Читать книгу Reunited With The P.i. - Anna J. Stewart - Страница 10

Chapter 1

“Miss Armstrong, is the state ready to proceed with opening statements?”

Simone gripped the gold-tipped fountain pen her father had given her for law school graduation, a graduation he couldn’t be bothered to attend. An unfamiliar rush of uncertainty flooded her body and pulled her to her feet. She ignored the not-so-subtle murmurs of the packed courtroom along with the amused gleam of challenge in high-priced defense attorney Silvio Poltanic’s beady-eyed stare.

“Respectfully, Your Honor...” Thanks to the five years she’d spent in the Sacramento County DA’s office, none of the unease in her belly eked out in her practiced, determined voice. “The district attorney’s office would like to request a week’s postponement.”

“Your Honor!” Poltanic pushed his significant bulk out of the wooden chair. His nasal voice made Simone dig her manicured nails deep into her palm. “The jury has been chosen. My client has been waiting for over four months for his day in court. We are ready to proceed immediately.”

“And we will. In one week. I apologize, Your Honor. I take full responsibility for my lack of preparedness.” The words nearly sliced through her. There hadn’t been a day in all of Simone’s twenty-nine years that she hadn’t been prepared for whatever life threw at her, but even she hadn’t expected the call from Mara Orlov’s protective detail this morning letting her know that sometime in the last twelve hours her star witness had vanished.

“I do see where the original trial date was set for next month.” Judge Buford glanced over his wire-rim glasses from Simone to the files on his desk. The tension in Simone’s chest eased even as she sensed Poltanic’s blood pressure rise from across the aisle. “I also understand the district attorney recently let three of his full-time investigators go.”

“One of whom was assisting me on the case, Your Honor.” It wasn’t a lie...exactly. She had been assigned an investigator when the fraud investigation into Denton and his business practices first landed on her desk. Before Christmas. Last year.

“As it is a Thursday and there’s no court tomorrow, I’m inclined to grant the prosecution’s request,” Judge Buford said.

“But—”

“In light of that, Judge.” Poltanic held out a hand to calm his protesting, panicking and suddenly pale client. “I would like to revisit the issue of bail for Mr. Denton. As I’ve previously argued, he has a wife, children.” He motioned to Marilyn Denton and their two teenage sons sitting in the gallery behind their father. The older boy had a defiant, controlled expression on his face while his brother looked...lost. “Along with a business that needs tending, not to mention Mr. Denton has strong ties to the community.”

“The charges levied against Mr. Denton certainly constitute strong ties to some in the community.” Simone shifted her focus to the judge. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of sympathy when it came to the Denton family. It wasn’t their fault who they’d been saddled with. Well, his sons at least. After a few run-ins with Marilyn Denton, Simone had little doubt his wife knew exactly the type of man she’d married. “I would remind the court the business Mr. Denton is so concerned with would be the same one we believe he established specifically to launder illicit funds.” Simone took a deep breath. She hated having to lay even one card on the table, let alone half her hand, but she needed time to find Mara. “Our ongoing investigation has uncovered multiple criminal connections that would make Mr. Denton’s fleeing the jurisdiction a definite possibility.”

“Then might I suggest you get on with presenting your case instead of trying new stalling tactics?” Poltanic sneered.

Simone didn’t react. She kept her eyes on the judge, with his wrinkled grandfatherly face and kind eyes. Judge Buford was, above all, a civil man. He appreciated patience and respect. Only the law itself ranked higher on the acceptable scale than professionalism.

“Will one week give you the time to complete your preparedness, Miss Armstrong?” Judge Buford leaned his arms on his desk. The skepticism she saw in his gaze told her he didn’t buy the “I’m not prepared” argument for a second.

“I certainly hope so, Your Honor.” Before she crushed the fountain pen and sent ink exploding all over the table and her white silk suit, she set it down. “You have my word.”

Poltanic’s derisive snort was the last bit of ammunition needed as Judge Buford slid a disapproving glance the defense attorney’s way.

“Well, let’s be certain, shall we.” The judge offered a tight smile. “I’ll give you until a week from Monday to get your case in order.”

Simone’s lips twitched. “Thank you very much, Your Honor.”

“Your Honor!” Poltanic puffed up to the point Simone worried the buttons on his strained vest would become lethal weapons.

Judge Buford held up his hand, gestured for his court clerk to approach. Simone curled her toes in her shoes, not an easy feat given the sharp points on the designer pumps.

“We will reconvene in ten days ready for opening statements. If,” Judge Buford said with a pointed look at Simone, “at that time the DA requests another delay, I’m going to give serious consideration to Mr. Poltanic’s request for bail. Get it together, Miss Armstrong. That’s all for today.” He banged his gavel and brought an end to Simone’s overly crappy morning. “Court dismissed.”

“Care to comment for the Sacramento Journal, Simone?” Benedict Russell, recently promoted feature crime reporter held out his cell phone like a recorder. His hawk-like brown eyes and sallow skin reminded her of a bird of prey swooping in on yet another one of its victims.

“On the record?” She waited until a flare of hope flashed in his gaze before she arched a brow and snapped her case shut. “I’m just an ineffectual, pedantic political pawn, Russell. Those were your words last year, weren’t they?” She hoisted her briefcase off the table and offered him her best “I could kill you with my pinky finger” smile. “I can’t imagine your readers are interested in anything I have to say.”

“They’ll be quite interested in what the valley’s own Avenging Angel has to say, actually.” He smirked at the moniker he’d tagged her with.

“Don’t call me that.” She might approach every case with her eye aimed on justice, but that didn’t mean she had anything resembling an angel’s wings. Far from it. She did whatever she could to balance the scale for victims. She wasn’t vengeful. Just...determined.

“Hey, it’s not my fault it’s caught on.” But didn’t he look proud of himself. “And you’re wrong. Our readers are more than interested in what someone who’s thinking about running for district attorney has to say.”

Had Simone not spent most of her life keeping a mask of impassiveness in place, she might have tripped over her stiletto heels. How had The Troll found out when she hadn’t even made up her mind?

“No comment.” She pushed through the gate, unable to avoid the tear-filled accusatory glare Marilyn Denton aimed at her as she headed from the courtroom. She couldn’t matter, Simone told herself. Denton was a criminal. His so-called businesses had helped other, more dangerous criminals. She was certain of it. He belonged behind bars. End of story.

Russell’s scurrying footsteps behind her called to mind a rat targeting a particularly nice pile of garbage. Before she reached the stairs, she spun around and held up her hand. Russell skidded to a stop and nearly plowed into her.

“Did I stutter? No comment, Russell.” She needed to remind her assistant Kyla to be extra vigilant in manning her phone. She wouldn’t put it past the reporter to get someone else to do his dirty work by trying to scam a statement.

“So this delay isn’t the DA’s means of stalling for a deal with Paul Denton?” Russell demanded.

Anger washed over her as the last trace of humor faded from her face. What was it with everyone thinking there was a deal to be made? First the DA, then his political advisor, now Russell? “There will be no deal.” Shoot. She’d just given a statement. She glanced around the slick, tiled hallway, through the crowd of overworked public defenders and disgruntled potential jurors. May as well make her morning a complete loss. She motioned to Russell’s phone and waited for him to click the recorder back on. “It is my intention to see Mr. Denton pay for his crimes by serving a significant prison sentence. The maximum sentence. If he chooses to try to mitigate that time by offering evidence against those he’s worked for and with, we will be more than happy to take that into consideration after his trial. But again, there will be no deal.”

“And if I called DA Lawson and asked him to comment?” Russell was practically salivating at the idea.

“He’ll tell you the same thing.” The chances of Benedict Russell making it past Ward Lawson’s gargoyle of a receptionist were slim to none. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.” Beginning with finding out how the hell her witness had managed to disappear despite two experienced deputies sitting outside her apartment.

She was downstairs and outside in record time, listening to a stream of messages through her earpiece. Days like this, when the DA himself left a terse “we need to talk” message on her voice mail, Simone would give anything for her office not to be less than a few feet away from the courthouse. They’d already discussed deal options for Denton, none of which sat well with Simone. While the DA hadn’t pushed—exactly—she knew Lawson would be happy to make this case go away as quickly as possible. She’d offered to step down, publicly of course. But the obvious discord in the DA’s office signified it was something the beleaguered Lawson couldn’t afford, with his stagnant approval ratings. The Denton case remained hers.

For now.

Despite Poltanic’s accusation making perfect sense, Simone wasn’t interested in stalling.

Unless of course said stalling included stopping for a triple-shot latte from her favorite coffee cart on the corner.

Simone might, as Dr. Allie Hollister—one of her best friends—often accused, live life as part rabbit with her penchant for salads, nuts and an inordinate amount of blended juices, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a weakness. Especially on a day like today.

Simone looked forlornly at the chocolate croissant peeking out at her from the pastry case. Okay, two weaknesses.

Coffee in one hand and warm, gooey croissant in the other, she slowed her pace and crossed the street, detouring to the underground parking lot for one of those quick, private pull-it-together sessions she’d started holding in her car during law school. Between the adrenaline rush of getting her delay and the dawning realization that Mara Orlov had turned her case upside down, she needed a few minutes to decompress before tackling whatever her boss—and fellow prosecutors in the office—were going to lay on her.

She couldn’t shake the feeling her time as the office’s rising star was about to come to a screeching halt.

She dumped her briefcase in the passenger seat, stashed her cup in the holder and leaned her head back. One, two, three deep breaths later, she finally felt the calm descend...

Ah. There. Now she could savor the combination of chocolate and caffeine.

She sipped. And nibbled. And just about swooned.

Her phone rang. Simone groaned. Leave it to the DA’s office to make sure reception was crystal-clear in their parking lot.

Seeing Allie’s grinning face pop up in caller ID had Simone smiling in spite of herself. She tapped her ear. “What’s up, Al? I’ve got about five minutes before I have to face a firing squad.”

“I tried to catch you at the courthouse, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Sorry.” Simone sank her teeth into the pastry and moaned. Wow, this was better than sex. “Bad morning in court. My brain’s a mess.”

“Must have been. Eden’s never going to believe you gave Benedict Russell five seconds let alone two and a half minutes.”

Simone could envision Allie’s trademark pixie smile shining from under her cap of dark hair. “Eden’s not up to believing anything until she gets back from her honeymoon.”

Allie laughed. “It’s just like Eden St. Claire to celebrate catching a pair of serial killers by getting married.”

The residual tension in Simone’s spine eased. “Our friend has always prided herself on being unpredictable. Why else would she leave journalism and have accepted that new job as a police consultant in their cold case division?” Eden and Allie. Simone smiled. Sometimes she swore her life began that first day in kindergarten when they’d found each other on the playground. Sisters from the start. Simone, Eden, Allie and...

Simone squeezed her eyes shut against the unwanted image of a freckle-faced, redheaded little girl with mismatched sneakers. Chloe. Simone brushed her finger against the heart pendant at her throat.

“You have a court case today?”

Allie sighed that exhausted sigh that normally took her weeks to build up to. “I’ve been consulting on a custody battle that’s getting nasty. This poor kid. Hearing her parents fight over her and their failures as human beings is taking its toll. She’s a sad little thing. Hard to believe her name is Hope.”

“How old is she?” Simone sipped her coffee and settled into BFF mode. Whatever was lurking upstairs could wait a few more minutes.

“Nine,” Allie said after a slight hesitation. “The age when everything changes.” Simone dug her manicured fingernails into the hem of her skirt. How well they knew. After twenty years of trying to put the murder of her childhood friend Chloe Evans behind her, behind them, Chloe’s killer had resurfaced and begun bestowing special “gifts” on her, Allie and Eden. The gifts she could handle, for the most part. It was the psychopath’s attention to their professional—and personal—lives that got to her. He’d wedged himself into Eden’s case, nearly costing an FBI agent his life. It was all Simone could do not to think about what Chloe’s killer might be planning next. As much as Simone agreed Chloe Evans’s case should be readdressed, the wounds that came with it weren’t ones Simone was in any hurry to revisit.

The pastry and coffee churned in her stomach as the image of wilted violets and pink stationery came to mind. Push it aside. Focus on the case. On Mara. On what you can control.

“You sound stressed. I take it you can’t do lunch today?” Allie asked.

“Any other day, Al, I swear. My case is circling the drain and I have massive damage control ahead of me. Ah, how about dinner tonight or tomorrow?”

“I’m leaving tonight for a conference in Los Angeles. How about next week after Eden and Cole get back?”

So it wasn’t a one-on-one she needed, but a community confab? “It does for me if it does for you. Allie...” she trailed off, almost afraid to ask. “You haven’t gotten any more notes, have you? This doesn’t have anything to do with Chloe’s killer, does it?”

“There’s been nothing since Chloe’s missing shoe was mailed to the police last month. And no, it doesn’t have anything to do with that. Well, not directly. Just something that’s come up I need to talk out.”

“You know what?” Simone knew how much it took for Allie to ask for help. Their stalwart “take on anything” friend was one of the most logical, stable people Simone had ever known. She was also a terrible liar. “How about a late lunch? I can probably get out of the office around two—”

“It can wait, Simone,” Allie cut her off. “Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. You have enough on your plate without adding my sudden insecurities to the mix.”

Since when did Allie feel insecure about anything? “I’m a phone call away, or a text.” Simone looked down at her phone as a second call came in—another from her boss. A headache pounded against the side of her head as if asking permission to be admitted. “Chin up, Al. The world isn’t used to seeing you frown.”

“How do you know I’m frowning?”

“Because I know you and Eden better than you know yourselves.” She hadn’t earned her mother hen reputation by accident. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah. Good luck with the boss.”

“I’m going to need it.” Simone disconnected and tested her stomach by plucking off another flaky bite of chocolaty goodness. She heaved an Allie-worthy sigh and leaned her arm on the door, rubbing her temple as she willed the caffeine to take her away.

The sharp knock on her window had her yelping. Coffee sloshed over the back of her hand, spattering the side of her white shirt, and left her seeing red. “Son of a—”

Simone leaned back and stared out at the familiar, slightly pudgy middle-aged face. “Russo?” The senior deputy who had been assigned to watch Mara stepped away as she shoved open the door. “What do you think you’re doing sneaking up on me like that?”

“I needed to talk to you.” He motioned her into the shadows. “Alone.”

“Well, nothing gets the attention of a single woman faster than stalking her in a parking garage.” Simone planted her hands on her hips and dipped her chin. After a calming breath, she looked at him, only then noticing he wasn’t in uniform. But he was wearing his sidearm. “Is there any news on Mara? Tell me you found her.”

“Can’t say that.” Russo’s eyes narrowed. “And I won’t be getting any updates since Ernie and I have been advised by our union rep not to discuss the investigation.”

“What investigation?” Simone crossed her arms as alarm bells clanged in her head. “It’s not your fault she’s rabbited.”

“Apparently that’s not how the higher-ups see it. Dereliction of duty was one of the phrases my boss and one of your lot from the DA’s office were throwing around. Dereliction, yeah, right.”

One of her lot? The hostility in his voice shoved her off-kilter. Russo was as easygoing as anyone she’d ever known. It was one reason she’d specifically asked for him where Mara was concerned.

“Ernie and I did everything by the book,” Russo continued. “From the time we parked in front of her apartment at six p.m. We did the routine checks, confirmed arrangements for this morning to bring her to court. She even made us a big thermos of coffee before she turned in around midnight.”

“Sounds like Mara,” Simone said. “Then what happened?”

Exhaustion crept over the deputy’s face as his anger seemed to abate. “One second we’re drinking coffee and eating oatmeal cookies, and the next, the sun’s streaming through our windshield and Mara’s gone. We didn’t even have a chance to get our bearings before we’re called into the station and put on indefinite administrative leave effective immediately.”

“You’re suggesting Mara drugged you.” There wasn’t any way to keep the disbelief out of her voice. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Show me one thing that’s made sense with this case from the get-go,” Russo said. “That's not even the weirdest part. As we started asking questions about this morning and tried to explain ourselves, our captain informs us the orders for our suspension came from a higher-up. We’re off the case.”

“And the higher-up he’s referring to is someone in my office?” Could this day really get any worse?

“My only other guess would be the Feds stuck their nose into the Denton case, but I haven’t heard one word about them sniffing around, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. Who was it you spoke with from the DA’s office?”

“Didn’t get his name but I’ve seen him around the last few months. I don’t know what happened last night with Mara, but in all my twenty years on the job, I’ve never once fallen asleep. I can only hope it was Mara who drugged us.”

“But what would she—”

“She’s gone, isn’t she? Our best guess is she wanted out. Maybe she came to it on her own, maybe she had help.” Concern and suspicion shone in his dark eyes. “I hate to think of anything happening to her, Simone. Especially when she was under our watch.”

Not just under their watch; Mara was her responsibility. Not that it had taken much convincing to get the young woman to testify against her former boss. Other than last-minute panic a couple of weeks ago, the recent college graduate had seen her involvement in the case as a grand adventure. How many times had Simone wished all her witnesses were as eager to help? “Wait. Back up a second. Did you say your boss called you to the station before you could report Mara as missing?”

“Now do you see why I wanted to talk to you away from your office?” Russo asked. “Whatever’s going on with your witness, with this case, someone’s putting their thumb on the scale. It’s like we’re five steps behind. It’s bad for Mara, she’s either out there alone getting into trouble, or...”

Simone held up her hand in defiance as guilt and fear rose. “We’re going to assume it was her choice to run until we have evidence to the contrary.” Simone had been distracted lately. Maybe she’d missed something with Mara. Maybe she hadn’t been as convincing as she’d thought. But the more Simone digested it, the more it didn’t make sense. How many times had Mara told her she was still running and crunching numbers, that she was determined to lock down every penny of money Paul Denton had funneled through his companies, both legitimate and shell? Simone had told her there was enough data already. But she hadn’t specifically warned her off.

Simone’s arms began to tremble and only then did she realize she’d clenched her fists so hard her muscles were rebelling. “You’re sure she didn’t give any indication she was going to bolt?”

“I’ve guarded my share of witnesses, Simone. She was nervous, sure, but she was solid. Besides—” He hesitated and winced.

“Besides what?”

“She didn’t want to let you down. She looks up to you, Simone. You’re a bit of a hero to her.”

A new layer of guilt overtook the sense of responsibility she’d felt. “Tell me about this guy from the DA’s office.” She needed to put all this into some kind of order before she talked to her boss.

“I snapped this before I left the station.” He pulled out his cell phone and tapped on the screen. “I’m assuming you know who he is.”

Simone looked at the thirty-something, impeccably dressed blond man. The icy blue eyes were all too familiar even from the far distance. Simone’s world tipped. “That’s Cal Hobard, special assistant to the DA. He came to work in this office about six months—” Six months ago. The same time she’d officially filed charges against Paul Denton.

If Simone was the type of person who believed in them, she’d think this was a coincidence. She and the DA had always had a cordial relationship despite his belief the Denton case was a no-win situation, one that could even put his political future in jeopardy. Whereas everyone else in the office seemed to understand Denton’s conviction could be a career maker.

Simone gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Still, there was no telling what anyone’s agenda might be.

“We need to find Mara,” Simone said. Not only because the case hinged on the young woman’s testimony, but because Simone had promised to keep her safe. “Can you get me copies of all your notes? Anything you might have kept track of since you’ve been watching her?”

“Absolutely. You want me to deliver them to your office?”

“No.” She couldn’t risk it—someone in the office was working against her. Right now, she couldn’t shake the sensation that returning to the DA’s office three floors above would be tantamount to walking into the enemy’s camp. “No. Get everything together and deliver it to Jack McTavish in Major Crimes. Do you know him?”

“Sure. Jack’s good people. Excellent cop.”

That Simone had been dating him off and on for the last few weeks should help. Apart from Jack’s partner, Cole Delaney, there wasn’t anyone she trusted more in the police. Jack would never betray her. “I’ll give him a heads-up to expect something. I also want to know what you were dosed with. I don’t suppose you kept the thermos—”

“We had to turn it in to confirm our story,” Russo said as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small vial in an evidence bag and handed it over. “But to be safe.”

She’d definitely brought the right cops on board. “I’ll get this tested.” One of the reasons she kept up good relations with her former expert witnesses. “You might mention to Jack that you turned in the thermos to your superiors, to get that information out there and on the record. Meanwhile, if you need to get in touch with me, contact me through this email address.” She ripped off a piece of paper out of his notebook and scribbled the backup email she, Eden and Allie shared on Eden’s private server. And here she’d called Eden paranoid when she’d first set up the arrangement. “Have the subject line say ‘A Bert and Ernie update.’”

Russo smirked. “Gee, that’s a new one.”

“Blame your partner’s parents for naming him Ernest,” Simone said. “You good now?”

“I won’t be good until Mara turns up.” Russo shook his head, his concern palpable. “I’ve dumped a huge mess in your lap, Simone. You can’t do this alone. There has to be someone you can trust to help you.”

“There is.” Simone’s throat tightened in dread. “But he’s not going to be happy to see me.”