Jailhouse Glock (11 page)

After pulling it out of his pocket he followed the prompts until
the image of the killer popped onto the screen. Once again he
watched the woman in the uniform kill Bernardi before going after Foxworthy.

Then it hit him! Seeing it now made him wonder how he could have missed it the other four times he'd viewed the footage. It was that obvious when you were looking for it.

He pushed the Replay button, then brought the phone closer to his face for a better look. He had no idea what it meant, if it even meant anything, but right before the shooter took aim at Foxworthy, the camera had caught the look on his face. A man staring up at the barrel of a gun should have been panicking and trying to get out of the killer's range. Foxworthy was doing neither. He had simply
looked up, and in the split second before the gun went off, he may have
even smiled.

Before Colt could process what that might mean, Flanagan burst
into the room, obviously excited. “You're not gonna believe this,
boss.”

“Where's the orderly?” Colt asked, putting away his phone and standing up.

“That's what you're not gonna believe. They've looked everywhere. He's gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”

“No one's seen him since about an hour ago, and his locker is cleaned out.”

All of a sudden, everything was beginning to make sense to Colt. “Call Mark Lowell and tell him to get down here with his CSI team right away. Then cordon off this area. It looks like this room may be a crime scene.”

twelve

Anthony Pirelli stared at
the report in front of him, wondering how anyone could think that Madelyn Castillo had it in her to kill a person in cold blood, even someone as sleazy as Gino Bernardi. If his new client did by chance possess hidden psychopathic tendencies, he was doing a favor for a man way more powerful than he was to find out if the prisoner had confided in her before his death. If there was even the slightest possibility that Bernardi had chatted her up the night he was killed, Tony was their best bet to find out what was said.

If she hadn't killed Bernardi, setting her up for the murder had been a stroke of genius and had required intense planning on the killer's part. He'd lay odds that the Vineyard Sheriff's Department would need a lot of help to prove her innocence, even though she was one of their own. In his opinion, the local cops were way out of their league with this case, and he hoped his client wouldn't pay the price because of it.

Proving she was innocent was a challenge since the evidence
against her would be difficult to explain away. Even having spent
only a little time with her, he'd already decided she was someone he'd get along with under different circumstances. But he'd have to maintain a professional relationship, at least until the trial was over.

He got up and walked to the minibar in the boardroom lined with multiple pictures of his dad and his
powerful
friends. After Mario Pirelli had died in his jail cell many years back, young Tony had dedicated his life to making his dad proud. And this room had been turned into a shrine in his memory.

He poured two fingers of whiskey, threw back his head, and
drained it. Two in the afternoon was a little early to be drinking alone,
but something about this case had him on edge.

Maybe it was the fact he'd basically been ordered to take Maddy on as a client that had him unnerved. Vineyard was a forty-minute
drive from his office in downtown Dallas, and his
plate was already filled with some high-profile murder cases. Ever since he'd beaten the district attorney's best prosecutor not once, but three times on cases he shouldn't have won, he'd enjoyed a reputation as a lawyer with the best chance of getting someone off—even if that someone had been found holding the smoking gun.

He'd almost had his secretary call and say that his schedule was too tight right now to take on another case. That was before a messenger had arrived at his townhouse on Friday night with the preliminary paperwork.

And on a holiday weekend, no less. When he'd argued that his caseload already had him working eighty hours a week, they hadn't
been sympathetic. Even guilted him by pointing out that his dad would
have been the first one to help them if he were still alive.

Mario Pirelli had always believed his son should come up the business ladder the hard way. If adding an extra twenty hours to an already busy work schedule was necessary, he wouldn't have thought
twice about making his son put in the time. The fact that Tony's social
life was almost nonexistent anyway wouldn't have mattered to the old man.

What little contact Tony had with the female gender added up to a whole lot of first dates over the past six months. An expensive dinner and a lot of sweet talking usually got him breakfast in bed, but he didn't have the time or the inclination right now to work on developing a long-term relationship with any of his one-night stands.

In essence, he was married to the job. Maybe that was why he'd felt a strange tightness in his groin when he'd gotten his first look at the accused cop herself. But he was pretty sure an expensive meal and a come-on smile wouldn't get him an invite into her bedroom.

Maintaining a business relationship with all his clients was essential to his success, and he'd have to be very careful around her. The story she'd related about the night Gino Bernardi was killed was hard to swallow with no evidence to support it. But in the end, he was left with no choice about taking her case. Not if he wanted to take over where his father had left off.

When the call came in from back east on Friday, Tony had a feeling his weekend plans would be shot to hell. You don't say no to “an offer you can't refuse” and walk away with intact kneecaps.

Growing up in a small town in New Jersey, he'd understood about the well-dressed men who'd come to their house late at night. These weren't your average citizens seeking legal advice. And they sure as hell didn't make their money running restaurants or dry cleaning establishments. When they'd show up at the Pirelli house with their bodyguards after hours, his father would drop everything to take care of them. Even before the senior Pirelli had become the target of an FBI investigation for tax evasion, Tony had concluded that his father's clients were not your usual run-of-the-mill rich guys in silk suits.

A week after Tony's dad learned that the FBI was actively investigating him, he'd begun making plans to uproot his wife and two sons and move to Dallas. He'd been so sure the grand jury wouldn't have enough evidence against him, he'd even bought a house in a wealthy suburb. Two weeks later the indictment came down and the plans were put on hold.

After his conviction, Tony's mother wanted to stay close to her husband and refused to leave New Jersey. Shortly after that, Mario was diagnosed with an aggressive form of lung cancer and died five months later.

A year later, Tony graduated from Harvard Law School, and he, his mother, and his brother followed his father's last wish and moved to the Metroplex. With the help of his father's old friends back in Jersey, Tony had been hired as an associate with one of the most prestigious firms in Dallas. Like the other first-year associates, he'd started at the bottom and quickly worked his way up.

That had been eight years ago, and over that time he had turned the law firm into one of the most successful in the city. Soon after that, he'd put out his own shingle and now had his pick of clients, most of them rich and famous—and guilty.

His brother had majored in business and moved back to the East Coast three years ago to work with his father's old “friends.” That's when Tony started getting calls from New Jersey, with requests for little favors. At first it was only things like helping a widowed woman win a lawsuit against her landlord or keeping someone's teenage son out of juvie.

And although the requests had increased lately, none were as involved as this latest one. Tony hoped it wouldn't be a precedent to future favors.

Madelyn Castillo didn't fit the profile of his usual wealthy client. She'd made it perfectly clear that it would be a challenge to scrape up enough money for the retainer even though he'd quoted her a figure that was only a fifth of what he'd normally required up front.

He'd thought it best to ask for some money to keep her from becoming overly suspicious. But what Maddy didn't know was that he'd been prepared to take her on as a pro bono client if it had come down to it. All he'd been told about the case was that the request had included a specific goal.

“Find out what the scumbag told her that night in jail. See if she knows anything about the necklace,” the voice had commanded.

Necklace.
Somebody in New Jersey wanted him on Maddy's defense team to find out if she knew anything about a necklace.

Must be one helluva piece of jewelry.

_____

Maddy placed the French toast in front of her daughter, struggling
to find the right words to ask about the picture taken on their
porch. She didn't want to scare her, but she had to know why she'd been talking to Bernardi.

“Don't forget, Mom. We're going on a field trip to the Dallas Aquar
ium today, and I won't be home until after five,” Jessie said as she poured way too much syrup over her breakfast. “Mrs. Delgado said she'd drop me off afterward.”

“I know. She called and told me. You've never been to the aquarium before, so it should be a lot of fun. Do you need extra money?” Maddy was glad her back was toward Jessie since her daughter could read her better than anyone else.

The truth was, money was tight right now, and she wouldn't get paid until Friday. Most of last week's paycheck had gone toward the ten grand retainer for her defense lawyer. Anthony Pirelli was mak
ing a second trip to Vineyard on Friday to finalize the financial
arrangement and to discuss any new findings on her case. He was bringing his entire legal team to spend a couple of hours going over the details of the night Bernardi was murdered, and he'd made it clear he would need the money then.

So far she'd managed to scrape up nearly eight thousand dollars, counting the money both Lainey and Deena had contributed. She'd worry about the other two grand later. Right now she was more interested in why the police had found a picture of the dead man standing on her front porch the week before he'd been killed.

“I just need a couple of bucks for a hot dog and a soda or some
thing.” Jessie studied Maddy's face before adding, “but I can take a
cheese sandwich and an apple instead.”

“Who are you and where's my daughter?” Maddy joked. “You'd give up a hot dog and a Coke for a cheese sandwich?” She reached into her purse and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “Here, sweetheart. I'm sure there'll be a special souvenir you'll want to bring home, too.”

She pictured her daughter eating from a bag lunch while her class
mates pigged out on all the overpriced food available at the aquarium. Cotton candy and kettle corn were half the fun of going on field trips. There was no way she'd allow Jessie to give up something like that, even if it meant pulling her own budget reins even tighter. This was her mess, and she intended to find a way to make it go away.

She'd already given up her daily Caramel Macchiato at Starbucks and figured that alone saved her over twenty bucks a week. The next thing that would have to go was cable TV. They barely had time to watch it, anyway.

A second cup of coffee in hand, she grabbed the manila folder from the counter and sat down at the kitchen table opposite her daughter. When Jessie popped the last bite of French toast into her mouth and reached for the glass of orange juice, Maddy decided it was now or never.

“Hey, sweetie, I have a question for you.” She opened the folder and pulled out the picture of Bernardi and Jess on the porch. After sliding it across the table, she asked, “Do you remember talking to this man?”

She held her breath waiting for the response. If Jessie told her that Bernardi had said or done anything inappropriate, she didn't know if she'd be able to handle it. She already felt guilty enough as it was that her daughter was a latchkey kid. But afterschool care was pricey, and with Maddy occasionally doing shift work down at the station, it wasn't worth it. She'd been surprised to find out she'd have to pay the weekly fee to a day care center even when she worked the night shift and didn't need for Jessie to go there after school. She had argued that her job required her to work all hours and they should consider that, but the school wouldn't relent. Policy is policy, they told her.

That's when she'd made the decision to allow her ten-year-old daughter to ride the bus home from school and to stay at home alone for the two hours before she could get there after working the day shift. Even though she insisted that Jessie call her every thirty minutes after she was in the house with the door locked, the guilt still overwhelmed her. Especially at times like this when she felt like such a bad mother.

She was so caught up in her own thoughts she didn't notice her daughter picking up the photo until after she'd laid it back down. Neither said a word but it was obvious by the look on Jessie's face that she thought she was in trouble.

“Yeah, I remember the guy.”

The knot in Maddy's stomach tightened. “I told you never to open
the door when I'm not here.”

“I didn't, Mom. Honest. I couldn't find my notebook and thought maybe I'd dropped it on the walk from the bus to the house.” Her eyes pleaded with Maddy to understand. “He pulled up in a big fancy car. I hurried to get into the house, but he just kept following me and asking questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Stupid ones. I think he was lost or something.”

Maddy closed her eyes so Jess wouldn't see the tears that had formed.
That was the classic MO of a pedophile.

“He showed me a picture of some guy at a bar with a woman. Said the guy lived here.”

“Oh my God, Jess, you should have run into the house and locked the door. You know I told you to call 911 if you ever felt like you were in trouble. He could've been a pervert.”

“I had my phone with me, Mom. And Mrs. Rutledge was out in
her yard pulling weeds. If the man had tried to grab me, I would have
screamed, and she would have come immediately.” Jessie leaned over and wiped the lone tear that had escaped down Maddy's face.

Maddy took a deep breath and tried to smile. No sense making this a bigger deal than it was.

“I didn't tell you because I knew you would freak—just like you're doing right now,” Jessie continued. “Besides, I only talked to him long enough to tell him there were no guys living here. I told him it was just you and me and that you were a cop. Figured that would scare him off. I even offered to call you at the station to see if you knew this Alan person he was asking about, but he got really nervous and left right after that.”