Jessie Black Box Set 2

by Larry A Winters

  “And yet you brought cops.” Briscoe arched an eyebrow.

  “Those are my friends. They’re here to make sure I don’t get hurt.”

  “That makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.”

  “I think I know who the person is who’s really behind Kelly’s death, but I can’t prove it. He’s smart. He was careful. He covered his tracks.”

  Briscoe shrugged. “Oh well.”

  “But there’s one thing he didn’t know about, couldn't have prepared for.”

  Vicki’s expression was quizzical. “And what’s that?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “You told me you were stalking Kelly during the days leading up to her death. Her killer didn’t know that. I’m hoping you saw something that might help us prove he killed her.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know yet. But if we reconstruct the events leading up to her death, maybe—”

  “Why would I help you? That woman ruined my life.”

  Jessie had anticipated this challenge, had rehearsed her response in her mind during the drive out here—but even so, she hesitated now.

  “Why?” Briscoe repeated. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You were right about Kelly,” Jessie said. “At least partly. A lot of her lawsuits were … questionable.”

  “Shady,” Briscoe said.

  “Yes. It looks like she manipulated the legal system, profited by finding the point at which it made more financial sense for a defendant to settle than to fight, even when the defendant had done nothing wrong.”

  “Like me.”

  Jessie had no way of knowing whether the medical malpractice claim that had cost Vicki Briscoe her career had been justified or bogus. “If you help me, I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever I can to convince the medical board to reverse its decision and reinstate your medical license.”

  “I already talked to lawyers, explored my options. There was nothing they could do. Why would you be any different?”

  Jessie felt her back straighten. “For one thing, I’m a respected member of the DA’s Office. For another, I’m a damn good lawyer.”

  Briscoe scoffed, but Jessie saw a familiar look in her eyes. Hope.

  “Vicki,” Jessie said, “what do you have to lose?”

  25

  Warren Williams was working in his office when Judge Cynthia Dax swept into the room, looking around at the piles of documents with her nose wrinkled in distaste.

  He let out a sigh. First the anger of the police department. Then the complaints from Douglas Shaw. Now a decorated judge. He wondered just how bad this political disaster was going to get. Real bad, unless Jessie came through with evidence to back up their meddling in the accident investigation.

  Judge Dax was more striking in appearance than Warren had expected—far from the typical dowdy judges he’d become used to. Dax was slim, athletic looking, with long blonde hair—streaked with gray, but still youthful looking—and pretty features. She entered his office as if she owned the place and his usual messy working conditions were an affront to her. She lifted a stack of papers off one of his visitor chairs and transferred it to a clear spot on the floor. Then she sat down and crossed her legs primly.

  “I don’t know how you can function in an environment like this.”

  He rocked backward, eliciting a squeal from his chair. “It works for me.”

  “Does it?” the judge said dubiously.

  Warren suddenly wished he’d had a solid night’s sleep. His brain felt fuzzy, and he needed every brain cell functioning at peak performance. “Is there something I can help you with, Your Honor?”

  “Your office has been overstepping its bounds of late. Specifically, one of your prosecutors, Jessica Black. She harassed me at my courthouse, and has been making slanderous accusations against one of the parties in a trial over which I am presiding. I want her stopped immediately.”

  “It sounds to me like you’re the one making accusations. Slander is a pretty serious word to throw around about one of the Commonwealth’s strongest prosecutors.”

  Dax’s expression shifted. Apparently, she had not expected any resistance from him. Warren let himself smile on the inside. He knew he had a reputation as a political toady. While it often irked his pride, it was sometimes valuable to be underestimated—especially by a player like Judge Dax.

  She recovered her composure quickly. “If Jessica Black is one of your strongest prosecutors, maybe the DA’s Office needs a better homicide chief.”

  “So now I’m the one you’re complaining about?”

  Warren had dealt with people like Cynthia Dax before—complainers who were never satisfied and who viewed everyone who was not their advocate as their enemy. He would have liked nothing more than to throw her out of here. But it wasn’t as easy as lifting his phone and having her removed from his sight. Dax was a judge, and a politically connected one at that. Warren’s job was largely political. Every action he took needed to be weighed for its political consequences—consequences to him, to the District Attorney of Philadelphia, Jesus Rivera, and to the DA’s Office. He folded his hands in front of him.

  “Why don’t you tell me what Jessie Black said that upset you?”

  “I’m not upset, Warren. I am offended and annoyed. Your prosecutor has attempted to insert herself in the Rowland case. That’s not acceptable.”

  “That sounds kind of tenuous.” Warren felt a wave of relief that he hoped didn’t show on his face. At least Jessie hadn’t made any overt move against the judge.

  “When I’m done, the only thing that will be tenuous is your future.”

  “What are you suggesting that I do to help you, Judge Dax?”

  “For now, make Black stand down. I don’t ever want to see that woman again, or hear her voice. Get her off my back.”

  “No problem. I understand Noah Snyder is representing the Rowlands now. Jessie is no longer involved in the case.”

  Dax eyed him with open skepticism, but said nothing.

  “You said, ‘for now,’” Warren said. “Is there more?”

  “No. But if Black’s interference continues, then I will have no choice but to escalate this to my friends in the mayor’s office. Make no mistake, Warren. I can cause serious problems for you and your office. And I will.”

  “I thought we already covered the part of the conversation where you throw around empty threats.”

  Dax raised her chin. “I trust you’ll do the right thing.”

  Warren watched her rise from the chair. She stood over him for a moment, again looking with distaste at the documents spread everywhere on his desk. Then she turned away and made her way out of the room. Warren waited until she was gone before letting out a pent-up breath. Then he thought about his next move.

  26

  Vicki Briscoe escorted Jessie back to the room where Leary and Graham were being held. She found them still sitting in their chairs, with Ray Briscoe’s goons hovering at their shoulders.

  Jessie turned to Briscoe. “Can you give us a minute alone, please?”

  Briscoe turned to leave, motioning for the bikers to follow her. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  When the door closed, Leary and Graham shot up from their seats. “Are you okay?” Leary said.

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “She agreed to help?” Graham said, her voice laced with disbelief.

  “We worked out an arrangement.”

  “What does that mean?” Leary said.

  “You two need to leave,” Jessie said.

  Leary stared at her. “What about you?”

  “I’m going with Vicki.”

  “Like hell you are. Do you not see how much danger you’ve already put yourself in today? You’re a lawyer, not a cop. You’re not equipped to deal with a person like Vicki Briscoe alone. Emily, back me up here.”

  Graham crossed her arms over her chest. “I trust Jessie to make her own decisions.”

  “A
re you serious?” Leary’s voice rose. “Is this because you’re still pissed off at her for trying to help Kelly Lee?”

  Graham seemed to bristle at the accusation. “No, actually, it’s because I have faith in her.”

  “You’re saying I don’t?”

  “I’m saying you have a hero complex. An I’m-a-big-strong-man-protecting-my-woman thing. It’s a little over-the-top, Mark.”

  Leary’s face twisted. “It’s not a complex. It’s common sense!”

  “We’re not going to debate this,” Jessie said, cutting off their argument. “I know what I’m doing. Mark, we’ve been through a lot together. You know I’m not a damsel in distress.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “I’m going back to Philly with Vicki. She’s going to take me on a tour of Kelly’s final days. Hopefully, I’ll find something useful. If I don’t, we have bigger problems.”

  “Why can’t we come with you?” Leary said.

  “Because Vicki doesn’t want you to.”

  “That’s not a red flag for you?”

  “It is, and I’ll be careful.”

  Graham took Leary by the arm. “Mark, let’s go.”

  Leary didn’t look happy about it, but he went. Jessie followed him and Graham outside.

  It was still daytime, but night was coming and the unkempt farmland looked gloomy. Spiderweb returned their weapons, and Leary and Graham climbed into Leary’s car. Jessie felt Leary’s anxious gaze on her. She hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake by not listening to him.

  She watched the car drive toward the main road and listened to the sound of tires crunching gravel. When the car was out of sight, she turned to Briscoe with what she hoped was a confident expression. “You ready to go?”

  Briscoe pointed to a nearby structure. “My car is in the garage over there.” It turned out to be a sleek, black Mercedes. Jessie walked to the passenger side and opened the door as Briscoe took the wheel. The vehicle was as spotlessly clean on the inside as it was on the outside. Briscoe drummed her fingers against the steering wheel.

  “Nice car,” Jessie said.

  “I was a surgeon at a major Philadelphia hospital when I started the lease.” Briscoe’s tone sounded defensive.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Didn’t mean nice car for an unemployed, unlicensed doctor living with her dad?”

  Briscoe’s fingers stopped drumming. She stared at Jessie with an intensity that made Jessie wish Leary and Graham were still with her.

  “No. I didn’t mean that.”

  Briscoe continued to stare. Then her fingers resumed their drumming. She turned away from Jessie and looked out the windshield. “Let’s get going. It’s a long ride back to Philly.”

  Traffic was light, and the ride didn’t actually take that long. When the Philadelphia skyline came into view, Jessie felt some of the tension in her body ease. A sense of safety—probably a false sense, she knew—made her feel less at the mercy of this woman. They entered the city and she saw other cars, pedestrians, signs of normal life.

  Jessie asked Briscoe to retrace the locations she’d seen while stalking Kelly. Their first stop was a small office complex down the street from Thomas Jefferson University Hospital in Center City. Briscoe paused in front of the entrance where a plain, white sign was affixed to the brick wall. Reading it, Jessie felt a jolt of adrenaline. “It’s a doctor’s office.”

  Briscoe looked at her with a curious expression. “That’s exciting to you?”

  “Before she died, Kelly told me she consulted a doctor about the Rowland case. At that point in time, she thought it was a medical malpractice claim, and she wanted this doctor’s opinion about whether the Rowlands’ pediatrician had misdiagnosed their son.”

  Briscoe’s lip curled. “So he’s one of those doctors who gets paid to testify against other doctors.”

  “They’re called expert witnesses. I guess there was probably one at your trial.”

  Briscoe shrugged. “The hospital’s insurance company settled, so I never had to listen to the expert in my trial testify in court. I read her report, though.” Briscoe quickly looked away, but not before Jessie glimpsed the pain in her eyes.

  “Kelly never told me her expert witness’s name. She just referred to him as a doctor. I’m pretty sure she said, ‘he.’”

  “The court won’t tell you the guy’s name?”

  She thought of Judge Dax. “The judge hasn’t been very helpful. But even if she wanted to tell me, she probably doesn’t know. The discovery phase of the trial hasn’t started yet, so Kelly wasn’t required to disclose that information to the court.” Kelly Lee’s crash had occurred before the identification of expert witnesses, which would be part of the discovery schedule once Judge Dax set a trial date. Jessie had asked Kelly’s assistant, Cheyenne, but the woman had not known. Without access to Kelly’s own files, and with no expert witness identifications in the pleadings, Jessie and Snyder had no way to know the name of the expert witness who’d found the excessive levels of formaldehyde in the toy. “If Kelly was visiting this doctor days before her death, maybe he was her expert witness. That would be a big help.”

  “Stephen Adkins, M.D.,” Briscoe said, reading the sign.

  A sports car honked and swerved around them. Jessie realized they’d been idling at the curb for a minute, maybe longer. “I’m getting out. Do you want to circle the block? I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

  “I can find a spot and we can both go in,” Briscoe said.

  “I think it’s better if I do this part alone.”

  Briscoe’s eyes narrowed. “Sitting in the car waiting for you doesn’t sound like a fun time to me.”

  Fun? Jessie felt a stirring of uneasiness. “I never said this would be fun. I said if you help me, I’ll help you.”

  “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  Jessie got out of the Mercedes and hurried inside the building.

  27

  Emily Graham watched Leary drive. Since starting the engine, he’d been silent, staring straight ahead. She could practically feel the emotional turmoil radiating off of him.

  They drove through a rustic town with Amish shops—furniture, food, a bed-and-breakfast. “Do you think we should stop for shoofly pie?” she asked. When he didn’t respond, she added, “You’re the Amish expert, remember?”

  The muscles of his face seemed to bunch up.

  “You’re giving me the silent treatment?” she said. “Mark, I know you’re worried about her. I’m worried about her, too.”

  He continued to stare straight ahead. “If anything happens to her.” He left the sentence unfinished.

  “Jessie is a grown woman, a professional. She deals with criminals every day.”

  “Not like this.”

  Silence filled the car. Amish countryside eventually gave way to more twenty-first-century civilization.

  “What are you going to do?” Graham said.

  “Head back to the DA’s Office, try to distract myself with work so I don’t think about the love of my life driving around with a psychopath. Where should I drop you?”

  Graham didn’t want to admit it, but she had the same idea—bury herself in work and try not to think about Jessie being in danger. “The Roundhouse.”

  “You sure? It’s getting late.”

  She tilted her head so she could glance through the windshield at the darkening sky. It didn’t change her mind. “Yes.”

  “You got it.” He drove to police headquarters and stopped the car at the curb. Graham reached for the door handle, then paused and looked back at Leary. “Jessie will be okay.”

  Leary nodded.

  Graham climbed out of his car and headed for the entrance to the Roundhouse. The sky was getting darker by the minute, and she knew the homicide squad room would be quiet. She had some reports to work on—a task she despised, but one she hoped would divert her attention away from Jessie and ease the fluttering in her stomach.

  As she approached
the building, a man stepped out of the shadows. Graham stopped short. It was Ross Reid, the AID detective.

  “Buy you a drink?” he said.

  She tried not to look startled. “How did you know I’d be here?”

  “I didn’t. I was at the Roundhouse and saw you as I was walking out.”

  “But now you want to buy me a drink.”

  He let out an impatient sound. “If you have somewhere you need to be—”

  “Actually, I could use a drink,” she said.

  Five minutes later they were sitting side-by-side at a bar. He ordered a tequila and soda and asked what she wanted.

  “Yuengling,” she said, indicating the tap. She wanted to stay sober tonight, in case Jessie needed her, but she didn’t think one beer would hurt. In her current frame of mind, it could only help.

  The bartender, a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard, gave them their drinks. “You want to settle up now or run a tab?”

  “Tab,” Reid said.

  “You got it.”

  Reid seemed to wait until the bartender moved on, then brought his glass to his mouth. Ice cubes rattled as he took a long drink.

  “What’s going on?” Graham said. She took a sip from her pint glass. “You look like there’s something you want to say.”

  He laughed. “You could tell? I see why you’re good at your job.”

  “Well?”

  “There is something I’d like to get off my chest.”

  “You're going to tell me again what an arrogant homicide detective I am?”

  “No.” Reid smiled at her, but his expression seemed morose. “And I’m sorry about saying that. You seem like a decent person. A decent cop.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I’m serious. I’m trying to apologize here.”

  Graham offered a smile of her own. “Okay. I know. It’s been a tough day. Apology accepted.”

  He took another long drink of his tequila and soda, and she sensed he was building up the courage to continue. She drank her beer, giving him time.

  “There’s something I didn’t tell you before, when we spoke at the gym,” he said.