Daddy's Girl

by Lisa Scottoline

  "You think it'll work?" Willie stood up and handed the affidavit to Angus, who took it and slipped it back in the folder.

  "We're doing everything we can, pal."

  Tanisa said, "Willie, John will take you back. I gotta get rid of these lawyers."

  "Okay." Willie left without a look back, as Tanisa escorted Angus and a preoccupied Nat to the exit door by the new wall. They waited while Tanisa unlocked the door. The CO. fell unusually silent, the only sound the clinking of the crude keys.

  "Thanks, Tanisa." Angus touched her arm.

  "Yes, thanks," Nat added. "I owe you that jacket."

  "Forget it." Tanisa kept her eyes downcast as she unlocked the second barred door and held it open for them to leave. "I'm the one who should be thanking you."

  "It was nothing," Nat said, getting her meaning. She retrieved her coat, and she and Angus walked down the corridor, through the sally ports, and out the door. They stepped out into the brutal cold. Nat looked up beyond the razorwire to the sky above, which had darkened to a charcoal wash. Spiky evergreens, burdened with snow, cut a jagged horizon, and a vast white field surrounded them like a chilly embrace.

  "So they walled off the room." Angus shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't get it."

  I think they're hiding something," Nat said. They walked down the driveway and waved to the marshal, who was on a cell in his car. "I learned a lot of juicy stuff from Willie."

  "What'd I miss?" Tell you in the car." Nat shot him a wink.

  "Having fun?"

  And Nat had to admit, to her own surprise, that she was.

  ****

  They sat in traffic, going nowhere on the road that wound back through the Brandywine countryside. Cars were lined up ahead as far as Nat could see, their taillights burning red and their exhausts exhaling plumes of white smoke. She used the time to call Barb Saunders and succeeded only in leaving a please-call-back message. She fidgeted in her long coat and checked the darkening sky. At this rate, she'd be late getting home, which would necessitate an explanation to Hank. She didn't remember what happened when Nancy Drew explained things to Ned. She hoped it was a happy ending.

  "This traffic is crazy," Angus said. "Must be an accident. It gums up the whole works."

  "It's the single lane that's the problem."

  "I'll get off this road as soon as I can. 1-95 isn't that far. Or, how about we stop and get some dinner, then try after it's cleared." Angus looked over. "That's not an ask-out."

  "Still, not a good idea. I have to get home."

  "I hear you." Angus shifted into second. No hand bumped into her knee, which was cold even in stockings. He said, "Let's review. Graf told us that he and Saunders had written up Upchurch for weed, but Willie says that didn't happen. I believe Willie. He's smart."

  "Okay, so why do you think Graf lied about the write-up? Or do you think he just misspoke?"

  "No, he didn't misspeak. He lied because he didn't want us to know he had bad blood with Upchurch."

  "Agree, and that makes me suspicious." Nat turned it over in her mind. "Plus, it doesn't make sense that Upchurch would attack Saunders, if he had an issue with Graf."

  "No, it doesn't. It looks bad." Angus shook his head, his eyes focused on traffic. "I hate what I'm thinking."

  "What?" Nat asked, but she knew.

  "That Upchurch's murder didn't happen the way Graf says it did.” Angus's tone was grave. "Machik must know that, and that's why they're hiding what went on in that room. They've destroyed the crime scene, so there's no way even the blood spatter can be preserved. They must have done an autopsy on Upchurch—they do in every homicide—and I wonder what it shows."

  "What do you mean?"

  "An autopsy can tell a lot about the way a knife fight actually went down. You know, like the angle of the knife wounds, even which wounds came first, almost reconstruct it."

  Nat turned it over in her mind. "Graf told us that Upchurch attacked Saunders and then attacked him, and that he, Graf, was able to save himself by turning the knife on Upchurch."

  "Right, but that doesn't make sense, according to what Willie told you. If Upchurch was going to stab anybody, it would have been Graf. You know, I've dealt with plenty of prison brutality cases and excessive force cases, in my time."

  "And?"

  "What if Upchurch pulled the knife on Graf, and then Saunders defended Graf? Maybe Saunders even stepped in front of Graf to save him. Then Graf saw his friend cut down and simply executed Upchurch, in the heat of battle. C.O.s are human beings, like soldiers. Think Haditha or My Lai."

  Nat considered it as the Beetle rolled an inch or two and the sky got darker.

  "It's entirely possible that Upchurch was no threat to Graf at the time he was killed," Angus continued, sounding intrigued. "For all we know, Upchurch could have been on his knees, begging for his life.

  That’s the kind of thing an autopsy would show. The angle of the knife would be different, depending on whether the blow was struck from above or from the same level."

  "Why stop there, if you're spinning hypos?" Nat asked, her thoughts clicking ahead. "What if there was no attack by Upchurch at all? What if Graf murdered Upchurch in cold blood? Planned the whole thing. Even planted the knife on him, after the fact?"

  "What?" Angus looked over, his blue eyes widening. "Why would Graf have done that?"

  "I don't know. For the same reason he bullied Upchurch. There was animosity between them."

  "That's a stretch, Natalie. We don't know enough to go there."

  "But what if?"

  Angus thought a minute. "Then how does Saunders end up dead?"

  "He's a casualty, like you said, of war. Graf sacrifices him. He's just there to provide the story that Upchurch attacked him and he acted in self-defense."

  "Graf kills Saunders?" Angus's lips parted. "That's crazy! They were best friends. You heard him."

  "We've established that he's a liar."

  "And a jerk and a bigot. But that's not the same as a cold-blooded killer. That's not how C.O.s work, anyway. They're tight, like cops. Like soldiers, too, come to think of it. Loyal to each other." Angus's car traveled another inch on the clogged road. "You know, we're forgetting something. There's one sure way to find out what really happened in that room."

  "How?"

  "They have video surveillance all over the prison. Did you see those silver orbs on the ceilings, with the mirrors? There're cameras inside them."

  Nat hadn't noticed.

  "I know they have videotapes of the riot. The troopers told me they turned them over to the Chester County D.A., as evidence. So they must have videotapes of that room, too."

  Nat straightened in her seat, imagining a videotape of a brutal double murder and of her trying to save Saunders's life. Did she want to see it? Could she even watch?

  "Which room was it, exactly?"

  "I don't know. One of the staff rooms." Then Nat remembered. "Willie said they take inmates into the security office to discuss their write-ups."

  "Good," Angus said, nodding. "That's what we need to do. Get those tapes, from the security office." The Beetle finally reached the corner, then Angus took a right off onto another road. Traffic flowed freer, and Nat felt her own gears rev up.

  "So how would we do that? They'll never give them up voluntarily."

  "If I didn't owe Graf my life, I'd subpoena them."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'd file a suit on behalf of the inmate who was killed, Upchurch, for deprivation of civil rights and unreasonable use offeree, along the lines of my theory that Graf killed Upchurch needlessly, in return for Upchurch's killing Saunders."

  "Upchurch's estate would be the plaintiff, right? And his family?"

  "Yes, I'd have to find them."

  "So this would be one of those lawsuits where the burglar sues the homeowner. The kind that endears lawyers to the populace."

  "Thank you." Angus's eyes glittered with mischief. The Beetle zoomed ahead, and Nat's spirits
lifted when she spotted a sign for 1-95. She had a shot at keeping her hunky boyfriend, which was a good thing. Angus said, "In my younger days, I'd be all over it, but I'm so corporate now. I need a good relationship with that prison, for the clinic."

  "But I don't. I can sue the prison, for admitting Buford and Donnell to your class. For failing to adequately safeguard the other inmates, and us. They'd raise an immunity defense but it would be a first strike."

  "Not bad." Angus nodded. "That's what Machik is worried about, and he deserves it."

  "So we tell him we're going to file, then we give him my settlement demand." Nat shifted forward as a plan began to form in her mind. "We ask for a copy of the videotapes in return for my complete, signed release. Essentially, we offer him a free settlement. If he says no, we know something’s very, very wrong. Who turns down a free settlement? And if nothing incriminating is on the tape, he'll make the deal."

  "That's a great idea! It blocks him in." Angus thought a minute. "But why will we say you want the tapes? What do we give as a reason?"

  "We say it'll help me process the trauma of the event." Nat wasn't half kidding, but Angus laughed.

  "You're an evil genius. Do you intend world domination?"

  "Not at all. Tenure, merely."

  "Done and done." They took off, and the Beetle hit the ramp for 1-95. They reached the highway, three lanes of flat road headed north into Philly, and the traffic moved fast. The reflected light of cars, houses, and buildings muddied the sky. It was almost nightfall. They whizzed past billboards of pretty people, their supersize smiles illuminated by spotlights from beneath. The Beetle switched into the fast lane, and Nat figured that now she might even get home before Hank.

  "Now we're moving," she said happily. She checked her cell phone, but there were no messages from Barb Saunders.

  "This is way better." Angus looked annoyed in the rearview. "Except the dude behind me is a tailgater."

  "Ignore him. He'll pass."

  "How nonviolent of you."

  "It's this talk of knife fights." Nat shuddered.

  Angus accelerated, but the car behind them blasted the Beetles interior with light. Nat turned around and squinted into headlights, which were higher than usual, above a large chrome grille.

  "It's tall, like an SUV," she said.

  "I think it's a pickup. He's been weaving through traffic. Must be a drunk. I can't believe Willie ever did stuff like this." Angus accelerated again. White reflective lines on the highway flashed by as one. Road salt made tick tick noises as it hit the Beetle.

  "Slow down." Nat gripped the stiff rubber hand strap. "Make him go around you."

  "Get off my ass, pal!" Angus shouted at the rearview, and the Beetle's interior finally went dark. The lane to their right opened up, and the pickup darted into the empty spot.

  "Good." Nat relaxed. "I'll give him a dirty look."

  "Nobody messes with Professor Greco."

  Nat looked over and saw it was a black pickup, its F-250 letters and a Calvin decal in view. The Beetle and the truck sped side by side through the twilight. The asphalt glistened in the headlights. A veneer of black ice on the road winked darkly. In the split second before the accident happened, Nat saw it like deja vu. The pickup hit the ice. She screamed. The pickup sideswiped the Beetle in a dark flash of metal, sending both vehicles skidding into the guardrail, spraying sparks and making a hideous scraping noise.

  PHOOM! The Beetle's airbags exploded. A hot plastic cushion burst into Nat's face and pressed her back into her seat. The car slid forward, out of control. She kept screaming, praying for the Beetle to stop. She couldn't see anything but plastic. She couldn't hear anything but her own yelling. Everything was heat and fear and a funny smell.

  Finally, the Beetle came to a slow, jerky stop. Angus must have engaged the ABS brakes. Nat's face plowed into the pillow. Her shoulder collided with the passenger window. Powder was everywhere. Then the accident ended as soon as it had begun. Nat's airbag began to deflate, and she looked over.

  Angus was slumped against his collapsing air bag, motionless.

  Chapter 19

  The examining room was small and ringed with white metal cabinetry. Against one wall was a stainless steel sink, underneath an array of cleanser dispensers. A steel basket on the wall near the examining table held a blood pressure gauge and its rubbery black cord. The vital-signs monitors remained off, their black screens etched with frozen green and red lines. A plastic IV bag that read "Baxter" hung from a steel hook on the wall, dripping saline into the crook of Angus's arm. He sank back into the thin pillow, his blue eyes reddish under a forehead dressed with a new gauze bandage. His cheekbone had sprouted another wound, he'd cracked a rib, and doctors were trying to determine if he had any internal injuries, besides a bruised ego.

  "That jerk!" Angus said. If he felt weak, it didn't show. "I would've kicked his ass if he'd been man enough to stop."

  "Peace, brother."

  "Screw peace!" Angus scowled. "That guy coulda killed us!"

  "I know, but calm down." Nat sat in a metal chair beside his bed, having sustained no injuries except an achy nose and a throbbing headache. She was oddly calm, either because Angus was so upset or because a car accident wasn't as scary as attempted rape. Airbag powder dusted her camelhair coat, and she'd lost a shoe in the accident. Her wardrobe couldn't take all this excitement.

  "Drunk-ass jerk. A hit-and-run. That man should be shot!" Angus said.

  "Aren't you against capital punishment?"

  "Except for drunk drivers. I'm making an exception."

  "What about Willie? And your principles?"

  "Willie is the exception to the exception, and my principles hurt when I move." Angus shifted unhappily in the undersize bed, and the top of his hospital gown revealed a sexy tangle of red-gold chest hair that Nat had been trying to ignore.

  "Please, relax. The doctor told you to stay still, remember? He's worried your spleen might be perforated."

  "Gross! Will it leak spleen juice? In front of the girls?"

  Nat smiled. "No, but if it's ruptured, he said you'll need a splenectomy."

  "I knew I needed a splenectomy! I've been saying that for years. What's a splenectomy?"

  "You don't want a splenectomy, Angus. You heard the doctor. It would have effects on your lymphatic system. You'd be susceptible to infections." Nat didn't remind him of what else the doctor had said. She was hoping it wouldn't be an issue. She sensed Angus hadn't focused on what the doctor was telling him during the examination. I think they're going to admit you. You sure you don't want to call someone?"

  “No one to call, except about work. I'll call the clinic tomorrow to file Willie's papers." Angus seemed to quiet, and his gaze shifted to Nat, lingering on her face a moment. "You sure you're okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Did you call Mr. Whatever?"

  "Mr. Hank."

  "What did he say?"

  Arg. "That's not your business." Nat didn't want to think about how hurt Hank had sounded when she'd told him where she was and that she was with Angus. She felt like she'd cheated, though she hadn't. She should have told him where she was going. History taught that the cover-up was always worse than the crime. You would think that she and Machik would learn.

  "First the riot, now this." Angus flopped back on his pillow. "Is this cosmic payback, Natalie?"

  "For what?"

  "My life's work."

  "Of course not."

  "My head hurts."

  "Close your eyes." Nat reached over as he complied, and she dimmed the harsh overhead lights and sat back down. "Payback for what, anyway? You represent the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. You have karma to spare. Pro bono karma."

  "Yeah, right." Angus opened his eyes as if he'd just thought of something, or his rib poked his spleen.

  "What's the matter?"

  "More what-ifs." He shifted up in bed, wincing. "What if this was no accident tonight?"

  "You mean our accide
nt?" Nat wasn't sure she understood.

  "Yes. What if that truck meant to hit us? What if it was related to the phone calls, last night?"

  Stay outta Chester County. Nat couldn't tell if Angus was paranoid or brilliant.

  "Well, you two look familiar," a masculine voice said from the doorway. Nat turned. Two uniformed state troopers in black insulated jackets stood in the doorway, the same ones who had questioned her in the ambulance after the prison riot.

  "Hello, again," Nat said, rising. She was still thinking about what Angus had said. What if it hadn't been an accident?