by Marta Perry
They rounded the corner and Jessica let out an audible breath. “Well. That was…odd. I didn’t expect it.”
She sounded genuine, but how could he be sure? “You mean the television people, the crowd or Ezra Burkhalter?”
“Any of them. All of them. I guess the Burkhalter man particularly. Why is he angry that I’m here? I’d think he’d be grateful that Thomas has someone to defend him.”
Trey shrugged, trying to get rid of the tension in his shoulders. “The Amish don’t want to find themselves in the news. There’s prejudice enough against them without that. They believe in living separate, and they don’t go to the law.”
“Thomas said something like that, but in this case the law has come to them. I’ll do the best I can for Thomas.”
“I don’t think Ezra Burkhalter will see it that way.”
Her mouth set as she considered that. “If all the Amish react that way, it will make the situation more difficult.”
Difficult enough to make her go away? He was tempted to paint a black picture, just to achieve that, but he couldn’t.
“Not all. I’m sure there will be those who welcome your help. Thomas’s family, certainly.”
She nodded, brushing a wing of auburn hair back from her face. “I suppose. I certainly didn’t expect the crowd at the jail. Is there really that much prejudice against the Amish?”
“Not so much out in the country, where people know them.” He tried to answer fairly, but the Amish were such a constant part of his life that it was hard to see them as an outsider would. “They’re different, and plenty of misconceptions float around among people who don’t know them.”
He’d known there would be strong feelings about the ugliness of the crime and the Amish connection, but he hadn’t expected a mob at the jail, either. If people were this worked up now, what would it be like by the time the case came to trial?
He drove automatically, his mind turning the situation at the county jail over in his mind. It still rankled, having the television people there exactly when Jessica would be coming out. It was too pat.
“Were you really surprised by the news crew?” He put the question abruptly, not sure how much good it would do. If she’d tipped them off, she’d hardly admit it.
He felt her gaze on him and flicked a glance in her direction. The blue eyes had widened.
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be surprised?”
“You wouldn’t be if you were the one who told them you’d be there.”
“Told them—that’s ridiculous!” Her voice rose. “I’m not in the habit of headline-hunting.”
“The reporter knew your name. That means that someone told her you were going to represent Thomas.”
“I wasn’t that someone.” Her voice grew icy. “I understand that you want to protect your mother from any unpleasantness, but I’m not your enemy. All I want is to do my job for my client.”
He shot another look at her as he turned onto the road that would lead them out of town. “If you didn’t tip off the news people, who did?”
“Ask yourself that question,” Jessica said tartly. “It seems to me the leak was far more likely to come from your end of things than mine. My office would have no interest in tipping off the press at this point. Does anyone else know your mother was hiring an attorney for Thomas?”
A good question, and one he didn’t have an answer to. “Who knows? My mother is not exactly a model of discretion, as you may have noticed.”
“I found your mother delightful.” The frost was back in her voice.
“Try being responsible for her and see how delightful it is.” He muttered the words and was instantly sorry. He didn’t need to be confiding in this woman, of all people. “She may have told any number of people. And there are people in Bobby’s office who might think it worth a tip to the paper.” He lifted an eyebrow. “The same might be said of your office, I suppose.”
“You suppose wrong. Any hint of indiscretion in an employee of the firm would lead to immediate dismissal.”
There was a note in her tone that he couldn’t quite read. “Sounds like your boss runs a tight ship.”
Her hands clenched on her lap, then eased, as if she made a deliberate effort not to show a reaction. “He does,” she said shortly. He felt her gaze on his face. “You’d better get used to the publicity. There may come a time when I’ll have to talk to the press. Thomas is going to need all the goodwill he can get.”
“If and when that happens, I’d advise you to keep my mother’s name out of it.”
“If you wanted to keep attention away from your family’s role in the case, you shouldn’t have interfered with my handling of that reporter. I was perfectly capable of dealing with her myself.”
His mood wasn’t improved by knowing that she was probably right. He’d acted on instinct, just as he so often accused his mother of doing.
Maybe it was time to change the subject. “How did you make out with Thomas?”
Her frown looked worried. “Not well. I’ll have to talk with this Mr. Frost as soon as possible. Thomas trusts him, and he’s not going to open up to me until Frost assures him it’s all right.”
“That’s easily done.”
He drew the car to the side of the road and stopped, then pulled out his cell phone and touched the number for Leo Frost’s private line. In a moment’s time he’d set up an appointment for Jessica for the next morning. When he ended the call, he realized that she was looking at him with more than a little annoyance in her face.
“What?” he said, answering the look. “You said you had to meet with him.”
“I didn’t say I wanted you to make an appointment for me. Or to interfere in my handling of the case.”
“Interfering? I thought I was being helpful.” He gave her the smile that women usually found disarming. It didn’t seem to have that effect on Jessica.
“I don’t need your help. I’d hoped I’d made that clear.”
He found he was gritting his teeth. “You’ve made your position clear enough. Now you’d better understand mine. As long as my mother insists on being involved in this case, I am, too. So you’d better get used to it, Counselor. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”
CHAPTER FOUR
BY THE TIME JESSICA pulled into the parking lot at her town-house complex in Philadelphia, her head was splitting. She’d hit the city just in time for rush-hour traffic. Nobody wanted to be caught on the Schuylkill Expressway, known as the Sure-kill by locals, at that time of day.
Her headache intensified when her cell phone rang just as she walked in the front door. She frowned at the number.
Her father. That was unusual enough to give her a jolt of apprehension as she answered.
“Dad. Is anything wrong?”
“Perhaps I should be asking you that question, Jessica.” Her father’s voice was as crisp as if he were talking to an erring subordinate. “I understand you’re on shaky ground at work.”
She was tempted to ask how he knew that, but that would be pointless. Her father moved in rarified judicial circles, where everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she said, hoping that was true as she closed the door behind her.
“I hope that’s true.” His voice echoed her thoughts. “I’ve invested my own political capital in obtaining that position for you. Don’t disappoint me.”
That was all. No question about whether she was being judged unfairly, no expressions of concern. She and her father didn’t have that sort of relationship. Still, he loved her in his own way, didn’t he?
“I’ll do my best.”
“Naturally.” Unspoken was his obvious suspicion that her best wouldn’t be good enough. “I’ll talk with you on the weekend.”
She hung up and blew out a frustrated breath as she turned toward her roommate. Sara Davenport was collapsed in their one recliner with her computer on her lap. “My father,” she said in expl
anation. “He’s heard about the job situation.”
“Don’t let it get to you,” Sara said, her voice warm with sympathy. She was one of the few people who knew how just how rocky Jessica’s relationship with her father was.
“I try.” She dropped onto the sofa, leaning her head back. “I’m going to have to get a motel room in Lancaster County, at least for the next week or so. Driving back and forth is a killer.”
“Don’t you have a date with Brett Dunleavy on Friday?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’d forgotten. I’ll have to cancel.”
“You’d forgotten. Need I point out that that is a sad commentary on your relationship with young Dr. Brett?”
She’d have thrown a pillow at Sara if she weren’t so tired. “Brett understands. Given how busy his residency keeps him, he’s no more eager to get seriously involved at this point than I am.” She’d tried serious. It hadn’t worked.
“Couple of workaholics. Sounds like a match made in heaven.” Sara grinned. “So you’re forgetting your love life. This case must be a stinker.”
“It is, but what makes you think so?”
“If the partners were that ready to pass it off to you, that means they didn’t want to deal with it themselves.” Sara set the computer on the coffee table and shoved her glasses up on her head, using them to hold back her unruly tangle of red hair.
Since Sara had spent two years in a topflight firm in the city before escaping to a legal-aid office where she said she could at least help people who needed it, her advice was usually on target.
“You’re probably right.” Jessica rubbed her aching temples. “Henderson implied that the woman who’s paying for the defense asked for me, but I don’t see how that can be.”
“What’s the case? I haven’t had anything more interesting lately than the usual run of rotten absentee landlords. I spent the day arguing with a housing inspector, trying to convince him to do his job.”
“This would be right up your alley,” Jessica said. “You always like taking on the hopeless cases. I’ve got an Amish kid accused of the beating death of a woman who was apparently something of a party girl.”
“Amish? That is unusual. I can’t remember the last time I saw anything about an Amish person suspected in a crime.”
She hadn’t thought of Sara as a source of information. Maybe she should have. “I take it that means you’ve never represented one.”
“The Amish don’t spend much time in the city. I’ve been on the usual tour of Lancaster County, but that’s about it. Tell me about the defendant.”
“There’s not much to tell at this point.” Jessica rubbed the back of her neck, trying to get rid of the tension there. “He doesn’t trust me enough to talk to me, and I don’t know how to get through to him. His minister wants me off the case, and as far as I can tell, most of the community thinks he’s guilty.”
“What about the person who’s paying you?”
Jessica thought about how to explain Geneva Morgan. She wasn’t sure she could even explain to herself the effect the woman had on her.
“She’s totally convinced that the boy—Thomas Esch—is innocent, but it’s based on instinct, not on facts.”
Sara’s nose wrinkled. “I wouldn’t discount instinct, at least not if you thought her opinion reliable.”
“I’m not sure. Geneva—well, she seemed a bit quirky, I guess. Warmhearted. I can’t say what kind of judge of character she is on one brief phone conversation and an acquaintance of fifteen minutes or so.”
“But you liked her,” Sara said.
“Yes, I did.” There was no harm in admitting that. “She certainly has faith in the boy. And faith in my ability to prove him innocent. As for whether she’s right—well, her son doesn’t think so.”
“Her son? What does he have to do with it?” Sara snuggled into the chair, grinning. “Come on, give.”
“He tried to get rid of me, because he doesn’t want his mother involved in something this nasty.”
“Overprotective,” Sara said.
“Overprotective, arrogant, used to being the boss, I’d guess. And he’s determined to dog my footsteps to make sure I don’t do anything that reflects badly on the family.”
“Sounds like a pompous jerk.” Sara dismissed Trey with a wave of her hand. “If his mother retained you and the client agrees, he has nothing to do with it.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to deal with him.” And besides, Sara had more assertiveness in her little finger than Jessica had in her whole body. “It’s curious that Mr. Henderson is so keen on pleasing the Morgan family. I’d have said they were big fish in a small pond, frankly. Important enough in their little world, but hardly the type to impress Henderson.”
“Let’s see who they are.” Sara straightened, leaning toward the laptop. She looked at Jessica inquiringly. “Geneva Morgan, you said?”
“That’s right. The son’s name is Trey—well, actually Blake Winston Morgan the Third. But I’m not sure it’s appropriate to be looking them up.” It always made her feel like a stalker to do that, but Sara never hesitated to check Google even for casual acquaintances.
Sara’s fingers moved rapidly on the keys. “Hmm.”
“Hmm what?”
Her roommate grinned. “Aren’t you afraid it’s inappropriate?”
“Never mind that.” She crossed the room to perch on the arm of Sara’s chair. “What did you find?”
“Geneva is from a Main Line Philadelphia family—the kind of people who go to the right schools, marry the right people and only appear in the newspapers when they’re born, when they marry and when they die. That’s probably the answer. Maybe she went to the same exclusive girls’ school as your Mr. Henderson’s wife. Those people all know each other.”
Jessica couldn’t help but smile at the description, thinking of Geneva. “She must have been the outlaw, then. She dresses like a ’60s hippie. How did you get all that so quickly?”
Sara shrugged, not bothering to point out that she was a pro when it came to finding information about people. “I went on the assumption that Winston was Geneva’s maiden name. Easy enough to find her birth and marriage record. The rest of it is informed supposition, based on a lifetime of knowledge of Philadelphia society.”
“Come to think of it, she did mention something about Eva Henderson. What about Trey’s father?”
Sara’s fingers clicked on the keys. “Old county family, going right back to the original land grant from William Penn, it looks like. Nobody rich or famous, but solid citizens, all of them. Except…” The sassy tone in which she’d been reciting her research died away.
“Except what?” Jessica leaned over, trying to read the screen.
“Blake Morgan the Second. Your Trey’s father, I suppose. It seems he committed suicide about a year ago.”
“Suicide.” Jessica repeated the word, shocked and saddened. “I didn’t think—well, how could I know?” That would explain why Trey was so protective of his mother.
“The obituary is carefully worded. A newspaper report won’t be as tactful. If I can find anything else—” Keys clicked again, and Sara frowned at the screen.
It took only a few more minutes to find a newspaper account of the tragedy. Sara turned the laptop so that Jessica could read it for herself.
Trey’s father had shot himself in an isolated hunting cabin belonging to the family a few days after receiving a diagnosis of cancer. The photo showed a rustic cottage surrounded by dense woods. His son had been the one to find his body.
Jessica’s stomach twisted. “Poor man,” she murmured, not sure whether she was talking about Trey or his father. Maybe both.
“Yes,” Sara said, her normal ebullience muted. “But you can’t let it change how you deal with him. If he’s interfering in your case, you still have the right to brush him off. Politely, of course.”
She hadn’t been able to brush him off even when she’d resorted to rudeness. This ma
de it a hundred times harder. She would have been better off not knowing. And poor Geneva…how difficult that must have been for her.
“What did you say the client’s name is?” Sara was clicking away again, undeterred.
“Thomas Esch. But you’re not going to find anything about him. I told you—he’s Amish. I don’t know much about them, but I’m pretty sure they avoid publicity. The original account I read gave only his name and age.”
Sara nodded, scanning quickly down through her search results. “You’re right about that. There’s nothing here except accounts of his arrest. He was taken into custody right after the body was discovered. He was still at the scene, either asleep or unconscious.”
“Right.” That was what Trey had said. “I’ll read through the rest of the coverage later.” If it came to asking for a change of venue, she’d need that ammunition. She rose, stretching. “Is there anything left of that chicken soup your mother sent over?”
Since Sara was a native Philadelphian, Jessica had benefited from her mother’s apparent conviction that they both needed quantities of home-cooked food every week in order to survive.
“You can have the rest of it,” Sara said absently, her gaze still intent on the computer screen. “Wait a minute. Here’s something you didn’t mention. Did you know that the barn where the body was found actually belongs to the Morgan family?”
Jessica stopped in the middle of a yawn. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what the paper says. They didn’t tell you?”
“No. Neither of them did.” Her mind whirled for a moment then settled. Geneva, in all her protestations of how innocent Thomas was, in all her talk of the gardening he did for her—was that only meant to establish that Thomas had access to the barn they owned?
