Confession Page 12
“You’re on the ball there, darlin’. You sure you haven’t done this kind of thing before?”
Luke didn’t follow, but before he could ask, Faith turned to him, and explained, “Two of the victims were teenagers.”
“Which makes this whole situation even more horrifying, but I don’t see what that has to do with establishing time of death.” He rubbed his eyes, his head beginning to ache, his impatience with the showboating Haynes growing greater by the minute.
Torpedo took back the reins. “These days, our best markers for time of death are social-media-related. Too true. Too true. When was the last tweet or Facebook post? Last text message sent? Teens today text almost continually while they’re awake, even while they’re in a classroom or at the movies. So Dr. Clancy is onto something. The tightest timeline we’ll get will likely come from Ken and Nancy. But there’s still going to be a large window of opportunity to cover. Unless your brother can account for his whereabouts for the entire window, we’re shit out of luck.”
Luke snapped a pencil. He was no longer willing to let Teddy Torpedo Haynes run the show. “My brother is an innocent man. He wouldn’t harm a fly, much less brutally murder four people. He’s simply not capable of such an act.”
“I’m not saying we’re not going to try. I’m just saying—”
“Shut up, Teddy. I’m not done talking.”
Teddy’s head jerked a nod.
“Now then, as I was saying. My brother is innocent, and I’m not paying you to sit there and spit toothpicks and tell me all the reasons you can’t prove his case. I’m paying you to figure a way. So do your damn job or get the fuck out of my office.”
Torpedo’s mouth flattened. “I hear you, and believe me, I intend to deliver on my promise. I’ve never had a client convicted of murder, and I don’t plan on breaking my streak now. I’m not saying I won’t work the angles. I’m just saying that even if your brother is innocent, it won’t be easy to bulletproof his alibi. So we need more angles. You can never have too many angles going at once.”
“Keep talking.” Luke got to his feet and went to stand about an inch in front of Haynes.
“I’ll get my team working the alibi, but in the meantime, the best thing for your brother would be to convince him to recant his confession.” Haynes flicked his gaze to Faith, eyes all over her in a way that made Luke want to grab him by the collar and kick him back to Texas, where he came from. “And that’s where, you, Dr. Clancy, come in. Long as you’re on our side, that is,” Haynes said.
Her face reddened, and Luke’s fingers flexed. Maybe he’d take Torpedo by the collar after all.
“Are you suggesting I won’t do everything I can to get to the truth—to help my patient?” Faith sat straighter in her chair.
“No offense, Dr. Clancy, but getting to the truth and helping your patient may not turn out to be one and the same. You and I are not in the same position. An attorney advocates for his client. That means my job here is to do anything and everything I can, short of breaking the law”—his face screwed up as if it pained him to admit to any scruples whatsoever—“to get my client, Dante Jericho, off the hook. His guilt or innocence is not my concern. You, however, most likely would not wish to do anything to help a guilty man go free.” He waved his hand in the air. “Which is fine. In fact, it makes you a damn good consultant. You’ll have all kinds of credibility with the jury. But before I send you in to talk to Dante as my agent, I need to know which side of the fence you’re on.”
“I’m on the truth side.” Her eyes rose to meet Luke’s even though she spoke to Haynes. “I don’t believe Dante’s confession is factual. I don’t think he killed those people.”
“That’s good,” Haynes said. “Then you’ll likely work harder to get him to see reason and recant. And now more than ever we need him to take back that goddamn confession.”
“How can he be in any more trouble than he’s in now?” Faith asked.
Luke braced his hand on the edge of the conference table, dreading the answer he knew was coming.
“Last year, there were 345 executions in my home state of Texas.”
“But New Mexico doesn’t have the death penalty.” Faith came halfway out of her seat.
Luke kicked his chair and sent it spinning across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a loud thud. “One of the victims, Kenneth Stoddard, disappeared from Amarillo. The body turned up a week later in Lubbock.”
For the first time, Haynes dropped his eyes like he gave a damn. “If you can get Dante to recant his confession, Dr. Clancy, it’d be a big help. Texas wants their piece of the Santa Fe Saint. They’re already making noises about extradition. Dante respects you. He trusts you. So you gotta let him know it’s his life on the line. All or nothing. We’re not talking life in prison. Get him to take it all back, and you just might save an innocent man’s life.”
FOURTEEN
Friday, August 2, 6:00 P.M.
Luke wasn’t sure why he’d come. A phone call would’ve been more efficient, and he had no doubt Faith would do her best to persuade his brother to recant that damning confession without more prompting. Yet here he was, lounging on Faith’s sectional, waiting for her to return from the kitchen with his beer. He tore his gaze away from the kitchen door, but his thoughts remained on Faith.
He pictured her smiling, leaning over to hand him a cold bottle. Her sleek red hair would fall loosely over her shoulders, and her collar would gape open . . . just enough for him to glimpse the tops of her lush breasts. He might even get a peek at a nipple. Their hands would brush. She’d look at him a moment too long before casting a glance around the room, then he’d touch her cheek, turn her face back to him, and drag her into his lap.
And that would spook her for damn sure.
He remembered their first meeting at the gallery. Faith had been standoffish. He’d worked hard and finally managed to put her at ease. Her smile had opened. Her posture had softened. The space between them had grown smaller and smaller until they were separated only by a vanishing layer of highly charged air. Then he’d reached out his hand to touch her, and just like that, she’d disappeared. So no. As much as he’d like to take her in his arms the moment she walked in the room, as much as he’d like to show her how good they could be together, he couldn’t chance it.
He needed Faith to convince Dante to recant. Until then, he’d keep his hands off. But once she succeeded in that—and she had to succeed or else there’d be no hope for his brother—he intended to make good on his word.
When I see something I want, Faith, I don’t apologize. I just go get it.
So who was he kidding? He knew exactly what he was doing sitting on Faith’s couch. He dusted his hands together, got to his feet, and went to wait for her by the window. If she leaned over him, he’d wind up doing something he’d regret. Sensing her approach, he turned to face her.
“I only had a light. I hope that’s okay.” Faith touched his shoulder, then handed off the beer.
She’d poured it for him into a frozen mug, and the frosted glass nearly froze his palm. Good. He could do with a little cooling off. From this distance, he could smell that fresh-flower scent on her skin, and he willed her to back up a little.
Instead, she came closer.
“Light’s perfect.” He licked ice off the rim of the mug, then took a slug. The beer burned his chest on the way down, and he sputtered out a cough.
Smooth, Luke. Real smooth.
He didn’t care for small talk, so he jumped right in. “I know I’ve been a jerk up to now, Faith, but I promise I’ll do better in the future.”
Her eyes opened a bit wider. “No worries. I turned your brother in to the police. It’s only natural you’d be angry.”
“You did what you had to do.” He should’ve told her that from the get-go. Instead, he’d blamed her, made her feel worse than sh
e already did. “When I heard my brother had been arrested and accused of murder, I couldn’t think straight. But like I said, I get it now, and I came to thank you for agreeing to talk with Dante. If anyone can make him see reason, get him to recant, it’s you.” He took another sip of beer, slowly this time. “You seem to be the only person he actually trusts.”
“You’re a good brother, Luke.”
He didn’t deserve the admiring look she was giving him, but he definitely liked it. “I’m not perfect. Hard to believe, I know.”
“Oh, it’s not hard at all.” Her tone was teasing. “I wasn’t laboring under the impression you were anywhere close to perfect. But what you’ve done for your brother is admirable. Even for brothers raised together, it’d be difficult for one to give away half his inheritance to the other. But that’s exactly what you’re doing for a man you haven’t seen in almost twenty years—a man you barely know. Right now, the whole world is against Dante, but you’re standing by him, and you won’t let him turn you away no matter how hard he tries.”
“Dante doesn’t know what’s good for him. I barely trust him to choose his own breakfast, so no, I can’t let him face a murder charge alone.”
“A lesser man would breathe a sigh of relief and wash his hands of the whole matter the moment his brother refused his help.”
He shook his head, uncertain if he should disillusion her. What if she heard him out and decided he was more toad than prince? On the flip side, if he won her heart—and it seemed her heart might be the very thing he was after—based on a lie, that would be worth nothing to him. He needed her to see the man he truly was, not the man she wanted him to be. “When I was a kid, I begged my father to send both Dante and his mother, Sylvia, away.”
Faith’s body stiffened, and she quickly smoothed away a fleeting frown.
“I don’t feel good about it, but it’s true. When I was five, our housekeeper, Sylvia gave birth to Dante. Once it came to light that he was my father’s son, the tension between my parents became unbearable. For nearly a decade after, if my father entered a room, my mother would walk out. I don’t know how many times I caught her crying in secret. Then one day I had enough of seeing my mother cry, and I begged Dad to get rid of them. Sylvia and Dante lived in small guesthouse we called the casita. I thought if they left the ranch, things would go back to normal.”
“So your father sent them away?” Faith asked softly.
“Not that day, no. But later, a month or so maybe, my father came and told me Dante was leaving for good.”
“Only Dante? Not his mother, too?”
Saying this out loud was harder than he’d anticipated. “It was early morning.” He tried, but he couldn’t keep his voice from cracking. “A policeman came to our house. He stood in the kitchen and talked with my father a long time. That afternoon, Dad explained what had happened—Sylvia had died in an accident. She’d been drinking, and her car went over a railing on a mountain pass.”
Faith’s eyes flickered up as if she were trying to remember something. “Dante told me his mother died in a car accident, but he never said anything about your father’s sending him away that same day.” She shook her head slightly. “You’d think he’d have told his therapist something like that.”
“Maybe it’s too hard for him to talk about. You hadn’t been treating him very long.”
“Long enough for him to confess murder.”
“Long enough for him to give you a false confession to murder. The things he confessed to you are in his head, whereas this really happened. So it’s not the same at all. Anyway, the point is I wanted Dante and Sylvia out of my life. Out of my family. And suddenly they were gone. My father sent Dante away that very same night. He wasn’t even allowed to attend Sylvia’s funeral.”
“I can hardly believe your father sent Dante away the same night his mother was killed.”
“Heartless bastard.” He jerked his hand, and beer sloshed over the side of the mug. “Even I knew that wasn’t right, and I was just a selfish kid.”
Her sigh was heavy, and he wondered again if telling her the truth had been the right the thing to do. But he’d kept his family’s secrets far too long. Besides, the more Faith knew about the family, the more likely it was she could help his brother. “So you see, I got my wish. I never wanted Sylvia to get hurt, but the result of her death was that I got everything I asked for. Suddenly, I was an only child, the center of my parents’ world. My mom and dad stayed together. Without Sylvia and Dante around as a constant reminder of my father’s infidelity, they were able to tolerate each other until I left for college. I got everything, and Dante got nothing. It was almost as if my father erased them. Like Dante and Sylvia never existed.”
“The fact that you resented Dante when you were a child, and for very understandable reasons, doesn’t diminish what you’re doing for him now.” Her expression hadn’t altered during the entire conversation. She still thought better of him than she should.
“I’m only doing what’s right, so don’t give me too much credit. Nothing I do will ever make up for what my father did to Dante, or for my own selfish part in it. But I have to try because I’m all he has left.”
Like he’d imagined earlier, Faith held his gaze a moment too long, then cast a glance around the room.
His hands itched to touch her. He headed back to the couch and made a production of choosing a coaster for his beer. She sat down beside him—too close. He gripped his fingers together tightly and changed the subject. “I’ve decided we should have a security system installed in your house—on my dime. After all, you’re helping with the case, and a woman shouldn’t—”
Now her expression altered. He found what he read as her miffed face, adorable—and he wasn’t the type of guy who found things adorable. “I don’t need you to pay for a security system. I’m already shopping for the best deal, and I can handle this myself.” She fiddled with the hem of her blouse. “I don’t think you came here to thank me at all. I think that was just an excuse to check up on me.”
He had indeed wanted to check up on her. “Busted.” He grinned. “I’m checking up on someone all right, but not you. I wanted to see how my good friend, Chica, is doing.”
In immediate response, a howl came from the other room. Then, Chica herself, looking a good five pounds heavier already, trotted into the room and plopped at his feet. “Good girl.” He leaned down and scratched behind her ears.
Faith’s smile returned. “The vet says she’s a genuine miracle dog. She’s not only getting fat and happy, but she should be able to carry her pups just fine.” Her enthusiasm showed in both her voice and her hand gestures. “And I can tell you I didn’t want to have to break the news to Tommy if there weren’t going to be any puppies. He’s already picking out names.”
“Tommy’s the kid next door, right?”
“Right.” Faith’s phone-messaging alert sounded. She pulled her phone from her pocket, and said, “Speak of the devil, look at this cute pic I just got of Tommy making the rounds with Chica.” Her brow drew down. “Says contact unknown. Maybe Tommy’s mother got a new phone.”
She passed him her cell, and sure enough, there was a small boy with a big grin on his face and a tail-wagging Chica by his side.
The message alert sounded again, and Faith took her phone back. “Tommy’s so—” Her voice broke off midsentence. Her hand opened, and the phone slid to the floor. She grew so still, he couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not.
With one arm, he pulled her against him, and with the other hand he picked up her cell. “It’s going be okay, babe.”
“No. It’s not going to be okay,” she said in a strangled voice.
He tightened his hold on her, glanced down at the cell, and found himself unable to look away, unable even to blink. There were now two images, both from the same unknown contact. The first was the picture of Tommy
and Chica. The second photo showed a bloodied boy with his hands and feet bound. Luke’s heart stopped, then started again when he recognized the photo of Kenneth Stoddard.
The Saint’s first victim.
Keeping his hand steady, he eased his own cell out of his pocket and hit speed dial. An operator picked up. He took a long, controlled breath. “Luke Jericho for Detective Johnson. Tell him it’s urgent.”
FIFTEEN
Thursday, August 8, 2:00 P.M.
Faith sat down at her desk, with Scourge across from her for their two o’clock session. She was slowly getting back to her routine, a run in the mornings, work in the afternoon, which meant either seeing her lone patient or visiting primary-care docs to introduce herself and leave her brochures. In the evenings—a Krav Maga class, or a good hard workout at the gym. But she was still having trouble sleeping, and that horrible photo sent to her cell had only made matters worse.
Her brow tightened. Detective Johnson had taken the report but hadn’t seemed impressed. After verifying that Tommy was okay, and that he didn’t recall anyone’s bothering him or taking his photo, Johnson had promised to interview the rest of the neighbors but had not yet gotten around to it. At least the police had stepped up the patrol in Faith’s neighborhood. But not only did Johnson say he didn’t think there was any danger, he’d actually implied she might’ve somehow sent those photos to herself . . . for attention! She let out a long breath and mentally shook herself. This wasn’t the time to dwell on her own problems, this was the time to focus on her patient.
Bouncing a pen between her fingers, she studied Scourge. He’d been on time for therapy as usual, dressed in a crisp white linen shirt and tan slacks as usual, greeted her politely as usual, and his eyes flitted around her office in a frenzy—also as usual. His outer perfection seemed an attempt to contain an inner chaos she discerned only by his eyes. If he lost a cuff link, or heaven forbid a shoelace came untied, she suspected it would send him hurtling over the edge. Scourge wasn’t just tightly wound. He was a bomb with feet, just one tick shy of exploding.