Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  She gasped. ‘Me? No!’

  Frederick nodded calmly. ‘I believe you.’ Mainly because he’d traced the call and it had come from an untraceable cell phone. ‘The call came through our answering service. The caller identified herself as you, Mrs Brown. She told Thorne that a car had tried to run her off the road and that she was afraid.’

  ‘So he came,’ she whispered. ‘He would, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘He would,’ Frederick agreed. ‘He did. That’s the last thing he remembers. He was beaten and drugged.’

  Bernice was shaking her head. ‘I didn’t call him.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. I traced the call to a disposable cell phone.’

  ‘I have one of those,’ Bernice said slowly, as if considering each word, ‘but I didn’t use it.’ She looked troubled. ‘Mr Thorne gave it to me. Told me it was for my safety.’

  ‘You can continue to use it,’ Frederick said. ‘Or I’ll get you another one. Either way, can I ask where you were last night around midnight?’

  ‘Here,’ she said. ‘We were watching a movie on Netflix. But I can’t prove it.’

  Wayne’s arm tightened around her. ‘Will the police be looking for Bernie? She’s in enough trouble already because of that piece-of-shit husband of hers.’

  ‘Thorne didn’t mention her to the police.’

  Bernice’s eyes widened. ‘But it’s part of his alibi. I could tell them that I didn’t call him, that he was lured.’

  ‘He won’t give your name, ma’am,’ Frederick reiterated. ‘He won’t disclose his clients. He just won’t.’

  Bernice seemed to relax at that, even though she bit at her lip. ‘What can I do?’

  Frederick smiled at her. ‘For now? Stay under the radar and stay safe. He was worried about you. It was one of the first things he said when he woke up. He asked us to check on you, to be sure you were safe. So that’s how you can best help him.’

  Wayne was frowning. ‘But if someone pretended to be Bernie on the phone, that means they knew she’d hired him.’

  ‘True,’ Frederick allowed. ‘But that’s a matter of record. Thorne is registered as her counsel.’

  ‘But they knew details,’ Wayne pressed. ‘They knew that it was even possible that she’d be run off the road.’

  Frederick nodded. He’d thought of this already. ‘True again. But Mr Brown’s stalking is also known because it was covered in the newspaper. Having said that, it doesn’t mean we don’t have a leak in our own firm.’ It was Frederick’s fear, one he hadn’t expressed to Thorne in Gwyn’s living room. Thorne only kept a handful of employees in the firm, and as far as he knew, all were loyal. But it was a possibility, and Frederick would not allow it to go unexamined. ‘I’m investigating that.’

  Wayne’s nod was shaky. ‘All right. Should we move again?’

  Frederick sighed. ‘It might not be a bad idea. Just in case.’ He gave them his card. ‘If you do, contact me. And keep that disposable cell phone charged and on your person at all times. If you are afraid someone is coming after you, call 911, then call me. All right?’

  Bernice took the card in trembling fingers. ‘All right. Thank you, Mr Dawson.’

  Frederick got to his feet. ‘It’s my job, ma’am. We’ll proceed with your defense.’

  Wayne also rose. ‘At the same rate? Mr Thorne was giving her a discount.’

  ‘I work pro bono,’ Frederick explained. ‘I’ll bill Mr Thorne for any expenses I incur, but my hours are free.’

  Bernice’s shoulders sagged. ‘Thank you.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘You’re welcome.’

  He was opening the front door when she called his name. He turned, brows lifted. ‘I . . . Please thank Mr Thorne. For being willing to come and help me, even though I didn’t really need him.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’ There was something in the woman’s eyes, something she was holding back. ‘If you think of anything else that can help him, please call me.’

  ‘I will.’ She drew a breath, and he waited. ‘I have this friend. Sally Brewster. She called me on Friday. Said she’d gotten a weird call from someone claiming to be a cop. They said they were trying to locate me to ask me questions about my husband. She told them that she didn’t know where I was, which is technically true. But she also told them that they should be ashamed of themselves, that I was too afraid to leave hiding because my husband wouldn’t leave me alone. They called her on her cell phone.’ She frowned. ‘She’s listed on my paperwork with your firm. As my emergency contact, after Wayne. You might call her.’

  Frederick smiled at her. ‘Thank you. I will. And I’ll make sure she knows to be careful too.’

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Sunday 12 June, 11.40 P.M.

  ‘Sit, Thorne,’ Phil said, reaching up to push at his shoulder.

  Thorne turned away from the large kitchen window that looked out into the blackness of Phil and Jamie’s backyard. In the daytime it was a tranquil place, their inground pool surrounded by weeping willows. A babbling brook ran through the trees along with a paved path for Jamie’s chair. At night, though, it was inky darkness, the surrounding trees blocking out not only the lights from the city, but the starlight too.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, but it had been long enough to put a worried look on Phil’s face, and he hated that, so he sank obediently into the chair at the kitchen table.

  ‘I made hot chocolate,’ Jamie added, ‘just the way you like it.’

  With the milk frother, Thorne noted, thankful for that as well, because the whir of the machine had drowned out the sound of the shower. Which Gwyn had been in at the time. Naked.

  She hadn’t said no, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. That she hadn’t said no outright was . . . He sighed. A piss-poor hope to hold onto.

  His old friend slid the cup of chocolate across the table, making Thorne wonder if Jamie had timed his use of the frother that way on purpose. When Thorne caught the sympathy in Jamie’s eyes, he had his answer.

  Well, that’s just perfect, he thought crossly, dropping his gaze to the frothy chocolate that really had been made exactly how he liked it. He pushed Gwyn to the edge of his mind and made himself remember the first time he’d sat here, at this very table. ‘You made me hot chocolate that day too.’

  Jamie reached across the table to squeeze his forearm. ‘A genius move on my part,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘Which day?’ Gwyn asked from the kitchen doorway where she waited hesitantly. Her face was flushed from the hot water and devoid of makeup, the way Thorne liked her best. Her damp hair was pulled back into a ponytail that made her look so damn young. Her loose sweats and oversized sweatshirt hurt Thorne’s heart because that was exactly what she’d worn in the weeks and months after Evan tried to kill her and Lucy. It was like she’d been trying to hide in the baggy clothing. Like somehow she’d . . . enticed the bastard. Like she’d caused him to notice her, which of course hadn’t been true at all.

  Now she stood there watching him. That she wasn’t sure of her welcome – that she was hiding from him too – made Thorne’s heart hurt even more. Damn me to ever-fucking hell. I should never have said anything. I have ruined everything.

  ‘Come in,’ Phil said warmly, gesturing to the chair opposite Thorne’s. ‘We’re just having a snack before bed.’

  Thorne schooled his voice to something he hoped sounded polite as he answered her question. ‘Jamie made this for me the day he and Phil bailed me out. It’s good hot chocolate. You’ll like it.’

  Phil put a cup in front of her and took the chair at the head of the small table while Jamie parked himself at the other end. ‘It’s my recipe,’ Phil asserted. ‘Jamie just likes to run the frother.’

  ‘At my age, my entertainment options are limited,’ Jamie said, and Thorne snorted, because Jamie still participated in wheelch
air races and still won them.

  ‘I’ve seen the photos of your limited entertainment,’ Gwyn said dryly. ‘Thorne’s papered his office walls with them. The skydiving one is my favorite. I only hope I’m half as spry when I’m as aged as you.’ She pronounced ‘aged’ with two syllables and a roll of her eyes, because Jamie wasn’t quite sixty. She pointed to the folders neatly stacked on the table. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I’m compiling a file, just like I would for any client,’ Jamie answered.

  ‘This stack is what we’ve uncovered on the major players in the trial nineteen years ago,’ Phil added. ‘We’ve started pre-planning tomorrow’s visits. We figure someone could have gotten all the information about Thorne’s trial from the newspaper, but . . .’ He let the thought trail off and glanced at Jamie.

  ‘Somebody dug up all this shit for a reason,’ Jamie said. ‘It will call Thorne’s innocence into question – today and nineteen years ago.’

  Gwyn bit at her lip, her habit when she was trying to stay calm. Thorne wasn’t sure if she even knew she did it. ‘This is so wrong,’ she said. ‘All of it.’

  Jamie hesitated. ‘Stevie’s point is still ringing in my head. Richard Linden’s killer was never caught. He’s still out there. And he’s the only one who truly knows what happened the day Richard was murdered. Assuming it was a he.’

  Thorne jerked his attention back to Jamie. ‘You’re proposing we find the true killer?’ he asked, unable to keep the acid from his voice.

  Jamie met his gaze, unfazed. ‘Yes. Why not?’

  Thorne took a deep breath, forcing himself to be polite once again, because he really wasn’t sure why the thought made him so furious. Because he wished he’d done it already? Which he knew was illogical. He’d been a kid, not a detective. But I should have at least tried. Richard’s killer was running free, but so was Sherri’s. I’m sorry, Sherri. ‘Because the police couldn’t do it nineteen years ago?’

  ‘We’ll take a fresh look,’ Jamie said, sipping his hot chocolate calmly.

  Gwyn opened the top folder and began sifting through its contents, pausing to look at a grainy photograph copied from an old newspaper article. ‘Is this Richard with his family?’

  Thorne’s stomach roiled just looking at them. ‘Yeah. How did you know?’

  ‘Because they look rich,’ she murmured. ‘Like the tourists that used to hire my father to take them crabbing in the summer.’

  Thorne was surprised. Gwyn rarely mentioned her family, and never her father. There was bad history there and she’d never told him what had happened. Whatever it was, she’d run away from home at sixteen.

  ‘Your father was a crabber?’ Phil asked curiously.

  She nodded once. ‘Folks like the Lindens would come from the city to play for the day, dressed in clothes that cost more than my family made in a year, snapping their fingers like we were their servants.’ One side of her mouth lifted as she tapped Richard’s face. ‘He looks like Draco Malfoy.’

  Thorne found himself chuckling, because Richard did resemble the bully from the Harry Potter stories. ‘We just called him Richie Rich.’

  Both sides of Gwyn’s mouth had tipped up when he’d chuckled. ‘And Richard’s father? Was he as bad as Draco’s papa in the book?’

  ‘Worse.’ Phil was unsmiling, his whole body gone tight. ‘He testified against Thorne. Painted his little darling Richard to be such a martyr. Painted Thorne to be a . . .’ he swallowed hard, ‘a hardened criminal who would kill without remorse. He fabricated threats that he claimed Thorne made to his son in his presence. Linden Senior sat on the stand and lied without blinking an eye, except to dash away a crocodile tear.’

  Gwyn bit her lip again. ‘He perjured himself? Why? I mean, I get that he wanted justice for his son, but was the prosecution’s case so thin that he thought he had to lie to make sure the jury found Thorne guilty? Or was he unbalanced?’

  ‘More the first one,’ Jamie said. ‘The case should never have gone to trial to begin with. The state’s case was weak, but the police commissioner and the prosecutor pushed it through. Nobody wanted to make enemies of the Lindens.’

  Gwyn looked up from the photo. ‘But they had enemies? Other than Thorne?’

  ‘I’m sure they did,’ Jamie said. ‘You’re wondering who else had a motive to kill Richard? I pressed that back then, but hit a brick wall every time I turned around. Linden wanted Thorne found guilty and he did not want anyone else even considered. Yes, I thought it suspicious back then, but no, I couldn’t find anyone who’d talk to me.’

  ‘But,’ Phil added, ‘maybe someone will be willing to talk now.’

  ‘Who’s on your list?’ Thorne asked, more out of curiosity than any real hope. The chances of getting to the bottom of a nineteen-year-old murder were slim to none.

  The look Phil gave him was mildly reproving, like he knew exactly what Thorne was thinking. ‘The detective who worked the case, for starters. Prew is his name.’

  Gwyn blinked at them, surprised. ‘You suspected the cops were complicit?’

  ‘Not Prew,’ Phil said. ‘But he’s a good place to start because he might be able to shed light on Linden Senior’s enemies. Jamie hit a brick wall, but Prew may have found something.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ she said, leaning toward Phil to see his list. ‘Who else?’

  Phil glanced at Thorne and pointed to the next name. ‘The young woman you tried to defend the day everything started. Angie Ospina. Also Richard’s three friends who beat you up because you forced him to stop groping her.’

  Thorne’s gut churned. None of these were people he ever wanted to see again. ‘I have no idea where they are. Any of them.’

  ‘I do,’ Phil said. ‘Some of them, anyway. Detective Prew has just retired from Montgomery County PD. He’s expecting us tomorrow. He’s invited us for coffee.’

  ‘You called him already?’ Thorne asked, surprised.

  ‘I called him as soon as I heard Patricia was the victim,’ Phil said. ‘I had time in the waiting room and not much else to do except worry. Plus, I’ve known Prew for years. He’s not a bad guy. I taught one of his sons. Not at Ridgewell Academy, but later, when I went to the next school. Another of his sons is a history teacher today, so we’ve kept up too. He has two sons of his own now. Twins, just about a year old. Expect the detective to take a few moments to show us photos of his grandchildren.’

  ‘All right,’ Thorne said. ‘What about Angie?’

  ‘I don’t know where she is,’ Phil said. ‘I’m hoping Prew will know.’

  ‘And the assholes who beat Thorne up?’ Gwyn asked sharply. Thorne had to smile at her fierce loyalty, despite the hollowness in his chest.

  Phil pulled another piece of paper from the stack on the table. ‘We found two of them. Darian Hinman is the VP of his father’s shipping business.’

  ‘Of course,’ Thorne said bitterly, clearly remembering the boy Hinman had been.

  Phil shrugged. ‘Old money, Thomas. You know it exists and the privilege it allows.’

  ‘Hey,’ Jamie said with mock outrage. ‘I’m old money.’

  Thorne’s mouth bent up. ‘Most of which you give away.’

  Jamie waved that statement aside. ‘Let’s withhold judgment on young Hinman until we meet him. Maybe he’s grown up.’ Because Jamie himself had. He’d been an impetuous youth. Some of that was natural rebellion, but a lot had been a need to press his physical limits past the chair he’d used since he’d been old enough to sit up.

  Phil looked unconvinced at his optimism. ‘We’ll see. Friend number two, Chandler Nystrom, is now a cop.’

  Thorne’s mouth fell open. ‘No fucking way. He was a thug, the worst of them.’ He gritted his teeth, knowing full well that some cops sought the job for specifically that reason. They wanted to be legal thugs.

  ‘Hopefully he grew up too,’ Phil said philos
ophically, ‘otherwise he’s a thug with a badge and a gun.’

  ‘And the third?’ Gwyn asked.

  ‘Colton Brandenberg,’ Thorne said quietly. ‘I never knew what to make of him. I remember being surprised that he’d thrown any punches at all. He seemed so gentle when he wasn’t with Richard. You don’t have a location for him?’

  Phil shook his head. ‘No, not yet. Again, I’m hoping Detective Prew has some ideas.’

  Thorne pulled the other folder closer. ‘This is your file, Jamie?’

  ‘So far. Mostly I just have the photos that Gwyn took. I don’t expect to see anything from Lieutenant Hyatt regarding the official crime scene photos unless you’re formally charged. So, again, good job, Gwyn. If you hadn’t been so quick-thinking, we wouldn’t have shit right now.’

  Thorne opened the folder and spread the enlarged photos across the table, wincing a little at the sight of his own bare ass. ‘They just had to strip me,’ he complained.

  ‘Well, you were supposed to have had a woman in your bed,’ Gwyn said.

  Thorne glanced up and saw no accusation in her dark eyes. No anger. She believed him and he was grateful for that. ‘Yeah, well,’ he muttered, ‘they could have left me a little modesty, for God’s sake.’

  She pulled one of the photos closer, grimacing. ‘Whoever did this didn’t just stab her. They cut her open.’

  ‘You don’t need to look at those.’ Jamie started to take the photo from her, but she rolled her eyes at him.

  ‘I took the photos, Jamie. I saw her live.’ She winced. ‘Or dead. Plus, I was Thorne’s paralegal, don’t forget. I’ve seen worse than this. Unfortunately.’ But then she frowned. ‘Thorne, what’s this?’ Rising from her chair, she pushed the photo toward him, leaning across the table as she followed it. ‘It’s . . . I don’t know what it is. I didn’t notice it this morning.’

  Thorne looked where she pointed. And his blood ran cold. ‘Phil.’ He had to clear his throat. ‘Do . . . do you still have that magnifying glass you use for coupons?’

  Phil got up to rummage in a drawer, retrieving the magnifier and handing it to Thorne without a word.