It Should Be a Crime (29 page)

Parker read her entreaty and nodded solemnly. She opened the folder and her eyes darted across the top of the first page inside. Toxicology report for Camille Burke. She shot a glance at Skye, then carried the folder into the living room, sank into a chair, and devoured the report. Strychnine, extremely high levels present in the blood. Addendum to the full autopsy report concluding Camille Burke had been poisoned prior to being shot. Probable cause of death—poison. The new report was signed by Dr. Lauren Williams.

When Parker finished reading, she met Skye’s impatient eyes. “Well, don’t you have anything to say?” Skye asked.

“How did you get her to do this?”

Skye grinned. “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

“Give me a break. I met Williams. She was impervious to my charms.”

“Maybe you don’t have the right charms. I was on my best ‘gee, I’m a hardworking cop who is seeking justice’ behavior. Women find it hard to resist.”

“Not this woman. Don’t let Kelsey know you put the moves on the good Dr. Williams. I’m pretty sure she has the hots for her.”

“Well, you know me. I got what I want, I’m on to the next.” Skye cast her eyes down even as she delivered the flippant remark. Parker knew her flip was all bluster. She knew how hard it must have been for Skye to not only ask for, but to hand over the new report. Skye’s Sunday delivery was a peace offering of sorts and she took it in the spirit in which it was intended.

Parker asked, “Have you shown this to the prosecutor?”

“Not yet. I’m on my way to see her now.”

Proof positive Skye was intent on making up for the past. While delivery of the toxicology report didn’t heal all wounds, it was definitely a salve. Parker reached out a hand. “Peace?”

Skye grasped her firmly. “Peace.”

Parker held up the folder. “I wish I knew what this means.”

“You have until tomorrow to figure it out. And since I need to grab something to eat before I have the energy to face the know-it-all Ms. Gibson, you have a couple of hours’ head start.”

Parker shook her head as she watched her leave.

Morgan stood with the rest of the attorneys and spectators as sixty potential jurors filed into the room. The process was slow as each juror handed a clipboard containing a completed questionnaire to one of the bailiffs and another bailiff pointed out where they should be seated. While Dex and Gerald scribbled notes as they entered the room, Morgan concentrated on making eye contact with each person who would be a judge of the facts of the case.

Though the process was called jury selection, it was actually jury deselection. At the end of a couple of hours of questioning, each side would strike six of these individuals from the pool of potential jurors for reasons ranging from their answers to questions, to simple assessment of their body language. In addition, each side could suggest potential jurors be dismissed for cause—such as they couldn’t follow the law or they couldn’t understand English. The key to figuring out who to strike was to get them to talk, hence the name
voir dire
: “to speak the truth.”

As Morgan contemplated the individuals lining up in the aisles of the courtroom, she thought, not for the first time, there would be little truth telling during the next couple of hours. Some would consciously lie to get out of jury service and some would lie, all the while believing their words to be the rock-solid truth. This latter group would say they respected the presumption of innocence and no, they wouldn’t hold it against the defendant if he didn’t testify. Morgan was sure they believed they could be impartial, but the truth was the defendant in any case, having been arrested and indicted by a grand jury, faced an uphill battle fighting a strong presumption of “why are we here if he didn’t do something wrong?”

The panel was seated and the judge began with simple questions: who has a vacation planned this week, who doesn’t understand English—asked in English, of course. Morgan projected a relaxed appearance, but under the surface she was struggling to focus on the task at hand: listening. Normally, Morgan’s attention was laser sharp, but today she fought distraction and the primary source was the folder tucked in her briefcase and the woman, standing in the back of the room, who brought it to her early this morning.

*

Parker had dressed for court even though she had no intention of participating in the proceedings. Her singular goal was to hand off the folder to Jake and Dex and head out. She’d made a late-afternoon appointment with Dean Ramirez and she intended to keep it. But from the moment she reached the courthouse, her plans spun out of her control. She had called Jake the night before and told him the gist of the report, but now that she was here, Ford and Morgan wanted to hear all the details for themselves. Parker felt the heat of Morgan’s attempts to meet her eyes, but she avoided the temptation of reconnecting. Facing the others, she recounted Skye’s eve-of-trial delivery. The guys on the team expressed excitement at the various ways the information could be used while Morgan quietly read the report for herself. Parker watched her bowed head and wished they were alone. She wanted to apologize for storming out of the prep session on Friday. She wanted to know what Gerald had done and if Morgan was hurt because of it. Come to think of it, where was the little bastard? She glanced around, but he was nowhere to be found. As she turned back, she was struck by the powerful impact of Morgan’s eyes boring into her own. They spoke over each other.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Parker felt Morgan’s hand on her arm and she registered Dex and Jake had slipped away. She opened her mouth to say more, but the sear of Morgan’s touch blocked out any professional comment she could have made and the personal was, well, too personal. Flushed, she broke eye contact and stepped back. “You should get in there.” She nodded toward the courtroom doors. “And I should go.” She didn’t wait for a response, instead she walked down the wide hall of the courthouse. She knew without looking back that Morgan was rooted in place.

Parker was riding the escalator to the first floor when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Jake’s gravelly voice was unmistakable. “Where you think you’re off to?”

“Air, Jake. I need some air.”

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to settle back in around here.”

Parker was startled by his frank assessment, but she realized she shouldn’t be. Certainly, Jake had been privy to the gossip over her departure from the force. Try as she might to put it behind her, fact was the shade of the past would dance its shadows into her professional life for the foreseeable future. “If only it were so simple, Jake.”

Jake’s hard yet gentle stare dared her to a different conclusion.

“Jake, I have some things I need to do.”

He didn’t relent. “But here I was counting on you to help me out. We have a witness to go see. Leslie Hammond.”

“I thought she wasn’t back in town until later this week.”

“I got wind she blew back in town last night. Accounting for jet lag, I figure she should be awake and moving around by now. Come on, let’s make a trip to her house and see what she has to say.”

Parker looked at her watch. She had plenty of time before her afternoon meeting. She could do this small task and feel like she hadn’t abandoned the team altogether. “Fine. You’ll hate riding in my noisy car, though, so you’re driving.”

“Fair enough.”

*

Camille’s friend Leslie had means, though you’d have to know the neighborhood well to realize it. The small Tudor house was situated on a postage stamp lot. Parker figured the house had no more than two bedrooms, one bath, and a small detached garage, but the house’s location, smack in the middle of the M Streets, meant it was valued at close to a half million dollars. Pretty swank for a college student.

Jake eased his sedan into Hammond’s driveway, pulling up close to the Porsche 911 nestled against the house. Parker followed him to the door, intent on merely observing this interview. A tousled twentysomething male answered the door, steaming mug of coffee in hand.

“Can I help you?”

“Maybe. We’re looking for Leslie Hammond?”

The affable young man nodded and replied, “I’m Leslie.”

Jake glanced at Parker and both attempted to mask their surprise. The man in the doorway grinned. “Let me guess. You expected a nice young lady to answer the door? No worries, it happens all the time. I think my parents are the last holdouts on using old family names long after they’ve gone out of style.”

Jake smiled. “Can we come in for a moment?”

“You’re not selling anything, are you?”

“No, we’re here about Camille Burke.”

Leslie’s face paled and he waved them in. Heading to a table in the kitchen, he motioned for them to be seated. “I heard what happened. Weeks after the fact. I’ve been in a remote area of Africa working on a research project.” As he talked he ran his hand through his unruly blond waves.

Parker was struck with a thought. Did Leslie return early so he could be a witness for the prosecution? What would he have to say that would help the case against Luis Chavez? “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you come back early?”

If Leslie was puzzled at the fact Parker knew his schedule, he didn’t show it. “I finished up ahead of schedule and frankly, I missed having hot running water.”

Relieved, Parker said, “We’d like to ask you some questions about Camille. But before we begin, I want to let you know we are working with the team representing the person on trial for her death.”

“The handyman, right?” At their nod, he continued, “I don’t get it. Camille was the sweetest person I had ever known. I have no idea why he, or anyone, would want to kill her.” Leslie choked as he spoke the last words and Parker watched him carefully, suddenly clear about something.

“Leslie, were you in love with her?”

His expression was tinged with sadness, but he smiled nevertheless. “Pretty obvious, huh? Yes, I loved her. I wanted to marry her and thought she wanted me too. I was wrong.”

Parker leaned forward. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. She broke it off with me the day before I left. She was vague.”

Parker pushed. “Vague how?”

“She said the usual amorphous break-up lines. ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ ‘I need some space.’ You know.”

Parker nodded. Even though she carefully avoided relationships, she had delivered similar phrases to keep from hurting another woman’s feelings. But the lines she had spoken in the past had always been true—it was her and she did need space. Her thoughts strayed unbidden to Morgan and she couldn’t help but think space was the last thing she wanted. How unlike her to crave closeness. Shaking herself, she focused on the young man seated in front of her.

“Leslie, did you have any contact with Camille while you were out of the country?”

“I didn’t speak with her at all. I didn’t speak to anyone at home. Our location was so remote, I didn’t even receive mail. I did write to her, but I have no way of knowing if she received my letters.” Leslie kept up a strong front, but the crack in his voice betrayed his attempts to hide his hurt. Camille Burke had broken his heart and he was still in love. Now she was dead and he would never have an opportunity to win her back. Parker felt tendrils of his pain wrap around her and squeeze. As his heartache held her in its grasp, it became her own. What if she was in love with Morgan? What if she lost the opportunity to explore her feelings? A cynical voice inside told her it didn’t matter. Morgan clearly needed nothing more than the physical encounters they had shared. The curvaceous blonde salivating in her office was now fulfilling Morgan’s needs. Parker’s questions battled her cynical conclusions. She needed answers, but right now she needed to leave before she suffocated in the reflection of her own anguish. Turning to Jake, she realized she had monopolized the interview and gladly turned it back over to him.

“Jake, can you think of anything else?”

While Jake asked Leslie a few additional questions to round out background information, Parker walked around the room. Mementos of Leslie’s love were scattered around like wildflowers, coloring his otherwise stark bachelor pad. Smiling for the camera, he and Camille had embraced in a host of exotic locales, and their love was framed and displayed for all to see. Parker tried to imagine a photo of her and Morgan sporting leis and cuddling on the beach.
Focus, Parker. She’s not interested in anything more than what we’ve already had. Especially since what we already had has almost cost her job.
Parker looked at her watch. If they hurried, she still had time to make her meeting with Dean Ramirez. Glancing once more at Leslie’s photographs, she mentally noted if he was this upset about the breakup weeks later, he must have been livid at the time.

Jake indicated he was finished and handed Leslie his card. Parker begged off riding back to the courthouse, instead asking Jake to drop her off on campus. All she wanted to do was see Morgan, but she had to see to something else first.

*

“Ms. Bradley, I have some additional discovery for you.” Valerie Gibson thrust an envelope forward. “These lab tests were delivered today. Nothing of any consequence, but I wanted to make sure I provided you with them prior to the start of evidence.”

Morgan looked at the envelope but didn’t reach for it. “I suppose you missed the section of my discovery motion asking for
Brady
material.” Morgan’s voice dripped sarcasm. The prosecutor knew she had an obligation to turn over any exculpatory evidence, and ethics should have compelled her to do so even if Morgan hadn’t specifically asked.