by Marta Perry
She started toward the television remote then stopped, listening. Footsteps, pacing quietly along the walk in front of the motel units. She took a quick look to be sure there weren’t any gaps in the drapes. She’d never have taken a first-floor room if there’d been any option.
No gaps. No one could possibly see in, and she’d double-bolted the door when she’d come back after supper. She was perfectly safe. It was just another guest, heading for his or her room.
The footsteps stopped. On the other side of the window. It could be perfectly innocent. Someone looking for a room number, or stopping to admire the sky, or looking at his watch, or lighting a cigarette. All perfectly innocent reasons for someone to be standing on the other side of that window, inches away from her.
She could pull back the drape. Her hand reached for it and stopped before she touched the fabric. She couldn’t. And anyway, she shouldn’t. Common sense dictated that she do nothing to stir up unwanted attention.
She realized she was holding her breath. Waiting. Was he holding his breath, too? Looking at the window? Anyone could have found out where she was staying, and the thought of that knife in her tires sent a chill down her spine.
Call the desk clerk. That was the sensible thing to do, regardless of whether he thought she sounded like an idiot. She took a step toward the phone. The person outside moved, too, walking quickly away.
Receiver in her hand, she moved back toward the window. If she parted the drapes just an inch, she might be able to see whoever it was. Her fingers closed on the fabric, and she leaned close.
The fixture was on outside her door, casting a semicircle of sickly light on the walk. Her eyes, accustomed to the lamps she’d turned on inside, couldn’t make out much in the parking lot.
She leaned closer, forehead touching the cool glass, and tried to look down the row of units. Nothing.
A movement from the parking lot caught her eye, but it was nothing more than a flicker of shadow against shadow. Suddenly something black hurtled toward her. She stumbled back, heart racing, as it thudded against the glass.
Silence. Nothing moved out there. Fingers shaking, she punched the button for the front desk.
“This is Ms. Langdon in Room 112.” Amazing that her voice sounded so calm when she was trembling inside. “Someone just threw something against my window.”
“Threw something?” He sounded about sixteen and unprepared to deal with anything other than a request for ice. “What…what do you want me to do, ma’am?”
“I want you to come over here and see what’s going on.” Call the police? She hesitated.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll…I’ll be right there.” He didn’t sound particularly willing.
She waited, cell phone in hand, ready to dial 911 if anything else happened. But nothing did, except a tentative knock on the door.
“Ma’am? It’s Benny, the night manager. The thing that hit your window…it’s okay. Just a bird flying into it, that’s all.”
She opened the door cautiously. The kid looked sixteen, too. He held a flashlight, which he shone down on the object on the ground in front of the window.
A bird…black, large. It lay spread out on the sidewalk, wings limp, head twisted.
“A raven, I think it is.” He knelt, poking at it. “Dead. Must have broken its neck when it hit the window. Birds do that, sometimes, y’know.”
“Yes, I know.” She probably looked ridiculous to him. Still, after hearing someone standing out here, seeing movement in the parking lot, no one could blame her for overreacting, could they?
“I’ll get something to clean it up.” He went quickly back toward the office.
She stood for a moment, looking down at the bird. Then, unwillingly, she bent, touching it. The raven, if that’s what it was, was dead. It was also cold and stiff.
She took a quick step away from it, grabbing the door. That bird hadn’t flown into her window. Not unless it could fly when it was already dead.
JESSICA PUSHED OPEN THE door to Leo’s office with the cardboard box she was carrying. At his questioning look, she put it down on the desk he’d insisted she use while she was in town.
“The box of discovery from the D.A.’s office. They finally came through with it, but there’s not much, in comparison to some cases I’ve worked.”
That was unfortunate. While it could be difficult to sort through tons of material, at least that gave the opportunity to pick holes in the prosecution’s case. Clearly the D.A. thought he had a slam dunk in this one with the evidence he had.
Leo came to peer curiously into the box. Then he took a step back, as if recalling that it was Jessica’s case, not his. “Sorry. I just can’t help being interested.”
“Please, go ahead and look. You’re assisting with the case, even if you don’t want to formalize the arrangement.” Jessica slipped off her suit jacket. She’d begun to feel that her clothes were a bit too formal for this setting, but she was stuck with what Henderson, Dawes and Henderson thought appropriate for an associate. “Given all the local antagonism, I can understand why you feel that way.”
“If that bothered me, I wouldn’t be insisting that you work here.” He lifted the lid on the box while she hung her jacket from the old-fashioned coat tree in the corner.
“Well, no, I don’t see you being worried about a little bad press,” she said. Leo, like Geneva, would do what he thought was right, no matter what the cost. It was a refreshing attitude. Sara would like these people.
Thinking of Sara reminded her of what had happened after their conversation the night before. Once again, after a little consideration, she hadn’t called the police, for two very good reasons. One, they wouldn’t have been able to do anything with the only evidence, a dead bird. And two, if the press got hold of it, she’d undoubtedly be letting herself in for worse, as more people got the great idea of driving Thomas’s defender away.
“I’ve lived long enough to know that even the worst things fade eventually,” Leo was saying. “And since I’m retiring, no one can hurt my business.”
She opened her laptop and switched it on, sinking into the padded desk chair. “I can’t tell you what it means to me to have the use of your office.”
“Motel room getting you down?” he asked.
She nodded, opening her e-mail. “Too small, terrible lighting and a desk that wobbles hopelessly.” To say nothing of too many uncomfortable…well, scary…moments that reminded her of how alone she was.
The truth was, quite aside from the convenience of the office, she enjoyed Leo’s company. Unlike the premises of Henderson, Dawes and Henderson, this office wasn’t permeated with the aroma of ambition.
“I enjoy having you here,” Leo said. “Brings a little life into the old place.” He glanced around the comfortably old-fashioned office, giving a sigh that he might not have been aware of. “I have to confess, I’ll miss it.”
“People will miss you, I’m sure.” She’d already seen the parade of people with problems who came through Leo’s office and left convinced their affairs were in good hands. Maybe they weren’t the kind of cases Henderson, Dawes and Henderson dealt with, but they were important to the people involved.
“Ah, well, no use looking back. I’ve made my decision. It’s time to retire.” As if to belie his words, Leo sat down with a sheaf of papers from the discovery box and began going through them. “How did you make out with Thomas’s parents yesterday?”
Now it was her turn to sigh. “Not bad, although I’m not sure I’d have gotten anything out of them if not for the combined efforts of Trey and Bishop Amos. And even at that, the family didn’t have anything really helpful to say. I think the father would have jumped at a plea bargain, not that one will be offered, just to have it over with.”
“I suspect his feelings are more complicated than that. Being separate from the world, living humbly—those things are the essence of the Amish. To be caught up in the English legal system and find themselves on the front page of the pape
r…”
Leo shoved his glasses up on his white hair and nodded toward the morning paper on the edge of his desk. The front page bore a photo of Trey pulling the Esch children away from the press. “Trey has a certain amount in common with the Amish in that respect. I don’t suppose he’s any too happy this morning to see that picture.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Trey insists he doesn’t want to be involved. Declares he’s only in it to protect Geneva. But the instant he saw those children surrounded by reporters, he charged in like Sir Galahad.”
Leo chuckled. “That’s Trey all right. He inherited his mother’s caring combined with his father’s sense of duty. That can put a heavy load on a person, trying to take responsibility for everyone else all the time.”
“Not everyone wants to be taken care of.” The words came out sharply enough that she was afraid she’d given herself away.
Leo slid his glasses into place and gave her a speculative glance. “I suppose that’s true, but you’d have a hard time convincing Trey of that.”
She didn’t intend to try, but maybe it was time to change the subject. This one was getting into uncomfortable territory. Her feelings on that subject went too deep—back to her mother’s death, back to her sense of abandonment when her father sent her away. She’d survived by learning to stand on her own. Independence was a good thing. She didn’t want, or need, to lean on anyone.
“Trey is going to exercise his need to take care of people by helping me interview the Amish kids that Thomas runs around with, especially those who were at that party. And I have to talk to the English kids, as well.” English—she was starting to talk like these people. “I notice the police interviewed a man named Charles Fulton. Apparently he was an on-again/off-again boyfriend of Cherry’s. Do you know anything about him?”
“Chip Fulton? I know who he is. Trey might be able to tell you more, since he’s closer in age.”
Naturally. Everything she needed, someone expected her to turn to Trey.
“He works at Walbeck’s Garage and lives outside of Springville,” Leo continued. “He’s been in trouble with the law once or twice, as I recall, although nothing very serious. DUI, maybe assault.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “He might be a more likely candidate for murderer than Thomas, but you can’t get away from the physical evidence. You know as well as I do that ‘I don’t remember’ isn’t going to be an adequate defense. I have to provide the jury with a version of the crime they can buy into.”
“Juries can be unexpected.” Leo rubbed the back of his neck. “Unfortunately, every potential juror in the county is being affected right now by the press coverage.”
“I’ve thought about filing a change-of-venue motion, but there are as many things against that as for it. At least here the potential jurors probably understand the Amish culture. I’m barely beginning to understand it myself, and trying to explain to a jury…” She let that trail off, sure that Leo understood.
Frustrated, she turned to the box. She had to go through it carefully, searching for the bit of wheat among all the chaff it undoubtedly contained.
A few minutes later she sank back in her chair, looking in disbelief at a sheet of paper from the evidence box. She glanced over at Leo, to find him watching her, obviously noting the change in her expression.
“Something interesting?” he asked.
“Something that explains why the D.A. was so slow in releasing the evidence, I’ll bet. This was buried at the bottom of the box. The results of the blood tests on Thomas and Cherry.”
She handed it to him then went and stood behind him, reading it again as he scanned quickly down through the results.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “According to this, there was a whopping amount of Rohypnol in Thomas’s system. Thomas’s. And none in Cherry’s.”
“Date-rape drug,” she said slowly. “That explains why Thomas doesn’t remember anything. I’ve done some research on it in relation to a case.” One of Henderson’s wealthy clients, in fact. She’d been expected to make the case go away. “Victims experience amnesia in regard to anything that happened while under the influence.”
He nodded. “Like Thomas. It wasn’t the drinking. It was the drug. But it’s all the wrong way around. Why would Thomas be drugged?”
“I don’t know. But I’m not sure it would be possible for Thomas to have performed a violent act while under the influence, although I suppose the D.A. could argue that the murder happened before the drug had taken effect.”
Leo reached for his address book. “We need an expert opinion. I know someone in Harrisburg, unless you have a person the firm uses.”
“No, go ahead and call your guy.” She wasn’t sure how Henderson would respond to that request. He’d obviously thought this case would end in a simple plea bargain. If he’d imagined it could have turned into much of a case, he wouldn’t have sent her. “In the meantime, I’m going to call the D.A. He can’t be as sure of his case now as he was.”
A spurt of enthusiasm flowed through Jessica, and her mind began ticking over possibilities. The D.A. might come forth with a more reasonable plea-bargain offer, although she doubted that Geneva would want to accept any deal. And maybe Geneva had been right all along. Thomas just might be innocent.
CHAPTER NINE
TREY WAS BACK BEHIND the wheel of the truck again, ferrying Jessica in search of kids who’d been at the party. Working together like this had begun to feel familiar—maybe too easy and familiar.
“Thanks again for helping out with this.” Jessica sounded cool, as if she were as intent as he was on setting boundaries. “I’m sure I’m taking you away from work.”
He shrugged. “I went into the office early to go through some papers that needed my attention. I’ll catch up, eventually. And you’ll get through this faster with someone who knows his way around. Besides, I know a few of these families, so it might help to have me along.”
The truth was that he’d been ignoring a lot that should be done at the office because of this situation. But if he didn’t help Jessica, he had a feeling his mother would, and he shuddered at the thought of Mom playing Nancy Drew.
“Your office is in Springville?” She glanced at him. “I confess, I hadn’t pictured you in an office setting.”
“Because of the khakis and sport shirt? This is considered dressy around here. Anyway, I’m the boss. I can wear what I want. You should see casual Friday.”
That got a faint smile from her. “I’d intended to talk to Cherry Wilson’s employer and coworkers today, but this drug-test report makes it more crucial to talk with people who were at the party.”
“You figure that’s where Thomas was given the drug?”
“I think so.” Her forehead wrinkled. “According to the research I’ve done, Rohypnol causes a sleepy, relaxed, drunk feeling, and the victim may forget everything that happened. The last thing Thomas remembers about that night was being at the party.”
“Makes sense.” His fingers tightened on the wheel at the thought of someone doing that to any kid, let alone one as inexperienced and trusting as Thomas. “If that’s the case, you might argue that he couldn’t have become violent.”
“We talked about that, but we need more than supposition. Leo is contacting an expert to go over the findings for us. The problem with experts is that juries tend to distrust them. The prosecution brings on theirs, we bring on ours…it can just be a wash. We need to find someone who saw Thomas either being drugged or under the influence. Unfortunately, teenagers tend to clam up in the face of authority.”
He shot another glance at Jessica, reading the determination in the set of her jaw. “That sounds like the voice of experience speaking.”
“Me?” She looked startled. “I had the most boring adolescence of all time. We lived in Boston, but I didn’t go to public schools. My father sent me to a strict girls’ boarding school. Most of us were too scared of the administration to party, even if we could have gotten off-
campus.”
“That sounds a little…lonely.” In comparison with his childhood, certainly. His younger brother and sister had kept things lively. And even though Mom and Dad could have sent them to private school, as far as he could tell they’d never even considered it.
Jessica shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. My mother died when I was young, and with my father’s career…well, he didn’t have much time.”
He’d looked up Jessica’s illustrious father when he was trying to find out more about her. It sounded as if his only child had been sacrificed to his judicial advancement.
“No other relatives?”
“No one we were close to.” She seemed to shake off childhood memories. “Anyway, I’m sure you know more about the party scene around here than I ever could.”
He had to respect her changing the subject. “I went to a few in my time,” he admitted. “But I think those were pretty tame in comparison to what kids get up to now.”
“That may make it even harder to get any of them to open up,” she said.
“All we can do is try. I didn’t realize defense attorneys had to be detectives, too.”
Her lips curved. “I admit, it’s not in the job description. But this isn’t an ordinary situation. Right now…” She lifted her hands, palms up. “Right now I don’t have much to take to trial.” Her eyes darkened, and he could feel the tension building in her. “Maybe I ought to be trying harder for a plea-bargain offer.”
“You said the only reason the D.A. would come up with an offer was because he didn’t want to have to explain how the drug report fits into his version of the crime.”
He’d been surprised that Jessica had confided that much information in him. Maybe she’d felt that he had to know that much in order to help with the teens. Or maybe she was beginning to trust him.
“True, but I still have to come up with an alternate version of the story. If not—”
