“Sorry. I got tied up in court. The judge read us the riot act. He loves to hear himself talk and talk and talk. I felt sorry for the court clerk. Her fingers were down to bare bone after the tirade.”
“Glad he's not my judge. If he doesn't like you, the mud might splatter on me.”
“He's fine.” Vince waved aside Whip's concern. “He doesn't carry a grudge from case to case. He takes each on its merits and is fair. We'd do well to draw him.”
“You mean I won't have the same judge as before?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on docket congestion and who's next when we get a trial date. We may have an evidentiary hearing with the first judge, but she may not be the trial judge.”
“I didn't like her. She thinks I'm guilty as sin.”
“That's not true. She heard the district attorney say he had enough evidence to bind you over for trial. That's all she needed.”
“Did you file another bond petition?” Whip would lose his mind if he didn't feel sunshine on his face soon.
“Yes, but don't get your hopes up. With nothing new, no judge will grant bail.”
“Christ!” Whip sighed. “So, what's up today?”
“A shred more evidence from the district attorney. They're very slow to show their hand. Eventually, we'll get everything.”
“How long is ‘eventually’?” I, too, was angst-filled because of the endless stalling by the district attorney.
“Very soon.”
“Is that why you want to push for the, um, evidentiary hearing?” This bad case of political gamesmanship took away Whip's freedom. “I wouldn't need a hearing if you could prove Hunter killed Merry.”
Vince frowned and reached into his briefcase for his stack of colored folders. Gun Permits, Autopsy Report, Restraining Orders, and Glove were written on various tabs.
Vince opened the autopsy report folder first. “Did you know your wife drank heavily? She had a high level of alcohol in her system, well above the legal limit.”
“Doesn't surprise me. Hit the bottle hard before she left. Drunk most of the time until she met Hunter.”
“What about drug use?”
“Lots of painkillers and antidepressants after the accident. Why?”
“She tested positive for cocaine and other opiates. Heroin too.”
“Opiates I can understand. Took Oxycontin for months after the accident. But cocaine or heroin? Must have been recreational.”
“She had four times the normal Oxycontin dosage in her system.”
“Cumulative?”
“I don't think so. It could be she took too much or someone gave her too much either the night she died or over a longer period of time.” Vince glanced at the autopsy report again.
That shook me. Was Hunter drugging Merry without her knowledge? I had one more reason to get even. Whip already wanted Hunter's reputation; I wanted his soul. I was glad Whip kept silent. Making a threat probably wasn't a good idea when he was sitting in jail. I didn't think prim-and-proper Vince would approve.
“There was a fresh bruise on the left side of her neck just under the chin, but no defensive wounds on her hands. She could have been partly or mostly incapacitated when she was shot.”
“If she knew her killer, why would you expect defensive wounds?” I had difficulty following Vince's line of thinking.
“Knowing your killer doesn't prevent you from defending yourself. Merry should have had some marks, at least a broken fingernail or skin under her nails. There's nothing else in the autopsy and toxicology report.”
“Except Hunter shot her behind her right ear.”
“We don't know that, Whip.” Vince seemed weary of this discussion.
“You said there was a bruise on the left side of Merry's neck.”
I had been thinking about the autopsy while Whip and Vince argued. Emilie, too, felt something hard under her mother's chin.
Vince flipped to the second page of the autopsy report. “Yes. A fairly large one.”
“Not post mortem?”
“No. Is this important?”
“Hunter had a cast on his left wrist the last time I saw him.” I was relieved Vince stared at the report when he made a note on his legal pad. I physically crossed my fingers in my lap.
“That's interesting. I'll check it out.” Vince folded his hands on the table. “Now, what can you tell me about the threats against your wife?”
“What threats?” Although Whip promised Hunter he'd be on his ass every step of the way if he got anywhere near his family, he'd never threatened Merry.
“According to this deposition, Darlene Livingston told the district attorney Merry said you threatened to hurt her because of her affair.”
“That's crap! I was furious with Merry's actions, but I just wanted her to get the hell out of my life.”
“We'll have the deposition thrown out, of course. It's hearsay and can't be corroborated.”
“Why would Darla testify against Whip? She and Merry had a major league fight over Merry's affair. As far as I know, they never spoke again.” Darla became a crusader for marital rights after her husband's infidelity. She wouldn't tolerate any of her friends screwing around on a spouse.
With nothing else new, Vince straightened his files and put them back in his briefcase.
“Hold it, Vince.” Whip grabbed the folder marked “restraining order” and flipped it open. It was empty. “Why's the TRO still here?”
“The assistant district attorney said it has bearing on your trial.”
“I don't get it. Were there two restraining orders? One I don't know about. How would the one I took out help their case?”
“Restraining orders carry a lot of weight with most judges.”
How does Whip's taking out a restraining order on Merry help the prosecution? She attacked him. He has the scars to prove it. I was getting dull-witted with all the time I spent in this place of last resort. Someone was confused. It wasn't me.
“Yes, but the only TRO I know about is one I took out on Merry to keep her away from me and the kids. I told you about it earlier.”
“Don't you have a copy?”
“No. I was waiting to get it from the district attorney.”
“I'll bring it tomorrow,” I said.
“It's beginning to look like Mr. District Attorney Weed is putting together another sloppy case.”
Vince stood and signaled the guard. Pete escorted Whip back to his cell.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Every time I met with Vince or Whip, I left more despondent. Evidence trickled in from the district attorney's office in dribs and drabs, but nothing pointed to having enough grounds to petition for a dismissal. We finally got one pressing question answered: The cops didn't dust Merry's apartment for prints because the killer dropped a glove with a little GSR on it. With no DNA and no fingerprints on it, the police couldn't connect it to Whip through physical evidence. The assistant district attorney seemed convinced he wore two pairs, one inside the other. The only prints on the right glove belonged to Merry.
The police figured Whip used his left hand to hold her and his right hand to shoot her. Easy figure, even for Riverbend's crack police force. Like the vast majority of people in the world, Whip was right-handed. It was a safe guess. Since he was right-handed, the GSR would be on a right-handed glove.
The gun was a problem, though. The district attorney was obsessed with the “missing” Glock. Forget the fact it was legally in Peru. Forget the fact Merry was killed with a twenty-two. They harped on the fact Whip once owned a twenty-two. The Glock remained “missing,” regardless of the fact a faxed affidavit from Charlie proved the Glock was legally in Peru. I didn't get it. Neither did Whip.
“Remember, Whip,” Vince said for the millionth time, “the district attorney will blow a lot of smoke to keep the jury wondering if you could have murdered Merry, especially when the evidence is entirely circumstantial.”
We already knew the district attorney planned to enter Whip's
original divorce filing as well as the one counter-filed by Merry. “With Merry asking for ten thousand dollars a month in alimony, you'd have grounds to get rid of her.”
Whip rubbed tired eyes. We'd been over this before. Way too many times.
“I told you Merry said she was leaving with Hunter. My divorce attorney said I wouldn't have to pay alimony, no matter what she originally asked for. I just wanted custody of the kids.”
I couldn't for the life of me figure out why the divorce papers had any bearing on Merry's murder.
“Don't be naïve.”
“I'm not being naïve. Mom and Pop raised me to tell the truth, no matter what. That's what I'm doing.” Whip pounded his fist on the table and took his frustration out on Vince. “What happened to reasonable doubt? What happened to ‘If it doesn't fit, you must acquit?’ What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“The district attorney will use innuendo and insinuation to plant half-baked ideas in the minds of the jurors. I have to refute them. My job is to provide the best defense possible and represent you fairly and justly.”
“It's just not fair.”
“The law isn't fair, just impartial.”
“What about the jewelry?”
“What about it?”
“Johnny and I found it. Hunter sold the ring and earrings a couple of days after the murder.”
“So? It doesn't prove anything. He could always say she gave him the jewelry because she needed money. You cut her off, remember. He'd probably claim he hadn't seen her for over a week before her death. He worked long hours at the hospital, no time off. I can't take the risk, remember?”
No matter what we said, Vince wouldn't depose Hunter, because it could become the smoking gun to convict Whip.
“Do you really want to risk his testimony? Especially if he's the serial liar you claim him to be.”
While I wanted Hunter on the stand with Vince grilling him, I couldn't take the risk. “No.”
“No,” Whip said.
Whip was in another piss-poor mood when I dropped by a day later with an updated fridge list tracking our progress. Whip's enthusiasm was so obviously faked I called him on it.
“You're a dreadful liar, Whip Pugh.”
“You guys have done a lot. Sorry. In a shit-eating mood. Can't fully appreciate it today.”
I left minutes after I arrived, hurt and frustrated. Whip needed to snap out of his funk. I didn't need him dumping his freedom on me the same way he dumped Merry and the kids shortly after Merry's accident. He needed to get in the game. Now. Maybe he needed a pity party. It should bore the crap out of him and put him in a better mood.
What if we lose? Whip could go to jail for a very long time. Who would raise Emilie and Alex? Not Bette and the Colonel. They'd raised their own family, as had I, but the Colonel's health still wasn't good in spite of his triple bypass. I'd have to continue to step up. Months ago, I accepted the fact my role was permanent—at least as far as I could see into the future, no matter what happened to Whip at trial.
The likely next step for us was a short but intense trial. “Don't expect court high jinks like at O.J.'s trial, on Law and Order or on Perry Mason,” Vince warned at an early meeting. “Most murder trials are dull and mundane, full of sordid details. DAs provide just enough evidence for the jury to come to a decision.”
Until we went to trial, Emilie, Alex, and I continued working on the fridge list, regardless of whether Whip thought we were doing anything to help or not. We were; he was just too discouraged to see it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“How's Dad?” Emilie popped into the kitchen where I was marinating a London broil.
“He's been better.” I turned the steak, recovered the bowl, and put it back in the refrigerator. I stared at the list. “He was pretty depressed today. He tried to hide it but couldn't.”
“Wouldn't you be depressed if all you could do was sit and worry?”
“You're right. I would.” I stretched my shoulders to relax the tension. “We're both pretty down.”
“Dad hasn't asked all the questions, has he?” Emilie twisted a lock of pink and orange hair.
I blinked. Emilie was right. Parents and grandparents don't know everything. Shoot. I wasn't sure I didn't know what I didn't know.
“Did you tell him how much we've done?”
“I did. He's so proud of you. He'd rather you guys just be kids.” Time to lighten the mood. “How long's it been since you took a swim?”
“It's getting too cold to swim.”
“Not true. The pool's heated. It's really warm today. So, again, how long since you were in the pool?”
“I don't know. Not this week.”
“Okay, last one in does the dishes for a whole week.”
I tossed the kitchen towel on the counter and sprinted for the stairs. Emilie shrieked for Alex to get his suit on and get into the pool. I heard Alex's shouted reply, as I shut my door.
I'd never changed so fast in my entire life. I raced down the stairs, took an extra second to kick off my flip-flops and dove into the water just as Emilie barreled through the family room door. Alex followed on her heels and gave his famous Tarzan yell before cannonballing into the cool water.
“No fair, you had a head start.” My granddaughter came to a dead stop at the edge of the pool.
“Today's lesson one more time: Life's not fair. You're younger than I am. You should have beaten me.” I knifed my hand against the surface and sent a plume of water outward to soak her from the waist down.
“Water fight!” Alex whooped and splashed his sister as she dove into the deep end. When she surfaced, both Alex and I pounced on her. I tickled her while Alex pushed her under.
We laughed and splashed and shouted. I let Alex and Emilie win the water fight. After all, I won the dishes challenge fair and square. When we all clung to the side of the pool, weak with laughter, Emilie admitted choosing a suit slowed her down. I didn't have that problem. One suit here. One choice.
“Hey, is this a private party?” Darla and her daughter, Molly, stood at the side gate. I waved them in. Emilie sloshed over to her best friend and gave her a sopping hug. The girls ran inside to find a suit for Molly. I toweled off, pulled a wrap around my shoulders, and dropped into a chaise, Darla next to me.
“I wanted to stop by. Molly insisted she had to see Em. I should have called.”
“Since when have you had to call first?” She was uncomfortable. I knew why.
“You know the assistant district attorney deposed me?”
“Yes. We both know Merry lied about threats from Whip.”
“That's what I told her, but the little witch was so nasty. I can't imagine what she has in mind, but she hates Whip.”
“Vince says she has all the charm of a rattlesnake that needs a root canal.”
Darla laughed the rollicking laugh I missed. She'd been one of Merry's best friends once. She was still one of mine.
“You did the right thing. When they ask, you have to answer the questions truthfully. We all do.”
“I knew you'd understand. How's Whip doing?”
“Some days are better than others. Today was an ‘other.’ Tomorrow will be a ‘better.’”
Darla lay back, her face turned toward the autumn sun. She closed her eyes, relief relaxing the strain lines. “In spite of the fact I disapproved of Merry and Hunter, I miss her like hell.”
“So do I. Every day.” We reached out and held each other's hands.
Molly and Emilie chattered their way into the water and began swimming laps. Both girls displayed the wonderful firm tone of youth. My granddaughter swam back and forth without effort. She made flip turns at each end of the pool.
Emilie and Alex were fish who grew up in pools and began swimming as babies. Not as fluid, Molly soon tired and climbed onto a float. Alex would dump her in the water before long.
I invited Molly and Darla for dinner. Johnny was coming over too. It was time to expand the get-Whi
p-out-of-jail army. Over lemonade, vodka tonics, and lots of food, Johnny and I brought Darla and Molly up to speed. I had some news: I'd discovered the identity of the black doctor.
“Which role worked?” Johnny cut into his steak. Alex matched him bite for bite. My two men certainly could pack away the food.
“Dotty old lady.”
“You, a dotty old lady?” Emilie and Molly burst into giggles.
“Well, I played the role perfectly.” I huffed. “‘This nice young doctor took such good care of me, but I can't remember his name. He was young and had this most wonderful accent. He wasn't on duty when I was released. Can you help me find him? I want to thank him personally.’”
I raised the tenor of my voice, quavered a bit to make it sound old, stumbled over my words, and sent everyone at the table into hysterics.
“His name's Francis Patterson, a resident in internal medicine.”
“Going to send in the muscle?” Johnny wiped his fingers on a napkin and flexed his biceps against his black T-shirt.
“I'm rethinking ‘muscle.’ I want Dr. Patterson to know what a snake he helped. I want him to know he hocked stolen property for a murderer.”
“Do we know Hunter stole the watch?” Johnny mopped the last of his marinade with a roll and popped it into his mouth.
“No, but Patterson doesn't know we don't. If he thinks he's in trouble, he might talk. He could be a dead end, but at least we'll put the fear of God into him.”
“Let me talk to him.” Darla cut in. “I need to help.”
“Good idea.”
I didn't want to go to the hospital. If I ran into Hunter, I'd rip him apart.
“Our turn. Let us tell you what we've learned,” Emilie started.
Alex talked around a mouthful of baked potato. “Hey, some of what we know I found out.”
“Alex, don't talk with your mouth full.”
My reaction was so programmed I was unaware I'd spoken until he mumbled, “Yes, Mad Max.”
Mad Max: Unintended Consequences Page 20