The Fallen Angels Book Club (32 page)

“We should take this to the police,” Mark said. “They have equipment that can read this stuff.” Mark examined the page more closely.

“Can you do it today? I want them to have it as soon as possible, but I'm really getting tired. I'm ready to go home.”

Mark lowered his voice. “Hollis, don't worry. Avery will be convicted. This page will add to the stack of evidence against him.”

“I have to do what I can to make sure he gets a full sentence. Then I can let it go. Avery tried to kill me. He killed my friend. He betrayed dozens of clients.” I sighed, “I need to read between Bill's lines. I just need to figure it out.”

We took the boxes of books and clothing and put them in Mark's SUV. Walking out to the parking lot, I bumped into the doorjamb and pretended not to notice Mark's concern.

The beaming sun playing against the pale blue sky belied my frustration.

He started the engine. “You know, Hollis, I think we work pretty well together.”

I almost smiled. “We'll see.” For a moment I couldn't describe what I thought. There was pain, this time from my heart. I knew I'd be missing a certain pair of green eyes I wouldn't be seeing again.

I
steadied myself and gave a slight wave to Mark as he pulled away from the curb. The night was quiet and the sound of kids playing next door didn't take away from the stillness.

Turning the key in the lock, I sensed movement to my right. A tall man stepped out from the bushy cypress shrub and grabbed my elbow. I screamed into his gloved right hand as he gripped my mouth. Shoving me into the house, he used his left hand to lock the door behind us before he growled in my ear.

“Mrs. Lynley, I don't think you know me, but I knew your late husband.” He shook my head with his hand firmly squeezing my mouth. “If you stop screaming, I'll remove my hand. If you play games, I want you to know I will hurt you.”

I nodded in understanding. He released me and smiled. I recognized his smile. He was the man in the car parked in front of my neighbor's when Bill had come by my condo. He had followed Bill.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My heart pounded and I couldn't seem to catch my breath. The man in front was about a foot taller than me. His bald head was fringed in dark brown hair, and he had a frazzled-looking mustache over large lips.

He kept a grip on my wrist as he closed the shutters.

I stood shaking beside him. “What do you want? Did Bill owe you money? I don't have much, but you can take what I have.”

He looked at me with large, flat, brown shark eyes. “Your husband wasn't a very nice man. He took something from me that I need back.” He smirked. “I think you know it wasn't money.”

I licked my lips. “Bill never told me what he was doing. He was my ex-husband and …”

He moved around the room and started throwing books off the shelves. I tried to calm myself and clear my brain. I edged toward the kitchen doorway.

“He took a ledger that puts me in a very bad light.” He finally turned to look at me.

I stopped moving.

“Well, I can tell you Bill didn't give me a ledger. I don't know who you are and I don't want any trouble. Please, please leave.”

“I wish I could, but I've looked everywhere for those pages and Lynley didn't have them on him. So, I'm thinking he left them with the lady in this picture.” He tugged at a slightly crumpled photo in his pocket. He held it out for me to see.

I stared at him.

“Look at it. It's you and him. He was holding onto it when he died.”

Bill held onto our honeymoon picture.

Glancing down at the doomed couple, a tear escaped my eye. My intruder must be Keith Newton, Bill's killer. I had to get a grip on my thoughts.

“Yes, it's me, but like I said, we divorced years ago. I never saw Bill after that.”

“You're lying, but that's okay.” He stood in front of me and shoved me into the dining room. “Sit. This may take a while.”

I sat. I did a quick calculation of his bulk versus mine, and it was no contest. All I could think was now would be a good time to beg. Otherwise, I'd have to make a run for it.

“Leave now. I don't have any papers. Bill was never here …” I stopped. A gong went off in my head. Remembering Bill's visit, I hoped my realization wasn't obvious.

I had a pretty good idea where the papers were.

“I don't think you get what's going to happen.” He loomed over me and his sour breath assailed my nostrils. “You've seen my face and you probably realize I killed your husband. I have to have the ledger. I'm going to have to kill you, but I'm willing to make it quick if you help me out with this little matter.”

I couldn't speak if I wanted to. Fear combined with anger held me silent. I balled my hands into fists. I had to buy time.

He stood back and pulled a lengthy cord out of his pocket.

“What are you going to do?” I knew I didn't want to know the answer.

He only looked at me. “Lie down on your stomach.”

That isn't going to happen
.

“How do I know you won't kill me anyway?”

“We're not having a conversation. I said get on your stomach.”

I quickly looked around. I stood slowly, stiffened my back and thrust my body against my grandmother's étagère. I hit it as hard as I could with my shoulder and felt it give under my weight. It only wobbled.

“What the—”

I didn't let him finish. Just as he made a grab to pull me to him, I shoved one more time. The étagère came crashing down on top of Newton. He fell with a thud, even as the breaking glass, splitting wood and frog figurines covered him.

My eyes immediately went to the thin envelope secured by a single piece of tape to the back of the cabinet.

Newton started to move.

Not looking up, I snatched the envelope.

I was out of there.

I was amazed I didn't have a trail of Highway Patrol cars behind me. Pulling into the police parking lot, I drew a deep breath. I was still deep breathing when Faber came into the conference room. I told him what happened.

“Rest here.” He pointed to a couple of chairs and called out on his way out the door. “I've got to catch a murderer.”

I must have nodded off because when I opened my eyes he was sitting across from me, reading.

He pulled out several tan sheets of paper from a file folder. “You found the ledger.”

I looked across his desk to the neatly written columns of names and numbers. We studied them together.

“How many people were in your club?”

“Not that many, I assure you. Evidently, Rory wasn't as rehabilitated as the system would have hoped. Looks like he was branching out.”

“The names are in code.” He turned the pages toward me so I could read them. “Do you recognize any of these phone numbers?”

I looked at the dollar amounts entered, ranging from five hundred to eight thousand. It was clear EA1 and DR1 were different people. EA1 was making monthly payments of seven hundred dollars while DR1 was paying twenty-five hundred a month. Rory must have had a sliding payment plan based on ability to pay. What a guy.

“Yes, FA2 is Abby. That was her cellphone number.” My throat was constricted and my eyes filled with tears.

“Do you see an entry that could be Avery?”

“I don't think the initials shown relate to real names. There's no ‘A' or ‘M' listed.” I looked down the list. “Wait, here he is.” I pointed to his Triple D cellphone number prefix.

“Avery Mitchell was JP1,” Faber said.

I looked across the columns. “He's been paying twenty-five thousand a month. Wow, no wonder he was always chasing new clients. JP must stand for ‘jackpot.' ”

Faber reached over and touched me lightly on my shoulder. “Are you okay? You look funny. You want to sit down?”

“No, I'm going home. It's time for me to move on.”

“A
ll rise in the State of California Superior Court, County of Santa Clara,” the court clerk announced with authority. “Judge Mathis presiding.”

Clay Boone nudged me and smiled. He motioned for me to relax. In a few minutes my life would be decided, and my lack of control over the situation made me extremely nervous.

“Good morning.” The judge was an elderly man. He wore a maroon bow tie and a crisp white shirt under his black robe. His wispy white hair curled around his ears. “Let's get started.” He pulled a stack of papers from a brown legal file.

The court clerk stood and spoke from a small table to the right of the judicial bench. “Your Honor, the first matter this morning is a petition to the court for an order of Certification of Rehabilitation for Hollis Morgan, aka Rebecca Hollis Morgan Lynley.”

“All right. Let's hear from … Mr. Boone.”

I tried to remember the pep talk Clay had given me before court: “I've got to tell you ordinarily I wouldn't care as I do about the outcome of a petition. You made me care. You won me over with your intensity and determination.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “You made me believe in you. So will the judge.”

I certainly hope so
.

Clay moved to the center of the room and gave me a brief reassuring smile. “Judge Mathis, eight years ago my client, Hollis Morgan, was a first year law student with honors. She was married and lived an uneventful life. She hadn't been in trouble with the law. She'd never even gotten a speeding ticket, but that was soon to change. Her then-husband was a dishonest, disloyal con man. He was real good at the con. He deceived my client into signing documents that would eventually lead to her incarceration for insurance fraud. And—”

“She couldn't have been too good of a law student if she didn't know he was asking her to commit a crime.” The judge looked over his glasses at me. It took all I had in me to look him in the eye instead of holding my head down.

Clay had warned me to prepare for comments like this from Mathis. He had a reputation for interjecting his personal views. Even so, I swallowed hard.

“In fact, your honor, she knew what she was doing, but not why. Her ex-husband was defrauding his customers, just as he lied to Ms. Morgan.”

“Okay, let's move on. I have a busy calendar this morning.”

“My client served her time and was released eighteen months early for good behavior. Since that time, she has completed her parole per her sentencing. In fact, one of the letters of support I have here for Ms. Morgan is from her former parole officer, Jeffrey Wallace. Additionally, Ms. Morgan, for the past several years, has volunteered her time to assist seniors with their personal paperwork and legal issues.” Clay walked back to stand next to the desk where I sat. “Another letter of support is from the director and one of the seniors at the center, indicating Ms. Morgan is not only knowledgeable, but kind and generous.”

“What does she do now?”

Clay walked back to the judge's bench. “Ms. Morgan is a paralegal for Dodson, Dodson and Doyle here in Alameda County. She's worked there ever since achieving her paralegal certificate after her release. She has gotten superior performance evaluations and we have a support letter from the firm's managing partner, Edward Simmons.”

“I know the firm, and I've known Ed for years.” Mathis shuffled through the pages. “Yes, here's his letter.”

“Yes, Your Honor, she has—”

“Enough, Mr. Boone. I'd like to hear from Ms. Morgan.”

My heart beat so fast and hard, I was lightheaded. Standing, I walked with a slight limp to the raised bench where Clay stood.

“Good Morning, Your Honor.” I couldn't stop the tremor in my voice.

“I'm going to be quite honest with you, Ms. Morgan. I don't like Certificates of Rehabilitation. I don't like the fact that criminals are allowed to have their pasts ignored while their victims still live with the consequences. You seem to be intelligent … and, according to your support letters, a saint. Clearly, you're more than what they say. You committed a crime that may not have physically hurt individuals, but it violated a trust. What has changed? Why are you different now? Why should I change my opinion of you?”

Could I make it to the door faster than it would take the guard to catch me? I looked at Clay. He'd told me I might have to make a statement, but my rehearsed speech was nowhere to be found in my memory bank.

Judge Mathis leaned over. “Ms. Morgan, surely as a paralegal you're sympathetic to a busy court docket. I'd appreciate it if you showed courtesy to the court by making a reply … today.”

“I'm sorry, Your Honor.” I wet my lips. “I'm trying to think of what I could say to reassure you I'm no longer the person who went to prison. Every day I try to not only live a good life but also live a life as far from prison as I can. Every morning when I wake up, and every evening when I go to sleep, I'm so happy to be free. I don't take anything for granted anymore. I don't want to miss any opportunity to live my life to the fullest. I haven't stopped learning, either. Recently, I lost a friend. She was killed. I really didn't know she was a friend until she was gone. I've learned friendship is one of the most valuable gifts life can offer.” I paused.