Convictions (31 page)

Half an hour later, after repeating the same answers she'd given Sheriff Jordan three times, Olivia sighed in exasperation. "I'm not going to change my answers, so you can stop any time."

Laurel glanced at Hardy, and the two agents capped their pens and placed them in their breast pockets. Simultaneously.

"If there's anything else you remember, please call us at this number." Thornton handed her a business card with his name and cell phone number.

She accepted the card and laid it on the table.

"We understand that your father had a heart attack yesterday," Thornton said.

Olivia nodded, disinclined to offer any more information.

"Is he well enough to have visitors?" She shook her head. "He nearly died. I won't have you upsetting him."

"We're investigating three murders, Ms. Kincaid. Two of the bodies were found on your father's ranch. Being a prosecutor, I'm sure you understand why we have to speak with him," Bush said.

"My father is a highly respected retired judge who has never had a single black mark against him. If you insist on questioning him, I'll be forced to call some of his old friends." Olivia had no idea if any of them could help, but she didn't want the two agents anywhere near her father until he was out of danger.

Thornton held up his long, skinny hands. "There's no need for that, Ms. Kincaid. We have enough to do for the next day or two that we can hold off on speaking with him."

Olivia relaxed marginally. "So I assume you'll be questioning everyone who works here."

"That's correct," Bush said.

Thornton's cell phone buzzed. "Excuse me." He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he moved away.

Olivia tried to listen in on the conversation, but Bush interrupted her eavesdropping. "Is there anyone you feel might have murdered Ms. Holcomb or the prisoner Mantle?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "I hardly knew them."

Special Agent Thornton rejoined them. "I think we should begin speaking with your workers. I'd like to start with one of the convicts on the work release program. Hank Elliott."

Olivia's heart missed a beat then raced to catch up. "Why him?"

Thornton's smile was plastic. "Where is he, Ms. Kincaid?"

Olivia didn't like the predatory look in the agent's eyes. He knew something about Hank. Had the phone call revealed something?

"I'll go with you to find him." She leveled a gaze at him. "I'm also going to sit in on your interrogation."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Kincaid, but mat's not allowed," Bush said.

"It is if I'm his lawyer."

She headed to the front door, not caring if Laurel and Hardy were behind her or not. She wasn't going to throw Hank to the wolves. This wouldn't become a repeat of what happened to him six years ago.

Walking as quickly as her bad leg allowed, she spotted Buck and asked him where to find Hank.

"In the barn. We were told the authorities were done in there," Buck replied.

Olivia wasn't surprised to see the two federal agents flanking her as they made their way to the barn. Pausing just inside the door, she glanced at the place Mantle's body had lain, and her memory supplied the details. She shivered and forced herself to look away. She immediately spied Hank among the four men cleaning the stalls.

"Hank," she called.

Setting aside his pitchfork, he joined her. His wary gaze moved across the agents.

"Special Agents Thornton and Bush with the FBI. They'd like to speak with you," Olivia said without preamble.

Hank merely sent them a curt nod. "We can go into the tack room to talk," Olivia suggested.

She pressed against Hank's side as they followed the two agents. "Give me a dollar," she whispered to him.

Although puzzled, Hank stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and produced a crumpled dollar bill.

"You've just put me on retainer as your lawyer," Olivia said as she slipped the money into her own pocket.

Hank's eyes widened, but a moment later she could see that he understood.

Once in the room loaded with halters, bridles, and saddles, the agents didn't waste any time.

"Mr. Elliott, I understand you're a prisoner at the state correctional facility and are currently working here under the work release program. Is that correct?" Thornton asked, his notebook and pen in hand.

Hank glanced at Olivia, who gave him an encouraging nod. "That's correct."

"Where were you the night of October twenty-sixth, eight years ago?"

Hank sighed, and over the next forty-five minutes answered the same questions again and again. Olivia read frustration in Hank's curt tone and brittle expression, but there was nothing she could do.

"So you say despite the argument with Mr. Mantle two nights ago, you didn't kill him," Agent Bush said.

Hank nodded and raked a hand through his dark hair, which was growing out in thick waves. "I never saw him again after our disagreement."

"Then why were your fingerprints found on the leather strap that was wrapped around his neck?" Thornton asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Olivia gasped, and the room wavered in and out of focus. Hank's fingerprints were found on the murder weapon? There had to be an explanation. Surely she hadn't been that terribly wrong about him.

"I don't know." Hank's face flushed with anger or fear, or both. "I didn't kill him."

"Then how do you explain your fingerprints?" the agent pressed, taking a step closer to Hank.

Olivia's mind snapped back into lawyer mode. "Have you ever worked in the tack room?" she asked Hank.

"Yes. Last week I spent a day cleaning and repairing the equipment." He glared at the agents. "Ask Buck."

"It's obvious how his prints got on the leather," Olivia said to Thornton and Bush, who didn't appear convinced.

"Or maybe you knew you could use that defense when your prints were found," Bush stated.

"If he thought of that, he would have wiped his prints off it," Olivia said in exasperation. "We all know you don't have enough to arrest him."

"We have a motive, and we have his fingerprints on the murder weapon," Thornton said with the first sign of impatience.

"You don't have any witnesses who can place him at the murder scene," she argued.

"Ms. Kincaid, you know as well as I do that this is strong circumstantial evidence," Bush said. "And along with his admitted relationship to Sandra Hubbard, the proximity of her remains to his location at the time, and the fact that he'd seen and knew of Ms. Holcomb, we have enough to arrest him."

"Where's your arrest warrant?"

The agents glared at her, but Olivia didn't give an inch. "It seems to me that before you make such a hasty decision, you ought to interview all the suspects," she said. "I should think you'd know better than to conduct a sloppy investigation, especially with such a high-profile case."

She scored a direct hit on their professional pride.

"Ms. Kincaid, can you assure us that your client won't run?" Thornton asked stiffly.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

Knowing she'd won this round, Special Agent Bush glowered. "We'll talk with you both at a later time."

Olivia watched them leave with a sense of satisfaction. But when she turned to Hank, apprehension fluttered through her.

"Thanks," Hank said, his voice rough.

She forced a nonchalant shrug. "You're welcome. When they said they wanted to talk to you first, I thought it would be a good idea for you to have counsel."

Hank scrubbed his face with his hands. "Either somebody's setting me up, or I'm the unluckiest bastard in the country."

Despite the kernel of doubt, she couldn't ignore her need to hold him. She hugged him, and his arms came around her securely. "Maybe it's a little of both."

She stepped back and was glad to see she'd coaxed a slight smile out of him.

"It's only a matter of time." His expression turned grave. "A day, maybe two, but they're going to arrest me."

"You don't know that."

He smiled without pleasure. "Yes, I do. And so do you."

"It's all circumstantial, except for the fingerprints, and those can be explained."

"Right." Hank wasn't buying it. "I talked to Ted Shandler. He told me a few things about Buck and some of the others who've worked here for awhile."

Intrigued, Olivia asked, "Like what?"

Slim stuck his head in the tack room's doorway. "Ms. Kincaid, there's someone out here who wants to talk to you."

Warden Vincent had arrived.

"I'll be right out," she said to the hired man, who nodded and disappeared. She turned back to Hank. "I want to hear what Ted had to say. Maybe we can meet later."

Hank's hazel eyes darkened with desire as he nodded. "All right."

Olivia rested a shaky hand on his arm. "Don't panic yet We still have time."

Raising his hand, Hank brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You'd better go."

Olivia fought the heat of his touch and forced herself to step away. Before she lost her resolve, she walked out through the barn and blinked in the bright morning sunshine. A maroon sedan with state government license plates was parked by the house. A tall, distinguished-looking man wearing a suit stood on the porch. She took a deep, steadying breath before walking across the yard.

"Ms. Kincaid?" he asked, his voice a resonating bass.

"That's correct. You must be Warden Vincent," she said, accepting his firm handshake.

"That's right Where's your father?"

Oops. She hadn't even thought to notify him yesterday. "He's in the hospital."

Vincent's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"He had a heart attack. If not for Sheriff Jordan and Hank Elliott, I would've lost him," Olivia said, hoping to sway him in Hank's favor. "Why don't we go into the house and talk?"

Five minutes later, Olivia felt a sense of déjà vu as she poured them each a cup of freshly brewed coffee and joined him at the table.

"I'm sorry about Andrew, but this is a sticky mess, Ms. Kincaid," the warden began, plucking at the sharp crease in his trousers. "One of our inmates dead, murdered while out on the work release program. It doesn't look good, especially if one of the other prisoners killed him."

Olivia clenched her coffee cup between her hands, trying to keep her temper reined in. "It doesn't look good for whom, Warden?"

He had too much politician in him to blush. "Your father and everyone else involved in the program, including myself. Something like this can ruin it, take away the opportunity it affords deserving convicts."

Three months ago, she would've agreed with him, would even have added her own arguments to end the program. But it was different now. She finally understood why her father poured his heart and soul into it. "But what if the killer isn't one of them?"

"At this point, it doesn't matter. Leo Mantle died while involved in the program." He said it like it explained everything.

"So we should pull the rug out from under other prisoners just because something like this might possibly happen again?"

"Do you accept the responsibility of someone else being killed?"

Olivia knew what her father would say. "Yes."

Vincent took a sip of his coffee. "Mantle's isn't the only death I'm concerned about. What about the young woman?"

She glanced away. "There's been no evidence to link Melinda Holcomb's murder to any of the prisoners."

"True," the warden admitted. "But then there's been no evidence linking
anyone
to her murder. Do I leave the remaining four prisoners here and take the chance none of them were involved? Or take the chance that one of them might show up dead tomorrow morning? Or do I remove all risk and take them back to the facility?"

Olivia didn't like his suave politician speech, but she couldn't dismiss his questions outright either. It was time she pulled out some of her own political tricks. "If you have them returned to prison, you're admitting that you don't have any faith in them or your program. Wouldn't it be wiser to leave them here, since no one's been accused of any crime?"

Warden Vincent studied her. "You have your father's persuasive skills, but do you have his commitment to the program? With him in the hospital, the responsibility falls on your shoulders."

Olivia had known that would happen, but hearing it spelled out by the warden made it real. She either backed her father or she didn't. Although her mouth was dry, she said firmly, "I accept the responsibility."

Warden Vincent scrutinized her, probably trying to decide if she could handle it. "You'll have to be approved by the trustees to assume your father's position in providing work and security for the prisoners. I'll call you after they come to a decision."

"When will that be?"

"Sometime tomorrow." Suddenly he stood and rebuttoned his suit coat. "I'd like to speak to the prisoners before I leave. I want to make sure they each want to stay here."

Olivia rose. "Fine."

"One other thing, Olivia," Vincent said. "If one of them is accused of murder, I will have them all returned to the facility immediately." He paused. "And I will shut down the program indefinitely. Is that understood?"

Olivia met his hard look, determined not to show her misgivings. "Yes, sir."

Warden Vincent smiled. "Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. Now tell me about your job in Chicago."

Trying to ignore the rising dread in her belly, she pasted on a smile and told him what he wanted to hear as they strolled outside.

Chapter Twenty-two

Returning from the hospital that evening, Olivia stepped out of her father's SUV and leaned against the vehicle to gather her strength. Fortunately she didn't have to track down Buck and give him an update, since she'd called him from the hospital.

From the FBI agents to the prison warden to the cardiologist, Olivia had endured more than her share of taxing meetings throughout the day. Right now, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget about the murders, Warden Vincent's ultimatum, and her father's heart attack. But there were decisions to make and a ranch to oversee. And she'd promised Hank that she'd try to find the murderer.