“Friday.”
“Good. I’ll bring my files and my detective. You prepare Steve for my visit. If anything changes, call my assistant.” He hit an intercom. “Virginia, would you send in Harris?” He smiled and walked out without shaking either woman’s hand.
“Well, I never,” Mary Beth said.
ELEANOR DROPPED Mary Beth at home and watched her until she unlocked the front door. The Colonel hadn’t changed the locks, then. She’d offered to face the Colonel with Mary Beth, but Mary Beth had been adamant that she’d face him down alone and convince him that not only was Steve innocent, but that it was time the family rallied to his defense.
By the time Eleanor got back to the clinic, much of her initial enthusiasm had evaporated. There still wasn’t much hope that Steve would get a new trial or that new evidence could be found, but he deserved to know that she and Mary Beth were trying. Even a faint hope might be enough to carry him through until his parole hearing.
He wasn’t in Mark Scott’s office working at the computer, or in the conference room. Alva Jean didn’t know where he was, nor did Big or Nancy Mayfield in the kennel.
Eleanor felt an edge of panic. Making love had been cataclysmic for her, and she thought he’d felt the same way. Surely he wouldn’t have run away. She began to search for him. With every step she grew more frightened.
STEVE LOOKED DOWN into the drawer of Bill Chumley’s credenza. He’d watched Big put the gun away after the young stallion was unloaded.
Chumley didn’t even bother to lock the drawer. The extra cylinder for the revolver lay beside a half-filled box of .45-caliber shells. Steve could change that cylinder in thirty seconds. Another thirty to load the gun with real bullets, and no time at all to conceal it under his jacket.
The bottom of the drawer was dusty; so was the box of shells. So was the revolver, for that matter, although it looked well oiled. It would be simple to take it on his way out of the clinic, use it and return it the following morning. Chumley would probably never even know it had been taken and returned.
And if the police should discover that the gun existed? What if they test-fired it to compare the LANS and grooves with the bullet that he used to kill Neil? That would be very damning evidence against Steve. No one else at the clinic even knew Neil.
Perhaps it would be better if the revolver simply disappeared for good. The police might suspect it was the gun used to kill Neil, but there would be no way to prove it.
But Big might be suspected of stealing it. That risk was unacceptable. Steve would never do anything to jeopardize Big’s chances for early parole. The man didn’t belong in prison in the first place.
Steve had been careful about fingerprints. Boxes of disposable gloves were everywhere throughout the clinic. He’d simply slipped on a pair as he walked through the large-animal area on his way to the exotic-animal area and Bill’s office.
Now he eased the drawer shut and peeled off the gloves. He’d dispose of them in one of the bins in the small-animal examining rooms. There would be no fingerprints.
He turned to leave. Eleanor stared at him from the doorway. He quickly shoved the gloves into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m trying to get a feel for the different areas of this place,” he said. It sounded feeble even to him.
“You’re thinking about killing him.”
“Bill Chumley? Why would I kill him?”
“Not Bill.” She reached across and took the gloves from his pocket. “I followed you. I saw you with the gun. Why else would you be checking it out?”
He pushed past her into the hall and said over his shoulder as he went, “I thought we’d gotten beyond the suspicion stage.”
She ran after him and caught his arm. “Steve! You mustn’t even think of such a thing.”
“I told you…”
“You’ve got to hang on. There are things going on you don’t know about.”
“What things? There’s no evidence against Neil. He’s home free.”
“There may be a way to get you a new trial.”
“How? On evidence that doesn’t exist?”
“Maybe it does. Killing Neil would be a terrible thing to do.”
This time he stopped and turned to face her. His mouth was dry, and his jaw set so hard he could barely get the words out. All the old anger flared. “He killed my wife. Killed her! He can’t do that and get away with it. He’s destroyed my wife, my family, my company, my honor…”
“He hasn’t destroyed your honor, but you will if you kill him. How much honor does a murderer have in your book? The kind of honor that will let you lie when the police question you? You didn’t lie to them before.”
“And look where it got me.”
“What about all of us who believe in you?”
“Who believes in me? You? You want to, Eleanor, but even you can’t. Why were you looking for me just now?”
He saw the color rise in her cheeks. “I—”
“You were afraid I’d run away. Admit it. And then when you found me in Bill’s office, you immediately jumped to the conclusion that I intended to commit a murder. That could only be because you’re still afraid I’ve already committed one.”
“That’s not true! I’m not the only one who believes in you. Your sister does.”
“But not my father. Dammit, why did you follow me, then?”
“I couldn’t find you.” She sounded crushed.
He longed to reach for her, to take her in his arms again, but he couldn’t. Not now when he was so deeply confused about what he should do.
“I should have walked off sooner, before anything happened between us.”
She recoiled as though he’d slapped her.
He put his hands on her shoulders. Somehow he had to make her understand. He’d lived for revenge for three terrible years. He couldn’t simply drop his crusade because he was falling in love with a woman—a woman who didn’t even fully believe him and definitely didn’t understand him.
“Eleanor, Neil’s moving to Arizona.” He kept his voice level, rational. “How can I let him go? He’s got to pay for what he did to my wife and my life. Nothing is as important as that.”
“Oh.” She turned away.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. I actually thought this morning that maybe you and I had a real chance to build another life, a good one on the ashes of the first. If you do anything to Neil, you’ve chosen death, not life.” She sighed sadly. “I can’t fight death. I tried it once before and lost.”
“I won’t be the one to die.”
“Yes, you will, if you pull that trigger. Even if they never catch you, never even suspect you—and they will, believe me—you’ll still be dead inside. Everything that is fine and true and honorable about you will die in that instant.”
“I’ve always known that whatever happened I’d have to leave here, go someplace where no one knows me. No matter what happens to Neil, I’ll still have to do that.”
She grabbed his arm. “Not if you get a new trial, not if you’re exonerated.”
“That won’t happen. Come with me. We’ll start over together.”
She shook her head. “No. Don’t do this thing. Let him go. Let God punish him, let the lawyers and the detectives try to catch him, but don’t destroy yourself, destroy us, to avenge yourself on him. If you do, then he will truly have won. Your soul is your own. If you kill Neil, it won’t be.”
“Are you going to call the police?”
“What would I tell them? That I saw you looking into a drawer that had a gun in it? The choice is yours. You and me, or Neil. I can’t make it for you. I can only pray you’ll make the right one.” Again she turned away. “I’m so tired.”
He touched her arm, but she shook him off and left him standing, staring after her.
She ran all the way to the front of the clinic. She was crying, and she couldn’t seem to stop the flow of tears. Had making love been of so little importance to him? She hadn’t even had a chan
ce to tell him about the meeting with Vickers that was set for Friday. Would Steve be here by then?
She brushed away the tears, squared her shoulders and walked into the reception area to meet her next patient. And straight into Colonel Sylvan Chadwick, retired.
“Colonel Chadwick?” Eleanor couldn’t conceal her surprise. She looked over at Alva Jean and raised her eyebrows. If he attacked her verbally again, she’d signal Alva Jean to call Rick or Mac Thorn. She was in no mood to deal with him.
“Dr. Grayson, I owe you an apology. I do not generally berate visitors to my home.”
I’ll bet you don’t, Eleanor thought. Maybe he really had come to apologize. “I had no right to tell you off. I’d say we’re about equal in the bad-manners department.”
“Is there someplace we can speak—” he glanced at Alva Jean “—in private?”
“Certainly. We can—”
“Doctor?” Alva Jean nodded at the back of the Colonel’s head and looked a question at Eleanor. “You’ve got a rabbit over there with ear canker.”
Eleanor smiled at the woman who held an enormous gray French lop-eared rabbit on her lap. “I’ll be right back, Mrs. Peterson. This won’t take more than a minute.”
Mrs. Peterson smiled back. “That’s all right, Dr. Grayson. He’s already had it for four days. Another few minutes won’t make a bit of difference.”
“Thank you. Colonel, we can use the conference room.”
Eleanor led the Colonel through the door to the hall, past Rick’s and Mark’s offices, and into the small conference room. “As you can see, I’m pretty busy.” Then, darned if he’d outdo her in the manners department, she said, “Please have a seat, Colonel. Can I get you anything? The coffee’s strong, hot and fresh.”
“No, thank you.” He stood until she sat, then took a seat across from her. If Hollywood had been casting a retired army colonel, they would have looked no further than Colonel Chadwick with his short silver hair, his neat mustache and even neater tweed blazer and slacks, right down to the regimental striped tie. She hadn’t noticed his feet, but Eleanor would have taken a bet that his shoes were spit-shined.
“I won’t take up much of your time, Doctor. I have spoken at length with my daughter about your meeting with Vickers…and other things.”
He sat erect, a good six inches from the back of the chair. His eyes didn’t meet hers. Eleanor nodded.
“She tells me that there is indeed some possibility that…that my son may not be guilty of the crime for which he was convicted.”
“More than a possibility.”
“How can that be?” This time he did meet her eyes, and his were anguished. “I attended the trial. I listened to the evidence. At first I hoped, no, I prayed, that he would be exonerated, but the evidence was damning.”
“What evidence?” Eleanor asked quietly. “The only evidence against him was that there was no evidence against anyone else.”
“And now there is?”
“Not yet, but his lawyer thinks evidence may still exist, and that there’s a chance we may be able to find it—at least cause enough ruckus to get Steve a new trial.”
The Colonel got up and strode around the room with his hands behind his back. “If I thought for a moment that were true… You reminded me I am a soldier. Perhaps that makes me quick to judge, even to cut my losses when a project goes bad, but it also forces me to accept reality, no matter how unpleasant. If Steve is innocent, then I have committed a grievous injustice.”
“Yes, you have.”
“Mary Beth was right, blast it. I never forgave Steve for turning down that appointment to West Point. I felt incapable of handling either of my children, that they were rebelling against me personally and against the values I tried to instill. I was also aware that my inability to control my family lowered my chances for promotion. Steve’s appointment to West Point was a vindication of everything my life stood for. It’s what he and I had planned for his life. When he threw that appointment in my face to stay here at a second-rate commuter college, I felt as though both my children had betrayed everything I stood for. Then when he went into business…”
“He was successful. Brilliant, even.”
“It isn’t the same as service to one’s country.”
“Because he changed his mind from what you wanted to what he wanted?”
“West Point was what he had always wanted, too. I didn’t force him to apply, didn’t pull any strings or ask any favors. He deserved the appointment. He would have been a credit to the military.”
Eleanor said quietly, “He was a credit to you whatever he did. Wasn’t that enough?”
He seemed not to have heard her. It was as though he was speaking to himself, that he had forgotten she was even in the room. “I was too willing to believe that he’d changed so fundamentally that he was capable of murdering another human being. It’s almost as though I wanted him to be guilty to prove my point. If so, then I have behaved unconscionably.”
“I agree.”
He stared at her.
“Did you think I’d let you off the hook?” she said. “Okay, so you were in a lot of pain. Okay, so your career taught you to keep a stiff upper lip. The only person who can forgive you is Steve. Go tell him what you’ve told me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Mary Beth thinks I am a hard-hearted monster who stayed away from the prison because I hated him.” He sank into the chair and dropped his head. “In reality, I don’t think I could bear to see him behind bars. Men do not cry in public, Doctor.”
Eleanor could tell by his face that he honestly believed that. She sighed. “He’s not behind bars now. See him. If you can’t, then write him.”
“Perhaps I will. Forgive me. I meant to do nothing but apologize for my behavior. Instead, I have aired a great deal of dirty linen. Frankly, I don’t know why. In any case, thank you for your interest in my son. I still do not have the faith that his sister has that he is innocent. I am, however, willing to pursue the matter to its conclusion, whatever that may be.”
He stood and extended his hand. Eleanor took it, and as she expected, his grip was one step this side of painful. For the first time, a shadow of a smile lifted his lips. “I believe you have a rabbit awaiting you. I can see myself out.”
“That’s okay, I have to go up front, anyway.” She opened the door and was looking at him over her shoulder when she saw his expression change. She turned and stood face-to-face with Steve in his prison denims.
“Colonel,” Steve said formally.
“Stephen,” said the Colonel with equal formality.
For a moment Eleanor feared that the two would simply nod and walk on in opposite directions. She held her breath.
“Son.” It was a whisper, but a whisper so filled with pain and longing that Eleanor felt her eyes tear up.
The Colonel reached out—a few inches only.
“Dad.”
They stepped forward into each other’s arms.
Eleanor pushed Steve and his father into the conference room and shut the door. So much for “men do not cry.” She’d seen the Colonel’s face, watched the tears spill.
She motioned to Mrs. Peterson and whispered to Alva Jean, “Would you try to keep everyone away from the conference room for a few minutes?”
“You okay? Who was that man, anyway?”
“Steve’s father. I put them in the conference room so they could have a little privacy.”
“Rick won’t like it. Steve’s supposed to be here working, not seeing visitors.”
“He’ll make up the time. Alva Jean, those two haven’t seen each other in three years. I’ve got enough rules at the farm. I don’t need a bunch more here.”
“Sure. Okay.” Alva Jean picked up the phone.
“Sorry I was short with you, Alva Jean,” Eleanor said. “I guess I’m just tired.”
“Sure.”
Eleanor sighed and went to find Rick to tell him what wa
s happening and that Leslie Vickers would meet Steve on Friday, if he agreed. It was, after all, Rick’s clinic. She was his employee.
“I don’t want to get dragged into any court cases,” Rick said. “Don’t they have places at the farm where prisoners meet with their lawyers?”
“This would be more private. And I promise the clinic won’t be dragged into anything.”
“Well, all right. But don’t make a habit of it. Steve’s doing a great job and so is Big, but I’m still not totally convinced this work-release thing is good.”
“Thanks, Rick.” She’d left Big watching the young stallion who’d had his sesamoid operated on. He was in one of the totally padded recovery stalls, but he was the sort of horse who might come out of the anesthetic fighting and ruin Mac Thorn’s superb arthroscopic surgery.
“He’s standing up, Doc,” Big said. “He’s kind of weaving, but he’s got weight on all four legs.”
“Good. I’ll take over for a while. Thanks, Big.”
She longed to listen in on Steve’s conversation with his father. Would they managed to make amends, or wind up even more estranged than before?
She couldn’t believe Steve would even consider killing Neil Waters. Not after what had happened between them. She thought their lovemaking had meant something to him.
Was it strong enough to stop him from throwing away his life?
She said she’d fought death once and lost. Fate had given her a second chance. This time she must not lose. She was not battling for Neil’s life, but for Steve’s soul.
She knew now she loved him. She couldn’t lose again. Not this man. And not this way.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JUST BEFORE TEN-THIRTY on Friday morning, Leslie Vickers arrived at Creature Comfort in a black limousine.
The man who came to the clinic with him wore a brown suit that had seen better days several years and twenty pounds ago. Vickers carried a neat leather briefcase. The other man carried a beat-up brown briefcase that looked as though it probably held his lunch.
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