If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1) (16 page)

“Yes.”

Hampton hadn’t known that. “What time was that?”

Audrey looked at Rachael. “It was nearly two, I believe. I’m not sure exactly.”

“What time did you leave?”

“Around five? Five-ish.”

“Did Rachael seem like herself, Audrey? Was she acting peculiar at all?” Shayna asked.

“I don’t think so. She wasn’t doing anything weird. She used the same voice, talked to me and the kids, even talked to Caide. Would another personality know who we were?”

“It’s hard to say, each case is different. Typically, though, personalities don’t know each other.”

“Wait,” Hampton thought out loud, “you said she talked to Caide? Caide wasn’t home at that time. That’s impossible.”

“He called me,” Rachael spoke up. “He called to tell me he was working late,” she scoffed, but Hampton noticed the pain in her voice.

“How did that make you feel, Rachael?” Shayna asked, her eyes drilling into Rachael’s.

“I was upset, of course, but I’m used to it. I’ve come to expect it after all these…hang on. I didn’t tell you it was Caide who called, how could you have known that?” Rachael looked at her best friend in confusion.

“You weren’t exactly whispering, Rach. I heard you on the phone, sounding angry. When you came back you were doing that fake, tense smile like you do when something upsets you, particularly Caide. Plus, you fixed supper for the three of you, plus me. I did some educated guesswork.”

Rachael looked uneasy but Shayna was not phased. “Anger can be a trigger, in a lot of cases. Look, if you can just buy me some time, I’ll take anything I can get but as much as possible, I’ll agree to testify the results, no matter what they are.”

Hampton sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“I can try, if you really believe you’ve got something. I’ll go talk to the judge now, but I don’t want anyone to get their hopes up. He’s turned me down for a lot less before.”

Rachael nodded. Hampton led Audrey and Shayna out the doors and toward the judge’s chambers.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Judge Crafton

On fine days like today, the judge would’ve rather been outdoors, enjoying the cool, crisp weather of fall. He remembered the days before his Beth had left, before his son had moved away to college and forgot how to call, when they’d spend days like this at the beach, once all the tourists had left for the season. Nowadays, he just had Cedric to keep him company, his trusty Doberman. When Cedric had been small, Daniel used to bring him to work and let him sleep on a small pallet in the corner of his office. As time had passed and his friend grew larger and crankier though, even that pleasantry had been abandoned. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called.

His door swung open. Hampton entered, leading a woman with a deep tan complexion and strong jaw line that told Crafton she must have a strong Native American bloodline.

“Hampton, what can I do for you?”

“I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Shayna Steele.”

Ms. Steele stepped up, holding out her hand for Crafton to shake.

“Ms. Steele, it’s a pleasure to meet you. What can I do for you today?”

Hampton spoke up. “We’d like to request a continuance, sir.”

“A continuance? On what grounds?”

“Ms. Steele is a psychiatrist who believes my client to be innocent. She thinks, we think, my client made be suffering from a condition called dissociative identity disorder, possibly brought on after her accident. She’d like to prove it, sir, but we’ve run out of time. We only found each other a few minutes ago.”

“And what makes you believe Rachael Abbott may have dissociative—what was it again?”

“Dissociative identity disorder, better known as multiple personality disorder, has been the disorder that I have devoted the past five years of my life studying, your honor. It interests me extensively. I plan to make it my life’s work to know everything there is to know about it: how it works, how it’s treated, but most of all how it’s brought on. If I can run a few tests, possibly try hypnosis, I’d be able to know for sure whether Mrs. Abbott is a sufferer of DID and if so, be able to treat her. I don’t need long, and I’m willing to report my findings in trial, no matter whose side they help.”

“Why should I do this? Just so you can research? There must be hundreds of other patients out there.”

“Of course it’s not just for research,” Hampton interjected, “if Ms. Steele can prove my client is suffering from multiple personalities, then it proves she is innocent, legally. We’d agree to make an arrangement for her to attend therapy and take medication in exchange for her acquittal.” He paused, studying the judge’s face. “Look, if we don’t run these tests and my client is suffering from this, then we’ve just sent an innocent woman to prison. If we’re wrong and my client is perfectly healthy then the jury can convict her and you won’t hear another word from me.”

Crafton rolled his eyes. “Somehow I doubt that. You’ve never followed the rules, Hampton and I don’t expect that you’ll start following them anytime soon.”

“Your honor, I know you don’t have to do this but I’d consider it a personal favor. I know I’m right about this, we just need a little more time to prove it,” Hampton begged.

Crafton sat back in his chair, glancing back and forth from Hampton to Steele. Two sets of hopeful eyes met his.

“You let my client’s husband testify against her today. If that’s not bending the rules, I don’t know what is. Sir, please, we rushed the trial because it seemed like such a simple case, but I don’t believe it is. There are too many questions left unanswered, too many improbable circumstances. If we are right, this could help us clear up several issues and fill in a few blanks. This woman is a mother. Let’s not lock her up unless we’re sure.”

Crafton mumbled, rubbing his thinning scalp. “Even if I agree to this, and I’m not saying I will, I have a full docket for the next six weeks.”

“That’s perfect, actually,” Ms. Steele spoke up. “Six weeks is the perfect amount of time. We’ll have Rachael come to my office four times a week for all of the six weeks. That’s twenty-four sessions.”

“I will personally escort her to and from her home to each session.”

“Now, wait just a damn minute, you’re not actually expecting me to release her?”

Hampton looked at Ms. Steele who shrugged her shoulders. “Well, we think it would be best for Mrs. Abbott’s mental state if she were somewhere comfortable. Being out of her comfort zone, it’s likely to trigger other identities. We need to limit the stress she is under as much as possible in order for our sessions to be their most effective.”

“And if you’re wrong? Then we’re just allowing a killer a chance to run or kill again?”

“Place her on house arrest then. If she steps one toe out of the house, except to go to her sessions, then you can place her back in jail and we’ll end all of our sessions.”

“No,” Crafton said, then again more firmly, “No. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll agree to a six week continuance, but Mrs. Abbott stays in jail. She will wear a house arrest bracelet at all times that will be activated whenever she goes to and from her sessions. Four sessions a week, six weeks. Not one more, not one less. I want each of your sessions, notes, tests, and findings on my desk forty-eight hours before trial. Don’t leave a page out. I’ll have a doctor look over each of them and verify everything you’ve said. If there are discrepancies, if you guys try to blur the truth or cover up anything, I’ll pull both of your licenses so fast you won’t know what happened. Six weeks from today we’ll have a trial, you will both show up, and I won’t listen to any objections or crazy ideas. You’ll show your evidence, await the jury’s decision, and then we will all move on. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they echoed, grins spreading to their faces.

“Good. Now, Hampton, you’d better find Avery. This ought to be fun.”

***

Avery

Avery couldn’t help but smile as she was escorted to the judge’s chambers. Her trial was nearly over and it had been painless. She might even make it home in time to cook an actual meal for herself tonight. Gosh, did she even remember how to use the stove? Did stoves quit working after years of being ignored? She felt a twinge in her heart as she recalled the last time she’d made a meal, the night of her last anniversary, right before Lyle’s death. Before she could dwell on it too much, she was in front of Crafton’s door. She knocked anxiously.

“Come in,” he called.

She pushed the door open and was immediately met by Hampton and a tall, unfamiliar woman. This had bad written all over it.

“Hampton.” She nodded politely. “You wanted to see me, your honor?”

“Yes, Avery. Have a seat please,” Crafton responded dully.

“What’s this about?” She approached a chair but didn’t dare sit.

“Avery,” Crafton paused, “the defense has asked for a continuance based on newly discovered evidence. We’ll reconvene in six weeks to finish the trial.”

“A continuance? Is this a joke? What evidence? What could you possibly have?” She turned to face Hampton in disbelief.

“Something that may clear Mrs. Abbott of all charges.” The giant of a woman spoke up, her face smug and unkind.

“And who are you?” Avery asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m Shayna Steele, Mrs. Abbott’s psychiatrist.”

“Mrs. Abbott’s what? What are you playing at Hampton?”

“Jeanna, it’s already been decided. That’s all there is to it. Their case was enough to convince me and that’s all you need to know,” Crafton answered stiffly, then added, “We’ll see you in six weeks.”

Avery turned to Hampton once more, a fiery look in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re up to Hampton, but I don’t buy it, not one bit. I’ll see you all in six weeks.” She nodded politely at the judge once more, backing calmly out of the room, trying to ignore that pungent look on Hampton’s face. She tried to tell herself, whatever Hampton was up to, it had to be just an effort to buy time. He couldn’t actually have something to help his case. Avery had looked at this case from every angle and there was no way she was going to lose to Argus Hampton, she’d make sure of it.

***

Judge Crafton

Crafton entered the court room, trying to uphold his firm face. This was the part of his day he hated the very most. Issuing a continuance, especially in a case like this, usually led to an uproar, a media uprising, and an aggravated jury—none of which Daniel felt like dealing with today.

He took his seat, meeting worried and anxious eyes all around. “You may be seated,” he addressed the room. They sat.

As the commotion died down, he cleared his throat. “In light of recent evidence, the defense has requested a continuance.” He paused, waiting for an outcry. When he heard nothing he continued. “Which I have granted. Mrs. Abbott will be held in the county jail for the next six weeks while the new evidence is being evaluated. We will reconvene in six weeks, at which point a decision will be made. Jurors, I ask that you all meet a bailiff in the conference room after we dismiss to be briefed on the protocol for continuances. Any scheduling conflicts are to be rescheduled. Until then, I’ll see you in six weeks. We’re adjourned.” He pounded his gavel, standing before anyone else could speak.

He didn’t dare meet Avery or Hampton’s eyes, for fear they’d try to speak to him again, though he couldn’t help but notice Shayna Steele sitting behind Hampton, her eyes locked firmly with his. She was noticeable. She smiled up at him. He hurried to his chambers, slamming the door behind him, slipping off his robe. He needed a drink. He pulled out a glass and poured Scotch into it, the smell hitting his nose quickly. He glanced at the time, 2:30 p.m.
He sighed. He was long past the years of worry that he’d started drinking too early in the day. He gulped the drink down, welcoming the warm, familiar burn.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rachael

Argus hadn’t had time to tell Rachael the judge’s decision before she was hauled into the courtroom, so hearing that she wasn’t being sent to prison today filled her heart with joy. She could’ve leapt with joy, throwing her arms around Argus’s neck and…she shook her head, forcing the daydream to end. Instead she stood quietly, batting back tears and keeping her face solemn just as she’d been instructed to. As the judge dismissed them, she turned to Argus, unsure of what to say. “Thank you. Whatever you did, thank you so much.”

He patted her arm, like a child, and shook his head slightly. “Not here,” he whispered below his breath, his eyes looking around the room. “Take care of yourself, nose down. I’ll be in touch.”

“But—” she protested.

He put his fingers to her lips, silencing her. Her lips burned from his touch. “Don’t argue, they’re going to take you back to your cell now. I’m not coming this time. I’ll be back next week, maybe sooner. If you need something, call.”

She nodded, fear filling her chest at the thought of going back to the cell she’d never wanted to see again.

“I meant what I said, Rachael.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, looking at her with worry. “I need you to promise me you’ll take care of yourself in there. Don’t cause trouble, don’t react to other inmates, just fade into the crowd, okay? If I spend all my time worrying about you, I can’t focus my energy on the case. I need your word. I need your word that you won’t fall apart, like before. You have to eat, you have to sleep. Don’t cry and, whatever you do, don’t talk to anyone about your case without me, not the cops, not your cell mate, not your family. No one but me and Shayna, okay?”

Rachael nodded.

“No one is going to look out for you in there. No one is going to let you cry on their shoulder or force you to eat. It’s a different world. You were only there for a few days. I need you to be okay for six weeks. I need that.”

Rachael nodded, though his words stung her. She’d been trying to hold it together, she honestly had. She was doing her very best not to crumble. She was terrified of her own mind and whoever else might be in here with her, she missed her children more than she could comprehend, and on top of it all her heart was just broken. Everything she’d thought she’d known had been shattered before her eyes and she’d long since run out of the glue to put it all back together. Before she had a chance to say anything else, she felt a hand grab her arm. She turned to see the younger of the two bailiffs.

“Come on lady, back to your cell.” He smiled at her, pulling on her cuffs so that they dug into her already bruised wrists. She tried not to let Argus see her grimace, for fear he’d accuse her of being weak. Instead she stepped back, meeting his eyes one last time with the bravest face she could muster.