SEE HER DIE

by Debra Webb

  “It’s my goal to prove my sister didn’t commit the crime,” she clarified just in case he hadn’t gotten it the first two times she’d stated her intent, and obviously he hadn’t. She knew the law too, but she wanted this case to go all the way to trial if necessary. Yes, she readily admitted that her goal had an emotional base, but putting that aside she knew her sister was not guilty of murder.

  “That’s an honorable goal, Jillian.” Cullen sipped his wine, swirled it in his stemmed glass, then set it aside. “But I’m not sure your family is prepared for the price of achieving that unlikely outcome.”

  She lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “There’s no question. I’m prepared to go the distance in and out of the courtroom.” Was this guy full of himself or what?

  Cullen sighed and considered her statement. “What about your mother?” His direct gaze sliced into hers. “Is she prepared to see her daughter’s name splashed across half the newspapers in northeastern Tennessee? You know the DA’s office will drudge up more dirty business than you can stir with a stick. The fact that a major research corporation, which is already making its own kind of headlines, is involved will only bait the press hounds. It won’t be pretty. Nor will it accomplish your goal of proving a third party was involved if we don’t discover at least some substantiating evidence.” He leaned forward, speaking more quietly now, but with the same intensity. “I’ve reviewed the reports, Jillian, the case against your sister is concrete.”

  Jill shook her head. She knew all that. “There’s no motive.”

  He made a disparaging sound in his throat. “They’ll find one. Hell, they’ll find three just to be safe.”

  She lifted her chin and met his steady gaze with the sternest one she could muster. She knew that too, but she wasn’t about to back down. “And what about the bruises? There had to be a third party.”

  He nodded solemnly. “It’s from those very injuries, my dear, that they’ll produce the strongest motive. Think about it, and you’ll know I’m right. This is already labeled a domestic dispute that turned deadly. Did your sister have an illicit lover?” He stopped her with an uplifted palm when she would have raised an objection. “A man who, perhaps, had grown tired of her promises to leave her husband? A man who beat her when she refused his final ultimatum, then left her to face the wrath of her husband when she could no longer hide the truth?”

  Shock quaked through Jill. What he proposed was preposterous. But a part of her, the analytical side, knew he was right. It was the DA’s job to come up with a motive, an affair on her sister’s part was the perfect solution. An angry lover, a jealous husband... a desperate wife.

  God. That just couldn’t be the truth.

  But any DA with even half the usual measure of ambition would make it the truth in the eyes of the jury. She knew it and Cullen Marks, damn him, knew it as well.

  She sighed, defeated, weary of the struggle already and it had barely begun. “I’ll need to think about this.”

  He nodded, his expression carefully composed, devoid of any signs of triumph and infused with sympathy. “I understand. Give me a call in a couple of days. The chief doesn’t expect the DA to pursue an arraignment until after the autopsy results are back. That’ll take a week at best.”

  For the first time since their introduction, the assistant looked up and smiled. He was tall and thin, far from handsome with a high forehead and a narrow face that lacked a chin to speak of, but he was just as well groomed as his superior. “We’ll take care of everything, Miss Ellington,” he said knowingly. “We’re very good at what we do.”

  Cullen Marks summoned the waitress and settled the bill, insisting that the meal was on the firm. Which meant that ultimately it would be added to the Ellington tab. They exchanged cell phone numbers and good-byes in the vestibule. Jill lingered, still a little stunned. She stared at the attorney’s gold embossed business card for a time after he’d gone.

  Everything he’d said was right. There would be no way to turn this thing around. Unless Phillips found something everyone else had missed. How likely was that? He was probably gone already. He hadn’t said a word as he’d driven her back to her car so she could come to this ill-fated meeting. She should have kept her conclusions about him to herself until he’d put his assessments in writing. A forty percent probability rate of success looked far more appealing after this meeting. That familiar ache of failure, of not getting the job done where her family was concerned, coiled inside her.

  There had to be something they were missing. Just because she couldn’t see it or Cullen couldn’t see it didn’t mean it didn’t exist. There was far more to her brother-in-law’s death than met the eye. Every instinct warned that she couldn’t give up.

  “Jill? Is that you?”

  She paused before reaching for the door and looked back to see who’d called her name. A short brunette, eyes bright with recognition, bounced in her direction. Connie Neil.

  “I can’t believe it’s really you,” Connie enthused before throwing her arms around Jill.

  Jill hugged her tightly, then drew back and looked at her old friend. “My God, you haven’t changed a bit.” And it was the truth. Connie still looked terrific and incredibly vivacious, like the cheerleader she’d been back in high school. She and Jill had been best friends all through those tumultuous years. After going their separate ways to college, they’d eventually lost touch. The realization added another layer of sadness to this already emotional homecoming.

  “When did you get home?” Connie swiped at the tears in her eyes. “It’s so good to see you.” Her exuberant expression wilted. “Oh, God. Kate.” She shook her head sadly. “I’d almost succeeded in putting that out of my mind. It’s unbelievable.”

  Jill nodded, the catch in her throat prevented speech. She hugged her old friend again and swallowed the lump of raw emotion. “It’s good to see a friendly face.” She fiddled with her purse a moment. “I feel like a stranger here now.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Connie placated. “You’ll never be a stranger here. This is home.” She patted Jill on the shoulder. “As soon as your head’s above water, let’s have a sleep over just like we used to and catch up on the last decade of gossip.”

  The idea went a long way in soothing Jill’s frazzled nerves. “That would be really nice. I fear, though, that this investigation is going to take some time.”

  Connie blinked. “Investigation? You mean finding Cody?”

  Jill nodded. “That and I’m working on clearing my sister’s name. You know she couldn’t have killed Karl.”

  “Oh.” Connie’s expression grew distant.

  When the silence dragged on, Jill asked slowly, “Is everything all right?”

  Connie’s lips stretched into an unnatural smile as she gave a resolute nod and fished around in her bag. “Ah... yeah... call me.” She jotted something on a piece of paper. “Here’s my number. We’ll have lunch.”

  “Sure.” Jill watched as her friend hurried away. Connie’s abrupt change in demeanor completely baffled her. Any headway she’d gained in feeling more at home vanished.

  She was still the outsider.

  ~*~

  Paradise General

  Paul scanned the papers spread across the dash and passenger seat of his Land Rover once more. Something was way off. He reread the ER report on Kate Manning. Multiple contusions. Scratches on her right arm and shoulder. An inordinate number of bruises. A green stick fracture on her left wrist. Complete disorientation upon examination. Yet her respiration and heart rate were low, as if she had been completely relaxed. He tossed that report aside and studied the crime scene photos for the fourth time.

  The Manning kitchen was large with all the amenities one would expect in the home of a corporate CEO. Directly in front of the kitchen sink was Karl Manning’s body. A large pool of blood had coagulated on the tile floor around him.

  But it didn’t add up. Paul shuffled through the pictures. The kitchen was clean, neat... perfect. Not the first item was
out of place. No indication of a struggle. But a man lay dead on the floor. His wife, the supposed killer, was marred by what could only be called a beating nothing short of brutal. Even more confusing were the victim’s hands. No indication whatsoever that he’d lifted a finger to harm his wife. Had he worn gloves there would still have been some indication somewhere on his body that his wife had fought back. A single scratch. An abrasion. Something. But there wasn’t a mark on the dead man. When complete, the autopsy report would surely confirm Paul’s conclusion.

  Karl Manning had not touched his wife.

  Paul stared at the photos of Katherine Ellington and thought about the portrait of her with Jillian, and then the ones of her with her attractive family, scattered around the Ellington home. Unbidden, the image of the child intruded and blocked out all else. The boy, blond haired and blue eyed like his parents, had been missing for almost forty-eight hours now. Odds were against his being alive... but something deep inside Paul resisted that conclusion. He blinked away the image and focused on Kate.

  She was the key somehow. She’d been beaten and then delivered to her home to face her husband’s wrath. Maybe for whatever she’d gotten herself into. Or whatever he’d gotten her into, Paul countered, playing out the scene in his head. The child wasn’t around. He was... away. Paul cautiously lowered his defenses... concentrated hard... tried to see.

  It was the right thing to do.

  The words reverberated inside him, around him, jerking his head up. The voice was too distorted to know if it was male or female... but the words were clear. It was the right thing to do.

  Paul stared at the photograph of a bruised and battered Kate. He wondered why Jillian didn’t talk about the fact that she and her sister were twins. Only that once when he’d recognized her in the portrait with her father. Twins, especially identical ones, had a deep connection. Was that why Jillian was so certain her sister hadn’t killed her husband? Then again, he’d picked up on her serious need to be her own person. She’d left home and scarcely returned. To blot out that deep connection? Did she know more now than she realized? Had she convinced herself that if she pretended it didn’t exist, it wouldn’t?

  But it did. The link was written in her DNA.

  Paul had learned at a very young age that he was different. He sensed things... heard things others didn’t. He could read feelings as easily as breathing, could pick up on the last presence in an empty room. His parents had urged him to keep quiet about what they called the gift and he had. But when he’d begun his career there was no hiding his innate ability to know certain details. When his superiors had learned of his ability, they’d pushed him relentlessly to solve more and more cases. They’d pushed him until he snapped.

  He closed his eyes and forced thoughts of his past away. He had to concentrate on the here and now. There was something rotten in this sweet little town. He should have left when he had the chance but he couldn’t. Jillian Ellington had unknowingly struck a chord deep inside him. He had to do this part. Give her something to go on and then get the hell out of here before he got dragged into this abyss.

  His gaze settled on Kate’s image once more. What was she hiding? What was so unspeakable that she would withdraw into herself and play dead?

  A sense of urgency poked Paul.

  Everything depended upon Kate.

  He glanced at the time on the dash. Three thirty.

  What the hell was he thinking? He should just go. Now.

  The vacant blue eyes in the photograph haunted him. Someone had to bring Kate Manning back to the land of the living before the state institutionalized her and steady medications reduced to about zero percent the possibility of her ever coming back. She was the only one who could save herself... and her son.

  Ten minutes later Paul was striding up to the hospital’s main entrance. He had the file the chief had provided tucked under his arm in an official manner. He’d donned his sports jacket, even finger combed his hair. He looked professional enough.

  Inside the lobby he scanned the register and located the psychiatric ward. Fourth floor. Since Kate Manning had not been officially charged there would be no guard assigned to her room. The hospital staff he could handle.

  The elevator whisked him upward with scarcely a sound of complaint. The doors opened with a whoosh and he stepped out into the quiet corridor. The smell of pharmaceuticals and fear—not his own this time—assaulted him.

  Two nurses were busy behind the station outside the lock down area. This was where Kate Manning would be. He didn’t have to ask. She would be under close observation since fleeing or suicide was often contemplated by those involved with or suspected of heinous crimes.

  Paul stopped at the nurse’s station and flashed the credentials that identified him as a psychologist. “Good afternoon, ladies.” He smiled, pumping up the wattage until he garnered an answering smile from both.

  “May I help you, sir?” the older of the two, Nurse Mathis according to her nametag, asked, wariness dimming her smile.

  “I’m Dr. Phillips from Memphis. Miss Ellington retained my services for evaluating her sister, Katherine Manning. Since the evaluation is needed as soon as possible I’d like to see her now if convenient. I was supposed to be here earlier today,” he added wearily as if he’d had the day from hell just like the two of them.

  The nurses exchanged glances. Bennett, the one who appeared in charge, eyed him speculatively. “We have no record of hospital approval for you to see the patient. I’m—”

  “There must be some delay in the paperwork,” Paul interrupted smoothly before she could say the deadly five-letter word. In his experience once sorry was on the table, few took it back. “I’m sure I was scheduled for today,” he insisted, his gaze traveling from her eyes to her mouth and back with blatant approval. “I’m later than I’d expected to be.” He adopted a harried look, much like hers. This was something else he’d learned long ago, consummate lying. Tell people what they wanted to hear and life went a whole lot smoother.

  Nurse Bennett glanced at the clock. “I should verify—”

  “My evaluation won’t take long,” he urged. “Chief Dotson will be very disappointed if I don’t have my conclusions to him tonight.”

  She caved. The change in her posture told the tale before she spoke. “Well, what can it hurt? There’s no point in you having driven all this way just to have me hold you up.” She pulled Kate’s chart. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

  “I sincerely appreciate your assistance,” he said as they moved away from the station.

  Nurse Bennett used her ID key card to unlock the door at the transition point. Paul followed her down a long corridor where she paused at room 415. She passed her key card through the reader and opened the door.

  “Buzz me when you’re finished. She’s all yours.”

  Paul flashed her another smile. “Thank you, Nurse Bennett.”

  She passed him the patient chart and scurried back to the station.

  He moved to the foot of the bed and scanned the chart for a time before focusing his attention on the woman, mostly to brace himself. She hadn’t spoken since they found her hovering over her husband’s body. She showed no emotion and ate only if fed.

  Placing the chart and the file he’d brought with him on the portable serving tray, he moved to the bedside. The swelling was diminishing, the bruises fading from purple to yellow. She looked vulnerable and helpless. Restraints prevented her from getting up without assistance.

  Katherine Ellington Manning was a bright woman, educated as a research analyst. She had an excellent work record with MedTech according to the chief’s report. She was cited as a loving wife and mother by all who knew her. And Paul sensed, without having read it, that she was not a violent person. Unlike her rebellious sister, Kate was quiet, submissive, always obedient.

  Yes, mother. Yes, father.

  His heart beat faster as the sensations toppled one over the other inside him. The voices whispered to him. Kate
would never harm anyone, much less her child or her husband. Jillian knew this without reservation. She felt it. The connection was there, despite being buried beneath years of sibling rivalry and bitter disappointment.

  But she loved her sister. She wanted to save her.

  Kate’s eyes abruptly flew open. “They’re coming for us.”

  Paul jerked back a step. He inhaled sharply, blinked repeatedly and stared down at the unconscious woman. “Jesus Christ.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and shattered the image seemingly burned onto his irises. Kate hadn’t moved a muscle. What he’d seen and heard had come from inside his own head. Maybe. The warning, wherever it came from, was real. The only question was, did the us in her warning apply to Kate and her sister, or to Kate and her son?

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. Slow, deep breaths. No panic. Turn it off.

  But he couldn’t... not just yet.

  He took her hand in his and closed his eyes. This was the part he hated most of all. He focused intently on Kate Manning. The pictures he’d viewed from the crime scene... the family photos. Her snapshots as a photography buff. But nothing came. A brick wall met his continued attempts. She wouldn’t let him back in. Or maybe he held back on a subconscious level.

  Why warn him, then hold back? Didn’t make sense. He picked up the chart and the file, buzzed the nurse and walked to the door. He had to get out of here before the next phase hit. The routine was always the same. He had maybe a minute.

  As if to defy him, pain split through his head, followed by a bright flash of light. He groaned, pushed it away. He didn’t want to go there now. He steeled himself and focused on the door. He needed out of this place. Just turn it off. Don’t think.

  The panic reared its ugly head, a creeping, swelling fear that rose in his throat inhibiting his ability to breathe. It burgeoned in his chest, pressing against his thudding heart. Sweat broke out across his skin. The urge to run raced through his veins.