The judge noted the omission, but did not comment. Instead, she asked, “Were you not preparing to search the Center?”
“No, ma’am. I had another angle I wanted to pursue first.”
“And where is Eliza now?”
“Based on Graves’s theory of the case, he arrested her for murder. She’s being booked as we speak.”
Judge Majors tapped her mouth. “I can’t do anything tonight, Luke.” She held up a hand when he began to argue. “But I will convene a special session of court tomorrow at ten A.M. for her bail hearing.”
“Thank you, Judge.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Based on what I read this afternoon, I don’t think the warrant was an overreach by the chief.”
“If she’s guilty, Judge, I won’t stand in the way of prosecution. But I’m not sure she is,” he said flatly. “However, what about jurisdiction? Can Graves just step in?”
“The murder occurred at the Palace, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That motel, if I recall correctly, straddles the city line.”
“But the room itself is in the county,” he argued.
“Perhaps,” she cautioned, “but you don’t come to this argument with clean hands, Sheriff. The chief tried to tell me his observations about your relationship with Kell Jameson.”
Luke stiffened. “I’ve done nothing to compromise my investigation.”
“Perhaps,” she repeated firmly, “however, I’d ask you to consider whether you can be more helpful to the delivery of justice by fighting over jurisdiction or by completing your investigation.” She inclined her head, and walked him toward the door. “I’ll see you in court tomorrow morning, Sheriff Calder. Good luck.”
CHAPTER 22
Officer Potter showed Kell into the waiting room with efficient courtesy. “Mrs. Faraday is completing processing. She’ll be allowed to speak with you shortly.”
“Thank you, officer.” Kell sat in the folding chair he indicated and laid her briefcase on the metal table. Her client would sit on the opposite side, facing the two-way mirror that ran the length of the wall. She noted a speaker in the upper left-hand corner of the room. Apparently, a lawyer meets her clients in the same room that interrogations take place. Convenient for the police, a nightmare for the defense. Something she’d keep in mind.
For now, she smiled wanly at the officer. “Officer Potter, may I trouble you for some water, please?”
“Right away, ma’am.” He zipped from the room, leaving the door to swing shut behind him.
Kell understood the routine of awaiting clients in the sterile confines of a police precinct. The act of taking fingerprints and filling out index cards of vital, yet ultimately useless, information filled hours of a cop’s time. Forms typed in triplicate to travel with personal effects, to record the breaking of a case on pages to be sent along to the prosecutor. Case files built from such small matters, like the weight of a suspect or his tendency to limp as he walked. In Kell’s world, those pages contained nuggets of gold, that when displayed properly before a judge or jury resulted in acquittal—usually in the form of reasonable doubt.
She relied on the sloppiness of overwork, the drudgery of habit for a blank to be missed or a sheet to be overlooked.
She doubted that would work this time.
Her client had no alibi, perfect motive, and kept the means sitting on her kitchen counter. Rubbing at her eyes, Kell plotted her next move. She’d find out where Judge Majors lived and beg the judge to hold an early bond hearing and set a fast trial calendar. By then, hopefully Luke’s pique would have passed, and he’d be willing to resume their sleuthing. Eliza’s main hope of freedom rested on determining who else wanted Clay Griffin dead.
Officer Potter reentered the room, a bottle of water in hand, as well as a napkin. He set both on the table. “Need anything else?”
“Is Sheriff Calder around?”
“He’s at the front desk. Should I tell him you’re here?”
“Yes, please.” She twisted the cap on the water and took a long drink. Talking to Luke was necessary, and she didn’t expect him to make the next few minutes easy.
As she wiped her mouth, the door swung open. Luke walked in, holding an identical bottle. He gave her a dispassionate look that betrayed nothing. “They’ve got Eliza in processing.”
“Officer Potter told me. How long until I can see her?”
He flipped the second chair around to straddle the seat. “Fifteen minutes, probably. Graves keeps three men on shift at a time. He demanded Lancy take him to the county hospital for X rays.”
“You have a solid right hook.”
“He’s got a weak face.”
Kell smiled, but sobered when Luke did not return her tentative smile. All business, she acknowledged, an ache forming in her chest. He was livid, she understood, but he had to know she was doing her job. Protecting her client.
“Does the chief respect the privacy of the counsel interview?” she questioned, eyes edging to the mirror.
“Yes. He’s not that stupid.” Luke opened his water, swigging half the contents at once. He swiped at his mouth and offered in a low voice that signaled he didn’t completely agree with his own analysis, “I’ve talked to Judge Majors. She’s agreed to hold a bond hearing for Eliza in the morning.”
Pleased, Kell asked, “Did you discuss jurisdiction?”
“Yes. And jurisdiction is a question at issue that she doesn’t intend to take sides on. The location of the motel gives Graves plenty of cause to follow any leads he sees fit.”
Including a possible conflict of interest between the sheriff and the chief suspect’s attorney. Kell skimmed her eyes over his tight mouth and icy gaze. The witness statement would have to come up eventually. “Do you want to know about the witnesses, Sheriff?”
He inclined his head. “For a change of pace.”
Smarting, Kell explained softly, “The afternoon that Clay died, he attacked Nina Moore at the Center.” Luke straightened, and Kell placed a hand over his, drawing him back. When he slipped his hand free, she put hers in her lap. “She’s fine. Eliza arrived home in time to stop him from doing more than scaring her. But there were two eyewitnesses to the scuffle. Tony Delgado and his friend Doc Reed.”
“Tony was visiting Nina.”
Kell filled him in on the story of the attack, writing notes on a legal pad. She decided to keep the payoffs to Clay to herself for the moment, a choice that gave her conscience a twinge. She hated to lie to him again, but until she heard from Eliza, it wasn’t her information to share.
“My guess is that Doc is Chief Graves’s informant. If Doc helped Clay sell drugs, he’d also probably have been brought in on whatever Clay’d gotten into next. He has a reason to try and pin the murder on someone else.”
“Doc’s a petty criminal,” Luke mused. “He doesn’t have the brains to orchestrate a cover-up. If he’d been at Clay’s apartment that night, I promise you, he’d have stolen the television and video game.”
“Then either Graves is heading this up, or he’s working with the people who are. Luke, can I assume you still believe Eliza?”
“For now,” he yielded. “Graves is working too hard to make her look guilty.” Luke sent her a baleful look. “You’ve helped.”
“Yes. I did. Still, we can’t keep having this fight, Luke. I maintained client confidentiality,” she sighed, pinning him with a look of exasperation. “I’ll admit I didn’t tell you everything. Neither did you. For good reason. Until tonight, we had very separate agendas. And we may have them again.”
Knowing she was right didn’t soothe the raw feeling of betrayal. He imagined they’d gotten closer, that she wouldn’t have let him be blindsided by Graves and the powerful ammunition he carried. But he’d entered this arrangement with his eyes wide open. “What do you suggest we do?”
“Exactly what we have. Share relevant information and work together to find out who wants Eliza in prison for murder.”
“Convenient? They used a specialty knife that could be traced back to her and almost no one else.”
“Then there’s another reason for targeting her that you’re not telling me.”
Kell bristled. “I’ve told you everything I can, Luke.” Which, she thought desperately, wasn’t exactly a lie. The money and missing murder weapon weren’t her secrets to reveal. Not when Luke still harbored a shadow of doubt.
“I guess that will have to do for now.” He swung his leg around and stood. Rounding the table, he bent close to her ear. “Graves may have pissed me off, but he was right. I have compromised my judgment. I adore Eliza, and I’m falling in love with you.”
Her mouth opened, and he nipped at her ear, a brief jet of sensation that would have buckled her knees, had she been standing. “Fair warning, Kell. I won’t forget dinner or our interrupted dessert. Neither should you.”
Before she could respond, he stood up and strode out.
She was still sitting in the same position when Potter brought Eliza into the room. “Thirty minutes,” he explained, “then lights out for all prisoners.”
Eliza winced at the description, taking the seat Luke had abandoned. “Who’s minding the children?”
“Curly Watson came over. He told me he’s watched them before.”
A pretty blush crept into the pale cheeks. “He’s a very good friend.”
“Another secret you’ve been keeping, Mrs. F.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A relationship with Mr. Watson. Paying Clay Griffin blackmail.” Kell shifted forward, incensed. “What you do with your love life is your business, Mrs. F, but you should have told me about the money.”
The older woman met her furious gaze with look of equanimity. Calmly, she asked, as though seeking the time, “How did you find out?”
Her ire rose at the banal inquiry, and Kell explained angrily, “You have very observant children. According to Nina, these payments have been going on for nearly a decade.”
“More like sixteen years.” Eliza held Kell’s accusing glare without flinching. “I made the first payment in September 1991.”
Kell fell back against her chair, terror racing through her, displacing outrage. “No.”
“Clay came to see me a few weeks after you and Findley disappeared. Told me he’d seen you three in the area near the fire and that he had proof you were somehow involved.” She kept her voice low, intent. “Julia was still under my care. I couldn’t allow him to ruin her life. So I gave him the money.”
Her stomach hitched, another layer of guilt churning acid. A silly act, a desperate choice cascading across the years. In a dull voice, she asked, “How much to protect us?”
“The first time? Five hundred dollars. A paltry sum for my children,” she explained fiercely. Eliza gripped her chin and forced her to look at her. “Wherever you were—are—you’re mine, Kell. Always.”
The words eased but didn’t erase the shame. “When did he come back?”
“October. Said that he’d be visiting every month for as long as I wanted him to stay silent. The payments got bigger every year, and he got greedier.” Eliza focused on the wall behind Kell’s head, debating. Sighing, she went on. “After you won your first big case, he brought me a copy of a news article about you. He demanded a thousand dollars.”
“Four years ago?” Kell quickly did the math. “That’s almost fifty thousand dollars since then.” She blanched at the sum, thinking about the funds moldering in a bank vault. Her car, her wardrobe cost more. All owed to Mrs. F. Everything. “How in the world did you pay him? Why didn’t you call me? You don’t have that kind of money.”
“Actually, I do.” Eliza managed a short laugh at the look of amazement. “Didn’t you ever wonder how I managed to operate the Center? I don’t fundraise or solicit donations, and one of my conditions for accepting children is that I will not take aid from the state.”
“I guess I never really thought about it,” she admitted dazedly. “Where’s the money coming from?”
“My family. I have a substantial trust fund that’s administered by a foundation established by my great-grandparents. The Metanoia Foundation. It holds the land and produces a respectable income.”
“Land besides the Center?”
“I own the six hundred acres the town knows as the Grove and another five thousand acres between Hallden and Taylor County.”
“My God.” Kell took a shaky drink of water. “You’re rich.”
“I have adequate income for my needs,” Eliza conceded. “Though the land is not in use. My parents were early environmentalists. They refused to allow the land to be harvested, and I have respected their wishes.”
“Where is the money from, then?”
“Wise investments in the stock market after the Great Depression, plus a few companies my mother seeded with her capital.” She folded her hands primly on the cold metal surface. “Paying Clay would not be motive for murder, dear. I had the money to spend.”
“And then some,” mumbled Kell.
“However, after Clay’s attack on Nina, I did go to his apartment to tell him that if I ever saw him near the Center again, the payments would cease. But I never got the chance.”
“Does anyone else know about these payments besides the children and you?”
“I don’t know if Clay told anyone, but I doubt it. The foundation is administered by a bank. The account manager would be aware of my regular withdrawals, but not their purpose. I draw monthly amounts of substantial size, so the payments wouldn’t be noticeable. I do not have to account for my actions, but there would be a record of them.”
“Who are the trustees for the foundation?”
“I am the sole trustee, under the trust’s terms. The Georgia Bank manages the trust, according to my wishes.”
Kell noted the bank name on her pad. “What happens to the foundation once you’re—”
“I will die eventually, Kell. You can say it.”
“What happens?”
“I’ve willed that the money remain in the trust for the operation of the Center. The Center inherits my fortune, since I am the last of my line.”
“And if you go to prison?”
“I don’t know.” Eliza frowned, her eyes shadowed with fresh worry. “I’ve never asked.”
CHAPTER 23
For a Saturday morning, the Hallden County Courthouse was packed. No fewer than two reporters from the local paper had been dispatched to record the proceedings. Cameras typically filming county fair competitions or weekend fender-benders set up in the hastily created press section of the courtroom. Curious neighbors who’d awoken to the latest gossip crowded in pews that rarely held more than a dozen or so watchers.
Kell muscled her way through the knots of onlookers who clogged the aisles. Three hours of sleep had her bleary-eyed and her temper on a short leash. She’d been awoken at six by Nina, who reminded her that she was responsible for placing a healthy meal on the table by seven. Curly had taken his leave around three A.M., which left Kell on her own.
Luckily, the kitchen came well stocked with a variety of cereals and assorted fruit. Even better, Cheryl Richardson appeared at eight with her sons in tow and a reprieve. After dispatching the children for morning chores and bringing Cheryl up to speed, she’d sprinted through a shower, a hasty bowl of cereal, and shimmied into her battle armor. The charcoal St. John, with its conservative hem, was matched with black pearls at her ears and throat. Power heels from Ferragamo completed the look and earned her a whistle of envy from Cheryl as she rushed out the door.
A scan of the room revealed a preening Chief Graves talking with a reporter, arm gesticulating impassionedly. He stood at the prosecution’s table, next to a lean man with a clean-shaven scalp that towered over his squat frame. She admired the perfectly shaped bronze dome, as few men handl
ed the look well. Kell couldn’t see his face, but she assumed he represented the D.A.’s office.
She didn’t need to look around to know Luke wasn’t there.
Pushing aside the bitter ache of disappointment, she cut across a row of seats and came out on the far aisle. She was in sight of the defense table when a reporter caught her eye and waved a microphone in her direction. Light flashed as bulbs popped in her direction. “Is it true that Eliza Faraday killed Clay Griffin in a lover’s quarrel?”
Hearing the shouted question, another one barked out, “Are you having an affair with Sheriff Calder? Is that why Chief Graves had to take over the case?”
“Is Sheriff Calder going to resign his post pending an investigation?”
Kell dropped her briefcase on the table and turned to the gathering bank of cameras. Most lawyers attempted to belay the inquisition with “no comments” or simply brushed off the press. But she knew better that a reporter with answers tended to list toward your side. Give them short, pithy answers or quotable phrases. Never affirm what you could reasonably deny. And always take the tough questions. Potential jurors appreciated what appeared to be honesty and journalists got higher ratings. A win-win.
She faced the camera fronted by a slender woman of indeterminate years, which Kell guessed placed her at about forty-five. The sleek bob of black hair framed a clever honey-toned face that seemed to expect resistance and hungered for it. Kell assumed the question about Luke had come from her. “Yes?”
“Ayanay Ferguson of Channel 13. Is it true that Chief Graves removed jurisdiction of this case from Sheriff Calder because of a cover-up involving you and the sheriff?”
Kell’s eyes hardened, but she avoided the instinctive defense of Luke or herself. The first moment she kissed him, she’d put her reputation in jeopardy. So be it. But her client was Eliza. “Eliza Faraday has dedicated her life to the service of Hallden’s most vulnerable children. I find it abhorrent that one man’s quest for power should be built on flimsy evidence and nasty rumor.” Unable to resist, she added, “Jurisdiction has not been transferred. While I understand the Attorney General is looking into the propriety of the police department’s actions, my concern isn’t with who arrested my client. It’s why. The evidence we’ve seen so far calls into the question the competence of the police department or what they consider reasonable suspicion. Apparently, Chief Graves found a crumb and decided to call it a loaf.”
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