Jailhouse Glock (7 page)

For a nanosecond Maddy thought about his reasons before she
nodded. Who cared why he wanted to take the case? The man was willing to represent her at a more than 60 percent discount. But 60 percent of what? She forced herself to press. “I need a dollar amount, Tony. Of course, I realize it can change—will change, but without a hard number I can’t wrap my head around it.” Mentally, she crossed her fingers.

“For you, my retainer is ten thousand up front, and the sooner I get it the faster I can get the experts out there gathering evidence. Is that going to be a problem?”

Hell yes, that’s gonna be a problem,
she thought, but she wasn’t about to tell him that and ruin her best chance to beat the murder rap. “I can get a check to you in a few days,” she responded, already thinking of places to begin looking for the money.

Her mother used to say you couldn’t get blood out of a turnip, and it was never so true as it was now. She only had two grand left in her savings account after paying for the remodel. She’d have to see about borrowing against her 401K, something she’d sworn never to do. That money was earmarked for Jessie’s college fund.

Pirelli took a sip of his coffee. “You do know you won’t be able to use any of the twenty-five grand that showed up in your bank account last week, right?”

She sighed. “I had completely forgotten about that. I have no idea how it got there,” she said, praying he believed her. Although he’d basically said it didn’t matter if she was guilty or not, for some reason it was important that this man be convinced of her innocence.

“I’m working on that,” he said before pulling out a file from his
briefcase and spreading the papers on the table in front of him. While he looked them over, Maddy used the time to do the same to him.

About six-two with a body that screamed gym membership, Anthony Pirelli had dark wavy hair cut just above his ears and smoky brown eyes that seemed to look right through you. Dressed in a charcoal suit with a light-gray shirt and matching tie, he could’ve stepped right out of any TV legal drama. Maddy had yet to see him really smile, but somehow, she knew it would make her weak at the knees.

“Can you think of anybody who would want to hurt you,
Maddy?”

She forced her eyes back up to his face, embarrassed to have been caught looking. “Tessa thinks it’s more about me being an easy mark rather than someone having a personal grudge against me.” Too late she realized her mistake and clamped her lips shut.

“Tessa?”

“I’m sorry. Tessa is my sister who died last year. I don’t know why I said her name. I meant to say my sister Lainey. She’s married to Sheriff Winslow.”

You’re forgetting that I was married to Colt, too,
Tessa reminded her.
Apparently, the good sheriff has a thing for the Garcia girls.

“Hmm. We might be able to use that to our advantage when we ask for information from that department.” He picked up a picture of Bernardi lying dead on the cell block floor. “And you didn’t know this man before the other night?”

“Actually, I did, but only because we’ve booked him several times before on a variety of charges, most of them stemming from drinking way too much booze and throwing a fist. Usually, he was out before the ink dried on his paperwork.”

“And why was this time different?”

She shrugged. “Bernardi said his lawyer was somewhere in the Caribbean.”

“You talked to Bernardi?”

She wondered if she should tell him about how the man had hit on her, then decided against it. “Briefly when I took him a late-night snack.” When the lawyer looked confused, she added, “He was diabetic.”

“What’d you talk about?”

His boner! The man was arrogant enough to think he might get laid.

No way Maddy was telling him that. “He mentioned that the guy in the next cell had hit on his girlfriend. Apparently, that’s what started the brawl at the bar.” She lifted her cup and drained what was left of the coffee before adding, “That’s the first time I’d ever really spoken to him.”

“You’re sure about that?” He studied her intently.

“Positive. Outside of a jail cell, I’d never seen nor spoken to the man before.”

Pirelli shuffled through the papers and pulled out several sheets, staring at them momentarily before displaying them in front of her. “Then how do you account for this?”

She stared. A rush of apprehension so gripping it made her light
headed raced through her body. Colt had been right. Bernardi’s
death was not the action of a small-time killer looking to conveniently put the blame on her. There was a way more sinister reason why
the man had been killed, and she had the sinking feeling she’d been part of a well-planned execution all along.

Picking up the paper in front of her, she studied the dead man’s phone records, horrified to see her number highlighted on four separate occasions. “I swear I’ve never spoken to Bernardi on the phone for any reason,” she said, her voice barely a whisper now.

Pirelli slid a picture across the table. “So you can explain this?”

An audible gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. There in front of her, in black and white, was the unmistakable image of Gino Bernardi standing outside her front door talking to her daughter.

eight

Maddy stared at the
photo, unable to speak. What was her Jessie doing on their porch talking to Bernardi? And when had this happened?

Oh God!
She had to talk to her daughter right now—had to make sure Bernardi hadn’t said or done anything inappropriate. Surely, Jess would have told her if he had.

“So you’re saying you had no idea the dead man visited your house?”

Maddy turned sharply to face Tony Pirelli. She’d been so worried about seeing Bernardi chatting it up with Jess, she’d almost forgotten her lawyer was sitting across the kitchen table and interviewing her about killing a man.

“I need to talk to my daughter,” she said, reaching for her cell phone before remembering that Jessie was in school. As much as she wanted answers, calling her out of class after what happened a few nights before would only scare her more. It would have to wait until she got home.

Maddy shoved the phone back into her purse before pushing away from the table and walking over to the sink. She poured herself another cup of coffee then remembered her manners. “Want a refill?”

Tony shook his head. “No thanks. I have to be in court in Dallas at two.” He glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time left.” Moving
the picture of Jessie and Bernardi to the side, he pointed to the dead man’s phone records. “And you have no recollection of ever speaking with this man before the other night at—”

“Never,” she interrupted. “I would know if
…
” Her eyes widened as she suddenly remembered something that might be relevant. “I’d
almost forgotten about the wrong numbers. I never thought anything
of it until just now, but I have been getting a few lately.” She rubbed the area above her right eye as if that would magically produce a reason why her number was on the sheet in front of her. “A man asked to speak to a Martin something or other.”

“All four times?” He pointed to the records again.

She blew out a breath, hating that she couldn’t remember all the details of something that was so important now. “I think so.”

“Can you remember when you got these wrong numbers? Specifically, I’m wondering if any of them correlate with the calls made to your cell from Bernardi’s phone?”

She shrugged. “I can’t be sure, although I do recall getting one af
ter
midnight on a weekday. I was ready to give someone a piece of my
mind for waking me up, and it was a wrong number.”

Tony studied the phone records before a half smile spread across
his face. “One of the calls was made last week at two fifteen in the
morning.”

“That must be it,” she said, excited and feeling a bit vindicated until she noticed that the smile on her lawyer’s face had faded. “What?”

“Unfortunately, there’s no way to prove this was a wrong number.” He studied the sheet again. “Can you think back to then. Why did you stay on the line for three minutes?”

She grabbed the phone records out of his hand. “I vaguely remember now that he insisted this Martin person was there and that he really needed to talk to him. He was argumentative and persistent, and when I couldn’t get him to believe that whoever he was looking for wasn’t here, I hung up on him.”

“That’s not a lot to go on, but at least it’ll give me something to work with.” He gathered up the papers and put them into his briefcase. “I’ll come back at the end of the week to report on any progress we make.” After picking up the briefcase, he walked to the door before turning once again to face Maddy. “I’ll need that check by then.”

She nodded. For a few minutes after he was gone, she stared at the door. How in the hell was she going to come up with that kind of money by the end of the week?

_____

Jake Matthews pulled up to the Cowboys Galore Bar and Grill, noticing the parking lot was already crowded, despite the fact it was only a little after one in the afternoon. Even for him that was a tad too early to start boozing it up.

He parked his pickup between two others, glad his three-year-old F150 didn’t stand out like a sore thumb. In his line of work staying low key was vital. He locked the door with a click and headed for the bar. No sooner had he walked in when he noticed two men involved in a loud debate by the pool table. Seems one of them thought the other was cheating. Before they came to blows, they must’ve worked it out because in no time they were back at the game like nothing had happened.

Jake took a special interest in one of them, recognizing him from the few occasions he’d been at the bar spying on Gino Bernardi. He decided to find out if the guy knew Gino.

After sauntering over to where they were, he slid onto a barstool directly in front of the billiards table. Motioning to the bartender, he ordered a beer, then took a long sip before swiveling around, pretending to be interested in the game.

The shorter of the two men, the one he didn’t recognize, had on a pair of jeans and a tank top. The one he had noticed a few times before in the bar was dressed in typical Texas cowboy gear; tight black jeans and a button-down plaid shirt. Jake grinned as he realized he was wearing a nearly identical outfit. He’d bet money this guy drove one of the pickups parked beside his own in the parking lot.

He decided to make his move. “Nice break,” he said after the man started a new game, sending four balls into the pockets.

The cowboy tipped his hat. “Lucky shot.” He turned back in time to see his opponent miss one before addressing Jake once again. “You play?”

Jake laughed. “Let’s say I play at it. If I only had half your skills, I’d be happy.” Okay, that was laying it on a little thick, but he had a job to do, and nobody could resist a little buttering up.

This cowboy was no different. He grinned before calling the eight ball in the side pocket and then sending it there after a double bank that could only be described as awesome.

Jake whistled, thoroughly impressed. “Yes, sir, you do have game. How about I buy you a drink for letting me watch and learn?”

“No redneck worth his salt would ever turn down a free drink.” The cowboy waved his arm for the bartender. “Randy, I’ll have a Scotch rocks and put it on this guy’s tab.” He extended his hand. “Carter Jackson. And you are?”

Jake shook his hand. “Jake Matthews. I’m new in town and thought
what better place to get the skinny than at the local bar. You come here often?”

“Often enough. What kind of information you looking for?” A minute after the bartender brought the drinks over, Carter tapped his empty glass on the wooden bar to get his attention again. “Randy, bring me a double Scotch and another beer for my friend here.”

“For starters, I need a place to stay. Do you know of a decent hotel that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg around here?”

The cowboy squinted in deep thought. “There’s a place right off
Highway 114 that you might try. I’ve heard it’s reasonable.” He grinned.
“Also heard it was nicknamed No-Tell Motel, if you get my drift.”

Jake laughed. “Oh yeah! I’ve been to a few of those myself over the years.”

Carter tsked. “Haven’t we all?”

“So I take it this bar is a good place to hang out?”

“One of the best,” Carter said before throwing back his head and draining his glass.

“Heard there was a brawl in here the other night. Were you here?”

“Not sure I’d call it a brawl. Some short dude made the mistake of pinching a girl’s ass right in front of her way bigger boyfriend. Things got ugly in a hurry for the little guy before the cops came and broke it up.”

Jake motioned to the bartender for another round. This conversation was beginning to get interesting, and more liquor couldn’t hurt.

After the bartender set the full drink in front of his new friend, Jake decided to quit beating around the bush and get right to his questions. “Did you know any of the guys involved in that fight?”

Carter took a sip, licked his lips, then reached for a pretzel from the bowl in front of him. “The big guy’s a regular here, but I’d never seen the other dude before.” He shoved the pretzel into his mouth before turning to Jake. “Heard they were both shot in their jail cells that night?”

Now we’re talking,
Jake thought. And it had only taken three
drinks.

“Seriously? How’d that happen?” he asked innocently.

“Apparently the cop on duty
…
” His eyes widened as he stopped talking and stared across the room, his mouth gaping open.

Jack did a one-eighty to see what had caught Carter’s attention. A man and a woman were standing at the other end of the bar talking to the bartender.

He let out a soft whistle before he could stop himself, allowing his eyes to take an inventory of the woman’s body. The first word that popped into his brain was hot. About five-eight with dark hair that fell to her shoulders, she filled out the turquoise sweater nicely and the black jeans that hugged her slim hips showed off even more curves. Though he couldn’t see her eyes, he imagined they were as dark as her hair. He’d always been a sucker for dark eyes.

Tearing his gaze from her, he turned back to Carter when he realized the man with her had on a uniform. He’d come this far without screwing up and he had no desire to do so now. The last thing he needed was to be noticed, particularly by a police officer trained to pick up on minor details that the average Joe didn’t.

“What were you saying about the man who was in the bar fight the other night?”

Carter had just chugged three shots of Scotch and would be slurring his words soon. Jake had to find out the rest of the story.

“That’s the cop.”

“What cop?”

Carter leaned closer and whispered, “The one who killed the guy in the jail cell the other night.”

Jake’s curiosity got the best of him and he twisted around for another look. “Are you saying that the guy at the other end of the bar is the one who killed the man from the fight the other night?”

“Not the guy, the chick. She’s a cop, too. It was all over the news this weekend.”

Jake knew his mouth most have dropped wide enough for an NFL quarterback to practice precision passing. He’d spent all day Friday trying unsuccessfully to get the facts about his mark getting killed in jail. Nobody was talking and he couldn’t just walk into the police station and ask questions without drawing attention to himself. So he’d gone back to the hotel and pretty much partied all weekend with some blonde, not bothering to watch any TV or read the newspapers.

Lately, that scenario was happening more and more, and frankly,
ending up in his room the next day with a woman whose naked body
was the only thing he knew about her, along with one helluva hangover was starting to take its toll. Despite his penchant to stay shit-faced, he’d always prided himself on keeping his investigative skills honed. It looked like even that was heading south.

He was about to question Carter further when the lady cop looked up and met his gaze.

Damn!
Her eyes were as dark as a Texas prairie on a moonless night. He couldn’t stop himself and smiled.

So much for staying under the radar.