Evidence of Mercy (20 page)

He nodded again but didn't speak until she was almost out the door. “Hey, Lynda? Be careful, okay?”

“You, too.”

Jake got her meaning. He only wished he had a choice.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

B
race yourself,” Tony told Larry as he rushed into the precinct. “He's in an even worse mood than he was when we interviewed him yesterday. He got a tad bit offended when I told him he was under arrest.”

Larry watched the twenty-year-old kid through the one-way glass. Yesterday, when they'd interviewed him at home, Larry had been suspicious, but he'd talked himself out of considering the kid a suspect since he had no experience with airplanes. It was feasible that he could have started the fire, but could he have rigged the crash in such an expert way? “What have you got on him?”

“Besides his prior arson conviction and his mechanic experience and the gas can we found with the name of his employer on it, we found gas stains in the carpet in his trunk. Fresh ones. You could still smell the fumes. And his alibi is weak.”

Larry stepped closer to the glass. There was a tattoo of a bald eagle covering most of Doug's upper arm, and his hair was doused with mousse and spiked to stand straight up on his head. He wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders and a general expression of readiness to curse the next cop who crossed him.

“So what's his alibi?”

“Says he was at home. No witnesses.”

They opened the door, and the kid burst out of his seat. “You might as well let me out of here,” he spat out. “I didn't do it.”

Larry gave him a long, considering look as the kid sneered back at him. Finally, he reached across the table to shake his hand. “I'm Larry Millsaps,” he said, then withdrew his hand when the kid rejected it. “Why don't you calm down, Doug? My partner here can be a little gruff sometimes, but I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“I already answered the main one,” the kid said. “I didn't do it!”

“Didn't do what?”

“I didn't set her house on fire! They keep asking me if I had a grudge against her, if I was in the area last night, if I was near the airport when that crash happened—I'm telling you morons, I've never even been
down
that street, and I wouldn't know how to get to that airport. I was sitting at home last night. Reading.”

Larry's eyebrows lifted. Somehow he couldn't picture this kid reading. “Reading what?”

The kid threw up his hands. “What is it? You don't think I can read?”

“You don't look like the type who stays at home and reads.”

“Yeah? Well, you don't look like the type who gets out of work by pinning crimes on innocent people.” He sat back and cocked his head arrogantly. “I was reading
Hamlet
. You got a problem with that?”

“Yeah? Who wrote it?”

“You tell me,” the kid challenged. “You're the one with all the answers. What do you do? Go down the list of ex-cons in the area and assign one of them to each crime that comes down?”

“We found a gas can that belongs to your employer,” Tony said less patiently.

“Yeah? Well, maybe
he
did it! Were my fingerprints on it?”

Neither Tony nor Larry answered, but they both knew that no fingerprints had been found on the gas can. The arsonist must have been wearing gloves.

“How do you explain the gas stains in your trunk?” Larry asked.

Doug mouthed a curse. “I mow yards on weekends, okay? I always take extra gas in case I run out. I'd have been more careful not to spill some if I'd known somebody was gonna be sniffing around trying to pin something on me.”

“What do you carry it in?”

He looked from Larry to Tony then back again. “In a can, okay? Probably a J.R.'s Auto Repair can. We have them all over the shop. People stop by and borrow them all the time. Lots of people have them.”

Larry only watched him as he rambled, giving him enough rope to hang himself.

The kid realized what was going on and crossed his arms obstinately. Flopping back into his chair, he said, “I'm not talking anymore without a lawyer.”

“Do you have one?”

“Sure, man,” he said facetiously. “Got one on retainer.”

“You don't have one, do you?”

“So appoint one,” the kid said through his teeth. “Only don't appoint that witch whose house burnt down because she'll string me along and dump me at the last minute. Besides, there's somebody out there still trying to kill her. I don't want to be around her.”

Tony shot Larry a telling look, and Larry nodded.

The door opened, and one of the officers stuck his head in. “Tony, can I see you a minute?”

Larry watched his partner leave the room then turned back to the kid. “I'll have an attorney appointed, but he won't do you any good if you're not telling the truth.”

“You don't want the truth, man. You want a scapegoat.”

The door opened again, and Tony stepped back in. “I just got an interesting bit of information.” He pulled out a chair and set his foot on it. Leaning on his knee, he looked down at the kid. “Seems somebody you work with called your house three times last night, and you weren't home.”

“So I didn't feel like talking,” Doug said, his face reddening. “I'm taking a night class at the college, and I had to read
Hamlet
. I swear. You can call and check. Search my house. You'll find my Shakespeare book.”

Tony shot Larry a skeptical look.

Doug slammed his hand on the table. “Hey, man, last time I checked, it wasn't a crime to unplug your phone!”

“No, it isn't. And neither is going to the Monroe Street Lounge, where several people saw you earlier last night.”

Larry breathed an incredulous laugh. “Still want to stick to your story about being at home reading?”

“You asked me where I was when the fire started. I was at home. So I had a few drinks earlier. That's no crime either.”

“And it just slipped your mind?”

For a moment, Doug sat still, his face a study in belligerence and hatred, but finally, he leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of his face. “Go ahead and get that lawyer,” he said. “I'm not saying another blasted word.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

T
he radio news blared in the background as Keith Varner checked out the suit he would wear in court tomorrow. He would look like a competent businessman when he faced the judge, he thought, and Paige would play the role of a stringy-haired waif about to have a nervous breakdown. And the lawyer—he chuckled for a moment at the thought that she was going to appear in court to represent Paige. When he'd seen her on the news after the fire, she'd looked like someone who'd been beaten up. He could just see the judge's reaction to her propping herself up in the courtroom—complete with bruises and scrapes and the stitches that held her together—fighting for Paige. Her very presence would be all the argument he needed that she herself was in danger and, therefore, Brianna was in danger. By tomorrow night, he'd have Brianna at home.

He went into the empty bedroom in his apartment, kicked aside the piles of dirty laundry, and considered where he would put the child's bed. There, in the corner. Once the judge awarded him temporary custody, he'd ask him if he could get her bed from her home. That way she'd be comfortable with him. He just hoped she didn't cry all night like the last time he had her.

But that he blamed on Paige. She had filled the child's head full of lies, and until he got that woman out of his daughter's life, he would never get Brianna to bond with him. He had so many plans for them. She would learn to be dependent on him, to obey and respect him, to need him. . . .

He went back into his small den, knocked the newspapers out of his chair and onto the floor, and flicked on the television. Maybe there was another hint about where they were. Maybe they'd have something about the sheriff department's pitiful hunt for the arsonist.

He listened through two murders, a rally for a local politician, a mail fraud scam that had been uncovered.

“
—and in other news, an arrest was made today in the Lynda Bar-rett case—”

He leaned forward and turned it up, watching carefully as the film clip showed the mechanic being led through the precinct in handcuffs. Flopping back on his couch, Keith began to laugh. It was perfect. They were off his trail. They were hanging it on that poor bozo he'd heard Lynda name that day in her hospital room. It had been easy to find him, and using the gas can to lead them to where Chastain worked was ingenious. Now Lynda Barrett had a false sense of security. He loved it.

Now there would be another chance, he thought with a smile. If he didn't convince the judge to give him Brianna tomorrow, he could still make sure he got Lynda Barrett out of the way before the real hearing. It would take a host of angels to keep her alive the next time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

T
he telephone rang, and Lynda pulled it out of her jeans pocket, which was baggy enough to carry several small appliances. “Hello?”

“I hope I didn't wake you.”

It was Paige, and Lynda smiled at the sound of her voice. The house was getting awfully quiet. She abandoned the stack of books she'd been sorting through in the closet and sat down on the closest chair. “I just woke up a few minutes ago, and I've been sorting through some things to see if my dad left a Bible somewhere.”

“Any luck?”

“No. I know he had one, though. He used to wave it at me all the time.”

She could hear Paige's soft laughter. “I'll go buy you one if you want.”

Lynda sighed. “No, that's okay. I'll get one the next time Larry or Tony takes me somewhere.”

“Well, it doesn't look like that'll be necessary any more. The guy they picked up? Looks like he's the one.”

Lynda caught her breath. “Really? How do you know?”

“They called me a little while ago. Larry said you were tired when he brought you home and were probably sleeping, so he asked me to give you a couple of hours and then tell you. They shot his alibi to pieces, found gas stains in his car—it's him, Lynda. We're home free.”

Lynda leaned back in the chair. “No more guards? No more surprises?”

“Nope. They called the guard back to the precinct over an hour ago. Look out the window.”

Lynda got up and pulled the curtain back. For the first time since she'd come here last night, there was no one watching her from across the street. A chill went through her, and she had the fleeting sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff, leaning, leaning, with nothing to catch her when she fell. “They're gone.”

“That's right. You don't need them now.”

Lynda allowed the news to sink in for a moment. “I knew he didn't like me when I resigned from his case, but I didn't think he'd come back to kill me.”

“Well, at least he's behind bars. And we can come and go as we please. The only thing we have to fear is this hearing tomorrow.”

Lynda pushed aside her uneasiness and tried instead to concentrate on tomorrow. “This is perfect, Paige. Keith's motion is based on your putting Brianna in danger by being with me. That whole premise has just been shot into a million pieces. Once I tell the judge that I'm not in danger any longer, his theory is shot. And then I'll tell the court that your whereabouts are confidential due to Keith's threats and leave it at that. In fact, if you want to check out of the hotel right now, you can come here. It's probably okay now.”

“I don't know,” Paige said. “He's assuming I'm still with you.”

“But he doesn't know where I am.”

“I told you, Lynda. He's smart. He figures out ways to get information.”

“He's not
that
smart. He's just conditioned you to think so. But even if he did find out, he's not as likely to hassle you knowing I'm here as he might be if you were alone. I mean, I'm the one who's going to pull out all the stops when we finally get to trial. He won't want to give me any more ammunition to throw at him.”

Paige hesitated. “Even if you're right, I still think I should stay here tonight. If for some reason the judge asks you point blank if I'm staying with you, you can say no.”

Lynda sighed. “You're right, I guess. But how about tomorrow?”

“Are you sure you want us there?”

She heard the smile in Lynda's voice. “Of course I want you. I need company. I'm at my wit's end.”

“Okay, then,” she said. “Tomorrow. And about that Bible. Why don't I buy you one and bring it when I bring all the clothes I got for you?”

“Where's Brianna?”

“Watching Barney. It's almost over.”

Lynda looked down at the junk she'd begun sorting through. “Paige, if you would do that, it would be such a lifesaver. Use the credit card I gave you last night. I'll call the store and find out what translations they have and tell them what I want. Just ask the clerk when you get there. By the way, do you have one?”

“A Bible? Well . . . somewhere . . . at home.”

“Buy yourself one, too,” she said. “On me. A little thank-you for taking such good care of me. And get Brianna something, too.”

“Lynda, you don't have to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” Lynda whispered. “And you have to let me.”

A
few minutes later Lynda dialed her office number. “Do me a favor,” she told Sally. “Go back a couple of years and dig up Doug Chastain's file. I need to refresh my memory about his case.”

“I heard they'd arrested him,” Sally said. “Thank goodness. You want me to bring it to you along with the other papers I need to give you for tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she said. “We can meet this afternoon.”

“Are you going to tell me where you are yet?”