How had she missed so many signs he was an insensitive pig?
“Your next appointment just called. She’s got the flu.”
Courtney looked up at Jasmine. “She want to reschedule?”
“Said she’d call back tomorrow.”
Courtney sighed. Her 11:30 had been a generous tipper, and she’d been scheduled for full highlights. At least she’d canceled. Courtney hated it when people showed up hacking up a lung, spreading germs everywhere.
“I’m going to lunch,” she announced abruptly. She snatched her purse from the cabinet where she’d stowed it and breezed past Jasmine. “I’ll be back for my one-fifteen.”
It was another scorching day, but Courtney welcomed the sun on her face as she left Bella Donna. She’d been cooped up indoors too much lately. She needed to get out. She waited for a few minutes at the corner and hopped a bus to the UT campus. Her favorite Internet café was on Guadalupe Street, and she had some research to do.
Two chai lattes later, she was bleary-eyed from looking at news clips and legal articles. God, the law was boring. She didn’t know how people could stand it.
Of course, maybe the fees helped. The lawyers’ cut of David’s last big trial had been twenty million. Even after David had shared the fee with his firm and the other litigator who’d tried the case with him, he’d taken home over five million, according to the Central Texas Bar Bulletin.
Courtney’s eyes were glazing over, so she closed out of the text page and clicked over to some video sites. After entering a few keywords, she opened up a thirty-second sound bite from the local ABC affiliate. David stood on the steps of the courthouse in his favorite navy suit as eager reporters shoved microphones in his face.
“The jury’s message today was clear,” he announced. “The American public won’t stand for big business profiting from the deaths of innocent people. Justice has prevailed—”
Courtney clicked Pause. She leaned forward and squinted at the screen. Who were these people walking down the steps, behind David? She clicked back to the beginning of the sound bite.
“—innocent people. Justice has prevailed—”
Pause.
It was Eve Caldwell. And that professor whose picture Will had shown her. They were exiting the courthouse as David’s trial wrapped up.
They were part of the trial.
Courtney’s blood chilled as the idea sank in. This was about the case. This was about sixty million dollars. Will had been right. The pockets involved here were very, very deep.
Her fingers shook on the keyboard now as she searched for more snippets of video. She couldn’t find anything, but she had to learn more. Were Eve and the professor witnesses in the trial? Were they plaintiffs?
Were they jurors?
Had David been sleeping with a juror in his case?
“Oh my God,” Courtney whispered, staring at the screen. That could be it. Maybe he’d rigged the jury. Maybe he’d fixed the outcome.
Courtney shot up from her seat and grabbed her purse. She logged off the computer and stuffed her credit card back into her bag. She had to get out of here. She had to tell Will. She rushed out of the café and glanced down the street.
“Dammit!” She stomped her foot as the bus she wanted pulled away from the corner three blocks up.
But she could call him. She didn’t have to go anywhere; she could just call him. She whipped out her phone and stepped back from the curb. She scrolled through her speed-dial list as a car rolled to a stop beside her.
A black Escalade.
The door pushed open.
CHAPTER 13
Courtney stared, slack-jawed, at the man getting out of the car. Gray eyes. Bulky. He was looking at her.
He lunged, and she leapt back. A flash of metal appeared in his hand, and Courtney’s heart flip-flopped.
“Gun!” she shrieked, ducking into the doorway.
She heard a commotion behind her as she yanked open the door and stumbled back inside the coffee shop. She scrambled past the row of computer terminals, bumping into chairs and tripping over backpacks on the floor. She glanced frantically over her shoulder, but the doorway was empty.
A streak of black shot past the window as the Escalade peeled away from the corner. They were on the move.
She caught a flash of motion as the café’s side door flung open.
Him. Coming after her. Her gaze dropped to his hands. One was tucked inside his tracksuit, along with something pointy.
She spun on her heel and elbowed her way through people milling around the coffee bar.
“Help!” she screamed, and people looked at her like she was nuts. She glanced behind her, but the man was gone.
Where’d he go?
She raced past the cash register to the restroom corridor, where she knew there was a back exit. She pushed through the door, jumping with surprise when an alarm howled in her ear.
She stood there, panting. An alarm was good. Weren’t you supposed to scream “fire” if you ever got attacked? She glanced up and down the alley and wished a cop or security guard would come running.
He appeared at the end of the alley. The door clicked shut behind her. She whirled around and tried it.
Locked!
Her gaze darted back. The man charged toward her.
She bolted the other direction, slipping and sliding over the slick pavement. She dashed past a Dumpster, inhaling the rank smell of garbage as her heart thundered.
“Help! Fire!”
Another glance over her shoulder. He reached inside his pocket.
She spotted a doorway up ahead, propped open with a milk crate. She raced for it, and his footsteps thudded behind her, gaining, gaining. She reached the door and tripped though the opening. On a burst of inspiration, she kicked the crate back into the alley, hoping this door locked automatically, too.
She was in a kitchen, between a vat of dirty dishes and a big stove. She smelled cooking oil.
The door jerked open, and a giant hand seized her arm. Shrieking, she kicked back at him. With her other hand, she grabbed hold of something on the stove. A wok. She flung it backward.
He bellowed and doubled over. She bolted away from him, plowing through people in aprons and hairnets. She ran past stainless steel sinks and counters, then burst through the first door she spotted and ended up in a dark, empty room. She stopped to let her eyes adjust. A dining room. And it wasn’t empty—there were tables scattered around and people hunched over plates of food. Voices hushed. Chopsticks froze. Pairs of startled eyes gazed up at her. She stood there, gasping for breath.
A tall rectangle of light flashed as the kitchen door swung open.
“Fire!” she screamed, sprinting for the entrance. She jerked open the door and ran into the blinding sunshine. A sidewalk. A sandwich shop. An Urban Outfitters. She was on Guadalupe again.
She raced down the sidewalk, elbowing through the endless students and backpacks, even passing someone gliding along on in-line skates.
She hazarded a glance back, and a horn blared. She halted in the middle of an intersection. The car honked again, and she jumped out of the way. She looked around desperately for a cop or a phone.
She had a phone.
She plunged her hand into her bag and groped for it. Where was her phone? She could never find it when she needed it most. She darted her gaze around. Where was the Escalade? She needed to get out of here. She needed safety.
Brakes hissed as an orange-and-white bus pulled up to the corner two blocks away. A student shuttle. She dashed toward it. Her heart pounded. Her calves burned. The straps of her high-heeled sandals bit into her skin.
She heard the door close, saw the brake lights go black.
“Wait!”
The bus groaned forward, and she slapped the side. “Wait!”
It stopped.
The doors popped open.
She grabbed the handrail and heaved herself inside.
Will picked his way up the vine-covered hillside, t
rying to put the images out of his mind. The kudzu tangled around his ankles, and he felt like it was tangled around his neck, too, depriving him of even this hot, stagnant air.
“You okay?” Devereaux asked from behind him.
“Yeah.”
They reached the top of the ravine where a slight breeze rustled leaves. Will stepped over to an oak tree and scraped the soles of his shoes on the trunk to get rid of the mud.
“It’s the heat,” his partner said. “All those weeks in the sun. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Actually, he wanted to hurl, and he probably would if Devereaux didn’t shut up soon.
“ME’ll probably rush the autopsy. I’ll need you to check missing kid reports. See what we can turn up.”
Will swallowed the bile in his throat and tried to ignore the sweat streaming down his back. Devereaux scraped his shoes on the same tree, and then they trudged back to the Taurus, which was parked on the shoulder of this isolated stretch of road. The crime-scene van sat a few hundred feet north of them, closer to the slimy creek bed where the body had been found.
Will’s phone vibrated, and he checked the screen. Courtney. Damn. He’d missed two calls from her, but he didn’t want to tell Devereaux that. He walked away from the Taurus until he was sure he was out of earshot, then dialed her back.
“It’s me. What’s up?”
“Where have you been?” she demanded.
“I’m in the middle of something. What do you need?”
Silence.
“Courtney? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But her voice sounded funny when she said it.
“Why did you call?”
“I had a problem. But I’ve got it handled.”
She had it handled. How come he didn’t believe that?
“What kind of problem?”
“Hodges! We gotta get moving.” Devereaux waved him over.
“Are you working?” she asked.
“I’m at a crime scene. What kind of problem?”
“Forget it. It’s fine now. When do you get off? I need to talk to you about something.”
Her voiced sounded weird still—like she was upset, but trying to hide it. He wanted to know what her problem was that was “fine” and “handled.”
“I have no idea,” he said. “Probably late. You need to catch a ride with your sister.”
Pause.
“Are you really okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Hodges!”
“You’re busy,” she said. “We can talk later.”
Alex Lovell loved a cheap thrill.
She loved to feel her muscles tense and her pulse race as she waited to get what she needed, just how she needed it.
Her fingers tightened on the wireless mouse. She stared at the screen. She held her breath.
“Yes!” she hissed, closing her eyes.
She opened them again and smiled at the computer.
“Well, well, Mr. Klem. What do we have here?” Alex skimmed the list of numbers, looking for the precise combination that would tell her her hunch had been right.
And it had. Of course. If there was one thing Alex knew, it was that people were predictable. And the quickest way to find them was to follow their vices.
Which, in the case of Ronald Klem, was cyberporn.
Alex searched the website some more, looking for the address associated with his online account. The site was protected by security screens, but nothing too complicated. A few more clicks, and Alex had what she wanted.
“Hello, deadbeat.”
She jotted down the information on the pad beside her phone and leaned back in her chair. Now came the fun part of her job. She got to call up the former Mrs. Klem and tell her her ex-husband—who’d fallen off the radar after their last court date, and who owed eighteen months of back child support—was kicking it in Jacksonville, Florida.
Alex clucked her tongue at the ease of it all. She picked up the phone.
A bell sounded in the front office, and she glanced at the monitor to her right. She had a visitor. Alex studied the black-and-white image. She checked her watch. She’d planned to knock off early today, but that plan was about to change. This visitor had that look about her that told Alex she had a problem, and whatever it was wasn’t going to wait. Alex put her computer to sleep and walked out front to meet her.
She stood in the center of Alex’s unimpressive reception room, looking decidedly unimpressed. She was a few years younger, probably mid-twenties. She had an outfit and a body to die for, with the exception of her feet. They were scraped and dirty, and apparently had been roaming downtown Austin without the benefit of shoes. Alex noted the heeled sandal sticking out of her oversize purse.
“Is this Lovell Solutions?” the woman asked.
“It is.”
Alex watched as her gaze skimmed over the threadbare couch, the moving boxes, and the Mr. Coffee balanced atop a folding chair. Alex had moved her office here three months ago, but she hadn’t found time to unpack. It didn’t matter, really, because she conducted the vast majority of her business via computer. Alex had clients she’d never even seen, although she knew their e-mail addresses and cell phone numbers by heart.
The woman’s gaze met hers. “I’m Courtney Glass.”
“Alexandra Lovell.”
Courtney walked over to a teetering stack of software manuals. She flipped the top one open. Alex noticed the tremor in her hands and wondered if she was strung out on something.
“How’d you get this address?” Alex asked, more out of curiosity than annoyance. Her company’s address wasn’t printed on her business cards.
“Sandra Summers is a client of mine.”
Alex pursed her lips. Sandra Summers was a TV anchorwoman whom Alex had helped with a pesky fan problem last spring.
“How’s Sandra?” Alex asked, wondering what Courtney did for her, and guessing it wasn’t her taxes.
“Fine.” Courtney walked to the other side of the room. With a trembling finger, she parted the miniblinds and peered through them.
Did she think she’d been followed here?
She turned to Alex. “You charge by the hour?”
“Depends. Sometime it’s the project.”
“I’ve got a project for you, but I need it done fast.”
“I’m pretty booked up right now.”
“This is important.”
“How important?”
Courtney dropped her purse on the couch and glanced up, and Alex saw the fear in her eyes. “I need your help.”
“With what?”
“Making someone disappear.”
CHAPTER 14
Nathan knew what they were dealing with the moment he saw that Thomas the Tank Engine blanket.
“Bones show a history of fractures.” The medical examiner turned toward the X-ray clipped to the light board and used his pen as a pointer. “We’ve got a broken humerus. I’m estimating six months old. Never properly set.”
“What about this?”
Beside him, Hodges pointed to a view of the rib cage.
“Good eye, Detective.” The ME indicated the second rib up on the left side. “That’s a hairline fracture. I’d estimate three to six months old, but it’s hard to say for sure.”
Nathan crossed his arms. These were the cases that made him thankful he lived in a death-penalty state. He looked at the medical examiner. “This is a closet case.”
“By the looks of it, yes. Especially with the missing lower central incisor. It would have been a permanent tooth. It was knocked out well before the time of the skull fracture that caused death.”
“A closet case?” Hodges asked.
“Given the signs of ongoing abuse and malnutrition, it’s likely this child suffered for years at the hands of his caretaker,” the ME said. “The abuse and neglect would have been so severe, it never would have escaped notice of a teacher, which leads me to
believe this child wasn’t in school. He’d probably been secreted away by his parent in a closet or attic.”
“You’re assuming he’s school age,” Hodges pointed out. “The body looks pretty small.”
“I believe you’re looking at the remains of a seven-year-old boy.”
“Seven? The kid couldn’t have been more than forty inches tall!”
It was the most emotion Nathan had ever heard in his partner’s voice.
“It’s the malnutrition.” The ME turned to Nathan. “Also, there’s the blanket. When we see remains wrapped up carefully in a blanket like that, it points to the mother. She’s responsible for, or complicit in, the abuse. And the actual killing, if I had to guess.”
Hodges shook his head. “Who does that?”
“Someone terribly insecure.”
All three heads turned in unison. Fiona Glass stood in the doorway with her art case clutched in her hand. Her gaze was riveted on the X-rays. Nathan had heard Cernak on the phone with her earlier, requesting a postmortem drawing so they could get an ID.
Fiona stepped closer to the light board and stared up at the film showing the tiny fractured skull. Her lips compressed into a thin line.
“You think you’ll really be able to get a picture?” Hodges sounded skeptical.
“I’m going to try.” She turned to the ME. “I’ll need the blanket and the clothing. And any other personal items that accompanied the remains. I’ll do drawings of everything. It’s important to get as much information as possible out to the public to help prompt recognition.”
She looked again at the film. She had a strange expression on her face—a mix of anger and revulsion.
And she hadn’t even seen the body yet.
Nathan hated the task that lay ahead of her. He hated that time after time she got called in on the most horrific cases. Cops were expected to deal with the worst shit society could dish out, but Fiona was different—not as jaded as she needed to be. He’d probably never get comfortable asking for her help, although he didn’t know how he’d ever do without her. He couldn’t count the number of cases they’d managed to close because of her work.
Whisper of Warning Page 17
