Justice Delayed

by Patricia Bradley

  He didn’t know why it pleased him that he’d guessed she had a cat. “See you there in twenty minutes.”

  The Spaghetti Warehouse was only a few blocks away, and downtown traffic had long since cleared out, but David wanted to give her plenty of time.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Text me when you arrive, and I’ll tell you where I’m sitting.”

  He loved eating at the restaurant that had been renovated from a warehouse, and he usually ordered whatever was the special of the day. When he arrived, he asked the hostess for a quiet spot, since the restaurant was a favorite hangout for locals and was already filling up. Maybe he should rethink eating here.

  Get a grip. This wasn’t a date. It was work. Nevertheless, he was pleased when the hostess seated him at a quiet corner table.

  When his phone dinged a text, he relayed the location of their table to Maggie and enjoyed the view when she came into sight. She’d changed the jeans and sweater from earlier for a blue dress that, for lack of a better word, flowed. And the ponytail was gone. Her blonde hair curved under, barely skimming her shoulders. He stood and pulled her chair out.

  “Why, thank you,” she said, sounding surprised. “Sorry I took so long.”

  “You didn’t. I only just got here. And helping a lady with her chair is rule number twelve in my grandmother’s Rules of a Gentleman.”

  “I like your grandmother. She evidently had a lot to do with your raising.”

  “My dad died when I was eleven, and we went to live with my mother’s parents.”

  “We?”

  “My mom and brother, Eric.”

  “Eric . . . Eric Raines, the FBI agent?”

  So Maggie knew his brother, which shouldn’t be a surprise. He masked a stab of jealousy with a smile. “The one and only.”

  “Do I detect a hint of the green—”

  “No, you don’t. Eric is great at his job, and he’s a good brother.” There was no green-eyed monster.

  “Then . . . you’re close?”

  He cocked his head. “Why the third degree?”

  “Probably because I’m a defense attorney, and I’m used to digging into people’s lives to find out what makes them tick.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “I especially like to grill cops.”

  He’d been on the other end of her grilling, and it wasn’t pleasant. “Why did you become a defense attorney?”

  She’d been leaning toward him, but now she sat up straighter, putting distance between them. “It’s a long story, and I see our waitress coming.”

  Maggie Starr didn’t like having the tables turned. They probably should stick to work-related conversation, anyway. At least for a while. Besides, he knew the answer to the question he asked. Evidently, her brother with his wrongful conviction and then death was a sensitive subject.

  The waitress set their water down and took out her pad and said, “Are you ready to order?”

  David raised his gaze to Maggie. “Do you have a favorite here?”

  She tilted her head toward the waitress. “Do you have the fifteen-layer lasagna today?”

  The waitress, who was barely old enough to serve alcoholic drinks, smiled. “Yes, ma’am. And it is very good.”

  “Then that’s what I’d like, with a house salad and a glass of unsweetened tea.”

  The waitress looked at David, and he shrugged. “Sounds good to me, only sweet tea.”

  After the waitress left, he asked, “Did you talk with Jimmy Shelton?”

  “Yes. The warden allowed us to Skype, and we had a good first meeting—I recognized him from when I lived in the house with Stephanie and he lived next door, even though his appearance has changed quite a bit.” Maggie blinked and looked past him.

  David turned to see where she was looking. A man who seemed vaguely familiar walked toward them, wearing a sport coat and a smile that could only be for her. David glanced at her face and found it unreadable.

  The man stopped at their table. “Maggie! I’m surprised to see you here after you told me you’d be working this evening.”

  “Hello, Jared. I am working.” She palmed her hand and said, “Jared Donovan, Lieutenant David Raines.”

  Donovan held out his hand to David, and he half rose to shake it. “Good to meet you.”

  “Raines?” Donovan said, puzzling. “I’ve seen that name recently in the newspaper.”

  “Probably my brother, Eric,” David replied. “He usually gets all the publicity.”

  “No, I believe it has something to do with a cold case.”

  “Then, it was me. I’m the head of the Cold Case Unit.” He didn’t recall the article Donovan referenced. He wished he could place where he’d seen the man. Not around his usual haunts, for sure. Judging by the coat and the diamond ring on his left hand, they didn’t travel in the same circles.

  While David rarely noticed clothes, he recognized cashmere when he saw it. The jacket fit the man like it’d been custom made for him, and he wore it with the ease of a man used to expensive clothes.

  Donovan glanced at the empty chair beside Maggie. “Do you mind? Only until your food arrives, of course.”

  “I was just about to invite you,” Maggie said. “Maybe you can help us with a case we’re working on.”

  David masked his surprise as Donovan sat in the chair. He waited for her to lead the way in this conversation.

  Donovan leaned toward her, clasping her hand. “I’d rather talk about you letting me walk you home.” Suddenly he glanced toward David. “Don’t mean to intrude, but she did say it was work, so this isn’t a date, right?”

  Maggie answered for him, slipping her hand from Donovan’s. “No, it isn’t a date, but how did you know I walked here?”

  “You always walk, and by the time you finish eating, it’ll be getting dark. Maybe you feel safe downtown, but you don’t need to walk home alone after the sun goes down.”

  So the man knew her pretty well. He probably even knew how Madeline got changed to Maggie rather than Maddie.

  “If I feel I need an escort, David is here. And he has a gun,” she said with a polite smile.

  Donovan pressed his hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

  While he appeared to be joking, David detected a slight reddening of his neck. Donovan wasn’t used to being turned down. Was Maggie playing hard to get?

  Donovan leaned back in the chair. “So, what are you working on, then?”

  “The Stephanie Hollister case.”

  “Stephanie’s case? But I thought Jimmy—I mean, isn’t he about to be . . .” He let his words trail off.

  “Executed?” Maggie said. “Not if I can help it.”

  She turned to David. “Jared also knew Stephanie and Jimmy. Jared actually dated Stephanie for a while. Didn’t you ask her to marry you?”

  Red crept into his face. “But then she was murdered and you came along.”

  Evidently Stephanie Hollister was quite the social butterfly.

  Maggie flashed Donovan a quick smile. “You mean until she turned you and your diamond ring down. And you don’t like being turned down.”

  “No one likes that, but I have lots of patience. Like with you. You’ll finally come around,” he said, winking. “Has new evidence been uncovered?” he asked, shifting his gaze to David.

  “Something like that,” he replied. “Do you remember where you were the night Stephanie was murdered?”

  19

  “YOU’RE THE SECOND PERSON to ask me that today, and I’ll tell you what I told him—Stephanie Hollister died eighteen years ago,” Jared Donovan said, his expression never changing. “Why would I remember where I was that night?”

  “Who asked you earlier?”

  Donovan took a card from his pocket and glanced at it. “Sergeant Will Kincade.”

  David didn’t recall Will mentioning Donovan. “Have you remembered anything since then?”

  “I did think about it.” He scratched his chin. “I was probably in Brussels or maybe Paris. Eig
hteen years ago, I was just starting in my mother’s company and regularly accompanied her on her gem-buying trips.”

  Donovan Jewelers. TV ads. That’s why he seemed so familiar. His family owned the premier jewelry store in Memphis, and Donovan made the perfect spokesman.

  The waitress approached with their meal, and Maggie smiled. “Jared, it was good seeing you.”

  He acknowledged her hint with a smile. “You too. There’s a fundraiser for Le Bonheur next Friday evening. I’d love to have you accompany me.”

  She tilted her head. “Call me tomorrow. If I’m free, I would enjoy that.”

  He stood and bowed slightly. “I will. Ninish?”

  “Yes.”

  David made a mental note to never use the term ninish. It sounded downright silly coming from a man.

  After the waitress served their plates, he took a bite of the lasagna and said, “I’d forgotten how good this is.”

  “It’s my favorite.” She hesitated. “Sorry about the intrusion.”

  He waved her off. “Nothing to apologize for. But you don’t like him much, do you?”

  “I like him fine, but a couple of years ago, he got a little too serious, so I try to keep him at arm’s length now.”

  “You mean serious, like marriage?”

  She sipped her tea. “Yes. And I wasn’t ready for that. And I’m still not.”

  He’d wondered why a woman as beautiful and accomplished as Madeline Starr wasn’t married. Wasn’t sure he wanted to ask now. “So, earlier I sensed that everything didn’t go well with your meeting with Jimmy.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Our meeting went well. It was the meeting with the DA that didn’t.”

  “Laura Delaney? I thought you two were friends.”

  “We are, but it stops at her office.” She forked through her salad. “And thank you for not asking why I’m not married.”

  “I figure you have your reasons.”

  “I do, and it’s nothing dark and mysterious. I simply haven’t found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “Good enough.” She seemed perplexed, and he laughed. “I actually understand what you mean. I had that kind of love once—you’ll know when you find it.”

  Memories blindsided David. Lia, beautiful and exotic with her long black hair softly framing her face as she walked down the aisle the day they married. In the hospital the day their daughter was born, love flushing her face and shining from her dark eyes. In the morgue, her lifeless body on a table. A band tightened across his chest, choking off his breath.

  He laid his fork on the table and took a deep breath. David had no choice in when the memories hit, but he was usually able to keep his emotions at bay. He focused on the wedding band on his left hand, waiting until he could speak without his voice cracking.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Not your fault.” He picked his fork up again. “What did the DA say, and why did you go to her?”

  Maggie shrugged. “I’m petitioning the Tennessee Court of Criminal Appeals tomorrow in Jackson, but unless new evidence surfaces right away, they’ll turn us down. I went to Laura because the DA can cut through the red tape. She could have bought us time.”

  “Why wouldn’t she help?”

  “For the same reason the first DA pushed for the death penalty—politics. He had big political ambitions, and she’s running for Congress. Neither want to be viewed as soft on crime.” Maggie shrugged. “Her words, not mine. Besides, she believes he’s guilty.”

  “Who was the DA eighteen years ago?”

  “Frank Olsen, our present governor. I stopped by the courthouse and found the transcript of the trial.”

  “That means we need ironclad proof.” Even Eric couldn’t help him without it.

  “If you definitely tie Lacey’s death to Stephanie’s murder, it would help. Where do you stand there?”

  “It’s moving. The medical examiner ruled it homicide late today after scrapings under her fingernails revealed traces of skin.”

  “We have such a short time frame that unless you come up with new evidence, I’m afraid it will come down to executive clemency, and we have two strikes against us there.”

  “Two? What besides the governor being the DA on the case?”

  “He’s not fond of me. Do you know anyone who could influence him?”

  “Olsen and my brother went to college together. I did call him when the issue of the letter came up. He said basically the same thing the DA said—the letter wasn’t enough evidence of his innocence. If we get something solid, he’ll call the governor.”

  “If we get something solid, we won’t need him or Laura.”

  Surely there was someone else they could go to. They ate in silence until he said, “Have you remembered anything new from this morning?”

  Maggie placed her knife and fork on the empty plate. “While I was writing the brief, I thought about the men who came around. Jared came by every day if he was in town. And Jimmy, of course—he was always hanging around.” Her eyebrows lowered. “There was this older man . . . he was probably only in his thirties, but I was nineteen then, so he seemed ancient. He came around a couple of times, looking for Stephanie. Gerald Caldwell. He was a private investigator.”

  David put the name in his smartphone. “Do you know where he is now?”

  “Yes. Office building down the street from me. Laura can tell you more about him. I think he’s on retainer with the city.”

  His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the ID. “Excuse me a minute.” When she nodded, he stood and walked near the door to talk. “Raines.”

  “I have the preliminary report on the impressions on the stationery.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Bottom line, Lacey Wilson wrote the letter saying Jimmy didn’t kill Stephanie,” Will said. “She claimed to have evidence to prove it and planned to explain everything if he’d allow her to visit him. It was too late when he received the letter. She was dead.”

  “Do you have any idea what this evidence might be?”

  “Not a clue, but there were other impressions on the stationery. One of them was a letter to Andi, again with a reference to her having evidence that will exonerate Jimmy.”

  David pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Does Andi know what it is?”

  “No, but I wonder if that’s what the intruder wanted Tuesday night. Andi thought she was being followed when she went to meet Lacey. If Lacey’s attacker found the letter to Andi, he may have followed her home.”

  “Keep an eye on her.”

  “Oh, I will, sir. And I plan to take a look around Stephanie Hollister’s studio where she was murdered.”

  “You think you might find something there?”

  “It’s possible. No one has been in the studio since right after the murder. I doubt that George Barnes went to much trouble searching it after Jimmy confessed.”

  “Keep me updated,” David said.

  “There’s one more thing,” Will said. “Walter Simmons called. Jillian went to see Jimmy today, and she had to give an address. He’s supposed to call me back with it. At any rate, I’m driving to Nashville first thing in the morning to talk with the warden about Larry Ray Johnson. I’d like to know his history and if anything else has ever come up missing where he’s suspect.”

  “Good idea. Let me know what you find out.” He hung up and hurried back to his table. “Sorry about that, but it was about the letter Jimmy received. We now have proof Lacey Wilson wrote it and that it said basically what he indicated—that she had proof of his innocence.”

  “And she’s dead, and no one has a clue what proof she was talking about.”

  The anguish in her voice echoed what David felt. Somehow, somewhere, there was evidence of Jimmy’s innocence. But time was running out.

  She rubbed the back of her neck. “Do you know anyone on the parole board?”

  “I did once, but his appointment ended. Another thing Will said—J
illian went to see Jimmy today. Will is driving to Nashville tomorrow to talk to his cousin.”

  She looked thoughtful. “I wonder if he’d mind if I rode to the prison with him. I could meet him in Jackson.”

  “I’m sure he’d be glad for you to. I’ll give you his cell number, and you can call him.” He glanced at her empty plate. “Dessert?”

  She hesitated. “I’d love to have one of their brownies with ice cream and caramel, but I better pass.”

  He motioned to the waitress. “We’d like your brownie to split. That way,” he said, turning to Maggie, “it won’t be so many calories.”

  “You are a man after my own heart, but you get the bigger half.”

  A subdued quiet had fallen on their conversation, and when the dessert was delivered, he really had no appetite for it. A man’s life hung in the balance and he was eating dessert? He took a couple of bites. Evidently, Maggie had the same thoughts as she pushed her half-eaten brownie away. “Are you ready to leave?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  As they walked out of the restaurant, the sun hung low in the western sky, creating a breathtaking sunset. “Do you mind if I walk you home?”

  “You don’t know where I live.”

  “Has to be close if you walked.”

  She ducked her head. “I would be honored. It’s this way.”

  David inhaled. “I love the way it smells in the spring. Do you smell that honeysuckle?”

  “Right now all I can smell is garlic,” she said with a laugh. “But, yes, I do smell it. Reminds me of home.”

  “Senatobia, Mississippi.”

  “Yep.”

  They walked north, past warehouses. “You really should take Donovan’s advice and not walk here after dark.”

  “I’ll take that under consideration,” she said with a straight face.

  He glanced at her. Maggie Starr’s head came to about his chin, and even in the silky blue dress, she exuded a competent, don’t-mess-with-me aura. Her comment probably had been tongue-in-cheek.

  Suddenly her left arm shot out, stopping just at his Adam’s apple, and he reacted instinctively, grabbing her arm. She slipped out of his hold and twisted his arm behind his back.

  “I forgot to tell you. I have a blue belt in tae kwon do. If this had been a real situation, I could’ve flipped you on your head.”