“Do me a favor and make time for it tomorrow, okay?”
“First thing in the morning.” Kate paused for a moment, then rose. “I’m sorry, but I really have to get back to work.”
As if realizing there was nothing more he could do, Frank rose. Before starting toward the door, he looked at her and Kate got the impression that while he might be walking away now, he wasn’t going to let this go. “If anything else happens, you’ll tell me, right?”
Kate nodded adamantly. “Of course.”
“Right.” He stared at her an instant longer, then limped toward the door.
“Thanks for the inspection,” she said.
“I’ll pick up the floodlights in the morning.”
“Don’t be late for work.” She softened the words with a smile.
He smiled back. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said and went through the door.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 11:39 P.M.
Bruton Ellis had spent a good bit of his adult life behind bars. He didn’t like being in jail, but there was something to be said for three square meals a day and a warm bunk. As far as the rest of life’s small pleasures—which in his mind consisted of sex and drugs and not necessarily in that order—they could be had even in prison—for a price.
But his needs were simple. He kept to himself for the most part. He knew how to lay low and stay out of trouble.
They’d put him in the special housing unit, otherwise known as the SHU, pronounced “shoe.” You could give the place all the fancy names you wanted, but the ten-by-twelve-foot cell still boiled down to solitary confinement. The place didn’t even have bars. Concrete walls. Steel door with a single window and a slot for the food tray. A stainless-steel toilet. Stainless-steel sink. And a lumpy mattress on a double-decker bunk.
Home sweet home.
It was the sociable ones who suffered while in solitary. But Bruton Ellis had never been the most sociable type. In fact, he liked being alone. Drugs were harder to get, but once he figured out the flow, he could usually get enough to get by.
It wasn’t the solitude keeping him up tonight. He’d been locked up for three weeks now. Plenty of time for him to figure out the big-shot corporate executive who’d hired him to kill those two women wasn’t going to ride in on a white horse and hand him a get-out-of-jail-free card. The son of a bitch had cut him loose.
His lawyer had urged him to cut a deal. But Ellis had been certain the corporate fucker was going to come through for him. But he hadn’t, and now the DA was going for the death penalty. The thought turned Ellis’s bowels to water.
Lethal injection.
Jesus fucking Christ.
That was when the panic had set in. He’d spent two days calling the number the man had given him. For two days he’d listened to the voice on the other end of the line telling him the number had been disconnected.
The motherfucker had cut him loose.
He was on his own and the State of Texas wanted to stick a needle in his arm for what he’d done.
And so Ellis did the only thing he could and talked. He’d told his lawyer everything. The problem was he didn’t know enough to incriminate anyone except himself. In the end his lawyer had told him to keep his mouth shut. Ellis could tell the smug little son of a bitch didn’t believe him.
He might have been the one to blow away that black girl and that old Mexican bitch. But what about the guy who’d offered him five thousand dollars? For the hundredth time Ellis kicked himself for not getting his name. What had he been thinking?
But Ellis knew what he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking that five thousand dollars bought an awful lot of crystal meth, and at the time, the only thing that mattered was getting high.
He had to find someone who would listen to him. Someone who would believe him. Maybe the DA would cut him a deal. Ellis didn’t relish the idea of spending the rest of his life in prison. But he relished the thought of death row a whole lot less.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 10:57 A.M.
Frank had barely sat down behind his desk when Kate rushed into his office.
“Don’t get comfortable.” She reached for his leather jacket and handed it to him across the desk. “We’re leaving.”
His leg had kept him up most of the night and he was in a pissy mood. But one look at Kate and his spirits began to lift.
“Your place or mine?” he asked.
A chuckle escaped her before she could frown. “I just got a call from Aaron Napier. Bruton Ellis wants to talk to us.”
“About what?”
“Aaron wouldn’t say.” She looked excited.
“Weren’t you just telling me it’s irregular for a defendant to want to talk to the prosecution?”
“Very.”
His suspicion that there was more to the murders of Evangeline Worth and Irma Trevino than a robbery gone bad spun into high gear. “I’ll drive.”
“I’ll let you.”
Fifteen minutes later they parked in the public lot outside the Lew Sterrett Justice Center. After a quick security check, they took the elevator to the second floor. Aaron Napier met them outside the interview room. He was an attractive African American man with the charisma of a Hollywood actor and the physique of a pro football player. He wore a tan silk jacket over a black polo shirt and black trousers.
“Kate.” Smiling, he extended his hand. “Thanks for coming. How are you?”
Kate returned his smile. “Are you sure you want us talking to your client?”
Napier shrugged, then shook hands with Frank. “I advised him against this, but he insisted.” He glanced at his watch. “This is all kind of last minute. He was frantic when he called at eight o’clock this morning. I’ve got court in half an hour, so we’ll have to make this quick.”
Napier crossed to the interview room door and pushed it open. Kate went in first. The room was painted a two-tone institutional gray. Bruton Ellis sat at a scarred, rectangular table. He was a tall, thin man with greasy brown hair and bad skin. His hands were cuffed in front of him. He kept fidgeting, his fingers toying with the cuffs. She could see that his ankles were shackled as well.
She nodded at the police officer standing at the back of the room and took one of the plastic chairs opposite Ellis. Frank took the chair beside her. Napier took the chair next to Ellis.
Kate wasn’t sure why they were there, so she directed her first question at Ellis. “Why did you ask for this meeting?”
Ellis tossed a nervous look at Napier, who gave him a subtle nod. “I got information,” he blurted. “I wanna cut a deal.”
“It’s too late to cut a deal,” Kate said.
Ice flashed in Ellis’s eyes for an instant, then he looked as if he wanted to cry. “It ain’t fair for me to take all the blame for what happened to those two chicks, man.”
“You pulled the trigger,” Frank cut in.
Ellis’s eyes flicked from Kate to Frank and back to Kate. “A guy hired me to take out them out. You gotta fuckin’ believe me.”
“Why would I believe anything you have to say?”
“Because I’m tellin’ the fuckin’ truth.”
“Watch your mouth,” Frank snapped.
Ellis blinked at him. “He was some rich dude. A business-man. You know, executive type. He wore suits, man. He paid me five grand. Said I should make it look like a robbery.”
“Give us a name,” Frank said.
“I don’t have his fuckin’ name. He never told me.”
“You’re wasting our time,” Kate put in.
Ellis looked desperate. “I can tell you what he looks like.”
Frank looked at Napier and shook his head. “He’s wasting our time.”
Napier shrugged.
Kate frowned at Ellis. “Unless you can give us some new information, this is a waste of time.”
Ellis made a choking sound. “I don’t want to go to the death chamber.” He looked at his lawyer. “Tell them! I’m telling the fuckin’ truth.”
; Frank got up. “I’ve heard enough.”
Ellis jumped to his feet. “Wait!”
The police officer stepped forward and put his hand on Ellis’s shoulder. “Sit down.”
Ellis sank back into the chair. He was breathing hard. Even though the room was cold, sweat had popped out on his forehead. “You gotta fuckin’ believe me.”
Frank shook his head. “We don’t have to do shit.”
Ellis looked at Kate as if expecting her to rescue him. “I didn’t do this by myself. The guy hired me, and now he’s going to get off and I get death fuckin’ row. It ain’t right, man.”
“You want a deal?” Rising, Kate picked up her briefcase. “You’re going to have to come up with something a hell of a lot more concrete than some phantom corporate executive.”
She started toward the door. Vaguely she was aware of the police officer asking Ellis to rise. Of Frank behind her. Of Aaron Napier lagging behind. She was midway to the door when Ellis lunged. “Wait!”
The cop moved in and muscled him back into the chair.
But Ellis’s attention was on Kate. “He drives a Jaguar! Black with spoke wheels! I swear!”
Frank opened the door for Kate and they walked into the hall. “You fuckin’ bitch! Cunt!” She could hear Ellis choking back sobs, but she felt no compassion.
“Fun guy,” Frank said.
She let out a breath. “What do you think?”
“I think he’s got a problem with female authority figures.”
She snorted as they approached the bank of elevators. “I wonder why Napier allowed it.”
“He’s got the hots for you.”
“Oh brother.”
Frank pressed the Down button. “Come to think of it, I think I have the hots for you.”
“You’re a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that?”
But Frank was grinning when he stepped into the elevator.
“What do you make of Ellis?” she asked when the doors had closed.
Frank punched the button for the lobby. “I don’t put much weight in anything he told us in there. He’s a lowlife bucket of slime. But something about this case has bothered me from the get-go.”
Surprise and something akin to uneasiness moved through her. “Are you telling me you don’t think he acted alone?”
“I’m telling you I wouldn’t be surprised if another player popped up on the radar if we looked hard enough.”
“Why would someone hire him to murder two clerks and ask him to make it look like a robbery? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Murder rarely makes any sense.” Something dark glittered in the depths of his eyes. “Unless someone has something to gain.”
“Like what?”
Frank shrugged. “The usual. Monetary gain. Revenge. Power. Take your pick.”
Kate was so deep in thought, she barely noticed when the elevator doors chimed open. “Who’s your suspect?”
“The man in the suit.” He fished keys from his coat pocket and started for the parking garage.
“That certainly narrows it down.” Kate had to jog to keep up with him. “Does he only have one arm, too?”
He shot her a dark look.
“Frank, the police have already investigated this crime. They’ve handed us a suspect. It’s our responsibility to prosecute, not get caught up in some wild-goose chase.”
She nearly bumped into him when he stopped abruptly and turned to her. For the span of several heartbeats they were nose-to-nose, so close she could feel the warm brush of his breath against her face.
Frank stepped back. “The least we can do is look at the corporation.”
“You mean Snack and Gas?”
“The franchisee.” Frank rolled his shoulder. “Squeeze a little and see what pops out.”
A few short days ago Kate would have thought he was crazy for letting something as nebulous as gut instinct carry any weight. It surprised her to realize that at some point she’d come to trust his judgment.
As they left the Lew Sterrett Justice Center, she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 3:10 P.M.
It took the remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon for Kate and Frank to decipher the corporate structure of the Snack and Gas where Evangeline Worth and Irma Trevino had been murdered. They were sitting at the small conference table in Kate’s office with two boxes of Chinese takeout, two soft drinks, and a stack of files between them.
“If having a complicated corporate structure was a crime, these bastards would be doing time.” Sighing, Frank picked up a Dun and Bradstreet report. “The Snack and Gas store number 6911 is owned by franchisee Kirk Jarvis dba Quick Stop, Inc., in Oklahoma City. Quick Stop, Inc., in turn, is owned by Quorum Partners Limited out of Tallahassee, Florida.”
Something inside Kate quickened. “Did you say Quorum Partners?”
Frank’s gaze sharpened on hers. “You asked me to run a D and B on them a few days ago, which I did, but nothing popped.”
Reaching into a manila folder, Kate withdrew the life insurance policy on Evangeline Worth and handed it to him. “This was the reason I asked you for the report the other day.”
Frank took the document and began to read. “A life insurance policy on Evangeline Worth.” He looked at Kate. “Where did you get this?”
“It was in Evangeline Worth’s employee file.”
“It says here there are seven pages total. Why do we have only six?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” she said, feeling a little foolish.
Frank turned to his laptop, his fingers playing quickly over the keys. “Quorum is owned by Ferguson and Rooks, a law firm here in Dallas. Ferguson and Rooks owns several companies. Capricorn Real Estate Investment Company, Endroad Holdings. Those two companies are the parent company of several franchisees.”
“Franchisees of what?”
Frank looked over the top of his laptop at Kate. “Java, Inc., is the franchisee of record for a chain of coffee shops in the northeastern United States. Tuscan, Inc., owns pizza parlors in the Midwest. Quick Stop, Inc., owns convenience stores on the West Coast and in Texas. Pretty complicated corporate structure. Wonder why?”
She rolled her shoulder. “Tax breaks. Maybe something to do with insurance. Worker’s compensation. Unemployment. Could be any number of things.”
“Or maybe they’re trying to hide something.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a suspicious mind?”
“When dead bodies start showing up, they’re usually thankful.” He paged through the Dun and Bradstreet report in front of him. “Ferguson and Rooks has offices at The Crescent.”
Kate arched a brow. “High rent isn’t against the law.”
“That’s ten minutes from here.”
“I think we’ve spent enough time on this particular wild-goose chase.”
“I’ll spring for a cappuccino.”
Kate sighed.
“I’ll drive, too.”
“What can you possibly hope to achieve?”
Rising, he reached for both of their coats. “Probably nothing, but I’ve always liked shaking down lawyers.”
“I hate to put a damper on your fun, but you work for lawyers.”
Frank grinned. “I want to shake you down, too.”
“Oh brother.” But Kate was smiling as she grabbed her coat.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 4:05 P.M.
The offices of Ferguson and Rooks were located on the nineteenth floor of The Crescent, Dallas’s most luxurious office tower. The elevator doors swished open to an opulent lobby with marble tile floors. Nifty pendant lights hung from high, multilevel ceilings. A model-beautiful young woman sat at a mahogany-and-glass desk. On the wall above her, gleaming brass letters signified the law firm of Ferguson and Rooks.
Kate’s heels clicked smartly on the marble floor as she and Frank crossed to the receptionist’s desk.
“May I help you?” she asked.
Frank flashed his identification. “We’d like to speak to Belinda Ferguson and Jameson Rooks.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but we’d be happy to get a warrant if you prefer.” His smile was charming.
Looking as if she wasn’t quite sure whether to be charmed or alarmed, the young woman punched numbers on the switchboard.
Kate strolled to the opposite side of the lobby and pretended to study the museum-quality oils adorning the walls.
A moment later Frank came up beside her. “Pretty smooth, don’t you think?”
“I think what you just did was an abuse of your position.”
“Avoided a lot of phone tag.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “This guy’s an attorney, Frank. He knows his rights, and he’s not going to put up with any crap. If he complains to Mike about the DA’s office overstepping bounds, you can bet we’ll hear about it.”
“May I help you?”
Kate turned to see a tall, distinguished man enter the lobby. He wore an Armani pinstriped suit with a pale yellow shirt, a Hermes tie, and glossy wingtips. He looked to be in his early fifties, his age given away only by the gray at his temples. He had the physique and grace of a man twenty years younger. His eyes were the color of a January sky, icy and cold and gray.
“Mr. Jameson Rooks?”
“Yes.”
Kate held up her identification and extended her hand. “Thanks for making time for us. We’re with the DA’s office. We’d like to ask you a few routine questions about an incident at one of the Snack and Gas stores here in Dallas.”
The man grimaced. “The murders. Of course. We’re still reeling over that. Vicious thing.” Rooks motioned toward the wide hall. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to leave. Why don’t you come into my office? I’ll help you any way I can.”
“Thank you.”
He led them down a wide hall. Matted and framed photographs of several Texas city skylines festooned the walls. Dallas. Ft. Worth. Houston. At the end of the hall they entered a large corner office. Two glass walls offered a stunning view of downtown Dallas. The furniture was stark, black leather, stainless steel, and glass. A sago palm as large as a man soaked up light in the far corner.
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