Dead Reckoning (24 page)

“You’re shaking.” His cop’s eyes flicked to the phone. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine.” But she figured they both knew she was not fine by any stretch of the imagination.

“Who was that on the phone?”

Her gaze snapped to his. Struggling to calm herself, she left the hall and walked into the living room, hoping he didn’t notice that her legs were shaking. “Nobody,” she said.

“Nobody seems to have you pretty shaken up.”

“It was a personal call, Frank.”

But she could tell he wasn’t buying it. At some point he’d slipped into cop mode. She’d dealt with enough of them to see the suspicion in his eyes, and the hard gleam that told her he wasn’t going to let this go. Damn. Damn.
Damn.

“Look, I didn’t walk back in here to pry into your personal business,” he said. “But you’re obviously upset, and I’d like to know why.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Really?” Without warning he reached out and took her right wrist in his and held her hand out for both of them to see.

She tried to yank her hand away from his, but he was holding on too tight. When she stopped fighting, she looked at her hand, found it shaking violently within his grasp.

“I guess that’s why you’re shaking, huh? Because you’re not upset?”

Kate had always believed she was good at keeping a handle on her emotions. Many times her job demanded it. The things that had happened to her eleven years ago hadn’t made her weak; they’d made her stronger. But hearing the man’s voice, knowing she was going to have to deal with this, shook her so badly she couldn’t get a grip.

“It was a prank call,” she said after a moment.

Without speaking, Frank led her into the living room and guided her to the sofa. “Sit down.”

Kate sank into the sofa without a fight.

Never taking his eyes from hers, he took the chair across from her. “What did he say?”

“Just . . . meaningless stuff.” She raised her gaze to Frank’s, hoping he’d let this go. But she could tell by his determined expression that he was going to press her. A small part of her wanted to tell him everything. But because of the nature of the calls, she couldn’t. She didn’t want anyone to know what had happened to her eleven years ago.

But Frank wasn’t just anyone. He was a cop. And judging from the way he was looking at her, unless she came up with a really good lie pronto, he would not let this go. “He . . . talked dirty,” she said. “Heavy breathing. You know what I mean.”

“Don’t you have an unlisted number?”

“Yes, of course. I don’t know how anyone could have gotten it.”

“Has this guy called before?”

Feeling like a fool, kicking herself for having not just hung up the phone, Kate gave a reluctant nod.

“How many times?”

“Twice.”

“In addition to the prowler.” He shook his head. “Kate, you’re a smart woman. You know better than to stick your head in the sand. Why didn’t you mention this?”

“I didn’t think it was an issue.” When he only continued to stare at her, she continued, “Come on, Frank. It was a prank call.”

“And you’re a prosecutor. You’ve put people in prison, and more than likely picked up some enemies over the years.”

“I’m aware of that,” she said tightly.

“And you’ve decided not to do anything about it?”

“Look,” she began, “it was some jerk with too much time on his hands. I’ve been meaning to change my number; I’ve had it for quite some time. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Do me a favor and make time for it tomorrow, okay?”

“First thing in the morning.” Kate paused for a moment, then rose. “I’m sorry, but I really have to get back to work.”

As if realizing there was nothing more he could do, Frank rose. Before starting toward the door, he looked at her and Kate got the impression that while he might be walking away now, he wasn’t going to let this go. “If anything else happens, you’ll tell me, right?”

Kate nodded adamantly. “Of course.”

“Right.” He stared at her an instant longer, then limped toward the door.

“Thanks for the inspection,” she said.

“I’ll pick up the floodlights in the morning.”

“Don’t be late for work.” She softened the words with a smile.

He smiled back. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said and went through the door.

 
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 11:39 P.M.

Bruton Ellis had spent a good bit of his adult life behind bars. He didn’t like being in jail, but there was something to be said for three square meals a day and a warm bunk. As far as the rest of life’s small pleasures—which in his mind consisted of sex and drugs and not necessarily in that order—they could be had even in prison—for a price.

But his needs were simple. He kept to himself for the most part. He knew how to lay low and stay out of trouble.

They’d put him in the special housing unit, otherwise known as the SHU, pronounced “shoe.” You could give the place all the fancy names you wanted, but the ten-by-twelve-foot cell still boiled down to solitary confinement. The place didn’t even have bars. Concrete walls. Steel door with a single window and a slot for the food tray. A stainless-steel toilet. Stainless-steel sink. And a lumpy mattress on a double-decker bunk.

Home sweet home.

It was the sociable ones who suffered while in solitary. But Bruton Ellis had never been the most sociable type. In fact, he
liked
being alone. Drugs were harder to get, but once he figured out the flow, he could usually get enough to get by.

It wasn’t the solitude keeping him up tonight. He’d been locked up for three weeks now. Plenty of time for him to figure out the big-shot corporate executive who’d hired him to kill those two women wasn’t going to ride in on a white horse and hand him a get-out-of-jail-free card. The son of a bitch had cut him loose.

His lawyer had urged him to cut a deal. But Ellis had been certain the corporate fucker was going to come through for him. But he hadn’t, and now the DA was going for the death penalty. The thought turned Ellis’s bowels to water.

Lethal injection.

Jesus fucking Christ.

That was when the panic had set in. He’d spent two days calling the number the man had given him. For two days he’d listened to the voice on the other end of the line telling him the number had been disconnected.

The motherfucker had cut him loose.

He was on his own and the State of Texas wanted to stick a needle in his arm for what he’d done.

And so Ellis did the only thing he could and talked. He’d told his lawyer everything. The problem was he didn’t know enough to incriminate anyone except himself. In the end his lawyer had told him to keep his mouth shut. Ellis could tell the smug little son of a bitch didn’t believe him.

He might have been the one to blow away that black girl and that old Mexican bitch. But what about the guy who’d offered him five thousand dollars? For the hundredth time Ellis kicked himself for not getting his name. What had he been thinking?

But Ellis knew what he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking that five thousand dollars bought an awful lot of crystal meth, and at the time, the only thing that mattered was getting high.

He had to find someone who would listen to him. Someone who would believe him. Maybe the DA would cut him a deal. Ellis didn’t relish the idea of spending the rest of his life in prison. But he relished the thought of death row a whole lot less.

 
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 10:57 A.M.

Frank had barely sat down behind his desk when Kate rushed into his office.

“Don’t get comfortable.” She reached for his leather jacket and handed it to him across the desk. “We’re leaving.”

His leg had kept him up most of the night and he was in a pissy mood. But one look at Kate and his spirits began to lift.

“Your place or mine?” he asked.

A chuckle escaped her before she could frown. “I just got a call from Aaron Napier. Bruton Ellis wants to talk to us.”

“About what?”

“Aaron wouldn’t say.” She looked excited.

“Weren’t you just telling me it’s irregular for a defendant to want to talk to the prosecution?”

“Very.”

His suspicion that there was more to the murders of Evangeline Worth and Irma Trevino than a robbery gone bad spun into high gear. “I’ll drive.”

“I’ll let you.”

Fifteen minutes later they parked in the public lot outside the Lew Sterrett Justice Center. After a quick security check, they took the elevator to the second floor. Aaron Napier met them outside the interview room. He was an attractive African American man with the charisma of a Hollywood actor and the physique of a pro football player. He wore a tan silk jacket over a black polo shirt and black trousers.

“Kate.” Smiling, he extended his hand. “Thanks for coming. How are you?”

Kate returned his smile. “Are you sure you want us talking to your client?”

Napier shrugged, then shook hands with Frank. “I advised him against this, but he insisted.” He glanced at his watch. “This is all kind of last minute. He was frantic when he called at eight o’clock this morning. I’ve got court in half an hour, so we’ll have to make this quick.”

Napier crossed to the interview room door and pushed it open. Kate went in first. The room was painted a two-tone institutional gray. Bruton Ellis sat at a scarred, rectangular table. He was a tall, thin man with greasy brown hair and bad skin. His hands were cuffed in front of him. He kept fidgeting, his fingers toying with the cuffs. She could see that his ankles were shackled as well.

She nodded at the police officer standing at the back of the room and took one of the plastic chairs opposite Ellis. Frank took the chair beside her. Napier took the chair next to Ellis.

Kate wasn’t sure why they were there, so she directed her first question at Ellis. “Why did you ask for this meeting?”

Ellis tossed a nervous look at Napier, who gave him a subtle nod. “I got information,” he blurted. “I wanna cut a deal.”

“It’s too late to cut a deal,” Kate said.

Ice flashed in Ellis’s eyes for an instant, then he looked as if he wanted to cry. “It ain’t fair for me to take all the blame for what happened to those two chicks, man.”

“You pulled the trigger,” Frank cut in.

Ellis’s eyes flicked from Kate to Frank and back to Kate. “A guy hired me to take out them out. You gotta fuckin’ believe me.”

“Why would I believe anything you have to say?”

“Because I’m tellin’ the fuckin’ truth.”

“Watch your mouth,” Frank snapped.

Ellis blinked at him. “He was some rich dude. A business-man. You know, executive type. He wore suits, man. He paid me five grand. Said I should make it look like a robbery.”

“Give us a name,” Frank said.

“I don’t have his fuckin’ name. He never told me.”

“You’re wasting our time,” Kate put in.

Ellis looked desperate. “I can tell you what he looks like.”

Frank looked at Napier and shook his head. “He’s wasting our time.”

Napier shrugged.

Kate frowned at Ellis. “Unless you can give us some new information, this is a waste of time.”

Ellis made a choking sound. “I don’t want to go to the death chamber.” He looked at his lawyer. “Tell them! I’m telling the fuckin’ truth.”

Frank got up. “I’ve heard enough.”

Ellis jumped to his feet. “Wait!”

The police officer stepped forward and put his hand on Ellis’s shoulder. “Sit down.”

Ellis sank back into the chair. He was breathing hard. Even though the room was cold, sweat had popped out on his forehead. “You gotta fuckin’ believe me.”

Frank shook his head. “We don’t have to do shit.”

Ellis looked at Kate as if expecting her to rescue him. “I didn’t do this by myself. The guy hired me, and now he’s going to get off and I get death fuckin’ row. It ain’t right, man.”

“You want a deal?” Rising, Kate picked up her briefcase. “You’re going to have to come up with something a hell of a lot more concrete than some phantom corporate executive.”

She started toward the door. Vaguely she was aware of the police officer asking Ellis to rise. Of Frank behind her. Of Aaron Napier lagging behind. She was midway to the door when Ellis lunged. “Wait!”

The cop moved in and muscled him back into the chair.

But Ellis’s attention was on Kate. “He drives a Jaguar! Black with spoke wheels! I swear!”

Frank opened the door for Kate and they walked into the hall. “You fuckin’ bitch! Cunt!” She could hear Ellis choking back sobs, but she felt no compassion.

“Fun guy,” Frank said.

She let out a breath. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s got a problem with female authority figures.”

She snorted as they approached the bank of elevators. “I wonder why Napier allowed it.”

“He’s got the hots for you.”

“Oh brother.”

Frank pressed the Down button. “Come to think of it, I think
I
have the hots for you.”

“You’re a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that?”

But Frank was grinning when he stepped into the elevator.

“What do you make of Ellis?” she asked when the doors had closed.

Frank punched the button for the lobby. “I don’t put much weight in anything he told us in there. He’s a lowlife bucket of slime. But something about this case has bothered me from the get-go.”

Surprise and something akin to uneasiness moved through her. “Are you telling me you don’t think he acted alone?”

“I’m telling you I wouldn’t be surprised if another player popped up on the radar if we looked hard enough.”

“Why would someone hire him to murder two clerks and ask him to make it look like a robbery? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Murder rarely makes any sense.” Something dark glittered in the depths of his eyes. “Unless someone has something to gain.”