Читать книгу At Close Range - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 10

Susan Campbell stuck her head in Hannah’s door after lunch on Friday. “You ready, Judge?”

Sitting at her desk, wearing the black silk robe of her calling, Hannah nodded and accepted the compassionate smile on the face of her twenty-six-year-old judicial assistant.

She wasn’t ready. How could you ever be ready to do something that was going to anger a large powerful group of thugs—a group known for getting away with unconscionable acts of violence?

Moving with purpose, she left her chambers and looked both ways as she walked into the secure hallway outside her door and stepped toward the back entrance of the courtroom.

Her job was to administer justice. Kenny Hill might be convicted by a jury of vetted American citizens. If that happened, she’d sentence him to prison—and society would be safer.

But he had brothers. Ivory Nation brothers.

“All rise.”

Hannah heard Jaime’s spiel about the Honorable Hannah Montgomery, but barely waited for the bailiff to finish before she took her seat. Her deputy was there—standing at attention with his eyes firmly on the defendant who was seated at the table directly in front of her bench.

Other deputies were there, too, called by the sheriff’s office to oversee this trial.

Only members of the press and the jury were absent—the jury sequestered in another room. They couldn’t be privy to this particular motion lest their judgment be impaired. The press would line the back of the room again as soon as she gave the okay to let them in from the hall.

“Be seated,” Hannah said clearly. Loudly.

She could do her job. She had no doubt about that. She would do it well.

And she would deal with the ensuing exhaustion, the emotional panic that sometimes resulted from days like today.

“We are back on the record with case number CR2008-000351. The State v. Kenneth Hill. Before we bring in the jury, we have a matter before the court concerning new evidence received by the state.”

The benches in the back of her courtroom were filled to capacity. Whether the victim had as many supporters as the defendant did, Hannah couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think so. She suspected the Ivory Nation ranks had been notified overnight. Was she supposed to consider herself warned? Intimidated?

The defendant’s parents, sitting stiffly in the front row, didn’t seem to know any of the mostly young men around them.

Bobby Donahue, the group’s leader, was not present.

Hannah noted every detail of her surroundings as she held the page she’d written the night before.

“The Court has reviewed the motion to suppress testimony filed by Robert Keith on behalf of the defendant, Kenny Hill, the argument presented by the prosecution, as well as case law pertinent to the matter before us…”

She continued to read, citing case law brought before her during the motion, reminding the defense that it wasn’t within the jurisdiction of trial court to find existing laws unconstitutional. She discussed the Arizona statute about allowing prejudicial evidence, specifically pertaining to cases where evidence pertaining to a previous case is also pertinent to the current one.

In other words, the victim of Kenny Hill’s earlier assault would not be appearing as a victim, but as a witness to the possibility that a certain weapon used in that crime, had caused injuries in this one.

And then, sticking to the plan she’d devised the night before—not to look up from her notes, even once, not to give them anything, any hint that she was human or afraid—she delivered her findings.

“The court has prepared the following rulings,” she said, gaining confidence in herself as her voice remained steady. “It is ordered that the motion to suppress be denied.”

Funny how a room could be filled with negative energy, with savage anger, that emitted not a sound.

The only thing Hannah could hear was the rapid tapping of her court recorder, fifty-year-old Tammy Rhodes. Jaime, the other human being within Hannah’s peripheral vision, was staring down at her desk.

“The state is warned that any mention of a previous conviction for this defendant will result in a mistrial.”

That was it. She’d reached the end of her ruling. Of her notes. There was nothing else to do but look up.

The trial that had already run two days over its time allotment was continued until Monday—the earliest the state’s newly approved witness could be brought in. Which meant that the weight hanging over Hannah would be there all weekend.

She and William had tickets to a concert at Symphony Hall the next night. His son, a student at a private school for the arts, was a guest violinist in one piece and, as William rarely saw the boy, he’d been thrilled to get the invitation. Hannah hoped, as she drove home on Friday, that she’d be able to stay awake. Put her in a comfortable seat, in a dark room with soft music and—

What was that? She saw a pile in the road by her driveway. Driving slowly, Hannah tried to identify the curious shape. Her heart was pounding, but she told herself there was no reason for that.

Some trash had fallen from a dispenser during that morning’s pickup, that was all.

But there was something too familiar about the tan and beige with that streak of black. What had she put in her trash that week? Some kind of packaging maybe.

What had she purchased? Opened? Had she even bought anything new?

As she drew closer, her pulse quickened yet again. The blob didn’t look like packaging. It looked…furry. Like an animal.

The exact size of Callie Bodacious.

Hannah’s beloved eleven-year-old cat. The direct offspring of a gift from Jason, the man she’d married—the man who, at seventeen, had been diagnosed with leukemia and, at twenty-three, had died in the bed she’d shared with him.

“No!” Throwing the car in Park in the middle of her quiet street, Hannah got out, the door of the Lexus wide-open behind her as she sped to the shape in the road.

Callie wasn’t a purebred. Wasn’t worth much in a monetary sense. She was basically an alley cat. One who wasn’t particularly fond of people—other than Hannah.

And she was all the family Hannah had left.

Dropping down on her knees, reaching out to the animal, Hannah blinked back tears so she could see clearly. The black between the eyes told her it was definitely Callie.

And she was still breathing. Sobbing now, Hannah glanced up, around, looking for help. And then grabbed the cell phone out of the case hooked to her waistband.

Addled, frustrated that there was no ambulance she could call for cats, no feline 911, scared out of her wits, she hit the first number programmed into her speed dial.

He answered. Thank God.

“Brian? Where are you?”

“On my way home. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Callie! She’s hurt. Oh, God, Brian, what am I going to do? She needs help and I’m afraid to move her. Her head’s at a bad angle.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah wailed, growing more panicked with every second that passed. “She’s in the road so she must have been hit by a car, but I don’t see a lot of blood.”

Brian asked her to check a couple of things, including lifting the cat’s eyelids. And then he told her to sit tight and wait for him.

Brian wished he could say he’d never seen Hannah Montgomery in such a state. Wished it so hard the tension made his head throb. Watching his good friend grieve was not a new thing to him.

And not a distant memory either. It had been less than a year since he’d sat on this very same sofa, in this very same house, sick at heart, holding this vibrant, beautiful, intelligent woman while she sobbed uncontrollably.

Less than a year since another little body was carried out of this home.

“I…I…she…I…she must’ve slipped out this morning. And…”

She couldn’t finish as another bout of sobs overcame her, the sound harsh, discordant in the peaceful room.

“I was just…so…pre…pre…preoccupied….”

He held her, resting his chin lightly on her head. He wanted to let her know that he was there. She wasn’t alone.

“…the trial…”

His mind froze at her words, at the reminder of the dangerous case she was handling, his attention completely, singly focused now as a suspicion occured to him. And he remembered something else.

“You said you were sure you saw her on her cat tree when you left.”

“I…must’ve…been mistaken….”

Or not.

Looking around the room, all senses on alert, Brian wondered if Hannah’s windows and doors were secure. He wondered if they should be calling the police.

Or if he was overreacting.

Surely, anyone who meant to do Hannah harm would have done so while she was driving home. Running her off the road. Making it look like an accident.

Instead, they’d done…this. But they wouldn’t be so bold as to attack a judge in her own home. That would make them too easy to find. Detectives would know who to question and fingerprint and…

“We need to call the police.”

A sheriff’s deputy came to the house. Callie’s body was being taken in as evidence.

“I’m sure you’re right and there is nothing criminal here, Judge,” the thirtysomething, well-weaponed man said, his beige uniform not helping him blend in with the desert landscaping at all. It would be hard to overlook the big, burly man.

Completely calm, completely professional, Hannah nodded.

“There’s no sign of forced entry, no unlocked windows or doors, no threatening note. But we can’t be too sure. We have to follow up on every call.”

“The Ivory Nation generally leaves warnings of some kind,” Hannah said. She’d been dry-eyed since Brian had called the police. Withdrawn into herself.

Brian would have preferred the crying. It was healthier.

“Putting a signature on their job feeds their sense of power,” she continued, outlining a profile the deputy probably already had. Giving Brian one he’d rather not have had.

Brian stayed one step behind Hannah, silently supportive, as she spoke with the deputy. He’d like to prescribe some sleeping pills, but knew she’d refuse to fill the perscription. She wouldn’t want them around. Wouldn’t want to be tempted to use them. He knew she feared getting addicted. She’d told him so when Carlos died. Hannah might be strong, but there was a limit to everyone’s capacity.

“I’d heard you had an Ivory Nation member on trial this week. You might want to consider recusing yourself.”

Hannah’s frown put an end to that idea. “Is that an official suggestion, Deputy?”

“No, ma’am.” The deputy looked down, and Brian almost pitied the guy.

Deputy Charles closed his book and picked up the satchel containing Hannah’s dead cat. “Keep your doors and windows locked, Judge,” he said, on his way to stop at the door. “We’ll be doing extra drive-bys and keeping a watch on the neighborhood just in case.” His words were appropriately reassuring but Brian worried anyway.

Hannah knew she really should let Brian go home. He’d called Cynthia before arriving so she wouldn’t be expecting him, but that didn’t mean that his new live-in lover would want him spending the evening at the home of another woman.

“Can I get you something to eat?” she asked, while Deputy Charles reversed down the drive.

“I thought maybe we could call for Chinese.”

Her stomach rumbling at the thought of food, Hannah nodded. That would give her another hour or so before Brian had to go.

An hour to get herself under control, to beat the panic that was turning her into a scared, weak woman.

Something Hannah hadn’t been in a very long time.

At least not admittedly.

Brian found the menus while Hannah took her morning’s coffee cup from the sink and put it in the dishwasher. And then he rechecked the windows and doors, even though Deputy Charles had already done so.

Brian was a sweet man. A very sweet man. She was lucky to have had him as such a close friend all these years.

Forgoing her usual single glass of wine, Hannah reached for the bottle of scotch she kept at the back of a cupboard over the stove. Her last foster parents—the ones who’d helped her get into college—had had a fondness for scotch.

Taking the long way around to the refrigerator—avoiding the monogrammed plastic mat where Callie’s bowls still sat—she filled two glasses with ice. Added a small splash of scotch into both, filled hers with 7-Up and Brian’s with water and handed him his glass as he came back into the kitchen.

He attempted to meet her eyes as he held the glass, but she couldn’t look at him.

“Cheers,” she said, offering her glass for the traditional clink—a throwback to their college days when they’d all thought it bad luck to drink without toasting first.

The theory, as far as she could remember was along the lines of “you can’t toast without someone there and if there’s someone there, you won’t ever drink alone.”

Drinking alone had been their definition of a drinking problem.

Brian’s glass still hadn’t touched hers.

Hannah could feel him watching her. And the look in his eyes, when she finally met it, told her he wasn’t letting her get away with running. Or hiding. Or shutting him out.

“Here’s to friends,” he said, his voice warm as he held out his glass. “And knowing that they’re always there. No matter what.”

She held her glass stiffly. There was safety in aloneness. And danger in believing in foolishness. You didn’t need a toast to enjoy a shot of scotch. You didn’t need a toast to keep safe.

Or a friend, either.

“Here’s to friends,” she said, dropping her gaze as she sipped.

Hannah’s cell phone rang just as Brian was hanging up from ordering dinner. He reached for his wallet, getting the money to pay the delivery person, as he listened to her answer it, sounding more like herself than he’d heard that day.

“William. How are you?”

Her judge friend, Brian surmised. William Horne. He’d met the man more than once over the years.

“No. I’m fine. Just tired.”

Brian froze with the money still in his hand, his eyes following Hannah as she moved to the sliding glass door to stare out into the backyard. She was just tired?

He wondered how many times he’d heard the same type of response when Hannah couldn’t admit she needed something.

“Yes.”

And then again, after a brief pause, “Yes.

“Judge Randolph? No, I didn’t see her.

“That’s right, I did decide to allow the witness.

Another, longer pause.

“Because it was the right thing to do.

“I know.”

She nodded, apparently forgetting that William couldn’t see her, then repeated, “I know.”

And Brian felt a surge of impatience. The last thing Hannah needed just now was a lecture. Not that William had any way of knowing that.

“I came home to find Callie run over by a car.”

Brian couldn’t hear William’s exact answer, but it was loud enough for him to know there was one.

“No.” Hannah’s voice broke. “She died.” Her shoulders looked so fragile. Brian had to resist the urge to wrap an arm around them, to let her rest against him until she had the strength to stand alone.

“No, really, I’m fine,” she said after another few words from William. “She was alive when I found her and I called Brian. He’s still here.

“Yeah. We just ordered dinner.”

Another several seconds passed as William spoke, though Brian could no longer hear him.

“I agree.” Hannah briefly glanced up at Brian. “I know. I will.” Not used to feeling so uncomfortable, Brian wondered if he should leave the room.

William spoke some more.

“The deputy didn’t think so, either, and he went over the place thoroughly.”

There followed a pause, long enough for Brian to grab their drinks from the living room and give Hannah hers. And then, with a bit more reassurance and a couple of “I wills” she rang off.

“William said to tell you hi.”

Nodding, Brian tried to assess her expression. Which was never easy with Hannah. When he’d had money and she’d been a starving student, he’d played poker with her. And lost too often.

“He also said to tell you not to worry about the Sun News article.”

“I’m not.” Mostly.

One arm wrapped around her middle, she sipped her scotch. “He doesn’t think Callie’s death has anything to do with the trial.”

Brian had hoped that was what her comment about Deputy Charles meant. “He would know, don’t you think?” he asked.

Judge Horne had been on the bench twice as long as Hannah and had handled more capital cases than anyone in the state. More Ivory Nation cases, too.

“Yeah.” She didn’t look any less worried.

Brian probably would have pushed her a little further but the doorbell rang.

Dinner had arrived.