Angel Condemned

by Mary Stanton

  “All right.” Bree mopped her eyes again. The skin on her face felt raw. “I feel about twelve years old.”

  “That’s just fine, honey. We all need to go back to being little children now and again. Now. I’ll go bring down some more tea. You get that Ron started on setting up appointments.”

  When Bree walked back into the conference room, Ron and Petru were sitting side by side, staring into Ron’s laptop.

  Petru greeted her with a nod. “You are all right, then. So. Shall we continue?”

  Another good thing about angels: There was never a need to talk about it.

  “Ronald obtained this new software to take apart the images on this surveillance film. It is not working too well. I am unable to determine whether or not Dr. Chambers is guilty.”

  “The software’s working just fine,” Ron said. “The actual crime isn’t on the disk. I’ve sorted out the various heads, arms, and legs in relation to White’s body, and we’re still back to four people. Alicia Kennedy, Charles Martin, and the Chamberses. Any one of the four could have reached Prosper with the knife.”

  “So we start with the murder weapon.” Nobody was going to bring up her fit of nerves, and for that she was grateful. “Who took it from Cissy’s kitchen? When did it disappear? Ron, if you could interview Lindy, the housekeeper, it’d be good to get started down that road.”

  “Oh, my,” Ron said.

  “What do you mean, ‘oh, my’?” Bree stopped herself and said, “Oh, my. You can’t help me on this part, can you?”

  “It is a Bay Street case,” Petru said. “We are sorry. We were able to . . . what the expression is—push the envelope—which is an expression that does not translate into any of the other languages I speak, so I may not be accurate . . . We were able to support this case before because of the familial attachment.”

  Ron shoved his chair away from the table. “If you’re trying to say that we got some leniency to help when Bree’s aunt was involved and now we can’t, then just say it, Petru.”

  “We cannot,” Petru said regretfully. “Only if it involves Schofield Martin. I do not see how that can be.”

  “Let’s give it a whirl and find out.” Bree took the little box containing the relic out of her pocket and set it on the table. “I’m going to call up Martin.”

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve actually seen you do this before,” Ron said.

  Bree flipped the lid up with her thumbnail. The Cross looked small and unimportant. She picked it up and held it in her palm.

  The soul that took shape in the conference room was almost visible as Schofield Martin, but not quite. It was man-high, and had a head, arms, and shoulders, but the bottom half dribbled away in wisps of that darkness that meant no light at all. The voice was equally problematic; it was like getting messages from a cell phone with a failing battery.

  “Mr. Martin?” Bree said.

  “. . . SET UP!” the voice said furiously.

  Bree wasn’t sure how long the manifestation was going to last, so she brushed aside any preliminaries. “Do you remember taking the chest containing the relic to the Indies Queen?”

  “. . . . . . .”

  “Mr. Martin?”

  “. . . PUSHED . . . BOARD!”

  “You were pushed overboard?”

  “DROWNED!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, in reflexive sympathy. “Who pushed you?”

  “. . . JILLIAN! MURDERED! ME!”

  Martin’s shade vanished, in less time than it would have taken her to snap her fingers.

  “Jillian!” Bree said. She bent her head, and took a deep breath. Leah was innocent. Innocent. If Martin could be persuaded to tell her more . . . She patted the Cross a couple of times, afraid of damaging the filigree, but nothing rose into the air. She took a moment to compose herself before she said wryly, “Do you suppose that was a definitive response?”

  “Hard to say,” Ron admitted. “But it does appear as if Jillian Chambers is guilty of at least one murder.”

  Petru shrugged. Lavinia came into the room with a fresh pot of tea. Ron poured and handed out cups. Bree took a sip and felt her tiredness ebb. “Is it a conflict of interest?” she said. “Will I get kicked out of the Celestial Bar Association if I defend a client who’s murdered another client?”

  “Kicked out for finding out the truth? I don’t think so,” Ron said. He squeezed a lemon half into his tea.

  “When Jillian passes on to her own Judgment Day, it would be, perhaps, wise to wait for the next advocate if she is inclined to appeal any sentence,” Petru said. “But for now, the two jurisdictions are not connected. I do not think we can help you with this temporal defense.”

  “I’ll have to depose Jillian about Schofield’s knowledge of the Cross to address the charges of abuse of a sacred relic.” Bree said. “If he didn’t know what it was, his ignorance should be exculpatory. And maybe get an admission that she pushed him overboard, if that’s what happened. Then I have to interview her again about her role in White’s death? I’m not so sure the jurisdictions are that far apart. I think you guys can help on both of these cases.”

  “You are not obligated to inform the state of Georgia about a past criminal offence,” Petru pointed out. “And if the poor woman’s sanity is in question, there is always the usual not-guilty plea. The two cases are not related, Bree.”

  “I disagree,” Bree said. “We need to get started. The state will be after her psychiatric records, and they are going to be essential to establish her competency the day the murder occurred. It’ll be weeks before EB can get them, and Petru, you can have them for me by this afternoon.” She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace up and down the small room. “As for you, Ron, we’ve got two avenues for Jillian’s defense. Right now, I think the best is to present an alternate theory of the crime. I’ll need background checks on Charles Martin and Alicia Kennedy. I’ll want to interview them myself as soon as I can. If you could set up appointments for each of them . . .”

  She looked up.

  Ron and Petru were gone. A handful of golden mist was the only occupant of Ron’s chair.

  “I guess EB can do that,” Bree said to the air.

  Lavinia chuckled. “You let Sasha take you on home now. It’s late. You need a good night’s sleep.”

  “How come you’re still here?” Bree said, not rudely.

  “I live here, remember? You sleep. You dream about what a good woman your mamma was.” Lavinia didn’t move, but Bree felt a feathery kiss on her cheek. “Good luck with the case, child.”

  She faded, in a wisp of violet light.

  Bree pulled out her cell phone. Too late to call EB. But she could text her:

  SET MTGS CHAZ MARTIN, A KENNEDY SOONEST. CU AT 9 A.M.

  She looked at her dog. Sasha yawned, stretched fore and aft, and pattered to the tiny front foyer. Bree put on her coat against the chill weather outside and slung her bag over her shoulder. She paused at the front door, her hand on the switch to turn out the lights, and looked at the parade of angels marching up the wall to the second floor. The last angel in line wore scarlet robes embroidered with gold thread. The collar of the robe was a vivid blue. The angel’s silver hair shone in a coronet of braids. The tiny painted figure looked up, its face turned toward the ribbons of sunshine curled above its head. The figure had held a cane in one hand, all through Bree’s convalescence from her broken leg. The cane was gone. One small hand was raised, fingers curled into the palm, the thumb upright in the universal sign of approbation.

  Twenty-one

  “You’re a little behind the time, Daughter,” Royal said.

  Bree stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. There had been a message from her father on the answering machine at the town house when she came home the night before. She had agreed to an early breakfast meeting with McCallen at the Hyatt. “I overslept,” she admitted. “Sorry.”

  “I’m glad you did. You’re looking well.”

  It had bee
n her first night without dreams for a long while. She and Sasha had gone back to the town house through the cool and humid night. Nothing had leaped out at her from the dark. No horned beings lurked in the depths of the mirror. She’d unbound her hair and fallen into the best sleep she’d had in weeks.

  She had wakened with the conviction that Jillian was innocent.

  “You ready to take on this case, Bree? I’m not at all sure it will be rewarding.”

  Bree looked at Royal with deep affection. Her father—Bree never thought of him as anything else but that—thought Jillian guilty. His circumspection was automatic; after so many years practicing law, he never passed judgment. Or almost never.

  “If you’ve just asked me if this is a loser case—the answer is, I don’t know. If it goes to trial, it’s not going to be easy to get an acquittal.” She lined the salt and pepper shakers up and stacked the sweetener packets in a little row beside them. “Something’s off. I can feel it. I don’t know what it is, yet. But, Daddy, I’m sure she didn’t do it.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Intuition can lead you pretty far up the creek, Bree. I’d hoped I taught you better than that.”

  “You did. You did. And I’ll be the first to admit I’m wrong. I’ve got a couple of avenues to explore.”

  “Not a lot of time before the hearing,” he said.

  “And I’ll need a handle on the defense tactic. I know.” She glanced at her watch. “I can’t take too long here. I’ve got a lot of work in front of me this morning. And it’s just EB and me now.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You had someone else on staff?”

  So the Angelus Street office was erased from her temporal family’s memory. Bree wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It made her secret life more secret, setting her further apart than she had been before. “No, no. Of course not.”

  “Use the Raleigh office if you get caught short. I like Mrs. Billingsley. She’s smart and she’s motivated. You can’t ask for better. But she’s new at it.” He fell silent. “You’ll take care of yourself on this one?”

  “I surely will.” She glanced at her watch again. “Cissy’s late. And there’s a lot to do.” She glanced at her watch. “Allard Chambers is coming in for a meeting this morning.”

  “Good thing the Hyatt’s close.”

  She nodded, looking out the window at the river rolling by below them. Royal had gotten a table overlooking the cobblestones of Front Street. They were a few steps away from the town house and a few blocks away from the Bay Street office.

  Royal stood up. “Here they are.”

  “Bree, darlin’!” Cissy swept down on them in a flurry of perfume, cashmere scarves, and gold jewelry. She glanced at the other diners; then, with a mischievous look, she pulled her pants leg up to reveal a bare ankle. “Free!” she announced, and sat down with a happy sigh.

  Lewis McCallen followed her at a more leisurely pace. “Morning.” He shook hands with Royal, and saluted Bree with a warm grasp on her shoulder. “Happy resolution to the case, I think.”

  “I just can’t thank y’all enough. Royal? You’re stayin’ for breakfast of course. Bree? You’re looking wonderful this morning,” Cissy bubbled. “Here, Lewis. Sit down by me. I’m just tickled pink this is all over!”

  “It’s not quite all over,” Royal cautioned.

  “Well, they hauled that lunatic woman off to the pokey, didn’t they? I’d say it’s all over but the shouting.”

  “You may be called to testify at the trial,” Lewis said. “I’ll be back to hold your hand for that, if I may.”

  Cissy shook her head so that her hair bounced flirtatiously. “I think I’d like that, Mr. McCallen.”

  Bree glanced at her father, who looked amused. You could knock Cissy down, but she wouldn’t stay down for long.

  “Anything I have to say to put that crazy woman behind bars for the rest of her life, you just tell me, Bree darlin’. And if she’s gone and murdered Prosper, are the Chamberses still allowed to sue me?”

  “Of course they can, Cissy, but . . .” Royal sighed, so lightly that Bree was the only one to know how exasperated he was.

  “Outrageous. I’d like to see that over and done with.”

  Bree looked at McCallen. “You haven’t told her?”

  “Told me what?”

  “Bree managed to get the suit dropped, Celia,” McCallen said. “Isn’t she something, your niece? Just like that.”

  “I told you she’s the best lawyer in Savannah, just like you’re the best lawyer in Atlanta, Lewis, and Royal, you’re . . . Wait a minute. If they can still sue me, how come they’re not? Suing me, I mean.”

  “I’m going to represent Jillian, Aunt Cissy. In exchange, the Chamberses agreed to drop the lawsuit over the Photoplay cover.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to defend her.”

  Cissy’s voice rose several decibels, to the interest of the gray-haired couple one table over. “You’re defending Prosper’s murderer?! How can you?!”

  Both men looked around uneasily. Nothing like a hollering woman to get Royal and Lewis upset.

  “I don’t think she did it.”

  Cissy was motionless, her face perfectly blank, her eyes terror-filled. Stricken, Bree leaned forward and touched her shoulder. “I know you didn’t do it, either, and if you’re thinking you’re going to be rearrested, you are wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s unbelievable how sophisticated forensic science is these days—and the more of it that comes back, the clearer it becomes. That you didn’t do it, I mean. I never thought you did.”

  Cissy’s eyes moved, first to Royal, then to Bree. “Well,” she said finally. “As long as I don’t have to go back to that horrible jail . . . I guess it’s okay. You know what you’re doing. I’ve always said so.” She shook herself briskly. “So. If Jillian Chambers didn’t do it, who did?”

  Bree sent up a prayer of thanks for her aunt’s family loyalty. It was good to have her mother’s sister believe in her. It was even better that, for Cissy, blood was the strongest tie there was. “I don’t know yet.”

  “She doesn’t need to know who the murderer is, Celia,” Lewis said. “She just needs to establish reasonable doubt of Mrs. Chambers’s guilt in the minds of a jury.”

  “Let’s roll this conversation back a bit,” Royal said with a frown. “You said ‘yet.’ That you didn’t know who did it yet. Are you planning on investigating the murder further, Bree? You know your aunt is right about the poor woman’s sanity.”

  Bree looked around the room. The other diners were too far away to overhear normal conversation. “I have to admit, the evidence against my client is fairly strong.”

  Lewis snorted. “Strong? That’s understating it. She had plenty of motive: White ruined them. As for opportunity, her proximity to the victim is on tape. As for the evidence? Her fingerprints are on the murder weapon. Sounds like a slam dunk to me. Your only hope is an insanity defense.” He sipped his coffee, managing to keep an infuriating grin in place. “From the little I’ve heard, the woman’s got a psychiatric history as long as your arm . . . Although that defense is a lot harder to prove these days than it used to be.” He set his cup down with an “ah” of satisfaction. It was a personality quirk that annoyed Bree profoundly. People should shut up when they drank coffee. “It’s an interesting case. High profile, too. Let me know if you need an expert hand.”

  “Be a good fellow and drop the needle, Lewis.” Royal folded his napkin into neat thirds. “Your mother and I were hoping that you wouldn’t get wrapped up in a murder investigation this time, Bree.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re more than capable of handling an insanity defense. It might be something to consider.” He glanced at Cissy. “White was mixed up with some unscrupulous people. Charles Martin, for example. The man’s been indicted twice under the RICO statutes. I can’t say I see much good poking around in his background will do you.”

  “I know all about Charles Martin,” she said u
ntruthfully. She made a mental note to have EB follow that up. “The thing is—she’s innocent.”

  Lewis chuckled. “Look at her, Royal. She’s got a righteous fire in her eye.” He took a raisin roll from the basket and buttered it lavishly. “Ah, to be young again. Or maybe not.”

  Cissy took the muffin away from him. “Now, Lewis, you have to be watching your cholesterol. Use some of this margarine here. Close your eyes and you won’t know that it’s not butter.”

  Bree didn’t dare look at her father again. Cissy was nothing if not undaunted in her pursuit of men.

  “Does ‘non compos mentis’ mean she’s crazier than an outhouse rat?” Cissy asked chattily.

  “The insanity defense requires that the perpetrator not know the difference between right and wrong,” Lewis said. “And the current law requires pretty stringent proof that the defendant didn’t know right from wrong at the time the crime was committed. The poor woman would have to have been in the middle of a psychotic episode. You’ve got videotape that shows she was capable of planning the demonstration, recruiting the demonstrators, not to mention equipping them with last week’s vegetables to pitch at the victim . . . Pretty hard to prove incompetence. Especially for newbies. Like your niece.”

  “I don’t plan an insanity defense, Lewis,” Bree said pleasantly. “Such an unimaginative strategy, don’t you think? I prefer a straight on assault on the Prosecution.”

  That got the grin off Lewis’s face. Royal’s eyes twinkled. Cissy set down the muffin and looked from Lewis to Bree. “You two fighting over something? You are? You don’t want to get into a you-know-what-swinging contest with Lewis, Bree. For one thing, you don’t have one. So cut it out. For another, he’s a tough old bird, and wily, to boot. I hate to see my niece go all wily on me. Most unattractive. Besides, this is a celebration breakfast.” She banged her fists down on the table . . . not hard . . . and yelled, “Jillian Chambers is in jail, and I’m not! Whoop! I’m free as a flippin’ bird!” which drew the attention of a group of salesmen in the far corner, a couple with two children three tables away, and the entire waitstaff.