by Susan Rohrer
Shana took the papers in hand. As hard as her head was pounding, she could hardly focus on all those columns of numbers. “What are these?”
“Phone records. Frank’s,” he added. “Quite a number of calls there between Frank and that Rene Cox. But since she was his assistant, that’s not so much a flag.” He pointed to the log. “I took the liberty of highlighting a few calls that might be of interest to you, particularly that last one.”
Shana ran her finger down the page to the data lines marked in bright yellow. Everything inside her imploded. Just after one a.m., Frank had placed his final call. To his ex. “This is Laurel’s number.”
The detective hiked his brows. “Yeah. Kinda makes you wonder. But maybe that’s just me.” He pointed to the list. “I guess you saw those other calls there between them. He say anything to you about any of these calls?”
It was such a sobering sight. With every bit of strength she had left, Shana handed the records back. She looked McTier in the eye. “No, Detective. As a matter of fact, he didn’t.”
Joe led Laurel through the open-air market where local merchants displayed their wares. There was always something about the aroma there that Joe liked—all the produce, and even the fresh fish. It was a constant in a life that had few others.
“You come here a lot?” she asked.
“Most days. Creature of habit, I guess. Part of my routine.”
Laurel stuck her hands into her pockets. “Guess I’m going to have to find a new routine. A new normal. Whatever that looks like without Frank in the picture.”
“Was it normal for Frank to call you now and then?”
Laurel kicked aside an acorn on the walk. “Yes and no. We had this strange sort of dynamic. Even after the divorce.”
Joe nodded. As crazy as it all sounded, there was a genuine quality about Laurel, something that he couldn’t deny. “Yeah, I read the files. He pretty much trashed you and your whole...what am I supposed to call it?”
“My gifts,” she said. “Early on, I think he did believe. When we were first married—trying to get his law practice going—I saw all these amazing things for him...that we would have a daughter, that he would run for office one day. That he would win... He relied on me.”
As they emerged from the market, Joe guided her along the walk.
Laurel matched his stride. “But, down the road, after some of those things actually happened, Frank...” She gazed into the distance. “I remember, I saw him drifting in a boat, he was caught up in this terrible current and didn’t know it.”
Her reverie appeared to break.
She shrugged a shoulder. “When I started seeing things like that... When I saw that he would leave me for Shana...”
Her voice trailed off, even though her thoughts seemed to continue. Joe waited quietly. Long ago, he’d learned a thing or two about women. If he wanted to know how they ticked, he had to let them talk. He had to stop filling in the conversational blanks. He had to really listen.
A wry resignation tweaked Laurel’s expression. “I guess it’s not so easy to be married to someone like me.”
Joe couldn’t argue the point. He stifled a grin.
She leaned toward him, confidentially as a couple passed on the other side of the walk. “I mean, seriously. Think about it. Poor guy couldn’t get away with anything.”
Joe scratched the side of his neck. He couldn’t help but be amused. When she loosened up, this woman could be pretty appealing. She was also undeniably beautiful, in the purest sort of way. That honey-brown hair of hers sparkled in the sun. And those eyes.
Joe caught himself. Stay focused, man. Keep your head in the story. Sure, he was feeling drawn to Laurel. But she was still a murder suspect, and nothing about her relationship with her ex was quite adding up. He’d have to keep digging.
Deliberately, he trained his gaze away. “So, you were still on speaking terms with Frank. Even after he used your gifts to convince the court you weren’t mentally fit to be a mother.”
“He’d call me,” she replied. “He’d get in these binds or he’d have some important decision to make and he’d ask me whether I’d seen or heard anything.”
“Really.”
“Uh-huh.”
Why a remarried councilman would spend two seconds talking to a woman he’d called certifiable in court boggled Joe’s mind. Either Laurel was the best liar he’d ever run across, or somewhere in Frank Fischer’s mind, even he’d wondered if he should believe her. “Tell me. Had you actually seen or heard anything for him? I mean after the divorce.”
Wistfully, she nodded. “It took me a while to get past the hurt of it all. But yeah. Eventually, I did.” Laurel stopped walking. She ran her fingers through her hair. “I guess I might as well tell you what I told Detective McTier. Frank called me an hour or so before he died.”
“Before or after the dream?”
“Right after.”
Joe let out a breath.
Laurel put her hands out. “I know. Crazy.”
“Yeah, but why did he call you? Why does a councilman who’s supposed to be away on a business trip—only his current wife doesn’t know that he’s really at his office for some reason in the wee hours... Why did he call you?”
Laurel ran her fingertips across her mouth. She looked at him, serious as sin. “You’ll get one chance with me on this, Mr. Hardisty. Can I trust you to keep this off the record?”
“I’m calling you Laurel. So, why don’t you call me Joe?” He held her gaze. “And yeah, you can trust me. Absolutely.”
“It’s just...I wouldn’t want to sully Frank’s memory. I’m just going to tell you this next part, completely off the record, because... I feel like, for your sake, I need to help you understand.”
Laurel checked around them. No doubt she wanted to make sure that this part of their conversation was still private. Seeing no one, she turned back to him. “At first, when Frank called, he was going on about some snafu at his bank. He wanted me to hold my support check for another day or two. But really, it was pretty clear he called me to defend himself.”
“What, for divorcing you? For taking your kid?”
“I always hoped he would own that someday, but no.” Sadness swept over her. “What it was, was... Well, a couple of weeks before that, I’d told him that I’d seen him, in another vision, with this woman. Not Shana. Someone else.”
Joe fought to wrap his head around it all. “So, the dream you had the night he was murdered, was it the same woman?”
Laurel nodded. “The details weren’t very clear either time, but yes, I think it was.” Gravity was all over her face. “And when I get two messages about the same thing, I know from experience. It’s urgent. So, I took the opportunity. I tried to tell him it was going to be disastrous.” Once again, her eyes misted.
Joe processed it all in his mind. Whether or not these had been delusions, this woman was dead on sincere.
At least in her own mind.
“Frank denied it,” she said. “He swore that I was completely off base, both times. The same way he denied it when we were still married and I saw him in a vision with Shana.”
Joe reeled. This woman was hard-core. “And you told this part to McTier?”
“No,” Laurel replied. “Just you.”
Nothing about this computed for Joe. “I’m sorry, I don’t... I just don’t get it. You didn’t tell McTier, you don’t want me to print this part, and I won’t. So, why did you tell me at all? I’m a rag reporter, for crying out loud. You probably could have gotten way more selling your story to any one of the legit papers out there. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you chose me, but... Can you tell me why?”
The gentlest kind of glow came over Laurel. She looked at him, her eyes filled with understanding. “That decision didn’t come easily. Yes, there were higher offers. But you need to know that I wasn’t the one who chose you, Joe. He did.”
Joe stared at the computer screen in his office. He knew he was supposed to
be proofing the copy he’d banged out overnight. But how was he supposed to focus on what Laurel said he could print when his thoughts kept whirling around what she said he couldn’t? All those off-the-record notes on his pad—they’d crack the story wide open.
Joe shook his head. Over his screen, he could see Debra striding toward his office, no doubt looking for the copy he’d written. Smoothly, he stowed his notepad in the hanging file drawer in his desk.
Debra breezed in. She cocked her head to one side. “You realize your brother’s been busy chasing away customers at Oliverio’s.”
Joe figured as much. “Free country.”
She waltzed over to his desk. “Actually, Adele sends her thanks. Turns out Clay’s little stunt goosed her story considerably. He’s still out there, drumming up bad publicity. Looks like either Zoring is going to lose his job or Oliverio is going to lose his restaurant. And Oliverio—poor sap—he’s going to look bad either way he goes on this. At least there’ll be a feature in it for Adele.”
Joe slid the file drawer closed. “Am I supposed to be jealous?”
Debra darkened. “You’re supposed to turn your work in on time. I believe that’s why I pay you.”
“Indeed.” Joe rose. “Gotta bolt.” He tucked his recording device into his jacket pocket. “Need to be in court for the Fischer custody hearing.”
“What about the copy you promised me?”
Joe sailed by her. “You can print what’s on my screen.”
He made his way through the common area to the elevator bay. At least going to Laurel’s hearing would get him out of the office. He pressed the down button.
What was it about Laurel, anyway? Everything about the woman set him off balance. She didn’t seem to want to have that effect on him, but then again, maybe she did. Laurel came in a decidedly more attractive package than Tom Zoring had, but maybe she was just as big a fraud as he’d been as a priest.
Then, there was the thing with her knowing about Clay. Sure, it had seemed like she pulled Clay’s name out of thin air, but that was hardly proof of this supposed gift she claimed. There had to be a rational explanation. She could have read about Clay in the paper, in connection with Zoring’s parole. A quick search on the Net would have yielded that much.
And that last thing she’d said before they’d parted—implying that God told her to choose him over the other papers—that had stuck in his craw all night. She had to know he could fact check those better offers she mentioned. Why would she lie about something so easy to confirm? Well, she hadn’t. One call to his old buddy at the Times backed up her story. Joe’s offer had paled by comparison.
And given that she didn’t lie about having better offers, then why would she have chosen him, at a time when she so desperately needed the money? Only one explanation seemed plausible. It must have been just like she said. She must have truly believed God told her to choose him. That was her psychosis. If he could chalk up her gifts to psychosis at all. Problem was, the ramblings of psychotics didn’t make sense.
Their visions didn’t come true.
It was all so hard to fathom. He’d studied psychology. He’d interviewed quite a few delusional sorts in his day. Laurel wasn’t a whit like any of them. Except for claiming to chat it up with God, she struck him as incredibly sane.
He massaged the bridge of his nose. If Laurel were in her right mind, that only left two possibilities. One, she was a con artist. Or Two—not that he could even start to wrap his head around it but—Two, Laurel actually had a hotline to God. That would be the God he didn’t believe in anymore.
The elevator doors slid open. Joe boarded. At least he had the car to himself. Hopefully, no one else would get on the thing.
Laurel’s face flooded back into his mind. In a way, he couldn’t help feeling for her. If this weren’t a delusion, if this weren’t a con, she’d been dealt a horrendous hand.
Then again, the whole damsel in distress bit, it could be a strategic part of her con. Not so tough for a natural beauty like Laurel to play on a man’s sympathies.
Only, Laurel didn’t seem like a con.
Actually, if she weren’t so religious, he would have thought she was kind of his type. Maybe that was clouding his judgment. He shook it off. Why was he even letting himself go there?
There’d been no arrest yet, but with the way Detective McTier kept sniffing around, Laurel was obviously a prime person of interest. That certainly put her in a no-win situation. The harder she fought to get her daughter back, the more that would look like motive to murder her ex.
And maybe it was.
People had killed for far less.
nine
Laurel sat alongside her counsel, Bennett Flynn, in the crowded family courtroom. A shiver ran up her arms. Why hadn’t she brought a sweater? The air in there was as cool as the tenor of the room.
She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced at the opposing side’s table. Shana sat straight in her chair, eyes forward. She was flanked by that formidable attorney of hers, Howard Berg.
Judge Simons propped his glasses atop his balding head as he skimmed through part of the case file. Already, it was clear that Berg was well acquainted with the judge, but Flynn had encouraged Laurel not to let their familiarity intimidate her. There was, after all, a distinct advantage to Berg’s pull with the court. Berg had been able to secure a spot on the docket much earlier than lesser knowns might have.
As for Grace, she was nowhere to be seen. All Laurel could guess was that Shana’s nanny, Helen Reed, was watching her, somewhere nearby on the grounds. As much as Laurel longed for any glimpse of Grace, at least she could take some comfort in knowing that her daughter would be spared any disturbing details of the proceeding. In discovering her father’s body, she had already suffered far too much.
Howard Berg rose from his seat. He buttoned his jacket and called Detective Gavin McTier to the stand. Something knotted in Laurel’s stomach. The fact that McTier’s testimony was being called for by Shana’s attorney couldn’t be good. Not for her.
She glanced back at the gallery as McTier made his way forward. So much press was crammed into that area. Soon, their private trauma would be all over the news.
Laurel warmed to spot a familiar face among the media. Joe Hardisty. Ever so subtly, Joe tipped his head to her as she caught his eye. She reminded herself that Joe had come because he was being paid. Still, his presence was oddly consoling. Maybe, just maybe, he would get the story right.
Howard Berg cleared his throat. “Detective McTier, tell me. Is Mrs. Shana Fischer a subject of investigation relative to the death of her husband?”
Flynn raised a hand. “Relevance to family court?”
Jauntily, Berg rotated toward Judge Simons. “We acknowledge that we are here seeking a ruling on custody arrangements for the child, Grace Fischer, given her custodial parent’s demise. But surely it is of keen interest to this court to know if my client—as the deceased’s lawful widow—has been officially cleared.”
Judge Simons seemed to ponder the ruling for a moment. “All right.” The judge set his specs back down on his nose. “But careful, Counselor.”
Obviously pleased, Howard turned to McTier. “Detective, is Mrs. Shana Fischer a suspect?”
McTier leaned closer to the microphone. “No. Same as Laurel Fischer, Shana Fischer claims she was alone in bed at the time of his death.”
Berg gestured back toward his client. “But am I correct to understand that you’ve been able to clear Shana Fischer?”
“That’s right.”
Laurel swallowed hard. In solely establishing Shana’s innocence, Berg had effectively cast doubt on Laurel’s. Definitely not a point in her favor. Any possibility of her involvement could completely sink her attempt to regain custody, even as Grace’s only surviving natural parent.
McTier pointed toward Shana. “See, Shana Fischer has a live-in, Helen Reed, who corroborates her story,” he said. “Ms. Reed swears that the estate’s security sy
stem could not possibly have been circumvented to exit without waking her. It lets off a piercing beep whenever it’s armed or disarmed. It also keeps an off-site computerized log of all entries and exits. I’ve checked the log myself. It was fully armed, and there were no entries or exits anywhere near the time-frame in question.”
Berg turned. He flipped his wrist in Laurel’s direction. “You mentioned Laurel Fischer, the deceased’s ex-wife. Does she remain a suspect?”
In an instant, Flynn was on his feet. “Objection. This is not a criminal proceeding.”
Judge Simons raised his brows. “Sustained.”
“Thank you.” Flynn said. “Further, we request that the record stipulate that Laurel Fischer has not been named as a suspect and, as such, does not and cannot ‘remain’ one.”
Laurel filled her chest. Belle was right about Flynn. He was doing a good job.
Judge Simons nodded. “So noted.”
Berg bowed deferentially. “Your honor, I was merely trying to establish whether or not there should be concern for the child’s safety in the care of either one of these women.”
With a knowing glance, the judge drummed his fingers. “I think I get the picture here, Mr. Berg. Let’s wrap it up.”
“Nothing further.” Berg headed to his table.
Flynn rose. Laurel felt her racing heart calm. Finally, someone was defending her.
“Detective,” Flynn started, “At the scene, did you hear Shana Fischer express any concerns for Grace’s safety when she released her into her mother’s care?”
Berg shot to his feet. “Object to the term ‘mother’ since making that determination is the function of this hearing.”
“Really, Mr. Berg.” The judge turned to McTier. “You may answer.”
The detective cleared his throat. “I did hear Shana Fischer say that she would’ve preferred for the girl to go with the administrative assistant.”
Flynn approached the stand. “That assistant, Rene Cox. Like Shana and Laurel Fischer, she’s also been questioned, correct?”
