Shadow of Doubt (19 page)

T
hough it was getting late when Jill left the police station, she walked next door to the fire station to see if Dan was working. She found him in the weight room bench-pressing, and stood at the door watching him for a moment before he saw her.

She didn't know why she was here, really. She should be able to handle this. She'd had difficult cases before. Granted, none of them had left her client's life hanging in the balance. And she'd never had so many surprises in a case, surprises that shouldn't have been…

But she did believe Celia. She did.

Tears pushed into her eyes, and she sniffed. Dan heard her and looked up. “Jill.” He got up, as if self-conscious about what he was doing, and wiped his face on a towel. “I didn't know you were here. It's late.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I was just at the police station. Thought I'd come see if you were here.”

“You're upset,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Come sit down. Tell me what's wrong.”

She let him lead her to a folding chair, and he took the weight bench across from her. “Nothing, really,” she said. “I just…uh…I'm having some problems with Celia's case. I don't know quite what to do.”

“Has something happened?”

She contemplated telling him. How much was attorney-client privilege? How much was guaranteed to be in the paper tomorrow, anyway? How much would the fire department know in just the next few minutes when the cops started talking?

“Celia's back in jail.”

“What? Why?”

She got up and walked across the room, picked up a small barbell, set it back down. “She broke a court order and went to see Stan tonight. It just so happens that, after she got caught, they discovered that someone had injected arsenic into his IV bag.”

Dan got slowly to his feet, his mouth open.

“He's okay. I mean, this new poison didn't have much time to get into his system. They caught it in time.”

“Jill—”

“I know,” she said, stemming his response. “I know how it looks. Believe me…I know. She's in jail. They probably won't let her out. And I don't know how I'll fight this.”

Forgetting the sweat he'd worked up, he put his arms around her and pressed her head against his shoulder. She rested in that embrace, thankful that something had the power to bring her that much relief, that much comfort.

“What is she saying?” Dan asked.

Jill pulled back and looked up at him. “That she didn't do it. Even Stan…he's saying that an orderly came in before her and switched the bags…Sid is convinced he's covering for her. But that doesn't make sense. She would know she'd get caught. Why would she do that?”

“It's an awful coincidence, Jill,” he said. “For this person to come in and poison him again, and it just happens to be right before she comes? That's hard to buy.”

“She didn't do it.” The words were said so weakly that she hardly believed them herself. “She didn't, Dan. It may look like it to everyone else, but not to us.”

He let her go and sat slowly down. “I want to believe her. I know what it's like to have people accuse you because of how things look. This town is bad about that. I haven't forgotten how they almost strung me up. You were the only one who believed in me.”

“I may be the only one who believes in her. But I have to.”

He met her eyes. “What if you're wrong?”

“Then I'll be wrong. But she's my friend, and now she's my client. I have to get rid of whatever doubts I have.”

“Then you admit you have some?”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I don't want to, Dan. I don't want to have doubts about my friend. I look in her eyes, and I believe her. But then when I walk away, and I start adding things up…”

“You start to realize you're human?”

“I haven't got time to be human,” she said.

I
ssie Mattreaux hated to be stood up. She sat alone at the bar at Joe's Place, nursing a glass of wine and feeling sorry for herself. She might have known the guy who was meeting her here wouldn't show. She'd met him on one of her calls today, when he'd found his cousin in a hypoglycemic coma. He had called 911 and had been impressed when she so easily revived the patient with glucose. She'd spent the next half hour bantering with him, and when he'd finally asked her out, she'd had high hopes. He'd had to work late, so he'd asked her to meet him at ten o'clock. But it was already eleven, so he was an hour late, and she knew better than to kid herself any longer.

From the corner of her eye she noticed a man across the room looking at her, and she turned and met his eyes. He wasn't bad looking. In fact, he looked better than most of the men who frequented this place—even better than the guy who'd stood her up. She smiled at him; he smiled back. After a moment, he got up and came to claim the stool next to her. “Buy you a drink?” he asked.

She lifted hers slightly. “Got one.”

He smiled. “Can I buy you the next one?”

She considered that a moment, then lifted her glass and finished it off. “Sure.”

He grinned and waited for the waiter. “How about another one for the lady?”

Joe seemed to sneer at him, and Issie frowned. It wasn't Joe's way to be rude to his customers. There must be something wrong. She glanced up at the man. “I'm Issie Mattreaux,” she said.

He nodded. “Lee Barnett.”

The name sounded familiar. She ran it through her mind, trying to process it. “You new in town?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just been here a few days.”

Suddenly it came back to her. The gossip at the fire station, about the man in Celia's past. No wonder Joe was giving him the cold shoulder. Joe brought her the drink and she thought of refusing it, but then decided she needed it. “I've heard things about you,” she said, bringing it to her lips.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess everybody has, but they're not true.”

She looked up at him. “How do you know what I've heard?”

“Because they're sayin' that I had somethin' to do with Stan Shepherd's poisonin', and that I'm involved with his wife.”

“Aren't you?”

He sat there a moment, as if contemplating the question. “Tell you the truth, I'm not sure.”

“Not sure? That's interesting.”

“Well, see, I thought I was. I thought there was this letter from her, and a check…”

He'd had too much to drink, she could tell, because his speech was slurred. She wondered how many he'd put away.

“But I don't think she wrote that letter, and I don't think she wrote those checks.”

“Then who did?”

“Got me. That's the ten million dollar question. Matter of fact, it could be a life or death question.”

“If you're not involved with her, then how come you're staying around town?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They won't let me leave till the investigation's over. But I'm tellin' you, I didn't do anything.”

Something told her to get up and leave, to walk right out, but she was lonely, and she had nothing to do at home. She decided to stay. What could it hurt? She took another drink of her wine, set it down, ran her finger along the rim.

“You a friend of Celia's?” he asked.

“I know her.”

“What about Stan?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I know him better. I'm a paramedic. I work with him from time to time.”

“Paramedic, huh? So you go around saving lives?”

The question irritated her. “Sometimes. I almost lost Stan Shepherd.” She regarded him, watching for his reaction. He was handsome, just the type she could picture Celia dating years ago. She wondered if there really was anything between them. Something about that possibility piqued her interest in him. She wasn't sure why that was, didn't want to explore it. But when a man had an attractive woman interested in him, he seemed more valuable in her eyes. As if to counter her attraction, she said, “So I hear you were in prison.”

He swiveled on his stool and looked out over the crowd. “Not the kind of thing I like for a girl to know about me the first time I meet her, but yeah, it's true.”

She sipped her drink. “Got involved in a barroom brawl and killed somebody?”

“Word travels fast.”

She picked a fish-shaped cracker out of the bowl on the bar and nibbled on it. “So if you could kill somebody in a bar, what would keep you from killing somebody with poison?”

“Prison,” he said simply. “The best deterrent I know. I'm not going back.”

She finished off the cracker, took another sip, then glanced at him again. “It's just suspicious, you know. You being here, where Celia is. Showing up right around the time Stan was poisoned.”

He leaned his elbow on the bar and lowered his voice. “I think it was supposed to be suspicious,” he said. “That's what this is all about. We're both being framed.”

“She's the one in jail,” Issie pointed out. “You're sitting in a bar hitting on me.”

He pulled back a little and grinned at her. “Hitting on you? I thought I was making conversation.”

A grin tugged at one side of her lips. “You bought me a drink, didn't you?”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, I bought you a drink.”

“That usually means that you're being hit on.”

“Yeah, well, I've been out of circulation for a while,” he said. “I don't know the rules anymore.”

She breathed a humorless laugh. “Oh, you know the rules. Who are you kidding?” She was playing with him, she realized, and she wondered if she had had too much to drink, herself. But there was something about his eyes. Something exciting, something fun, a thrill she hadn't had the opportunity to experience in a long time. The forbidden.

He seemed to read her thoughts. “This place is awfully smoky,” he said in a deep voice too close to her ear. “What do you say we go someplace else?”

“Someplace like what?” she asked innocently.

“I don't know. You tell me. You're the one who knows Newpointe.”

Her senses came alive as she thought of the possibilities. They could go to Maison de Manger and get a bite, or they could go for a walk along the bayou behind the fire station. Or they could drive down to Lake Pontchartrain, or go to her apartment, or his…

She'd heard about his apartment, that Celia had set him up there, and she wondered what it looked like. Then her common sense ruled that out, and she realized that it was stupid. She couldn't be caught alone in an ex-con's apartment, not when he was suspected of murder, no matter how much she'd had to drink.

“I think I'll just stay right here,” she said.

He grinned again. “Okay. I'll stay here with you. It's safer. I can't attack you if we're in a crowd.”

She grinned. “You couldn't attack me, anyway.”

“Tough guy, huh?”

She nodded. “I can hold my own.” It was true. She'd had self-defense training, and was stronger than she looked. More than a dozen times lately she'd had to lift an unconscious grown man onto a gurney. She felt quite sure she could fight one off if she had to.

“If you're so tough, then why are you so afraid to go anywhere with me? It can be someplace public, you know.”

“I know.” She winked. “But I think I'll stay right here.”

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe we can get to know each other even in all the smoke and noise.”

“Do you like to dance?” she asked.

He grinned. “Haven't done it in five years. There weren't many cotillions in prison, but we can give it a whirl.”

She set her glass down. “All right,” she said. “Let's have at it.”

T
here were only four small cells in the women's portion of the Newpointe city jail. They were each five by ten, with a small cot with a flat mattress, and a sink and commode behind a partition. Celia lay on her cot, fighting her nausea. She didn't need that sick feeling on top of the despair closing in on her, but it was there, nonetheless, reminding her that there was a baby involved, that this was no longer just about her life and her integrity. Now she was also defending her child.

She got up and went to the sink, bent over, and splashed water on her face. At least the sink was clean. It could be worse. The commode, too, had been recently cleaned, and a sterile smell wafted in the air.

She sighed and sat back down on the bed, wishing for something to occupy her mind, to keep her from thinking of the horror on Stan's face as they had dragged her out of his room. He still loved her; she knew that without a doubt. But she wasn't sure he believed in her anymore, not after someone had poisoned him.

But didn't he know that it wasn't her? He had to.

She tried to rest in that knowledge, but it was difficult.

The door to the hall opened, and she heard footsteps. Were they coming for her? Had Jill maneuvered a way to get her out this time?

“T-Celia?” It was Aunt Aggie's voice, and Celia sat up and looked through the bars.

“Aunt Aggie?” She saw Vern ushering the old woman past. “Aunt Aggie, what are you doing?”

“I'm locking her up,” Vern said.

Aunt Aggie was smiling, as if she were the victor. Celia realized her aunt had given them reason to incarcerate her so that Celia wouldn't be alone. Horrified, she tried to appeal to Vern. “Vern, this is ridiculous. Aunt Aggie, I can handle this. I've done it before. Now go home.”

“Too late,” Vern said.

“What did she do?” Celia demanded.

“Knocked me upside the head, for one thing,” Vern said.

“I deserved to be locked up,” Aunt Aggie said proudly. “I'm a thief, and I'm dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Come on, Vern, she's eighty-one years old.”

“She asked for it, Celia.” He opened the door in the cell next to her and pushed Aunt Aggie in. “If there was some way I could put her in a different section of the jail, I would, so you two couldn't talk. But we got regulations, and this is the only place we keep the women.”

Aunt Aggie walked into her cell and sat primly down on her cot. He slammed the bars. “Good night, ladies,” he said.

Aunt Aggie's eyes were intent on Celia through the bars. Celia gaped at her as Vern left the area.

“Aunt Aggie, what in the world are you up to?”

“I didn't want you bein' alone down here,” the old woman said. “I couldna slept tonight. Couldn't bear it.”

“Aunt Aggie, I'm fine.”

“Well, I'm fine, too. Now we'll be fine together.”

Celia's throat filled with emotion over the lengths her aunt would go to protect her. “Aunt Aggie, you don't deserve to be here.”

“And you don't either.”

“But I can handle it.”

“So can I.”

Celia shot her a frustrated look. Aunt Aggie stood up and leaned her head on the bars. “Look,
sha.
I can't do nothin' about it now. I'm here and you're here, and we're both here for the night. Can we at least make the best of it?”

Celia reached through the bars and held her aunt's hand. “I love you, you crazy thing.”

“I love you, too,” Aunt Aggie said matter-of-factly. “Now what can I do for you?”

Celia almost laughed. “Aunt Aggie, short of naming the killer, there is
nothing
you can do.”

“Well, I can't do that,” she said. “But I knew you'd wanna talk to Stan. I can help you with that.”

“Talk to Stan?” she asked. “How can I do that?”

Aunt Aggie looked as if she had a delightful secret. “What if I told you I had a phone with me?”

“Aunt Aggie, that's impossible. You came in here empty-handed. They had to have checked your purse in.”

“Don't mean I can't hide no phone.”

Celia's eyes twinkled. “You can't be serious. You smuggled a telephone in here?”

“There're advantages to age, you know. They don't dare frisk an old lady.”

Celia couldn't help laughing. “Oh, Aunt Aggie.”

“I ain't promisin' you can get through. I don't know when the switchboard closes, but you can try.” She pulled up her skirt, pulled out the elastic band on her panty hose, and fished out the cellular phone tucked down in them.

“Aunt Aggie, you amaze me.”

“I amaze myself,
sha.”
She thrust the phone through the bars.

“What if we get caught with this? It's not gonna look good.”

“Then don't get caught. Just make the call and hurry it up.”

Celia looked at the phone, almost reluctant to take it. But it would be wonderful if she could call Stan, just to see if he was all right, and to tell him once again that she had had nothing to do with the poisonings, and tell him again about the baby. Her hands trembled as she took the phone, flipped up the top, and dialed information.

“No need to do that,” Aunt Aggie said. “I know the number. I been callin' it enough since this whole thing started.”

Celia dialed the number Aunt Aggie called out, then brought the phone to her ear and waited.

“Slidell Memorial Hospital, may I help you?”

Her heart leapt. “Uh, yes, could you connect me to Stan Shepherd's room, please?”

She waited for the woman to tell her that the switchboard was closed, that it was too late, but she didn't. Instead, the phone began to ring.

“They connectin' you?” Aunt Aggie asked hopefully.

Celia's eyes were wide as she waited. “Yes.”

After a couple of rings, someone picked up the phone. “Hello?”

It was his mother, and for a moment, she thought of hanging up. But she needed to talk to him, and it was worth whatever chance she had to take. “Hannah?”

Hannah hesitated. “Yes?”

“Hannah, it's me. Celia. Please don't hang up! I need to talk to Stan…Please.”

Hannah's voice was tight as she answered. “He has nothing to say to you, and if you call here again—”

“Stan knows I didn't do it. He saw me there. I didn't change his bag. He knows. Please, Hannah. Just let me talk to him for a minute. Tell him it's me.”

There was silence. She closed her eyes and prayed that Hannah was giving Stan the phone. Finally, Hannah said, “He saw the picture of you with that man, Celia. His eyes are opening. He doesn't have anything to say to you.”

“That picture…” Her voice broke off, and she groped for words. “It wasn't what it seemed, Hannah. Please…” She sobbed, then tried to rally. “Is he all right? Did much of the poison get into his system this time? What are the doctors saying?”

The phone clicked in her ear, and she realized that Hannah had cut her off. “Hannah, don't hang up!” But it was too late.

She handed the phone back to Aunt Aggie, dropped onto the cot, and covered her face with both hands. “Oh, Aunt Aggie. I've lost him. He believes them! He believes them!”

Aunt Aggie took the phone back and tucked it into her skirt. “He don't believe 'em,
sha.
Don't you believe his mama.”

“No, Aunt Aggie,” Celia said. “They showed him the picture. He thinks I'm trying to kill him!” Celia curled up into a fetal position, her face still covered, and sobbed into her hands. “Oh, Aunt Aggie, what am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?”

But Aunt Aggie was uncharacteristically speechless as Celia wailed out her pain.