by Lis Wiehl
“There’s no other reason beyond the gun? You don’t think you were targeted or being watched? Nothing significant happened before that day?” Lisa studied every twitch and reaction Dubois made as she asked these questions.
He glanced at Molly, then back down at his hands. Slowly he shook his head. “Nothin’. We done here? I’d like to go rest now.”
“Sure. But will you compile a list of people you were involved with at that time? Everyone from family members to your buddies’ names, every name you can think of,” Lisa said.
“I won’t snitch on nobody,” he said.
“We just want to look for names that connect with other reports and witness accounts to see if we can find some connection that might have been missed.”
“Okay, I can do that,” Dubois said. He winced as he rose from the chair.
“I’ll leave our contact numbers in case you need something.”
They followed the officer back through the death row complex to the reception office. Lisa picked up her bag and credentials at the desk and walked into the waiting area where an elderly black woman was struggling to stand up from the chair. Her cane slid from her hand and clattered onto the sterile tile floor.
Lisa bent down and picked up her cane, meeting the eyes of the woman. They were full of tears.
The middle-aged woman beside her reached for the cane and thanked Lisa. Molly and Dad were still collecting their belongings in the room beyond the first security line. Lisa took a seat to wait for them.
“I was given an appointment to see my boy, so why can’t I see him?” the older woman said to the other.
“Don’t get all upset now, Mrs. Dubois. The man said you’d be allowed inside before long. Some other people were here talking with him.”
“I don’t have me too much time left with my only child. They took him away from me all these years, and now they’re gonna kill him.”
“I know, I know. Let’s just be patient. You’ll get to see him.”
Lisa guessed the woman’s age to be in the late eighties or early nineties. Her vein-covered hands shook as she wiped at her eyes. Lisa thought of her son, John, her only child. This woman had endured unthinkable pain for almost fifty years of Christmases, birthdays, Mother’s Days, and family births and deaths with her little boy always here.
Molly walked into the reception area and approached Lisa.
“Mrs. Dubois, you can see him now,” the officer said from the desk. Molly’s eyes jumped to the two women.
“Did you hear that? We can take you to see Leonard now,” the younger woman said to the older.
Mrs. Dubois put her hands together as if in prayer. “Thank you, Jesus. I just want to see my boy a few more times before he’s gone from me. My only child, all these years locked up, now he’s gonna be killed, and he didn’t even do the crime.”
“Yes, I know. You told me. It’s okay now, you’re going in to see him.” The woman tried to soothe her.
Lisa watched the mother of Leonard Dubois with her cane in hand enter the prison where her son had lived for nearly fifty years and where, unless they did something, he would soon die.
Dad had finally reappeared, and as they left the prison, all three were silent.
“That was heartbreaking,” Molly said as they reached the car after fighting through the protestors.
Lisa nodded, her eyes connecting with Molly’s.
“But Leonard isn’t telling us everything,” Molly said.
Lisa glanced at the woman and grinned. “Pastor Carter, you would’ve made a darn good prosecutor.”
But how could they get Dubois to come clean about what he was hiding? If his secret was big enough, he might want it taken to the grave.
And after meeting Leonard Dubois, Lisa knew there was another important factor to consider.
“Dad, did you know that Leonard Dubois is sick?”
“What are you talking about?” Dad stopped by the old station wagon.
“You may be trying to save a man who doesn’t have long to live anyway. Is it still worth all the effort?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Didn’t you miss the turn?” Lisa asked from behind him.
“You should have taken that last exit.” Molly pointed toward the right.
James had set his mind and headed that direction, forgetting that he hadn’t told his daughter or Molly his idea.
“I want to make one more stop before going back to the house.”
“A stop where?” Lisa asked.
Her annoyance at his driving was thinly veiled, but he’d been behind the wheel decades longer than she had. And he knew she wouldn’t be thrilled with his plan.
“I’d like us to return to the scene of Benjamin Gray’s shooting.”
“Why?” Lisa asked.
Molly’s expression seemed to ask the same question.
“It’s important to cover all our bases.” James didn’t say that he hoped it might break loose a memory for one or even all of them. He hadn’t been back to the site himself in decades.
“You have the entire crime scene recreated in your garage. What more do we need? I’d like to read the transcripts from Dubois’s trial tonight and see if I can reach out to Sergeant Ross.”
“This won’t take long.” James wasn’t giving the women a choice. Lisa could argue all she wanted, but he had the steering wheel. Sure, she’d had success with her methods in finding Molly, but this was good old-fashioned detective work that he wouldn’t skip over.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, James saw his daughter slump back against the seat. He bit back a smile and focused as the traffic pressed around the car.
Once they reached Fort Worth, James took the exit for downtown. Leaning against the steering wheel, he read street signs with cars honking behind him. Once he almost turned the wrong way down a one-way street.
“Dad, do you know where you’re going?” Lisa had kept silent until this point.
James didn’t respond, just continued to turn down streets and then back again. After another fifteen minutes, he couldn’t deny it any longer.
“I may be lost,” he said.
Molly burst into laughter.
“I used to know Fort Worth like the back of my hand, but they’ve done so much renovating, it’s hard to recognize anything now,” James said.
“Take the next left,” Molly said. She joined in the search with him and rolled down her window for a better view. Then, “Is that it?” she asked.
James pulled over to open the map on his phone. He dropped the phone onto his lap, the worthless thing, and wished for an old tried-and-true paper map. He followed where Molly pointed. The layout, the small square at one end, the massive trees that hadn’t been planted … it had to be the place.
“This is it.”
After parking in a garage, they walked to the small square. James carried a manual camera he’d grabbed from his trunk. He didn’t go anywhere without a camera tucked in his car, just in case.
“It doesn’t look at all the same,” Molly said.
The sidewalks and building fronts had all been refurbished. The area appeared geared for a young swanky crowd, with its boutiques, expensive restaurants, wine bars, and clubs with live entertainment.
“I would never guess that I’ve been here before,” Lisa said.
James turned in a circle, then walked a few dozen yards until he stopped. The old rounded seats were still there.
“Will you two sit down the way you were that day? Like in the snapshot.”
Lisa and Molly sat down, then switched places. James could see the location as it was nearly fifty years ago. He took a few shots, advancing the film and trying to get the exact spot where he’d taken the others.
“Is that the same camera?” Lisa asked.
“What’s wrong with keeping things? People throw perfectly good things away too easily these days.”
“If you use the camera on your phone, we can upload the photos onto the computer and I’ll send them to
Drew for comparison,” Lisa said.
James knew that was a good idea, but he wanted to develop the photographs in black-and-white just like the old snapshots.
Molly rose from the bench, and before he could ask her to return for a few more photographs, he noticed how shaken she appeared. She turned away from them as he said her name.
“I’d like to stop this now.”
James lowered the camera to hang around his neck.
“Are you okay?” Lisa asked her.
“I’m not feeling well. Are we done here?”
Molly wiped at her face—was she crying? James couldn’t be sure, and she was trying to behave as if everything were fine.
“You remembered something,” Lisa said.
Molly shook her head. “I’m not sure. I don’t know.”
“What is it?” Lisa asked.
James wanted to get in there and question her but remained farther back.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Please take me home.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Someone tried to kill him.”
James fumbled with the phone on his bedside table. Not fully awake, he’d grabbed the receiver thinking it was his alarm clock.
“What? Who is this?” He sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side.
“George Wentworth Jr. I’m down here at Texas State Penitentiary. My client is Leonard Dubois.”
“Someone tried to kill Dubois?” James flipped the lamp on.
“Yes, that’s what I said. He’s been telling me that he believed someone was after him. The prison is investigating, but he’s not happy about being in the infirmary. Seems convinced he’s going to be killed in there.”
“Slow down a minute. Dubois is in solitary confinement. How could someone try to kill him?”
“Poison. His meals have been laced with it.”
“You have proof of that?”
“Preliminary proof. The police have been called in. And the prison is holding an in-house investigation. They’ll be testing the food for confirmation.”
James glanced at the clock. It was five in the morning. Lisa had told him that Dubois was very sick, but he hadn’t paid much attention to her assessment. Wouldn’t the prison doctor have checked him out if he displayed anything serious? But Lisa had been right.
“Are they treating him?”
“They say that they are. But I haven’t been in to see him yet. I could use some help with this.”
“What kind of help?”
“I don’t know, but I want my client safe. My father represented Leonard before me, and I’ve known him all my life. He’s a good man. If someone in the prison was trying to kill him, how can he be safe while still in the prison?”
“Isn’t that a matter for the courts?”
“Will Leonard be alive that long?”
James rubbed his eyes. “I don’t have much influence anymore. But I know someone who does.”
“Just hurry. I have a bad feeling about this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lisa sat at the hotel desk still in her pajamas. She’d been on the phone all morning. Papers with scribbled notes covered the desk surrounding her computer.
Molly had brought coffee, though Lisa’s sat mostly untouched until she admitted she didn’t drink the brew.
“How will we ever be friends if you don’t like coffee?” Molly said. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those vegans as well.”
Lisa wondered if they might become friends, and if then Molly would tell her what she’d remembered in Fort Worth.
“Not a vegan or a vegetarian. I don’t care about all that organic stuff either. But I do avoid caffeine.”
Molly sighed. “I might be able to get over that. One perk, I get to drink your coffee.” She downed the second cup as she waited to hear the outcome of Lisa’s phone calls.
Finally, Lisa pushed away from the desk. “Dubois should be safe now,” she said. She ran her fingers through her hair and wondered what she looked like with bed head and no makeup.
“Do they really believe someone tried to kill him?” Molly sat down on the small love seat.
“They’re bringing in a federal team to investigate along with the local police. But it sounds like it, and the warden’s taking it seriously,” Lisa said.
“Will this get him released?”
“No. We can hope for a delay in his execution date. They moved him to a more isolated and secure area.” Lisa picked up the papers covered in notes and phone numbers she’d scribbled out and clasped them together with a paper clip.
“Who would want to kill him? I mean, he’s set to die soon anyway.”
“It makes little sense unless Leonard has information that someone is afraid will get out. At first I was concerned it was due to our visit, but it sounds like the poisoning began at least a week ago.”
Lisa wrote down a few additional notes on several Post-its and pressed them onto the front of her small stack, then slipped it into the drawer where she kept all material related to Leonard Dubois. Since arriving, she’d made the hotel desk her own.
“Are you going out to the prison? Should I?” Molly asked.
“I don’t think we can see him today. They’ve got most of the prison locked down. Maybe in a few days, but I know I can’t do another drive out there with my father behind the wheel.”
“I’m with you there,” Molly said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I better head over to the church, unless there’s anything else—”
Lisa’s phone rang. The number was from her house in Boston.
“Jessica?” Lisa said as she answered. Her house sitter never called when Lisa was away.
“Someone tried to break into the house!” The girl’s voice was frantic.
“Slow down, Jess. First of all, are you safe? Is the person gone? Did you call 911?”
Lisa had grabbed up the hotel phone, preparing to call the Boston PD on another line if Jessica hadn’t done so already. Molly sprang to her feet and was at her side.
“Yes, yes, the police are here.” The fear in Jessica’s voice set Lisa’s heart racing, though she remained outwardly calm. The girl was a few years older than John and attending college to be an elementary school teacher.
“Tell me what happened,” Lisa said in a soothing voice.
“I wouldn’t have been here, but I was in bed with a bad sinus infection. I was sleeping when the security alarm went off. The guy took off right away, was gone before the police arrived. But they have him on the security camera. He was trying to get in through your office. But, Lisa, I don’t know if I can stay here tonight.”
“That’s fine, do what you need to do. You did everything right, I’m proud of you. And I’m glad that you’re safe. Can I talk to the officer in charge?”
“What happened?” Molly whispered.
“Someone tried to break into my house in Boston,” Lisa said to Molly.
Molly clasped her cheeks in dismay. “What is going on?”
The officer introduced himself and already knew who Lisa was. He retold her the facts that Jessica had relayed, adding that they’d found little else except a few footprints near the office door and in a section of landscaping near the street. Lisa’s security camera had gotten footage of the intruder.
After thanking the officer and leaving her number, she talked to Jessica again to be sure the girl was okay. Next she called her security company and asked for a copy of the footage to be sent to her as soon as possible.
She hung up and considered texting Drew to ask him to check in on Jessica, but she knew he was in the middle of a film shoot this morning.
“Do you think the two are related?” Molly asked.
Lisa didn’t know what she meant at first. “You mean Leonard’s poisoning and this? No, I don’t think so. I get a lot of threats in my job.”
“Seems strange to me, but this isn’t my line of business.”
“Wait a minute,” Lisa said, taking in the room. She stood and walked
around. “My suitcase wasn’t on the floor. Dad put it on the luggage rack in the closet. I remember because I put it there, always. And I certainly wouldn’t put it on top of my shoes.”
“What are you saying?” Molly followed her to the closet.
Lisa turned and studied the rest of the room. Nothing else appeared out of place, but she’d been in the room since yesterday evening.
“Maybe it was housekeeping,” Molly offered.
Lisa ran through her morning. She’d been at the computer and desk since getting the call about the probable attempt on Leonard Dubois’s life.
The night before, she’d been tired after returning from the prison and suffering through her father’s drive home. She’d spent the evening reading through e-mails from work and addressing court details she’d ignored, while sitting in bed with her computer. She’d grabbed her silk pajamas and tossed what she’d worn to the prison onto a chair in the corner.
Lisa opened each of the desk drawers. In the Dubois drawer, beneath the papers she’d written that morning, she had the copies from the Fort Worth Police Department, the pictures her father had sent her back in Boston, and other notes, but they seemed out of order. At the very bottom sat the picture Rosalyn had found on the Internet of Benjamin Gray’s corpse with her Post-it note that read Blackstone Corporation.
“I’m sure I had this in a different drawer,” Lisa muttered. The drawer below it held everything she’d researched about the civil rights leader. The photograph had been in that drawer, she felt sure of it.
“Do you think someone was in here?” Molly asked, bending down to check beneath the bed.
“No one can fit under there—I check that every night,” Lisa said. “I’m a bit OCD about certain things. My suitcase is always on the rack. And even though my desktop is usually messy, I like my files organized a certain way. Last night I did think my toiletry bag was in a different place as well. I’m going to ask the hotel to look at their recordings. They have cameras throughout the hallways. Can you stick around for a while?”
“If you need my help, I can rearrange my schedule.”