What was the matter with him?
“That was an isolated case.” Hannah’s words didn’t help much. She sounded like she was still in denial and that made her vulnerable. She’d lost some color, though. “It got so out of hand because of the family connection. There were other things going on there. Janet’s brother blamed her for the fact that he grew up without a dad.”
“Why would he blame her for that?” Cynthia asked while Brian was still processing the idea that terrorists were after his friend. Working out ways to keep her safe.
“Their father was an abusive drunk, and hit their mom regularly. One Sunday, when Janet was four, he apparently went after her brother, too. Johnny was only a baby then. Somehow Janet got hold of the gun their father had been cleaning. It went off and killed him.”
“Oh, my God.” Cynthia, her eyes filled with horror, turned back to Brian. “Oh, my God,” she said again, wrapping her arms around her midsection the way she did when she was really upset. “A four-year-old child, living with that…”
Hannah’s face was pinched as she continued. “Johnny didn’t remember the man, of course, and somehow over the years, painted a far different picture of him. He didn’t believe his father had been abusive at all. Maybe because he turned out just like him. Before Johnny went after his sister, he killed his mom. That had everything to do with punishing Janet, and nothing to do with the Ivory Nation. So you see, there’s nothing to worry about here.”
Brian wasn’t convinced. No matter what she said, he wouldn’t be convinced.
They talked for another twenty minutes or so and then, when Hannah stood to leave, Brian walked her back to the cottage, checked out the entire place—twice—and insisted that she sleep with her cell phone by her pillow.
He stopped short of hugging her good-night.
And knew that he had to get himself under control.
He’d lost Cara. He wasn’t going to lose Hannah.
First, because she was a strong, capable woman who knew how to take care of herself. Second, because while the state of Arizona had prosecuted many bad guys over the past hundred years, not one judge had ever been harmed. And third, because she wasn’t his to lose.
He had his own problems to deal with. His own crosses to bear.
Another woman and child who had to be his top priority.
He had files to read.
With tensions building to the point of affecting his blood pressure, William walked through the outer offices of Hannah’s chambers the next morning. Susan would have stopped him in his tracks if he’d been anyone else, but with a brief nod, he continued on to the door of Hannah’s private office, knocking softly before he let himself in.
“William!” Her surprised tone held a note of pleasure, too, and he honed in on that. “I thought you were downtown this week with the court of appeals.”
“I am. But they don’t start until nine and I needed to see you.” Though he wasn’t sure how welcome he’d be, William came around her desk and kissed her full on the mouth.
And when he felt her kiss him back, his world settled again. Enough for him to remember who he was and what he was about.
“I didn’t like it that you were with Brian last night,” he admitted. “You should’ve been with me.”
“I wasn’t with Brian. I stayed in his guest cottage. He was inside with his girlfriend and her son.”
Thank God. Life felt better. More manageable. And he had much to manage.
“Francis sees the new psychologist this afternoon.”
Her smile was comforting. Personal. “Your son loves you, Will, you know that. Everything will be fine.”
It would be. He knew it would be. “It should be already. Patsy wanted the divorce. Why the hell can’t she just let me live my life?”
“She’s not happy.” Hannah shrugged. “She doesn’t want you happy, either.”
He knew that, too. But it felt damn good hearing it from someone else. From someone who cared about him. From Hannah.
She had her robe on already and looked impressive. Powerful and soft. William had never had it so bad.
“So…you ready?” he asked.
She stared down at the large file in front of her. “Yes.”
“You’re going to grant the defense’s motion.” He wasn’t asking. She had to do this. Her safety depended on what she did in court that morning.
It was also the right thing to do.
“If the Tucson cop comes through and the testimony is as we suspect, then, yes, of course I will.”
Satisfied, his blood pressure settling almost to normal, William moved on. “You’re going to have to be very careful,” he warned, knowing he had to scare her to keep them all safe. “The state’s obviously going to charge Donahue and that won’t go over well. Since you’d be the one who let Hill go, which inadvertently would have had Donahue charged, you could be a target. A message to whoever sits on Donahue’s trial.”
Her lips tight, she nodded. “Is that what happened to you?” she asked, her voice dry. Weaker than usual.
And while he hated seeing her suffer, he also knew that keeping her down was the only way to keep them safe. Sometimes Hannah was too strong, too independent for her own good.
And for the good of the man who loved her.
“Tonight, you come to my place, okay?” He asked the most important question of the morning.
“I’m staying at home, William. I live there.”
“Then I’m staying with you.” Permanently if she’d let him. They’d been seeing each other a long time. Had known each other even longer. And they weren’t getting any younger.
“Fine. I’ll make those chicken breasts you like. You know the ones with bacon.”
Chicken and rice. It sounded so…normal. So right. And she hadn’t argued.
A woman like Hannah—beautiful, successful, in a high-profile position—shouldn’t live alone.
“And you’ll let me spend the night?” He was asking for more than the opportunity to keep her safe. And he knew she knew it.
“Yes,” she said.
She didn’t look at him. Was she too embarrassed to do so? William needed so much more from her. He needed life from her. But he knew he couldn’t push.
His time—their time—would come.
13
R obert Miller—who’d resigned only that morning from his position as a Tucson police detective—was taller than Hannah had expected. And thinner. With gray hair at forty-one, he looked absolutely nothing like what she’d pictured.
His wife and their kids were in a room with a sheriff’s deputy, waiting to be taken into the state’s protective custody. Hannah had seen the family on her way into the building that morning.
She could have done without the visual. The pretty woman with her gentle smile. The innocent little faces. Their lives would never be the same after this morning’s testimony.
“Mr. Miller, please tell the judge first, as briefly as possible, about Laura and Harry Kendall.” Kenny Hill’s attorney, Robert Keith, stood at the table beside his client as he spoke.
The information would never be allowed during trial. But it helped establish, for Hannah, the validity of the witness.
“They were victims in a case my partner and I had last year. Their house was broken into in the middle of the night. Mr. Kendall was tied up and made to watch while his wife was raped. Twice. By two different men. She’s white. The two men were white. Harry’s black. They were being taught that white stays with white.”
Miller gave horrendous details of the crime—much more than had ever been reported in the media—as though he was speaking of a traffic jam.
“And you knew who did this?” Keith asked next.
“Yes.”
“Who were they?”
“Two college students, one undergrad and one in med school.”
“Were you associated with either of these two men?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“They were
members of the Ivory Nation, the church to which I belonged at the time.”
Church. Just hearing the word made Hannah cringe.
“How close were you to these men?”
“Like family. They called me as soon as they left the Kendall house, told me what had happened.”
“So when you found out what they’d done, did you immediately turn them in?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“I did what I could to protect them.”
“Including tampering with evidence?”
“Some.”
“Yes or no, Mr. Miller.”
“Yes.”
“And were they arrested anyway?”
“One was.”
“Did he stand trial?”
“No. He was released.”
“Due to your tampering?”
“Yes.”
“And then what happened?”
“I found out that David Jefferson, the leader of the two, had been acting without authorization. The rape wasn’t sanctioned. He’d been disloyal to all of us. I was ordered to find him. That night I was at a fund-raiser that he’d been expected to attend. Laura Kendall was also present, a guest of her parents.”
“Laura Kendall? The woman who was raped by members of your organization?”
“Yes. Bobby Donahue, our pastor, was there as well, with his three-year-old son, Luke. We were all at the same table.”
Names were dropping like flies. Disturbing, venomous, monster flies.
Hannah sat, stunned, as she listened.
“Jefferson’s name had been taken off the attendance list, but he was there and Luke was kidnapped.”
“What happened next?”
“I went after him. But he hadn’t taken Luke. He had Laura Kendall, grabbed her while she was on her way to the bathroom. He believed Laura was pregnant with his child.”
“Did you arrest him this time?”
“Before I could catch him, he’d been killed by the other rapist, Tony Littleton. When he wasn’t in college in Tucson, Tony lived with Bobby Donahue, was like a kid brother to him. I knew Bobby would want me to leave Tony for him to deal with, but I came upon him just as he was starting to rape Laura and couldn’t let him do it a second time. Especially when I knew that he wasn’t acting on orders.”
“Bobby’s orders.” Keith’s gaze was shrewd. He was leaving no stone unturned.
And was putting himself, another member of the justice system, in danger of Ivory Nation retribution far more than Hannah had. He was putting justice before the protection of the leader. The defense attorney rose several notches in Hannah’s estimation.
Unless, of course, he was playing a part in a twisted plan, too.
“Yes, Bobby’s orders. He never would’ve sanctioned a cold-blooded rape like that. Bobby Donahue has a heart. He does a lot of good work.”
“So you stopped Littleton. Arrested him.”
“I attempted to, but he pulled a gun on Laura, so I drew my weapon and shot him. He was hit in the chest but somehow managed to run. I followed him. And was there to catch him when he finally fell to his death.”
“You killed Bobby Donahue’s protégé.”
“Yes.”
“You saved Laura Kendall, who’d been raped by two of Bobby’s men, but without Bobby’s orders.”
“Yes.”
“Laura Kendall, whose parents were with Bobby at the fund-raiser.”
“That’s right.”
“So Bobby Donahue and Laura Kendall’s parents are associated?”
“Laura’s parents have been donating to Bobby’s causes for several years.”
“To his church?”
“No.”
“To what?”
Miller didn’t show any emotion at all as he hesitated, his eyes still locked on Keith’s.
“Bobby is involved in many charitable works. He’s a tireless worker, a believer in God. He’d sacrifice himself on a cross if he thought God wanted him to do so.”
“What cause of Donahue’s do Laura Kendall’s parents contribute to?”
Miller hesitated again. Looked down. “To the political campaign of Senator George Moss.”
Moss was Ivory Nation? They’d reached that far up the ruling chain of the state of Arizona?
Sick to her stomach, Hannah wanted to lay down her aching head and float away.
For as long as it took.
God told him to wear slacks and a long-sleeve dress shirt. No tie. And to stay out of sight.
And Bobby Donahue always did as he was told. He’d long since known that his life was not his own. He was on earth, not to find himself, but to help God find His people. To save His people.
Even if that meant hiding in a closet in a jury room, barely able to hear the proceedings going on in the adjoining courtroom. Some might consider the position humiliating.
Bobby knew his calling was an honor. He was set apart from other men. He’d known that from the time he was a very small boy.
The darkness, the cramped space, even the tall metal easel digging into his rib, didn’t bother Bobby as the hearing progressed. Robert Miller, God bless his soul, performed perfectly.
He especially liked the part about the ring.
“Is this the ring that Bobby Donahue was wearing the night he beat Camargo Cortes with his fist?” he heard the attorney ask.
“Yes.”
Picturing every intricate detail of the ring, every groove and scratch, the settings of sparkling emeralds in a twist of his and Amanda’s initials, Bobby squeezed his fly and started to rub.
“How did it come to be in your possession?”
I earned the right to wear it for a week. Bobby mouthed the words as his compatriot recited them for the judge.
“Earned it how?”
I impregnated one of the single sisters so that she could help to populate God’s world with pure, chosen people.
As though singing a well-known song, Bobby spoke in unison with the witness in the next room.
Robert Miller was a good man. He’d faltered, killing Tony. But he’d just won his way back into God’s graces.
Something everyone should do before dying.
Getting harder, Bobby tended to himself inside the dark closet. He wouldn’t orgasm. But he could show a little love.
And when Montgomery made her ruling, setting Kenny Hill free to be loyal to the Ivory Nation for the rest of his life—Bobby wept.
Kenny’s voice shook as he told the judge he understood her warnings to walk the straight and narrow. His “yes, ma’am,” was properly respectful when she told him she didn’t want to see him back in court again.
And then, just before court was adjourned, Bobby carefully left the closet door, moved silently to the far wall, watched for the raised hand that would tell him the inmates’ passageway was clear, and slipped away to wait.
The five dead babies were male. They were Hispanic. Four of them, all except Carlos Montgomery, were patients he’d initially treated at the free clinic where he volunteered—and then added them to his regular caseload, still treating them at no charge.
And that was a crime? Caring enough to provide services free?
Brian sat at his desk early Wednesday morning, going over his notes from the night before. There was something there. Something he was missing.
He’d been in at dawn, personally checking his inoculation supplies. There was no evidence of interference. And when eight o’clock came and he knew the managing director of the company that provided his medications would be at his desk, Brian placed a nonsocial call to the man who’d been the best man in his wedding.
Barely bothering with hellos, he named the product in question, the series of newborn injections.
“Tell me you haven’t had any notice about complications, Bruce,” he demanded.
“Of course we haven’t! Why, what’s up? Is there a problem I need to know about?” His friend’s tone was serious. And concerned.
“I�
��m telling you, Bruce, if you’ve had problems and didn’t let me know, I’ll take you to the Supreme Court and see that you never do business again,” Brian said.
“Brian, what’s wrong?” Bruce’s tone lacked defensiveness. He sounded more concerned about his friend’s state of mind than anything else.
And that’s when Brian came back to reality. Came out of the fear-induced fog the night had produced.
“Nothing, I hope,” he replied. And with a tired sigh, told his friend about the five infant deaths he’d had in his practice during the past year. Told him about the Sun News article. Detective Angelo. Bruce asked a lot of questions. The two men discussed angles. And came up with nothing new.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Bruce offered as they hung up. “A character reference, chemical analysis, whatever you need.”
Bruce knew he hadn’t done anything. The reassurance calmed Brian.
Maybe he was looking at this all wrong. Maybe the one out to get him was an aggrieved parent who didn’t get free treatment—perhaps the child had died and this parent blamed Brian for a perceived lack of care.
But he hadn’t lost any other patients in the past year.
So maybe it was someone from the clinic, a patient of one of the other doctors, who’d heard that Brian sometimes took his patients with him.
Word traveled fast in those circles.
And then a realization hit him with resounding force. There was another element common to those infants. Something that wouldn’t be found in the babies’ charts, but something he knew. Four of those dead baby boys were illegals.
The knowledge, and the possible ramifications, stopped him cold.
On Friday, the 19th of September, Bobby Donahue was arrested. And on Monday the 22nd, an Arizona grand jury indicted him on twelve counts, including first-degree murder. The state was going for the death penalty.
Hannah had spent three of the five nights between Kenny Hill’s final hearing and the indictment of the Ivory Nation leader in bed with William Horne. A toothbrush and disposable razor decorated the once-bare shelf of her second medicine cabinet, next to the second sink in her bathroom. The one that, heretofore, had boasted a silk houseplant.
At Close Range Page 13
