Incriminating Passion

by Ann Voss Peterson

  Her lower lip quaked. She pressed her fingertips to her mouth and shook her head. “I can’t take that chance, John. We don’t even know who we’re fighting.” She tore her gaze from his. She lurched from her chair, circled the table and banged on the door with an open palm.

  Kit opened the door. Looking from Andrea to John and back again, she stepped inside. “So what’s the deal?”

  Pulling herself up, Andrea looked Kit straight in the eye. “I murdered my husband, and I’m ready to start serving time.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Let’s get this under way.” Judge Banks’s voice boomed through the courtroom.

  Andrea flinched at the sound. Cold dread pumped into her bloodstream. She wrapped her arms around herself and hunched low behind the defense table.

  The judge’s hard gaze swept the room. Silence descended over the courtroom as if everyone was collectively holding their breaths. The judge’s gaze landed on Andrea. “Mrs. Kirkland? You want to change your plea?”

  Andrea forced herself to rise to her feet. After the threat against John’s life, she’d insisted on representing herself despite protests from John, Kit and the public defender’s office. The last thing she needed was to have to explain why she wanted to plead guilty to a public defender. She couldn’t take the chance that anything would interfere with what she had to do. “I would like to withdraw my plea of not guilty and enter a plea of guilty.”

  The judge glanced over to the prosecution table. “Ms. Ashner?”

  Kit Ashner read the list of charges.

  Panic hummed in Andrea’s ears, making it hard to hear. She looked around the courtroom. Reporters packed the back of the galley, their cameras whirring from the glassed-in media rooms along the back wall. In the gallery itself, she spotted the judge’s daughter, Ruthie Banks, her face tight and eyes narrowed. Next to her sat Joyce and Melvin. Eyes cast downward, Joyce studied a piece of paper, probably the speech she intended to deliver during the sentencing phase of the hearing. Andrea had no doubt her sister-in-law would ask Judge Banks to render the harshest penalty the law would allow.

  In the back of the courtroom, Tonnie watched the proceedings through dark glasses. And across the room from her, Gary Putnam watched Tonnie.

  Next to Gary Putnam, in the gallery behind the prosecution table, Detective Mylinski leaned back in his chair, his shrewd eyes narrowed on her. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered but getting this over with as soon as possible. Because only when this was over would she be sure John was safe.

  Her gaze involuntarily trailed to John sitting next to the balding detective. The ache in her chest stole her breath. She hadn’t seen him since the meeting with Kit Ashner, but his words still rang in her ears. Even now, he leaned forward in his chair, every muscle in his body taut, as if he was planning to stop this miscarriage of justice. As if he’d find a way to save her from prison yet.

  She tore her gaze from him. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t think about him. Not about how he’d listened to her. Not about how he’d told her he loved her. And not about how she wished she could let herself love him back.

  “Mrs. Kirkland?” The judge’s voice cut her to the core.

  She looked up.

  “Do you understand the charges against you?”

  She nodded. Summoning all her courage, she forced her voice to function. “Yes, your honor.”

  “Do you understand you are pleading guilty to a major felony?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “Do you understand by entering this plea you have chosen to forego a trial by a jury of your peers and will be subject to sentencing under the law?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “Then please describe your criminal conduct in your own words.”

  She grasped the edge of the table, doing her best to control the tide of fear lapping at her self control. If she wanted to save John’s life, she’d better make this convincing. She raised her eyes to meet the judge’s gaze. “I was leaving my husband when he surprised me by coming home early. He refused to let me go, so I shot him. He fell to the floor and his blood soaked into the Persian rug.” She shuddered at the image in her mind, an image that was all too real, even though the rest of her admission was not.

  The judge nodded.

  At the prosecution table, John called Kit over and whispered something in her ear.

  “Your honor?” Kit said.

  “Yes, Ms. Ashner?”

  “The people aren’t satisfied.”

  A frown curved Judge Banks’s lips.

  “I’d like to request permission to question the defendant,” Kit continued.

  The judge glanced around the courtroom at the people sitting in the gallery, at the press listening from the back of the room. “Go ahead, Ms. Ashner. If you’re sure it’s you who wants to ask the questions and not Mr. Cohen.”

  “Thank you, your honor.” Obviously unfazed by the judge’s rebuke, Kit focused on Andrea.

  Andrea’s mind raced. Never in a million years had she dreamed the prosecutor would ask her questions about Wingate’s murder. She’d thought she could just say she did it and move on.

  “Mrs. Kirkland, what day did you shoot your husband?”

  Andrea swallowed hard. “It was a Monday. The day before the election.” She was guessing. The last John had told her, the coroner hadn’t been able to determine the exact day Wingate died. She hoped there hadn’t been a breakthrough since then. If there had been, she was sunk.

  Kit nodded, apparently accepting her answer. “And how did you dispose of your husband’s body?”

  Andrea tried to recall every detail she’d heard about Win’s murder. Hank Sutcliffe had been there. The judge’s daughter, Ruthie, had seen him. “I called Hank Sutcliffe to help me.”

  “And what did Mr. Sutcliffe help you do?”

  Andrea searched her memory, landing on a comment Chief Putnam had made while questioning her. “We rolled Wingate’s body in the Persian rug, and Hank carried him into the woods and buried him.”

  “Where in the woods did Hank Sutcliffe bury the body?”

  Andrea tangled her fingers together. Never having seen the spot where the police had found Wingate’s body, she didn’t know the answer. But maybe she didn’t have to know. “I wasn’t with Hank when he buried Wingate. I stayed in the house and washed up the blood on the floor.”

  Kit paused, seeming to have run out of questions for the moment.

  John wrote something on a piece of paper and passed it to her. She glanced at the paper, then focused on Andrea. “You testified in your statement that your husband wouldn’t let you leave as you’d planned. What did he do when he found out you planned to leave?”

  That was easy. Andrea knew exactly what Wingate would have done. “He got very angry.”

  “And you shot him because he was angry? That seems odd. Didn’t he often get angry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you shoot him before?”

  “He threatened me this time.”

  Kit nodded, as if this was what she was after. “How did he threaten you? What did he say?”

  “He said he was going to kill me.”

  “Your husband had a lot of firearms in the house, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. He was an avid hunter.”

  “He had firearms and knew how to use them.”

  “Yes.”

  “So when he threatened to kill you, you had reason to believe he could carry out that threat.”

  Andrea didn’t have to think to remember Wingate’s rages during their marriage. She could only wish her mind had blocked the fear she’d felt during those times. “I have no doubt that he would have killed me if he was angry enough.”

  “And that night he was angry?”

  “Yes.”

  Kit glanced back at John.

  John was smiling.

  A shiver of fear shot up Andrea’s spine. What had she said?
>
  Kit looked up at the judge. “Your honor, the people cannot accept Mrs. Kirkland’s allocution at this time. From her statements today in court, there is reason for us to believe she acted out of self defense. I’d like to request a continuance until we can investigate this new development.”

  Blood crept up the judge’s neck. “Are you telling me you didn’t investigate this case before charging Mrs. Kirkland?” His growl shook the courtroom.

  Andrea’s throat tightened as if being gripped by strong fingers.

  Kit stood straight and met the judge’s glare. “We investigated, your honor. But—”

  “But what? If you truly did investigate the case, why didn’t you rule out the possibility of self defense before wasting the court’s time?”

  “I’m sorry, your honor. We had no reason—”

  Judge Banks held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, Ms. Ashner.” He focused on Andrea.

  She rolled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her palms.

  “I’ll ask you, Mrs. Kirkland. Did you shoot your husband because you believed he was going to kill you?”

  Her head throbbed. She groped for a plausible response. “No.”

  “Why did you shoot Wingate Kirkland?”

  “I shot him because he threatened to write me out of his will.”

  “And did you marry Wingate Kirkland for his money?”

  “Yes, I did.” Andrea looked down at the table in front of her. She could feel John’s gaze on her, feel his disbelief, maybe even his disillusionment. But she couldn’t worry about how he felt. She had more important things to be concerned about. Like saving his life.

  The judge looked back up at Kit. “You don’t need an investigation. You only have to ask a few pertinent questions. Now shall we get on with this?”

  Kit shook her head. “I’m sorry, your honor. The people are still not satisfied with the allocution. May I approach the bench?”

  The judge sighed, clearly not happy with the delay. He glanced at the press buzzing in the back of the courtroom. “We’ll do better than that. I want to see you in my chambers immediately, Ms. Ashner, Mrs. Kirkland. And why don’t you come, too, Mr. Cohen, since you seem to be pulling the strings in this little puppet show.” Judge Banks rose, his black robes billowing around him.

  The court reporter stood.

  The judge raised a hand. “We’ll straighten this out off the record.”

  The court reporter nodded and settled back behind her stenography machine.

  Judge Banks stepped off the bench and pushed through a door behind the witness box.

  Andrea rose and forced her feet to carry her out the door the judge had taken. She could feel John behind her. By talking Kit into challenging Andrea’s story, he thought he was doing what was best for her, what was right. He couldn’t be more wrong. The only thing that was best for her was to protect him. The only thing that was right was saving his life. She might be afraid of her need for him. She might not be able to let herself love him because of it. But she could never doubt that if anything happened to him, her life wouldn’t be worth living.

  Whether she was in prison or not.

  Once they reached the judge’s office, they settled into chairs facing his wide mahogany desk. The judge sat behind the desk like a robed king on his throne. The bailiff stood off to one side like his armed knight.

  The judge surveyed the room through hard eyes. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands on his belly. “Do you know why I wanted this meeting off the record, Ms. Ashner?”

  “No, your honor. Why?”

  “Because I didn’t want to read stories in the paper about how I reamed you out and ruined your budding career.” His booming voice turned to a growl.

  Sweat broke out on Andrea’s back, cold and clammy.

  The judge continued, his voice crescendoing like approaching thunder. “The district attorney took Cohen off this case because he’s involved with the defendant. And now you are acting like his little marionette. Cohen may not care about his career, Ms. Ashner, but I presume you care about yours. Do you?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “Well you have a damned stupid way of showing it.”

  Andrea held her hand to her head. The throbbing turned to a pounding that threatened to drown out even the judge’s booming voice.

  “Now when we go back into that courtroom, I want you to act like a professional member of this bar. And that means you stick to procedure. You do your job. And that job is to convict Mrs. Kirkland. Got it?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  Andrea leaned forward. Her head swam with pain. She was going to be sick.

  The judge’s voice crashed in her ears. “And you, Mr. Cohen, will not return to the courtroom.” He glanced up at the bailiff standing behind him. “Bailiff?”

  The bailiff stepped next to the judge.

  “I want you to escort Mr. Cohen out to the hall.”

  “You’re going to convict an innocent woman, judge.” John’s voice was low, but it rang with power, with conviction.

  The judge sprang to his feet. “She confessed in open court, Cohen.” His shout bounced off paneled walls and buried itself in the center of Andrea’s throbbing head.

  She pitched forward, her head in her hands.

  John sprang from his chair. He encircled her in his arms, keeping her from falling to the floor.

  Her mind swirled. If only she’d had his warm arms to catch her that night—the night of Wingate’s death. The night all of this started.

  The night she’d last heard that same angry, booming voice.

  Suddenly she was in Wingate Estate, outside Win’s study. That voice boomed through the hall. That angry voice. Then the gunshots. And Wingate falling to the floor. Bleeding. Dying.

  Clutching John’s arms, she struggled to sit up straight. She wanted to see. To know.

  But she already knew.

  “You killed Wingate.” Her voice was muffled, sounding from far away.

  John leaned down, his lips brushed her cheek near her ear. “What did you say?”

  “You killed Wingate,” she repeated. She forced her spine to straighten. Raising her arm, she pointed her finger and leveled it at the judge. “You killed Wingate, Judge Banks.”

  The judge’s face paled, white against his black robe. “What the hell?”

  “I remember.” Her strength returned with a rush of adrenaline. “I heard your voice. I saw the gun in your hand.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You shot Wingate that night. You killed him.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  John looked from Andrea to the judge. “Kit,” he said, his gaze riveted on the judge. “Get Mylinski in here.”

  The judge sprang to his feet and pushed the bailiff against the wall to one side of his desk. Suddenly a gun was in the judge’s hand. And this time it wasn’t a memory. Judge Banks pointed the bailiff’s gun at Andrea. “You weren’t supposed to remember.”

  John gripped Andrea’s hand. He pulled her behind his body and focused on the judge. “Put the gun down, judge. You don’t want to do this.”

  Andrea struggled to clear her mind, to make the crippling pain go away.

  Sweat beaded on the judge’s beefy forehead. He shook his head. “Kirkland gave me no choice. He had a tape. A tape that would have ruined my marriage. It would have ruined me.”

  John slowly rose to his feet. “You were on the second tape. You and Tonnie Bartell.”

  The judge didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. “He wouldn’t listen to reason. I would have paid anything he wanted. But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted me to fix cases. He wanted me to sell out everything I believed in.” He shook his head, his eyes sparkling with tears. “I couldn’t do that. The bench, these robes are everything. Justice itself. I couldn’t taint that.”

  “So you killed him,” John said.

  “I had to.”

&n
bsp; Andrea raised her hand to her head. It was true. The voice, the gunshots, all her memories were true.

  John stepped forward. “And you hired those thugs to kill Andrea and me in Chicago.”

  Judge Banks shook his head. “I was afraid she would remember. Ruthie happened to tell me in passing that she’d called the police station, that she’d seen it all and her memories were coming back.”

  “And Sutcliffe?”

  “Sutcliffe worked for me. He was supposed to get close to Kirkland. He was supposed to steal the tape. The night Kirkland died, I needed help. I called him.”

  “He helped you bury the body and then tried to blackmail you himself,” John said, putting it all together.

  “He threatened to talk unless I agreed to reduce his brother’s sentence.” Judge Banks swiped at his sweaty forehead. The gun shook in his hand. “He wanted me to corrupt justice. Just like Kirkland.”

  Andrea struggled to breathe. To think. She had to do something. But what? The judge would see any move she made.

  Behind her, she could hear Kit shuffling toward the door, trying to get help. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the bailiff move slowly toward the judge. She tried not to look at either of them, tried not to give them away.

  John glanced in the bailiff’s direction, as if he’d recognized the man’s plan, too. He stepped closer to the judge. “How did you know we were in Chicago? How did you know we found Hank Sutcliffe?”

  “Ruthie overheard Detective Mylinski talking to you on the phone. She mentioned it to me, and I figured it out from there.”

  “So you had Sutcliffe killed and used him to frame Andrea.”

  Tightening his grip on the gun, the judge pointed it at Andrea, then back at John. “I had to do something to keep the police from tracing him back to me. So I hired someone else. Someone good.”

  The bailiff lunged toward Judge Banks. His hand closed around the barrel of the gun.

  The judge bellowed. He wrestled the gun from the bailiff’s grasp.