Best Kept Secrets (3 page)

Greg consulted his wristwatch. Then, anchoring his cigarette between his lips, he stood up and pulled on his suit jacket. "I can't reopen a murder case without a shred of evidence or probable cause. You know that. I didn't snatch you out of law school 'cause you were stupid. Gotta confess, though, that your shapely ass had something to do with it."

"Thanks."

Her disgust was obvious and it wasn't because of his sexism, which was so brassy she knew it was insincere. "Look, Alex, this isn't a teensy-weensy favor you're asking of me,"

he said. ' 'Because of who these guys are, we're talking earth-shattering shit here. Before I stick my neck out, I've got to have more to go on than your hunch and Granny's ram-Wings."

She followed him to the door of his office. "Come on, Greg, spare me the legal lingo. You're only thinking of yourself."

"You're goddamn right I am. Constantly."

His admission left her no room to maneuver. "At least grant me permission to investigate this murder when I'm not actively involved in other cases."

"You know what a backlog we've got. We can't get all the cases to court as it is now."

"I'll work overtime. I won't shirk my other responsibilities.

You know I won't."

"Alex--"

"Please, Greg." She could see that he wanted her to withdraw the request, but she wouldn't capitulate to anything less than a definite no. Her preliminary research had piqued her interest as a prosecutor and litigator, and her desperate desire to prove her grandmother wrong and absolve herself of any guilt further motivated her undertakings. "If I don't produce something soon, I'll drop it and you'll never hear of it again."

He studied her intent face. "Why don't you just work out your frustrations with hot, illicit screwing like everybody else? At least half the guys in town would accommodate you, married or single." She gave him a withering look. "Okay, okay. You can do some digging, but only in your spare time.

Come up with something concrete. If I'm going to win votes, I can't look or act like a goddamn fool, and neither can anybody else in this office. Now I'm late for lunch. 'Bye."

Her caseload was heavy, and the time she had had to spend on her mother's murder had been limited. She read everything she could get her hands on--newspaper accounts, transcripts of Buddy Hicks's hearing--until she had the facts memorized.

They were basic and simple. Mr. Bud Hicks, who was mentally retarded, had been arrested near the murder scene with the victim's blood on his clothing. At the time of his arrest, he had had in his possession the surgical instrument with which he had allegedly killed the victim. He was jailed, questioned, and charged. Within days there was a hearing.

Judge Joseph Wallace had declared Hicks incompetent to stand trial and had confined him to a state mental hospital.

It seemed like an open-and-shut case. Just when she had begun to believe that Greg was right, that she was on a wild goose chase, she had discovered a curious glitch in the transcript of Hicks's hearing. After following up on it, she had approached Greg again, armed with a signed affidavit.

"Well, I've got it." Triumphantly, she slapped the folder on top of the others cluttering his desk.

Greg scowled darkly. "Don't be so friggin' cheerful, and for crissake, stop slamming things around. I've got a bitchin'

hangover." He mumbled his words through a dense screen of smoke. He stopped puffing on the cigarette only long enough to sip at a steaming cup of black coffee. "How was your weekend?"

"Wonderful. Far more productive than yours. Read that."

Tentatively, he opened the file and scanned the contents with bleary eyes. "Hmm." His initial reading was enough to grab his attention. Leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the corner of his desk, he reread it more carefully.

"This is from the doctor at the mental hospital where this Hicks fellow is incarcerated?"

"Was. He died a few months ago."

"Interesting."

"Interesting?" Alex cried, disappointed with the bland assessment. She left her chair, circled it, and stood behind it, gripping the upholstered back in agitation. "Greg, Buddy Hicks spent twenty-five years in that hospital for nothing."

"You don't know that yet. Don't jump to conclusions."

"His last attending psychiatrist said that Buddy Hicks was a model patient. He never demonstrated any violent tendencies.

He had no apparent sex drive, and in the doctor's expert opinion, he was incapable of committing a crime like the one that cost my mother her life. Admit that it looks fishy."

He read several other briefs, then muttered, "It looks fishy, but it's sure as hell not a smoking gun."

"Short of a miracle, I won't be able to produce any concrete evidence. The case is twenty-five years old. All I can hope for is enough probable cause to bring it before a grand jury.

A confession from the real killer--because I'm convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Bud Hicks did not murder my mother--is a pipe dream. There's also the slim possibility of smoking out an eyewitness."

"Slim to none, Alex."

"Why?"

"You've done enough homework, so you should know.

The murder took place in a barn on Angus Minton's ranch.

Say his name anywhere in that county and the ground trembles.

He's a big enchilada. If there was an eyewitness, he wouldn't testify against Minton because he'd be biting the hand that feeds him. Minton runs about a dozen enterprises in an area of the state where they're gasping their last breath, economically speaking.

' 'Which brings us to another delicate area, in a case riddled with delicate areas." Greg slurped his coffee and lit another cigarette. "The governor's racing commission just gave Minton Enterprises the green light on building that horse-racing track in Purcell County."

"I'm well aware of that. What bearing does it have?"

"You tell me."

"None!" she shouted.

"Okay, I believe you. But if you start slinging accusations and casting aspersions on one of Texas's favorite sons, how do you think that's going to sit with the governor? He's damn proud of his racing commission. He wants this pari-mutuel thing to get off the ground without a hitch. No controversy.

No bad press. No shady deals. He wants everything above reproach and squeaky clean.

"So, if some smart-ass prosecutor starts shooting off her mouth, trying to connect somebody his hand-picked commission has given their coveted blessing to with a murder, the governor is going to be royally pissed off. And if said prosecutor works in this office, who do you think he's going to be the most pissed off at? Moi."

Alex didn't argue with him. Instead, she calmly said, "All right. I'll resign from this office and do it on my own."

"Jesus, you're theatrical. You didn't let me finish." He pressed his intercom button and bellowed to his secretary to bring him more coffee. While she was carrying it in, he lit another cigarette.

"On the other hand," he said around a gust of smoke, "I can't stand that bastard who's living in the governor's mansion.

I've made no secret of it, and it works both ways, though the sanctimonious sonofabitch won't admit it. It would tickle me pissless to watch him squirm. Can you imagine nun justifying why his commission picked, from the hordes of applicants, somebody associated with a murder?" He chuckled.

"I get a hard-on just thinking about it."

Alex found Greg's motivation distasteful, but she was ecstatic that he was granting her permission. "So, I can reopen the case?"

"The case remains unsolved because Hicks was never brought to trial." He lowered his feet, and his chair rocked forward jarringly. "I have to tell you, though--I'm doing this against my better judgment, and only because I trust your gut instincts. I like you, Alex. You proved yourself when you were interning here as a law student. Great ass aside, you're good to have in our corner."

He looked down at the material she'd compiled and fiddled with a corner of one folder.' 'I still think you've got a personal grudge against these guys, the town, whatever. I'm not saying it's unjustified. It's just not something you can build a case around. Without this shrink's affidavit, I would have turned down your request. So, while you're out there where the buffalo roam and the deer and antelope play, remember that my ass is in a sling, too." He raised his eyes and stared at her balefully. "Don't fuck up."

"You mean, I can go to West Texas?"

"That's where it happened, isn't it?"

"Yes, but what about my caseload?"

"I'll put interns on the preparations and ask for postponements Meanwhile, I'll talk to the D.A. in Purcell. We were in law school together. He's perfect for what you're trying to do. He's not too bright, and he married above himself, so he's always striving to please. I'll ask him to give you whatever assistance you need."

"Don't be too specific. I don't want them forewarned."

"Okay."

"Thank you, Greg," she said earnestly.

"Not so fast," he said, snuffing her enthusiasm. "If you trap yourself out there, I'll disclaim you. The attorney general has made no secret that I'm his heir apparent. I want the job, and I'd like nothing better than to have a good-looking, smart broad as chief of one of my departments. That goes down good with the voters." He pointed a nicotine-stained finger at her. "But if you fall on your ass now, I never knew you, kiddo. Got that?"

"You're an unscrupulous son of a bitch."

He grinned like a crocodile. "Even my mama didn't like me much."

"I'll send you a postcard." She turned to leave.

"Wait a minute. There's something else. You've got thirty days."

"What?"

"Thirty days to come up with something."

"But--"

"That's as long as I can spare you without the rest of the natives around here getting restless. That's longer than your hunch and flimsy leads warrant. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it."

He didn't know that she had a much more pressing deadline, a personal one. Alex wanted to present her grandmother with the name of Celina's killer before she died. She wasn't even concerned that her grandmother was in a coma. Somehow, she would penetrate her consciousness. Her last breath would be peaceful, and Alex was certain she would at last praise her granddaughter.

Alex leaned across Greg's desk. "I know I'm right. I'll bring the real killer to trial, and when I do, I'll get a conviction.

See if I don't."

"Yeah, yeah. In the meantime, find out what sex with a real cowboy is like. And take notes. I want details about spurs and guns and stuff."

"Pervert."

"Bitch. And don't slam--ah, shit!"

Alex smiled now, recalling that meeting. She didn't take his insulting sexism seriously because she knew she had his professional respect. Wild man that he was, Greg Harper had been her mentor and friend since the summer before her first semester of law school, when she had worked in the prosecutor's office. He was going out on a limb for her now, and she appreciated his vote of confidence.

Once she had gotten Greg's go-ahead, she hadn't wasted time. It had taken her only one day to catch up on paperwork, clear her desk, and lock up her condo. She had left Austin early, and made a brief stop in Waco at the nursing home.

Merle's condition was unchanged. Alex had left the number of the Westerner where she could be reached in case of an emergency.

She dialed the D. A.'s home number from her motel room.

"Mr. Chastain, please," she said in response to the woman's voice who answered.

"He's not at home."

"Mrs. Chastain? It's rather important that I speak with your husband."

"Who is this?"

"Alex Gaither."

She heard a soft laugh. "You're the one, huh?"

" 'The one'?"

"The one who accused the Mintons and Sheriff Lambert of murder. Pat was in a tailspin when he got home. I've never seen him so--"

"Excuse me?" Alex interrupted breathlessly. "Did you say Sheriff Lambert?"

Three

The sheriffs department was located in the basement of the Purcell County Courthouse. For the second time in as many days, Alex parked her car in a metered slot on the square and entered the building.

It was early. There wasn't much activity in the row of offices on the lower level. In the center of this warren of cubicles was a large squad room, no different from any other in the nation. A pall of cigarette smoke hovered over it like a perpetual cloud. Several uniformed officers were gathered around a hot plate where coffee was simmering. One was talking, but when he saw Alex, he stopped in midsentence.

One by one, heads turned, until all were staring at her. She felt glaringly out of place in what was obviously a male domain. Equal employment hadn't penetrated the ranks of the Purcell County Sheriffs Department.

She held her ground and said pleasantly,' 'Good morning.''

"Mornin'," they chorused.

"My name is Alex Gaither. I need to see the sheriff, please." The statement was superfluous. They already knew who she was and why she was there. Word traveled fast in a town the size of Purcell.

"He expectin' you?" one of the deputies asked belligerently, after spitting tobacco juice into an empty Del Monte green bean can.

"I believe he'll see me," she said confidently.

"Did Pat Chastain send you over?"

22

Alex had tried to reach him again that morning, but Mrs.

Chastain had told her that he'd already left for his office. She tried telephoning him there and got no answer. Either she had missed him while he was in transit, or he was avoiding her. "He's aware of why I'm here. Is the sheriff in?" she repeated with some asperity.

"I don't think so."

"I haven't seen him."

"Yeah, he's here," one officer said grudgingly. "He came in a few minutes ago.'' He nodded his head toward a hallway.

"Last door on your left, ma'am."

"Thank you."

Alex gave them a gracious smile she didn't feel in her heart and walked toward the hallway. She was conscious of the eyes focused on her back. She knocked on the indicated door.