by Неизвестный
“I’m glad.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute. “That day… I just lost it, totally. I was in the garage, thinking how to destroy his precious car. I picked up a wrench and came this close to smashing his headlights. Then everything cleared. He wanted me to react. He was pushing me to do something stupid again. Everything he said that humiliated me, the things he made me do, the way he made me feel, it was all to get me to be stupid so he could get control of my money. I realized then how truly evil he was, about how I’d love for him to be dead. I wrote that e-mail out of anger, and I think Victor was surprised that I didn’t act out. It empowered me and I realized it wasn’t that long before I would get my trust fund and could leave. I’ll be eighteen the day before I graduate from high school. Thirteen months. And the day I graduate I’m flying to Europe with all my money and never setting foot in that house again.”
She crossed her arms, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with determination, her inner fortitude revealing itself. She looked more like Julia now than before.
Connor asked, “Did you ever reveal your identity to the Wishlist group?”
She vigorously shook her head. “Never.”
“Sometimes,” Connor continued, “you reveal yourself in small ways. Not your name or address or school, but maybe some of your history. For example, vandalizing the courthouse. If you mentioned that in the group, someone might have figured out who you were.”
“Are you saying that someone in my group killed Victor?”
“We don’t know,” he quickly said, “and you shouldn’t talk about it. We’re looking into everything right now.”
“Are you a cop again?”
“No. Your aunt hired me.”
“Jules?” Her eyes widened. “She must be worried.”
“She’s tough,” Connor said. “She wants to make sure you’re protected.”
“She thinks I’m guilty,” Emily said softly.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Then why hire a lawyer for me?”
“To protect your rights.”
Emily looked at Dillon. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Yes,” Dillon said, “but I’m not an attorney. Julia hired Ms. Jones because she wants to make sure no one can hurt you. Trust me on this. She doesn’t think you had anything to do with Victor’s murder.”
“How can she not? I had everything to do with it. I’m the one who wrote the e-mail in the first place. I set things in motion.” She looked from Dillon to Connor and said defiantly, “But I’m not upset he’s dead.”
“Emily, this is important. Has anyone from Wishlist tried to meet with you in person? Either at your house or a public place?”
“No, never.”
“You said Dr. Bowen put you in contact with this group. How?”
“He gave me an e-mail address and a code word.”
“Do you remember the code word?”
“A Bible verse. Isaiah 35:4. I remember because he said I had to put in the colon for it to work. I wasn’t going to because I really didn’t want him knowing things about me, but he promised it was completely anonymous and he’d never bring it up in our sessions, that he didn’t know who most of the people on the loop were and he wasn’t the only shrink who referred people to the group.”
Connor touched Emily’s cheek. “You’re strong, kid. We’re going to get through this, okay?”
“What’s going to happen to me? Am I going to be arrested?”
“We’re doing everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Dillon and Connor left Emily’s room and Connor said, “I’ll bet they have a Bible somewhere in the hospital. The verse might mean something.”
Dillon shook his head. “Twelve years of Catholic school and you don’t know the verse?”
“In one ear.” Connor shrugged.
Dillon quoted, “Say to those with fearful hearts, ‘Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, he will come with vengeance; with divine retribution he will come to save you.’”
Faye didn’t mind playing hooky from school because she was always bored in class. Though she and Skip went to the same school—Robbie attended a different private school in downtown San Diego—they drove separately to the La Jolla beach. Cami was already there, but they had to wait for Robbie.
“He’d better be clean,” Cami warned.
“He is,” Skip said. “He has a twenty-minute drive. Give him a break.”
Robbie was late but sober, and Cami went through the plan meticulously. Her excitement surprised Faye. She hadn’t been nearly as excited about the previous murders. But Faye wasn’t as sure about this one.
The victim was too close to home.
“Skip, you have the gun, right?”
“Check.”
“Loaded?”
He looked at Cami, his mouth tight with anger. “I’m not stupid, Cami. Don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Right.” Skip rolled his eyes.
Faye interjected. “We can’t start arguing. This is serious.”
“Exactly,” Cami said, crossing her arms over her ample chest. “This is the pinnacle of the plan. Once we execute it, we’ll be truly free of him. It’s perfect.”
“No plan is perfect,” Robbie said, speaking up for the first time.
“You’re not using again, are you?” Cami asked, an undercurrent of anger in her tone.
“Not now.”
“You have to stay clean. At least through tomorrow night. I can’t have you screw this up.”
“I won’t.” He glared at Cami. “I have it under control.”
“You’d better.” She turned away, but Faye didn’t miss the anger in Skip’s eyes. All directed at Cami. She feared he knew what she and Cami had discussed yesterday. At least Cami’s part of the conversation.
She took Robbie’s hand. She didn’t want to kill him. She really didn’t want to kill him. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’ll handle Cami.”
He softened a bit. “She’s a bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
Robbie didn’t understand Cami like Faye did, but that was okay. Faye knew how to control her friend, that was all that mattered.
“There’ll be a lot of security, so we ditch the gun.”
“Why?”
“You don’t want to be caught with it,” Cami said as if Robbie was an idiot. “It’s part of the plan.”
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea to connect the judge’s death with this,” Skip said.
“It’s a perfect idea. The police will never know what’s happening. It’s our swan song, as they say. And if anything goes wrong, you know the escape plan.”
“It’s risky.”
“That’s the thrill!” Cami stood and paced, kicking sand up with her bare feet. “If I can’t trust you guys, I’ll do it myself!”
Faye got up and touched Cami on the arm. “Cam, they’re just getting out the fear. Remember what we talked about? If we go into it scared, we’ll make a mistake. Talking purges the fear.”
Cami nodded, frowning. “Maybe we should do it alone. Just you and me. Alone.” She glared at the two boys sitting in the sand a distance away.
Faye shook her head. “We need all four of us for the plan to work. You know that.”
Cami sighed. “I’m just excited and nervous.”
“It’s going to work. But not if we start turning on each other.” She frowned at Skip and Robbie. “That goes for you two as well.”
If they looked at her with a sense of awe or wonder that she seemed to be taking over Cami’s role as leader, Faye barely noticed. She was emboldened after being with her secret lover last night, especially since Cami didn’t know about the relationship, or their history. After all, Faye had been his first recruit, not Cami. He had only sent Cami to “recruit” Faye in order to give Cami a sense of control and power.
But Faye held the real power. And after last night she now understood
what her role was. The secret thrilled her. Cami thought she was the one in his confidence. Cami didn’t know shit.
For someone as smart as Cami, she could be so dense about some things. Cami thought she had nothing to fear.
FOURTEEN
THE GUARDIAN of the court records was a six-foot-tall fifty-year-old black woman with dreadlocks who wore jeans against the dress code, bright shirts that lit up the dingy basement archives, and hoop earrings so big Julia was certain she could have worn them as bracelets. Selene Borge didn’t take shit from anyone, especially lawyers, but she had a soft spot for Julia Chandler.
Julia knew this had quite a lot to do with her quarterly “donation” to Selene of a Starbucks gift card. The woman lived on hot lattes from the Starbucks across the street.
Julia brought two double lattes to the basement at eleven that morning. Selene smiled, took one before Julia had even offered. “Good morning, Ms. Chandler.” Her French-Jamaican accent was artificially exaggerated. Selene was from Jamaica and spoke fluent French—as well as Spanish and German—but she’d moved to America when she was four and could speak perfect “American” when she chose to.
“How are you today?” asked Julia.
They made small talk while sipping coffee. Julia saw two empty cups on Selene’s desk. So she was no longer the only attorney who knew Selene’s weakness.
Selene finally asked, “What is it you want from me today?”
“Your magic. A list of the case files assigned to a regular court-appointed psychiatrist.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Word is you’re on administrative leave.”
She hadn’t expected word to get out so fast. Julia said nothing.
Selene sat at her computer. She briskly typed. “Name?”
“Garrett Bowen.”
She punched in some numbers and his name. In seconds, a long list of case files was displayed on the screen. She printed them. “I take it you need these files.”
“Only the last two years.”
Another few keystrokes and the list was shortened to about fifteen.
“These are all juvenile cases.”
That meant she’d need a court order.
“I just want to look,” said Julia.
“Juvenile files require the consent of a judge,” Selene said as she slid the printout across the desk to Julia. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“I understand.” Julia folded the paper and slid it into her purse. “I also need a list of every case Victor Montgomery presided over for the last two years.”
Selene frowned, fingers flying across the keyboard. Julia suppressed a smile. She’d seen Selene use only her index fingers in a painstakingly slow fashion when she didn’t like someone. Julia was glad she was on the “good” list.
“Here.” Selene handed her a three-page printout. “I take it you want to look at the files?”
“I’m happy to pull them myself.”
“Good, because I need to take my lunch break. Union rules. Can you stay here until my replacement comes?”
“Sure.”
“You’re a doll.”
Julia watched her leave and mentally thanked her. This was no longer a gray area. Julia was breaking the law. But she had to help Emily, and if this helped her, dammit—
All adult criminal cases were stored in the computer system, so she could access those from her office. Though she was on administrative leave, Stanton hadn’t asked for her ID or keys.
The juvenile files, on the other hand, were not on the network.
The files were sorted by year, then case number. Pulling them was easy. Some were surprisingly thick. She went to the copy room and shut the door, locking it. Her heart beat too loud, the truth of her deception hitting her. It wasn’t just her career on the line, but that of an overworked county bureaucrat and everyone else who was helping her, including Frisco, who promised a copy of the autopsy report in her desk drawer before the end of the day.
She fed dollars into the copy machine and quickly copied the pertinent pages, not spending too much time reading them because she needed to put them back before Selene returned.
One name caught her eye.
Jason Ridge.
Why was that familiar? She glanced at the summary page. Deferred Entry of Judgment—DEJ. Nearly two years ago after a juvenile court trial resulted in a guilty verdict, the judge issued a sentence of Deferred Entry of Judgment, which basically told Jason that as long as he behaved until he was eighteen his record would be expunged.
Jason had gone back to court the week after his eighteenth birthday and the judge wiped his record clean.
According to the records, Jason’s psychiatrist, Dr. Garrett Bowen, testified on his behalf. But these were Bowen’s records, not the court’s, and there was no transcript. She needed to find out exactly what the court said, but it wasn’t in this file.
Because it had been expunged already? She’d never get it if that were the case. Unless one of the attorneys involved still had a copy.
Jason Ridge. Now she remembered why she knew his name, even though it was a juvenile court case. Eight months ago, first game of the season, he had died on the football field for apparently no reason. An autopsy showed steroids in his system and the cause of death was heart failure. She remembered the news story only because it was another example of a young life cut short.
She copied his entire file, though it was much thinner than it should have been. She could ask around, find out who the judge and prosecutor were on the case, but that would get back to Stanton and her job would be in jeopardy. She had to find another way to get the information she needed.
She put the files back when she was done. Selene was at her desk working on the computer.
“Thanks,” Julia whispered as she passed, the copies secure in her briefcase.
“Ms. Chandler, I didn’t know you were here. Do you need anything?”
Julia was confused, then saw two of her colleagues at a table only feet away looking at files. “No, just returning a file.”
“Thanks.”
Julia practically ran out of the building, heart pounding. If Andrew Stanton knew what she’d done, she’d be severely reprimanded. Possibly fired. And the bar wouldn’t look too kindly on her pulling juvenile files and copying them. She’d have her license to practice suspended. Or worse, be prosecuted.
She gathered her wits while sitting in her car. She pulled out her cell phone and called Connor.
His voice mail picked up.
“Dammit,” she said, irritated. “Do you deliberately not answer my calls? I have the files and am going home. You have the address.” She hung up. She shouldn’t get angry with him, but she wished he would just pick up for once. He probably saw her number on his cell phone and ignored it.
First, she stopped by her office. Her secretary was still there. “Donnell,” she said, “I have a favor.”
Donnell glanced around, tucked her hair behind her ear. “Anything.”
“Can you print out these files for me? I’ll pick them up tomorrow.”
Julia slid the list of Victor’s cases across Donnell’s desk.
“I’ll bring them to your house.”
“You don’t—”
Donnell nodded. “Stanton ordered me to tell him if you came by.”
“Shit.” Julia ran a hand through her hair. “Fine, I’m here to get my address book. Tell him that.”
“I will. Oh, and Frisco came by. He didn’t say why.”
Julia went into her office and looked in her top desk drawer. There was a file folder with Frisco’s small, perfect print. Julia Chandler, Privileged and Confidential.
Thank you, Frisco.
Dillon learned from Bowen’s secretary that the doctor was having lunch at the La Jolla Country Club, but before he could head out there, his ex-brother-in-law Andrew Stanton called him.
“I need you in my office now.”
Dillon almost refused. “I’m heading out to an appointment. How about
we meet—?”
“Dillon, you’ve crossed the line. You brought Connor into Emily Montgomery’s room knowing full well she’s a suspect in a murder investigation who is only being stopped from a police interview because of her physician’s order. You. And I can—and will—get a court order inside of an hour to have Emily Montgomery moved to the criminal psychiatric unit and put under another doctor’s care if you don’t explain yourself to me in person right now.”
Dillon’s hand hurt from clutching the phone so tight. “Don’t threaten me, Andrew. And don’t threaten my patient.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“It’s no game.”
Dillon felt the tension through the phone.
“Ten minutes,” Andrew finally said.
“In the rose garden.” Dillon wasn’t going to give Andrew the power to sit behind his desk. It was psychological, and Dillon wouldn’t be deterred by Andrew’s power play. Also, Andrew would be less forthcoming in his own office.
Dillon was already near the courthouse, so he parked on the street, fed the meter a couple quarters, and walked to the small rose garden outside the justice building.
Andrew approached at the same time, dressed impeccably, with the aura of importance befitting a man of his position. Dillon saw the pain behind his eyes. Maybe he was the only one who saw it, and maybe that’s why he was the only one in the Kincaid family who still had a relationship with his former brother-in-law. It wasn’t that Dillon’s parents and siblings doubted Andrew’s pain at the loss of his son, it was what had come out about Andrew’s life after Justin’s murder that had turned the family against him.
Dillon harbored a lot of pain from his nephew Justin’s murder—Andrew and Nell’s only son. It changed him in ways he was still discovering now, eleven years later. But unlike Connor, he couldn’t put all the blame on Andrew Stanton, however much he’d like to. The truth was no one was to blame. It was a brutal crime committed by a child predator who had most likely moved on to another city and state to minimize his chances of being caught.