“Mr. Matrone has assured me he will be here.”
“Mike—”
“Kate, this meeting is over. I know where you stand. I know where Frank stands. And I’ve made my decision.”
It was difficult, but Kate held her silence. She’d worked with Mike Shelley long enough to know that once he dug in his heels, that was the end of it. Whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to make do with Frank.
As a general rule, Kate made a conscious effort not to waste too much energy on useless emotions. But she was angry when she strode into her office and slid behind her desk. She’d barely sat down when Frank appeared at her door.
“I figured we ought to go ahead and get this over with.” He was wearing black trousers with a gunmetal shirt and burgundy tie. The clothes fit well, and Kate couldn’t help but notice that while he may have recently lost weight, he was still solidly built with well-defined musculature.
“Come in.” Her voice was crisp and calm, belying the fact that her temper was lit.
He entered her office. Tension rose inside her when he closed the door behind him, and she wondered if he was planning on raising his voice. But his expression was inscrutable when he limped to the visitor chair opposite her desk and sat. She thought about the injuries he’d suffered overseas, and she tried hard not to feel guilty for having tried to get him removed from the case.
“This was not personal,” she began.
“You told my boss I’m a goddamn drug addict,” he said tightly. “That’s as personal as it gets.”
“I walked into your house Saturday night to find you totally incoherent. You didn’t even know who I was.” She hadn’t told Mike that Frank had made a halfhearted pass at her, but feeling she needed to explain her actions, she laid it out for Frank now. “For God’s sake, you thought I was someone else. You made a pass at me.”
His jaw flexed and he looked away, and for the first time she saw that he was embarrassed. “It’s not like I was expecting you.”
“You’re on call twenty-four/seven when you work for the DA’s office. You know that.”
“I have an old injury,” he ground out. “It gives me problems sometimes.”
“Problems so bad you have to render yourself unconscious?”
He said nothing, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t happy with himself. “Frank, this isn’t about you. Yes, you need to address your problem. But the reason I went to Mike is because I need to win this case.”
“You crossed a line, Kate. You stabbed me in the back without knowing the whole story.”
“Maybe you should enlighten me to the story.” The moment the question was out, Kate regretted having asked. The truth of the matter was she didn’t want to know this man’s demons. She didn’t want this to turn personal. She didn’t want to feel his pain or care too much. She knew that to some people that would make her a coldhearted bitch. But Kate didn’t care. The case always came first.
“It doesn’t matter.” Frank rose unexpectedly, and Kate got the impression that she’d touched on a wound he didn’t want prodded. And it was suddenly clear to her that he hadn’t yet dealt with whatever had happened to him overseas.
Had him a woman, but she was killed.
Jesus’s words came to her unbidden, and an unexpected quiver of sympathy ran through her. Uncomfortable with the intensity of his stare, she looked away. “As an officer of the court, I had to report what I saw.”
“You don’t know what you saw. You made an incorrect assumption and jumped to conclusions.”
Denial, she thought and didn’t respond.
A taut silence ensued. Frank stared out the window, his expression annoyed and decidedly unhappy. Kate divided her attention between him and her computer screen.
“It wasn’t my intent to hurt you or your career,” she said after a moment. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Career is a pretty generous word at this point, but I sure as hell don’t need you telling my boss I’m popping pills.”
“Mike Shelley is a fair man.”
“Especially when someone above him is looking out for me.” She sighed. “Look, I’ve got an appointment with Evangeline Worth’s mother in half an hour.”
His gaze met hers. “What about?”
“Routine. I always make it a point to interview the victim’s family.” Realizing they’d landed upon common ground that might act as a buffer and get them—and the case—back on track, she sighed. “Do you want to ride along?”
TUESDAY, JANUARY 31, 10:49 A.M.
Evangeline Worth had lived with her mother and four children in a rundown neighborhood in South Dallas. The streets were narrow and riddled with potholes. Most of the small clap-board houses sported sagging porches, peeling paint, and curled roofing shingles. A few of the homeowners had added chain-link fences and steel bars to the windows, giving the neighborhood the feel of a prison yard.
The Worth household was the gem of the block. Neat flowerbeds with red brick edging lined the sidewalk. The house sported a fresh coat of pale yellow paint, and hunter green shutters. Even though the grass was brown, it had been manicured before the first frost hit. A well-cared-for Ford Escort sat in the driveway, the paint as shiny as the day it had been driven off the showroom floor.
Kate took it all in and tried not to let it bother her that Evangeline Worth was no longer around to take pride in the place she had worked so hard to make a home.
“Nice place,” Frank said, parking his truck on the street.
“If you don’t mind the occasional drive-by shooting.” Kate motioned toward a Cadillac across the street that had been jacked up and set on concrete blocks. A bullet hole the size of her thumb marred the glossy paint of the driver’s-side door.
Kate wasn’t looking forward to this interview. Talking to the families of murder victims invariably took something out of her. People needed someone to blame when a loved one died, some bad guy to lash out at. On more than one occasion, Kate had found herself the object of a bereaved family member’s grief and rage. But no matter how painful, she always showed up. And she always assured them she would do her utmost to see that justice was served.
She and Frank walked together up the crumbling sidewalk to the front porch. The morning was mild for January, with the temperature hovering around sixty degrees. But there were dark clouds piling up on the northern horizon, and Kate thought she’d heard on the news there was a cold front on the way.
Frank knocked. A moment later the door squeaked open and an elderly African American woman peered at them from behind thick wire-rimmed glasses. “Can I help you?”
Kate flashed her identification. “Mrs. Jackson? I’m Kate Megason with the district attorney’s office.”
“I already told the police everything I know.”
“I realize this is a difficult time for you and your family,” Kate said. “We just want to talk to you for a few minutes.”
“’Bout Evangeline?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Frank said.
The frail woman considered him for a moment. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate and lay like fine leather over a face that had once been lovely. Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue. Her hair was white and had been pulled into a neat bun at her nape.
“Come on in,” she said and tugged open the door.
The first thing Kate noticed was the enticing aroma of something meaty and delicious. Through the hall she could see into the kitchen and got a glimpse of antiquated appliances and a yellow Formica countertop. The living room was furnished with an overstuffed sofa and two mismatched chairs, one of which had been meticulously patched. On the small television set up on a TV tray, Bob Barker asked a heavyset woman to bid on a car.
“This is a nice place you have here,” Frank said.
The old woman gave Kate a look as if to ask, “Where did you find him?” and motioned toward the sofa. “You may as well sit down.”
“Thank you.” Kate started toward the sofa.
The
old woman hobbled to the patched chair, braced herself on the arms, and fell into it. “What’s this all about? Haven’t you people asked enough questions?”
“I’m going to be prosecuting your daughter’s murder, Ms. Worth. I want to ask you some routine questions that might help me build a case.”
“Ain’t none of this routine for me.”
Kate felt Frank’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look at him. By unspoken mutual agreement, she knew he was going to sit this one out. “I understand.”
“Ain’t nothing been the same round here since she been gone. Evangeline was always such a good girl. Hardworking. If it wasn’t for her we never woulda made it out of the projects, but here I am. Own my own home.” The old woman shook her head. “She should be here, not me.”
Before even realizing she was going to move, Kate leaned forward and set her hand over the woman’s. The older woman looked at her with a measure of surprise in her eyes. Kate didn’t look away and hoped her expression relayed that her action was an honest one.
“Have you ever heard the name Bruton Ellis?” Kate asked.
Worth pulled a well-used tissue from her housedress and blotted her eyes. “Not till I heard it on the news that he’d been arrested for killing my baby.”
“Evangeline never mentioned him?”
“Lord Almighty no. She don’t hang out with no white trash like that.”
“Did you ever see a blue truck in the neighborhood? Maybe parked on the street or driving by slowly?” Pulling a police photo of Ellis’s truck from her bag, Kate held it out for her to see.
“Never see it before,” she said.
“Did Evangeline have a boyfriend?”
The old woman shook her head. “That girl was too good for the men who courted her. Damn crack dealers and gangsters all of them.”
Kate tucked the photo back into her bag. She knew the police had already asked all of these same questions and that they were tedious for the elderly woman. Still, Kate always made this visit. And she always asked the questions that needed to be asked. “Evangeline had four children?”
The woman nodded. “God, those babies miss their mama somethin’ awful.”
“Has their father been notified?”
“We ain’t heard from either man in too many years to say.”
“Are you their legal guardian?”
“Evangeline wouldn’t have had it any other way. Oh, sweet Jesus, she lived for those kids. That was why she was working the way she was. The Lord do work in mysterious ways, but I don’t think I’ll understand this one till I’m up in heaven myself and ask Him face-to-face. Leaving those poor babies without a mama like that.”
Kate heard grief in her voice. She saw it etched into the creases of the woman’s face. She felt a shadow of that same grief ebbing and flowing in her own heart. And for an instant it was as if she were looking into a mirror and seeing herself, broken and grief-stricken and left without hope.
Realizing the silence had gone on too long, Kate offered her hand to the woman. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Ms. Worth. Thank you for your time.”
“I just hope you lock him up and throw away the key.”
Digging into her bag, Kate pulled out one of her cards. “If you think of anything else that might be important, please call me. You can reach me after hours on my cell phone number, which is written on the back.”
The old woman took the card and slid it into her apron pocket without looking at it. “Don’t know what else I could say that you ain’t already heard.”
Kate rose without commenting. She was aware of the woman struggling to her feet. Of Frank moving toward the door. Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she turned to see four children crouched on the stairs, watching her through the rail. They’d been listening, she realized, and at least one of the little brown faces was tear streaked.
“They ain’t been back to school since their mama died,” Ms. Worth said.
Kate didn’t know what to say. Four children left motherless. A frail old woman left to care for them. Nothing she could say seemed fitting.
She started for the door, but the sound of light footsteps turned her around. A little girl no older than four clung to her grandmother’s hip, her eyes watchful and cautious.
“Is the white lady going to bring mama back, Grand-mimi?” the little girl asked.
The old woman pulled the girl to her, and held her close, her ancient eyes meeting Kate’s. “There ain’t no one can bring your mama back, baby.”
Kate knew it was cowardly, but she turned away and started for the door. She knew facing that child was the one thing that would make the case personal. Better to keep her emotions locked down tight. Her motivations buried in the recesses of her own memory.
Neither she nor Frank spoke as they walked to his truck. Once inside, he buckled his seat belt and pulled onto the street. “Tough scene.”
“It’s always difficult talking to the family. Especially when there are kids involved.”
“Why do you do it?” He glanced away from his driving to meet her gaze. “You could have sent me or David or simply looked at the police reports.”
“I prefer a personal visit. Mostly just to make sure there’s no relationship between the vic and the susp—”
“Bullshit.” He hit her with a hard look. “Why the hell do you put yourself through that?”
“Because it makes me a better prosecutor,” she said honestly. “It makes me want to win. It reminds me why I do what I do.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything, then he looked at her and nodded. “Damn good answer.”
THIRTEEN
TUESDAY, JANUARY 31, 7:18 P.M.
Kate spent the rest of the day reading—police reports, the coroner’s report, witness statements—and outlining her strategy on the Bruton Ellis case. It wasn’t until the office had gone quiet that she realized she hadn’t eaten. Hungry and exhausted, she wanted nothing more than to pack her laptop and briefcase and head for home.
But there was one more stop she needed to make. A stop Kate had been dreading all day.
Today was Kirsten’s twenty-ninth birthday. She was six minutes older than Kate. But while Kate never missed her sister’s birthday, she never celebrated her own. Liz had once brought in a birthday cake, but afterward Kate had asked her not to do it again. Other than the anniversary of that terrible July night eleven years ago, Kirsten’s birthday was the most difficult day of the year. It was a day that stood in testimony to what had happened. A stark reminder of what had been lost.
It was dark when Kate left the Frank Crowley Courts Building. She stopped at an upscale pastry shop on McKinney Avenue and picked up the frivolous cake she’d ordered earlier in the day. German chocolate with fudge lettering that said: We love you, Kirsten. Happy birthday.
Ten minutes later she pulled into the parking lot of the Turtle Creek Convalescent Home. A quiver of dread moved through her when she spotted her parents’ Lincoln. She knew they visited Kirsten every day; she’d known they would visit today. But there was a small, cowardly part of Kate that had been hoping they’d already come and gone.
The halls were dimly lit when she entered the building, cake in hand. Nancy Martin smiled and waved from the nurse’s station as Kate passed.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Kate said.
“Nobody follows the rules around here anyway,” the other woman replied, referring to the fact that it was well after visiting hours.
“I’ll save some cake for you and the rest of the night shift.”
Nancy patted her substantial hip. “Like we need all that sugar.”
Outside her sister’s room, Kate took a fortifying breath and pushed open the door. Isobel Megason was standing at the window with her back to the room. She turned upon hearing Kate enter. She looked elegant and trim in an understated Nipon pantsuit that was the same cool blue as her eyes.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Katherine.” Isobel cros
sed to her youngest daughter, her suede pumps muted on the tile floor. Chanel whispered around her when she leaned close, set her cheek against Kate’s, and kissed air. “We’re so glad you finally made it.”
Kate looked at her father. “Hi, Dad.”
Peter Megason was lounging in the recliner, a hardback book open on his lap, looking at her over the top of the bifocals perched on his nose. He wore a pale yellow cashmere sweater over dark trousers. “I was hoping you’d make it before they kick us out.”
Kate smiled at him, felt the tension twisting her neck muscles into knots. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She looked at Kirsten. “How is she today?”
“Same as she was last year at this time,” Isobel said.
Kate crossed to the small table near the window and set down the cake.
“What kind of cake did you bring?” her father asked.
“German chocolate.”
“I might just have a piece of that myself.” He started to rise.
“Let me get it for you,” Kate said quickly, wanting something to do besides sit in this tiny room with her sister and two people who blamed her for her condition.
“I tried to call you today,” Isobel said. “You didn’t return my call.”
“I was busy, Mom.” Kate lifted the cake from the box and picked up the plastic knife the pastry chef had left inside.
“I saw on the news that you’re going to be prosecuting the Bruton Ellis case,” Peter said.
Kate nodded and she began cutting the cake. “I need to talk to you about that.”
“You’re not going to cancel the cruise, are you?” he asked.
Kate slid the piece of cake onto a paper plate and took it to her father. “I’m sorry, but I’m swamped.”
“We’ve had this planned for months,” Isobel said.
“Can’t be helped.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do a good job, honey.” Her father accepted the piece of cake. “Terrible crime. Makes you wonder about people.”
“Not all people,” Isobel put in. “Just a select few with evil minds and black hearts.” She shot Kate a pointed look. “I don’t know how you can stand dealing with those kinds of crimes day in and day out.”
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