Friction (10 page)

W
hat the fuck happened?”

Joseph Patrick Connor, known to his friends as Pat, wiped greasy sweat off his forehead. “Listen, I—”

“Oh, I’m listening. Count on that.” The other man’s voice was like a rumble of distant thunder that warned of the violence packed into an approaching storm. It originated from a wide chest over which were folded arms as sturdy as sticks of firewood. His stare could have peeled paint.

Wilting beneath it, Pat said, “Most of it worked out just like we planned.”

“Not even close to most of it. Your target is still breathing.”

And so am I
. The fact that he was alive was a priority to Pat, but he didn’t want to say that out loud and risk a swift change of his breathing status, which he figured was flimsy at best.

He glanced over his shoulder at the two men posted on either side and just behind his chair. He was seated at a small table on which were a half-empty bottle of ketchup and a weapon restricted to law enforcement and military maneuvers. In most states, anyway.

A half hour earlier, he’d been pouring himself a Jack and Coke when the two bodyguards—for lack of a better word—shouldered their way through his back door into his kitchen. He recognized them from previous meetings, but he’d never been introduced to them by name, which was of piddling significance because it became immediately obvious that they weren’t paying him a social call.

With each claiming one of his arms, they’d marched him out of his house to a waiting car and put on the blindfold he’d come to expect. They rode in silence, henchmen programmed to carry out a duty, no discussion, no questions asked.

Pat didn’t think he had a prayer, and was actually surprised when they arrived at their destination. His clothes were completely sweated through by then, but perspiration was proof that he was still alive. For the time being, anyway.

The abduction wasn’t entirely unexpected. He’d known he would be “summoned” sooner or later, and he’d dreaded the inevitable face-off. But the real deal was even worse than his imaginings. He’d been brought to this place a few times before, but he hadn’t developed a liking for it. In fact, it gave him the willies.

He could have used at least one belt of the sour mash he’d been pouring when roughly escorted from his house.

“Well?” the man boomed, startling Pat into remembering that he hadn’t responded to the last statement.

He made another swipe across his forehead, but by now his palm was as damp as his hairline. He squirmed in his chair, muttering under his breath, “I don’t know why I agreed to do it in the first place.”

“Do you need me to remind you, Pat?”

Distrusting the steadiness of his voice, Pat shook his head no. He didn’t need a reminder of how desperate his situation had been. Was still. The man was waiting for an explanation for his failure. “For one thing, that mask was for shit. It distorted my vision.”

“You didn’t try it out beforehand?”

“Sure I did, but, I don’t know, I think my breath must’ve steamed it up or something. Then, all the way around, it was a lot harder than I thought it would be. It was harder than
you
thought it would be.”

“How many times had we gone over it?”

“I know. But shooting Chet Barker wasn’t part of the plan. You didn’t want a bloodbath, you said. But he was blocking my path. I didn’t have a choice. Having to kill him threw me. Put me off my stride, you might say.”

He paused, waiting for a reaction. A murmur of understanding. A grunt of agreement. Something. But the other man gave him nothing to hang a hope for longevity on. He might never get back to that Jack and Coke. He’d made a bargain with the devil, and he hadn’t held up his end.

He wanted to cry. He didn’t, but he developed a stutter. “B…b…but I stepped over Chet and carried on. Marched right up to the podium.”

“They’re saying Crawford Hunt saved the judge’s life. True? Or does that just make good press?”

“It’s true. When I rounded the witness box, he was on top of her, shielding her head and upper body. Then he levered himself up just a little and looked over his shoulder at me. I aimed, but the shot went wild when he hauled off and kicked the crap out of my left knee.”

“Not hard enough to displace it. You could still run on it. Which is what you did, you gutless slob. You ran before you finished the job.”

The two brutes behind him moved in a bit closer. He halfway expected to get a stiletto between his shoulder blades. Maybe he’d be lucky and feel nothing more than a slight sting.

But nothing happened, so he continued. “I…I guess I did panic there for a second or two. I didn’t want to get caught. Last thing you wanted, too, I’m sure. I needed to get the hell out of there and strip off the costume. So I regained my head and stuck to the plan. Did exactly what we’d talked about.”

“The guy, the one killed by the police, how did he wind up with the pistol?”

“He must’ve come along as soon as I dumped the stuff and slipped into the sixth-floor hallway. I never saw him, but he might have seen me. We’ll never know. Anyway, the pistol was there for the taking, and he couldn’t resist.” He paused, and then rushed on hopefully. “Which worked out better for us. Right?”

He swiveled his head around to consult the stone-faced man looming over his left shoulder. “Right?” Coming back around to his inquisitor, he said, “The PD thinks they got their man, and that dead Mex’can ain’t gonna sit up and tell them any different.”

The man across the table from him barked a laugh that was so unexpected, it was like a karate chop across Pat’s windpipe. “That’s the only reason I haven’t killed you already. This does work out better.”

Pat nearly swooned with relief. He might get to have that drink after all. “So, then, we’re square?”

The laugh might never have happened. In fact the man across from him had never looked more menacing. “No, we’re not square, Pat.” Leaning across the table, he brought them nose to nose. “I wanted to tell you straight to your face that you’re still living
only
because I need your lousy ass.”

“T…to do what? Try again?”

“To heap on some misery first. And then, when I say so, finish it.”

T
he person in the morgue wasn’t the gunman,” Crawford said, speaking slowly, eliminating any lingering uncertainty on Holly’s part.

She was staring at him, aghast. “How can that be?”

He exhaled heavily and dragged his hand down his face. “I don’t know. Wish to hell I did.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and kept it there for at least half a minute. He gave her time to try and think through the unthinkable. Finally she said, “If you’re right—”

“I am right.”

“—the ripple effect will be—”

“The Big Bang of fuck-ups.”

Wetting her lips anxiously, she said, “Maybe you’re mistaken. Maybe I am. He had a pierced ear and I just didn’t notice.”

“Believe me, I’ve been grasping at straws, too, trying to convince myself that I’m wrong, but you just proved I’m right. Immediately when I mentioned his ear was pierced, you questioned me. You didn’t do that on a single other feature.”

“But—”

“Listen to me, Holly.” Her eyes went wide. He didn’t know whether it was because of the tone he’d used, or because he’d called her by her first name, but he had her undivided attention. “I was closer to him than anybody. That nanosecond before I kicked him, I was looking straight at him. I would swear on Georgia’s head that there was no hole in his right ear.”

“On the roof, you didn’t notice the discrepancy?”

“The sun was in my eyes. Besides, I was too far away from Rodriguez to notice his pierced ear.”

“He wasn’t wearing an earring?”

“No. And my focus was on that twitching gun hand, not his earlobe. After he was down, others crowded around him. I didn’t. I didn’t look at him again until this morning at the morgue and instantly realized the mistake. I thought I was going to hurl.”

She gave him a searching look. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“Can’t I? Rodriguez, or whatever his name was, didn’t kill Chet. He didn’t do anything wrong except pick up a pistol that didn’t belong to him and carry it out onto the roof when he went to smoke.”

“He
brandished
the pistol at you, even after you had identified yourself as a lawman. He fired the gun at the deputy twice, and it’s a miracle that he missed.”

“You’re right. But it’s clear to me now that everything he did, he did because he was scared. He’d been caught with a pistol that didn’t belong to him. When I told him to drop it, it was stupid of him not to. Then that deputy appeared, and he panicked.” Looking aside, he added under his breath, “Stupidity and panic are lousy reasons to get yourself killed.”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“I didn’t fire the bullets, but I set him up as the target.”

“You did your best to help him. It wasn’t your fault.”

Crawford would be arguing that point till they sealed his own casket, but for right now, he had to deal with the problem, which had far-reaching repercussions to him personally, as well as to Holly Spencer. How it affected her was more urgent.

“What scares me,” he said, “is that this has given the joker a high, boosted his confidence, and he was brazen as hell to begin with.”

She gave a small shake of her head. “I’m not following you.”

He looked at her for a moment, realized her perplexity, then said in a quiet voice, “One of those ripple effects you mentioned obviously hasn’t reached you yet, and it’s a tsunami. Whoever came into the courtroom yesterday wanting to kill you is still unknown and at large.”

As that sank in, he watched her changing expressions and knew before she spoke that she would negate it. “Two detectives spent hours today combing through the records and transcripts of all my cases. They also went through Judge Waters’s dating back to 2012, and all my records from the Dallas firm. They didn’t find anything.”

“Because they were looking specifically for a connection to Jorge Rodriguez.”

“Even so, nothing raised a red flag.”

“Which only means we’ve got to dig deeper, and this time we won’t have a name to go on.”

“That could take weeks.”

“Or longer. Before we turn up even a lead, you—” He stopped to amend what he’d been about to say. “You should assume that your life is in danger and act accordingly.”

“That’s a lot to assume.”

“Be smart. Assume it.”

“‘Act accordingly’ doesn’t sound like something you would ordinarily say.”

“It isn’t. That’s official jargon. I’d rather give it to you a little more hard-core, but I’m afraid you’d take offense. I only hope the message came across.”

She looked away from him and, for a time, said nothing. Then, “You’ve thought all along that the shooting was an act of revenge.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. This wasn’t random. It was carefully planned. Calculated. He had the painter’s outfit stashed somewhere inside the building, probably in the closet across the hall from the courtroom. He put it on over his clothes and waited until court convened.”

“Then came in shooting.”

“But not willy-nilly. If he’d been a nutcase just wanting to kill people, he’d have sprayed the gallery with that semiautomatic. He could’ve taken out six, eight people in seconds. But he didn’t. He was determined to get behind that podium even if it meant going through Chet.”

“He didn’t expect you to protect me.”

“Maybe, but in any case, he figured out real quick that his only safe option was to flee. He ran from the courtroom, into the stairwell, and made it look like he’d gone up to the roof. After dumping the disguise, he slipped back down that half flight to the sixth floor, went into the corridor, and blended in when all hell started breaking loose.

“It was either a brilliant plan or the dumbest I’ve ever heard of,” he went on, “but the bottom line is that someone bore you a grudge so deep, he was determined to kill you, even at great risk to himself. Any ideas?”

“I told you last night, none.”

“Think!”

She whipped her head around to face him again. “I have! That’s all I’ve been thinking about. But I swear to you, there hasn’t been any drama in my life. Not on that scale.”

“What about your political opponent Saunders?”

“I had an unpleasant exchange with him yesterday.”

“Where? About what?”

She described their brief encounter at the elevator. “I suppose you could read a threat into his parting remark. It sticks in his craw that I got that appointment over him.”

“Wait! He was a contender for that judgeship?”

“There were several applicants, but Greg Sanders was my most challenging rival.”

“And you’re just now telling me this?”

“It wasn’t relevant till now,” she said, matching his annoyance.

“Right. Okay. Sanders goes on the list.”

“What list?”

“The short list of possible suspects.”

“He wasn’t the shooter,” she exclaimed. “Greg Sanders has at least six inches height on him.”

“He could have contracted somebody.”

She thought about that, but shook her head. “I think you’re wrong. That isn’t his style. He wants to defeat me, crushingly, but he wants to take credit for it. He wouldn’t do it anonymously. He would rather his victory get live TV coverage on election day.”

“Okay, but he still goes on the list. So does Dennis.”

“I told you, our breakup was friendly. No hanging up on each other, no harsh words or threats, no hostility. Nothing like that.”

Crawford intended to check him out anyway. Her ex may not be as reasonable and refined as she believed. “There’s nobody else you’ve crossed swords with, professionally or personally?”

She shook her head.

“Even going back a few years? Parents? Siblings?”

“No siblings. Both parents are deceased.”

“Friends you’ve had a falling out with?”

“No. To my knowledge I don’t have an enemy who would make an attempt on my life.”

He tried to stare a contradiction out of her, but she didn’t flinch. He had to take her word for it. “All right,” he said, “our culprit remains a question mark. So first thing, tonight in fact, we’ve gotta find a place to stash you for a few days.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is there someplace you can lay low? Keep out of sight?”

“What are you talking about? I can’t go into hiding!”

“Hell you can’t.”

“Hell I will! If you feel security is warranted, I’m sure the police will provide it.”

“The Prentiss PD?” he asked.

“Or the sheriff’s office.”

She still wasn’t seeing the big picture. “Holly, anyone within the Prentiss PD or sheriff’s office is a
suspect
. Everybody who was in the courthouse when the shooting occurred is a
suspect
, and that includes dozens of law enforcement officers. Anyone who was ostensibly trying to apprehend the shooter could have
been
the shooter.”

She pulled her lower lip through her teeth. “How many police personnel were off duty yesterday?”

“Doesn’t matter. Anyone on the payroll could still provide a plausible explanation for being in the building.”

“Yes, but Neal Lester would carefully screen—”

“Neal’s included.”

“
What
?
He’s the lead investigator.”

“Who better to pull off something like this?” At her horrified look, he gave a soft laugh and instinctively reached across and squeezed her thigh. “Relax. Bad joke. It wasn’t Neal. He’s not nearly that creative. Wrong body type.”

“Wrong hair color.”

“Besides, what motive would he have?” Reluctantly, he lifted his hand off her thigh. “All the same, I wish someone else was investigating this thing. Neal’s a political animal, more bureaucrat than cop. He’s a suck-up because he wants to be in the chief’s chair one of these days, and until then he wants to be in the chief’s lap. His priority will be to cover his ass first, not yours.”

“How do you think he’ll react when you tell him?”

“He’ll have to wash his underwear. Then he’ll take it to the chief, and, knowing how the grapevine works within the department, it’ll be all over the place in no time. Which means that the perp will get wind of it, and he’ll go underground, and we’ll be screwed in terms of catching him.” Lowering his voice to a murmur, he said, “Until he tries again.”

She hugged her elbows. “It hasn’t been established that I was the target.”

He wasn’t going to argue that point again. “Whoever he was, and whatever his intention, he killed Chet. I want the son of a bitch, and I’ll get him.”

“I thought you wanted to distance yourself from the investigation.”

“I did. I do. But my chances of getting Georgia went to shit the moment I ran after that gunman. Don’t bother,” he said when he saw she was about to counter. “We both know it’s true. I’m in, even if I didn’t choose to be. Neal won’t like it, but if he balks, I only have to remind him that I don’t need his sanction, and, anyway, his chief solicited me. First order of business is to see that you’re protected.”

“I can’t put my work, my life, on hold indefinitely.”

“Your court is still a crime scene. You couldn’t go about your routine anyway.”

“I could use another courtroom temporarily.”

“You could. But you’d be placing not only yourself in danger, but everyone around you.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Like Chet.”

The statement subdued them and nothing was said for a moment.

When Holly spoke again, she reverted to argument mode. “I can’t disappear from the public eye. I’m running for office.”

“Your life was threatened. Everyone will understand if you take a few days off to regroup.”

“And have Greg Sanders paint me a coward?”

“That would only reflect badly on him.”

She lowered her head. “I could drop out of the race altogether.”

“Then you’d really look like a coward.”

“It wouldn’t be solely because of the courtroom shooting,” she said quietly.

“What other reason do you have for even considering it?”

She gave him a look that said he knew the reason. And he did. He shifted in his seat, looked away, came back to her. “I thought we’d
canceled
it.”

“As you said, it’s not something you can take back.”

“No, but it doesn’t have to dictate your future. I’m not gonna rat you out. Nobody will know.”

“We will.”

Her tone was disturbingly reminiscent of Conrad’s
“You
will,” which prompted him to argue all the harder. “You’d be crazy to throw away your career over it. At a stretch it lasted for all of two minutes. We didn’t even kiss, for crissake!”

“Like that excuses it?”

“No, but it’s not like you languished in lust.”

“It doesn’t matter whether it lasted a few minutes or all day. You can’t breach ethics just a little.”

“Sure you can.”

His flippancy annoyed her. “You are a principal in one of my pending court cases. It was a no-no for us to even talk privately, much less…” Then she paused, and, when next she spoke, it was barely audible. “Is that why you did it?”

“Pardon?”

She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “Is that why you came to my house? Is that why you did it?”

He had hoped she wasn’t leading up to that. But by repeating it, she’d made herself perfectly clear. He began to simmer. “Is that why
I
did it?
I
?
”

“Well, you knew that was the one compromise I couldn’t possibly get beyond. Not if I had a grain of integrity. I couldn’t preside over another custody hearing after…after…”

“After screwing me on your sofa?” He snuffled a laugh and nodded his head knowingly. “I wondered when you’d get around to it.”

“To what?”

“To laying the blame on me for laying you,” he said, seething now. “I could turn it around and ask you the same question, judge. Why’d
you
do it? To let yourself off the hook, maybe?” He sputtered a bitter laugh. “I can hear your ruling now. ‘The court can’t award this man custody of his daughter. He’s reckless, unstable, and immoral. He can’t control his impulses, his temper, or his dick.’”

“That is so unfair.”

“No, I’ll tell you what’s unfair. When you go all weepy and clingy, it’s unfair to blame a guy for acting on your
please fuck me
eyes.”