First Offense (37 page)

“Oh, David,” Ann said as her son crossed the floor into her arms.

“Why didn’t he come. Mom? He said he’d come.”

“Don’t talk,” Ann said. “Let’s say a prayer for your dad, that wherever he is, he’s at peace and not in pain. That’s all we should wish for, honey.”

They just stood there and held each other.

“I love you,” David said, his voice a choked whisper. “I’m sorry I said those ugly things to you.”

“Oh, David,” Ann said, stroking his hair, “I’ll always love you no matter what you say to me.” Then she tilted his head up and looked him square in the eye. “Do you believe that? Are we a team like always?”

“Yeah,” he said weakly. “We’re a team, Mom, but we’re not a family without Dad.”

Ann pulled him back into her embrace. “You’re wrong, David. My mother died when I was really young, and my father raised me. We were a family. Do you understand? A real family. Just because Dad isn’t with us doesn’t mean we aren’t a family. A family is built on love and respect.”

David didn’t answer. Ann continued to hold him until he finally pulled away and went to the living room to watch television.

When the doorbell rang again later that night, Ann was playing gin rummy with David on the kitchen table. He lurched to his feet, but Ann rushed to the door ahead of him and found Tommy Reed with a grim look on his face. He ignored Ann, seeing David standing behind her. “David,” he said, “I have a treat for you. Go down the street to the surveillance van. Oscar’s going to show you how the equipment works.”

“Cool,” David said. “What’s in that thing, anyway?”

“Every kind of electronic device you can imagine. Run along now. Oscar’s waiting to show you.”

Once David had left. Reed turned to Ann. “I have something to tell you. I think you’d better sit down.”

He took her hand and led her to the couch, pushing her down with his hands on her shoulders. “There’s been a new development in Hank’s case.”

Ann was numb. She couldn’t think of anything worse than what she’d already been through with David.

“I notified the highway patrol late yesterday, and they flew some men to Arizona to investigate.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “They’ve got a suspect in custody, Ann.”

“No,” she said, bending over at the waist and wrapping her arms around herself. “Hank…”

“We don’t know all the details yet. All they know is this individual was in possession of Hank’s gun. Then one of our records clerks at the department did some investigating on her own and discovered that the man had used Hank’s badge number for a date of birth. I guess he carried that badge around all these years and memorized the numbers without even realizing it. When they arrested him and printed him, they found out his real identity. His name is Wayne Coffer, and there’s a warrant out for his arrest for murder. It was issued by the Texas authorities over six years ago. The man’s been living under an assumed name.”

“Then they think he’s the man who abducted Hank?” she said. She’d waited so long to know the truth, but now that she was hearing it, it didn’t seem real. Was what she was hearing no different from the phone calls? Was it all just a mirage, an awful dream?

“It looks that way,” Reed said. “This was what we speculated all along, that Hank stopped someone who was wanted and the person jumped him when he went back to call in the information.”

Ann was still holding herself, rocking back and forth, trying to assimilate what she was hearing. “But we still don’t know if Hank is dead or alive, right?”

“Top-ranking investigators for the highway patrol are there now, along with local FBI agents. They’ve been grilling the suspect since last night, trying to get him to crack. Seems he’s an alcoholic and suffering from liver disease. We’re just lucky we found him before he croaked. The man’s in bad shape.”

Inside, Ann wanted to scream. They were so close, but they still didn’t know. “What happens now?”

“They’ll work on him a little longer, then transfer him back here. They’ll have to build the case quick, however, because Texas will start extradition proceedings at once.”

Melanie had just told her the man on the phone was her husband. She couldn’t believe what Tommy was saying. If it wasn’t true, she’d lose her mind. “Is there any chance that Hank escaped? Can he possibly be alive? Melanie said it was Hank’s voice, Tommy. Something’s wrong.”

“Well, there’s always that chance, Ann, but it doesn’t appear likely. As for the phone calls—”

Persistent as always, Ann said, “Maybe he was injured. That could explain the phone calls. It sounds just like Hank’s voice, but he always hangs up and his speech is erratic. Say this Coffer guy hit Hank on the head and left him for dead somewhere. Hank could have a brain injury and not remember who he is.”

Reed pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry. But at least we have a suspect in custody. Isn’t that worth something?”

“No,” Ann said, wrenching away, her mouth set. “I can’t accept it until they find his body. Until they do, he could still be alive.”

Just then Ann saw David standing in the kitchen door, his mouth open and his face a ghastly shade of gray.

“How long have you been listening?” she asked, her heart beating so loud she could barely hear herself speaking.

“He’s dead,” David said bitterly. “My dad is dead. That man killed him. He never was coming back.”

Huge tears streamed down his face. “How could he call me? How could Dad call me if he was dead?”

Both Ann and Reed stood and crossed the floor, standing on either side of the boy. “David,” Reed said hesitantly, “there’s a slim possibility that your father is still alive. It wouldn’t be right to tell you otherwise, son. But we should have some firm answers soon.”

“Honey,” Ann said, brushing his hair off his forehead, “we’re coming down to the end now. It’s almost over. If we can just hold on a little while longer, we’re going to know for sure.”

“He’s dead,” David said flatly.

Ann and Reed looked at each other. What more could they say? David had finally crossed the line.

Chapter
20

O
n Wednesday morning, Ann drove David to school and then, weak and shaky from the night before, headed to the government center. Reed had stayed until after ten, when the investigators in Arizona notified him that they were calling it a night. Thus far, the suspect had refused to confess. Ann knew that they would be executing a search warrant on his apartment in the hopes of finding additional evidence, but for the present, there was nothing to do but wait.

Once Reed had gone home, Ann had sat with David until after midnight, looking through the old photo albums, telling him detailed stories about his father. They had laughed and they had cried, but Ann felt it was necessary. David was about to bury his father. She wanted the memories to be fresh in his mind.

Walking across the courtyard to the cafeteria for their morning break, Claudette kept bumping into Ann. “Why do you always do that?” Ann snapped. The tension had given her a nasty disposition and a throbbing headache. “Do you realize you do that, Claudette? Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”

“What?” Claudette said. “What’d I do?”

“Every time we walk somewhere together, you constantly bump into me. You don’t walk straight. You sort of weave all over the place like a drunk.”

“Well, thanks for sharing that with me,” Claudette said good-naturedly. Then she saw the strain on Ann’s face and fell serious again. “Did you tell Tommy to call you at work when he heard something?”

“Certainly,” Ann said.

“Shit,” Claudette said. “This thing is getting real spooky. All this stuff about Hank. Did you find out about Carl Simmons?”

“He was still in prison when I got shot, but he was released the following week. I don’t think we’re talking about two separate people here, Claudette. Whoever shot me has to be the person terrorizing me. Noah Abrams has hammered that point home to me.”

“I don’t know, Ann. Maybe Simmons planned it that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s an educated man, Ann, if I remember correctly. He might be crazy, but he’s not dumb. He could have hired someone from inside the joint to shoot you, knowing he would have an airtight alibi. Then when the shooter failed to kill you, he started stalking you himself.”

A man stepped out of the shadows and approached them. “Ann Carlisle?” he said. “Are you Ann Carlisle?”

Claudette grabbed Ann’s arm and pulled her close, her dark eyes wide with alarm. “What do you want?” she said.

The man gave Claudette a hasty once-over and handed a paper to Ann. “Ms. Carlisle, please sign your name where the red X is.”

Ann looked down at the paper and then back up at Claudette. “He’s just a process server, Claudette. Someone’s serving me with a subpoena, probably a defense lawyer on one of my cases.” Ann scribbled her name, shoved the subpoena into her purse, and handed the man the form. As soon as he had the paper in his hand, he scurried off to find another victim.

Ann pulled on the heavy doors leading to the main building of the courthouse. Claudette had insisted they go for a coffee break. And when Claudette insisted, it was better to just go along.

“Aren’t you even gonna look at the damn thing?” Claudette said, curious.

“No,” Ann said, her mind on other things. “I’ll look at it later.”

Claudette stopped in the middle of the reception hall, people streaming past her on their way to court. She had that look in her eyes that said she had to know and she had to know right that second. “Oh, come on, Ann, look at it. Let’s see which case it is.”

“No, Claudette,” Ann said, forging ahead without looking back.

Footsteps scurried behind her, and Claudette once more reached Ann’s side, her shoulder butting up against her. “You’ll tell me later, then? Right after we have our coffee?”

“Maybe,” Ann said with a coy smile. “You buying, Claudette?”

“I’ll buy,” Claudette snapped. “I’ll buy the damn coffee. I’ll even buy you a damn donut.”

They joined the food line at the cafeteria. Ann looked out over the room, searching for Glen.

“Are you going to give me the dirt on Delvecchio?” Claudette asked, when they were seated at a table with their coffee. “Didn’t you tell me something was going on?”

Ann choked at the mention of Delvecchio. As soon as she cleared her throat, she answered, “I have to talk to Glen. There’s something I don’t understand about the pleading.”

“Well, take care of it,” Claudette said. “Now that he’s been convicted, we have to get that report done.”

The cafeteria was crowded and noisy, attorneys conferring with one another, arguing their cases over coffee, others sitting alone poring over briefs, their bulging litigation cases open before them. Here and there rough-looking defendants, tattoos and all, were sipping coffee and waiting for their turn in the courtroom. Right next to one particularly nasty character was a table full of men Ann recognized as assistant district attorneys.

She leaned across the table to Claudette, whispering, “Do you ever think how dangerous it is to have us all in this complex together?”

“Not really,” Claudette said, stabbing her sweet roll with her fork and shoving it at Ann’s face. “Take a bite. I thought you were going to have a donut. I’ve gained ten pounds. God, how am I ever gonna lose it?”

Ann pushed the fork away. “I’m not hungry, Claudette. See that guy over there sitting next to the table of D.A.s?”

“Yeah,” Claudette said, craning her neck around. “What about him? Looks like a killer.”

“What keeps him from pulling out a gun and shooting one of those guys? How do we know one of those men isn’t the very district attorney that’s prosecuting him?”

Claudette was chewing, her sweet roll almost gone.

When she swallowed, she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “You’re getting paranoid, Ann. Even in the old building, defendants and prosecutors intermingled. If you have a restaurant of any kind near the courts and it’s open to the public, that kind of thing’s bound to happen.”

Ann knew she was right. It just seemed too close to her, too tight. All around her she saw menacing faces. “Look at that guy,” she said without thinking. “A real sweetheart, huh? Looks like he could rip your heart out and eat it for breakfast.”

Claudette laughed. “He’s an attorney, Ann.”

“See, I told you he was vicious.” Ann laughed too, and the paranoia faded.

“Come on, let’s look at that subpoena.”

Ann smiled despite herself. Claudette just couldn’t hold out any longer. Pulling the paper out of her purse, Ann spread it out on the table, moving her coffee cup out of the way. “Shit, it’s Sawyer,” she exclaimed, her face flushing with anger. “He’s suing me for false arrest, defamation of character, and harassment.”

“No,” Claudette said. She hated it when one of her people got sued. Since she was the supervisor, she always had the ultimate responsibility. “I told you it was Sawyer all along. Now with this new development, you know for sure. It’s obvious. This guy will do anything, absolutely anything, to stay out of jail. Slimy, no-good piece of dog shit.”

Claudette’s curiosity was satisfied, and her mind instantly returned to work. “Take care of Delvecchio, Ann,” she said, getting up. “You can deal with Sawyer later.”

When Ann got up herself, she did not head for the probation department. Instead she took the elevator to the third floor, where the D.A.‘s office was located. Glen would have to reopen the case, as she saw it, and make an honest effort to get Delvecchio cleared. Of course, Ann thought, there was another serious issue involved: if Delvecchio was innocent, the real rapist was free.

Once she had been buzzed through the security doors, she spotted Glen in the hallway, laughing and chatting with a pretty brunette. “Ann,” he said, pushing himself away from the wall, “what are you doing over here?”

“I’ll see you at lunch,” the woman said, smiling flirtatiously at Glen as she walked away.

“Do you know Linda Weinstein?” Hopkins asked, a strained smile on his face. “She’s in the sex crimes unit. Delvecchio was her case initially. After I told her how strongly I felt about the case, she agreed to let me try it.”