Being here made her remember that once she’d been soft, once she’d been vulnerable. The years since had been devoted to making herself tough, invincible. Lady Justice.
She’d been bruised by recent events, but she wouldn’t stay that way. Who knew better than she that dreams could be blasted to bits?
She lived in the real, in the harsh, cold truth. In the city where the strong survived and the weak suffered.
She was not weak, hadn’t she proven that time and again? Callie shoved the covers back and stood. She couldn’t get caught up in sunlight and sweet singing. She had research to do, plans to make, an escape route to plot out. Still shaken by what she’d seen yesterday of the lives that were now in her hands, she resolved to find a solution that would allow her to leave in good conscience.
Number one on the list was Jessie Lee’s pay; number two was David’s house and all the others like it.
At the thought of David, she remembered the angel on the tiny grave. Did he carve anymore? Was anything of that gifted artisan still inside him? She wondered if she’d ever know the answer. Moving across the floor barefoot, she headed for the kitchen and coffeepot first, then a shower.
A knock on the door interrupted her as she was scooping grounds. “Callie—Ms. Hunter. Please open the door.” A woman’s voice. Frantic.
Was that—? Callie frowned. It couldn’t be David’s mother.
“Please—you have to help me!”
Callie rushed into the living room and answered the summons.
It was indeed Delia Langley, looking, if anything, worse than the day before. “Oh, thank heavens! You have to help me.” She grasped at Callie’s hand. “You have to come.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Callie drew her inside. David’s mother was shaking, her eyes darting around, desperation and fear in every line of her frame.
“It’s David. We have to go.” Delia yanked at Callie’s hand as if she’d drag her bodily through the door.
“Calm down. Tell me what’s happened.”
“He’s—they called me just now. He’s—he’s in jail. They’ve arrested him. I can’t—it’s happening all over again.” She twisted her hands in fretful circles.
“Arrested? For what?”
“Mickey Carson—he’s been badly beaten. They’re saying it was David, but he wouldn’t have. He—you have to help him.”
“I’m a prosecutor, not a defense attorney. There’s nothing I can do.”
“You have to.” David’s mother grabbed Callie. “No one else will. He didn’t do this, I’m telling you.”
Callie only stared at her. “I can’t help him.”
“Please…” Delia’s eyes were wild now, and she swayed on her feet so badly Callie had to steady her. “You’re his only hope. Do whatever you want with my house, put me out on the streets, but please, just go see him. Make them let him out of there. He’ll go crazy being locked up again.” With effort, Delia Langley gathered herself, her gaze boring into Callie. “You owe him. He stood by you, and he paid a bigger price than you can imagine. If you care anything at all about justice, stand by him now.”
Every protest dried in Callie’s throat as she stared into the eyes of the cold, hard truth. David had stood by her when everyone they knew pushed her to give the baby up for adoption. He was already working part time, had always made straight As while quarterbacking the football team, but soon his grades began to slip and his athletic performance suffered. Callie had not one friend in town besides him and Miss Margaret, so she was clingy, scared and often sick. Then when the baby was stillborn, she’d been mired in her own suffering and failed to see that he’d been suffering, too.
His mother was on the mark. Callie had turned her back on David, assuming he’d come out on top as he always had. Whoever David Langley was now, she realized she owed a debt to the boy he’d been, one that was long overdue.
“I’m not licensed in Georgia. There’s not much I can do legally.” She held up a hand as the protest formed. “But I will go see him because you’re right—I do owe him. Just don’t get your hopes up.” She didn’t envy this woman the choice she faced, trying to help the son who’d murdered her husband, but Callie’s job had taught her that the world was never black or white. Her son was all Delia Langley had left. Maybe that wiped away some of his guilt or maybe children had a hold on the heart that transcended any other actions—Callie had no idea what Delia was thinking.
The reality was that she could do little, and the bitter man she’d encountered was probably guilty anyway.
But she had her own burden of guilt for whatever part she’d played in his fate. She could do this one thing and erase some of it. “All right,” she said. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll go with you.”
Delia shook her head. “He won’t see me. I’ve tried.”
Callie frowned. “How do you know he’ll see me, then?”
Weary eyes hardened. “You’ll have to manage.”
Great. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll call you when I’m finished.” After Delia left, Callie leaned back against the door, staring into the empty distance.
Then she roused herself and went to dress.
He’d been taken all the way to the county seat forty miles northeast, population right at fourteen thousand. The county jail was small and unaccustomed to housing hardened criminals.
Getting in required some fancy talking, but Callie persuaded people for a living. She’d thought a simple reminder about the perils of questioning a prisoner who wanted legal counsel would do the trick, but she hadn’t counted on a pro bono attorney already having been appointed. Apparently the local judge was on his toes.
Callie got the lawyer’s name and nearly left then. David wasn’t alone in this, after all; she could go in good conscience.
Halfway to the door, she remembered the angel. Maybe David didn’t need an attorney, but a familiar face might be welcome, even if it was hers. Anyway, she had some questions to ask him—or some appreciation to extend, at the very least.
She retraced her steps and requested to meet with the prisoner, then held her breath. At last, the deputy on duty reluctantly agreed to go get his newest inmate.
In prison, at least you had a space to retreat to. No real privacy, but the back and side walls of your cell were solid. No such luck here.
“Heard you killed somebody,” said one of the inmates in the general holding cell next to him.
David, as an ex-con and convicted murderer, had been put in his own separate cage, no doubt for the sake of the petty criminals, all three of them.
“You don’t look so good,” said a second man.
David sought for the invisible shield every prison inmate quickly acquired. He said nothing, partly because his ribs hurt too much to speak unnecessarily.
Inside, David was hanging on by his fingernails. I can’t be locked up again. Can’t do it.
“Man don’t want conversation,” observed the third. “Murderer too good for us burglars and drunks, I guess.”
He closed his eyes and breathed deep—until his ribs kicked up a ruckus. Shallow breaths, remember. The pain had one benefit, distracting him. Forming a clear thought was hard.
Except one. It’s happening again.
“Langley,” interrupted the deputy who’d come for him last time, when his so-called lawyer had shown up. “Got a visitor.”
Not his mother, surely. He’d used his one phone call to tell her to stay away. Finding him like this might finish her off. He would have to see her eventually, but not beaten and bloody. And not in cuffs, if he could help it.
He almost laughed at that. What in sweet hell had he been able to control in the past fifteen years? Once he’d confessed to killing Ned Compton, his life had been over.
“Langley, come on.”
“Who is it?”
“Good-looking woman, says she’s your friend.”
Hoots from next door greeted the news. “Hot damn, Killer’s got a woman come to visit!”
>
He shot them a look that shut them up. Could it be Callie? No other woman in Oak Hollow would come within a mile of him, except a couple of skanks at the bar who were titillated by the notion of getting it on with a murderer. He didn’t think they’d drive an hour through the mountains for him, though.
He started to refuse, but then he remembered that Callie Hunter held the power to render his mother homeless. If he was going back to jail, he couldn’t leave his mother defenseless.
Damn, but he hurt. He wanted to lie down and sleep. To forget. To be left alone just for a little while before he had to descend into hell again. He didn’t kid himself that he wasn’t going back to prison.
Instead, he rose unsteadily, like an old man. Holding his ribs, he walked slowly to the door and extended his hands through the opening provided for cuffing him.
Then he shuffled along down the hall to the dingy, cramped visiting room to see a woman he’d just as soon never lay eyes on again.
How many times had she been in a room like this? Callie glanced around the concrete block walls with paint peeling in splotches and felt naked without her briefcase or a proper set of files. Her trim black suit had helped bolster the image of a high-powered attorney, and she would build on that to handle this surreal situation.
The sound of the door opening had her turning.
Then she gasped. Whipped her gaze to the deputy. “Has he had medical attention?”
“We’re waiting on the doc,” the man said, abashed. “Prisoners don’t get priority, I’m afraid.”
“He should be in the emergency room. This is a violation of his civil rights.” She could not believe these words were coming out of her mouth—she’d derided defense attorneys often for the phrase that so easily raised her hackles.
“We’ve had a paramedic look him over. The hospital isn’t set up to provide the security needed for dangerous prisoners.”
Callie glanced at David. His face was stony, his eyes staring at the wall.
“This is inexcusable.” It was. Stoic or not, David was clearly in pain. “We can file a suit on the county for this mistreatment.”
“There’s only four docs over at the clinic, see, and they stay real busy. One of them will be here soon. He’s in no danger.”
“Has his attorney been to see him?”
“Not yet.”
Right then, Callie made up her mind to meet the man and check him out.
“Leave it,” David said, jaw tight. Color stained his cheeks.
Callie forced herself to chill out. Getting on the wrong side of the deputy would only rebound on David. “I appreciate whatever you can manage, deputy,” she said as warmly as she could.
“I can give you thirty minutes, ma’am,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He hesitated. “You sure about this?” His suspicious glance at David was telling.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be right outside.”
She counted to three, seeking patience. “Thank you.” When the man finally left, the silence in the room was a living presence.
As was David’s resentment.
“He thinks I should be afraid of you,” she said, for lack of a better opening.
“You should.” David still didn’t look at her.
She walked closer. “How badly are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.” His pallor said otherwise, as did how stiffly he held himself.
Obviously it was up to her to generate conversation. She decided to go for shock value. “Why, David?”
One quick glance. “Why what?”
She had so many questions, too many for thirty minutes. For this cramped room. “You’re not stupid. I have to believe there’s more to the story. I don’t buy that you would try to kill another man when you just got out of prison.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “It’s none of your business.”
“Your mother thinks otherwise. She was banging on my door first thing this morning, begging me to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I beg to differ.” She scanned him carefully. “Whoever this attorney is, he’s not doing his job.”
“Not much for him to do. They’ve got me convicted already.”
“Then you need a better lawyer.”
At last he looked at her. “You volunteering?”
Their eyes locked, and for a second, she could barely breathe for the memories that flooded her, all the ways those green eyes had looked at her in the past. “I’m not licensed in this state.”
He visibly withdrew. “Doesn’t matter. My guilt’s a foregone conclusion.”
There was fury writhing beneath the surface resignation, she could feel it. “Your mother is convinced you’re innocent.”
A mocking smile. “Do I look innocent?”
“You look beaten half to death. David…” She approached him then.
He sidestepped her, making his distaste clear.
Fine. They’d been at cross-purposes since the moment she’d come back.
But she didn’t understand why, and she needed to. A wooden angel wouldn’t leave her mind.
You owe him.
She tried again. “David, I didn’t handle all of it well when—” She swallowed “—when our baby died.”
Pain chased over his features, but quickly he mastered it. “Just go away, Callie. I don’t need you.”
That stung. Even though it might be true. “Your mother does.”
He tensed more, if such was possible. He faced her, though his reluctance was visible. “Don’t take her house. Please.” The appeal seemed dragged from deep within. “She’s done nothing to deserve this. I can’t—” He closed his eyes briefly. “I can’t pay you now, but I’ll have another job in prison. I won’t earn much, but I’ll send you everything I make.”
This was excruciating for both of them. “Don’t, David. You don’t have to—” Beg. It was awful to see him reduced to this. “I won’t put her out of her house. I promise.”
She saw the relief settle over him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“But she’s worried about you. And frankly, so am I.”
His back went ramrod stiff again. “I can take care of myself.”
“What happened last night?” Something was off, she could feel it.
“Just a fight.”
“From what I gather, the other guy wasn’t alone. Who is this Mickey Carson to you?”
“No one.”
She waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. “I’m going to check into this.”
His head whipped around, his green eyes hard. “Don’t check. Don’t do anything. Stay the hell out of my life.”
“You can’t stop me. I want to help you, David.” It was a way to make amends for the past.
“You can’t.” He walked to the door and banged on it with his bound hands. “I’m done here,” he said when the door opened.
Chapter Seven
The court-appointed attorney, Randy Capwell, was still wet behind the ears. Callie had reserved judgment until meeting him, had even waited to question his handling of David’s injuries, not wanting to start out on the wrong foot.
She wasn’t impressed.
Oh, he was pleasant enough and meant well, she thought as she sat in the chair he’d hastily cleared of a toppling stack of files. Not that any of this was her business, according to David.
If she had any sense, she’d listen to him. He’d killed a man, after all. Something clearly still seethed beneath his skin. Usually, she wouldn’t have given a second thought to putting someone with David’s history back in prison, knowing society was safer with him locked up.
But there was that angel.
“Who is your investigator?” she asked.
“I don’t have one. Yet,” he hastily added.
“But you will? Who do you normally use?”
She listened as he fumbled over a list of names, but she wasn’t buying. “Have you fil
ed any motions yet?”
“Ms. Hunter, I just got the case.”
“But motions for discovery are standard. In David’s case, a motion to suppress anything related to his prior conviction has to be top of the list, as well. Change of venue, based on his situation, is also advisable, don’t you agree?”
A small frown. “Of course.” But his expression told her he didn’t know why seeking to keep the people of Oak Hollow off the jury was critical.
She’d listened to him a little while longer, tried to restrain the worst of the ruthlessness her concern for David provoked. It was obvious, however, that Capwell knew only what she did thus far, that the intricacies of David’s situation were completely unknown to him and that he was severely overworked, as many public defenders were.
He intended to do his best, she believed that, but he was not the representation David needed. Still, he was a potential source of information, so she eased up on him.
“Thank you for seeing me when you’re so busy.”
“I’m happy to,” he said with typical Southern hospitality. “I will know his case very soon, I promise.” He glanced apologetically at the files stacked all around his tiny office.
“My first office at the D.A.’s wasn’t any bigger, and our caseloads can get overwhelming. I understand.” She did, but it was hard to ignore the gnawing in her belly over what he could realistically do for David, given the resources at hand.
One thing that she did learn was that he had called the jail, but David had refused to see him.
Are you crazy? As she left the meeting, she was tempted to go back to the jail and ask David what he was thinking. Maybe he was one of those prisoners who didn’t know how to function in the outside world, who would commit a new crime soon after being released because the real world was too scary. Hellish or not, prison routine was familiar and if you kept your head down, didn’t cross the wrong people, you could survive. You’d have three squares a day and a roof over your head, courtesy of the state.
The Price He Paid Page 5
