“What?” Susan was there instantly, staring down to the open drawer.
“Oh, my God.”
Hannah, her middle finger at her mouth, stared, too. A scorpion, an inch long, lay curled next to her pen. She slammed the drawer shut.
“I was stung!” The pain was intense. Making her dizzy. Hot and cold at once, she fell back into her chair, trying desperately to think. To remain calm.
“I’m calling for help.” Susan already had the phone in her hand. Hannah heard her talking.
Only the very young and the very old ever got seriously ill from a scorpion sting. She knew that. She’d lived in Arizona her entire life. Knew several people who’d been stung.
“They’re on their way,” Susan said.
Eyes closed, Hannah heard her assistant leave. And moments later come back. The rest of her staff were all still in the courtroom. Presumably waiting for her.
“A friend of mine was stung in her bed in college.” She could hear her own voice as if from afar, her burning hand lying limp on her lap. “And another one when she got her mail.”
Both had been fine. Sore, but fine.
“My sister was stung on her shoulder one night as she slept,” Susan’s voice sounded louder, closer.
Opening her eyes, Hannah focused. Cooled.
Held the ice-filled plastic bag that Susan had just put on her injured hand. “Security said ice would slow the venom.”
“I think I’m more panicked than hurt,” Hannah admitted, trying to chuckle as she sat with her right hand still lying limp on her knee. She’d pushed her chair back a couple of feet from the desk.
But Hannah was keeping her eye on the drawer.
And everywhere else. Was there only one? Or had someone infested her office?
A paramedic arrived within minutes, checked her pulse and her eyes, examined the sting, and instructed her to keep ice on it to reduce the pain.
It took him slightly longer to find the scorpion in her drawer, but, when he did, he removed it immediately.
She was lucky, he said. The offensive creature was bigger. The worse stings were from the little ones.
“Give it another ten minutes or so and you’ll be able to carry on with your day. Your arm will probably feel numb until tomorrow, but you’re going to be just fine.”
Hannah believed him.
As far as the sting went.
20
B rian was with a patient Friday morning when Barbara knocked to tell him he had a personal phone call.
There were only two people for whom he’d given his receptionist permission to interrupt him when he was with a patient.
Cynthia. And Hannah.
Leaving ten-year-old Simon Adler and his mother with Jamie, the replacement nurse he’d brought, he hurried into his private office to take the call.
His heart pounded the second he heard her voice. She was sick. Or scared. “Hannah?”
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. When I left my name with Barbara she told me to hold on and—”
“She has orders to come get me if you call,” he said, standing with his feet apart, ready to run. “What’s up?”
“I got stung by a scorpion.” She told him about reaching for her pen, not seeing the thing until it was too late.
“Put ice on it,” he said to pretend this was a medical call.
“I did.”
“Your arm’s going to be numb for a day or two,” he warned her.
“I know.” A paramedic had been there. Called by her JA, she said. Good. Measures were in place to protect her. At work at least.
“You may feel a bit nauseous,” he added, more because he didn’t want to let her go than anything else.
“Brian?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I’m nuts for thinking that someone put that scorpion in my drawer?”
He wanted to tell her not to worry. That he wasn’t concerned.
“You aren’t nuts.” He chose his words carefully. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure, odd things happening. Someone was in your office once before. It’s not unnatural for you to assume that.”
“But is it illogical?”
Yes. Yes, there’s nothing to worry about. “I don’t know.”
“I called maintenance and had them check the whole office. And my bench area, too. I’ve got a hearing waiting to begin, but I’m not taking any more chances.”
“I think you’re safe now,” he said, rubbing the ache along the back of his neck. He lowered his head to give him better access, and his vision rested on the multiple images of Cinderella on his tie.
If only life were a fairy tale.
“If the scorpion was put there deliberately, it served its purpose,” he finally said. “You’ve been warned. You’re scared, bordering on paranoid. If someone is trying to intimidate you, I’d say it worked.”
The long pause at the end of the line was difficult to endure. Never in his life had Brian felt so helpless—for Hannah and for himself.
“I’m afraid to ask, but you don’t happen to have Bobby Donahue on today’s calendar, do you?”
Another telling pause. “He’s in the courtroom. It’s his hearing that’s waiting.”
It wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“What are you going to do?”
“Do my job.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m going to hear the testimony and make the decision that justice demands.”
He’d known that. It’s what he’d have done, too. And it scared the hell out of him.
“But based on what I know so far, I’ll probably be taking it under advisement. I want to give a written opinion,” she added. “I want Donahue in jail when he hears the news, not sitting in front of me. I want the witness safely away.”
“So that won’t be until Monday?”
“Yep.”
“Come spend the weekend in the guest cottage. Please? For me?”
Hannah hesitated, as though actually considering the request. “I would, but I’m supposed to be seeing William,” she said. “And besides, I won’t live my life in fear. They’ve delivered their warning, right? What more can they do until I render my decision?”
Okay, he’d buy that. She was safe as long as things were under advisement. Could she just leave them there permanently? Let the man rot in jail waiting for his trial?
“And no, it isn’t something I can draw out indefinitely,” she chuckled, as though reading his mind. This seemed to be happening a lot lately. “Every defendant is entitled to a speedy trial. If I wait too long the charges would be dismissed.”
And Donahue would go free. They most definitely couldn’t have that.
“Take care of yourself, my friend,” he said after dismissing at least three possessive statements that were completely inappropriate.
William was her man. Her “protector.” Not Brian.
“I will.”
“And call me, okay? Let me know you’re all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Brian had to be satisfied with that.
But he didn’t have to like it.
As it turned out, Courtney Moss’s testimony and the hearing were uneventful. If one ignored the shock on Julie Gilbert’s face when the girl claimed to have been with her parents the night her lover, Camargo Cortes, was brutally tortured and murdered.
She knew nothing about the attack.
“Camargo and I weren’t really all that close,” she said. “We only dated a few times.”
The girl was staring at her hands.
“But you slept together,” Julie pressed, moving closer.
“Well…” Courtney looked at her father. “No.” The answer was emphatic.
And, Hannah was certain, a complete lie.
She finished the hearing, writing as best she could with her left hand. Gave her spiel about taking the matter under advisement. But before she adjourned, called the attorneys forward.
“I’m not sure why we’re here tod
ay.” Hannah was a judge, not a prosecutor. She couldn’t do the attorneys’ jobs for them. But…
“She’s lying, Your Honor.” Julie kept her voice low.
Hannah turned to Keith. “That’s not what she told me when I questioned her,” he admitted, though the testimony didn’t hurt his case any. It just made his motion to suppress pointless.
She looked from one to the other. “Either of you have a suggestion?”
“Can we clear the courtroom?” Julie asked. “Including the defendant?”
“A defendant always has the right to be present…” Keith said with a forceful whisper as the two attorneys stood side by side, just their heads and shoulders visible to Hannah.
“Unless he waives his right and has his attorney there in his stead,” Julie finished.
“Why would I agree to that?”
“Because you know I’ll get the information anyway and it’ll be better for your client if the witness testifies than if I prove that she refused because she was so afraid.”
“That’s assuming the judge allows the testimony to come in.”
They both looked to Hannah.
“Talk to your client,” she said to Keith. “We’re going to take a five-minute break,” she announced to the courtroom and then, turning, stood and left through the back door.
Within ten minutes, Hannah was on the bench, and the proceedings were on the record, minus all spectators, including the defendant and the witness’s father who’d agreed to leave at Donahue’s request. Only Hannah’s necessary staff members, the two attorneys and Courtney Moss were present.
Hannah had no idea what Keith had said to get his client to leave, but Donahue had appeared entirely at ease, confident, as he’d been led away.
Hannah’s right arm, which had throbbed for a while but was now numb to the shoulder, hung limply at her side.
“You want to tell us what’s going on?” Julie Gilbert asked the witness as soon as Hannah motioned her forward.
“Nothing.” Courtney didn’t seem to have much trouble lying.
If you didn’t count the way her lips trembled.
“You do realize the penalty for perjury, don’t you, Courtney?”
The girl shook her head.
“If you lie, and it affects the outcome of the trial, it’s called obstruction of justice and you could be charged and tried as an accessory.” Not likely in this case, but true. “Is that what you want? To go to prison along with whoever tortured your boyfriend?”
Courtney’s silence was telling. The child was obviously more frightened than Hannah had been earlier that day—and she was only seventeen. And, until recently, had lived a privileged life. Hardly as equipped as Hannah to deal with these kind of pressures.
“Talk to me, Courtney,” Julie said. “Like you did before when I came to your school with your mom. It’s just us now, and everything that’s said here today will be kept confidential.”
The girl’s apparent struggle tugged at Hannah. It took everything she had to remain professional, when what she wanted to do was haul the child into her arms, cradle her, promise her everything would be all right.
Or at the very least, take hold of that fist clenching and unclenching on the other side of the table.
“Have you ever heard of Amanda Blake?” the girl asked the prosecutor.
Bobby Donahue’s former lover. The mother of his child.
“Yes,” the prosecutor replied.
Courtney’s stare was almost bitter as she glanced over at Hannah and then back to Julie. “What do you know?”
“That she kidnapped their son last year and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think Bobby had custody of Luke to begin with?”
“I don’t know, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.”
“Two years ago, Amanda wanted out.”
“Out of the Ivory Nation?”
“Right.” The girl wet her lips and then, as though having come to a final decision, started to talk so fast Hannah could hardly keep up with her.
“She knew Bobby wouldn’t ever let her go, and more, that if she did somehow convince him, she’d never get to take her son with her. Well, Luke was one of the biggest reasons she had to go, don’t you see? Amanda could handle pretty much anything for herself, but the idea of Bobby raising her son, once she’d seen all the things he did, how crazy he was, well, that was just too much. So she went to the feds.”
Janet McNeil had told Hannah the same story.
“Amanda agreed to work with them, to be a snitch, and they guaranteed her they’d get Bobby and then, even if she died in the process, at least her son would be away from him.”
Thinking of Carlos, Hannah could understand the desperation that must have driven the young mother.
“How do you know all of this?” Julie’s question drew Hannah out of her thoughts.
“I know Amanda,” Courtney said. “We met at one of my father’s rallies and she took me under her wing. She was like a big sister to me, telling me that I wasn’t a second-rate citizen, that I had as much right to control my life as men had to control theirs.”
“So Amanda turned traitor,” Julie said. “Then what happened?”
“Bobby put a hit out on her.”
“On the woman he claimed to love more than life?”
“Yeah. That’s what makes him so scary, you know? That cause of his, his God, it’s bigger than anything else. He’d kill himself if he thought God told him to.”
“I take it you don’t believe in his God?”
“After what happened to Camargo? And Amanda?” Courtney’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t believe in any God.”
Hannah’s heart cried out against the loss of innocence.
“If Bobby put a hit out on her, how was she able to kidnap her son a year later?”
“The guy who was supposed to kill her told Bobby she was taken care of, but he really kept her for himself. He was a sick guy. Amanda called me once from a pay phone. She needed information about Bobby’s schedule but my mom came in and I hung up. The guy she’d been living with broke into a couple’s home and tied up the husband and—”
“I know the story,” Julie cut her off, as Hannah sat there listening silently, feeling sicker by the second as she saw all the threads of evil coming together.
“Yeah, well, this Jefferson guy, he kept Amanda a virtual prisoner, his sex slave, for almost a year, promising her that he’d help her get her son. In the end, he didn’t, but through him she was able to track Bobby’s activities and whereabouts and when she saw her opportunity, she got Luke herself.”
“Do you know where she is now?”
Courtney shook her head. “I’m sure she’s dead,” she said softly. “I was told she was…killed. Her and her little boy.”
“By the Ivory Nation? Surely Bobby wouldn’t have killed his own son?”
“Luke wasn’t his son, really.”
“What?”
“That’s what Amanda told me. It was our secret. Bobby’s sterile. Something to do with the beatings he took from his old man when he was a kid. He made Amanda get pregnant by some other guy while he watched, making sure no one enjoyed it, like that made it okay and medical or whatever.”
The bitterness in the teenager’s voice was a crime in itself. Hannah wondered if Courtney had grown up too young long ago? Or if this was a new development, since she’d fallen in love with a boy in her class who happened to be Hispanic?
“Do you know where that guy is now?”
“No.”
“Maybe Amanda’s with him.”
“If she was, they’re both dead. No way Bobby would allow that. And it doesn’t matter anyway,” Courtney said, glancing at the deputy who’d been leaning silently against the wall by the door as if only now realizing he was there.
“The point is, there’s no way I can go into court, with Bobby Donahue listening to me, and say
anything other than what I’ve been told to say. I can’t tell the truth about what happened to Camargo or I’ll end up like Amanda. I’d rather go to prison—at least there—if I’ve done what I was told like a good little girl—I’ll be safe. And I’ll get out someday.”
“You don’t want to go to prison,” Julie said as Hannah’s mind reeled with options—none of them good. “You have rights, Courtney.”
“Tell that to my dad.”
Her dad. George Moss. The state’s newest senator. The one who was supported by Bobby Donahue’s money. And Brian’s.
Hannah wanted to snatch the girl and run.
William took Hannah out to dinner as planned. Francis was with his mother, and even so, William had considered canceling. Too much was at stake.
Francis’s safety. William’s heart.
But he couldn’t stay away.
Just one more time, he told himself. Once more. They’d have dinner. He’d kiss her goodbye and get on with his life.
After he noticed her favoring her right hand and found out why, he knew he had to steer clear of her. At least until the Ivory Nation threat was gone.
And then, over lettuce wraps and fried rice, she laughed at something he said. Told him about Taybee batting at herself in the mirror while Hannah was getting ready in the morning.
He had an instant vision of her standing at the double sink in her bathroom, a wall of mirrors in front of her. She was fresh from the shower, beads of moisture on her breasts and…
“Any development on the Donahue case?” he asked, bringing himself back to reality in the nick of time, but not before he’d filled her lettuce wrap for her—and taken care of anything else she might have needed both hands to do.
Hannah took too many chances. Her refusal to compromise endangered her life. And if nothing else, the worry was going to give William high blood pressure, send him to an early grave.
He had to finish this.
“I had a pretrial hearing today. Defense moved to have a witness struck.”
She didn’t say any more. Didn’t reveal any of the specifics of the hearing. Palms sweating, he set down his chopsticks. “What are you going to do?”
She sipped her wine. Examined him as though measuring her words. “I’m not sure.”
At Close Range Page 20
