No Good Deed (33 page)

He looked at Sonora, and she knew she had him. She smiled benevolently, and nodded to reassure him:

‘I wish to make the formal apology.'

Delaney's head went up. She stared up at him, eyes narrowed into slits. ‘What?'

‘For the finger of yours which I have unfortunately cut
off,
and then returned. I am telling you that I am sorry, and that this is not something that should be taken personal.'

Delaney's mouth opened and she made a small noise, but no words were intelligible. She looked around the room, at Sonora, Gruber, Crick, and then back at Vincent, who looked down at her, holding out a hand, as if he expected to kiss and make up.

‘Sonofabitch.'

She was saying it again.

Crick, sitting at Sanders's desk, looked at Sonora and nodded. Gave her one of his very rare smiles.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Sonora looked at the faces around her – Sam, McCarty, Crick. Gruber, just for the hell of it, because he wanted in, because he had a good mind, because he was available. How many times had they gone over it? It was beginning to feel like a prison, this case.

Sonora rubbed her right eye, smearing mascara. ‘I want to bring Chauncey in. I know I can sweat him.'

Crick rubbed his chin, making a scratchy sound. They were all tired; all had spent the better part of the day trying to get something out of the women. All had spent the better part of the day getting nowhere.

‘Okay, Sonora. Bring him in.' Crick's voice was thick with fatigue.

‘Really?'

‘You think he'll do anything but cry?' Sam said.

‘Take a vote,' Gruber said. ‘Everybody who thinks he'll cry say aye.'

‘Aye.' Sam.

‘Aye.' Gruber.

Crick looked at Sonora.

‘Yeah,' she said. ‘He'll cry. So what? After he cries he'll confess.'

Crick shook his head. ‘I don't think so.'

‘Why not?'

Gruber waved a hand. ‘My take? This guy, he cries to get sympathy and to escape dealing with whatever is bugging him. It's like a weapon. I mean, it's a chick trick. He ought to be ashamed.'

‘Gruber, you're a Neanderthal.'

The door to Interview One opened. Mickey breezed in. Took a look at the empty pizza box, the crumpled coffee cups, the soft-drink cans and wads of yellow paper from the legal pad.

‘Looks like the Spanish Inquisition,' he said. ‘Any luck?'

‘Sonora brought down the finger-ripper.' Gruber laughed. ‘Best reverse line up
I've
ever seen. It was beautiful, really. You ought to have been here.'

‘Hey, while you guys were sitting in here eating junk food, I've been doing a real cop's work.'

Sonora looked up. ‘What?'

‘We drained the pond. Drained it. Got all the way down to the muddy bottom.'

‘What'd you find?'

‘Not as much garbage as you might imagine. Old shoes. A couple of notebooks – you said that kid kept a journal?'

Sonora nodded

‘Ink's blurred, if they were hers. Illegible. I might be able to bring some of it up later. A BB gun, a dorky hat with flaps over the ears—'

‘Whoa, whoa,' Sam said. ‘That woman, Barbara Adair, who bought Sundance and the trailer. She said the guy that sold it to her had a hat with flaps on the ears. All the witnesses mention that stupid hat.'

‘Makes a great disguise,' Gruber said.

‘You get hair from the hat?' Sonora asked.

Mickey stood up straight and glared at Sonora. He seemed to be swelling like a show dog. ‘How can an artiste such as moi
not
get hair from a hat?'

‘What's it look like?'

‘Black. Dyed. And a half-used spool of Weed Eater tape. Got hair from the blanket, from the cap, from the trailer. Dixon Chauncey. Defense can argue the ones from the blanket, maybe even the cap, are legit. But not the trailer.'

Gruber rubbed his hands together. ‘Forget these bitches. Chauncey's our man.'

Sam and Sonora looked at Crick.

He nodded. ‘And Counselor Bristol, being what he is, keeps Saturday hours till the workload comes down, so go to the DA's office and do it up right. Then bring this guy in.'

‘What about his kids?' Sonora asked.

‘Make formal arrangements.'

She bit her lip. No other choice.

Gruber looked up. ‘Need any help taking him down?'

Sam shook his head. ‘Come along if you want to. But be sure and bring extra hankies.'

Crick stood up. ‘He's going to cry me a river now.'

Chapter Fifty-Four

Sam was driving fast. Sonora dug out her cellphone, called the DA's office, got put on hold and flooded with muzak. As soon as anybody down there knew it was her, she got put on hold. They likely circulated memos – blah, blah, blah, and give Detective Blair hell whenever possible.

‘Sonora?' Sam said.

‘I'm on the phone here.'

She waited. The female voice came back, finally.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Detective.'

‘That's okay, I always wanted to know all the words to “Mac The Knife”.'

The woman did not respond. They must have put that on the memo too. Don't laugh at Detective Blair's jokes.

‘I spoke with Mr Bristol—'

‘So he's still in the office?'

‘Yes, but he's leaving soon. He says if you're not here in the next fifteen minutes—'

‘We'll be there. Tell him to please wait, as we'd hate to have to disturb his evening at home.' Sonora cut the connection.

‘So, you're mad at me now?' Sam asked.

Sonora looked at him. ‘Mad about what?'

‘About me running McCarty through the computer.'

‘Sam, just stick to business, okay? We're breaking a case here.'

‘You're mad.'

‘I'm not mad.'

‘I'm just trying to look out for you, Sonora.'

‘Sam, are you happily married?'

‘Yeah. So?'

God, she hated it when he said that. ‘Then leave me alone.'

‘Sonora, I want you to find somebody. I just want it to be the right somebody. I worry about you.'

‘My God, you're the reincarnation of my mother. Let's have lunch and trash Dad.'

‘Look, if you want to do that married man thing—'

‘Sam? Not that it's any of your business, but I'm not going to sleep with McCarty.' She was like a kid with her fingers crossed behind her back. I'm not going to sleep with McCarty because I
already
did.

They drove.

‘You have to admit, Sam, McCarty is an attractive man.'

‘I wouldn't know.' He went through a yellow light, just as it turned to red.

‘Come on, you don't think he's cute?'

‘I'm a guy. I don't know if a man is cute.'

‘Hey, nobody's asking you to give up football or turn in your dick. I mean, he's a good-looking guy. McCarty is. Don't you think?'

No answer.

‘Okay, Sam, speaking professionally, like you were describing a suspect. Is he cute or not cute?'

‘We still on McCarty?'

‘We still are. Answer the question.'

Sam wiped his forehead. ‘The suspect could be described as … attractive.'

‘To women or just men?'

‘Fuck all y'all.'

Security let them in through the front door. Their footsteps echoed in the dark hallway. Gone were the late nights and camaraderie that had been the hallmark of this office when Gage Caplan had been in charge. He'd been very good at his job – good with the younger attorneys. It was no wonder Sonora was not popular down here. The man was undoubtedly missed. It was his habit of murdering pregnant women and dismembering their bodies that had gotten him in trouble, as such a habit often will. Other than that, he'd been an all-around guy.

Light shone from behind the frosted glass of Bristol's office door. Any other attorney would have left the door ajar, acknowledgment that he was expecting them.

Not Bristol.

Sonora considered just walking in, but she decided to make a genuine effort to get along. Be a trooper. Do the job. She wanted to pull Dixon Chauncey in. Get Mary Claire and Kippie out of his tear-stained hands.

Sam knocked. They waited.

Heard the squeak of a chair, soft footsteps, then the door opened. Why not shout ‘come in' from the desk?

Not Bristol.

He looked at them through a three-inch crack. Frowned, voice soft. ‘Detectives.' He left the door open and crossed back to his desk.

He was the kind of man who ironed his jeans and disapproved of people. He was thin. He took nourishment not enjoyment from his food. He smelled sweetly of cologne. On his desk was a picture of his wife – no children. She looked unhappy.

No mystery there.

Bristol's hair was very short, just shy of a butch cut, coming to a point at the back of his neck. He wore glasses with wire frames, and his nose was sharp, like a beak.

‘Please. Have a seat.'

Sam and Sonora exchanged looks, took a chair, faced him across an immaculate desk.

‘What is it I can do for the two of you?' Bristol was soft-spoken. His words held a sympathetic understanding that was not matched by the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes.

He had started in Juvenile. He had, by reputation, been fond of grinding any child unlucky enough to come under his purview into a fine dry ash and scattering them across the juvenile court system. He was every mother's nightmare in court. He had no children of his own, which did not stop him from having views on exactly how they should be raised, and, more important, punished. He liked holding people's fates in his hands.

Sam did the talking. Bristol listened with infinite patience, hands folded in his lap. Occasionally, Sonora would find him sneaking a look at her.

She braced herself for the barrage of questions that would come after Sam was through. But Bristol just stared at them. He sighed, stood up slowly.

‘Do either of you want coffee?'

‘No.'

‘No, thanks.'

He went to the coffee pot, which sat on a marble-topped table he had likely brought from home. The coffee-maker rested on a white circle of lace, next to a brass spider lamp, small light blazing.

Bristol bent at the waist, filling the cup. He took his time, carefully measuring out a teaspoon of sugar as if it were the most important thing in his life. He was in a world of his own, focused solely on that cup of coffee. Still bent, one arm rigid by his side, he took a sip. He straightened swiftly, a look of resignation crossing his face. The coffee had failed him.

He turned to Sam and Sonora. It was their turn to fail.

‘I can't help you.'

They started at him a long minute.

‘What do you mean you can't help us?' Sonora asked.

He sat down behind the desk. Lips in a tight little bow. ‘Really, Detectives. This case is a mess. Motive? Journal entries from an unruly, ungrateful teenage girl who probably resented being told to come home for curfew. You have this war going on between these two horse farms, you've even caught the man who mutilated one of the principals, and yet you look to the
father
as the killer. The girl was fatally injured when she came off that horse. Are you seriously telling me that she was the intended target? Why not shoot her and have done? This makes no sense at all.'

‘There are other children involved,' Sonora said.

‘Yes, that is uppermost in my mind. You want to rip them from their home on your gut instinct?'

‘That, plus the evidence,' Sonora said.

Bristol looked at his watch. ‘You've made me late for my dinner.'

‘Look—'

Bristol help up a hand. ‘Stop and think, Detectives, stop and think.' He did not raise his voice. Sonora would have liked it better if he had. ‘This man has been all over the eleven o'clock news – this is a high-profile case. If he was Mr Nobody with a record, I'd say pick him up in a heartbeat. This is a middle-class widower, bringing up three children—'

‘Two now.' Sonora had to interrupt.

‘He has a steady job, and, more important, the sympathy of this entire community. He turned down Montel Williams!'

Sonora wondered where Bristol got his information.

‘He doesn't come in until the case is so solid it could be tried by an idiot.'

Sam kicked Sonora before she could say a word. She stayed quiet. It was hard.

‘Come back when you've made your case.'

‘And meanwhile those other two kids are at risk,' Sonora said.

‘If that's what you believe, Detective, then you'd better get to work. Cross your
t
's and dot your
i
's.'

And blacken yours, Sonora thought. She looked at Sam, who inclined his head toward the door. She knew what he was thinking. If you can't go through, go around.

So much for co-operation.

They drove back in silence, both staring straight ahead. Not a word, till Sam pulled into the parking lot at the Board of Elections building.

‘Where'd you park?' he asked.

‘Just let me off here.'

‘You're upset.'

‘I'm worried about those kids. Aren't you?'

‘Am I uneasy? Yes. Do I think they're in immediate danger? No.'

She opened the car door. ‘See you tomorrow.'

‘Come on, Sonora. Don't be mad at me any more. You know I love you.'

She closed the door, looked in at him through the open window. ‘Thank you, Sam. Now don't ever say that again unless you plan to follow it up.'

‘With what?'

‘Sex. Love. Commitment.'

‘How about two out of three?'

‘Sam, I just want to say that your timing really sucks.'

Chapter Fifty-Five

Sonora awoke to the sound of a train, the wail of the horn. Had she been asleep? Halfway, maybe. The train sounded the horn again. She looked at the clock. Two a.m.