Indiscretions (27 page)

Mistakenly, she thought that if she could keep her eyes closed, she could keep reality at bay. Yet, even in sleep, nightmarish visions of the guards leading Sean away played havoc with her nerves. The visions hung on the edge of her conscience, tormenting her, ridiculing her for her failure. All of the jeering faces laughed at her, pointed fingers at her, and Sean stood in the midst of them all, sober, accusing with those eyes of sable.

The torturous shadows loomed closer, and she felt herself struggling to fight them off. One dark hand reached for her, and she sprang up in her bed, a cold sweat running down her back. She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, trying to force the relentless dreams back into the shadows.

The phone rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She quickly gazed at the bedside clock. It was already noon.

The phone rang again. She even imagined it was more insistent this time, forcing her to respond.

“Yes?” she breathed, trying to draw on her last bit of strength.

“Ms. Phillips, this is Stacy Jeffries, Mr. Counts' secretary,” she said in a husky whisper.

The hair on the back of Khendra's neck bristled.

“I can't talk now,” Stacy said, “but I need to meet you somewhere. I know things.”

“What is this about, Stacy?” she asked, suspicion replacing animosity.

“It's about Sean Michaels.” Her heart skipped a beat.

“I have some information that I think can help you.”

“Can't you tell me anything now?”

“No. I really can't. Please—just meet me. You name the place.”

Khendra thought for a moment. “The Parrot Club. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes. I'll be there at one o'clock.”

“I'll be there.” Khendra absently hung up the phone, her brain rapidly trying to disseminate this latest development.

What could Stacy possibly know that would help Sean? Unless—

The jazz club/restaurant was dimly lit. Had it been later in the evening, it would have been full of customers and jazz aficionados. The Parrot Club was notorious for spotlighting some of the best jazz artists in the Atlanta area as well as the renowned greats.

Khendra had ordered a bottle of spring water and a chef's salad while she waited for Stacy's arrival. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the scents of the home-style cooking drifted to her nostrils.

She took a bite of the salad, which was covered in bleu cheese dressing, just as Stacy slid into the seat facing her. “Ms. Phillips, we've never formally met, but I've seen you around the building,” Stacy said, extending her hand, which Khendra shook. “I'm Stacy Jeffries.” She quickly looked around as though expecting someone to walk up behind her at any moment. “I know that my phone call sounded real cloak and dagger, but I was just trying to be careful.”

Khendra inhaled and leaned back in her seat, gauging Stacy with quiet caution.

“You said you know something about my client,” she said in a low voice, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

Stacy took another glance around the room and took a quick sip of ice water. “I know things about Alex Counts.”

Khendra's pulse began to escalate. “Yes?”

“That scarf that the woman was strangled with…”

Khendra nodded.

“…Well, about two months ago—”

Khendra sped across the freeway, her brain traveling faster than the lightning-quick Volvo. She finally had a lead that made some sense. It was a slim lead, but at least it was a start. Now all she had to do was fit the rest of the pieces of the puzzle together. She pulled up in front of the Mirage Boutique that Stacy had told her about, pushed through swinging doors and headed for the accessories counter.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Khendra stood over Mr. Damato's secretary.

“I must see him. It's urgent. I have some information that is vital to my case.”

“But Ms. Phillips, I just explained to you that he's busy,” the young girl said in a polished voice. “If you could come back later—”

“What's all the commotion, Phyllis?” Ed Damato stepped out of his office, surprise registering on his face at seeing Khendra.

“Ms. Phillips? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk. I was just given some very interesting information, which could very well implicate someone else in the Michaels case.”

“Come inside,” he said solemnly. “And Phyllis, hold all my calls.”

Ed Damato had been in the legal business for nearly twenty-five years. He prided himself on his record and on knowing when he had a good case. But this Michaels case disturbed him from the beginning. Yet, he had moved ahead, though reluctantly. Now, what was more disturbing, he may have been right from the outset.

Khendra explained what she had been told by Stacy, hope and ironclad determination rimming her voice. She knew she was hanging by a thread, but at this point she would try anything.

Ed leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands across his protruding belly and exhaled deeply. “It's not enough,” he said finally. “The fact that Counts' secretary purchased a scarf that was identical to the murder weapon does not constitute enough evidence for me to reopen this case. Even the Mirage salesclerk's statement that the scarf was a one-of-a-kind design isn't going to cut it. You have to give me more.”

Khendra rose from her seat, looking firm and resolute. “I will,'” she stated simply. She picked up her briefcase and walked out of the office.

As Khendra pulled her car out of the lot, she was busy planning her next step. She didn't want to say anything to Sean. At least, not yet. There was no point in getting his hopes up prematurely. But first, she had to take a short trip to New York. If her hunch played out, she'd have more to go on.

The door chimes of the Gordon mansion tinkled in the background. Moments later, a middle-aged housekeeper appeared at the door.

“Yes?” the woman asked suspiciously, looking over Khendra's shoulder for any signs of reporters.

“My name is Khendra Phillips. I'm the attorney for Sean Michaels.”

The woman tried to close the door in her face.

Khendra pushed it back open.

“Please,” she implored. “I just need a few minutes of Judge Gordon's time. I have some information about his daughter's murder.”

“Mr. Gordon isn't talking to anyone. Now go away.” She pushed the door again, this time with force.

Khendra shoved back. “Listen, if you'll just tell the judge I'm here, I'm sure he'll want to talk to me,'” she said, her voice rising in agitation.

“Cora, what is it?” came a deep voice from down the hall.

Khendra looked past the determined woman to see Bradford Gordon roll toward the open door in his wheelchair. She was surprised to see that he looked so robust and healthy. He had suffered a massive stroke years earlier and had retired from the bench. However, by looking at him, clad in a mint-green cable-knit sweater and dark gray slacks, one would doubt that anything could ever affect this powerful-looking man.

“Judge Gordon, please, I need to speak with you. It's about your daughter.”

Cora stood rigidly at the door, ready to spring at the direction of her boss.

“Let her in, Cora,” he said in a flat voice. He maneuvered his chair down the hallway and disappeared into one of the numerous rooms.

Khendra stepped past the reluctant Cora and entered the enormous foyer. She was momentarily overcome by the exquisite decor of the house. The cathedral ceilings were inlaid with intricately designed tiles, which dropped dramatically to walls that were covered in a rich damask fabric. The carpeted interior, which was adorned with several brass urns containing an overflow of brilliant plants, led to rooms on either side of the hallway.

In the center of the foyer hung the most astonishing chandelier she had ever seen. It appeared to shimmer and dance with the light that poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Cora took her coat and led her to a room where Gordon was seated near a French door that opened onto the garden. The walls of the room were lined with built-in cabinets filled with columns of books.

“Come in, Ms. Phillips,” he directed in his legendary deep basso voice.

Khendra took a seat on a low gray leather sofa.

She smoothed her crimson-colored ultrasuede sheath and faced him.

“Judge Gordon,” she began in a low voice, “I'll get to the point. I need your help. I believe that I've come across information that may lead to the true murderer of your daughter.”

She saw the pain that momentarily spread across his cocoa features, but it was quickly replaced by his notorious impassive look.

“I'm listening.”

Khendra slowly and methodically explained what she had found out and her suspicions, presenting to him the statements made by both Stacy and the salesclerk at the boutique.

“What do you want from me, Ms. Phillips? I told the Atlanta police everything I know.

“Do you have any reason to believe your daughter was involved with someone?”

“The only thing she told me was that I was not to worry. She was being taken care of.”

“Did she ever say by whom?”

“Carol was very secretive, Ms. Phillips.”

“Were you aware that she was involved with drugs again?”

He visibly winced. “Not until I read the papers,” he said in a nearly inaudible voice.

Khendra inhaled deeply before she dared to ask her next question. “What was her relationship with Alex Counts?”

For several moments she thought he didn't hear her question, and she started to ask again, when he responded.

“He was her godfather.” He was silent a moment before he continued as though looking back at his past. “Alex and I went to George Washington University together. We have been friends since childhood. When Carol was born, he took her under his wing as though she were his own, They had a very close relationship all during her growing up years. My wife, God rest her soul, said that it was too close. But I never listened. Alex is my friend,” he added in a faraway voice. His eyes drifted off.

“Were you sending money to your daughter, Judge Gordon?”

He shook his head. “I told her to stay out of Atlanta. I knew that Sean was there and all he had been through after their divorce. I told her if she went, I wouldn't give her a cent. She said she didn't care, but she promised to stay away from him.”

“Who would she have turned to?”

Silence.

And then finally in a voice filled with anguish and a frightened realization, he said, “Alex.”

“I know this is hard for you, but I believe an innocent man's life is at stake. Do you honestly believe Sean is capable of murdering your daughter?”

He simply shook his head, his eyes dark with loss.

“Thank you, Judge.” She rose from her seat. “I believe I know who did, and I'm going to prove it.” She strode from the room, her spirits lifted for the first time in months. But there was still so much to do, and time was running out.