Darkness Before Dawn (11 page)

“It was no accident,” Meg cut in.

The woman was combative. There was no mistaking that. She seemed primed and ready
for a fight, and she would be in for one. This would be no easy case, not with the
Thomas family and their money and power on the other side. And that was the problem.
This case was one of those pitfalls that could kill a career. Thus, Jones would really
rather avoid it all together. The best way to defuse this bomb was to get the family
to cover medical and funeral costs, pay a few thousand in a settlement, and maybe
have the kid do a bit of community service. But this woman’s tone indicated she would
likely not be satisfied with that answer. Still, he had to try.

“Mrs. Richards, bringing a case like this to trial can be very, very painful. You
can’t begin to imagine what you will have to go through. It could take months and
that means you’d be
forced to relive your husband’s death over and over again. The toll it would take
on you could be enormous and the end result would not bring your husband back. When
dealing with a case like this, where a widow is left alone, it might serve your interests
best to cut a deal.”

“A deal?” Meg asked. “I don’t understand.”

Jones took a deep breath as he shifted into a tactic he often used when faced with
a situation like this. It was time to gently present himself in the role of a big
brother. “Mrs. Richards, what I’m going to suggest is for your own good. I can probably
get the driver to plea guilty to a charge that would require him to do some community
service, pay a fine, and serve a long probation. And then, in a separate agreement,
his family would pay you a large settlement.”

Her response was immediate. “I don’t care about money. That won’t bring Steve back.
I want the kid to know the kind of pain he has caused me. I want the satisfaction
of watching him convicted and sent to jail. He has to serve time. He killed my husband!”

It was so much easier when money could buy influence. And a lot of the time it could.
But the tone in this woman’s voice assured him she couldn’t be bought off. Her pain
was too deep, her resolve too strong. So that made things much more complicated. With
the elections coming up in the fall, this case needed to disappear, but it appeared
she wasn’t going to let it. How much money would it take to change her mind? Did she
have a price?

“Mr. Jones, are you still there?”

What to say now? He was far too pragmatic and logical to get emotionally involved
in his cases and he’d never been very good when it came to sympathizing with or understanding
grief. Still, at least for the moment, he had to give the appearance of caring. Find
a safe, noncommittal reply and then, after
he got the woman off the phone, come up with a game plan that would not include his
going up against the Thomas family.

“Mrs. Richards,” he began, “as I started to say, I had the good fortune to meet your
husband on several occasions and I can’t begin to explain how deeply saddened I was
by his senseless death. It was tragic, simply tragic, and it shouldn’t have happened.”

Surely this was what the woman wanted to hear. Those words would assure her Webb Jones
was a man who wanted justice. After all, he had just indicated how wonderful Steve
had been.

“So, what do we do now?” Meg inquired.

“Well,” Jones quickly answered, maybe now that he was on the familiar turf of law
he could spell out in language the woman would grasp why this case didn’t need to
go to trial. “We are dealing with a juvenile and the initial thing that will have
to be done, if we try him, is have him certified as an adult. If there is no problem
in Justice of the Peace Court, I’ll present the case to a grand jury. If that jury
decides to indict him, then we’ll try the case.”

“Mr. Jones, what do you mean
if
the jury decides to indict?” There was a certain desperation now obvious in the woman’s
tone that grew stronger as she continued. “He was drunk, he killed my husband, and
he is guilty.”

“I agree with you,” Jones answered defensively, “but sometimes justices of the peace
and grand juries have strange ways of looking at things. Still, don’t worry about
that.” Jones paused before coming back with what he considered a small fib. “I want
justice, Mrs. Richards, and I’ll do my best to get justice.”

Jones had figured that his strongly phrased promise would bring the woman the satisfaction
she needed and allow him to end the phone call on a high note. Yet Meg’s next demanding
question quickly convinced him of one painful fact. This
woman would not be intimidated by his voice, knowledge, or promises. He hated working
with people like that!

“Does this mean,” Meg demanded, “that you’ll go after my husband’s killer with all
the power you can muster, even though his father is who he is? I mean the Thomas’s
are important people in this town.”

He was stunned. The woman knew much more than he figured. That information hadn’t
been in the paper. Where did the leak come from? Leaning back in his leather desk
chair, Jones attempted to recover from the bomb that had just been dropped. With this
new card in play, he only had one recourse—he had to buy some time.

“Mrs. Richards, would you hold on just a second? My other line is ringing.” Before
the woman could reply, the district attorney pushed the hold button, got up from his
desk, and stormed into the outer office, stopping only when he stood over his administrative
assistant’s desk.

“Who told her that Judge Thomas’s son was driving that car?”

“Told who?” Jo Blount quickly asked.

“Meg Richards, you know, the other driver’s widow.”

“Well, don’t accuse me. I didn’t.”

The woman’s tone assured Jones he had not been betrayed, at least not by her. She
had been with him for ten years, first in state office and now here. She knew better
than to release the name of a minor or give anyone any information that might make
his job more difficult. But who did it then? Groping for answers, he scratched his
head, turned back to his office, and then, just before reentering his office, looked
over his shoulder and asked Blount one more question.

“The news media didn’t get a hold of it, did they? If they did, I’ll go after them—”

The woman didn’t let him finish. “No, the press did not get it,” she paused before
adding sarcastically, “Not even your favorite, Robyn Chapman, from Channel 10.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put that woman above it,” Jones barked. “You know what she did to
us on that Morris affair. Anyway, we’ve got a leak somewhere and I want it found!”

Marching back to his office and slamming the ten-foot high oak door, Jones took a
deep breath and punched the hold button. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Richards, an important call
came in on the other line. I hope that you will forgive me.”

“No problem,” Meg answered. “Now what about my question?”

“No matter who the person is on the other side of the courtroom,” he firmly assured
her, “I’ll do my dead-level best. The law doesn’t play favorites around here.” After
pausing a second to sense if the woman seemed to be accepting his promise, he asked,
“Mrs. Richards, the other party in this case is a minor. How did you find out his
identity?”

“Not from your office,” she replied.

“Did someone in the media tell you?”

“No,” she shot back. “No one told me. I just found out.”

Concluding she wasn’t going to volunteer how she uncovered the information, Jones
wound up his call with a promise to keep Meg informed. He added as an afterthought,
“Justice will be served.” Before the woman could press him anymore he finished with
a quick, “I’ll be in touch and good-bye.”

After putting the handset back in the cradle, Jones brought his fist down hard on
his desk.
Who told her? Who gave the woman confidential information
. A knock pulled him out of thought.

“Come in,” he barked.

“What was that all about?” Blount asked as she entered.

“We’ve got a problem,” he admitted as he turned toward the window overlooking Springfield’s
town square. “The Richards woman is a deeply wounded animal, and the Thomas family
will expect me to fix this for them just like I and all the locals have always done
in the past. This might be one that really blows up in our faces and I can’t let that
happen.”

A
S HIS ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT LOOKED ON, A WORRIED
W
EBB
J
ONES
got up from his desk and crossed to his third-floor window. With his hands shoved
deeply into his pockets, he studied the courthouse square. Except for the storm that
had just entered his world, everything looked normal. But this storm was dangerous
and the damage it could do might wreck his political aspirations. It was time to trust
his instincts.

“Jo,” he said, his eyes still studying the scene below, “this case is a time bomb.”

“No doubt,” she replied. “But since I’ve worked for you, you’ve always figured a way
to avoid being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There has to be a way to handle
this and not be hurt.”

She was right about his timing. He’d always been one step ahead of the game. Anticipating
a voter shift, he’d changed parties at just the right time. He’d been careful to groom
the right friends and dump them at just the right moment, too. He’d married well and
his wife was a member of all the right clubs. His record in the successful prosecution
of violent offenders was perfect, largely because he never went to court unless he
had a pat case. And through a series of deals and favors, he’d earned the support
of the powerful Judge Alfred E.
Thomas. And now all of that might fall apart simply because of the death of a man
in a car wreck had placed Jones between a rock and a hard place. How could he go after
the Thomas kid and hang onto the most influential force in state politics?

Turning back toward his assistant, Jones shrugged, “I’m cooked. If I don’t win, my
next opponent will hit me with two punches. The first is that I blew an open-and-shut
case. The second is that I tossed in the towel because the Thomas family was involved.
And both charges will stick in the voters’ minds. My political career will begin and
end with this office. Then I become just another small-town lawyer.”

Blount nodded.

Pushing his hands even deeper into his suit pants pockets, Jones leaned against a
case filled with dusty law books. Shaking his head, he looked up toward the ceiling.
Worry deepened every crease in his face. His house of cards didn’t look very secure
right now.

“Jo,” he sighed, “if I win, Judge Thomas will ruin me.”

“Has he called you?” she asked.

“No, he knows he doesn’t have to. I’ve fixed things for his family for years. If only
this had been just a DUI, I could easily sweep this under the rug, too. But a man
died this time. The papers reported it. Mothers Against Drunk Drivers will no doubt
parade in here for the trial. I can’t snap my fingers and make this go away.”

Blount grimly smiled. “The case won’t go away, but you can.”

Confused, Jones looked across the room. “What?”

“Your knee. The doctor told you that you needed to have it operated on.”

Jones shrugged. “It’s just an elective procedure.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she assured him. “Get the surgery and rehab scheduled during
the time the Thomas case goes to trial. To be fair to the state, you’ll have to withdraw
from the case.”

The district attorney smiled. “Yeah, I see where you’re going with this. If I don’t
handle any of the case, then I can’t get blamed either way.”

“You can talk out of both sides of your mouth,” Blount added. “You can tell Thomas
you were in his court if the case goes against his son and you can show the voters
you aren’t soft on crime. If the kid gets off, you can pretend outrage.

“That’s not bad,” Jones laughed.

“So,” Blunt added, “we just give it to Cheryl.”

Jones’s eyes went to the ceiling. What a wonderful suggestion! His assistant was too
young and too green to win a case like this. Thomas’s legal team would tear her up.
And if she somehow did happen to get lucky and win a conviction, Jones would be completely
out of the picture, so he couldn’t get blamed for it. If Thomas had to pay the price,
let it be the woman who gives the kid the bill. She will become the sacrificial lamb.

Jones looked back at Blount. “As soon as the trial is scheduled—and let’s face it,
the grand jury will push this to trial—get me an appointment for surgery that week.
Once we have that on my calendar, get Cheryl in here. We’ll let her take charge of
this one from the get-go. She can’t battle the Thomas clan. And when she loses, she’ll
be seen as the woman who let the Widow Richards down. Then, I can use my assistant
to show voters just how disgusted I am with the sentence and her inept work on the
case.”

Blount wryly noted, “That would keep you out of hot water and maintain your image
as being tough on crime.”

He smiled and walked back to the window. The train hadn’t bounced off the track after
all. He could just avoid this bump in the road and let it ruin someone else’s career—someone
who wasn’t nearly as important as he was.

F
OR
M
EG, A SMALL PROMISE WAS BETTER THAN NONE AT ALL
. A
ND WITH
just the knowledge that Jones had made his way back to his office and now planned
to prosecute, she felt better than she had in days. She even mustered a small smile
for little Jamie, thanking her for the pretty picture she had drawn, and accepted
an invitation to go to Pizza Hut with Heather.

Over supper, the nurses discussed television shows, movies, and work. Steve was the
one subject they both ignored. Then, after they had paid their bill and were putting
on their coats, Meg asked Heather if she would mind going for a drive.

As they rode through town in the Mustang, Meg rattled on about the times she and Steve
had enjoyed while dating. As the minutes passed, Meg’s conversation became more and
more current, even talking about how she and Steve had just paid off their school
loans and had been saving to make a down payment on a house. Then, just as it appeared
Meg had begun to confront the demons that had been causing her to feel so bitter toward
life, the car stopped in front of huge brick home. Meg smiled as she considered the
bomb she was about to drop.