Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (69 page)

The reality was that, in this particular case, it
didn’t
matter, as they both knew, but she wanted to maintain the illusion that there would be a trial.

“
Voir dire
? Really?”

“Really. I happen to think it’s crucial to the case.”

“What about openings? Witness examinations? Don’t you think it’ll seem weird that no one’s working on that stuff?” His frustration zinged through the phone.

“Just tell everyone I’m working from home and I said I’ve got it covered. Please help Rosie get ready for
voir dire
and tell her I said I’ll meet her at the courthouse tomorrow.”

There was a pause, but she knew he’d agree.

Finally, he did.

“Okay. But, what about … the other thing?”

“I’m working on that, too. It’s under control. Just please don’t forget what I need you to tell Rosie when she gets to work tomorrow morning. Everything hinges on that.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell her tonight?”

“I’m positive. Just trust me, this will work.”

Tomorrow morning, when it was too late for Rosie to do anything but comply, Mitch would tell her that Aroostine had already called in from the courthouse. He would tell her that Aroostine said to skip
voir dire
to draft an emergency motion for reconsideration asking Judge Hernandez to revisit his ruling to exclude the recordings. It would be a plausible request as far as Rosie was concerned, and it would guarantee that no one from the Department of Justice appeared in the courtroom when the jury selection was slated to begin. Aroostine was confident that, given the history of bad blood, Judge Hernandez would be enraged and act accordingly.

Mitch’s voice was equal parts annoyed and concerned when he responded, “You know you don’t have to do everything the hard way, right?”

Oh, but I do
, she thought.

“I know. Trust me, you’re going to be helping more than you can even imagine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Okay. Then, will you please at least do me a favor?”

“If I can.”

“Please, whatever you’re doing”—his voice broke—“be careful.”

“I will. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For caring,” she said, surprised to hear the words come out of her mouth. She hurried to hit the button that ended the call before he could respond.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Franklin took several deep breaths, steeling himself for the confrontation ahead, then killed the ignition and stepped out of the car. He wrestled with the bags from the hardware store and the takeout containers from the Salvadoran joint. Out of hands, he leaned on the doorbell with his elbow and hoped Aroostine would answer.

He heard footsteps approaching along the hallway. A moment later, the door swung open.

As he hurried inside, he swiveled his head to make sure no one was watching from the Jones’ home, but their blinds were drawn.

“Something smells good,” Aroostine remarked. She took one of the plastic bags from him and slammed the door shut all in one motion.

He engaged the deadbolt and then turned to face her.

“Pupusas. And empanadas.”

“Pupusas
and
empanadas? Seems like overkill.”

He shook his head and started toward the kitchen. “Salvadoran empanadas are totally different than Mexican ones—they’re not savory; they’re sweet. For dessert.”

She started unpacking the food. “Even better. Were you able to get everything on the list?”

“Yep.” He inhaled deeply and plunged ahead while she opened the cabinet to take out some dishes. “Two of everything.”

“Two?”

“I’m coming with you.” He tensed his jaw and prepared for an argument.

She looked at him for a long moment. He didn’t blink.

Then she shrugged. “Okay. She’s your mother. You should probably be there.”

“Just like that?”

He couldn’t believe she was just going to agree to let him tag along.

She reached into the silverware drawer for forks and knifes.

“Just like that.” Then she smiled at him. “Also, I don’t know how to drive, so I need a chauffeur. So, are we just going to smell this, or can we eat? Because it smells amazing. I’m ravenous.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She carried her plate over to the table, pushed his laptop out of the way, and had a seat.

He followed her, still processing what she’d just said.

“You can’t drive?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged and rested her fork on the side of her plate while she answered. ‘I don’t know. I just never learned. Back home, I walked pretty much everywhere in town. If I had to get somewhere that wasn’t walkable, Joe was happy to drive me. And here there’s no real need for a car in a city like this, right? You have the Metro system, buses, cabs. It’s not a big deal.”

“I guess not.”

They ate in silence for several minutes. She was going to let him come with her. The nauseating fear and worry that had taken hold of him since his mother’s disappearance faded and an unfamiliar feeling of anticipation gripped him.

Either his face gave him away or she read his mind, because Aroostine put down her fork and fixed him with a serious look.

“We need to be on the same page here. I need a driver, not a partner.”

“But—”

She shook her head. “No. You’re going to drop me off in the woods and then check into a motel.”

“What? No,” he protested. “I want to be there.”

“I understand that, believe me, I do. But it’s better if you aren’t with me—for a lot of reasons.”

“Are you going to kill him?” He dropped his voice to a whisper.

She paused just a fraction of a second too long before she answered.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. I’m a prosecutor, not an assassin.”

He eyed her head-to-toe black ensemble pointedly but didn’t press the point.

Instead he switched tack. “It’s not safe for you to be out there alone all night.”

She threw back her head and laughed, a genuine, full-throated sound of amusement.

“Listen, you don’t need to worry about me. I grew up in the woods.”

“What, were you raised by wolves or something?”

“No. Indians.”

Franklin felt his eyes widen but just nodded.

She went on. “I was born in my grandfather’s cabin, in a small community made up of other members of the Eastern Lenape Nation. I lived there with my tribe until my grandfather died when I was seven. He was a master tracker. As soon as I could walk, he started teaching me how to track animals. I spent my first night alone in the woods when I was five. And trust me—it was way more remote than small-town Maryland.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“You didn’t know? About my background?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“That means
he
probably doesn’t know either, right?”

“Everything he knows about you, he learned from me.”

She smiled.

“Perfect.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Only if I have to.

As Franklin focused on the dark road, Aroostine replayed the uncensored thought that had gone through her mind when he’d asked if she planned to kill the man holding Joe hostage.

She’d never killed anyone. She’d hunted animals with a bow and quiver of arrows, a lifetime ago, because that was how she and her grandfather got the food they ate. But after she moved into the Higginses’ home, she never picked up her bow again.

She
had
, quite recently in fact, stabbed someone in the gut with a pair of scissors, but that was sort of a one-off situation. Did she really think she could kill another human being? She shivered at having to explore the darkest corners of her imagination.

Just be smart about things, and you won’t ever have to find out,
she told herself.

“So, let’s go over this one more time,” she said more to distract herself than out of any desire to rehearse the plan, yet again, with Franklin. She’d walked him through everything twice before they’d left his house.

“Okay,” he said, glancing away from the road long enough to throw her a quizzical look.

“You’re going to drop me off in the woods and then circle back and check into the Wayside Motel.”

“I’m going to pay cash for a room and use a fake name,” he added dutifully.

“Right.”

“Then I’m going to make sure my phone and laptop are fully charged. In the morning, I’m going to tap into the stenographer’s feed and monitor the court proceedings.”

“Yes. You’ll be listening for the judge to get very irritated when no one from the Department of Justice shows up,” she confirmed, ignoring the sing-songy note in his voice. She didn’t care if he was annoyed. Preparation, practice, and preparedness were her watchwords.

“And the other side will ask for a mistrial.”

“Right. And because the judge hates my boss, he’s going to grant the mistrial.”

“And I’m going to contact the man and tell him about it.”

“Right again.”

“What if the judge doesn’t? What if he reschedules the trial?”

She shook her head. “He won’t. But if he does, just lie to the man. He won’t have time to find out the truth.”

“Because you’re going to knock on the cabin door and say you kept your end of the bargain then politely ask for the release of your husband and my mother while I contact the local police and then let your friend Mitchell know what’s going on.”

“Something like that.”

“Mmm-hmm. The end of this plan is a little … weak.”

She shot him a dark look. “Do you have a better one?”

He fell silent for a moment.

“No, but, I do have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

He returned his attention to the road as they approached a sign welcoming them to Long’s Gap. They passed a roadside vegetable stand, shuttered for the season, then a metal diner. A few moments later, a neon light announced the presence of a bar that made the Hole in the Wall look swank. Just beyond the bar, she saw a modern gas station, enormous and well-lit, with cafe seating.

He checked the fuel gauge and turned on his blinker. He parked at a pump and hopped out to fill the tank. She eyed the surveillance camera mounted above the pump then slumped low in her seat. She knew she was being paranoid because the only person in the world who could hack the security system—if it were even hackable—was currently wrestling with the nozzle for the lowest grade gasoline. Nonetheless, she reached up and pulled her borrowed sweatshirt hood up over her head.

Franklin stamped his feet and breathed into his bare hands to warm them. She checked the temperature readout on his dashboard. It read 34 degrees. She rolled her eyes. He was
definitely
better suited to bunking down in a motel than roughing it with her in the woods.