Fatal Judgment (9 page)

As he walked toward the door, Liz followed.

“I don’t know what Doug told you about us, Jake, but after things calm down, I’d like to return to this conversation.”

She hadn’t planned to bring up the subject again. And Jake appeared to be as surprised as she was by her comment.

His step faltered, and he shot her a glance over his shoulder. His eyes were shadowed in the subdued light of the foyer, but she couldn’t doubt the sincerity in his tone. “I’d like that too.”

He continued to the door and twisted the dead bolt. “I hope you sleep better tonight.”

“Thanks. I do too.”

After hesitating for a brief second, he let himself out. She peered through the peephole as she relocked the door, noting that he waited until it clicked before he walked a few yards down the hall to check in next door.

Through the fish-eye lens, her view of him was distorted.

Just as his view of her seemed to be distorted.

But before his assignment with her was finished, she intended to set the record straight.

“I’m not getting a good feeling from this.”

At the comment by FBI Special Agent Mark Sanders, Jake frowned at the video screen. Cole had been questioning Alan Long for ten minutes in the nearby interview room at the Springfield PD headquarters, and Jake was fast coming to the same conclusion as Mark.

Stephanie’s husband sat beside his attorney, Andrew Thomas, his hands tightly clasped on the round table in front of him. Mid-thirtyish with neatly trimmed light brown hair and dressed in a dark gray suit and tie, he didn’t look like a wife beater, let alone a killer.

Then again, a lot of violent criminals appeared to be normal, ordinary people when first questioned by the police.

It was the man’s demeanor, not his appearance, that unsettled Jake. His grief over his wife’s death seemed genuine. It could be an act. But Jake’s gut told him it wasn’t.

“I’m not, either.” He turned to the tall, dark-haired man beside him, who was still focused on the screen.

Mark looked his way. He had the seasoned eyes of a man who’d seen more than his share of violence and trauma. A man with finely honed instincts. A man whose judgment Jake already respected and trusted.

“If he’s not the culprit, we have a whole different scenario to deal with.”

Meaning Liz could have been the real target.

Jake had already come to the same conclusion.

“Yeah. And it’s a whole lot messier.” Not to mention unsettling.

“Oh, God, I can’t believe this is happening! It’s a nightmare!”

At the outburst from the video monitor, both men refocused on the screen.

Alan’s elbows rested on the table, and he’d buried his face in his palms. His attorney put a hand on his shoulder and spoke too softly for the mike to pick up.

After a few moments, Alan brushed his knuckles across his eyes and addressed Cole. “I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with this! I loved Steph, even if I didn’t always show it. And she knew I loved her. But when she told me on Wednesday she was leaving, I went a little nuts.”

“You hit her.” Cole pinned him with a hard look.

“Yeah. I did. And I’m not proud of that.”

“So you acknowledge you have an anger management problem.” Cole maintained a neutral tone.

“You don’t have to respond to that,” Andrew Thomas interjected.

“I don’t mind answering. It’s no secret. Yeah, I have an anger problem. Steph bore the brunt of it. And she was a saint to put up with me! But she always believed I could overcome my issues. Believed I was capable of being better than I was. No one in my whole life ever believed in me like she did.” His voice broke, and Jake watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed and his irises began to shimmer. He swiped at his eyes again.

When he continued, his words were ragged. “She’d been after me for a long time to get counseling. Had hinted it might be the only way to save our marriage. But I never thought she’d really leave me—until I came home Thursday night and found her note. It about killed me.

“At first I was mad. I wanted to smash things. But I knew that was the exact kind of reaction that had caused her to leave. So I didn’t. I went to work Friday but took off at noon to drive to the lake. I camped there until Sunday afternoon. I’ve always been calmer, thought more clearly, out in the woods. And I realized I didn’t want to lose her. Or my child. That I wanted to be a better husband and father than my old man was. And I decided I was going to go to counseling, like Steph wanted. Only I never got the chance to tell her that.”

Once more, the man broke down.

Cole stood, murmured a few words to the two men in the room, and exited. Thirty seconds later, he joined Jake and Mark.

“What’s your take?” He closed the door behind him.

Mark deferred to Jake.

“We’re not getting good vibes from this.”

“Me neither.” Cole turned to Mark. “This investigation might be moving into your ballpark.”

“Looks that way.”

“You want to take over the interview?”

“I doubt I’m going to get any more than you did, but it might not be a bad idea to let Mr. Long know the FBI has an interest in this too. If he is covering up anything, that might shake him up a little.”

“It’s worth a try.”

Cole stepped away from the door, and Mark exited.

“He doesn’t strike me as a murderer.” Cole perused the man on the screen. “He has a good job as an engineer, very few debts, no love interest on the side that we’ve been able to determine. And he appears to be genuinely upset about his wife.”

“But I saw Stephanie’s black eye.” Jake watched the screen as Mark entered the interview room. “Anger can turn normal people into abusers. Or killers. I agree, though. Something doesn’t feel right here.”

Mark introduced himself, and as he took the seat Cole had vacated, Jake gave the conversation taking place down the hall his full attention.

“Why is the FBI involved in this?” the attorney asked.

“The murder took place in the home of a federal judge. That could move the investigation into our jurisdiction.” He addressed his next question to Alan. “Mr. Long, how did you feel about your sister-in-law?”

Alan looked at his lawyer.

“How is that relevant to this investigation?” the man asked.

“It could be very relevant, if she was also a target.”

“You think I’d kill not only my wife but Liz too?” Alan stared at him.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

He muttered a coarse word. “Look, she wasn’t my favorite person, okay? She was always after Steph to leave me. But I didn’t hate her. I knew she loved Steph and that she thought she was doing the right thing. In hindsight, maybe she was.” He choked on the last word.

“Based on our conversation with Detective Taylor, it doesn’t appear to me you have one bit of hard evidence linking my client to this murder.” Andrew Thomas folded his hands on the table. “All you have is supposition, which, as we both know, isn’t sufficient for a warrant, let alone a conviction. So unless you have more than that, I assume my client is free to go.”

Mark took his time answering. “That’s correct, Mr. Thomas. However, your client needs to be aware that he will continue to be a person of interest in this investigation. We may have further questions as it progresses.”

“I’ll help in any way I can. I want Steph’s murderer found as much as you do.” Alan turned to his attorney. “What about arrangements for my wife’s funeral?”

“I understand they’re being handled by her sister,” Mark offered.

“That sounds like my cue.” Jake glanced at Cole. “You staying here?”

“Yeah.”

Thirty seconds later, Jake pushed through the door to the interview room. All three occupants shifted their attention to him.

“We were just discussing the funeral plans,” Mark told him. “Gentlemen, this is Deputy U.S. Marshal Jake Taylor.”

Jake nodded at them. “Judge Michaels has made arrangements for her sister to be interred near her parents in Kansas City. A service is scheduled in the cemetery chapel on Wednesday.”

“No!” The word exploded from Alan, and his complexion grew ruddy as he vaulted to his feet. “She’s my wife. I want her buried in Springfield. And I want the service at our church.”

“Alan.” The attorney put his hand on his client’s arm.

He shook it off. “This isn’t right, Andrew. I’m her husband. I should have the final say on this.” He glared at Jake and Mark, bristling with rage.

“Alan.” The attorney rose and waited until the man looked at him. “We can discuss this later. In private.”

Andrew Thomas’s words were measured. Calm. But his eyes were intent. Jake wondered if his client would get his silent “cool it” message.

He did. With what appeared to be a supreme effort, Alan reined in his temper. “Are we finished here?” He kept his gaze on his attorney.

“I believe we are.” The attorney looked at Mark, then Jake. “Is there anything else today, gentlemen?”

“No.” Mark stood. “But I would strongly recommend your client remain available—and in town—for the immediate future.”

Inclining his head in acknowledgment, Andrew Thomas ushered Liz’s brother-in-law from the room.

The door had no more closed behind them when Cole stepped inside. “I’d say the man has a definite anger problem.”

“No kidding.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “But that doesn’t make him a murderer. So where are we on this?”

Mark gestured to the table and retook his seat. Jake and Cole followed his lead. “Here’s my take. It’s possible he’s still our man. But he did an amazing acting job if he is. Which, as we all know, is very possible. Meaning we can’t slack off on our investigation of him. Cole, St. Louis County should probably take the lead on that. We’ll assist as needed, since the victim was the sister of a federal judge. Make sense?”

“Yes.”

“I’m beginning to think Stephanie Long might not have been the intended victim. That she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That puts Liz Michaels in the crosshairs. Jake?”

Much as that possibility disturbed him, Jake found Mark’s logic sound. “I agree.”

“We asked her early on if she had any enemies, knowing this was a possible scenario. But she said no.” Cole tapped his index finger on the table as two parallel grooves creased his brow.

“Known enemies and enemies are two different things,” Jake noted.

“And unknown enemies are a lot more dangerous.” Mark frowned. “My wife was stalked by one a year ago. He almost succeeded in taking her out, despite our best efforts to protect her.”

A chill rippled through Jake. “We need to get with the judge as soon as we return and revisit the enemy discussion.”

“Agreed.” Mark stood. “You two ready to head back?”

“Yeah.” Cole rose. “Let me thank the Springfield guys. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Fifteen minutes later, as Cole merged onto eastbound I-44 and Mark responded to emails on his BlackBerry from the backseat, Jake watched the passing scenery. The fields were baked from the relentless sun and humidity of a Missouri summer, the parched cornstalks dried and shriveled. A single spark would set the whole field aflame.

That’s how he felt about the situation with Liz. Their most promising lead had shriveled and dried up, leaving them with a volatile situation that could explode at any moment.

And he didn’t look forward to sharing that news with the woman whose security had been placed in his hands.

______

Jake met Spence in the hall outside the CP as the marshals were changing shifts.

“How’s everything here?”

“Quiet as a morgue.”

Jake winced at the analogy.

Pursing his lips, the other marshal assessed him. “I’m getting the feeling it didn’t go well in Springfield today.”

“If by well you mean we got a confession, the perpetrator is in custody, and this protection gig is over, no, it didn’t go well. In fact, all three of us have serious doubts Alan Long is our man. And the lack of evidence linking him to the scene isn’t helping.”

The other man squinted at him. “So you think the judge was the target?”

“That’s looking more and more like a serious possibility. Mark Sanders from the FBI is on his way here to talk to Liz. You know him?”

“We’ve met. He’s been assigned to the St. Louis field office for about a year. Came from the HRT.”

“So I heard.”

“He seems to be a good guy. You need anything before I call it a night?”

“A suspect in custody?”

“I wish.” With a rueful shake of his head, he gestured toward the CP. “I’ll alert the guys to be on the lookout for Mark.” With a mock salute, he turned back toward the command post.

A quick check of his watch propelled Jake farther down the hall. He had fifteen minutes until Mark showed up. They’d agreed it would be better for Jake to share the outcome of their trip to Springfield—as well as their suspicion—with Liz. And lay the groundwork for the appearance of the FBI.

Wishing he had better news to relay, Jake rang the bell.

Unlike his visit last night, when Liz’s slow response had set his adrenaline pumping, she pulled the door open mere seconds after he pressed the button to summon her.

As if she’d been waiting for him.

Ignoring the pleasant little trill that skittered along his nerve endings at that thought, he stepped inside.

“Your timing is good.” Liz bolted the door. “I just finished off your sister’s lasagna. Please thank her again for me.”

“I’ll do that. Everything okay?” He studied her. The dark circles under her eyes had diminished, but he couldn’t be sure if that was due to restful sleep or skillful application of makeup.

“It’s been quiet, if that’s your definition of okay.” She motioned him toward the living room. “I spent the morning going through Stephanie’s bags and picking out some clothing. I also conferred with the funeral director by phone. Everything’s set for Wednesday, and I told him you or someone in the Marshals Service might want to discuss security issues.” She picked up a slip of paper from the coffee table as she sat on the couch. “This is his cell number. He said to call anytime.”

Jake pocketed the number as he opened the button on his suit jacket and took the chair beside the couch. At least the funeral plans wouldn’t be disrupted. During the drive home, Andrew Thomas had called Cole on his cell to say his client had had a change of heart and wouldn’t interfere with the arrangements Liz had made. Jake assumed the attorney had suggested to Alan that he rock the boat as little as possible.

The bad news was that Stephanie’s husband planned to attend the service.

Jake didn’t even want to imagine what Liz’s reaction would be when he passed on that incendiary tidbit. But they had other ground to cover first.

“I’ve already spoken to our KC office and they’re checking out the location.” He’d spent a good part of the ride home, phone pressed to ear, coordinating security plans with his colleagues on the far side of the state. “They’ll also give us backup on site during the service.”

“Is that really necessary, with Alan accounted for?”

Now came the hard part.

Clasping his hands, Jake leaned forward. “After meeting with him, we have some serious doubts about his guilt, Liz.”

She gave him a blank look. “What do you mean?”

“Aside from the lack of evidence linking him to the crime scene, his remorse about Stephanie was very convincing.”

Anger flared in her green irises, turning the flecks of gold in their depths into sparks. “You believe him?”

“Let’s just say I’m not convinced he’s guilty. And neither are Cole or Mark Sanders, the FBI agent who went with us. He’s en route here as we speak, by the way. We need to start taking a serious look at other scenarios.”

“Like what? You ruled out robbery, didn’t you?”

“It’s low on our motive list.”

He waited, giving her a chance to process all he’d said and come to the obvious conclusion. He knew, from the sudden widening of her eyes, the instant she did.

“You think
I
was the target?”

“You said yourself your sister had no enemies.”

“I don’t, either.”

“Most judges do.”

“Jake, I’ve never even gotten a hate letter, like some of my counterparts have!” She rose, her agitation palpable as she folded her arms tight across her chest and began to pace. “This doesn’t make sense. If I was the target, why did the person kill my sister?”

“It may have been a matter of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He tried to say the devastating words as gently as he could, tried to steel himself against the reaction Liz was certain to have once the implication registered.

But the way her face crumpled twisted his gut.

“Dear God!” The anguished words, half rebuke, half plea, seemed torn from her throat. “If that bullet was meant for me,
I
should be dead! Not Stephanie.”

All at once, her cheeks blanched. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she half ran, half stumbled down the hall toward the master bedroom.

Jake rose, unsure whether to follow or give her a few moments alone. Seconds later, the muted sound of violent retching echoed in the quiet room as she lost the lasagna she’d just eaten.

Torn between compassion and respect for Liz’s privacy, he opted for the former and started down the hall.

Halfway to her room, the doorbell stopped him.

Mark.

Detouring to the foyer, he used the peephole to confirm it was the agent, then flipped the dead bolt. Silence descended again in the condo as the man crossed the threshold, and Jake kept his voice low as he brought him up to speed on what had transpired in the past few minutes.

A flash of compassion echoed in Mark’s eyes. “Hopefully she’ll accept in time it wasn’t her fault. But guilt—even the misplaced variety—can be overwhelming.”

“Yeah.” Jake knew that firsthand. And some nuance in Mark’s tone told him the other man did too.

He gestured toward the living room. “Have a seat while I check on her.”

As he traversed the hall, Jake passed one bedroom with open suitcases on a queen-size bed. Otherwise, the room appeared to be unlived in.

Pausing at the entrance to the master bedroom near the end of the short hall, Jake gave the space a quick scan. The bed was made, and three pairs of shoes were lined up in a neat row beside the chest of drawers. The closet door was half ajar, and a few of the hangers wore garments. Most were empty, as if Liz didn’t expect to be here long. A pair of reading glasses lay atop a book on the nightstand.

It was the framed photos on the dresser that captured his attention, however.

There was a small cluster of them, in varying sizes. Based on the attire of the couple in the first one, Jake estimated its age at thirty years. Must be Liz’s parents. There was also a picture of Liz and Doug, flower-bedecked drinks in their hands as they stood in front of a backdrop that featured palm trees, a white sand beach, and blue ocean. A honeymoon shot from Hawaii, perhaps? If so, that made it ten years old.

But it was the third shot—an eight-by-ten image of more recent vintage—that sent a wave of adrenaline surging through him.

A smiling Liz was sitting on a boat dock, a large expanse of tanned skin set off by a white tank top, the thin gold chain around her neck glinting in the sun. She had her arm around the shoulders of another woman whose right cheek bore a very faint purple tinge.

Stephanie.

Even without the subtle evidence of abuse, Jake wouldn’t have had any problem identifying Liz’s sister.

Because the two of them shared the same green eyes. Same generous lips. Same high cheekbones. Same long, wavy blonde hair.

The resemblance was remarkable from the front.

From the back, he suspected it would be impossible to tell them apart.

And a back view was all the killer had had.

The theory that Liz had been the target went from possible to probable in a heartbeat. Leaving him with a knot in the pit of his stomach. And three key questions.

Who was the perpetrator?

What was the motive?

And would he or she try again?

Liz wrung out the cool washcloth, pressed it to her forehead, and willed the shaking in her legs to subside as she eased down onto the closed toilet seat.

She should be dead. Not Stephanie.

Lord, how am I supposed to live with that guilt?

Drawing a shuddering breath, she leaned against the wall and stared at the tiles in front of her.

“Liz? Are you okay?”

At Jake’s concerned question, she closed her eyes and stifled a groan. How long had he been on the other side of the door? Long enough to hear her emptying his sister’s lasagna into the toilet?

If ever a person had seen Judge Elizabeth Michaels at her worst, Jake was it. He’d gotten an eyeful in the past seventy-two hours. No doubt he was ruing the day he’d been assigned to head her security detail.

And she couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t wish the past three trauma-fraught days on anyone. Either as victim or protector.

“Yes. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take your time.”

If she took her time, she’d be in here all night. Hiding in embarrassment. She’d never been prone to public displays of emotion. Had become a master of presenting a placid, calm façade to the world. Strangers weren’t privy to her private grief and insecurities and regrets.

Her only consolation was that Jake didn’t seem like a stranger. And that was odd. Two meetings in five years and a few stories Doug had told shouldn’t have bred the kind of familiarity and sense of closeness she felt with him.

But shared trauma could engender that feeling, she supposed, gripping the edge of the vanity to steady herself as she stood. And they’d had plenty of that during the past three days.

Liz reached for her toothbrush, trying without much success to rid her mouth of the bitter, lingering taste of vomit, wondering if all the subjects Jake guarded felt this way. Relying on someone for both emotional support and physical protection could accelerate a feeling of intimacy that would take far longer to develop under normal circumstances. And it could very well be one sided.

When she opened the door, however, she intuitively knew the warmth and caring in his eyes wasn’t his standard operating procedure.

Nor were her feelings one-sided.

Some of her embarrassment dissipated. Replaced by a deeper emotion she wasn’t yet ready to deal with.

“I take it you had a ringside seat for the show.” She hoped he’d attribute the tremor in her voice solely to the aftereffects of being violently ill . . . even though there were other causes too. Ones that had nothing to do with her stomach and everything to do with her heart.

“No. I was in the bleachers. But I could hear enough from the living room to figure out what was going on. Do you feel up to talking to the FBI agent? He’s here.”

What she wanted to do was curl up in a ball on the bed, pull the covers over her head, and shut out the world. Pretend that everything was fine. That’s what she’d done when her mom died. But it hadn’t changed the outcome then. And it wouldn’t change it now. As she’d learned through the years, putting off the tough stuff didn’t make it any easier to deal with in the end.

“I might as well get it over with.”

She flipped off the bathroom light, and as she headed toward the hall, Jake took her arm in a solid, comforting grip—as if to remind her she wasn’t alone.