“Just a minute!” she yelled, and finally got it to turn, then yanked the door open. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
Bud walked in, grim-lipped and white as a sheet as he headed for the sofa.
“Oh, my God! You shouldn’t be here! Are you crazy?”
Bud was already down and stretching out on the cushions. He pointed at her.
“You. Me. Partners for life.”
Holly dropped to her knees and ran a hand across his forehead. Except for the sweat of exhaustion, he was cool.
“No fever. I hurt like hell, but I have pain pills.”
“Who the hell let you out of the hospital under your own steam?” Holly asked. “What if you start bleeding? What if you get an infection? I’m scared.”
“Well so am I. It scares me to see the shock in your eyes and the fear in your face. It scares me that he’ll say something to you that you can’t face. I need to know as much as you know, baby. We can’t get through this unless we do it together.”
“Oh, Bud…Bud…how have I lived this long without you?” Holly whispered, then wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his stomach.
He threaded his fingers through her hair as a fresh wave of pain rocked through him.
“About those pain pills…they’re in my righthand pocket. If you’ll get the water, I could down a couple right now.”
Holly headed for the sideboard, grabbed a bottle of water and a clean glass, and ran back.
Bud popped the pills, then downed them with the water straight out of the bottle.
“Many thanks.”
“Come lie down on the bed. It’s so much softer.” She helped him up and walked him into the bedroom, steadying him with a hand around his waist.
“The pills are likely to make me sleepy.”
“I’ll be quiet,” she said.
He eased himself down on the bed and then very carefully stretched out.
“Ah, God…this so sucks.”
Holly blinked guilty tears. “This happened because of me.”
“No. It was
for
you, not
because of
you. Now quit fussing and lie down beside me.”
“Want me to pull off your boots?”
“No, leave ’em on in case they call today. It was too hard getting them on.”
“But—”
He gripped her hand, harder than she’d expected. “No buts. I’m here because you’re not facing Harold Mackey alone. I won’t interfere, but I’ll be there, and I’ll hear everything he says. It’s that or we’re on the next plane to Montana and forget we ever heard the bastard’s name.”
Holly crawled up onto the bed beside him. “I can’t cry. I don’t want my eyes all red and swollen, so Mackey will think I’m crying because of him, but I want you to know how special you are. I love you, Robert Tate.”
Bud fingered her ring. “I love you, too. I think I’m going to rest now. Promise you won’t go anywhere without me.”
“I promise.”
He closed his eyes.
Holly lay facing him, burning every nuance of his misery into her brain. She was determined to remember, when she was in labor giving birth to their first child, that, for the love of his woman, he’d been the first to bear pain.
Edwin Walsh, Esquire, was just coming out of court when his cell phone rang. He saw it was his secretary and answered the call as he headed up the stairs.
“Yes, Bobbie?” he said without fanfare, then realized he was puffing and made a mental note to hit the gym more regularly.
“Mr. Walsh, you got a message about a new court-appointed client. He’s in the city jail.”
“Give me a name.”
“Harold Mackey.”
Edwin stopped. Pretty much everyone in the state knew that name now. “No, that’s not right. Myra Finch got him. We were talking about it at lunch.”
“Yes, sir, but Mackey refused her.”
Edwin cursed aloud, then put his hand over his mouth as he remembered he was still standing in the halls of justice.
“Damn it. Hell-fucking-damn it,” he whispered. “I know every man deserves legal representation, but this is a career killer.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“So am I. Cancel my next appointment. I’ll run by the jail before I come back to the office.”
He disconnected without saying goodbye.
His stride lengthened as he headed for his car. “I just had to be a lawyer. Mother wanted me to be a doctor, but no…I had to do my own thing.”
An hour later he entered the city jail, carrying Mackey’s file. He’d been there countless times before, but this time was different. This time he was prejudiced against his client and there was no way to get past it. He believed in the judicial system and that everyone deserved the right to legal representation, but he also secretly believed there were occasional exceptions. By the time he was escorted into the interrogation room, he’d given himself a pep talk. All he had to do was get through this.
Then he took one look into Harold Mackey’s eyes and shuddered. He hadn’t needed a pep talk. He needed an exorcist.
“Harold Mackey. My name is Edwin Walsh. I am your court-appointed lawyer.” Mackey nodded.
Edwin sat down and began to read off the charges.
Mackey held up his hand. “No trial.”
Edwin felt as if someone had just handed him a winning lottery ticket.
“You intend to plead guilty?”
Mackey nodded.
“It’s my sworn duty to make sure you understand the charges.”
“I’m not stupid,” Mackey snapped. “The sooner this is over with, the sooner I settle in.”
Edwin frowned. “Settle in?”
“To prison,” Harold said.
Edwin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You
want
to go to prison?”
Mackey leaned forward.
Edwin unintentionally cringed.
Mackey sneered. “No. I don’t
want
to go to prison, but I don’t see a way out. I am practical man. Facts are facts. So I say no trial.”
“I’ll get the proper papers ready. You’re being arraigned in the morning. You’ll enter a guilty plea then.”
“Whatever,” Harold said.
Edwin shuffled through the file and pulled out a memo.
“There’s one other thing. The police want to talk to you about the location of some unaccounted-for bodies, but since you’re entering a guilty plea, again I would advise your cooperation. You have no reason not to, and it could get you a life sentence instead of death. Also, an investigator from the FBI wants to talk to you, as well as a woman named Holly Slade.”
Harold blinked. That surprised him. It showed guts. And he admired strength.
“I’ll talk,” he said. “Can’t promise what I’ll say, but I’ll at least hear what
they
have to say.”
“I’ll arrange it, then. I believe that’s all, so I’ll see you in court tomorrow, for the arraignment,” Edwin said, and shuffled the papers back into the file.
He walked out without looking back.
Bud had slept off the pain pills, and once it got dark and it became apparent that Carver wasn’t going to call, Holly helped him undress and get comfortable. He’d traded his boots and jeans for a pair of sweatpants, and decided to bypass a shirt, because it hurt too much to put one on.
Fifteen minutes earlier, while Bud dozed, Holly had ordered room service and found a pay-per-view movie on television that she knew Bud would like. She’d given him the remote and then gotten on her laptop to catch up on email.
There was a message from Maria. It was short but sweet.
I’m out of the hospital. Stuff is happening. Can’t wait to see you.
There were no messages from Savannah, but a lot from friends and neighbors back home, most of which were full of sympathy regarding Andrew’s death. She was thankful no one back home knew what was going on with her, or she would never get through explaining the chaos.
She finished answering the messages with the movie playing in the background. Finally their food arrived.
“What’s for dinner?” Bud asked, as Holly followed the waiter in with their meal, and the smells were enticing.
She began lifting the lids. “I wasn’t sure what would sound good to you but I thought we should skip the heavy stuff. I ordered a Southwest frittata, hash browns and buttered toast.”
“What’s for dessert?”
Holly laughed. “You
are
feeling better.” She pulled the cover off the last dish. “Apple pie à la mode.”
He smiled. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
She had begun to divide the frittata when he stopped her with a touch.
“Pie first, or the ice cream will melt.”
At that point she wouldn’t have argued with anything he said. “Spoon or fork?”
He chose a spoon.
She handed him the whole dessert. “Enjoy.”
He eased back against the pillows and then took his first bite, rolling his eyes as he chewed and swallowed.
“It’s good, but not as good as yours.”
Holly smirked. He was so full of it. “You do know how to sweet-talk a woman, don’t you?” she said, then served herself some of the egg and hash browns.
They ate in silence, comfortable after years of sharing the same table, trading bites and then finally stories as the meal wound down.
“I’m so done,” Bud said, as he handed her back his plate.
“You ate really well for a man who just had a knife stuck in him.”
He winked. “Just keeping up my strength.”
Holly wheeled the food cart out into the hall, then made sure the door was locked.
“I’m going to take a shower. You want to watch some more TV?”
“Sure,” he said, and she handed him the remote.
She was still in the shower when her cell phone began to ring. Bud started to let it go to voice mail, then saw that the call was from Whit Carver. He answered it.
“Hello.”
Whit forgot what he was going to say. “Tate? Is that you?”
“Yes. Holly’s in the shower.”
“What the hell are you doing out of the hospital?”
“Sticking close to my woman is what I’m doing. What’s up?”
“Are you mobile?”
“Is he going to talk to her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow at one o’clock. City jail. Tell her I’ll pick her up around twelve-thirty.”
“We’re both going.”
“Can you even walk?”
“He cut my shoulder, not my legs. I won’t let her anywhere close to him without me there, too.”
“I can promise you he’s in chains and shackles, and there will be armed guards in the room and outside the door no matter who he’s talking to—except his lawyer, of course. Oh, by the way, tell Holly she won’t have to testify in court.”
“That’s good news, but why not?”
“He’s pleading guilty at his arraignment tomorrow.”
“That’s good to know. When she talks to him, is he going to be in one of those rooms with a two-way mirror?”
“Yes.”
“Can you hear what he’s saying from the other side?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s where I’ll be. If there’s a spare chair around, I’ll take it. Otherwise, I’m good.”
There was a long moment of silence, then Whit said, “You are one tough son of a bitch, and I mean that in the nicest way.”
Bud smiled. “I’ll take it as a compliment. We’ll be ready.”
Holly came out of the bathroom just as he ended the call.
“Who was that?”
“Carver. You’ve got your interview. One o’clock tomorrow at the city jail.”
At first she didn’t respond. She just stared into space.
“Holly?”
She jerked. “What?”
“Are you okay?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been trying all day to figure out how to ask him about Mother.”
“You’ll find your way. You always do.”
“Do you need any help in the bathroom?”
“No, I’m good. I’ll just sleep in my sweatpants, and settle for washing my face and brushing my teeth. I won’t be long.”
Holly watched until he had shut the door behind him; then she walked to the windows overlooking the river. The Arch and the riverboats were lit up like Christmas trees. Down below, the streets looked shiny. She was surprised to see it had been raining. There was so much riding on tomorrow, and she was weary of the stress. She pressed her forehead against the cold panes of glass and closed her eyes.
“God help me.”
At the jail, Mackey was the man of the hour. The agent from Quantico was there, waiting his turn to talk, looking forward to finding out why such a notorious serial killer had quit cold turkey.
Detective Carver was anxious to get locations on the four other bodies, but he wasn’t broaching the subject with Mackey until Holly spoke to him first. It only seemed fair, given everything she had done for them. He was on the way to the hotel to pick her up, though he was still anxious about Tate going with her. The will to do something was often stronger than the body’s ability. He was hoping they didn’t have to call an ambulance to the jail if Tate couldn’t hold up.
But to his surprise, as he pulled up at the hotel, they came right out.
“You must have been watching for me,” Whit said, as he got out of the car to help Bud in.
“Bud, you take the front seat,” Holly said. “It’ll be easier for you to get in and out. I’ll ride in back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bud said, and eased himself inside. He didn’t even argue when she buckled him in before getting in the back.
Whit eyed the couple with something akin to jealousy, wishing he’d found a woman like her when he was younger, then reminded himself that he might have had better luck if he’d been looking somewhere besides a sports bar.
“Ready?” Whit asked, as Holly shut the back door.
She nodded, buckling herself in as he drove away.
“Has anybody talked to Mackey yet?” Bud asked.
“No. Holly gets the first shot.” Whit glanced at her in the rearview mirror. It was obvious that she was nervous. “I wish I could guarantee you’ll get what you came for.”
She shrugged slightly. “There are no guarantees in life, are there?”
“No, ma’am, there are not.”
The rest of the trip passed in silence. When they got to the jail, Holly busied herself with helping Bud, so by the time they got to the interrogation room, some of her nerves had settled.
Then Whit walked them through a door and pointed. From where they were standing, they could see Mackey sitting at a table. He was handcuffed and shackled and, to Holly’s horror, staring straight at them. It took her a moment to remember that he was looking at a two-way mirror and couldn’t tell who was on the other side.