“And he found a ledger of sorts, that Brian kept, detailing his private fight against illegal immigration,” she continued shortly, bringing her focus back to the moment at hand. Something she could handle. “Brian catalogued every pamphlet he sent out, every penny he donated, every dinner or lecture he attended, every piece of legislation he voted for.”
“Nothing illegal in that,” William said slowly. “And yet, put that together with his financial problems, his support of Moss, a soon-to-be known Ivory Nation supporter, and you could sway a jury.”
He was right. She’d had the same thoughts. So why did it make her angry to hear him say it?
Or was it the very real fear he’d elicited that pissed her off?
“Except that he didn’t do it. Brian still believes laws are the answer. Not breaking them.”
“But if he’s donated every dime he’s got, he’s not going to appear all that stable. He’s also going to appear more desperate. He went to the free clinic and found those kids. He knew they were illegals. Desperate people do desperate things.”
She didn’t want to hear any more.
“You think he did it.” William knew Brian. She thought he’d liked him.
“No, I don’t think he did it. I’m just taking the state’s approach so we can see what he’s up against. Tanya has to find rebuttals to those things.”
“And the best way to do that is to find someone else to point the finger at.”
The Ivory Nation.
“Someone with a better motive,” William agreed. “And access to HGH and the vaccine.”
Maybe Brian should move to Canada. The whole thing was just too surreal. Her best friend being investigated for murder? Her Carlos murdered? By that same friend?
Or had someone else, a sick man who considered himself a Christ, framed Brian and killed her son, too?
Hannah’s head throbbed.
“I’m here to get Francis.” William’s voice came over the line, interrupting her disturbing thoughts. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Of course. Call me Sunday?” She’d already told him that she was planning to lie low all weekend, to catch up on her rest.
“As always. And, Hannah?”
“Yeah?”
“About that idea that there’s an Ivory Nation sympathizer working on the inside at East Mesa?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, if there were, there would’ve been some sign of it before now, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” Probably. Unless they were just really good and no one knew they were there. Or what they were doing. Or unless he or she had only recently been hired.
“An inside guy would’ve forestalled Kenny Hill’s conviction.”
Probably.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Besides, the sheriff’s guys are the best. There’s no way they’d let a supremicist work under their noses.”
He was right about that. Unless it was someone they knew and trusted. Someone no one would ever suspect. Unless the sheriff’s office supported white supremacy efforts. Turned a blind eye to things that had to be done in the name of the cause….
Her mind spun so rapidly it made her dizzy. Which was exactly what Bobby Donahue and his cohorts wanted. Assuming they were out to get her at all.
The real problem here, the only problem where she was concerned, was that she was giving control over her mind to someone who might not even be trying to take it.
And if he was trying…she was allowing him to succeed.
If she stopped worrying, stopped being afraid, he’d lose all power over her.
Really, the whole situation was within her ability to command.
Hannah hadn’t even completed the thought before she jumped out of her skin, pushing the panic button under her desk.
The outer door to her chambers had just slammed.
And she was supposed to be there alone.
Her staff, minus Susan, had all left following their afternoon calendar. And an hour later, Susan had locked the door behind her when she’d gone. No one else had a key to her chambers.
Trembling, listening, Hannah stared at her solid wood door. She couldn’t hear any footsteps on the carpet outside. But security should be there soon.
She grabbed her phone.
The doorknob jiggled.
And Hannah stifled a scream.
17
T he knob jiggled again.
“Judge?”
Susan.
Hannah pulled open the door. “Yeah?” She hoped she didn’t sound as shaky as she felt.
And let this be a lesson to you, she added silently. She was allowing them to get to her, rattle her, unsettle her equilibrium. She hadn’t done that in a lifetime of challenges.
As of now, it stopped.
A sheriff’s deputy ran through the outer office door. “Judge?”
Another humiliation. Another lesson. “It’s okay, Sam,” she told the young man. “False alarm. I didn’t realize Susan had come back.”
“You sure?” He had his hand on his gun.
“Positive.”
He insisted on searching the area thoroughly, in case someone was lurking there, forcing her to send him away.
When he’d satisfied himself that all was well, he returned to his post, leaving her feeling more stupid than she had in a long time.
“Sorry,” Susan said. “I forgot to tell you I talked to my friend Sara.” Sara was a clerk in the prosecutor’s office. “She said that she heard that they went through the injection disposals from Brian’s office the day that Crispin Garza was in. They tested the syringes and found one with traces of HGH.”
Which didn’t mean Brian had done anything. Anyone with access to his office could have tainted that vaccine.
But it wasn’t good. By all appearances, he’d given a lethal injection. The question was, had he known it was lethal when he’d administered it?
“Sara better be careful about what she repeats,” Hannah said, tense once again. “She could lose her job.”
She should lose her job. She was spreading crucial evidence around.
“I know,” Susan said. “That’s what I told her.”
Nodding, Hannah wanted to thank her assistant for caring enough to keep her informed.
And she wanted to tell her that it was wrong for Susan to do so.
Instead, another indication that she needed to pull herself together, she heard herself say, “Susan?”
“Yeah?”
“What do you tell these people that talk to you?”
“What do mean?”
“About us? Do you give tit for tat?”
“Of course not!” The horrified look on her JA’s face shamed Hannah. “I don’t know why people talk to me, but I don’t tell them anything. I only talk to you.”
“That’s what I thought,” Hannah said, softening her expression, her tone. “But with everything going on, I had to ask.”
“I understand, Judge,” Susan said, smiling again. “Your job alone is a huge responsibility, and then with Carlos and your cat and the break-in…I don’t know how you do it. Handling so much. Anyway, don’t worry. I’ve got your back, totally.” And giving Hannah’s wrist a brief squeeze, she wished her a safe and restful weekend and left a second time.
“I understand if you want to take Joseph and go,” Brian told the beautiful woman lying beside him in bed Friday night. Instead of making love, like they’d done most nights, they’d been talking about the babies who’d died, analyzing every move Brian had made over the past year. Looking for connections. He’d thought of little else since his arrest.
They’d spoken of little else.
Though she’d been lying on her back staring at the ceiling for almost an hour, Cynthia turned toward him, her fingers brushing his cheek.
“Of course we aren’t leaving you,” she said gently. “I know you didn’t kill those babies, Brian. I know you. This is my chance to show my
mettle and stand by my man.”
“But you have Joseph to consider.”
“Exactly. And his best chance at a decent future is right here.”
Brian lay there, watching her, wanting to find the words of love and gratitude and relief that she deserved.
So why was he reminded of the night before? Why was he filled with a bittersweet longing to have heard that same avowal of faith from Hannah?
Because, in his mind, Hannah had somehow come to represent Cara?
Even as the thought occurred to him he rejected it. Hannah was Hannah. Always had been. Always would be.
And what that meant was a complete mystery to him.
On and off for the past forty-eight hours he’d been besieged with bouts of panic—a condition he’d never experienced before. Had his patients really been murdered? Could Angelo pin the murders on him? Visions of himself locked up like an animal chilled him. Without warning, his heart pounded as though he’d run a marathon.
And each time, thoughts of Hannah were all that could restore him to a semblance of calm. To reality. Rational thought.
Hannah wasn’t the woman in his life.
Brian pulled Cynthia to him, kissing her deeply. Thoroughly. And over the next hour he loved her the same way, showing her with his hands, his body, what he could not tell her with his heart.
True to her determination not to be bullied, Hannah went home Friday night, made some toast for dinner, took a hot bath and went to bed. She was out immediately. And slept all night.
Of course, that might have been a result of the over-the-counter sleep aid she took with her toast.
Regardless, she woke up Saturday morning alive, unharmed and rested. Her home was intact.
And when she ventured outside, to get the paper and check yesterday’s mail, everything was fine there, too. No stray bullets came whizzing down the street, no cars sped toward her across the yard, no bogeymen or bombs fell from the palm tree.
Bobby Donahue had been in jail for a full week and nothing bad had happened to her.
And even if it had, she wasn’t going to let them intimidate her. If she died, she died. In the meantime, her life was her own and she was going to live it.
Starting with a phone call she’d been debating making. Her job was important. Upholding justice even more so. But most important were loved ones.
Brian deserved every opportunity he could get to prove his innocence.
And passing on gossip wasn’t against the law. None of her information was official.
“Hannah? What’s up?”
“Am I interrupting anything?” she asked, curled up on the couch in her winter robe, though it was in the sixties outside, with the newspaper and a cup of coffee at her side.
“Not at all. Joseph is watching Winnie the Pooh on the Disney Channel, and Cynthia just ran to the grocery store. She prefers not to take him with her. Says there’s too many germs.”
“I didn’t realize she was that protective.” Shut up, Hannah. Don’t criticize.
For that matter, don’t find fault. Brian loved Cynthia. And she was a charming woman. End of story.
“Actually, she doesn’t take him much of anywhere,” Brian surprised her by saying. “Except to counseling. And on occasional outings when we’re all together. The little guy’s had such an unsettled life and until the bed-wetting and nightmares stop, until he opens up a bit more, it’s best for him to be home as much as possible, in a safe, secure, unchanging environment. He actually takes a bag with his special things in it whenever he leaves the house, in case he doesn’t get to come back.”
“Wow.” Hannah’s eyes filled with tears as she thought of the boy she’d helped put to bed. “I had no idea things were that bad.”
“They’re starting to get better. We had two dry mornings this week.”
God, she envied him. A child to care for. To love. “He’s very lucky having you,” she said, meaning every word.
And then remembered why she’d called.
“How are you doing, otherwise?” she asked, thinking of how he’d been Wednesday night. Beaten down. Lost.
“Okay. Considering.”
She hated herself for doubting him. Even for a second. That’s what the Ivory Nation had done to her. Made her doubt her own heart. Her friends. Made her doubt that there was good in life.
Not everyone had a dark side, evil secrets. Not everyone was capable of horrendous acts.
“Have you heard anything from Tanya?” she asked, determined to be there for Brian, no matter what.
“Nothing substantial. She’s pretty much looking everywhere but my underwear drawer, and I’ll turn that over to her, too, if she asks.”
That sounded more like Brian.
Hannah hated to bring him bad news. But she couldn’t very well pass gossip to his attorney. To a woman who appeared before her in court.
“I heard a rumor yesterday, Brian.”
“What?” The wariness was back, as she’d known it would be.
“Angelo got the results on the used syringes from your office.”
“And?”
“There was a trace of HGH in one of them.”
The long pause hurt her heart. “I guess that was to be expected,” he said finally. “It had to have gotten in the baby somehow.”
Yeah. But she’d been hoping someone else had injected him, before or after Brian’s vaccine.
“This still isn’t proof you did it,” she reminded him. “Only that someone tampered with the syringe or the vaccine itself.”
“It’s pretty convincing circumstantial evidence, though,” he said. For once, Hannah wished he hadn’t paid such close attention to her and her work over the years. She had a feeling that the less Brian knew about the process, the better it would be for his peace of mind.
“Even if we accept that Donahue is behind this, he’s obviously not doing the work himself. Who could he bribe or blackmail into helping him? Someone with access to you, your office, your supplies,” she said as she sat up, taking a sip of coffee. Her mind was clearer than it had been in days.
She was reclaiming herself.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” Brian told her. “Who has it in for me? Who’s doing this? Why?”
“What have you come up with?”
“Not much. I’ve had a couple of families leave, but mostly because they were moving away, or couldn’t pay a bill.”
That caught her attention. “Let’s go with that. Those that couldn’t pay, what happened after they left?”
Was there someone out there whose child had died from an illness after they could no longer afford Brian? There would have been other care available to them—state care—but if they thought it had somehow been inferior, that if only Brian had been there…
“As far as I know, they’re fine. There was only one that I can think of,” he admitted. “And I didn’t cut them off—they refused to come without paying.”
Unfortunately, that left her back where she’d been, without a solid motive they could pursue.
Not that she wanted any other children to have died.
“And there’s no one else you can think of who’s ever been angry with you, Brian? Come on. Everyone pisses someone off on occasion. No woman who read more into your attention than you intended? Someone who feels jilted?”
“If anyone did, she didn’t let on to me.”
Or he hadn’t read the signals. After all, Brian was a guy. It happened.
“And no angry husbands?” She had to ask.
“The only woman I’ve dated in the past year is Cynthia.”
“What about neighbors? Anyone want to build something that you objected to?”
“Nope. And I wasn’t rude to the grocery store check-out clerk, either.” Brian’s dry chuckle lifted her spirits.
“Okay, I’m fishing here,” she conceded, but it felt so damn good to be back. Even for a moment. “But if Crispin Garza was murdered—” She decided not to bring Carlos into this. Not unt
il she knew for sure “—someone did it.”
“So maybe someone needed him dead and I was a convenient scapegoat. Maybe this has nothing to do with me at all. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the wrong baby as a patient.”
“What are you saying? That someone was targetting the Garzas?”
“I don’t know.” He sounded tired again. “And that wouldn’t explain the other babies.”
“If they’re really a part of this,” she said, her mind honing in on everything she knew about Brian. “I’ve met most of your employees—” she used to be a client, after all “—but refresh my memory. Tell me about them.”
He named Barbara first. Hannah knew her better than the rest. She’d been with Brian at a couple of the SIDS seminars, handing out copies for them, taking names and addresses for the mailing list they’d compiled.
“Then there’s Lila,” he said. “She started with me about a year ago—”
“Wait!” Warning bells went off in Hannah’s head. Just as they had when she’d been working cases for the state all those years. A feeling of just knowing…
“Did she start with you before or after…Carlos?”
“Just…before,” Brian said slowly. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Hang on while I get a legal pad. I want you to tell me everything you know about her.”
18
W hile Brian went to take Joseph some juice, Hannah retrieved a pad and pen from the drawer of the end table. She had them stashed in every room in the house, a habit left over from her trial attorney days.
“First off, give me her full name, age, marital status,” she rattled off when Brian returned to the phone. Her robe fell open as she sat back on the couch.
“Lila Whitehall. She’s in her mid-to late-twenties. Married with one son.”
“What does her husband do?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve only met him once. I think he works for ASU, something to do with athletics. A trainer, maybe. They moved here from Flagstaff a couple of years ago.”
More alarm bells. The horror story she’d heard from Janet McNeil about her experiences with the Ivory Nation had included reports of terrorist training at a ski resort in Flagstaff. The prosecutor had described rigorous physical workouts on the side of the mountain.
At Close Range Page 17
