Beyond A Reasonable Doubt (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Marcus glanced up from the deposition transcript he’d been reading, irritated by the interruption as he pushed the intercom button. “What is it, Hannah?”

“Mr. Michael Elkins is here to see you, sir.”

His face twisted in anger as he glanced at the clock. The dumb son of a bitch had a lot of nerve coming there. The only reason he was here this late was to get ready for a trial on Monday, and Marcus had plans for the weekend—plans with a long-legged redhead.

“Send him in.”

The door opened moments later, and Marcus leaned back in his thick leather chair, assessing the “golden boy.” He had to stifle a laugh. Michael Elkins looked like a dead man walking. He’d expected a little more of a swagger after the rape.

“Mr. Dade, thank you for seeing me.”

“You’re out late, Michael. Have a seat. How’s your father?”

He knew the question would catch him off guard, and he stifled another laugh as he watched emotions flicker across the haggard, once-handsome face.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, sir. He’s losing his mind, making mistakes—mistakes that could cost both of us. I plan on announcing my run for circuit judge in three months. After that, I’ll be moving for a position on the Supreme Court. A Supreme Court judge could be an asset to you, Marcus. But you’re going to have to deal with my father.”

Marcus leaned forward and took a cigar from its box, giving himself a moment to think and control the rage threatening to boil over. The little shit thought he could tell him what to do. He snipped off the end of the cigar, lit it, and took a drag. “I read the will. What are you planning on paying me with?” He enjoyed knocking the cocky bastard down a notch. “I don’t work for free, and neither do my people.”

“I’ll have my mother’s inheritance, or at least half of it, should my brother live. There will be plenty of money for both of us.”

“What makes you think Jordan will share his inheritance with you? After all, you’ve let him rot in jail for five years.”

Michael laughed. “Jordan’s nature is to forgive. Once I have him set free, he’ll gladly share. And if he doesn’t, well, accidents happen.”

Marcus leaned back again and laughed. “Got it all figured out, have you? I’d be willing to bet you’ve never hurt a fly.”

Michael leaned forward and grinned. “You’d lose that bet. Had to put one down this evening who was snooping around in the cases you prosecuted and the judge dismissed. I can be a real asset to you, Marcus. It’s a win-win situation for both of us. The only thing standing in our way is the old man.”

Marcus contemplated his options. He had nothing but contempt for Michael Elkins, a spineless little shit that had chosen the wrong side. Both the Elkinses were becoming a liability he was going to have to deal with. “Give me a day or two to think about it. I’ll need to make some plans.”

Michael stood up. “You won’t regret this. Whatever you need from the bench, you’ll get it.”

Marcus glanced down at the deposition and started reading, a dismissal he hoped the idiot wouldn’t ignore. He smiled softly as the door closed, and he hit the intercom button.

“Yes, Mr. Dade?”

“Lock up and go on home, Hannah.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Dade.”

“And Hannah?”

“Yes, Mr. Dade.”

“Don’t be late to work again.”

Her nervousness radiated over the line. “I won’t, Mr. Dade. I promise.”

Marcus knew she wouldn’t waste any time in shutting down. She was new, but she’d learned a lesson. Come in late once, you work late once. Come in late twice, you don’t work at all.

He turned his attention back to the deposition and made a few notes. He didn’t really have to worry. David was the prosecutor, and they’d already come to terms. Still, it was better to be prepared in case someone asked questions.

Marcus glanced at the clock. Two a.m. He loved the early morning hours, the darkness complete and the first light of dawn still kept in abeyance. He had a good life. He planned on keeping it that way.

A knock sounded softly on his door. “Come in, Gregory.”

He tapped his fingers impatiently on the oak desk as he waited. Gregory Artusa was a perfect example of the darkness of night, a natural born killer whose instincts were to kill first and ask questions later. Dade had used him several times, and he’d never been disappointed. Gregory was loyal, and that was a character flaw hard to find in today’s world.

“I hope you’ve got good news for me.”

Gregory shook his head. “We haven’t found it yet. You want me to lean on the attorney?”

Dade shook his head. “No, he’s an honest man with a good reputation. It would stir up too much of a stink that might have repercussions.”

“That’s what I thought, sir. I’m still trying to locate her best friend from college. Seems to have disappeared, but I found a few letters, so they stayed in touch.”

Marcus pulled out the cigar box and opened it. He held it out to Gregory. “I find myself in somewhat of a sticky situation, Gregory—one that’s going to take some planning. We need to find those documents Mrs. Elkins stashed away first, though. I doubt she has anything on me, but I don’t like taking chances.”

Gregory nodded and took a cigar. “I been waiting for you to get tired of Elkins.”

Dade laughed out loud. “You sound pleased.”

“Never liked the bastard, sir. He’s careless.”

Dade continued to laugh as he assessed his favorite henchman. Yes, Gregory was good for him. “I think the Elkinses have both outlived their usefulness.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Clifford Beaumont sipped a glass of wine, taking comfort in the darkness. He’d always loved it, especially at sea when the wind would blow and waves crashed against the boat. There was danger in darkness—danger that made your blood pump faster, your heart beat wilder, danger that made you feel alive. Sometimes he missed that danger, missed the sheer exhilaration of facing the elements and winning.

Placing the glass on his desk, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He was going to be a grandfather. That idea scared him almost as much as facing a sword-bearing pirate with nothing more than a block of wood. He smiled in the darkness. He’d won that battle.

A scrape outside caught his attention, and he opened his eyes, remaining motionless. Only a fool would try to break into his house… but the world was full of fools.

He opened the door of the desk quietly, withdrew his gun, and pressed a button. Twenty years before, he wouldn’t have pressed the button, but Kamela was asleep upstairs. If something happened to him, she had to be safe.

He rose slowly, made his way across the room, and peered through a small opening in the drapes. A figure was scaling the wall, headed for the second floor. Slipping off his shoes, he sprinted toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. Danger was a great motivator, especially danger to his daughter.

Clearing the top step, he saw Travis in the shadows at the end of the hall and motioned him forward. They waited in silence, one on each side of the window as the figure cut through the glass, removing it and starting to climb through the opening.

Bringing his gun down in an arc, Clifford grunted as he connected with the unsuspecting skull, jarring his wrist as the figure fell into the hallway.

Clifford rubbed his wrist. “Make sure he isn’t dead and take him to the basement. I’ll be there as soon as I check on Kamela. Get Kevin up here and have him fix this window, just in case he has some friends on the ground.”

Travis nodded, picked up the figure, and headed down the stairs. “He’s already on his way. Wanted to take a trip around the perimeter first. If there’s anybody else out there, he’ll find them.”

Clifford opened the door to his daughter’s room.

She sighed in her sleep and rolled over.

Closing the door, he headed down the stairs. He’d kept his hands clean for a long time, but before that night was over, blood would flow.

Clifford returned to the library, downed a quick glass of wine, replaced the gun in the drawer, and pulled out his switchblade. He opened a panel behind the bookcase, stepped through, and closed it behind him before flipping on a light switch and descending a set of stairs. The room below had taken months to build to his specifications. The contractor had thought him crazy when he’d stated he wanted it totally soundproof. That night was the first time he’d had to use it. His hands clenched at his sides. Depending on what the bastard told him, it wouldn’t be his last.

Travis had already secured the man, his hands and feet tied to a chair, and he’d removed the black hood. “He’s awake, sir, but not very talkative.”

Clifford smiled. “Let’s see what we can do about that. Put down some plastic, Travis, he looks like a bleeder to me.”

Clifford took his time unbuttoning his shirt, folding it, and placing it on a table against the wall. Next he removed his shoes and socks and placed them on the table. He undid his belt, stepped out of his pants, folded them neatly, and placed them with the shirt. He’d saved the best for last. Hooking his fingers in his underwear, he slipped them off and tossed them on top of the shoes. He flexed his shoulders and rolled his head from side to side until his neck made a cracking sound before he picked up the switchblade. The only thing more intimidating than a huge, hairy man approaching with a blade was a huge, hairy, totally naked man approaching with a blade.

“I ain’t talking,” the intruder said. Clifford slid the knife inside the neck of his black T-shirt and slowly ripped it from top to bottom. “Why don’t you tell me your name?” He nicked him just below the collarbone, letting the knife glide across his chest, a small trail of blood appearing along the line. “Or better yet, tell me who sent you here.”

“Told you, I ain’t talking.”

Clifford reached up and grabbed his face, holding it tight as he looked him straight in the eyes. “They all say that, son. But everybody talks. All you’ve got to decide is how much blood you want to lose before you do it.” Clifford smiled and lowered his voice. “Eyes, tongue, fingers, or toes?”

“Wha-at?”

“I’m gonna start cutting. Being the nice guy I am, I’ll let you choose where I start.”

“You’re crazy.”

The fear in the man’s light-blue eyes pulled at Clifford’s primitive side, that side of human nature that made one more of an animal than a man. He’d buried that side for a long time. An image of Kamela lying in bed, her blond hair spread out on the pillow, flashed through his mind, and he let the knife slide across the intruder’s bare chest again, that time going a little deeper. “You tried to hurt my daughter. If I were crazy, I wouldn’t let you choose. Let’s start with fingers. Travis, bring me a board.”

Travis picked up a board and approached the chair. “Right or left, sir?”

“Right.”

Travis grabbed the right hand and strapped it to the board. “Want me to gag him?”

Clifford shook his head and, with one fluid motion, chopped off the pinky. A scream filled the room as the chair rocked. “Who sent you here?”

“I ain’t talking!”

Clifford swiped at the blood that had sprayed across his chest and grinned. He raised the knife. “Suit yourself.”

Clifford washed the blood from his hands and dropped the switchblade into a bowl of bleach. He was getting soft. Thirty years before, he would have just finished the guy without a second thought.

“What do you want me to do with him, sir?” Travis asked.

“Call the doctor and clean him up. I think there’s a boat leaving for Africa first thing tomorrow morning. Make sure he’s on it.”

Travis grinned. “Yes, sir.”

Clifford stepped into the shower to wash the remaining blood from his body. “Once you’re finished with him, Travis, pull a crew together. I want four here at all times, and send two to Jenna James’s house.”

“What about Elkins, sir? Do you want us to take care of him?”

His jaw clenched, and he turned the water to cold. “I’ll take care of Elkins. First, I want to know why he’s coming after my daughter.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jake tossed his sleeping bag into the backseat of the car, climbed in the passenger seat, and buckled up. He yawned loudly. “Man, I’m beat. I hope JJ sleeps late.”

Harry pulled the car into gear and headed out of town. “You’re getting old, Sherlock. It’s only five a.m.”

Jake lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and blew it out slowly. “She’s right, you know. We don’t have one damn piece of evidence to go on. We start leaking this story, and we’re all gonna wind up in a box.”

“We could camp out at one of the reservations for a few days. Lots of places with high ground,” Harry said.

Jake snorted and rolled down a window. “Rio Grande is the closest, and it’s two and a half hours away. She’ll never go for it.”

Harry noticed a car parked across the street as soon as he turned onto Monsanto. “We’ve got company.”

“Drive by slowly,” Jake said.

Harry did so. “What do you think?”

Jake slid his gun out of its holster. “Hard to say. They could be waiting for us. Why don’t we ask them?”

Harry whipped the car around and headed back to the driveway. He parked and cut the engine. Jake opened his door. “You follow me in. At least that way, if they start shooting, one of us is still standing.”

Harry pulled his gun, opened the door, and climbed out. “You should follow me in, then. You’re the one with a wife.”

Jake joined him at the rear of the car. “Let’s just do it.”

They approached the car slowly, guns held ready. “Police. Climb out of the car with your hands in the air,” Jake called out.

The doors opened, and both men climbed out, hands held high.

“Shit, Harry, look at the size of those guys,” Jake whispered.

“What are you guys doing here?” Harry asked, stopping a short distance from the car.

“Mr. Beaumont asked us to keep an eye on Miss James.”

“Why would he do that?” Jake asked.

The huge man shrugged. “We don’t get paid to ask questions. We get paid to do what we’re told. We were told to watch Miss James and make sure nothing happened to her.”

Harry glanced at the house, his gaze falling on the rolled-up carpet. A light was still shining from the upstairs hallway. “How long have you been here?”

“We got here at four. Miss James dragged the carpet out about four thirty. It’s been quiet since then.”

Jake stifled a yawn and motioned for Harry to follow him back to the house, calling over his shoulder, “Keep up the good work. Appreciate it if you’d make sure nobody disturbs us before noon.”

The two goons didn’t answer, but Jake didn’t care. All he wanted was to toss his sleeping bag on the floor, crawl in, and sleep for twelve hours. “Do we need to take turns keeping a lookout?”

Harry turned to watch as the men climbed back into their car. “I don’t think so. If something gets past those guys, we’re not gonna be able to stop it.”

Harry woke to the sounds of running water and hushed sobs. Sunlight was filtering through the windows, and he glanced toward the stairs. Steam was filling the upstairs hallway—another scalding shower. The late-night hours always got to victims—the times when they were alone, reliving the horror of having everything taken from them. Tossing aside the bedroll, he pulled on his pants and walked up the stairs just as the water was turned off. He knew what he was going to find on the other side of that door, and it broke his heart. He knocked softly. “Jenna, I’m coming in.”

“Wait. I’ll be out in just a minute.”

He heard water splashing and knew she was washing her face, pulling the pieces back together. Another minute, and the door opened. “What?”

“We need to talk.”

She nodded and led him across the hall to her bedroom. She sat down on the bed, head lowered, hands clasped in front, on her lap. Even that didn’t stop the trembling.

He sat down beside her. “Still beating yourself up over Andrews?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Nightmares?”

She nodded.

“How many rape cases have you prosecuted, Jenna?”

She sniffled and wiped her nose on the robe sleeve. “Hundreds. Hundreds of women I badgered and made repeat their horror over and over and o—” Her voice broke on a sob.

Harry placed an arm around her gently. “And why did you do that, Jenna?”

“Because I didn’t know. I didn’t know what it was like. I just... I didn’t know.”

Harry lifted her face, making her look at him. “That’s not true. You did it because you did know. You knew the one thing every one of them had lost, the only thing they couldn’t get back unless they faced their attacker and made him pay for his crimes. You gave every one of those women back her power, Jenna. When they left that courtroom they weren’t powerless anymore. They weren’t victims anymore. They could stand up straight and tall and defend themselves.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going to go make a pot of coffee and start breakfast. Think about what I said, and when you’re ready to reclaim your power, come down and join me. We’ll take the day off, forget about the Elkinses and Dades of the world. There’s a movie out I’ve been wanting to see.”