At Close Range

by Tara Taylor Quinn

On Tuesday the 23rd, she arrived at work half an hour early as usual. Susan was there early, too. Also as usual. Hannah didn’t blink unless Susan knew about it. The thought generally comforted Hannah.

  “Judge Horne hasn’t called for the last few mornings,” the young woman said from her desk as Hannah reached for the robe she kept hanging in the small closet just inside her door. “Is he out of town?”

  On occasion Susan’s inquisitiveness irritated her.

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’re still friends, Susan,” was all Hannah would say to the unspoken question.

  With what appeared to be a concerned frown, but could also have been a mask for hurt feelings, her JA said, “Your calendar for the rest of the week is on your desk. Pay particular attention to tomorrow morning,” and left.

  At which time, robe half on, Hannah walked over to her desk to check it.

  And sat.

  Shit.

  It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.

  She’d been assigned the Donahue case.

  On the way home that evening, Hannah continued to hear the words that had been repeating themselves in her brain all day. Pay particular attention to tomorrow morning.

  Bobby Donahue’s arraignment was set for eight-thirty.

  Hannah had been in denial, certain there’d been an error, until late this afternoon when Susan once again stopped in her office to confirm the next morning’s calendar. Donahue was still first on the list.

  Because she still hoped a miracle would happen—that she’d be recused in the morning—Hannah didn’t even tell Brian about the case when he phoned to check up on her and Taybee.

  “Is William staying with you?” he asked. There was a new distance between them these days—put there by him or by her she wasn’t sure. Maybe by both. Life was changing.

  Still she missed him.

  “He’s not moving in.”

  Which wasn’t what Brian had asked.

  “Cynthia and Joseph are at a counseling session with three other mothers and four-year-olds this evening,” he said. “I’m stopping for some wings and wondered if you wanted to join me.” He named one of their favorite haunts from their college days.

  She wanted to go. Badly. It seemed more like years than the six weeks it had been since she’d done any SIDS work with Brian.

  “I can’t,” she said, knowing it was best, though she didn’t delve into why that would be. Brian had Cynthia now. She had William. “William’s picking up Chinese and meeting me at the house.”

  Which meant he’d be spending the night. And wanting sex.

  Tonight, Hannah wanted neither.

  And needed both—company and a release of tension.

  They were still at the stage of being more hungry than nonchalant, and shortly after dinner—and the one glass of wine Hannah allowed herself to try to relax—she and William were in the bedroom. His hands were planted firmly on her hips, pushing her against his hardness.

  “Ah, what you do to me, woman.” His hoarse confession was sweet. And she wished she was head over heels in love with him. That she’d felt anything akin to passion since Jason.

  Her affection for Brian didn’t count, not in that way. They didn’t think of each other like that. Cara’s memory was always there with them.

  Concentrating on William’s pleasure she unbuttoned his shirt, running her hands over his chest, flicking his nipples.

  “You’re the most generous lover I’ve ever had.” She gave him total honesty—with what she gave him. “You make it easy to please you.”

  “Just being with you, seeing you, touching you, pleases me,” he said. The sincerity in his voice brought a wave of fondness so powerful, it carried Hannah through the next half hour, undressing her lover, being undressed. And bedded.

  William’s entry was a little rough, but the action was so obviously heart-felt Hannah met him thrust for thrust, and prayed that some day, if their relationship continued, she’d experience the same amount of pleasure that she apparently gave. The amount of pleasure William was trying hard to give her.

  “I’m not going without you.” He half panted the words, but stilled inside her. He’d been about to come. She’d already learned his signals.

  “It’s okay,” she told him, needing him satisfied.

  Resting his weight beside her, his body still connected to hers, he looked her in the eye. “No, it isn’t,” he said. “If you can’t get there, then we’ll wait.”

  He was a good man. Some days she was sure she must love him. “I can get there,” she told him, hoping she wouldn’t have to fake it, but knowing that she would do that, rather than leave him feeling as though he wasn’t enough.

  As it was, she found space in her tired and frantic brain to reach a small release. And as much as she welcomed the respite from the tension that had been gripping her all day, she welcomed the arms that held her afterward more.

  “I’m sorry we waited this long to make love.” William’s voice was soft as he leaned against the pillows cradling her to him.

  Another thing she liked about William—he talked afterward. Any lover she’d ever had other than Jason—not that there’d been many—had fallen immediately asleep after orgasm, leaving Hannah alone in the dark.

  “Why did we?” she asked, curious—and needing the distraction from her thoughts, as well.

  “I didn’t think you were interested.”

  She hadn’t either.

  And maybe she hadn’t been.

  Was she now?

  Pushing away the question, Hannah forced herself not to move away from him. She’d been alone too long, guarded her private space too closely. Unless she wanted to be alone forever—and these past weeks had shown her she didn’t—she had some work to do.

  Opening up.

  Letting people in.

  14

  “R ough day?” William asked, several lethargic moments later.

  She knew what William would say if she told him about the news Susan had brought her. And she didn’t want to hear it. She was nervous enough as it was.

  But he was lying naked in her bed—at her invitation. She was starting to think about a more permanent relationship with him. She had to be able to talk to him.

  She had to quit hiding.

  “You’re not going to believe this….” She tried for lightness. Nonchalance.

  He hugged her a little closer. “What?”

  “I got the Donahue case.”

  If it was possible for blood to freeze in a still-living body, if it was possible for a person being touched by those fingers to feel that chill, it happened right then. Everything about William stopped.

  “That’s impossible.”

  “That’s what I said.” Over and over again, all day long. Cases were randomly assigned on a first-come, first-served basis among the thirty criminal judges on the list. The statistical odds of her drawing this particular case were slim. “I had Susan do some checking and I am definitely the judge named.”

  “They’ll recuse you.”

  “Keith has the case. He didn’t. We’re set for arraignment tomorrow morning.” The state wasn’t wasting money on settlement conferences—they weren’t going to offer any kind of plea bargain. The Ivory Nation leader had to enter his plea straight up. “Not guilty” was a no-brainer. There was no way Donahue would skip a trial and proceed straight to sentencing with a guilty plea.

  Letting her go, William sat up. And then stood, pulling on the slacks he’d worn to work, fastening the fly over a belly that wasn’t quite as flat as it had been in law school—but was still more toned than most men his age.

  “Then you have to recuse yourself.”

  “I do not.” Hannah thought about getting up, too. About making herself less vulnerable.

  “Hannah,” he turned, his expression a curious mix of power and vulnerability. “You’re crazy if you think they’ll leave you alone on this one. These guys are insane. And have more power than God. Hell, Don
ahue thinks he’s the Christ. He really believes that he walks hand in hand with the almighty. That they converse on a regular basis. But his god directs him to intimidate with fear, to manipulate, brainwash, even kill people when he deems the situation warrants it. If you don’t get out, you’ll be next.”

  “I’m not going to let some bully run me off the playground,” she said, certain of that at least. “Someone has to sit on this trial. Why am I so special that I can’t face the possible danger but someone else can? Who will it be—Dean? Or Whittier? Are their lives less precious than mine?”

  “Donahue and his clan have it in for you.”

  “They shouldn’t have. I let Hill go.”

  “You don’t honestly believe Miller just waltzed in out of the goodness of his heart,” William said, facing her at the end of the bed. “That was all orchestrated to get Hill off. This is Donahue, Hannah. I’m telling you, you don’t want to mess with him.”

  “I don’t intend to. I’m going to do my job. Period.”

  He sat on the side of the bed, taking her hand. “And that’s the problem,” he said, his voice softer now, cajoling. “You’re black and white, Hannah. You won’t slide, or use common sense when it’s time to turn a blind eye. We all know this guy’s guilty, but if you facilitate a conviction, your life is as good as over.”

  “They aren’t that powerful, Will. I still believe in our justice system. And in our law enforcement.”

  “Everyone knows they have cops on the inside.”

  “So we’re supposed to let them take control of our world? Let them scare us into submission? What then, Will? Does Donahue become the next Hitler? Do we find pockets of concentration camps throughout our cities? Piles of dead bodies along our roads?”

  He stood again. Swore. Grabbed his shirt and slid into it, leaving it hanging open. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  “I’m doing my job. Nothing more.”

  “You’ve just come off an Ivory Nation case,” he reminded her. “No one would think any less of you if you passed on this one.”

  “I would.” And that mattered far more than William seemed to understand. “My life isn’t worth saving just so I can continue to eat and breathe, Will,” she explained. “It’s only worth the contributions I can make to ensure a better world.”

  Jason had taught her that. He’d seen something in Hannah that a life of abandonment and foster care hadn’t ever shown her. And he’d made certain that she saw it, too. That she never let go.

  “Stop this, Hannah. Take a vacation. God knows you’ve accrued enough time. You’re still grieving for Carlos. No one would question it if you took some leave.”

  “I don’t want to take a vacation,” she said, starting to get angry with him. Weren’t friends, lovers, supposed to offer support?

  So why were hers hell-bent on tearing her down? Making her feel weak?

  “Then think of me,” he said, buttoning his shirt as his voice became more tender. “I love you, Hannah. Did you ever consider that? How do you think it makes me feel to know that the woman I love is putting her life in danger?”

  He’d never said he loved her before.

  “William, please.” Her voice softened. She wanted to tell him she loved him, too, but at the hard look on his face the words stuck in her throat.

  “They’ll kill you, Hannah. You have to get out of this.”

  They weren’t going to kill her. “As far as I know, there have only ever been two incidents of judges being targets of violence. Once in Chicago and once in Atlanta. Only two, William.”

  “We live in a different world now, Hannah. A world where anything goes. You have to get off this case.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure she liked this sudden display of ownership. Not when William seemed intent on talking her out of doing something she knew was right.

  “Not only is quitting wrong on many levels,” she said, pulling on her robe as she faced him. “Showing them I’m intimidated would be more dangerous than taking them on. I’d be off that case but they’d know they had me. They’d exploit my fear and start blackmailing me for favours in the system. It’s happened before.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t see the danger here! You’re a smart woman, Hannah. Open your eyes.”

  Who said she didn’t see? She was scared to death.

  “My eyes are open. I have their attention now, Will. And I have two choices. I either show them my fear and risk having them use that to get what they need from me, or I stand up to them and risk the retribution. The first way, I get hurt for sure. The second one, I have a chance. And more importantly, I have my self-respect. I have a job to do and I’m going to do it to the best of my ability,” she said. “It’s all I know. It’s who I am.”

  If she’d run from danger, she’d never have lived—never have had the love of her life. Or become the woman she was. A woman she could love. And live with.

  If she’d run, she’d never have known Jason.

  He’d shown her long ago that facing death wasn’t nearly as frightening as being alive without fully living.

  Somehow she’d forgotten that. She’d allowed Carlos’s death to shut her down again.

  In a twisted way, she owed Bobby Donahue and his brainwashed cronies her gratitude. They’d brought her back to the woman Jason had loved.

  The only woman she wanted to be.

  On Wednesday, September 24th, at 3:05 a.m., Crispin Garza died in his sleep. He was eleven weeks old. Hispanic. Seen at the free clinic. The son of illegals.

  His attending physician was Dr. Brian Hampton.

  “Dr. Hampton?” Brian turned toward the voice calling him as he left the building Wednesday night, not surprised to see Detective Angelo getting out of the only other car in the parking lot. He’d pulled up too close to Brian’s Jag to be polite.

  “What is it, Detective?” he said, too tired to deal with the investigator’s overzealousness. “If you’re looking for Crispin’s records, I’ve already sent them to the medical examiner’s office.”

  Along with a piece of his soul.

  That was the sixth baby he’d lost this year. The sixth grieving family who would never completely recover from tragedy.

  And now, even Brian was convinced something was horribly wrong. There was no way six infant deaths in one year was a coincidence. Or natural tragedy.

  Someone was murdering male Hispanic babies.

  And Brian had no idea who. Or how. Or why.

  “I don’t need the records, Dr. Hampton,” Angelo said briefly in an expressionless tone that set Brian’s senses on edge. “I’m sorry, sir, but I need to ask you to come with me.”

  “What?” Keys in hand, Brian moved toward his car. Sanity. Home. Eventually. “If you need me at the station, I’ll follow you down.” He’d be stupid not to cooperate with the police, no matter how misled this particular officer appeared to be.

  Angelo’s grip on Brian’s forearm was his first real warning. “You’ll need to leave your car here, Dr. Hampton. You’re under arrest for the murder of Crispin Garza.”

  “Wh…?” Brian’s words caught in a throat gone dry. Shaking his head, he stared at the detective, only partially aware that a second man had exited the unmarked car he’d seen pulling in as he’d come outside. “We’d like to do this without making a scene,” Angelo said. “If you’ll come quietly, I won’t handcuff you.”

  They were wrong. He couldn’t possibly have killed that baby. He’d been working all afternoon.

  “Dr. Hampton?” The pressure on his arm increased, and stunned, Brian got into the back of the car before they roped him up like an animal.

  As soon as he was in the car, the cuffs came out anyway. And the second officer, whose name Brian didn’t catch, slid in beside him and read him his rights.

  He didn’t even have a chance to relock the Jag before they were spinning out of the parking lot and heading down to the station.

  It was one of the longest rides of Brian’s life.

  They
booked him. Without so much as an hour in interrogation, they escorted Brian to a backroom facility, made him strip. Shower in an open room with no doors. No privacy. Put on elastic-waistband pants and a pullover short-sleeve top that looked as though they’d been through a world war and felt about as good.

  “What about my phone call?” he asked the junior officer who was shepherding him through the humiliating process. Or was it only on television that a guy had that right?

  Oh God, this couldn’t be happening to him. He was no criminal. “I don’t even jaywalk.” Embarrassed that he was panicking, that the tight-lipped and heavily armed kid with him could see that and was ignoring his distress, Brian shut up.

  And made a decision. Whatever happened to him, he’d take it like a man.

  Once dressed, his feet clad in something akin to the paper sandals he’d worn during his stint in surgery during his residency, Brian was escorted, hands back in the cuffs, up the hall and shown into another room—not the cell he’d expected. The place looked more like an examination room.

  And within minutes he knew why.

  Knew, too, he would never be the same again.

  An officer of the law had just forced him to suffer the indignity of having a finger shoved up his backside.

  They had to make certain, he was told, that he hadn’t smuggled any contraband in with him.

  For the first time since Cara’s death, Brian felt the urge to cry.

  And he had a sickening suspicion that it was only beginning.

  Hannah had been home over an hour—alone, as William had taken Francis to a Phoenix Suns basketball game and back to his house for the night—when her cell phone rang.

  Recognizing the exchange as an official city number, she picked up right away.

  “Help me.”

  “Brian?” Heart pounding, she leaned against the kitchen counter. “What’s going on?”

  “I need a criminal lawyer. The best one you know. I don’t care how expensive. I need him now. Tonight.”

  “Talk to me. Where are you?”

  “I’m in jail. Booking photo, handcuffs, the whole thing. I refused to talk to anyone without a lawyer. And I need out. Immediately.” His words were succinct, with none of the usual tenderness she associated with Brian.