The Last to Die (28 page)

But thin-king back, she'd got-ten so-me pe-cu-li-ar vi-bes a we-ek or so be-fo-re Jamie was mur-de-red. She hadn't tho-ught much abo-ut it, had ac-tu-al-ly dis-mis-sed the no-ti-on, but she co-uld no lon-ger sha-ke that eerie fe-eling that so-me-body was fol-lo-wing her, wat-c-hing her, ke-eping tabs on her every mo-ve. It wasn't that she'd ac-tu-al-ly ca-ught an-yo-ne in par-ti-cu-lar, it was simply a fe-eling.

Okay, Jaz, ad-mit it-pe-op-le are sta-ring at you, whis-pe-ring be-hind yo-ur back, po-in-ting
fin-gers.
A few lo-cals had be-en cru-el eno-ugh to call her a mur-de-rer to her fa-ce. That's why she had avo-ided mi-xing and min-g-ling with the cus-to-mers at her res-ta-urant and at Jaz-zy's Jo-int and spent ti-er ti-me in her of-fi-ce at each pla-ce. But the-re had be-en Just as many pe-op-le who'd tri-ed to be ni-ce by sa-ying Things li-ke, "Abo-ut ti-me so-me-body kil-led that SOB." Or a few even sa-id, "I don't bla-me you for tor-tu-ring that sorry as-sho-le to de-ath." The bot-tom li-ne was that just abo-ut ever-y-body in Che-ro-kee Co-unty be-li-eved she had kil-led Jamie.

The evi-den-ce had cer-ta-inly pi-led up qu-ickly. A blo-ody kni-fe fo-und in her of-fi-ce. Fo-ren-sic tes-ting had shown it! was Jamie's blo-od. Then the-re was the bo-ok of mat-c-hes from Jaz-zy's
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Jo-int-with her fin-ger-p-rints on it-and the red scarf Jacob had gi-ven her as a bir-t-h-day gift. Add to tho-se things Tif-fany's and Dil-lon's tes-ti-mony abo-ut se-e-ing a wo-man fit-ting Jaz-zy's des-c-rip-ti-on on the mo-un-ta-in ro-ad only a few ho-urs be-fo-re Jamie di-ed.
But don't for-get the
most dam-ning evi-den-ce of all
, she re-min-ded her-self. The fact that nu-me-ro-us pe-op-le co-uld tes-tify to the fact that she had thre-ate-ned Jamie. Mo-re than on-ce.

Jazzy sank down on the so-fa in the li-ving ro-om, drew her legs up to her chest, and cir-c-led her kne-es with her arms. Al-t-ho-ugh Genny, Sally, Lu-die, and Ca-leb had be-en smot-he-ring her with at-ten-ti-on, al-most as if they we-re af-ra-id to le-ave her alo-ne, she'd ma-na-ged to per-su-ade them that she ne-eded so-me ti-me by her-self. Just an af-ter-no-on ho-led up in her apar-t-ment to sort thro-ugh her fe-elings. It was bad eno-ugh ha-ving to de-al with Jamie's de-ath, but kno-wing it was only a mat-ter of ti-me be-fo-re she was ar-res-ted for his mur-der was ter-rif-ying.

I didn't kill him
. Tho-se words re-pe-ated them-sel-ves over and over in-si-de her mind… and her he-art.
But you co-uld ha-ve kil-led him. You're ca-pab-le of mur-der. That ter-rib-le night only a
few months ago, you ca-me damn ne-ar clo-se to sho-oting him. To blo-wing his balls off!

Jazzy shud-de-red as tho-se ha-un-ting mo-ments pla-yed vi-vidly in-si-de her he-ad. She wo-uld ha-ve shot him, pos-sibly kil-led him, if he hadn't bac-ked off. But she wo-uldn't ha-ve kil-led him out of hat-red or for re-ven-ge. Not ever. Only to pro-tect her-self.

She ne-eded a go-od law-yer. A smart law-yer co-uld show a jury that all the evi-den-ce aga-inst her was eit-her cir-cum-s-tan-ti-al or had be-en plan-ted. Ever-y-t-hing was too ne-at, too pat, so ob-vi-o-usly plan-ned to fra-me her.

First of all, ne-it-her Tif-fany nor Dil-lon co-uld swe-ar the wo-man they saw dri-ving a sports car up the dark mo-un-ta-in ro-ad was Jas-mi-ne Tal-bot. All they co-uld say was that it was a wo-man with short red ha-ir who might ha-ve be-en Jaz-zy. A go-od law-yer co-uld po-int out that a wo-man who co-uld pass for Jaz-zy's twin had be-en in town when Jamie was mur-de-red. All she-or any wo-man, for that mat-ter-wo-uld ha-ve ne-eded was a re-al-ly go-od red wig.

And the bo-ok of mat-c-hes didn't re-al-ly me-an an-y-t-hing. Her fin-ger-p-rints we-re pro-bably on a lot of the mat-ch-bo-oks, sin-ce she usu-al-ly was the per-son who pla-ced them be-si-de the as-h-t-rays on all the tab-les at Jaz-zy's Jo-int.

The scarf was dam-ning evi-den-ce, as was the kni-fe. But she kept the scarf in her Je-ep to use whe-ne-ver she ro-de aro-und with the top down. And half the ti-me she didn't lock her Je-ep.

An-yo-ne co-uld ha-ve sto-len the scarf.

Then the-re was the blo-ody kni-fe. No per-son in the-ir right mind wo-uld ha-ve hid-den the mur-der we-apon in the-ir own of-fi-ce. An-yo-ne who knew Jaz-zy knew she was too smart to ha-ve do-ne so-met-hing so stu-pid.

She be-gan roc-king back and forth, her tho-ughts sho-oting off in-to a do-zen dif-fe-rent di-rec-ti-ons as she tri-ed to ma-ke sen-se out of her li-fe. Jamie was de-ad. The man she'd lo-ved, the man she'd ha-ted.
Oh, Jamie, you might ha-ve be-en un-kind and sel-fish and dow-n-right go-od for
not-hing but you didn’t de-ser-ve to die the way you did
. Just the tho-ught of how he must ha-ve suf-fe-red ma-de her he-art ac-he. It se-emed stran-ge that she wo-uld ne-ver see him aga-in, ne-ver he-ar his vo-ice, ne-ver ha-ve to send him away… not ever aga-in. Te-ars gat-he-red in her eyes.

Un-wan-ted te-ars. She had spent a li-fe-ti-me crying over Jamie Up-ton.

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Think abo-ut yo-ur-self. Con-cen-t-ra-te on what you ne-ed to do to pro-tect yo-ur-self
. May-be she sho-uld find her-self a law-yer now, be-fo-re she was char-ged with mur-der. But who? What abo-ut Ma-xie? He was the best tri-al law-yer in Che-ro-kee; Co-unty. But Max-well Fen-nel didn't co-me che-ap.
So. You’re not exactly po-or. You’ve got a hefty sa-vings ac-co-unt. We're tal-king
abo-ut yo-ur li-fe he-re, Jaz. You co-uld wind up in, pri-son or even be sen-ten-ced to de-ath.

She had was-ted eno-ugh ti-me wor-rying, fe-eling sorry for her-self and trying to ma-ke sen-se of what was hap-pe-ning to her. It was past ti-me she to-ok ac-ti-on. She jum-ped up from the so-fa and he-aded for her desk. Af-ter pul-ling out the pho-ne bo-ok from the bot-tom dra-wer, she flip-ped thro-ugh the pa-ges un-til she fo-und Max-well Fen-nel's of-fi-ce num-ber. Just as she lif-ted the te-lep-ho-ne re-ce-iver, she he-ard so-me-one at her do-or.

Damn! She gro-aned. Well, it was eit-her Genny, Sally, Lu-die, or Ca-leb.

Jazzy re-tur-ned the re-ce-iver to the pho-ne ba-se and went to an-s-wer the do-or. The-re sto-od Genny, a som-ber ex-p-res-si-on on her fa-ce and a lo-ok of do-om in her black eyes.

"What's wrong?" Jaz-zy as-ked.

"We ne-ed to talk."

"Come on in."

Genny en-te-red the li-ving ro-om. Jaz-zy clo-sed the do-or. The two fri-ends fa-ced each ot-her.

"Whatever it is, it's bad, isn't it?" Jaz-zy sa-id, re-al-ly not ne-eding a res-pon-se.

"Wade Tru-man is ha-ving a war-rant for yo-ur ar-rest is-su-ed," Genny sa-id. "As so-on as the jud-ge signs it, Jacob will ha-ve to ar-rest you."

Nausea chur-ned in Jaz-zy's sto-mach. A we-ak, sin-king fe-eling swept over her. She had known this was ine-vi-tab-le and yet the re-ality of it hit her hard.

"I was just fi-xing to call Max-well Fen-nel. I gu-ess I sho-uld go ahe-ad and do that."

"I'll call Ma-xie," Genny sa-id. 'Then I think we sho-uld go on over to the she-rif-fs de-par-t-ment so you can turn yo-ur-self in."

Jazzy lo-oked at Genny, not qu-ite com-p-re-hen-ding what she'd sa-id. "You think I sho-uld turn myself in?" 'The lo-cal me-dia is al-re-ady in a frenzy abo-ut Jamie's mur-der," Genny ex-p-la-ined.

"Once word le-aks out that the-re's be-en a war-rant is-su-ed for yo-ur ar-rest, all hell will bre-ak lo-ose. New-s-pa-per and TV re-por-ters will be swar-ming aro-und he-re and aro-und the co-ur-t-ho-use li-ke a bunch of kil-ler be-es. If we go on over to Jacob's of-fi-ce and wa-it, we might avo-id the worst of it."

"Damn Bri-an Mac-Kin-non. I'll bet he's enj-oying this. As much as he dis-li-kes me, you know he'll slant ever-y-t-hing on his TV sta-ti-on and in The Che-ro-kee Po-in-te He-rald aga-inst me."

"Forget Bri-an. We can't do an-y-t-hing to stop him from do-ing wha-te-ver he wants to do. Our big-gest con-cern right now is hi-ring Ma-xie and get-ting him to me-et us over at Jacob's of-fi-ce."

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"You're right. To hell with Bri-an Fuc-king Mac-Kin-non. One of the-se days that mag-got will get his." Jaz-zy, my Lord, will you stop sho-oting off yo-ur mo-uth? Ever-y-t-hing you say is go-ing to be scru-ti-ni-zed, and when you say so-met-hing li-ke that pe-op-le will twist it aro-und so that they can call it a thre-at."

"Well, shit, Genny, you might as well ask me to stop bre-at-hing. You know how I am. I say wha-te-ver pops in-to my he-ad. And I didn't me-an I'd per-so-nal-ly see that Bri-an gets his."

''I know." Genny of-fe-red her a wa-ve-ring smi-le. "Lo-ok, go fres-hen up, chan-ge clot-hes or wha-te-ver, then grab yo-ur pur-se and let's he-ad out. In the me-an-ti-me, I'll put in a call to Ma-xie and ask him to me-et us over at the co-ur-t-ho-use."

"Find out how much mo-ney he'll char-ge me up front, Jaz-zy sa-id as she he-aded for her bed-ro-om. "I might ne-ed to tran-s-fer so-me funds out of my sa-vings ac-co-unt1!

"I'll ask," Genny sa-id. "And Jaz-zy… if you wind up ha-ving to hi-re a mo-re high-po-we-red law-yer than Ma-xie and ne-ed so-me help, fi-nan-ci-al-ly, Dal-las and Jacob and I want to-"

"Damn it, you're go-ing to ma-ke me cry." Jaz-zy didn't da-re turn aro-und and fa-ce her best fri-end.

If she had, she wo-uld ha-ve burst in-to te-ars. "If wor-se co-mes to worst,; I can al-ways sell Jas-mi-ne's and Jaz-zy's Jo-int."

"No, you won't. If it turns out Ma-xie can't han-d-le this ca-se, we'll hi-re you the best damn law-yer ava-ilab-le, no mat-ter what the cost."

Jazzy ran in-to the bed-ro-om and clo-sed the do-or be-hind her. With te-ars tric-k-ling down her che-eks, she le-aned back aga-inst the do-or and than-ked God for go-od fri-ends.1 And whi-le she was pra-ying, she al-so as-ked God to help Jacob and Dal-las find out who had re-al-ly kil-led Jamie.

The ro-om was qu-i-et. The only so-und was her own soft vo-ice as she hum-med to her baby. Her pre-ci-o-us da-ug-h-ter. So tiny. So pretty. And so de-pen-dent on her.
Don't you worry, my lit-tle
an-gel, I'll ta-ke go-od ca-re of you.
It was a mot-her's duty to lo-ve and ca-re for her child, to pro-tect that child from the evil in the world. And the-re was so much evil, so much cru-elty. Bad pe-op-le do-ing bad things to her. Me-an pe-op-le plot-ting be-hind her back, saying ter-rib-le things abo-ut her.

As she roc-ked back and forth, crad-ling her baby in her arms, she whis-pe-red, "You're sa-fe. No one can hurt you. And no one can ever ta-ke you away from me aga-in.

He had sa-id he lo-ved her. He'd ma-de her pro-mi-ses he ne-ver in-ten-ded to ke-ep. To lo-ve, ho-nor, and che-rish. But he had li-ed. Her-fe-elings hadn't mat-te-red to him, not as long as he got what he wan-ted.

She held her child clo-se to her he-art. "But he'll ne-ver ha-ve you. He'll ne-ver hurt you. They're all ali-ke. Men who tell you they lo-ve you, then throw you away and pre-tend you ne-ver exis-ted. And the-re is al-ways a wo-man who lu-res them in-to evil. A wic-ked wo-man who de-ser-ves the sa-me pu-nis-h-ment for her sins."

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Mustn’t get up-set
, she told her-self.
Ever-y-t-hing is all right for now. I'm sa-fe. My da-ug-h-ter
is sa-fe, Jamie Up-ton is de-ad. He can't hurt an-yo-ne ever aga-in. Now all I ha-ve to do is bi-de
my ti-me and the law will pu-nish Jas-mi-ne Tal-bot. She will suf-fer as we ha-ve suf-fe-red.

She con-ti-nu-ed hum-ming, a lul-laby from long ago. Hadn't she sang this sa-me song to anot-her baby? Had the-re be-en anot-her baby? No, of co-ur-se not. The-re was only her lit-tle girl, the baby she held in her arms. The child who was sa-fe. The child he co-uldn't hurt. The lit-tle girl he co-uld ne-ver ta-ke away from her.

At the right mo-ment, I will ma-ke him very, very sorry for what he did. He thinks he's sa-fe.

He has no idea that he will die so-on. He sho-uldn't ha-ve let us down the way he did. I night ha-ve
for-gi-ven him and kil-led him qu-ickly if he'd be-en a bet-ter fat-her, if he had pro-tec-ted you and
kept you from harm.

Not yet. Wa-it. The-re is no ne-ed to hurry. She had fo-und him, and if he tri-ed to es-ca-pe, she wo-uld simply fol-low him. He co-uldn't get away from her. Wo-uldn't he be sur-p-ri-sed when he saw her, when he re-ali-zed who she was and mat she was go-ing to kill him?

Caleb flag-ged Genny down a block away from the co-ur-t-ho-use. He sto-od in the mid-dle of the stre-et and wa-ved his arms. She slam-med on the bra-kes and rol-led; down the win-dow. Be-fo-re she co-uld say a word, Ca-leb ran to-ward her Chevy Tra-il-b-la-zer.

"Let me in," he cal-led out to her as he grab-bed for the back do-or han-d-le on the dri-ver's si-de.

The mi-nu-te Genny un-did the locks, Ca-leb ope-ned the do-or and jum-ped in the back se-at.

"Dri-ve aro-und to the re-ar en-t-ran-ce at the co-ur-t-ho-use."

"What's wrong?" Genny as-ked.

Jazzy tur-ned hal-f-way aro-und in her se-at. Her ga-ze con-nec-ted with Ca-leb's and held.

"Word's out that Jaz-zy is go-ing to be ar-res-ted for Jamie's mur-der. The-re's a hor-de of re-por-ters out front, along with TV ca-me-ras re-ady to fol-low Jacob when he le-aves the co-ur-t-ho-use or to catch you the mi-nu-te you ar-ri-ve to turn yo-ur-self in."

"How do you know?" Jaz-zy as-ked. "Did-"

T told you that word's out all over town." Ca-leb le-aned' over the con-so-le and pla-ced his hand on Jaz-zy's sho-ul-der. "Jacob and Dal-las ha-ve pos-ted de-pu-ti-es and of-fi-cers at the front and back en-t-ran-ces, but it's go-ing to be a mad-ho-use trying to get you in-to Jacob's of-fi-ce."

"Go ahe-ad, Genny," Jaz-zy sa-id. "I've got to fa-ce the re-por-ters so-oner or la-ter. We might as well get this over with."