When we entered the office, he started back through the second glass door, ignoring me.
I didn’t know whether to follow him or not. I was growing a little irate at his rudeness. I hollered at his back, “I want to talk about the way she set up her clients for y’all.”
That got his attention. He pivoted around, his eyes searing through me, and stalked over to where I was standing. He grasped me roughly by the arm and said, “Come on back.”
I did. And we went into his office where he seated me in a chair opposite his desk, closed the door, and sat across from me.
“Just what’s this all about?” His expression matched his voice.
“Willard Thompson says that Elizabeth Reynolds set him up for a fall.”
“Who’s Willard Thompson?” He was leaning forward in his chair, his eyes unwavering and his lips pursed.
“He was a client of Elizabeth Reynolds at the time of her disappearance. You did the plea on him with Vernon Spencer after she’d gone.”
He shook his head, apparently not remembering, and fingered the large gold ring on his right hand, twisting it.
“Let me back up a little, Mr. Proctor. You know Elizabeth Reynolds is dead, don’t you?”
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes not leaving my face, and said, “Yeah. Spencer told me.”
“Well, I’ve been hired to look into it.”
“I know that, too.”
I nodded, not surprised. It’s been my experience that assistant DAs know a lot that they don’t volunteer to the general public. “Anyway, I met with this Willard Thompson the other night. He’s out on parole.”
He nodded.
“He wanted to tell me that he didn’t kill her. Then he told me that he suspected that she’d set him up because he was selling dope to the kids in her neighborhood. He acted like it was pretty-general knowledge in the jail that some lawyers do that.”
“So?”
“So, I find that very hard to believe.”
“The man’s a criminal. What did you expect?”
“Did she set him up? Were you a party to that?”
“Listen, lady, do you know how many cases I handle in a year? Hundreds. I don’t remember the names of the ones I did last month, much less last year.” He laughed, but it wasn’t congenial.
“You’d remember if Elizabeth set this guy up and then disappeared, wouldn’t you? I mean, that’s not an everyday occurrence around here—is it?” I stared back at him, forcing my eyes to be as unwavering as his.
“What exactly did this joker tell you? Where’d he get an idea like that, anyway?”
I sighed and shook my head at him. “I’m not sure how he thinks it came down, but he said he got arrested for holding, which I’m assuming means the same thing up here as it does in Harris County: that he was in possession of drugs. Then he said he called her from the jail. She had been his lawyer before. He wanted her to get him out. He was going to sell his dope when he got out and pay her to defend him. She refused to get him out. Then he said he told her that he’d tell her where the dope was, and she could sell it, and then get him out. He supposedly left her a message or something, and then she disappeared, so he thinks she stole his dope and left town. He claims he had enough so that she’d be able to live like a queen.”
He was rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “This guy sounds like a real nut case, Miss Davis. You believed that?” He laughed again. This time there was a jovial ring to it.
“I don’t know what to believe. I mean, why would he contact me to tell me a crazy story like that if it wasn’t true?”
“Maybe he’s covering up what really happened. Did you ever think of that?”
“I don’t know. I’m just trying to find out who killed her, that’s all. I don’t care about any of that other stuff. It’s not my business. I don’t care if the lawyers in this town set up their mothers. I’m hired to find out who killed her and that’s it. That’s all I want to do. Then I want to go home where it’s safe, where I know some people, where I can sleep in my own bed without being awakened in the middle of the night by weird phone calls, where people don’t go around ransacking my room and hitting me over the head. That’s all I want.” I ended my monologue breathlessly. What I was doing crying on the shoulder of this cold fish, I’ll never know.
“Sounds like you’ve been having a real good time,” he said. I looked up into his face again, after wringing my hands, and his lips were tipped up into a little smile. Maybe he was human after all.
“It’s been a real ball, let me tell you.”
“You know, if all that has been happening, it sounds like someone is worried that you’re on to something.”
“But who? And what?”
“Maybe this Willard guy.”
“I don’t think so. If he was worried about me, he could easily have gotten rid of me the other night and no one would have known the difference.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. We met some place in the boondocks and no one knew about it, so he could have finished me off with no problem. He acts like he wants to help.”
“Like I said, it could be a cover-up.”
“I don’t think so. He wants to meet again tonight, and I don’t think he would do that if he was trying to hide something.”
“Hmmm. What else have you got?”
“Besides him?”
He nodded again.
“A husband with a girlfriend and a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar insurance policy. An ex-law partner that seems to be doing a much better business now that Elizabeth’s gone.” I watched his face for a reaction to either of my statements. He was good, very good. As an afterthought, I added, “A serial killer in Houston who the police down there want to pin it on.” To that he showed mild surprise. “The Houston cops don’t think she was killed by someone up here?”
Had I blown it? My mouth had overextended again. “I didn’t have enough evidence to get them interested when I left there, but I tried to call one of them last night to bring him up to date. He was out to dinner.”
“So they don’t know about what’s been happening up here? Hell, it doesn’t matter. We’re out of their jurisdiction anyway, but I wonder if they’ve contacted any of our men to touch base with them on it?”
“I don’t think so. At least not yet.”
“Tell you what, Miss Davis. How about if I put one of our investigators on this with you. I liked old Elizabeth. She was pretty cool, and I always wondered what had happened to her. You talk to Miguel, tell him everything you know, and maybe he can help you out. He’s got his finger on the pulse of this town. If anyone can put this together, he can.” He smiled and stood up.
I stood, also, and smiled back in surprise. I was flabbergasted by the offer. I half expected he’d throw me out of his office, and here he was offering help. Well, it was welcome. I was mystified and not a little scared.
“Where’re you headed? You got time to talk to him now?”
I glanced at my watch. There was still time before lunch. “I was planning lunch with Elizabeth’s former secretary, Tammy Bradley, but I have time to meet with him if he’s here.”
“Sure.” He came from behind his desk and clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m glad you came in to see me. I was wondering who you were when I saw you in the courtroom the other day. I thought I knew everyone that hangs around the courthouse, but I knew I’d never seen that red hair before.”
I laughed. “That’s me. Unforgettable.”
He opened the door and ushered me up more stairs to a smaller office. There he introduced me to Miguel Mirales. Better known as Mike. My first thought at seeing him was muscle-bound brat. He was short, stocky, young, and, from the looks of him in his shirt-sleeves, could pack a wallop.
The office had two small metal desks shoved up against each other at the wall. Papers were piled high upon each of them, the desk trays overflowing. Mike found me a chair from another office and brought it in so that I could sit in the two-f
oot aisle between the door and the farthest wall while we talked. He introduced me to the other investigator, who was on the phone. His name was Ray something-or-other, and he came and went while we spent the next hour or so holed up in there, with Mike taking my statement. At first Mike didn’t seem much interested, but when the chief assistant tells you to do something, you do it. As I finished up my recitation, he indicated that he would do some checking and get back with me.
When I left the district attorney’s office, I walked over to the Tandy Center once more, peeking in store windows, watching the ice skaters, and checking out the subway, passing the time until I had to meet Tammy. I even called Ben again, but he was still not there.
At the appointed hour, I arrived at the restaurant Tammy had suggested, and waited for her to meet me. And waited. And waited. Finally, thinking that she had chickened out, I called her office.
“Who’s calling?” the female voice on the other end of the line asked me.
“Mavis Davis. We had a lunch date, but she never showed.”
“Hold the line for Mr. Baldwin, please,” the voice said.
Paranoia swept through me. What had I done wrong? Had the girl gone to her boss to get out of talking to me? All she had to do was decline. I mean, she would have had to decline in an aggressive way, I know I come on strong sometimes, but I would have taken no for an answer, eventually.
“Miss Davis?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.
“Yes,” I replied with trepidation. I hate male authority figures.
“Miss Bradley can’t meet with you today,” his voice boomed.
“Oh, that’s okay then.” I didn’t want a confrontation with an unknown. “Can I leave my number where she can get in touch with me so we can meet after hours?”
“No, Miss Davis. What I meant to say was that Miss Bradley can’t meet with you at all. She’s dead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
At his words, a shiver started at the back of my neck and scurried down my spine. The hair rose up on my arms. I couldn’t respond.
“Miss Davis? Are you there?”
I nodded and tried to swallow the bubble in my throat. I was afraid to ask how it happened—afraid that I was responsible. I managed to utter the word, “When?”
“Just a few minutes ago—at lunchtime. She was on her way to meet you and got run over by a car. Hit-and-run.”
My stomach turned over. Guilt consumed me like a thirsty drunk with a fresh bottle. “Did anyone see who was driving or get the license number?”
“The girl that was with her when she left the office is hysterical. In shock. We don’t know whether she saw who it was or not. She came screaming into the office, and that’s when some of the other people went out and found Tammy. The police are here now, Miss Davis. I’m sorry.” He hung up.
What had I done? She had been safe for a year before I showed up. Now someone got scared and killed her. What could she have known? What had she said? I couldn’t recall. Who had known I was meeting with Tammy Bradley? God. Only everybody.
I went back to the district attorney’s office and waited for Mike Mirales. Would he be interested now? Or would he pass the buck to the police? I didn’t know, but I wanted some reassurance from someone. What had I gotten myself into?
I heard some heavy footsteps and looked up to see Mirales come through the door with Doyle Proctor. They were laughing at something. When they saw me, they stopped dead in their tracks.
“Back already, Miss Davis?” Doyle Proctor asked, sounding annoyed.
I looked up at them from where I sat and thought that my mind must be going. Proctor stared at me with one eyebrow arched. Mike Mirales’ look was a blank stare. I was suddenly suspicious of them, too. “Tammy Bradley was killed,” I said, and to my humiliation, a tear ran down my face.
“Shit!” Mike said.
“Come on in the back,” Proctor said, and helped me out of the chair.
I felt like a total fool as I wiped at my face with my fingers. It was my fault the girl died. Yet I was helpless to have stopped it. They led me to the library and put me in a chair at the conference table. Mike left and returned with some tissues that he pushed at me. I blew my nose while they sat opposite me and looked on. When I could breathe normally, they started at me with questions.
“How’d you find out about this?” Proctor asked.
“Remember I told you I was going to lunch with her?”
They both nodded.
“She didn’t show up, so I called her office. I talked to a Mr. Baldwin, and he told me that on her way to meet me, she was run over by a car.” I blew my nose again.
“Any witnesses?” Mike asked.
“I don’t know. The girl that was walking with her had to be sedated, I guess. He said she was hysterical. He didn’t tell me much. The police were there. He didn’t say if anyone else saw what happened or not.”
“I’ll find out, Mavis, don’t you worry,” Mike said as he patted me on the arm.
I looked at him and back to Proctor. They really did seem sympathetic. I didn’t know what else to say to them, so I just sat there for a few minutes.
Finally, Proctor said, “Why don’t you go back to your motel and lie down for a while. I’m sure you’ll feel better. Mike will call you if he turns up anything.”
“I just feel so bad,” I said.
“It’s not your fault,” Mike said.
Proctor just watched me. Accusingly, I thought.
“But if I’d never called her, she’d still be alive.”
“You don’t know that, Mavis,” Mike said. “The killer might have had her on his list anyway.”
“You just be careful that you aren’t next,” Proctor said.
Involuntarily, my body jerked at that statement. It was as if I’d been slapped. I looked at Proctor to see what he’d meant by it, but his face was deadpan. I turned to Mike. His face was drawn, his eyes watching me closely. The two of them made me nervous. I was now anxious to leave; ready to get the hell away from them. They walked me back out to the reception area, and Mike reassured me that he would call if he learned anything from the police.
When I reached my room, the red message light was lit on the phone again. I rang the motel office. They reported that a Benjamin Sorensen and a Margaret Applebaum had called. I immediately felt better. I didn’t know how Ben had gotten the number, but I was glad. I returned the call. He wasn’t in again. I was growing quite frustrated.
I called Margaret. Her voice made my throbbing head feel worse.
“Whatchadoin’?” she asked.
“I’m pulling off my clothes so I can take a nap.” I had to smile in spite of myself. Some things always remained normal. “And returning your phone call, Margaret. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Candy’s fine. Everything’s fine. I finished the home study.”
“You did? Already? That’s great.” I sat on the edge of the bed as I spoke to her. I wanted to get under the covers and pull them over my head. I wanted to stay there until this case was solved.
“Want me to read it to you? I wrote it up just like you did the others. I pulled an old one from a file and copied the format.”
“Sure.” It would be a relief to get my mind off Tammy Bradley for a few minutes.
Margaret started reading. She read our office name and address off the letterhead, the date, the cause number and style of the case. She read every last detail, even the sincerely yours and her name. That’s Margaret. It was a comforting phone call.
After I hung up, I laid there for who knows how long trying to nap, but instead my mind wandered back to Elizabeth Reynolds and the pieces that wouldn’t fit together. It was like trying to start a jigsaw puzzle with a corner piece missing.
I thought about all the characters I had met. Vernon Spencer always headed the list. Was that because the Newbolds suspected him? He’d seemed somewhat concerned about Elizabeth’s death. What would he have had to gain? Was she hiding from him? If so, why? What could be so b
ad that she couldn’t tell her husband? Had Spencer threatened her in some way? Why couldn’t she have gone to the police? Did he know where she was? And if so, did he leave right after court, drive or fly down there, kill her, and then come back to continue his trial the next day?
My First Murder Page 17