Dead Reckoning (20 page)

The old woman pulled the girl to her, and held her close, her ancient eyes meeting Kate’s. “There ain’t no one can bring your mama back, baby.”

Kate knew it was cowardly, but she turned away and started for the door. She knew facing that child was the one thing that would make the case personal. Better to keep her emotions locked down tight. Her motivations buried in the recesses of her own memory.

Neither she nor Frank spoke as they walked to his truck. Once inside, he buckled his seat belt and pulled onto the street. “Tough scene.”

“It’s always difficult talking to the family. Especially when there are kids involved.”

“Why do you do it?” He glanced away from his driving to meet her gaze. “You could have sent me or David or simply looked at the police reports.”

“I prefer a personal visit. Mostly just to make sure there’s no relationship between the vic and the susp—”

“Bullshit.” He hit her with a hard look. “Why the hell do you put yourself through that?”

“Because it makes me a better prosecutor,” she said honestly. “It makes me want to win. It reminds me why I do what I do.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, then he looked at her and nodded. “Damn good answer.”

THIRTEEN

TUESDAY, JANUARY 31, 7:18 P.M.

Kate spent the rest of the day reading—police reports, the coroner’s report, witness statements—and outlining her strategy on the Bruton Ellis case. It wasn’t until the office had gone quiet that she realized she hadn’t eaten. Hungry and exhausted, she wanted nothing more than to pack her laptop and briefcase and head for home.

But there was one more stop she needed to make. A stop Kate had been dreading all day.

Today was Kirsten’s twenty-ninth birthday. She was six minutes older than Kate. But while Kate never missed her sister’s birthday, she never celebrated her own. Liz had once brought in a birthday cake, but afterward Kate had asked her not to do it again. Other than the anniversary of that terrible July night eleven years ago, Kirsten’s birthday was the most difficult day of the year. It was a day that stood in testimony to what had happened. A stark reminder of what had been lost.

It was dark when Kate left the Frank Crowley Courts Building. She stopped at an upscale pastry shop on McKinney Avenue and picked up the frivolous cake she’d ordered earlier in the day. German chocolate with fudge lettering that said:
We love you, Kirsten. Happy birthday.

Ten minutes later she pulled into the parking lot of the Turtle Creek Convalescent Home. A quiver of dread moved through her when she spotted her parents’ Lincoln. She knew they visited Kirsten every day; she’d known they would visit today. But there was a small, cowardly part of Kate that had been hoping they’d already come and gone.

The halls were dimly lit when she entered the building, cake in hand. Nancy Martin smiled and waved from the nurse’s station as Kate passed.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Kate said.

“Nobody follows the rules around here anyway,” the other woman replied, referring to the fact that it was well after visiting hours.

“I’ll save some cake for you and the rest of the night shift.”

Nancy patted her substantial hip. “Like we need all that sugar.”

Outside her sister’s room, Kate took a fortifying breath and pushed open the door. Isobel Megason was standing at the window with her back to the room. She turned upon hearing Kate enter. She looked elegant and trim in an understated Nipon pantsuit that was the same cool blue as her eyes.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Katherine.” Isobel crossed to her youngest daughter, her suede pumps muted on the tile floor. Chanel whispered around her when she leaned close, set her cheek against Kate’s, and kissed air. “We’re so glad you finally made it.”

Kate looked at her father. “Hi, Dad.”

Peter Megason was lounging in the recliner, a hardback book open on his lap, looking at her over the top of the bifocals perched on his nose. He wore a pale yellow cashmere sweater over dark trousers. “I was hoping you’d make it before they kick us out.”

Kate smiled at him, felt the tension twisting her neck muscles into knots. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She looked at Kirsten. “How is she today?”

“Same as she was last year at this time,” Isobel said.

Kate crossed to the small table near the window and set down the cake.

“What kind of cake did you bring?” her father asked.

“German chocolate.”

“I might just have a piece of that myself.” He started to rise.

“Let me get it for you,” Kate said quickly, wanting something to do besides sit in this tiny room with her sister and two people who blamed her for her condition.

“I tried to call you today,” Isobel said. “You didn’t return my call.”

“I was busy, Mom.” Kate lifted the cake from the box and picked up the plastic knife the pastry chef had left inside.

“I saw on the news that you’re going to be prosecuting the Bruton Ellis case,” Peter said.

Kate nodded and she began cutting the cake. “I need to talk to you about that.”

“You’re not going to cancel the cruise, are you?” he asked.

Kate slid the piece of cake onto a paper plate and took it to her father. “I’m sorry, but I’m swamped.”

“We’ve had this planned for months,” Isobel said.

“Can’t be helped.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll do a good job, honey.” Her father accepted the piece of cake. “Terrible crime. Makes you wonder about people.”

“Not all people,” Isobel put in. “Just a select few with evil minds and black hearts.” She shot Kate a pointed look. “I don’t know how you can stand dealing with those kinds of crimes day in and day out.”

“It’s my job.”

“You could have become an investment banker like your father. Or maybe a broker.” She looked at her husband. “She would have made a terrific broker, Peter, don’t you think?”

“I think Katie can do anything she sets her mind to,” he said diplomatically.

“Katherine, you could be making twice what you’re making now and working half as many hours. We’d probably even get to see you more often. Peter was just telling me that if you were to get your license, the firm would make a place for you right away.”

“A vice president position,” her father added.

“I love my job,” Kate said simply.

Isobel snorted haughtily. “How can you love dealing with murderers and rapists and God only knows what else?”

To the outsider looking in, the words wouldn’t appear harsh, but Kate felt them like a slap. “I like putting criminals behind bars and getting justice for the victims.”

“What about when justice isn’t done?” Isobel said.

“Isobel,” Peter warned, “leave her be.”

Kate looked at her mother. She could tell by the light in the other woman’s eyes that she was just getting warmed up. That this wasn’t going to be pleasant. And she knew that coming here tonight had been a mistake.

“You’re right, Mother. The system isn’t perfect and, unfortunately, not every case turns out well.” Kate concentrated on putting the cake back into the box and closing the lid. “All I can do is my best.”

“And when your best isn’t good enough?”

“Isobel, please,” Peter said.

“Most of the time my best is enough,” Kate said.

Isobel looked at her for a long time before asking, “Why do you do it, Katherine?”

“Because I can make a difference. Because I’m good at what I do.”

An unpleasant smile twisted her mother’s mouth. “Is that all?”

The old pain twisted inside her. “If you have something to say, Mother, maybe you ought to just say it.”

Isobel’s eyes went cold. “Maybe you think you have something to atone for.”

“Issy, that’s enough,” Peter said sharply.

Kate’s mother ignored the warning and came around the bed to face her daughter. “The head nurse told me you come here almost every day.”

“She’s my sister,” Kate snapped. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re too busy to visit us, but you’re never too busy to stop in and see your sister.”

“Kirsten takes a hell of a lot less energy,” Kate said levelly.

Isobel’s eyes blazed. “Or maybe it’s guilt that’s driving you, Kate. Maybe you feel you have an obligation to Kirsten. Did you ever stop to think about that?”

“Isobel!” Closing the book he’d been pretending to read, Peter sprang out of the recliner and glared at his wife. “She has nothing to feel guilty about.” He looked at Kate, his expression apologetic. “She had a few drinks before we left the house.”

Isobel’s laugh was bitter. “Oh, you think you know your daughter so well.”

“Of course I do.”

Isobel turned cool blue eyes on her daughter. “Why is it that the innocent ones are always the ones to pay for the things we sinners do?”

Kate stared at her mother, her heart pounding, the anger and hurt twisting inside her like a knife. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you.”

“That’s it, Katherine. Go ahead and walk away. Go put some slimy son of a bitch in jail if that’s what it takes for you to live with yourself.”

“Isobel, my God!” Peter shouted.

Kate’s legs were shaking when she crossed to Kirsten and kissed her forehead. “Good night, kiddo,” she whispered.

“It should be you lying in that bed instead of Kirsten,” Isobel said.

“That’s enough!” Peter strode to his wife and took her arm. “Get a hold of yourself.”

But Isobel shook him off, her eyes never leaving Kate. “If you hadn’t lured her from the house that night, none of this would have happened and I’d have both of my daughters instead of just one.”

At the door Kate turned and met her mother’s gaze. “You’d still just have one.”

Peter started toward her, but Kate raised her hand to stop him. “I’m fine,” she said and fled.

 
TUESDAY, JANUARY 31, 8:16 P.M.

He watched her from within the shadows of his Lexus.

She didn’t even look up as she descended the steps of the convalescent home and started toward the parking lot. Stupid for someone so intimately acquainted with crime not to be more aware of her surroundings.

She’d probably acquired more than a few enemies in the years she’d been working in the district attorney’s office. If something were to happen to her, her past cases would be the first place the police would look. The thought of just how many ways he could play the situation pleased him. Talk about red herrings.

He watched her, liking the way her long strides ate up the asphalt as she crossed to her BMW. The wind had picked up, and he could see her long coat flapping about her calves, and he found himself wondering what it would be like to run his hands over those calves. If they were as sleek and pretty as the rest of her . . .

Something hot and uncomfortable jittered low in his gut when he imagined her flesh slick with sweat. The reaction surprised him. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed an assignment. He knew it was twisted, but the thought of fucking a woman he was probably going to end up killing excited him.

A smile touched his mouth as he watched her dig in her bag for her keys. Preoccupied after visiting her sister, no doubt. Tired after a long day. A crime waiting to happen.

He hit a button and the window slid down in time for him to hear her engine start. The headlights popped on, and an instant later she was pulling from the lot.

He waited a full thirty seconds before starting the Lexus. He was already familiar with her routine and knew she would drive straight home. She always went home after visiting her sister. She was never out past ten o’clock. Never went out on dates. Not a very exciting life for a twenty-eight-year-old looker. He’d had enough women in his life to know they had needs just like men. Even uppity bitches like Kate Megason.

Her car had already disappeared onto Mockingbird Lane by the time he pulled from the lot. She drove like a bat out of hell, but he knew where she was going. The fact that she was a creature of habit was going to make this job a breeze.

He pulled onto the street and followed.

His assignment was to intimidate. Frighten. Terrify. But the man had told him that may change. When and if the time came, he would make it look as if one of her past cases had come back to haunt her. A logical assumption that would take the heat off of him and the people who’d hired him. A single shot to the head, and it would be done.

If all went well, he would be sipping mojitos at some obscure little café in South Beach by the end of the week. Holding that thought, he hit the gas.

 
TUESDAY, JANUARY 31, 11:58 P.M.

Kate knew she was pushing herself too hard. Working too many hours. Getting up too early. Staying up too late. But pacing herself was the one aspect of her job she’d never quite gotten the hang of.

She’d been staring at her laptop screen for so long the words were starting to blur. Her eyes felt as if someone had tossed sand in them, and the tiny particles grated against her eyeballs every time she blinked. Her neck and back were beginning to ache.

Kate knew she should have indulged in a hot bath and called it a night upon arriving home from the convalescent home. But the scene between her and her mother kept replaying in her mind’s eye.

The words echoed uncomfortably inside her head. It was the first time Isobel Megason had spoken them aloud, and even though Kate had always suspected her mother blamed her, it still hurt.

The scene in Kirsten’s room was one of many in the last eleven years. In the weeks following the incident, Kate had been too immersed in her own misery to notice the way her mother looked at her. But as the long road to healing began, seventeen-year-old Kate had begun to see things more clearly.

The realization that her mother blamed her for what happened had shattered what was left of Kate’s heart. After all, it had been her idea to sneak out of the house that night. Her idea to buy the beer. She’d cajoled until Kirsten had agreed to accompany her. To this day there was still a part of Kate that blamed herself. . . .