “I work for a cleaning service by day. And I waitress at night.”

  “Who is going to watch the baby when you work?”

  “My neighbor. She said he could sleep at her place at night while I work.”

  “What about during the day?”

  “I’ve just got the day gig to make extra money now. When
David comes to live with me, I’ll quit.”

  Lulu had thought through the details, but Angie still worried. So much could go wrong.

  “What if the baby gets sick?”

  “I’ve got other friends. They have kids. I’ve helped them. They will help me.”

  “They’re responsible?”

  “Yes.”

  Angie’s gaze narrowed. “And if you get sick?”

  “Those friends will help me too.” Lulu leaned forward. “Why are you grilling me?”

  “I’m asking all the questions the judge is going to ask.”

  “You sound mad.”

  “I’m not.”

  Lulu rubbed her hand over her arm. “You don’t like me.”

  “I never said that.”

  “A good hooker learns to read people well.”

  Angie leaned forward. “My job is to prepare you for court, to press any weakness and see if you will break. Because if you break here and now, the chances are good you’ll break in the courtroom.”

  “I doubt any judge can dish out anything worse than what you did during the Dixon trial.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  Lulu’s fingers tightened on the chair arms. “What else could the judge ask?”

  “Dixon paid you extra so he could brutalize you. What kind of decent mother does that?”

  Her gaze thinned. “I needed a hit and the money to buy it. The drugs made me desperate. No more drugs. No more desperation.”

  “You’re sure?” Her own struggles had shown her that sobriety could be as fragile as crystal. One slip and it all shattered. “Raising a kid can be stressful.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “You sound glib.”

  “Just determined.” She sat back in her chair and ran fingers through blond, spiked hair. “You’re hoping to find a flaw.”

  “It’s my job to find and fix the flaws.”

  “Yeah, but you’re really hoping you can find some reason to ditch me.”

  The observation hit near to the truth. “I told Eva I’d help and I will.”

  The mention of Eva’s name softened Lulu’s anger a fraction. “She’s good people.”

  “Yeah.” Angie shoved out a sigh. She had told Eva she’d help Lulu. “I have a friend who owns a dress shop. I want you to stop by. I’ll call her and let her know you are coming to borrow a dress.”

  Lulu frowned and glanced down at what she was wearing. “I thought this was the kind of outfit the judge would want to see.”

  “It’s a real improvement,” Angie conceded. “I can see you’ve done a lot of work on yourself. But the right dress will just take it up another notch.” She scribbled the address on a pad. “I’m also writing down the name of my hairdresser. Again, use my name. She’ll know what to do.”

  “My hair is wrong?”

  “Wrong for the kind of impression I want to make for the judge. Perception is everything, Lulu.” She tore the paper off and handed it to her.

  Lulu frowned and glanced at the addresses. “These are in the nice part of town.”

  “I know.”

  “A dress shop in this area is going to be expensive,” she said without shame.

  “The owner, Molly, owes me. Like I said, she’ll let you borrow a dress.”

  “Will she even let me through her front door?”

  “I’ll let her know you’re coming. She’ll take care of you.”

  Lulu folded the piece of paper and creased the fold with her fingernails. “Okay.”

  “I called the courthouse this morning to double-check the time of your hearing. It’s Thursday at noon.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “You miss that day, and it’s over.”

  “I know.”

  “I want you at the courthouse at eleven.”

  “Why?”

  “I want us to have time to review some of the questions your mother’s attorney will ask. Normally, I take more time with my clients, but we are in a time crunch so we’ll do the best we can.”

  “Can I get my boy back?”

  Angie offered a tentative smile. “You do your part, Lulu, and I’ll do mine.”

  Lulu stood and held out her hand. “I promise, Ms. Carlson. I won’t let you down.”

  “It’s not me who’s counting on you. It’s David.”

  With the information supplied by the medical examiner, Malcolm and Garrison wanted to talk to Dixon. His priors plus his association with the victim made him a suspect in their minds.

  Malcolm had to double-check his address for Dixon. The office space he’d had two years ago had been huge. Glittering glass, polished chrome in a high-rise on Duke Street. He remembered the view from the reception area. It had looked out over the Potomac past the Wilson Bridge toward the meandering landscape that had once been home to centuries-old plantations like Mount Vernon and Gunston Hall.

  However, Dixon’s newer offices were more than a few steps down. The small suite off of Van Dorn Street had a cramped reception area furnished with bamboo furniture that looked as if it belonged on a patio. Even his receptionist had changed. Gone was the tall, sleek blonde with the perky breasts and tight rear end. In her place sat a fiftysomething woman with graying hair and a sour expression. There were no patients in the waiting room.

  The publicity from Dixon’s murder trial had taken a toll. Clearly, it had chased off the Washington elite searching for a private nip or tuck. Malcolm should have gotten some satisfaction knowing the doctor had been knocked off his lofty pedestal, but he didn’t. Dixon belonged behind bars.

  Shoving aside frustration, Malcolm strode up to the glass window and held up his badge. The receptionist’s blank gaze didn’t waver as she pushed open the window. “What can I do for you, officers?”

  “Is the doctor in?”

  “He’s in his office.”

  “Let him know Detectives Kier and Garrison are here.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “He’ll want to see us.”

  “All right.” The receptionist rose, moving down a short hallway and vanishing.

  Through the entire trial, Malcolm had sensed that Dixon loved their cat-and-mouse game. The doctor’s ego had fed on the attention. As negative and destructive as it had been, the doctor had maintained a smirk, as if he knew a secret no one else would ever discover. The expression had irritated Garrison, but it had chipped away at Malcolm’s temper. There’d been times in the courtroom Malcolm had mustered all his control to keep from leaping forward and throttling the monster that pretended to be human.

  And when Dixon had walked, he’d risen from the defendant’s chair, tugged the vest of his expensive dark suit down, and strode out of the courtroom. The doctor had all but glowed when he’d talked to the press. He’d spoken of justice winning out, of returning to his life and the devoted friends and patients that meant so much to him. He planned, in fact, to hold office hours that very afternoon.

  As Malcolm glanced at the faded green carpet satisfaction did flicker. “How far the mighty do fall.”

  Garrison smiled, but his eyes shone with anger. “Not far enough.”

  “It’s only a matter of time.”

  “You’re optimistic.”

  “Shit, no. I’m determined. He’ll end up in jail. That’s a promise.”

  Garrison shrugged. “Don’t drive yourself insane over what can’t always be controlled.”

  “There is a lot in this world I can’t control, but putting Dixon behind bars is one thing I can.”

  The receptionist reappeared. Her sour expression held a hint of worry. “The doctor will see you.”

  Malcolm and Garrison moved down a narrow hallway lined with photos of Dixon at many different black-tie events. Senators, congressmen, and lobbyists all stood by him, their smiles as frozen as ice.

  There were also framed diplomas. He’d graduated top of his class from top-fleet medical schools. Not bad for a guy
who’d come from a poor family. They’d never determined how he’d gotten the money for medical school.

  If you talked to any of his patients as Malcolm and Garrison had done two years ago, you’d hear nothing but praise. A genius. Masterful skills. An artist. No one doubted that Dixon was a skilled surgeon. It was his after-hours hobbies that Malcolm found vile.

  When they reached the threshold they found Dixon sitting behind his hand-carved mahogany desk. The desk was a holdover from his old life. Judging by the small room, it was about all that remained of the old life.

  The doctor’s dark hair was slicked back, and he had a tan that suggested a recent holiday or visit to a tanning bed. His red tie was fastened in his trademark Windsor knot, and he still took extra starch in his shirts.

  The office was small but as impeccably neat as the fancy uptown space he’d vacated. Every paper on his desk was in a neat stack. His pencils lined the top right corner like soldiers, and the books on the bookshelves were still kept in alphabetical order.

  Malcolm refused to knock or clear his throat. Instead he waited for the doctor to raise his gaze from the paper in front of him. The doctor appeared in no rush, and their silent war raged for several seconds until Dixon looked up.

  He didn’t appear shocked or troubled by the visit. Instead, his eyes danced with the excitement of a child ready to play a new game. He stood, tugged his vest over his narrow belly, and nodded. “Detectives Kier and Garrison. What’s it been, a year or two since we last spoke? Time does fly.”

  A primitive urge demanded Malcolm grab the doctor by the lapels and smack his head against the desk. Not only would that kind of stunt bring Internal Affairs and a lawsuit down on him, but also it wouldn’t find Sierra Day’s murderer.

  “It does,” Malcolm said. The natural rasp of his voice made anything he said sound harsh so he tossed in a smile to give the doctor a relaxed impression.

  “So what do I owe the honor of this visit, gentlemen?”

  “Official business,” Garrison said. “Concerning one of your patients.”