“Of course.” The lawyer looked at Lindsey. “And you are?”
“Lindsey Leary. I’m pitching in on the case.”
“Great.” She glanced around the apartment, which looked about as homey as a dentist’s waiting room. “We can sit in here,” she said, leading them to a long table.
Brynn took a seat at the head of the table opposite Jeremy, the bodyguard who had let them in here. Everyone claimed a chair except for Erik Morgan, who leaned against the bar. Lindsey had just met the man, but she pegged him for ex-military based on his perfect posture, short haircut, and steely gaze.
“So what can I do for you?” Brynn asked.
“We hear you’re on the Sebring trial,” Max said.
“That’s right.”
“Conlon trying that one?”
“He is.”
“Tough case.”
“Yes. But I assume you’re here to discuss Jen Ballard’s case?”
“We are.” Lindsey scooted her chair in. “We believe you can help with our investigation. I understand you and Jen were friends?”
“Yes.”
Lindsey flipped open her book. “And . . . I understand you were on her team for the James Corby trial?”
“That’s correct.”
Lindsey glanced at Max, whose gaze was glued to the attorney—which shouldn’t have been surprising. The woman definitely made an impression.
Lindsey waited for her to elaborate on her answer, but she didn’t. Defense attorneys tended to hold their cards close.
“Listen, Ms. Holloran,” Lindsey said, “I’ll cut to the chase here. We’re a small department. We’re understaffed and underfunded, and we’ve got a crapload of cases to deal with. So we could really use your help on this one.”
“I’ll help however I can, but what is it you want, exactly?”
“It’s more what we don’t want,” Lindsey said. “We don’t want to reinvent the wheel here, in terms of our investigation. I’m sure you know our prime suspect—actually, our only suspect, at this point—is James Corby. You prosecuted the man. You know him. It’s possible you know him better than anybody, now that Jen Ballard and Michael McGowan are dead.”
Brynn’s brow furrowed at Lindsey’s words. “And?”
“We’d like you to tell us more about his MO,” Max said. “You helped convict him of four homicides—”
“A jury convicted him.”
Max nodded. “Well, what’s his trademark? What should we look for to link him to these crime scenes?”
“Nothing.”
“There’s got to be something,” Max said.
“No, that’s just it. Nothing is his trademark.” She looked at Lindsey. “He leaves behind no trace of himself whatsoever. No prints, no semen, no hair or fiber evidence. He’s meticulous. That’s what made him tough to prosecute.”
Max leaned back in his chair, watching her. “That’s been our problem so far. CSIs have been over both victims’ houses, and they haven’t found dick, if you’ll pardon my language.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Brynn said.
“What about people?” Lindsey asked. “Is there anyone he’s close to who might be helping him, giving him refuge? You’ve probably heard that Mick McGowan’s killer stole his guns and his truck, and there’s been a BOLO out but no sightings.”
“Wait, guns?” Erik cut in.
“He cleared out McGowan’s gun cabinet,” Lindsey said. “The door was open, and everything was missing.”
“I need a list of those weapons.”
“We’re working on it. We’ve made contact with McGowan’s son, and he’s supposed to get us a list of everything that could have been in there.”
Based on his intensely unhappy expression, this was the first Erik was hearing about the gun cabinet.
“He takes trophies.”
All eyes turned to Brynn.
“From his victims,” she elaborated. “A chunk of hair, a bracelet. He takes a souvenir from each of them, sometimes two. In Lauren Tull’s case, she was missing a necklace. Investigators found it in Corby’s possession, which was how they finally nailed him.”
“We read about that,” Lindsey said. “We’ve checked for anything missing at the judge’s house, but so far nothing that anyone can pinpoint.” She flipped through her notepad. “What about relatives? Do you recall anyone who attended Corby’s trial?”
“No.”
“Friends? Girlfriends?” Max persisted. “Maybe someone who just showed up for a day?”
“Not that we ever knew about.”
“That old truck of McGowan’s is distinctive,” Lindsey said. “I keep thinking he has to be hiding it in a garage someplace, or we would have had a call on it by now.”
“We believe someone must be harboring this guy,” Max added.
But Brynn was shaking her head. “I wouldn’t assume that,” she told them. “Corby’s a loner. I mean, in the extreme. He’s an only child, he never knew his father, and his mother’s been dead for years. The guy’s alone in the world, which—if you believe the shrink who evaluated him—is part of his problem. There’s nobody. His coworkers at the cable company said they barely knew him, that he kept to himself. No one posted his bail or attended the trial to support him. He had no visitors in prison, with the exception of a few curious reporters who were hoping to write a book.” She sighed. “The man is antisocial, in every sense of the word.”
Lindsey glanced at Max. They’d really been hoping for a name or a place that might provide a new lead.
“Back to the guns,” Brynn said.
“What about them?” Max asked.
“That whole thing seems off. All of his sexual homicides, he killed them with a knife. If he’s on some sick revenge quest, then I’d expect him to use a blade and not a bullet.”
Lindsey looked at Max. “You didn’t tell her?”
“We were keeping it under wraps.”
“Tell me what?” Brynn leaned forward, her sharp words at odds with the fear in her eyes.
“Jennifer Ballard . . .” Lindsey hesitated.
“Jen died of gunshot wounds.” She looked at Max. “That’s what you told me on the phone.”
“Yes, but her killer didn’t just shoot her,” Max said. “He cut out her tongue.”
AFTER THE detectives left, Erik reviewed the new camera setup with Jeremy and then went across the hall to look for Brynn.
“Where is she?” he asked Hayes.
“In her bedroom.”
Brynn stepped into the hallway. She wore jeans and a white T-shirt now, and her damp hair was loose around her shoulders. She walked into the living room and grabbed a pair of sandals from under the table.
“Going somewhere?” Erik asked.
She slipped her feet into the shoes. “Getting some dinner. Who’s coming with me?”
Erik nodded at Hayes. “Bring the car around.”
“Sure.”
“It’s right next door,” Brynn added.
“Which place?” Erik asked. “One of us can run out for you.”
“No, I can run out.” She picked up her purse. “I refuse to be a hostage here.”
Erik looked at Hayes. “They need you at Ross’s to review the new camera setup.”
“Got it,” Hayes said, looking all too relieved to duck out the door.
Brynn grabbed her cell phone off the counter and tucked it into her back pocket. Erik followed her out and waited while she locked the apartment. Then she headed for the elevator and jabbed the button before he could reach for it.
They rode down in silence.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked.
“About what?”
“What’s bothering you.”
The door slid open, and she stepped out.
“Brynn?”
“I’m fine.”
She headed for the back exit. Erik strode in front of her and pushed open the door, scanning the surrounding area before allowing her to step out.
�
��Bamboo Palace,” she said. “It’s just past the yogurt shop.”
Farther than next door, but Erik let it go. She was already in a pissy mood. He skimmed the street as they walked without talking. They passed shoppers, dog walkers, even a few joggers, although the pavement was still hot enough to fry an egg.
The restaurant was sandwiched between a chiropractor and a pet groomer. A swag of red paper lanterns hung over the hostess stand. Beside the register sat a happy Buddha statue and a bowl of fortune cookies.
“Two for dinner,” Brynn told the hostess.
Erik had assumed they were picking up food, but Brynn had other plans, apparently.
The hostess showed them to a red vinyl booth next to a fish tank. Erik took the seat facing the door, and Brynn slid in across from him. Erik noted people and exits. An elderly couple had a booth beside the window, and a lone businessman sat at the bar near a line of to-go bags waiting for pickup.
Brynn already had her nose in a menu.
“Sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Erik asked.
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“You’re upset.”
She slapped the menu down. “How the hell would you know?”
“You get snippy when you’re upset.”
“Don’t you mean ‘bitchy’? How original. That’s definitely something I haven’t heard in my seven years as a female practicing law.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what you meant.”
The hostess reappeared with a notepad in her hand. She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and looked at Brynn. “Something to drink?”
“Two Tsingtaos.” She gave Erik a sharp look, daring him to object.
The woman jotted it down and walked away.
Erik rested his arms on the table. “You’re under a lot of stress. I get it, Brynn.”
She stared at the murky fish tank. “What they said about Jen . . . I had no idea.”
Erik watched her, wishing she didn’t look so anguished.
“I’ve been kidding myself. All this time.” She looked at him, and the vulnerability in her blue eyes put a pinch in his chest. It was such a contrast to her usual brash confidence.
“I thought maybe it wasn’t him.” She shook her head. “I know—crazy, right? Who else would it be? But I didn’t want to believe it. And I didn’t, not really. Not until they said that about him cutting her.”
“People don’t want to believe threats against them are real,” he said. “I see it all the time. It’s a natural response.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s so awful. Poor Jen.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked up at him. No tears in her eyes, but he saw the pain there. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but that was the last thing he could do. She was his client.
“Corby’s trial was a bad time for me,” she said. “There was so much pressure . . .” She trailed off. “It was big news here in Dallas. Four women raped and murdered over an eighteen-month period. The college campuses were practically on lockdown. Police were under a lot of pressure to arrest someone, and they did, which was good, except—between you and me—I think they may have rushed things. When it got handed over to the DA’s office, it was disorganized, and it fell to Jen and me to pretty much piece everything together.”
“What, you mean the evidence?”
“Yeah, I mean, they had him. No question. But some of the paperwork was hurried.” She sighed. “It happens in high-profile cases sometimes, but it makes things harder in court.” She squeezed her eyes shut again. “And God, it was hard. The worst case I ever worked on. It was all-consuming.”
“I bet.”
“It didn’t help that there was this media spotlight on everything. We worked a lot of long days. Long nights. And every morning, I had to go into that courtroom and sit right across the aisle from him. And sometimes he would just stare at me when the jurors weren’t there. I fucking hated it. I’ve never been so relieved to get to a verdict.”
Erik watched her intently, his blood simmering at the thought of that shitbag murderer intimidating her that way. Erik had wanted to get his hands on the man for days, but now he truly felt the urge to throttle him.
The waitress was back with two beer bottles, each wrapped with a neatly folded napkin. She set down the beers and then a glass for each.
“Something to eat?” she asked.
“We’ll start with the egg rolls,” Brynn said. “Then I’d like the sesame chicken, the spare ribs, and the ginger broccoli.”
The woman looked at Erik.
“Vegetable lo mein,” he said.
“That’s it?” Brynn asked.
“Yeah.”
The server left, and Brynn poured her beer, tipping the glass to minimize the head.
Erik watched her, waiting for her to keep talking about the trial. Her hair was still damp and had made little wet spots on her shoulders. She looked so anxious sitting there, and Erik hated Corby all over again.
“Finally, the jury came back with a verdict,” she said. “Guilty on all counts, just like we expected, but I’ve never in my life been so relieved. I never wanted to see him again. Or read about him or even think his name after that.”
And yet she had. She’d kept tabs on him. She knew his nickname in prison. And she knew he’d had no visitors, besides those few reporters chasing an interview.
“All this stuff, it’s dredging everything back up again.”
“I know.” He watched her, wishing there was something more that he could say.
“I’m glad they came, though,” she said.
“You mean Gorman and Leary?”
“Yeah. Actually, I’m surprised they reached out to me. We’re not exactly chummy with the cops around here, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“What’s that about, anyway?”
“It goes back to this case Reggie had here in Dallas. Hector Bell.” She sipped her beer. “You really want to hear this?”
“Yeah.”
She took a deep breath. “Hector was thirty-one. He’d used up two of his three strikes and was out on parole when he got pulled over for a busted taillight. He was driving an old Buick and had an envelope in the front seat stuffed with five thousand dollars in cash. The cop who pulled him over asked about the money, and Hector said he was on his way to buy a car. He had the Buick’s title in the envelope, ready to make the trade.”
“Sounds legit.”
“It was. So the officer ran him through the system, then returned to the window and demanded that he hand over the money. Hector refused. The cop asked him again, this time showing him the drop bag he promised to plant on him if he didn’t comply. The bag had enough coke to guarantee Hector a one-way ticket back to prison if he didn’t cooperate. Hector happened to have his cell phone recording the whole exchange, but the officer didn’t know that until much later.”
Erik shook his head.
“Reggie blew it out at trial, revealing a scam that involved three dirty cops, who sullied the reputation of the whole department. The three cops got fired, Hector got a walk, and Reggie got a ton of media coverage in Dallas. The case was a boon to his career, but when the dust settled, he decided to pick up stakes and move his practice to a place where he wasn’t hated by everyone with a badge.” She took another sip of beer. “So that’s it. That’s the case that made any lawyer from Blythe and Gunn a pariah around here.”
The server was back with the egg rolls. Brynn divided the order and slid a plate in front of him.
“You’re going to like these,” she said, spooning mustard from a tiny jar.
Talking about Reggie seemed to improve her mood. Or maybe it was the food. She had the appetite of a linebacker, but somehow she managed to stay in shape.
“Looks like your case is off to a good start,” Erik said.
“Where’d you hear that?” She chomped into her egg roll.
“I slipped into the courtroom and watched for
a while.”
“Slipped?” She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “You guys don’t slip anywhere. How come I didn’t see you?”
“I’m unobtrusive.”
She snorted and picked up her beer.
“You were preoccupied with your jury selection. Nice job, by the way. I think you made a good impression on those people.”
“Yeah, well, Reggie’s a good teacher.”
“Is that how he got you? I know it wasn’t all about money.” Erik reached for the mustard and spooned some onto his plate.
“That’s hot,” Brynn warned.
He added another dollop.
“Reggie approached me after the Corby trial. I’d taken a leave of absence because I’d become so immersed in everything.”
“What constitutes a ‘leave’ for you?” he asked.
“I was gone three weeks.”
Erik bit into the egg roll. Holy shit. His eyes watered, and he reached for his beer.
Brynn smiled. “Told you.”
Erik waited until he could talk again. “That’s not a leave, that’s a vacation.”
“Well, for me, it was a leave. I went to Port O’Connor to visit my mom and her husband. Very restful. Reading, jogging, fishing every morning at five a.m. Napping in the afternoon. Of course, my mom and I got to bickering, but I knew that would happen. I love her to death, but we drive each other crazy.”
“And your dad? Where is he?”
“No idea. He left when I was little and hasn’t kept in touch.”
She dipped the last bite of egg roll into some mustard and ate it without flinching. “Anyway, Reggie tracked me down the third week. He laid out his argument and persuaded me to move to Pine Rock and join his firm. So I did. I switched to private practice, bought a house, met a guy. Everything was great.”
A young waiter showed up with a tray of steaming food. He unloaded the dishes, and Erik asked for a water.
“Wimp,” Brynn said. She scooped food onto her plate and gave his lo mein a disapproving look. Erik already had buyer’s remorse after seeing her barbecued spare ribs.
“You were saying?” he asked. “Everything was great?” Erik had definitely sensed a “but” coming.
Desperate Girls Page 10
