Once Reed had gone home, Ann had sat with David until after midnight, looking through the old photo albums, telling him detailed stories about his father. They had laughed and they had cried, but Ann felt it was necessary. David was about to bury his father. She wanted the memories to be fresh in his mind.
Walking across the courtyard to the cafeteria for their morning break, Claudette kept bumping into Ann. “Why do you always do that?” Ann snapped. The tension had given her a nasty disposition and a throbbing headache. “Do you realize you do that, Claudette? Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”
“What?” Claudette said. “What’d I do?”
“Every time we walk somewhere together, you constantly bump into me. You don’t walk straight. You sort of weave all over the place like a drunk.”
“Well, thanks for sharing that with me,” Claudette said good-naturedly. Then she saw the strain on Ann’s face and fell serious again. “Did you tell Tommy to call you at work when he heard something?”
“Certainly,” Ann said.
“Shit,” Claudette said. “This thing is getting real spooky. All this stuff about Hank. Did you find out about Carl Simmons?”
“He was still in prison when I got shot, but he was released the following week. I don’t think we’re talking about two separate people here, Claudette. Whoever shot me has to be the person terrorizing me. Noah Abrams has hammered that point home to me.”
“I don’t know, Ann. Maybe Simmons planned it that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s an educated man, Ann, if I remember correctly. He might be crazy, but he’s not dumb. He could have hired someone from inside the joint to shoot you, knowing he would have an airtight alibi. Then when the shooter failed to kill you, he started stalking you himself.”
A man stepped out of the shadows and approached them. “Ann Carlisle?” he said. “Are you Ann Carlisle?”
Claudette grabbed Ann’s arm and pulled her close, her dark eyes wide with alarm. “What do you want?” she said.
The man gave Claudette a hasty once-over and handed a paper to Ann. “Ms. Carlisle, please sign your name where the red X is.”
Ann looked down at the paper and then back up at Claudette. “He’s just a process server, Claudette. Someone’s serving me with a subpoena, probably a defense lawyer on one of my cases.” Ann scribbled her name, shoved the subpoena into her purse, and handed the man the form. As soon as he had the paper in his hand, he scurried off to find another victim.
Ann pulled on the heavy doors leading to the main building of the courthouse. Claudette had insisted they go for a coffee break. And when Claudette insisted, it was better to just go along.
“Aren’t you even gonna look at the damn thing?” Claudette said, curious.
“No,” Ann said, her mind on other things. “I’ll look at it later.”
Claudette stopped in the middle of the reception hall, people streaming past her on their way to court. She had that look in her eyes that said she had to know and she had to know right that second. “Oh, come on, Ann, look at it. Let’s see which case it is.”
“No, Claudette,” Ann said, forging ahead without looking back.
Footsteps scurried behind her, and Claudette once more reached Ann’s side, her shoulder butting up against her. “You’ll tell me later, then? Right after we have our coffee?”
“Maybe,” Ann said with a coy smile. “You buying, Claudette?”
“I’ll buy,” Claudette snapped. “I’ll buy the damn coffee. I’ll even buy you a damn donut.”
They joined the food line at the cafeteria. Ann looked out over the room, searching for Glen.
“Are you going to give me the dirt on Delvecchio?” Claudette asked, when they were seated at a table with their coffee. “Didn’t you tell me something was going on?”
Ann choked at the mention of Delvecchio. As soon as she cleared her throat, she answered, “I have to talk to Glen. There’s something I don’t understand about the pleading.”
“Well, take care of it,” Claudette said. “Now that he’s been convicted, we have to get that report done.”
The cafeteria was crowded and noisy, attorneys conferring with one another, arguing their cases over coffee, others sitting alone poring over briefs, their bulging litigation cases open before them. Here and there rough-looking defendants, tattoos and all, were sipping coffee and waiting for their turn in the courtroom. Right next to one particularly nasty character was a table full of men Ann recognized as assistant district attorneys.
She leaned across the table to Claudette, whispering, “Do you ever think how dangerous it is to have us all in this complex together?”
“Not really,” Claudette said, stabbing her sweet roll with her fork and shoving it at Ann’s face. “Take a bite. I thought you were going to have a donut. I’ve gained ten pounds. God, how am I ever gonna lose it?”
Ann pushed the fork away. “I’m not hungry, Claudette. See that guy over there sitting next to the table of D.A.s?”
“Yeah,” Claudette said, craning her neck around. “What about him? Looks like a killer.”
“What keeps him from pulling out a gun and shooting one of those guys? How do we know one of those men isn’t the very district attorney that’s prosecuting him?”
Claudette was chewing, her sweet roll almost gone.
When she swallowed, she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “You’re getting paranoid, Ann. Even in the old building, defendants and prosecutors intermingled. If you have a restaurant of any kind near the courts and it’s open to the public, that kind of thing’s bound to happen.”
Ann knew she was right. It just seemed too close to her, too tight. All around her she saw menacing faces. “Look at that guy,” she said without thinking. “A real sweetheart, huh? Looks like he could rip your heart out and eat it for breakfast.”
Claudette laughed. “He’s an attorney, Ann.”
“See, I told you he was vicious.” Ann laughed too, and the paranoia faded.
“Come on, let’s look at that subpoena.”
Ann smiled despite herself. Claudette just couldn’t hold out any longer. Pulling the paper out of her purse, Ann spread it out on the table, moving her coffee cup out of the way. “Shit, it’s Sawyer,” she exclaimed, her face flushing with anger. “He’s suing me for false arrest, defamation of character, and harassment.”
“No,” Claudette said. She hated it when one of her people got sued. Since she was the supervisor, she always had the ultimate responsibility. “I told you it was Sawyer all along. Now with this new development, you know for sure. It’s obvious. This guy will do anything, absolutely anything, to stay out of jail. Slimy, no-good piece of dog shit.”
Claudette’s curiosity was satisfied, and her mind instantly returned to work. “Take care of Delvecchio, Ann,” she said, getting up. “You can deal with Sawyer later.”
When Ann got up herself, she did not head for the probation department. Instead she took the elevator to the third floor, where the D.A.‘s office was located. Glen would have to reopen the case, as she saw it, and make an honest effort to get Delvecchio cleared. Of course, Ann thought, there was another serious issue involved: if Delvecchio was innocent, the real rapist was free.
Once she had been buzzed through the security doors, she spotted Glen in the hallway, laughing and chatting with a pretty brunette. “Ann,” he said, pushing himself away from the wall, “what are you doing over here?”
“I’ll see you at lunch,” the woman said, smiling flirtatiously at Glen as she walked away.
“Do you know Linda Weinstein?” Hopkins asked, a strained smile on his face. “She’s in the sex crimes unit. Delvecchio was her case initially. After I told her how strongly I felt about the case, she agreed to let me try it.”
Ann felt a twinge of jealousy. Linda Weinstein was glamorous, with her long hair, her expensive blue suit, her polished nails. Ann’s nails were ragged and unpolished, and she’d grabbed the first thing
she’d seen in her closet this morning: a white blouse frayed around the collar, a simple black skirt, a well-worn pair of flats. She looked like a schoolteacher. “Why did you insist on trying Delvecchio, anyway?” Ann said. “I mean, the crimes were awful, but you have so many other cases, and you’re always complaining how overworked you are.”
“Oh, well—” he said, and then stopped, looking behind him nervously.
“Glen…”
“Yeah,” he said quickly, taking Ann’s hand to lead I her to his office.
Ann pulled back. “Was Estelle Summer really your teacher? What school did you go to?”
“Yes,” he said gruffly. “Let’s talk in my office.”
Glen was off balance, Ann realized, and annoyed with her for some reason. What had she said? All she’d been doing was discussing a case. Had he been making a play for that woman when she walked in and interrupted?
Insisting she come with him, he squeezed her hand even tighter. As Ann flinched away, she felt something raised and abraded above his wrist. Quickly she brought it out in front of her so she could see what it was. On his right hand was a jagged cut, already scabbing over. “What did you do to your hand?”
“Nothing,” he said, his teeth clenched. “What’s wrong with you? You’re making me feel like a cad, like I’ve been carrying on behind your back with Linda Weinstein. I was only chatting with a coworker.” He stopped, and the look in his eyes became vicious. “You’re letting these phone calls make you crazy. Get some help for yourself. Go see a shrink or something.”
Ann’s mouth fell open in shock. It must be true, she thought, he was probably seeing that woman. He wouldn’t be so defensive if she hadn’t touched on something. She started to tell him about Hank, tell him it was over, but was unable to do so. An irrational, instinctive fear had seized her. Unable to pull her eyes away, Ann started shaking her head in denial. What was she seeing in his eyes? What had he said to her? Who was this person?
She knew she couldn’t be with him another second.
“I—I have to go,” she stammered, taking off briskly down the hall, shoving people out of her way. Passing through the security doors, she broke into a sprint. She continued running until she reached the ladies’ rest room and rushed inside.
When Ann walked out fifteen minutes later, unable to stop thinking about that cut, she heard her name being paged over the intercom and returned to her desk to take the call.
“I have some information for you,” Melanie Chase said. “I tried to call Reed, but he’s tied up on another call. I’m sorry I took so long, Ann, but it’s been a madhouse around here.”
“What have you got?” Ann said with a horrid sense of foreboding.
“I finished the analysis of that paint transfer from the break-in at your house,” Melanie said. “The car’s black, Ann, and the make’s probably a Rolls-Royce. This was an easy one. They’re the only people who use this kind of sealant. I mean. Rolls or Bentley. It’s one or the other.”
Ann slapped back in her chair, unable to believe her ears. “A Rolls-Royce?” she said. “You’re certain the paint came from a black Rolls-Royce?”
“No, Ann,” Melanie said firmly, “I didn’t say that. I said it came from a Bentley or a Rolls. The same company makes both cars, so it could be either.”
Ann could see Glen’s black Rolls-Royce in her mind. He loved that car, was so proud of it. She felt the room reeling, as if it were about to capsize. Then everything came together at once. “Don’t hang up,” Ann said frantically. “Didn’t you say the man who broke into my house would have a cut somewhere? Where would it be?”
“I can’t believe you’re asking me this,” Melanie said, annoyed. The flick of a cigarette lighter came over the line, and she inhaled. “How in the hell would I know where he cut himself?” she said, emitting a puff. “I didn’t see the guy, you know? You people think I’m a fucking magician or something.”
“I thought—”
“Forget it,” Melanie said, her voice softening. “I’ve had a rough couple of days.”
Even though the cut didn’t prove anything. Glen was the right build, and Ann had recognized the eyes.
The mask! Delvecchio had been picked out of a lineup of men of similar build wearing masks. According to Delvecchio, the man who had given him the coat had been driving a black car that he hadn’t recognized. Something boxy like a Rolls-Royce.
“You have pubic hairs from the rapist in the Delvecchio case? Right? Isn’t that what you said?”
“Of course, Ann,” Melanie said, confused. “I thought we were talking about the break-in at your house.”
“We are,” she answered, gasping for breath. She felt as if a boa constrictor had wrapped around her chest and was squeezing the life out of her. Glen was the man who had attacked her. He had raped and brutalized three helpless old women. How could it be true? He had no reason. And why would Glen have driven a car as distinctive as the Rolls-Royce to break into her house? That was a foolish error, and Glen was not foolish. Besides, he had a motorcycle. Then Ann remembered the thunderstorm and heavy downpour the night she was attacked. Now it made sense.
But that couldn’t explain everything. Why would a man as attractive as Glen have to rape? Then Ann corrected herself. She knew better. Rape had to do with power, aggression, hatred. It had nothing to do with sex.
Once Ann said goodbye and hung up the phone, she laid her head down on the desk. She had to remain calm, think logically. Delvecchio hadn’t been able to identify the car. If she showed him a picture of Glen’s Rolls-Royce, however, he might be able to. For all she knew, the car still had body damage from the collision. Glen was too smart to take it into a body shop so soon after the crime. He would wait it out, wait until interest died down.
She suddenly felt a firm hand on her shoulder and jerked her head up.
“Ann,” Glen said softly, “I’m sorry we had a disagreement. Linda and I are old friends. I was going to buy her lunch because she let me try Delvecchio. I guess I was angry that you doubted me.”
“It’s fine,” Ann said, forcing a smile, feeling the heat from his touch through her blouse and wanting to knock his hand away. But she couldn’t show her fear. If Glen was a rapist, he would lap it up, feed on it. “It’s just these phone calls,” she lied. “They’re making me crazy.”
“You asked about my hand,” he said, showing it to her. “It’s only a scratch. I must have done it when I was working on my motorcycle the other day. To be honest, I didn’t even notice it until you said something.”
Ann took hold of his hand, seeing the irregular manner in which it was cut, consistent with broken glass. Did Glen know she knew? Feeling a spasm in the side of her neck, she forced herself to let the hand go. “All I was going to do is suggest a Band-Aid, Glen,” she said, sighing as if it were nothing. “You know, it’s the mother in me. I’m always afraid of infection.”
Glen laughed, confident again. “How’s David?”
“Great,” she said. “Everything’s great except for those phone calls. I just can’t figure out who’s making them.”
“Can you sneak away for a few hours tonight?” he said, winking suggestively. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Oh, no,” Ann said, shaking her head. “I really can’t, Glen. I promised David I’d take him to a movie.”
His eyes turned suddenly wary. “On a weeknight? Doesn’t he have school tomorrow?”
“Early movie,” Ann said quickly. “Anyway, forgive me, but I have an appointment any minute. A probationer, you know?”
“No problem,” he said, standing and tousling her hair before he left. “Call me later, okay?”
“Sure,” she said, holding her breath until his footsteps receded. How could anyone be so cruel, so heartless? How could she have fallen for him? Was she this bad a judge of character? Where did she go from here?
The Rolls, she decided.
By late afternoon. Tommy Reed had not contacted her, and Ann was a nervous wreck.
She had a plan in mind regarding her suspicions about Glen that might be viable, but she couldn’t leave the building until she heard the news about Hank. Finally, at five o’clock, the phone rang.
“The suspect confessed,” Reed said. “It’s over, Ann.”
She cupped her hand over her mouth, unable to reply coherently.
“From what the highway patrol investigators told me, they found Hank’s badge in the suspect’s apartment. When they confronted him, he confessed. He knew it was over at that point. He’d rather face prosecution for Hank’s murder in California than be returned to Texas. The legal system’s a lot harsher there, and he could get the death penalty.”
“Did…he tell them where Hank is buried?”
“They’re on their way out there now.” An overwhelming feeling of relief swept through her. “Then it’s really over.”
“Yes, Ann.” Reed said softly, “it’s over.”
By seven o’clock that evening, Ann was in her bedroom on the bed. David had taken the news better than she’d expected. Like Ann, he too was relieved that they finally knew the truth.
The phone rang and Ann grabbed it, thinking it was Reed with the flight information. They had found Hank’s body and were flying it back tomorrow. She had already told David that they would have a funeral, and she needed to make the arrangements.
“Ann,” Glen said, “how was the movie? Which one did you see, anyway?”
“Oh,” Ann said, immediately on guard, “we didn’t go. David isn’t feeling well.” Stay calm, she told herself. “So, what’s going on?”
“I’m sitting here all alone,” he said pensively. “I miss you, Ann. Can’t you come over after David goes to sleep? I haven’t felt right since this morning.” He laughed. “Was that our first fight?”
The first and the last, Ann thought bitterly. “I guess,” she said instead. “Had to happen sometime. Look, I have an idea. Why don’t I meet you at the Sail Loft in thirty minutes? David will be asleep by then.”
First Offense Page 30
