Guilty as Sin

by Tami Hoag

  He frowned. “Sorry. Costello's number isn't there. Not on the house phone, not on the cellular phone. If we don't make that connection, he's off the hook.”

  “And Tony Costello slips out of the grip of justice like the slimy eel he is.”

  “If it's any consolation, I think it'll take him a long time to crawl out of the hole he's in,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. “As it turns out, he was representing one of the country's more despicable career criminals.”

  “And he got him off,” Ellen said soberly, knowing that was how Tony would look at it. Not as a shameful humiliation, but as a game won. The only difference between him and his client had been that Costello's games were sanctioned.

  “I'll keep digging,” Cameron promised. “How about you? Anything on Priest yet?”

  “There's no mention of him by name in the journals. He claims the reason he lied about growing up in Mishawaka is that he had some emotional problems at the time and ended up quitting school. He falsified records to get into college, claiming he graduated from a good school in Chicago. He adamantly denies all knowledge of Wright's activities, but it's hard to believe he never suspected anything. At best, he had to have held a suspicion that might have prevented a lot of suffering if he had acted on it.

  “The FBI has had him all afternoon. They confiscated all the records on the joint learning-and-perception project Wright's and Priest's students were working on, in case there might be something in that. They'll get the truth out of him eventually. And when they do, there'll be a line of attorneys waiting to prosecute.”

  “You'll be filing perjury charges against Todd Childs?” he asked.

  Ellen nodded. “I'm betting he's the one who broke into the Pack Rat, too, though I don't know that we'll ever prove it. Childs knew we were looking for him, and Costello had told him to drop out of sight. Trouble was, he had product stashed at the store and knew it wouldn't be there long if he didn't get it.” She gave a shrug that pulled on muscles better left alone. “That's my theory, anyway. We can worry about proving it another day.”

  “In the meantime, you should go home and sleep for a day or two,” Cameron suggested. “You'll need your rest. Rumor has it you'll be first in line for Rudy's job when he takes Franken's seat on the bench.”

  “That's news to me. As usual.”

  He laughed, though it didn't make him look quite as young as it had a week ago. “I'll call you tomorrow.”

  He started to back out the door, then leaned in again. “I thought I'd stop by Phoebe's house and see how she's doing. She's really upset about the Slater thing. She's blaming herself for what happened to you. I'm worried about her. Any wisdom you want me to pass along?”

  “Yeah. Tell her it's not a crime to trust someone, even if they don't deserve it,” Ellen said. She felt for sweet, gullible Phoebe. It would take her a long time to get over what had happened, even longer to shed the guilt. “I don't blame her for what happened. Slater would have found a way to get what he wanted. I'm just glad he didn't hurt her physically.”

  “Amen to that.”

  Another victim in the game, Ellen thought sadly. Phoebe's trust and loyalty. She made a mental note to stop by Phoebe's house herself if she didn't show up for work in the morning.

  She was trying to work up the energy to get out of her chair and put her coat on when Megan came to the door.

  “I thought you'd be out celebrating,” Ellen said, motioning her to a chair.

  “I'm waiting for Mitch. He's in with the Feebies and Priest,” she said. “We'll celebrate later. What about you? All this wrapped up and the Minneapolis cops picked up your mad-bomber friend, too.”

  “All I want is a long, hot soak and a bed,” Ellen confessed. “It's a relief to have it over. There's a lot of satisfaction in knowing we've put an end to a long line of horrible crimes. But there's something in turning over that big rock and seeing what was under it that puts a damper on my appetite for festivities. The world's full of rocks, you know. I just want to finish the job and move on to the next one.”

  Megan nodded, reflective. “Well, I just wanted to thank you personally for letting me in on this. I know you took a risk.”

  “It paid off. You're a good cop, Megan.”

  She smiled with a kind of shy pride that was touching. “Yeah, I am. And now I see that I can still be a good cop whether I can handle a gun or not. There can still be a place for me on the job. That means a lot to me. Thanks, Ellen. And thanks to your friend Brooks. If he hadn't offered to help, I'd still be on the phone calling directory assistance.”

  “He did what?” Ellen asked stupidly.

  “He offered me a deal. He knew I was looking into Wright's background—”

  “And he wanted to use it.” Ellen's heart sank as her temper rose from the ashes of exhaustion.

  “No,” Megan said. “He wanted to help. He offered me the use of his computer, his fax, his phones. We worked together half of Tuesday night and all of yesterday. That was how we found that case in Pennsylvania. He didn't tell you this?”

  “We got a little sidetracked with a homicidal maniac,” Ellen said, her mind spinning. “Then, at the hospital, it was Mitch who told me about the Wiskow case.”

  Because Brooks had been busy getting himself stitched back together.

  He had offered to help. For the sake of the case, or for the sake of his book?

  Megan rose carefully, pulling her crutch up under her left arm. “You know, he's a pretty decent guy for someone who used to be a lawyer. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Ellen murmured.

  He had come to Deer Lake to watch, to observe from a distance, to soak it all in and sell it.

  He had helped crack the case. He had saved her life . . . and stolen her heart. She hadn't wanted to admit that, but it was true. She hadn't wanted to believe it. Her life had been a whole lot simpler before he'd come into it, with his voice like smoke and eyes that saw through all her barriers. He had reached past those barriers and touched her, awakened something within her she had denied—need, the need to feel, the need to care too much.

  He had come here for the case, and the case was over.

  “Damn you, Brooks,” she whispered to the empty room. “Now what?”

  “I suggest a steak dinner and a long, slow night in bed,” he drawled, stepping in from the dark hall. “Together. Sleeping.”

  He looked much the way he had the first night she'd seen him, that wicked pirate's grin cutting across a two-day beard. His coat hung open, giving a glimpse of the sling that held his right arm against him.

  Ellen ignored the idea that she had conjured him up out of her imagination and scowled at him instead. “Is there a line out there?”

  “No, ma'am. I'm the last.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked with concern. “You should be in the hospital.”

  He shook his head. “Dr. Baskir sent me on my way.”

  “I have a hard time believing that.”

  “All right,” he admitted with a sheepish look. “Maybe I sorta talked my way out.”

  “That I believe.”

  He grinned again as he came around the end of the desk, perched a hip on one corner, and grabbed up her paperweight as if it were a baseball. “My Uncle Hooter always said I could charm the skirt off a Sunday-school teacher.”

  “A useful talent. Who did you charm to get in here?”

  “My old friend Deputy Qualey. Did you know he once thwarted a burglar by throwing a live snake on him?”

  “What was he doing with a live snake in the first place?”

  “Don't know. Don't want to know. Sure as hell don't want to write a book about it.”

  “No,” Ellen said. “You've got enough to write about with this case. Twisted minds, sex, violence, corruption. Everybody's favorite stuff.”

  “There isn't going to be any book,” Jay announced, watching her reaction. She met his gaze with wary surprise. “I kind of lost my objectivity.”

/>   And gained things he still wasn't sure he wanted—sympathy, nobility, a conscience. They felt like medals that had been pinned to his chest instead of his shirt.

  “Megan told me what you did to help, Jay,” Ellen said. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, well, don't let it get around. You'll ruin my reputation as a scheming opportunist.”

  “Some people might catch on when no blockbuster best-seller comes out of this.”

  “That's a chance I'll have to take. It's not that I think there's no value in telling the tales,” he qualified. “It just won't be me telling them.”

  “So you came all the way to Minnesota, froze your butt off, and nearly got killed all for nothing?”

  “I wouldn't say that,” he said in a low voice, stepping close. “I wouldn't say that at all. What I'll take from here is more valuable than any story.”

  “You're leaving?” Ellen blurted, then scrambled to cover. “I mean—well—I guess if there's no book to write . . .”

  He had come here for a book. That was all. He had his life in Albama. She had hers here. Their paths had crossed and now they would move on.

  It just seemed so soon.

  “I've got a son I'd like to meet,” Jay said quietly. “Just meet him, get to know him. I've missed eight years of his life. I'm damned lucky I don't have to miss any more. I'm damned lucky I have a choice.”

  Ellen found a smile for him. “I'm glad you're making that choice, Jay. I hope it all works out.”

  “Yeah,” he said, fragile hope building in his heart. It had been so long since he had allowed anything in there but cynicism.

  “After that,” he said, setting the paperweight aside, “I was thinking I might try my hand at fiction.”

  “Really?”

  “I'm thinking about a female protagonist,” he said, watching her carefully. “The days and nights of a beautiful assistant county attorney.”

  He straightened from the desk and stepped closer, his gaze holding hers. Ellen smiled slowly.

  “Want to help with the research?” he whispered in a voice like smoke over satin as he leaned down to kiss her. “I suggest we start with the nights. . . .”

  EPILOGUE

  She sat alone in the small white room, the only light coming from the moon through the barred window high on the wall. Truly alone for the first time in her life. Like a balloon cut free. From other rooms like hers she could hear the eerie keening and crying of faceless people. Night sounds. Sounds that gave her an odd sense of comfort.

  Softly humming a lullaby to herself, she rocked her pillow in one arm while she wrote on the wall with a blue crayon.

  Journal entry

  February 3, 1994

  Goodbye to Garrett

  Goodbye to we

  Hello to me

  Who will be my family?

  Inside my mind

  Inside my heart

  Outside these walls

  A new game to start

  One day . . .

  BANTAM BOOKS BY TAMI HOAG

  DARK HORSE

  DUST TO DUST

  ASHES TO ASHES

  A THIN DARK LINE

  Guilty as Sin

  NIGHT SINS

  DARK PARADISE

  CRY WOLF

  STILL WATERS

  LUCKY'S LADY

  SARAH'S SIN

  MAGIC

  And coming soon in hardcover

  KILL THE MESSENGER

  Praise for the bestsellers of

  TAMI HOAG

  DARK HORSE

  “A thriller as tightly wound as its heroine . . . Hoag has created a winning central figure in Elena . . . Bottom line:

  Great ride.”—People

  This is her best to date . . . [a] tautly told thriller.”

  —Minneapoils Star-Tribune

  “Hoag proves once again why she is considered a queen of the crime thriller.” —Charleston Post & Courier

  “A tangled web of deceit and double-dealing makes for a fascinating look into the wealthy world of horses juxtaposed with the realistic introspection of one very troubled ex-cop. A definite winner.” —Booklist

  “Anyone who reads suspense novels regularly is acquainted with Hoag's work—or certainly should be. She's one of the most consistently superior suspense and romantic suspense writers on today's bestseller lists. A word of warning to readers: don't think you know whodunit 'til the very end.”

  —The Facts (Clute, TX)

  “Suspense, shocking violence, and a rip-roaring conclusion—this novel has all the pulse-racing touches that put Tami Hoag books on bestseller lists and crime fans' reading lists.” —The Advocate Magazine (Baton Rouge, LA)

  “Full of intrigue, glitter, and skullduggery . . . [Hoag] is a master of suspense.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Her best to date, an enjoyable read, and a portent of even better things to come.” —The Grand Rapids Press

  “A complex cerebral puzzle that will keep readers on the edge until all the answers are revealed.” —The Midwest Book Review

  “To say that Tami Hoag is the absolute best at what she does is a bit easy since she is really the only person who does what she does. . . . It is testament to Hoag's skill that she is able to go beyond being skillful and find the battered hearts in her characters, and capture their beating on the page. . . . A superb read.” —Detroit News & Free Press

  DUST TO DUST

  “Compelling and expertly told. Plot lines smolder and ignite as the suspense builds. The result leaves . . . the reader scorched.” —USA Today

  “[This] wintry tale of crime and punishment packs a powerful thrill. Bottom line: Good cops + bad cops = killer suspense.” —People (Page-turner of the week, starred review)

  “Dust to Dust breathes new life into the old good cop vs. bad cop genre. . . . A roller-coaster ride of a thriller that will leave fans awaiting the next installment.” —New York Post

  “Sharp dialogue and an unusual plot make this a highly engaging outing for Hoag.” —Chicago Tribune

  “Practice must make perfect after all because Tami Hoag . . . just keeps getting better. . . . Hoag not only develops her characters, she also thickens the plot with every chapter, until there is no alternative but to keep turning those pages.”

  —The Orlando Sentinel

  “As a master of complex plots, Hoag is adept at faking readers into thinking they've figured out what's happened, only to shatter their theories. Dust to Dust continues the tradition.” —Fort Worth Star-Telegram

  “In this well-crafted thriller, Hoag sets a complex plot in motion and gives it a powerful, emotional center.” —Minneapolis Star-Tribune

  ASHES TO ASHES

  “Hoag has more or less taken over the serial killer genre all by herself.” —Chicago Tribune

  “You'll want to lock the doors while you're reading. . . . Hoag does her homework and gets the details right in this creepy story. . . . Powerful.” —Minneapolis Star Tribune

  “An up-all-night read.” —The Detroit News

  “[A] detail-packed thriller . . . The Silence of the Lambs comes to mind more than once.” —Entertainment Weekly

  “[A] compelling . . . startling story.” —Chicago Sun-Times

  “Hoag has a way of sneaking up on the reader in superior thriller tradition. . . . She neatly side- steps the graphic crudeness of some of her competitors, while still providing enough surprise twists and stomach-turning carnage to satisfy any heebie-jeebie enthusiast.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Absorbing . . . always interesting . . . Once again, Hoag doesn't disappoint.” —New York Post

  “Promises to keep readers up reading into the night. . . . A lot of bang for the buck.” —Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine

  “Chilling . . . Patricia Cornwell wrote thrillers that had readers turning the pages until 3 a.m. Now Hoag is keeping readers up all hours.” —Sun-Sentinel (Fort Lauderdale, FL)

  “If ‘page turner' is a term too easily us
ed, Ms. Hoag has restored its legitimacy. Her stories shock us, shake us, take us to the darkest edges of criminal conduct.” —The Cincinnati Enquirer

  “We who know a little about Tami Hoag's novels lock the doors, grab a bowl of popcorn, and settle down for an often unsettling read. With Ashes, we need to look over our shoulders every chapter or so because the evil therein gathers momentum with every move a serial killer makes.”

  —The Detroit News

  “This is a winning psychological thriller that will attract fans of Thomas Harris.” —Booklist

  A THIN DARK LINE

  “A Thin Dark Line is chilling, it's atmospheric, it's even romantic; but the novel's best achievement is its making readers constantly interrogate their ideas about justice and revenge, their own presumptions of guilt and innocence.”

  —US magazine

  “This mystery defies you to put it down, and when you're done you're damn glad you didn't.” —Detroit News & Free Press

  “Hoag deftly demonstrates that the search for truth is rarely straightforward. Important clues are cunningly buried, and the book's tension is as sustained as it is palpable.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “With a flair for dialect and regional atmosphere, Hoag captures the essence of the Cajun family and working relationships while injecting suspense and heart-pounding terror into a violent tangle of justice, innocence, treachery, and public opinion. A thoroughly engrossing read.” —Booklist