Best Kept Secrets (48 page)

Reede gave her a hard look, but said nothing. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped from it several times.

"Why is it lately that every time something happens in this town, you're involved?"

Tears instantly formed in her eyes. One moment they weren't there, the next they were heavily pushing against her eyelids. She aimed a shaking index finger at his chest.

"Don't, Reede. I didn't know that--"

"That when you backed Joe Wallace into a corner he'd blow his brains out. Well, that's what happened, baby.

They're dripping over the edge of his desk."

"Shut up."

' 'We found clumps of hair and tissue on the opposite wall."

She covered her mouth, swallowing a scream behind her hands. Turning her back on him, she shuddered uncontrollably.

When he touched her, she flinched, but his hands were firm on her shoulders as he turned her around and pulled her against his chest.

"Hush now, it's done." His chest expanded against her cheek as he drew in a deep breath. "Forget it."

She shoved herself away. "Forget it? A man is dead. It's my fault."

"Did you pull the trigger?"

"No."

"Then, it's not your fault."

There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" Reede asked crossly. When the deputy identified himself, Reede told him to come in. He signaled Alex into a chair while the deputy rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter. She looked at Reede in bewilderment.

"We have to take your statement," he said.

"Now?"

"Best to get it over with. Ready?" he asked the deputy and got a nod. "Okay, Alex, what happened?"

She dabbed her face with a tissue before she began. As briefly as possible, she told what had transpired in the judge's chambers, being careful not to mention any names or issues that had been discussed.

"I left his office and got as far as the elevator." She stared down at the soggy Kleenex that she'd been mutilating between her hands. "Then, I heard the shot."

"You ran back in?"

"Yes. He was slumped over. His head was lying on his desk. I saw blood and . . . and knew what he'd done."

"Did you see the pistol?" She shook her head. Reede said to the deputy, "Make a note that she answered no and that she couldn't have seen it because it had fallen from the victim's right hand to the floor. That's all for now." The deputy discreetly withdrew. Reede waited several moments. His foot swung to and fro from the corner of the desk where he was seated. "What did you and the judge talk about?"

"Celina's murder. I accused him of tampering with evidence and accepting a bribe."

"Serious allegations. How did he respond?"

"He admitted it."

He took something out of his shirt pocket and tossed it onto his desk. The sterling-silver scalpel landed with a dull, metallic sound. It had oxidized, but was otherwise clean.

Alex recoiled from the sight of it.' 'Where'd you get that?''

"From the judge's left hand."

They exchanged a long stare. Finally, Reede said, "It was his instrument of self-abuse, kept in his desk drawer, a constant reminder that he was corruptible. Knowing how proud he was of his years on the bench, it's no wonder he cashed in. He'd rather blow off the side of his head than watch his career be ruined."

"Is that all you can say?"

"What do you expect me to say?"

"I expect you to ask me who bribed him? With what?

Why?" Her tearful eyes dried instantly. "You already know, don't you?"

He eased himself off the desk and stood up. "I wasn't born yesterday, Alex."

"So, you know that Angus got Judge Wallace to lock Gooney Bud away, presumably as Celina's murderer, in exchange for Junior marrying Stacey."

"Where does that leave you?" Planting his hands on his hips, he loomed above her. "It's speculation. You can't prove it. Neither of them would have been stupid enough to record a conversation to that effect, if one did take place. Nobody wrote anything down. There's enough reasonable doubt there for downtown Dallas to fit into. A man's dead, his reputation as a fine judge has been shot to hell, and you've still got nothing to base a murder rap on."

He tapped his chest, his fingertips making angry stabs at his shirt. "I had to drive to the judge's house and notify Stacey that her old man had emptied his head onto his desk because of your loosely based charges that would probably have been no-billed by the grand jury."

He stopped and regained control of his temper. "Before I get really pissed off at you, I suggest we get out of here and go someplace where it's safe."

"Safe? For whom?"

"For you, dammit. Haven't the repercussions of this sunk in yet? Pat Chastain's near cardiac arrest. Greg Harper has already called three times today, wanting to know if you could possibly have had anything to do with this prominent and respected judge's suicide. Stacey is incoherent with grief, but in her lucid moments, she's cursing you to perdition.

"We've got Plummet and his army of crazies out there on the courthouse steps, carrying pickets that say this is just the beginning of the end. All this chaos is because of you and your half-baked murder case, Counselor."

Alex felt as though her chest was going to cave in, but she fought back. "Was I supposed to let Wallace go free just because he was a really nice guy?"

"There are more subtle ways to handle delicate situations like that, Alex."

"But, no one handled it at all!" she cried. "Is that your philosophy of the law, Sheriff Lambert? Some rules don't apply to some people? When a friend of yours crosses over, do you conveniently look the other way? Apparently so. Case in point--Nora Gail Burton and her whorehouse. Does that same exclusion from justice apply to you, as well?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he went to the door and opened it, saying curtly, "Let's go."

She stepped into the hallway with him; he steered her toward the rear elevator. "Pat loaned me his wife's car,"

she told him. "It's parked out front."

"I know. There's a swarm of reporters camped right beside it, all of them eager to know the gory details of the judge's suicide. I'm sneaking you out the back door."

They left the building unseen. It was completely dark outside, and Alex wondered what time it was.

They were halfway between the building and the parking lot when a form disengaged itself from the shadows and blocked their path.

"Stacey." Reede exclaimed softly. Subconsciously, his hand closed around the butt of his pistol, although he didn't remove it from the holster.

"I thought I'd catch you trying to hide."

Stacey's eyes were fixed on Alex. The hatred in them made Alex want to cower against Reede for protection, but she maintained her proud stance. "Before you say anything, Stacey, I want you to know that I'm terribly sorry about your father."

"Are you?"

"Very sorry."

Stacey shivered, whether with cold or revulsion, Alex couldn't tell. "You came here to ruin him. Instead of being sorry, you should feel very proud of yourself."

"I had nothing to do with your father's past mistakes."

"You're the reason for the whole mess! Why couldn't you just leave him alone?" Stacey cried, her voice cracking.

"What happened twenty-five years ago wasn't important to anybody but you. He was old. He planned to retire in a few months anyway. What harm was he doing you?"

Alex remembered the judge's last words to her. Stacey hadn't known about the shady deal he had struck on her behalf. Alex could spare her that pain, at least until she'd had time to absorb the shock of her father's death. "I can't discuss the case with you. I'm sorry."

' 'Case? Case? This was never about a case. This was about your trashy mother, who used and manipulated people--

men--until someone got tired of it and killed her." Her eyes narrowed threateningly and she took a malevolent step closer.

"You're just like her, stirring up trouble, a user of people and a whore!"

She launched herself at Alex, but Reede stepped between them, catching Stacey against his chest and holding her there until her rage was spent and she was clinging to him weakly, sobbing.

He stroked her back and murmured words of comfort.

Behind her back, he passed Alex the keys to his Blazer. She took them and let herself in, locking the door behind her.

Watching through the windshield, she saw him lead Stacey around the corner of the building and out of sight. Several minutes later, he came jogging back. She unlocked the door for him and he climbed in.

"Will she be all right?" Alex asked.

"Yeah. I turned her over to some friends. They'll see that she gets home. Someone will stay with her tonight." His lips narrowed into a bitter line. "Of course, the man she wants isn't there for her."

"Her father?"

He shook his head. "Junior."

Because it was all so pitifully sad, Alex began to cry again.

Forty-two

She didn't raise her head until the Blazer jounced over a chuckhole. She tried to get her bearings by looking through the windshield, but it was a dark night, and the road had no markings. "Where are we going?"

"My place." No sooner had he said it than his headlights picked up the house.

"Why?"

He cut the truck's engine. "Because I'm afraid to let you out of my sight. People turn up dead or wounded when I do."

He left her sitting in the truck while he went to unlock the front door. She thought about driving off, but he'd taken the keys. In some ways, Alex was relieved she'd been robbed of taking the initiative. She wanted to defy him, but didn't have the physical or mental energy. Tiredly, she pushed open the Blazer's door and got out.

The house looked different at night. Like a woman's face, it fared better under soft lighting that helped camouflage its flaws. Reede had gone in ahead of her and turned on a lamp.

He was crouched in front of the fireplace, putting a long match to the kindling beneath the stacked logs.

When the dry wood started crackling, he stood up and asked her, "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry?'' She repeated the word like someone unfamiliar with the language.

"When did you eat last? Lunch?"

"Junior brought a hamburger to my room last night."

He made a grumpy, grunting sound and headed for the kitchen.' 'I don't promise anything as fancy as a hamburger.''

Thanks to Lupe's niece, the pantry had been recently stocked with more than peanut butter and crackers. After taking a quick inventory, he recited their choices. "Canned soup, canned spaghetti, frozen tamales, bacon and eggs."

"Bacon and eggs."

They worked in companionable silence. Reede did most of the actual cooking. He had little regard for tidiness and none for culinary finesse. Alex enjoyed watching him. When he slid a plate in front of her and dropped into the chair across the small table, she smiled at him pensively. He noticed her expression and did a double take as he lifted the first forkful to his mouth.

"What's the matter?"

She shook her head and shyly lowered her eyes. "Nothing."

He didn't seem ready to accept her answer. Before he could pursue it, however, the telephone rang. He reached for the wall extension.

"Lambert. Oh, hi, Junior." He looked toward Alex.

"Yeah, it was a real mess." He listened. "She, uh, she had a meeting with him right before it happened. . . . I'm afraid she saw everything."

He paraphrased Alex's official statement. "That's all I know. . . . Well, Christ, tell them to calm down. They can read about it in tomorrow's paper, like everybody else. . . .

Okay, look, I'm sorry," he said, "it's been a bitch of a day and I'm tired.

"Give Sarah Jo one of her pills and tell Angus he's got nothing to worry about." He caught Alex's frown, but kept his expression bland. "Alex? She's fine. . . . Well, if she doesn't answer her phone, she's probably in the shower. If you want to play Good Samaritan, there's somebody who needs you more than Alex tonight. . . . Stacey, you idiot.

Why don't you go over there and sit with her for a while. . . .

Okay, see you tomorrow."

After he broke the connection, he left the phone off the hook and went back to his food. Alex asked, "Why didn't you tell him I was here?"

"Did you want me to?"

"Not particularly. I just wondered why you didn't."

"He didn't need to know."

"Will he go see Stacey?"

"I hope so, but you never can tell about Junior. Actually,"

he said, swallowing a bite, "you seem to be all he's thinking about."

"Me, personally, or what I heard from Judge Wallace?"

"A combination of both, I guess."

"Angus is upset?"

"Naturally. Joe Wallace was an old friend."

"Friend and coconspirator." Reede didn't rise to the bait; he didn't even divert his attention from his supper. "I must talk to Angus, Reede. I want you to drive me over there as soon as we finish eating." He calmly reached for his coffee cup, sipped, returned it to the saucer. "Reede, did you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Then, you'll drive me over?"

"No."

"I've got to talk to him."

"Not tonight."

"Yes, tonight. Wallace implicated him in a cover-up. I've got to question him about it."

"He's not going anywhere. Tomorrow's soon enough."

"Your loyalty is commendable, but it can't protect Angus forever."

He set his silverware on his empty plate and carried it to the sink. "Tonight, I'm more concerned about you than Angus."

"Me?"

He glanced at her plate and, satisfied that she was finished, cleared it away. "Seen yourself in a mirror lately? You look like hell. Several times I've braced myself to catch you, afraid you were about to keel over."

"I'm fine. If you'll just take me back to the motel, I'll--"

"Uh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "You're staying here tonight, where you can get some sleep without being pestered by reporters."

"Do you really think I would be?"

"A judge's death is hot news. A judge's suicide is even hotter. You were the last person to talk to him. You're conducting an investigation that has the racing commission worried.