His face was suddenly hard, his eyes pinning her with a stare. “What do you mean, I’m an Ivory Nation supporter?”
He would never have hurt her. Not Brian.
Would he?
William would be home soon. He’d call. She wouldn’t answer. And he’d want to know why.
What was she going to tell him?
“George Moss has ties to Donahue.”
“To Bobby Donahue.” His flat tone said far more than his words. As did the sudden ashen hue to his face. And the way his jaw hung limply.
He appeared as though the entire world had gone mad and he was left with nothing to hold on to.
“My wife died at the hands of an illegal immigrant,” he said, sounding like he was giving up rather than defending himself. “I can’t bring her back, but I could give my money to changing a world that allowed her to die. Every election since she died, I’ve contributed to the campaigns of anyone who was in favor of stronger border laws. That’s it. I don’t even know most of them. Including George Moss.”
The dread gripping her eased. It didn’t go away. But it gave her hope. Dangerous hope. That sounded more like the Brian she knew. Throwing himself in with everything he had, not knowing all aspects of the situation.
He trusted far too much.
Or at least he had.
She never had. And she couldn’t afford to be soft. Period. Evil lurked all around her.
Had Carlos been murdered?
Angelo seemed to think so.
And if her infant son had been murdered, why? Because of Brian?
She’d sentenced an Ivory Nation brother the week before Carlos died. Brian had known about that. He’d had access to her. He’d inoculated Carlos that week.
“You’re telling me you’ve never met Bobby Donahue. Never met George Moss.”
“Never.”
“And you didn’t know they were connected?”
“Absolutely not.” His chin taut, he bit out the words.
She’d hurt him. Guilt wasn’t going to distract her. “Why didn’t you tell me Detective Angelo had been visiting you? Why didn’t you tell me you were under suspicion? Most importantly, why didn’t you let me know your records had been subpoenaed? They had to have substantial enough evidence to get that subpoena.”
This was her territory. She issued subpoenas on a regular basis. She knew first hand what it took to get one.
“Angelo was an overzealous cop trying to use me, by way of the Sun News article, to climb the professional ladder. You were already under tremendous pressure. Why would I worry you with something I wasn’t worried about myself? Especially when the man was spouting lies about Carlos. You’ve suffered enough.”
“But he had to have more than just the Sun News stuff to get a subpoena.”
“As far as I knew, he had suspicion. Period. Now, I’m not so sure. What if I’m being framed, Hannah? I want stronger border laws because I want those living here to do so legally, not because I hate Hispanics. But if Moss does have ties with Donahue, I don’t know…I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how Angelo got the subpoena. But I’m guessing you could find out.”
She could.
And, of course, because it was Brian, she would.
16
“D o you think Carlos was murdered?” Hannah asked.
She was driving, her face stark in the over-brightness of oncoming headlights, and then shadowed. Brian couldn’t read her expression, but he knew she was struggling.
Hurting.
Just as he was. If he had to guess, he’d say they were both scared shitless.
And there was more.
Still reeling from his humiliating experience with Angelo, from the taste of incarceration—and the threat of a more permanent stay—Brian was having trouble ignoring the sting of knowing Hannah had doubted him. And an even harder time holding himself apart from her.
How had she become so connected to him that she had the ability to comfort even his darkest moments? That she was the one he instinctively turned to for support.
Why could he overlook her doubts, understand them enough to still feel better when he was with her than alone?
When had she come to mean so much?
Had it been over the years of communal gatherings, always with the two of them gravitating to each other, sharing a silent understanding of grief? Or over the past year, as they’d spent more time together on the SIDS outreach program, and grieving again.
Or back in college when they used to debate everything on the planet.
He hadn’t answered her question about Carlos. “I don’t know if he was or not,” he finally said.
At the moment, he didn’t seem to know much of anything.
Parking her car next to the Jag in front of his professional building, Hannah looked at him for the first time since she’d pulled out of the Fourth Avenue parking space.
“I’m sorry I doubted you.”
He nodded. “I don’t blame you,” he said, accepting the truth of the words even if he couldn’t feel it in his heart. “Angelo tells a convincing tale.”
“Angelo’s a good detective, Brian. One of the best. He has a tendency to skate a bit close to the edge, but if he says it, there’s always some truth in it.”
Her words added a new element to the fear coursing through him. “You’re saying you still have doubts?” Pretty soon he was going to begin doubting himself.
Hannah shook her head. “The doubts were mostly because of those few key pieces of information you hadn’t shared with me—things I would’ve thought you would.”
He could understand that.
“But we can’t dismiss Angelo’s presence. I’m telling you Brian, the man doesn’t strike unless he’s onto something. And Crispin’s death has already been ruled a homicide.”
Was panic going to be a constant companion now?
“I didn’t have anything to do with it, Hannah. I swear to you. I would never—could never—kill anyone, let alone a baby.”
“I believe you.” Her voice was soft, but sincere. Her compassion touched him as surely as if she’d reached out a hand.
“So how do they prove that the HGH they found in Crispin came from the vaccine?”
“The first thing they’re going to do is check the product you have on hand. I’m sure, if you went up to your office, you’d find the door cordoned off with yellow tape. Right now it’s a crime scene.”
“I’ll have to call Barbara in the morning and have her cancel my appointments for the rest of the week.” Weary, Brian could see the writing on the wall. The ramifications came crashing down on him. “It’s going to be in all the papers. And as soon as my patients’ parents see that, they’ll be leaving me in droves.”
He’d done nothing wrong. But he was going to pay.
“Tanya’s good, Brian. She’ll prove your innocence.”
But the doubts would already have been planted.
“I need to know why,” he said, ashamed of the moisture in his eyes as he turned to Hannah. “Who’s doing this to me? And why?”
“You really think you’re being framed?”
“Don’t you? If someone was out to hurt babies, why target one doctor?”
“Tanya’s going to be looking at everyone in your life, searching for anyone new, changed, or anything different. She’ll go over every move you’ve made over the past year, every bill you’ve paid, every patient you’ve seen. You’re going to lose your privacy, but, God willing, you won’t lose your freedom again.”
Overcome by emotion he couldn’t seem to push away, Brian stared at the building he’d been so proud to consider his professional home, thinking of all of the children he’d treated, the lives that had been protected, and then he nodded.
“Hey.” Hannah’s hand on his arm brought him back from the edge of an abyss that seemed too deep to survive. “We’ll get you through this.”
Exhausted, unable to find his usual strength, Brian soaked up the warmth of Hannah’s touch,
needing it to go on and on.
He covered her hand with his and said, simply, “Thank you.” And then, “If Carlos was murdered, we’ll find out who did it, and why.”
As he saw the shocked, fearful, expression cross Hannah’s face, Brian suspected they’d both just been struck by the same thought.
“You were not the target, Hannah. You absolutely were not.”
“I’d just finished an Ivory Nation case.” She sounded ghostlike. “Earlier tonight when I thought you might’ve been involved with Donahue, I thought—but—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. The look of horror in her eyes increased. “Oh God, Brian! What if I’m the reason my son died? What if this is me, not you? What if they’re going after you because of me? What if I caused this?”
“No.” Reaching over the console Brian took her hands in his. Her fingers were icy cold. “Stop right there.” Somehow he found the ability to be firm. “Carlos was one of six,” he reminded her. “If you were the target, they wouldn’t have hurt the others.”
His brain had been reeling all night with possible scenarios, searching for any enemies he might have made, for anything that could explain the nightmare his life had become.
“Unless they’re using you to get to me. It’s no secret that you’re the closest friend I have in the world.”
God, that sounded good. Even now.
“It seems like we’re fairly convinced that there’s a link between these deaths and the Ivory Nation.”
His words hung, cold and scary, in the confined darkness.
Hannah’s hands moved inside his, turned, until their fingers interlocked. “We’ll figure it out,” she said, her gaze deep and unsure as she looked into his eyes.
He wanted to believe her. Needed to believe her. And needed her to believe, too.
“Try to get some rest, okay?” she said next.
Brian didn’t want to leave her.
“Cynthia’s waiting.”
Dear sweet Cyn. He’d called her before leaving the station. And forgotten all about her since. A testimony to his lost state of mind.
“I’ll follow you home,” he said, gathering himself up as he opened the door of the Lexus.
“You don’t—”
With a finger to her lips, Brian silenced her. And envied that finger.
“Don’t argue. I’m following you home. I won’t rest until I know you’re inside safe and sound.” His words were maybe harsher than he’d intended. He needed to break the intimacy that had developed around them.
He had to get their relationship back where it belonged, with Hannah taking care of herself and him watching from a distance.
Smart woman that she was, she didn’t argue.
On Friday, the 26th of September, at four in the afternoon, Susan once again appeared at Hannah’s door. The frown marring her brow matched the anxiety in her eyes and the purse of her lips.
“What now?” Hannah asked her JA. They’d had a quiet week. No trials. No courtroom drama.
Hannah had a headache. Had been counting the minutes until she could go home. She was covering search-warrant duty for Donna down the hall and had to stay until five.
And then it was home to a soak in the tub followed by a lazy night in front of the television with Taybee purring on her chest.
The world could wait until Monday.
“I just heard the ring’s missing.”
“What ring?”
“The one taken in as evidence from that Tucson detective, Robert Miller.”
“Who told you that?” Susan was the keeper of all court secrets. Probably because she could be trusted to keep them well.
“Martha was downstairs checking on some evidence for her judge when some cop came in asking for the ring.” Martha, Donna Jasmine’s JA.
“What cop?”
Shrugging, Susan dropped into one of the chairs in front of Hannah’s massive desk. “Martha hadn’t ever seen him before, but he was in uniform. City police, not a deputy.”
“And she knows for sure the ring wasn’t there?”
“Yes. She checked. I guess the clerk, Leslie, was kind of flustered. She’s been having a really hard time at home. Her husband emptied their bank account and took off with his secretary, leaving her with three kids under four.”
How Susan managed to know everyone who’d ever taken a breath in the East Mesa facility, Hannah couldn’t imagine.
“Anyway, they think Leslie made a mistake after Kenny Hill’s trial. She was covering for someone and had to give Kenny back his stuff and was also checking in the ring. She thinks she gave it to Kenny.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“I don’t know. The sheriff sent a deputy to find Kenny Hill.”
And the chances of the Ivory Nation brother turning in key evidence against his pastor were less than Hannah’s chances of living forever.
“I’m figuring if he did have it he’ll have ‘lost’ it by now,” Susan said, echoing Hannah’s thoughts.
“We’ll see.”
Susan leaned forward, frowning again. “What’ll this do to the trial? Bobby Donahue won’t get to walk, will he?”
“The ring was important,” Hannah said, circumspect as always. “But they’ve got Robert Miller’s testimony. They can go to trial with that.”
Smiling, showing a feigned lack of real concern, Hannah told Susan she could leave, and to have a good weekend. And then, cradling her aching head in her hands, she picked up the phone and called William.
“I’m afraid the Ivory Nation has someone working here in the courthouse,” she said as soon as he picked up. He was in his car already, on his way to pick up Francis for what might be their last visit for a while.
They were due in court on Monday for a final hearing on his ex-wife’s request to have his visitation revoked.
“What makes you say that?” he asked slowly.
She told him about the ring. “I suppose it could’ve been an honest mistake,” she said, playing her own devil’s advocate. “I’m just uncomfortable with anything that seems even remotely coincidental right now.”
“That’s what these guys do to you, my dear,” William sounded almost as tired as she felt. He’d stayed over again the night before, had been asleep by ten, and hadn’t moved until the alarm went off at six.
And he’d been looking forward to his weekend with Francis.
“They rule by fear, chipping away at you until you start to second-guess everything. Until they’ve convinced you that they are all-powerful. And then they’ve got you.”
He’d mentioned that before her first Ivory Nation trial. But she hadn’t succumbed to it until now.
“I’m telling you, you have to recuse yourself, Hannah, before this gets the better of you.”
“I’m not backing down, William.” And she didn’t want to talk about this again. “I’m fully capable of doing my job.”
And if he didn’t think so, then…
“I know you are.” He sounded resigned. “And while the ring was good evidence, a visual that would help sway a jury, it’s not crucial.”
“No, they’ve got Miller’s testimony and that’s all they need.”
“And he’s in protective custody, right?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t remember telling William that, but, then, they’d been spending a lot of time together. There were a lot of things she didn’t remember saying.
“You said, when you were talking about him, that his wife and kids are with him.”
“Right.” She remembered now. She’d told him about Miller when they’d been discussing Francis, and his ex-wife’s claim that her son was unsafe when he was with his father.
“I’m getting nervous, Hannah,” William said. “What if we’re wrong? What if Molina takes away my right to see Francis?”
Uberto Molina, the Cochise County judge who’d been appointed to oversee William’s custody case because it would be difficult to ensure impartiality from a Maricopa County judge, was someone neither of them had
met.
“How many threats have there been against your family since you’ve been on the bench?”
“One.”
“And how long ago was that?” She was repeating what they both already knew, not to tell him anything, but to remind him. That’s what lovers did for each other.
“Two years.”
“Right, and what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“So, William, what’s your verdict?”
“Patsy’s nuts. She’s doing this to get back at me. Any court in the country would see that. She’s going to lose.”
“Of course she is.” Hannah stared at the large clock hanging on the wall across from her desk. Ten till five. She watched the second hand tick around.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Think of the precedent it would set,” she continued. “Take a judge’s son away because of job hazards and every divorced cop would lose custody. Every attorney who ever had a threat made against him…”
William’s chuckle was pleasant. “You’re very good for me, Hannah, you know that?”
“And you’re good for me,” she said, hoping she meant the words as much as he did.
And that her feelings for him would last. Grow stronger. William Horne was a good man.
She could do far worse.
“What have you heard on Hampton’s case?”
“Tanya’s doing her job, trying to find out who else could be responsible, but hasn’t hit on anything yet. Angelo’s like a dog with a bone. He searched Brian’s home, his office, confiscated his computers, both personal and business, but he hasn’t given the state enough to press charges. He’s exhuming bodies to have them tested for HGH. I gave him permission to exhume Carlos. He’d have been granted a subpoena anyway and while I know Brian had nothing to do with it, I want to know if my son was murdered.” She’d cried after she’d signed the form, not that William had known. He’d been with Francis that night. And she’d sat by Carlos’s crib the entire night afterward. Making herself face the truth. Carlos was gone forever. If she’d failed him, if she was in any way to blame, she had to know.
At Close Range Page 16
