Reading Between the Crimes

by Kate Young

  Quinn’s phone chirped, and he dug it out from his pocket. He tapped forcefully on the screen before sliding it into his pocket in an agitated fashion.

  “Things a bit rough at the police station? This case becoming difficult?”

  He raised his brows at me.

  I put the pack down on my lap. “You looked upset. I’m not asking for you to break any rules. We’re just two friends chatting.”

  “This is Detective Battle’s case.” Quinn rubbed his neck. “I’m sure the DA will need you to testify when it goes to trial. A friendly chat isn’t something we’re going to engage in. I shouldn’t have said anything about Harper’s condition.” Quinn set his jaw. There would be no pushing him further.

  “Okay.”

  “It’s a solid case, Lyla. And if you have any pull with Harper, I’d suggest she cut a deal.”

  A deal would certainly require a jail sentence. Harper needed time. We needed time to build a case of reasonable doubt. “They’ll be getting a psych eval, especially after the alleged attempted suicide, right? And I wouldn’t be so sure about her guilt. Her home life is odd, and Leonard had some serious issues.”

  His eyes narrowed. “We don’t arrest people without concrete evidence.”

  “The psych evaluation?” If Harper had battered wife syndrome or something, and I was wrong about her doing something this drastic out of despair, we needed to know that too. This was my first time working for an attorney on a case. It was doubly difficult because it was a clear possibility that I might be called to testify on the discovery.

  “Yes, to my understanding, there will be a psych evaluation”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  Quinn studied me. “Right now, you should be worried about resting. You were just attacked.”

  My phone began ringing in my purse, and I started to rise. Quinn held out his hand, signaling I should wait.

  “I’ll get it.” He stared at me for a minute but didn’t make a move for my purse. His phone chirped again, and he gave a groan of irritation and put it to his ear. “Chief Daniels.” His eyes narrowed. “She’s here. Got it.” He disconnected the call and pursed his lips. Annoyance radiated off him. “Harper’s lawyer is waiting for you upstairs. ‘Just two friends chatting.’”

  I held up my finger. “I did not lie. I told you we were going to consult on the case. And I didn’t ask you to divulge anything that would damage your reputation or put your position in jeopardy. Mr. Jenkins will inform me of what happened with his client anyway.”

  Now, I detected a little more respect in Quinn’s gaze as he regarded me.

  “Hello.” A nurse came in with a wheelchair. “I’m here to take you for your scan, Miss Moody.”

  Willing my legs to move, I hurried off the table, the paper scrunching up as I slid down. Quinn took my arm, and I let him help me into the chair. The petite nurse, with copper-colored hair similar to mine, smiled, appearing grateful for his help.

  “Thanks.” I settled into the chair as the nurse folded down the footrests, and I put my feet up.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Quinn and I parted after my discharge. I could tell by how he looked at me that, moving forward, he’d be more guarded about the case. From my perspective, that was sort of a compliment. My uncle and I spoke briefly, and I made arrangements with the officer by calling the number on the card. They’d be waiting to escort me out when I was ready.

  I stood on the elevator, feeling a bit anxious. Before boarding, I’d smoothed my hair out and checked my reflection in the restroom mirror. I’d applied a little powder to smooth out my sweaty and tear-streaked face. I touched up my mascara, and as I stared at my blue eyes in the mirror and applied passion-rose lipstick to my lips, I thought of Mother. I could almost hear her say, “You look pale, dear. A little lipstick could help.”

  And it did. I felt more presentable and prepared for this meeting. When my uncle told me that Harper had requested a private audience with me, I’d become more nervous. Mr. Jenkins would be waiting for me in Harper’s room, or so I’d been told. She’d requested to see me, and he’d managed to rearrange his schedule after news of my attack surfaced.

  The elevator door started to close when a couple rushed toward me, waving. “Hold the elevator, please!”

  Smiling, I held the door for them as they wrangled the massive bouquet of “It’s a boy!” balloons inside. A set of grandparents, I presumed, their excitement palpable.

  They didn’t seem to notice anything off about me, and I nearly collapsed in relief. At least I didn’t appear like I’d dragged myself in off the streets. “Congratulations. New grandparents?”

  Heads bobbed gleefully. “Yes. Technically it’s our fifth grandchild, but it never gets old.”

  “Nope, never gets old,” the tall, older man agreed.

  “We’re over the moon,” his sweet, round-faced wife said. “But I tell you what: there are so many people outside this hospital, we could hardly get by.”

  “Crazy.” I kept my smile in place until they exited the appropriate floor.

  “I can’t stand knowing there is some maniac criminal in the same hospital as our daughter and grandson.” The older man shook his head, his face reddening with irritation.

  “Well, I’m sure the police have the person secured.” The woman smiled and put her hand on her husband’s arm. “And nothing can overshadow this beautiful day.”

  The man’s face smoothed and softened as he covered his wife’s hand with his own. “You’re right, dear. This is a day nothing can detract from. Being a grandparent is God’s greatest blessing.” The doors opened, and the two exited, wishing me a good evening as they left.

  I smiled as the doors closed. I couldn’t help my mind from wandering back to Mother and how happy my parents would be in the couple’s place if I had just given birth. It’s what my mother had wished for most of my adult life. A pang of guilt took over before the doors opened onto the floor Quinn directed me to.

  With my hair tucked behind my ears, I smoothed out my skirt, ignoring the stubborn wrinkles, and stepped off the elevator. A man wheeling a cart of flowers, stuffed bears, and other small items came down the corridor. I waved a hand toward him and began digging through my bag for my wallet. “Do you take credit cards?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He presented an iPad with an attached card reader.

  “Great.” I scanned his offerings, which I had no doubt were way overpriced even before inquiring. “Can I get those pink roses in that green vase?”

  He nodded, stuck a card reading “Get Well Soon” on one of his plastic picks, and placed it in the vase with the flowers, as I presented my Visa.

  “Have a nice day.” The man smiled at me, his eyes crinkling in a charming way as we completed the transaction and he handed me my purchase.

  “You too.” I traveled down the hallway. A couple of people were walking up and down it with walkers, in gowns and wearing yellow slipper socks. One woman carried a red heart pillow. Could this be the cardiac wing? Did Harper have a heart condition aggravated by the overdose? Surely she would have mentioned her illness to someone. Or perhaps this was the wrong floor. I rounded the corner and when I passed a sitting area by the massive wall of windows overlooking the drab parking garage, my suspicions were put to rest. A uniformed officer stood outside the last room on the left. Not the wrong floor. On the opposite side of the room stood a stalky man of average height, peering at his phone. He looked up when the sound of my boots against the tile caught his attention.

  “Miss Moody.” He waved a hand in my direction.

  I must’ve looked lost. “Mr. Jenkins.”

  He nodded and shook my extended hand. He frowned at my flowers and cards. “Harper won’t be able to receive those.”

  “Oh.” It had merely been my instinct to bring flowers to a patient in the hospital. “I’ll just leave them at the nurses’ station or something.”

  He gave his head a shake, and I wondered what he thought of me. “Neve
r mind. Awful business what happened to you. I heard from the chief that they caught the man.”

  “Yes.”

  “And no serious injuries?”

  “No. I’m fine.” I smiled, despite the throbbing in my head.

  “Good. I was surprised you still felt up to this, but here we are. I spoke with Mr. Cousins a little while ago, down in the cafeteria. We had an interruption from another of his clients he needed to tend to. I haven’t much time now, but I’m obligated to accommodate this meeting Harper requested.” This way. I followed him down the corridor and into an empty room. “This is normally reserved for the doctors and family consultations. I’ve arranged for us to use it.”

  “Okay.” I nodded a little. He sat and motioned to the plaid bucket chair opposite him. “A man on a mission” is how I would have described the person before me. He was younger than I’d thought he’d be. He looked to be mid-forties, not late sixties like Mr. Greene. He had short hair and a closely cut beard, with deep brown eyes that matched his hair color, and round tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses. I sat and then placed the flowers on the table and decided to leave them there. Perhaps they’d cheer up someone else’s day.

  “Let’s get to it. It appears Harper overdosed on”—Mr. Jenkins tapped on his phone—“haloperidol. When I questioned her after she woke, she seemed confused and disoriented, which the doctors told me to expect. She vehemently denied taking the medication.”

  “Haldol,” I said, using the brand name. I leaned forward. I’d heard my father speak of the drug. Doctors prescribed it to treat bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. “Is Harper on the medication?”

  “Harper says she wasn’t, and there isn’t any record of it in her charts.”

  I shifted in my seat. “What about Leonard?”

  “We’re still trying to ascertain whether Mr. Richardson was seeing a psychiatrist who prescribed the medication without Harper’s knowledge.” He put his phone into the pocket of his briefcase.

  “Then she didn’t try to kill herself. I suspected she hadn’t. When I sat down with her the other day, she didn’t seemed suicidal to me. Which begs the question: Did someone try to poison her?”

  “It begs more than the one question.” Mr. Jenkins folded his hands atop the small, round table. “The problem we’re facing is her husband also died of an overdose of the same drug.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. When Calvin told me Leonard had been poisoned, I’d never considered that someone used the same drug on Harper. “What about the injuries he sustained to his head?”

  Mr. Jenkins inclined his head. “He did have a fractured skull, but the high levels of Haldol in his bloodstream would have killed him before the fracture.”

  Inconsequential then. “That’s why Leonard was getting sick everywhere. His body tried to rid itself of the Haldol.” Not from the head trauma I had initially assumed.

  He nodded. “Exactly. I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Miss Moody. Your friend is in a heap of trouble. The victim’s brother turned over Harper’s torn purse. It contained traces of the victim’s blood on it as well a few loose pills of Haldol in a small bag that also had Harper’s fingerprints on.”

  I felt ill.

  He pulled an iPad from his bag and scrolled down what appeared to be a list of notes. “Since you discovered the body, I need to ask: Do you recall seeing the strap in Leonard’s hand that night?”

  “I recall seeing what I thought was a rope or jacket tie. In hindsight, it could have been the strap to a purse.”

  He didn’t like that. His brows furrowed. “Did you mention it to the police?”

  “I told them what I believed it to be.” I scooted to the edge of my chair. “But Harper carried a clutch with her that night. I saw it.”

  He sighed. “Even if other people did as well, it doesn’t really help us. She could have brought both purses with her. Or had an accomplice who switched bags with her after the incident. It won’t be difficult for the DA to discount something like that.” I guessed not.

  “The instrument used to inflict the head wound hasn’t been found. Though again, the DA could spin a tale about two crimes, and if the weapon wasn’t the actual murder weapon, does it even matter?” He sounded as if he didn’t want to take this trial. It sounded like he would attempt to persuade Harper to take a plea, and that worried me.

  What also worried me was the idea that the second weapon used, the candlestick, had been described by me to the detective but still hadn’t been recovered. Where had it gone? Who would have taken it? And if the person who used it to ensure Leonard’s demise didn’t grab it when they fled the scene, did that person have an accomplice? Someone who might believe they were enacting a kindness. A lump formed in my throat.

  Mr. Jenkins removed his glasses and began cleaning them with a cloth from his pocket. “It still would be good to have it. We might be able to establish reasonable doubt if another set of fingerprints were on it. Because if the DA argues Harper poisoned her husband and used a hammer or something to finish the job, it wouldn’t explain why her clothes were clean. And there would be no way that would be possible.”

  “Still a long shot.” I sighed, unsure if I wanted the weapon recovered. When he studied me, I added, “But it’s a shot. And if we find out who poisoned Harper, I bet we’ll find the person who killed Leonard. We need to discover where said person got their hands on a drug like that. Is anyone in the Richardson household taking it?”

  “We don’t know. And we don’t know if someone even poisoned Mrs. Richardson in the first place. We’ll know more as to what we’re dealing with after a psych eval.”

  I studied him. “You’re thinking an insanity plea?”

  “I think this woman could end up on death row. If she’s locked up in a psychiatric hospital for a few years, she might have a shot at a normal life again.” He put his glasses back on his face.

  “You don’t believe her then? That she’s innocent?”

  Mr. Jenkins sat forward, fixing me with a piercing stare. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. My job is to get her the best deal I can. To provide her legal representation and do my best to see that she has a fair judicial process. I’ve never argued a case like this before, and the DA is out for blood. He has the means for murder—the drugs were in her purse. The purse was torn in the struggle and has the victim’s blood on it. Harper’s fingerprints were easily obtained. Harper overdosed on the same drug that killed her husband. He has testimony from family members who believe Harper is guilty.”

  With a deep intake of breath, I asked, “Why am I even here, then?”

  “Because Harper insists she can fight this, that she’s been framed. I’m just being realistic here. If Harper goes to trial without solid evidence and the DA seeks the death penalty—well, with what we have right now”—he let out a bark of bitter laughter—“we’ll lose. If she can’t plead insanity, maybe I could plea this down to second-degree murder. Perhaps with a sentence of fifteen to thirty years, ten with good behavior—but she’d be alive.”

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. If Mr. Jenkins presented all this to Calvin, he would see the case as a lost cause too. “So what’s next?”

  “We go see Harper. Wait for the psych evaluation, and I’ll focus on trying to get her bail. If you can find hard evidence, and I can use it to do better for her, great.”

  I rose to my feet, blowing out a breath of frustration. The room spun a little, but I fought the sensation.

  Mr. Jenkins glanced down at his watch as he stood. “We only have a few minutes with Harper before I have to leave.”

  The weight of this case landed heavily on my chest. Harper depended on me to help her. The thought of Harper spending ten to fifteen years in jail—unbearable. I’d get Mr. Jenkins the hard evidence he needed to fight this. I followed him across the hall, and the officer opened the door. Although I’d wanted to take this case and had insisted I was fine and able, I’d never fathomed I’d succumb to such a bout of nerves. Harper�
�s life was literally in our hands.

  “Miss Moody, are you coming?” Mr. Jenkins kept his tone low as he turned to me from inside the room; I hadn’t realized I’d frozen outside the door.

  “Yes,” I whispered, and walked inside. The door closed behind me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Staring down at Harper’s small frame lying under the knit pink hospital blanket broke my heart. IV lines were running to her free arm. Soft snoring sounds came through her thin, parted lips. She appeared so young, frail, and fragile. How could anyone suspect her of such a horrific crime?

  Mr. Jenkins neared the side of the bed.

  I gripped my bag. “Wait.” I kept my tone low. “Shouldn’t we let her sleep?”

  Mr. Jenkins appeared to be losing patience with me as he frowned. “I have to be somewhere.” Harper’s eyes went wide, and a little gasp left her lips as she glanced up at Mr. Jenkins and attempted to scoot away. The metal bracelet attached to her wrist clanged against the bar, restricting her movement.

  An overwhelming need to protect her came over me. “It’s okay, Harper.” I stepped toward the foot of the bed. “You’re okay.”

  “Lyla?” Her voice sounded thin and thready.

  “I’m here.” I forced my lips into a reassuring smile.

  Her tense frame marginally relaxed. She swallowed and glanced around. She seemed to gain her bearings. “I apologize, Mr. Jenkins. I forgot where I was for a moment.”

  “Are you thirsty?” I reached for the paper cup on her tray. “Would you like some water?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes. Please.” With her free hand, she moved the tangles of hair away from the face. “What happened to you?”

  I guess my quick makeup job hadn’t been as effective as I’d hoped. “I had a fall. I’m okay.” I filled the paper cup with water from the plastic pitcher on her stand and handed it to her. “You gave us all a scare. We were so worried about you.”

  “I feel like I’m in a living nightmare.” She greedily sipped from the straw, audibly draining the cup. “One minute I’m watching a movie, and the next the cops are bursting into my home and arresting me. I felt ill in the car on the way to jail. By the time they were booking me in, I could barely see straight. My heart started beating out of my chest. Way worse than when they slapped the cuffs on me. Then my head felt like someone put it in a vise. I told the officers. Begged them to help me. When the cell doors closed, I … I blacked out.”