She grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk and hurried out of the office. Downstairs, Jennifer took a deep breath and plunged out the door and onto the sidewalk. Dallas might have an anti-smoking ordinance, but every day she and her fellow workers had to run a gauntlet of smokers who obeyed the letter, although not the spirit, of the law by taking up station a measured sixteen feet from the doorway of the Crowley Courts Building to get their nicotine fix.
Jennifer held her breath until she was past them and then paused in the doorway of a clothing store that had gone out of business. She turned her back to the stream of people on the sidewalk and retrieved her phone from her purse. Matt’s cell number was still on her speed dial, and she stabbed the number before she could lose her nerve. Jennifer waited through five rings before she heard a voice that tugged at her heart. “This is Dr. Matt Newman. I can’t take your call, but if you leave a name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
It took all her strength not to hang up. She looked over her shoulder to confirm that no one was near, swallowed twice, and said, “Matt, this is Jennifer. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. We need to talk. When you get this, call my cell.” She started to hang up, thought better of it, and added, “I promise I’ll answer your call this time.”
Sandra gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat. Can we get you anything? Coffee? A Coke?”
“I’m fine,” Matt said.
She studied her client. There’d definitely been a subtle change in his attitude since she’d first met him. In the beginning, he’d seemed shell-shocked, unable to fully process what was happening to him. She’d had to prod him to start the process of getting his life together. Now he appeared more confident, more at ease. Was it surviving the second attack? Going back to work? Whatever the cause for the change, she was glad to see it. It was easier to defend a client who was emotionally prepared to help in the process and was determined to move on with their chin up. Besides, the difference pleased her from a personal standpoint.
“You’re looking better,” she said. “Your hair’s beginning to grow out.”
Matt ran his hand lightly over his scalp, but she noticed he was careful not to touch the surgical scar. “I guess I’m making progress. Now I look like a drill sergeant.”
“But you shaved the goatee,” she said.
“Couldn’t stand the itching,” Matt confessed. He looked around him. “I thought you’d have a big, fancy office—part of a large law firm. But you’re in solo practice, aren’t you?”
Sandra shrugged. “I started out with a big firm. They took me on right out of law school, promised to fast-track me to partner. But I left after a year, opened my own office.”
“Why?”
“I’m not just a lawyer. I’m a Christian who happens to practice law. Some of the partners in the firm thought my Christian principles were getting in the way. I disagreed.”
Matt leaned forward in his chair. “So they let you go?”
“No, I resigned, then opened my own office so I didn’t have to soft-pedal my Christianity to fit in. So far, it’s worked.” Sandra swiveled slightly in her chair and looked out the window behind her desk for a moment. She waited for him to respond, but there was only silence. Wasn’t this the perfect opening to ask Matt about his own relationship to God? She opened her mouth—closed it again. No, it wasn’t the time.
When she turned back to face Matt, she said, “I’ve had some disturbing news today.” He reacted with a slight lifting of his eyebrows. “My sources in the DA’s office—” Did she detect a flinch? I’ll have to follow up on that. “My sources tell me they expect some new evidence that will allow them to take your case to a grand jury and ask for an indictment. Do you know what that might be?”
Matt shook his head. “If there’s something I haven’t told you, it’s because I don’t know it. I don’t know why I was kidnapped. I don’t know why someone would kill a woman and leave her body in the trunk of my car. I don’t know why someone broke into my house in the dead of night. All I know is that I’m obviously someone’s target.”
“That leads me to another question,” Sandra said. “Are you ready for me to dispose of that handgun you bought? I can turn it over to the police and claim attorney-client privilege if they ask where I got it.”
“Not really. If those guys come back, I don’t want to be defenseless.”
“Matt, it’s possible the police will be back at your house soon with another search warrant. Especially if the DA thinks there’s some more evidence to be found. If they find the gun—well, it would be bad.”
“Why? We don’t have to register guns in Texas. As I read the law, I don’t need a license to have a handgun in my home—and probably in my car, so long as it’s in the glove compartment.”
Sandra had given this some thought. “Two reasons. First, they’re going to ask where you got it. A prosecutor could use the fact that you bought it from an unlicensed dealer in some sort of backstreet transaction to paint you as an undesirable character. And we don’t want to give them any ammunition, no pun intended.”
“I don’t know why I’d be worried about being thought an undesirable character. I mean, right now they seem to think I’m a murderer. I’m not sure how much more undesirable you can get.”
“Then consider my second argument. How do you know that your ‘acquaintance’ didn’t sell you a gun that’s been used in the commission of a felony? Maybe even a murder. All the police have to do is fire a test round and match the ballistics with a prior crime, and you’re toast.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“So will you let me get rid of the gun?” Sandra asked.
Matt hated to be unarmed again. Then again, he already had something that would give him protection, and no license was required. “Let me—”
A muted chime interrupted Matt. He drew his cell phone from his pocket, looked at the display, and frowned.
“Do you need to take that?”
Indecision clouded his features for a moment. Then, with a resolute shake of his head, he jammed the phone back into his pocket. “No. It’s just someone I used to know. I’ll check the message later.”
THIRTEEN
The boss’s office was cold. The air-conditioning must have been turned to the max, but despite the temperature, Lou was sweating. He was in his usual position, standing in front of the desk to give a report, waiting for the tongue-lashing certain to follow.
This time Lou was alone. Edgar had been dispatched to reason with someone on behalf of the boss—if you could call breaking a man’s kneecaps “reasoning.”
“He shot at you?” For a moment it seemed that the corners of the big man’s mouth turned upward a fraction of an inch. Then his moon-like face settled into its usual countenance, overlaid with the faintest hint of a scowl. “You and Edgar broke in to carry out a plan so simple two teenagers could have executed it, and Newman chased you away with a gun. Do I have that right?”
Lou felt his pulse quicken as he recalled the event. “That’s all we could do. Newman was waiting with a pistol. He started shooting, and if Edgar and me hadn’t run when we did, you’d be ID’ing our bodies so they could put a toe tag on us.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the big man said, with no hint of humor. “You know that if you ever fall into the hands of the law, alive or dead, I’ll deny any knowledge of you.”
“What I mean—”
“Shut up and let me think!” The upraised hand was the size of a small ham, and the gesture stopped Lou cold. He waited for what would follow.
Behind the desk was a window that looked out onto Jefferson Boulevard, a window that in Lou’s memory had always been guarded by a closed blind. Today it was open a fraction, and he was conscious of the movement of cars and occasional pedestrians below. Lou wished he were out there with them.
The boss took a letter opener from his desk and tapped his desk blotter with it. He nodded once, apparently satisfied
with his plan, and dropped the opener. “Here’s what I want you to do.” He folded his hands under his chin and paused as though weighing his words. “Using your key, enter Newman’s home when he’s not there. Find that pistol and bring it to me.”
“Sure. How soon do you need it?”
The big man closed his eyes and appeared to consider the question. He spoke without opening them. “I have some work that will take you a day or so. After that’s done, get the gun, with Newman’s prints on it, and bring it to me.”
“So you want me and Edgar—”
“No. Just you. It may be time to throw Edgar off the sleigh, and I think it’s best to keep him in the dark until then.”
Lou nodded, although he didn’t really understand. No Edgar on this one. But what’s he talking about, that stuff about a sleigh?
“On the other hand, Edgar’s talents are perfect for this little job I have in mind. Here’s what you two are to do.”
Lou relaxed when he heard the assignment. It was routine stuff, no problem. And there was enough violence involved so Edgar would love it.
“Any questions?” the big man said.
Lou shook his head.
“Then go. I’ll expect you back here in a few days, with Newman’s pistol. Alone.”
“I can’t afford a security system for my house,” Matt said. “And I don’t want to buy a watchdog. With my hours, I’d have to pay someone to look after him and walk him, and I can’t afford that either.”
Matt felt as though he’d been in Sandra’s office all day. They weren’t really arguing—more like debating issues. The debate was low-key, and Sandra was winning. She suggested ways Matt could protect himself. He countered with reasons they wouldn’t work. She insisted he give her the gun. He finally accepted the validity of her argument.
“I can see why you’re successful in the courtroom,” Matt said. “You wear everyone down.”
“The pistol?”
Matt shrugged. “Yeah, the pistol.”
“Will you bring it to me later today?”
Matt consulted his watch. “I’ve got to go to work soon. It’s safely tucked away, and I promise not to shoot anybody with it before tomorrow. How about then?”
“Okay. Call Elaine to let her know when you’re coming. I want to be here so I can take it right to the police.”
Matt decided he’d had enough talk of guns and police. “So what do we do about this ‘new evidence’ the DA expects?”
“If you’re sure there’s nothing you haven’t told me, all we can do is wait.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t do that very well,” Matt said. “They say that’s what separates surgeons from internists. The internists wait around, adjust medications, order tests, and get their patients well over time. Surgeons want to identify the problem, cut it out or sew it up, and move on.”
“Unfortunately you’re going to have to take the internist track in this case. But I know how the legal system works, and even though things aren’t moving fast enough for you, I’m on top of them. Let me worry about the DA. You get on with rebuilding your life.” She chewed her lip, a habit Matt found charming. “And it looks like you’re doing a good job of that. Tell me about your new job.”
“Metropolitan ER,” Matt said. “I’ll have to admit it was spooky walking out those doors last night, but I’ve about decided I can’t live my life looking over my shoulder.”
“It’s about time for lunch. I was wondering—” A muted buzz from the phone on her desk made Sandra stop.
Elaine’s voice issued from the speaker. “Horace Allison is on line one, and he sounds pretty upset.”
Sandra frowned. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.”
“No problem,” Matt said. “I need to go, anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Matt walked away from Sandra Murray’s office building, his last words ran through his mind. “I can’t live my life looking over my shoulder.” Actually, that was exactly what he wanted to do, but he resisted the temptation. No question, there was an unfamiliar tingling between his shoulder blades. He’d read in spy novels about people who felt in their guts they were in the crosshairs of an assassin’s rifle. Until now he’d dismissed it as a literary device. No more. He not only accepted it as valid, he knew the feeling all too well.
Sandra rummaged through the files on her desk, found the one she wanted, and buzzed her secretary. “Elaine, have we received the discovery material on the Allison case?”
“Just got it. Do you want me to bring it in?”
Horace Allison was a drug dealer, and there was no question in Sandra’s mind that his most recent arrest would stand up in court. As part of a plea bargain, one of his middlemen had worn a wire during a drug buy. The resulting audio material was enough to put Allison away for a long time. She wanted to make one final pass through the material provided by the prosecutor, but right now it looked like the best she could do for Allison was see if he had something to trade in return for a lighter sentence. It tore at her guts to be defending someone so obviously guilty, even though—as she kept reminding herself—everyone was entitled to the best possible counsel. Maybe having Matt as a client—
Elaine’s voice on the intercom interrupted Sandra’s thoughts. “I asked if you wanted the Allison material?”
“Yes, please bring it in. And if you go out for lunch, would you get me a sandwich? Looks like I’ll be eating at my desk.”
She’d been about to ask Matt to lunch when Horace phoned. Sandra wondered what Matt might have said if there hadn’t been an interruption. She knew she couldn’t see a client socially while still preparing his defense, but she’d already worked that out in her mind. This would have been a business lunch, an opportunity for her to see him in a more relaxed setting and get more information. The better an attorney knew a client, the better she could defend him. Sure, you’re the queen of rationalization. Admit it. There’s an attraction there.
Elaine deposited a large cardboard box, the kind used to store records, on the table beside Sandra’s desk. “What kind of sandwich do you want?”
Sandra made a dismissive gesture. “Surprise me.” Right now, her appetite was gone. Was it because of the prospect of wading through all that material looking for a flaw in the case against her client, or the fact that she wouldn’t be eating with Matt?
Jennifer looked at her watch. Time for lunch, and Matt hadn’t returned her call. Should she call him again? In the past he’d always answered her calls except when he was in surgery or with a patient. Even then, he returned them as soon as he could. But that was then, and this was now. This was after she’d rebuffed him when he needed her. She supposed his hurt would be slow to heal—if it ever did.
Jennifer pulled her purse from the desk drawer and stood up. Maybe she’d slip around the corner for a quick bite, and if Matt hadn’t called by then, she’d call him again. Everything Jennifer knew about Matt told her that he couldn’t have done the things of which he was suspected. On the other hand, his kidnapping story sounded just a bit far-fetched to her. She figured a jury would find it equally hard to believe. And she couldn’t afford to be connected to a man charged with—even suspected of—murder, not if she wanted to maintain the trust of the DA.
Jennifer was halfway to the door when she heard a man’s voice. “Hey, Jen! Got a minute?”
Frank Everett hurried to where she stood. His dress shirt was wrinkled, his tie askew, and he looked like he’d just stepped out of a sauna. “I’ve been taking a deposition this morning, and I need a break. How about having lunch with me?”
Decision time. If she went to lunch with Frank, there’d be no opportunity to call Matt, or even answer if he called back. On the other hand, if she turned Frank down, she needed a good excuse, and she couldn’t think of one on the spur of the moment. Besides, Frank was her lifeline, maybe her future.
Jennifer had never really understood the expression “a heavy heart” until now. She plastered a smile on her face. “Sure.
Where would you like to go?”
“Uh, Dr. Newman. I’m surprised to see you here.” The ICU nurse’s expression conveyed what her words only suggested. She was surprised he wasn’t in jail.
Matt searched his memory bank for her name and came up blank. “I’m working in the ER now. And I decided to check on a patient I had yesterday. Don’t recall his name, but he had a traumatic hemopericardium.”
The nurse bent over the chart rack, and as she turned, Matt got a better look at the nameplate pinned to her scrub dress. “Candace, what do people around the hospital think of me? Am I going to be treated like a leper everywhere I go?”
She straightened and handed Matt a chart. “Dr. Newman, I try not to pay attention to gossip. But I’ve worked with you for almost a year, and I don’t think you could be guilty of murder. Frankly, when I heard what they were saying, I was shocked.”
“Thanks.” Matt opened the chart and scanned the progress notes. He kept his head down as he said, “I appreciate your saying that. And, if it makes any difference, I’m totally innocent of all those charges.”
“Well, I’ll be praying for you.” A buzzer sent Candace hurrying off to answer.
Matt tucked the chart under his arm and headed for ICU room 6, where his patient—now Lonnie’s patient, he guessed—was located. The blinds were open, and the huge glass picture window gave him a clear view inside. A patient lay on the bed, an endotracheal tube in his throat connected to a respirator that was chuffing at a rate Matt guessed to be about twelve breaths per minute. In addition to two IVs, a tube led from the patient’s chest to a drainage setup. A monitor scrolled numbers and patterns across a screen, beeping while displaying information that was incomprehensible to a layperson but critical to medical professionals.
Matt was about to enter when he saw the woman sitting at the bedside, still as a wax figure. Stray strands escaped here and there from her otherwise perfectly coiffed ash-blond hair. She wore a simple navy dress, accented by a single strand of pearls. Her right hand rested on the patient’s arm, her left lay in her lap, squeezing a wad of tissue and occasionally using it to dab her eyes.
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