False Front (31 page)

‘He has a lawyer now?’

‘Apparently, until he saw Middleton’s statement, he was not willing to make a deal. And until then, he didn’t want an attorney.’

‘I’ve seen federal and state prosecutors get together and make a deal with a killer before. I haven’t been very pleased with the result,’ she said, recalling the deal offered to a man she’d arrested two years earlier.

‘I was assured by the field office that testimony against Tess Middleton is the prerequisite of any plea bargain.’

‘I don’t want him walking the street any time soon.’

‘Nor do I but don’t worry. They’ve filed the terrorism charges. There is no way that they’re going to let him walk on that; it would cost the federal prosecutor his job.’

‘That’s some comfort, but I still don’t trust him.’

‘No matter what deal goes down, Lucinda, we will make things right, just as we did the last time. Just as we did before.’

‘We got lucky.’

‘No, we were smart. We caught the lie and avoided an unfair plea bargain. I’ll be by your side, fighting with you for justice for Candace Eagleton and Charles Rowland. I’ll be there for you with that, just as I am for everything – both professionally and personally. I understand your apprehension, Lucy, but I will never abandon you, not on any level.’

Tears burned in Lucinda’s eye. She hated her emotional reaction – it felt weak and helpless. She turned her head and surreptitiously swept the moisture away with the back of a hand. She cleared her throat. ‘Jake, we are in the middle of an important case. This is not the time and place for personal matters.’

‘It never is, Lucinda. You can’t hold me at a distance forever. We need to talk this through.’

‘Later, Jake.’

‘As soon as we wrap up this case?’

Lucinda didn’t even want to commit to that but said, ‘Yes,’ anyway.

‘Promise?’

‘Jake, is that really necessary?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes. Are you satisfied?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

‘Good. Now, what’s next?’

‘The meeting with Trappatino and his attorney is supposed to happen at ten a.m. tomorrow morning.’

‘Why aren’t we there?’

‘Because they don’t want us there.’

‘Of course they don’t,’ Lucinda said, her anxiety about the upcoming interview raised another notch.

‘After we finish up these reports, we should get some rest. And tomorrow morning I can’t see a reason why you won’t be able to take Charley to the funeral.’

‘I suppose not. The service starts at the same time as the meeting in Trenton.’

‘I’ll follow it closely and let you know if anything develops.’

‘Yeah. It’s too late to call Charley tonight but I imagine Kara’s still up. I’ll let her know not to send her off to school in the morning.’

‘Are we good, Lucy?’

Lucinda smiled. Jake’s unexpected flashes of vulnerability raised feelings of tenderness. ‘Yes, Jake, we are good.’

The next morning, Lucinda donned a simple black dress and heels. She accessorized with the gold and onyx jewelry that one of her mother’s friends had given her to wear to the funeral service of her parents so long ago. Fastening the clasp on the necklace, memories rushed back. She’d been angry back then that the adults arranged a service for two. Her father shouldn’t have been there. He killed her mother then took his own life. She wished that no one had even claimed his body. She wanted him in an unmarked pauper’s grave, not resting for all eternity by her mother’s side. They said they did that for us – but why didn’t they ask us if that was what we wanted?

That was why Lucinda no longer visited her mother’s grave. Seeing the stone with both of their names, side by side, always made her angry – rage towards her father, irritation with her mother for marrying him and guilt-fueled disappointment in herself for not stopping her father from pulling the trigger the first time. She had no regrets for not intervening in the second shot – the one he put through his own head. She wished she’d spoken up and told him just to kill himself and leave her mother alone. If she had, would he have listened? That was a question that would never have an answer and it ate at Lucinda every time it crossed her mind.

She placed her gun and her badge in a black purse and walked out of her apartment. She stopped at her office to make sure no developments had broken in the night and then drove to the Spencer condominium.

When she walked in their front door she saw Charley standing still in the middle of the living room. She wore a black dress with off-white lace on the collar sleeves and the hem. It wasn’t the same dress she’d worn to her mother’s funeral service. Much to Charley’s dismay, she’d outgrown that one.

Nonetheless, it still triggered an emotional memory of a little motherless child looking helpless and vulnerable, yet somehow strong – an incredible, somber child with a maturity beyond her years and a very adult way of demanding justice for her murdered mother. Lucinda crouched down in front of her and spread her arms wide.

Charley fell into her embrace and cried. ‘It’s just not fair, Lucy.’

‘No, it’s not, Charley. But, remember this, Mr Bryson is at peace now. All the demons that haunted him are gone.’

Charley pulled back and looked straight in Lucinda’s face. ‘Do you believe that? Do you really believe that?’

‘Yes, I do. Are you ready to go?’

Charley nodded.

‘Do you have some tissues?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s not too late to change your mind. You really don’t have an obligation . . .’

‘Yes, I do,’ Charley said, sticking out her chin. ‘He was my friend.’

‘Yes, he was, Charley. Let’s go, then.’

As they walked into the hushed sanctuary of the church, Charley wiggled her hand into Lucinda’s. Lucinda looked down at her and smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. They walked up the aisle and took a seat in the fourth pew from the front. Lucinda noticed that Charley’s legs still weren’t long enough for her feet to touch the floor.

A closed coffin sat like a lone sentinel in front of the meager congregation. A huddled group of mourners sat close together on the front pew – Lucinda suspected they were members of Jim Bryson’s family. Little clusters of two and three spotted the room. She hoped Charley did not ask why there weren’t more people present.

The pounding, dirge-like sound of an organ announced the beginning of the service. In a moment, everyone joined in an anemic singing of ‘Amazing Grace.’ The only voice that rang loud and clear was Charley’s bright melody. She seemed to know the words to all the verses which struck Lucinda as odd for the child of a Jewish mother and a lapsed Protestant. She was staring at the girl when the song ended.

When they sat back down, Charley whispered, ‘Kara told me they usually sing that song at funerals. So I looked it up and memorized it for Mr Bryson.’

A lump rose in Lucinda’s throat. Charley continued to surprise her all the time. Lucinda’s mind drifted off as the minister spoke. She doubted he knew the deceased well. She planned on tuning in again when someone who did rose to speak. For the moment, she contemplated what was happening in Trenton. She slipped out her cell – she’d turned off sound and vibration but left the phone on so that she could check the screen. No calls. The minister’s last sentence jolted her out of her reverie.

‘Miss Charley Spencer would like to say a few words about her friend, Jim Bryson.’

Charley pulled a folded piece of paper out of a patent leather handbag. She rose, smoothed her skirt and walked up the aisle. Lucinda had no clue this was coming. Charley never said a word.

A man in a black suit slipped a set of portable wooden steps behind the podium and Charley walked up them and opened her paper, flattening it with her hands. The same man lowered the boom on the microphone and then faded backwards.

Charley looked over the people in front of her and then her eyes went to the shining coffin. ‘Mr Jim Bryson was my friend. I will miss him every day when I come home from school. He used to meet me in the lobby every day after school. He’d ask me about school and most days he brought a bag of M&Ms. We’d sit on the sofa and talk. He smiled a lot. I thought he was happy. He never burdened me with his problems.’ Charley choked on her words and tears streamed down her face. ‘I wish he had. I wish I could have helped him. Goodbye, Mr Bryson.’

She walked down the steps and to the casket. She placed both palms flat on the highly polished wood and rested one cheek on its cool surface. Then she walked with the dignity of a grieving widow on the silver screen and resumed her seat.

Others said brief words about the deceased but none of them moved the audience like Charley had. After the service, she was embraced by nearly everyone in attendance.

While Charley was the center of attention, Lucinda pulled out her cell again. This time, she had a text message from Jake: Deal done. Middleton implicated. Meet with her & lawyer at 1. Be there?

Yes, Lucinda typed back and hit send.

Charley, satiated by the hugs and sympathetic words, stepped over to Lucinda and said, ‘Thank you, Lucy.’

‘Thank you, Charley. I am so proud of you. And I am proud to have been here with you.’

‘I’m hungry,’ Charley said.

Lucinda laughed. ‘We do have time to stop for lunch before I take you home but then I have to get to work.’

‘Another bad guy?’

‘Jake and I have a couple of them this time.’

‘Nail them to the wall, Lucy,’ Charley said with unyielding seriousness.

Lucinda wanted to laugh at that phrase coming from the young girl’s mouth. She wondered what movie or television show put those words into her mouth. She gave no indication of her merriment, though, when she responded. ‘You know we’ll do our best to accomplish just that.’

‘Do you have any DNA evidence?’

‘For one of them we do.’

‘That sucker’s dog meat,’ she said.

Lucinda squeezed her lips tightly together to keep the threatened laugh inside.

SIXTY

S
ergeant Robin Colter sat at a table near the door to the kitchen in the elegant Casa Barcelona, keeping a close eye on Frank Eagleton. She’d never been in a totally a la carte restaurant before and was alarmed at the prices. She knew she had to order or be escorted outside. Although she thought she’d be reimbursed, she didn’t want to risk a high bill.

She asked for water for frugality’s sake and was appalled when a bottle of Evian was delivered with a crystal goblet. When she demurred and requested tap water instead, the haughty waiter looked down his nose with a sneer and said, ‘Madam, we do not serve tap water at Casa Barcelona.’

She smiled as she choked on the listed price: seventeen dollars. ‘I don’t particularly care for Evian, but I’ll make do,’ she said. She hoped the department would cover the expense.

‘What else can I get for madam?’

Robin knew she had to order something. ‘I’m not terribly hungry but a small salad would do.’

‘And for your dressing, madam?’

She looked the list and saw there was an additional charge for all the dressings. She ordered the cheapest one: oil and vinegar. The small bowl of mixed greens and its simple accompaniment came to forty-five dollars – with the water, the cost of her Spartan meal was over sixty dollars. Robin was horrified.

She also noticed that her service was far slower than that at the table for four where Frank Eagleton held court. She’d come in right behind him and yet he’d been seated half an hour before her even though she could see a number of vacant tables waiting for diners. By the time her salad was set before her, Eagleton and his guests had finished their entrées and were having aperitifs or dessert.

She saw Frank raise his hand ever so slightly. The appearance of the waiter with the small portfolio containing the bill was instantaneous. Frank pulled cash from his pocket, loosened his money clip and stuffed the bills inside. The waiter bowed to him as he accepted the payment.

The four rose and walked toward the front door. Robin looked at her half-eaten salad and the expensive water and then stood and approached Eagleton’s table. She grabbed the coffee mug he’d used, noting with dismay that there was still at least a half-inch of the liquid remaining in it. She carefully slipped it into the paper bag in her large handbag. She put one hand underneath her purse, hoping she could keep the cup upright.

Before she could return to the table to settle her bill, the waiter loomed over her. ‘Madam, you have not paid for your repast.’

Thinking fast, she said, ‘But Mr Eagleton said he was taking care of it.’

He looked down at her with an expression that said he knew she was a liar. ‘Alas, madam, there must have been a communication gaffe. Mr Eagleton did not cover your bill. I apologize for that and will allow you to make good on your charges.’

‘Of course,’ she said, wondering how she was going to extract her credit card without upturning the cup. ‘One moment,’ she said and rested her bag carefully on the surface of the abandoned table. She stuck both hands inside, using one to steady the cup and another to manipulate her credit card out of her billfold.

As she struggled, the waiter tapped his foot impatiently. The maitre d’ approached and asked, ‘Is there a problem?’

Robin’s hand emerged with her card and, handing it to the waiter, she said, ‘Oh, no, not at all. Thank you for asking. I had a tiny difficulty locating my card, that’s all.’

When the waiter returned with her card and receipt, she signed the bottom, added a fifty cent tip and extracted her copy of the bill. Walking out of the restaurant, she said a little prayer: ‘Please let them find the DNA they need and please let me be reimbursed for that meagerly meal.’

SIXTY-ONE

B
ack at the county jail, Lucinda and Jake nodded to each other before walking through the door to face Tess Middleton and her attorney. Each had a copy of Trappatino’s statement in hand. They sat down at the table and slid both copies of the document across to lawyer and client.

Stephen Theismann looked at the paper in front of him, glanced over at the other copy and, realizing they were identical, began to read. Tess, on the other hand, looked all around the room at anything but the piece of paper or the faces of the investigators directly across from her. She wore a bland expression of disinterest and boredom. She clicked her fingernails on the table surface.