Читать книгу When a Stranger Calls - Kathleen Long - Страница 10

Matt pulled his SUV into the parking lot outside the Polaris Group office and gripped the steering wheel, shooting up one last prayer Lindsey Tarlington would see things his way.

She had to.

He scrubbed a hand across his face, sighing at the feel of wiry stubble beneath his fingers. Damn, he’d forgotten to shave. Again.

He’d been up all night laying the groundwork for a case pending against a local gang member. The kid might not be an honor roll candidate, but Matt had no doubt he’d been set up to take the rap in a burglary charge. He had no intention of letting his obsession with clearing his father’s name affect the representation of his clients.

After he’d finished the necessary paperwork, he’d spent the early morning hours poring over the extra copy he’d made of Camille Tarlington’s file. Everything seemed in order—had always seemed in order—except he knew his father was no killer. More so, his father had never been unfaithful to his mother. The prosecution had used the alleged love affair between Camille and Tony Alessandro to provide motive and intent. The theory wasn’t possible.

Matt shook his head. Tony had been a gentle man who had turned his love of the outdoors into a thriving floral business with shops in Philadelphia and New Jersey. Matt struggled to remember a single night his father had come home without a bouquet of handpicked flowers for his mother. He couldn’t think of one.

Yet Tony Alessandro had been convicted of a violent murder. A murder in which the body had never been found. His conviction had been based on blood spatter found in Camille’s station wagon and on the murder weapon found inside the shop. That, combined with testimony about the alleged affair, had been enough to send Matt’s father away, where a fellow inmate had fatally stabbed him six months later.

Matt’s chest ached. It seemed like yesterday, and yet it seemed a lifetime ago.

He pushed open the driver’s door and unfurled himself from his vehicle, heading straight for Lindsey Tarlington’s office. Common courtesy dictated Matt should have phoned before dropping by, but he’d never been one to worry much about common courtesy.

Look how far it had gotten his dad.

No. Matt had been well served by the element of surprise during his time in the public defender’s office. He could see no reason to treat Lindsey Tarlington any differently than he treated any other client or source.

Her pale gaze flashed through his mind’s eye, and his gut tightened. He shoved down the unwanted protective urge.

Whoever had left Camille Tarlington’s photocopied driver’s license was obviously privy to her personal effects, and perhaps much, much more. The possibility of clearing his father’s name loomed more closely on the horizon than it ever had. Matt wasn’t about to go soft just because of Lindsey’s vulnerable expression.

If she’d reviewed the contents of the file he’d given her, Lindsey would have to agree something seemed off, because while the case against his father appeared to be neat and tidy, it reeked of convenience. There was no way Matt would sacrifice his father’s memory and good name for someone else’s benefit.

LINDSEY SWALLOWED DOWN another mouthful of burnt coffee then rolled her shoulders. She’d been up all night staring at the horrific words and images captured in her mother’s case file.

It would be a miracle if she ever slept again. If the cold, hard facts didn’t bring back her nightmares, nothing would.

She looked across at her partners, Tally Cooke and Regina Payne, who sat, along with their office manager, Patty Jones, intently staring at the notes, reports and photos spread across the office’s conference table.

Each had a full plate right now, clients who needed help with cold cases or ongoing investigations, but Lindsey knew her partners’ input would be invaluable in talking out her mother’s case.

Tally was a whiz at logic—possessing an uncanny ability to analyze a puzzle or series of clues. Regina had a nose for the law and saw the world in black and white. Lindsey had always been the taskmaster, keeping the group on schedule and on track. How ironic that she now pulled their focus from their paying case work to her personal crusade.

“I never believed she was having an affair.” Lindsey shrugged. “I can’t accept that.”

“Why not?” Tally’s sharp tone jolted Lindsey from her fog of exhaustion.

Lindsey shrugged. “She loved my father.” Her chest tightened. “She wasn’t the type to cheat.”

Tally raised an auburn brow. “You were twelve years old. You’d have no idea if your mother was cheating.”

“She loved us.” Hadn’t she?

Doubt pooled in Lindsey’s stomach. She’d searched her mother’s art studio again in the early morning hours, after reading testimony detailing her mother’s adulterous liaison with Tony Alessandro. Her intuition screamed her mother hadn’t cheated on her father. She just wasn’t sure if that intuition came from Lindsey the daughter, the woman or the truth-seeker. She only knew it came—hard and sure.

Her voice grew more determined. “She never cheated on my father.” And if she hadn’t been involved with Tony Alessandro, why had he killed her? If he had killed her.

Lindsey shoved down the doubt. She wasn’t ready to follow that train of thought—to imagine her mother’s killer had gone free.

Silence beat for several seconds among the four women.

“Did your parents ever argue?” Regina’s gaze had narrowed, now matching the disbelieving expression Tally wore.

Lindsey shook her head. “Never.” She caught herself. “I mean, no more than any other married couple.”

While she hated the sympathy painted across her friends’ faces, she’d learned to ignore the pity a long time ago. She flashed on the memory of her father, taking her back to church for the first time after her mother had disappeared. “Keep your chin up, Lindsey. Don’t ever let them think you’re weak.”

She hoisted her chin now. “They had regrets, but doesn’t every couple? You have to believe me on this. She wouldn’t have cheated on my father. She loved him.”

“Why did the investigation focus on that?” Tally’s tone had gone all business, her specialty.

Lindsey ran her hand across the copies, wishing they’d yielded more than they had. “One of my mother’s coworkers claimed it was true.” She moved her hand from the papers to her face. She blinked back the fatigue that had seeped into her every bone many hours ago. “Her name was Lorraine Mickle. She came forward voluntarily, and the prosecution latched on to a crime of passion theory as the basis for their case.”

Tally’s eyes had narrowed, as had Regina’s. “There’s no proof other than her word?”

Lindsey blew out a frustrated breath. “No proof of their affair. No letters. No phone messages. No gifts. I’ve never found anything in her studio, either.” She frowned. “It’s like my uncle’s office built the case on the strength of one witness plus the circumstantial evidence and ran it in for a touchdown.” The touchdown that had shot Frank Bell’s political star into the stratosphere and sent Tony Alessandro to his death. Again, Lindsey swallowed down the doubt that nagged at her.

“Sometimes that’s all it takes.” Regina shrugged.

“What’s the hard evidence?” Tally gestured toward the folder.

Lindsey flipped through the papers until she found the crime scene report. “Large quantity of blood in the car, blood spatter consistent with that from a major artery, matching blood type found on a pair of floral shears in the shop with Alessandro’s fingerprints on it.”

“The shears could have been planted.” Patty’s serious gaze widened.

“You’ve been watching too much television,” Tally mumbled.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be questioning this at all,” Regina offered. “You have to admit the physical evidence is compelling. Don’t let the son convince you to stir this up if you don’t want to.”

Lindsey sighed. Seventy-two hours earlier her mother’s death had been nothing more than a horrible part of her past. Now it had pushed front and center in her every waking thought. Much of that had to do with Matt Alessandro, the case file he’d given her and his unflinching determination. Her stomach flip-flopped at the remembered intensity of his gaze.

Yet, truth was, the horror of her mother’s death had come back to life because of the photocopied license someone had left in her door. And the ring. The ring that had disappeared during a broad daylight attack everyone seemed to doubt.

Everyone except Matt Alessandro.

“What about the driver’s license?” She lifted her focus to her partners’ faces, deciding to leave the ring out of the discussion for now. Tally and Regina both blew out sighs and sat back against their chairs.

“Damn,” Tally muttered.

“Someone’s got information that’s not in these files.” Lindsey squeezed her eyes shut then snapped them open, straightening in her seat. “I need to find out what that is, even if the conclusion remains the same.”

“It does all seem fairly circumstantial.” Regina’s features had tightened and she nodded, meeting Lindsey’s stare head on.

“Okay.” Tally jumped to her feet, pacing a tight pattern behind Regina’s chair. “So where do we start?” She gestured into the empty air above her head. “Let’s try to forget this is your mother we’re talking about. What would we do first? What puzzle piece would we go after?”

“We’d question how thorough the searches were. If Alessandro was guilty, why was nothing found at his house? What other explanations could be given for the evidence found at the store?” Lindsey straightened. “And why give so much weight to the testimony of Lorraine Mickle?”

Regina leaned forward across the table. Tally had stopped pacing. Both stared intently at Lindsey.

“So?” Regina prodded.

“First, I’ll find Mickle and talk to her.” Lindsey sucked in a deep breath, determination edging out the doubt that had filled her moments earlier. “Then, I’ll question my uncle about how they conducted this investigation.” She looked from Tally, to Regina, to Patty, who had dropped into Tally’s vacant chair. “I’m going to find out exactly what happened to my mother.”

“I never doubted you would.”

The rich, male rumble sent the hairs at the nape of Lindsey’s neck tingling to attention. She knew the source before she turned. Sheer, unmasked appreciation glimmered in her friends’ eyes.

Matt Alessandro stood just inside the door. They’d been so engrossed in their conversation that not one of them had heard him enter. Lindsey held her breath, amazed by the impact the man had on her senses. The now familiar and unwanted edginess slid through her system at the mere sight of him.

He crossed the room, snagging a spare chair from Tally’s cubicle and positioning it between Regina and Lindsey at the small table. His gaze never left Lindsey’s. Not for a moment.

“So.” One dark brow arched. “When do we start?”

“I’M RELIEVED TO HEAR you agree with me.”

Matt stole a glance at Lindsey Tarlington’s profile and body language as she perched on the passenger seat of his SUV. She’d been as anxious to speak with Lorraine Mickle as he had been, and now she sat next to him as he drove toward Mickle’s home.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think the leather seat had given her a shock. The woman was obviously ill at ease as his passenger.

“I never said I agreed with you, Mr. Alessandro.”

“Matt.” He turned to face her.

She returned his look, her dark brows lifting, as if he’d surprised her. “Matt,” she repeated softly.

The sound of his name on her lips sent a spiral of appreciation coiling tight inside his gut. Not good. He had no time to become interested in anything about Lindsey Tarlington other than her investigative brain. From what he’d heard over the years, her intellect was her best feature.

He bit back a grin as she tugged the hem of her skirt over her shapely knees. Whoever had made the intellect observation obviously hadn’t been a red-blooded male.

Matt retrained his attention on the road, focusing on what she’d just said. “I heard you say you don’t believe the file contents are conclusive.”

“No.” She tapped a hand along the passenger door. “You heard me say I wanted to investigate further. I still believe your father killed my mother.”

He drew in a steady breath, doing his best to avoid losing his temper. “That’s insane.”

“Really?”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her watching him, scrutinizing his reaction.

“The physical evidence points to your father. The jury obviously agreed. The thing I can’t accept is the affair between your father and my mother.” She made a snapping noise with her tongue. “No way.”

He narrowed his gaze, hoping he hadn’t been wrong about Lindsey’s nose for the truth. “At least we agree on one thing. That’s a start.”

“So you don’t believe they were involved?”

Her voice had suddenly lost its edge, and Matt felt himself softening. “I never did.”

They drove the next few moments in uncomfortable silence. He broke the void first. “We need to have a goal for this visit. I’m a big believer in all parties being on the same page.”

“And what page are you on, Mr. Aless—Matt?”

“I’m on the page that thinks Mickle was a convenient witness—a convenient witness with a tidy little story your uncle never questioned.” He shot her a glance. Color fired in her cheeks. So, he’d hit a nerve. “What page are you on, Ms. Tarlington?”

The light ahead turned yellow and he slowed the truck to a stop, turning to focus fully on the woman beside him.

“Call me Lindsey.”

He nodded.

She frowned then spoke. “I’m on the page that agrees Mickle’s testimony seemed a bit convenient, and had no evidentiary proof of any kind.”

Matt widened his gaze and nodded. “Very good.” The light shifted to green, and he pressed the truck forward. “Maybe we’re not so far apart in our thinking after all.”

“What’s your goal for our visit?”

“My goal…” He mulled the question, taking his time before he answered. His goal was to have Lindsey realize reasonable doubt existed about his father’s guilt, but as far as she needed to know…? “My goal is to find the crack in Mickle’s story. Fair enough?”

Lindsey nodded. “Fair enough.”

NERVOUS ANTICIPATION FLUTTERED to life in Lindsey’s chest as Matt pulled the SUV to a stop at the entrance to a gated neighborhood. An elderly guard leaned forward through the casement window of the small guardhouse. “Name?”

“Matt Alessandro.”

“Here to see?”

“Lorraine Mickle. Forty-two Hemingway.”

“She expecting you?”

“Yes.”

Lindsey held her tongue as the gate lifted.

The guard tipped his cap. “Have a good visit.”

“Thank you.” Smile lines creased Matt’s cheeks as he grinned. “We plan to.”

“Very smooth,” Lindsey said softly as the SUV cleared the gate.

“Please.” Matt’s grin deepened. “I’m quite certain you didn’t earn your reputation without bending the rules a time or two.”

“Reputation?” Lindsey smiled, unable to resist the teasing tone of Matt’s voice.

“It never ceases to amaze me how people will welcome you simply because you act like you know what you’re doing.” Matt cast a quick glance in her direction and her stomach caught.

She nodded in agreement, saying nothing, not trusting her voice to be steady at that moment. After all, hadn’t she done that very thing when she’d opened her front door to this man just yesterday? She’d welcomed him into her home because he’d been so self-assured.

“Amazing,” Matt repeated, holding her gaze for another second before refocusing on the road.

Lindsey turned her own attention to Hemingway Lane as he eased the truck into the turn. Lorraine Mickle. The woman on whom the motive portion of the case against Matt’s father had hinged. The woman who had seen Tony Alessandro and Camille Tarlington in a lover’s argument.

Allegedly.

Matt pulled the truck into a driveway, and Lindsey fought the shiver that slithered its way up her spine. Her gaze landed on a gaudy mailbox painted to resemble a pink flamingo. Number forty-two.

“Ready?”

His voice broke her trance.

“Ready.” She gripped her briefcase and climbed from the truck, headed toward what she hoped would be answers to the questions that had come back to life after seventeen years of silence.

Composed was the only word Lindsey could think of to describe the look painted on Lorraine Mickle’s face as she opened the door. If she didn’t know better, Lindsey would swear Mickle had been expecting them. The woman showed not an ounce of surprise as they introduced themselves.

Mickle’s blond hair had been twisted artfully into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her ivory skin showed subtle lines of age, but she was a lovely woman. Lindsey’s best guess would put Mickle’s age somewhere around forty. A smattering of fine lines framed her pale green eyes, but her features remained sharp, her jaw and neck flawless, like those of a much younger woman.

“I’ve just put on a pot of coffee, can I get you both a cup?”

Matt and Lindsey exchanged a quick glance. “Thank you,” Lindsey answered. Matt nodded his agreement.

The small ranch, though cozy, could only be described as immaculate. Lindsey had the sense she’d stepped into a decorating magazine photo spread, surrounded by carefully selected furnishings and decorations.

Mickle disappeared through a doorway into the kitchen and returned a few moments later, a coffee cup in each hand. “I apologize for my appearance.” She nodded to the emerald-green velour robe she wore. “You caught me getting ready to take a shower.”

“We apologize for not calling first,” Matt said.

Lindsey couldn’t help but be impressed by the sincere expression he wore.

“No problem. I’m always happy to have company.” Mickle’s expression remained welcoming. “Would you like to take a seat?”

Matt shook his head. Lindsey mirrored the move. Both remained where they stood, each now holding a steaming cup. “We don’t plan to stay long, Ms. Mickle,” Matt said. “We appreciate you seeing us.”

“No problem.” The woman’s face broke into a gracious smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about the night Camille Tarlington disappeared? We understand you and she worked together at my father’s floral shop.”

Lorraine’s smile tightened as she nodded. “Yes. We did. Horrible tragedy.”

“Why were you so quick to suggest my father and Mrs. Tarlington’s alleged affair?”

The suddenness of Matt’s question shocked Lindsey. She could only imagine how Lorraine Mickle must feel.

Yet the woman didn’t bat an eye. “There was nothing alleged about it. Anyone who knew them knew they shared something intimate. When the police questioned me about anyone Camille had argued with, Tony…your father…immediately came to mind.”

Lindsey’s pulse quickened. According to the notes she’d read, Mickle had come forward. She hadn’t been asked about a possible motive because she’d offered the information first.

Matt closed the gap between him and Mickle. His features tensed. “I’m confused. You were questioned regarding the argument?”

Mickle frowned but stood her ground. “I thought you asked me about what I told them.”

“I did.” Matt nodded. He said nothing additional. Lindsey realized he was giving the woman just enough rope to hang herself.

Mickle glanced from Matt to Lindsey. Lindsey sipped her coffee and smiled, waiting patiently for the answer.

“I misspoke.” Mickle’s confident smile returned and she chuckled softly. “It’s been a long time, you need to remember I’m not as young as I used to be.” She nodded as if the memory had suddenly come into focus. “I did tell the police about the argument. I thought the information might help.”

She focused her attention on Matt. “Your father had a quick temper. I heard him arguing in the back room with Camille. He left the shop shortly after she went out on a late delivery.” She shook her head. “Camille never returned, and the police came to see me the next day after your father,” she said, nodding in Lindsey’s direction, “reported she’d never come home.”

The acid taste of coffee burned Lindsey’s throat. She’d never forget that night, or the way her father had paced from room to room, from window to window, after he’d returned from his weekly bowling league and found Camille not at home.

“So you offered the information about the argument, correct?” Matt asked, his tone intent and stern.

Mickle nodded. “Just as I said.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “You may have heard some new evidence has come forward. Ms. Tarlington and I had questions and thought it best to seek you out. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

He shot a glance at Lindsey, his expression softening as their gazes met. She nodded then smiled at Mickle.

“I just can’t imagine why you’d want to dredge up the past.” Mickle clucked her tongue. “It was a horrible time for both of your families.”

“Yes, but I’ve always wondered what they argued about.” Matt’s features had grown serious.

Mickle glanced at the front door, probably wondering why she’d opened her home to them in the first place. “I remember exactly. Your father wanted to go public with the affair and Camille refused.”

Lindsey had enough experience with lying spouses, parents and children to read the nonverbal cues, yet Mickle’s cues were yielding nothing. The woman seemed to be unreadable. Was it because Lindsey was too close to the case? Or was Mickle actually telling the truth? Had her mother been involved with Alessandro?

“You had no doubt they were lovers?” Matt stepped closer to where Lorraine stood. The woman shook her head, backed up one step, then held her place.

Apparently Matt’s thoughts had followed the same progression as Lindsey’s.

“More coffee?” Mickle’s voice climbed perceptibly.

“No, thank you.” Matt smiled. He nodded in Lindsey’s direction. “Ms. Tarlington? More coffee?”

Lindsey shook her head. “None for me thanks.” She glanced down into her half-full cup. “Matter of fact, I’ll put these in the sink.” She held out a hand for Matt’s cup, wrapping her fingers tightly around the porcelain as he handed it to her. “We should probably get going.”

Matt nodded, holding out a hand toward Mickle. “Right. We should let you get back to what you were doing. You’ve been most helpful.”

As the woman shook hands with Matt, Lindsey stepped into the kitchen, but froze at the sight of an ornament hanging in the window over the sink. An angel. Handmade.

Her heart stuttered to a momentary stop before it began to race.

The last time she’d seen the angel it had been hanging from the rearview mirror of her mother’s station wagon.

An icy chill built inside Lindsey, spreading to her arms and hands. Mickle appeared at her side, reaching for the cups, her expression full of concern. “Let me get those for you.”

“You okay?” Lindsey sensed Matt’s nearness behind her. His hand brushed against her shoulder, the sudden warmth a steadying force in the small, spinning room.

She handed the cups to Lorraine without taking her eyes from the ornament. “That was my mother’s.”

Mickle pivoted, following the direction of Lindsey’s gaze. “I’m sure there must be a million like it. You must be mistaken.”

Lindsey crossed to the sink, stepping free of Matt’s touch. She fingered the object, the sequins faded after all these years. She could still remember meticulously applying every single one—for her mother.

“I made it.” The words escaped her in barely more than a whisper.

She lifted her focus to Mickle, who now stood next to her at the sink. The woman bobbled one coffee cup as she set it in the sink, the loud clatter filling the otherwise silent space. She nodded suddenly then tapped one finger to her chin. “You know that’s right. I remember now. She gave it to me one day at work.” Mickle shook her head, a sympathetic expression plastered across her face. “You take it, honey. She’d want you to have it.”

Lindsey didn’t hesitate. She plucked the ornament from its hanger, nodding her thanks to Mickle as she beelined for the front door.

“Thanks again for your time.” Matt’s words cut through the frenzied thoughts crowding Lindsey’s mind. He cupped her elbow as they hurried toward his truck, steering her as if she were a lost child.

“My mother loved this. She would have never given it away.” Her voice was unrecognizable with pent-up anger and frustration. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure.” Matt whirled Lindsey to face him, confidence flashing in his eyes. “But, we’re going to find out.”

“Her story was almost too smooth.”

“Practiced.” Matt nodded.

Or was it? Part of Lindsey believed Matt was right. If Mickle had been coached, there was a chance Tony Alessandro had been falsely accused. She’d clung to his guilt as gospel for the past seventeen years. Was she ready to consider another possibility?

The nagging questions at the base of her brain hammered relentlessly. Was Mickle lying? Or was she merely reciting the truth as she’d seen it seventeen years earlier? And who had left the photocopy—and the ring? And why?

Lindsey looked at Matt as his dark gaze bore into hers. Was his the determination of a killer’s son, intent on clearing the family name no matter what the evidence showed? Or was his the face of a good man, secure in the knowledge of his father’s innocence?

She swallowed down her growing turmoil. Only time would tell.