The Last to Die (29 page)

"Maxwell Fen-nel is wa-iting for you out-si-de on the co-ur-t-ho-use lawn and his pre-sen-ce is ca-using qu-ite a stir,"! Ca-leb told them. "He's al-re-ady ple-ading yo-ur ca-se KM the press."

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"For what I'm pa-ying him, he'd damn well bet-ter be do-ing a go-od job." Jaz-zy la-ug-hed, but the-re was no hu-mor in the so-und.

Caleb wo-uld li-ke not-hing bet-ter than to ta-ke Jaz-zy away from Che-ro-kee Po-in-te, to run off with her to so-me tro-pi-cal is-land and for-get Jamie Up-ton ever exis-ted. He ha-ted what was hap-pe-ning to her and felt hel-p-less to pro-tect her aga-inst the inj-us-ti-ce of be-ing char-ged with a cri-me she hadn't com-mit-ted. What she ne-eded mo-re than an-y-t-hing right now was a top-notch law-yer. So-me-body who didn't know the word de-fe-at, so-me-body with a re-pu-ta-ti-on for al-ways win-ning. The first na-me that ca-me to mind was Qu-inn Cor-tez. Cor-tez was the pre-mi-ere tri-al law-yer in the so-uth and so-ut-h-west. He had suc-ces-sful-ly de-fen-ded a slew of ac-cu-sed mur-de-rers. But Cor-tez ca-me with a high pri-ce tag. His re-ta-iner alo-ne ran in-to six fi-gu-res.

Caleb didn't ha-ve the kind of mo-ney it wo-uld ta-ke to pay Cor-tez's as-t-ro-no-mi-cal fee-and even if the guy did owe Ca-leb a fa-vor, he co-uld hardly ask him to work for pe-anuts. But Ca-leb knew so-me-one who did ha-ve that kind of mo-ney, so-me-body who'd dri-ven in-to town in a Jagu-ar, so-me-one who was pro-bably Jaz-zy's sis-ter. But be-fo-re he co-uld ap-pro-ach Re-ve Sor-rel, he ne-eded so-me in-for-ma-ti-on on the lady. He still had con-tacts in Mem-p-his who'd pro-bably help him.

When Genny tur-ned her SUV off the stre-et and in-to the par-king area be-hind the co-ur-t-ho-use, re-por-ters des-cen-ded on the Tra-il-b-la-zer li-ke a swarm of angry be-es.

"Now what do we do?" Genny as-ked.

"We wa-it he-re, with the do-ors loc-ked and the win-dows rol-led up, un-til we get a po-li-ce es-cort in-to the bu-il-ding," Ca-leb rep-li-ed.

"This is Bri-an's do-ing," Genny sa-id. "He's so-mew-he-re ne-arby. I can sen-se his pre-sen-ce. He's wat-c-hing. And he's enj-oying every mi-nu-te of it."

"Sadistic bas-tard," Ca-leb grum-b-led un-der his bre-ath.

Jacob ca-me out the back do-or of the co-ur-t-ho-use, Dal-las at his si-de. De-pu-ti-es Te-wan-da Hardy and Tim Wil-lin-g-ham, Wor-king with a co-up-le of Dal-las's of-fi-cers, par-ted the throng of re-por-ters and cu-ri-osity se-ekers whi-le Jacob and Dal-las ma-de the-ir way to the Tra-il-b-la-zer.

They ca-me' to the dri-ver's si-de and mo-ti-oned for Genny to open the do-or.

"Just park right he-re. Then I want ever-y-body to get out on this si-de," Dal-las sa-id. "Genny, we'll put you and Jaz-zy bet-we-en Jacob and me." He glan-ced in the back* se-at at Ca-leb. ''You stay right be-hind them, and we'll put Te-wan-da in front so we can ke-ep them sur-ro-un-ded un-til we ma-ke it to the of-fi-ce."

Caleb nod-ded and the mi-nu-te both wo-men we-re out; of the ve-hic-le, he hop-ped down to the gro-und and ca-mel up be-hind them to gu-ard the re-ar. Mo-ving as qu-ickly as the en-c-ro-ac-hing hor-de al-lo-wed, they he-aded to-ward the back do-or. Re-por-ters sho-uted qu-es-ti-ons. TV

ca-me-ra rol-led. And inch by slow inch, they ca-me clo-ser and clo-ses to the co-ur-t-ho-use back en-t-ran-ce.

"Don't no-body bla-me you for kil-ling him, ho-ney," a fe-ma-le vo-ice in the crowd sho-uted.

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"He de-ser-ved what he got," anot-her wo-man yel-led.

"You're a mur-de-rer," one man bel-lo-wed.

And anot-her yel-led, "You're a no-go-od slut. A mur-de-ring who-re. You're go-ing stra-ight to hell."

Every in-s-tinct in Ca-leb de-man-ded that he te-ar thro-ugh the crowd and be-at the hell out of ever-y-body who da-red say an-y-t-hing bad abo-ut Jaz-zy. But what go-od wo-uld that do her?

No-ne. Ab-so-lu-tely no-ne. Ho-we-ver, he knew what he co-uld do for her. First, he'd post bond for her as so-on as she was bo-oked. He fi-gu-red he had eno-ugh sa-ved up to co-ver it Se-cond, he'd ma-ke a pho-ne call to a man who owed him a fa-vor. He'd ne-ver in-ten-ded to call in Cor-tez’

mar-ker, but this wasn't for him-self. It was for Jaz-zy. And af-ter he got the in-fo he ne-eded on Re-ve Sor-rell, he'd see if he co-uld twist her arm in-to co-ming up with so-me cash. Even if Cor-tez did owe him, he do-ub-ted the man1 wo-uld ta-ke on Jaz-zy's ca-se for not-hing.

Caleb re-ac-hed out, pla-ced his hand on the small of Tazzy's back, and kept it the-re as they en-te-red the co-ur-t-ho-use and qu-ic-ke-ned the-ir pa-ce on the-ir trek to the she-rif-fs de-par-t-ment.

He wasn't go-ing to let her go thro-ugh this alo-ne. One way or anot-her, he in-ten-ded to ta-ke ca-re of her.

Chapter 18

Jazzy was gra-te-ful for one thing abo-ve all el-se-that she had go-od fri-ends she co-uld co-unt on.

Ot-her-wi-se she'd be spen-ding the night in ja-il. Of co-ur-se, it didn't hurt that two of tho-se fri-ends just hap-pe-ned to be the chi-ef of po-li-ce and the co-unty she-riff. And with Max-well Fen-nel, a man with mo-re clo-ut with the jud-ges than any law-yer in the co-unty, on her si-de, a re-aso-nab-le bond had be-en set des-pi-te the char-ges be-ing se-cond deg-ree mur-der. Jacob had ex-p-la-ined that Wa-de Tru-man wo-uld ha-ve go-ne for first deg-ree, but knew he'd ne-ver ma-ke tho-se char-ges stick. The evi-den-ce aga-inst her, tho-ugh plen-ti-ful, wo-uldn't hold up well un-der clo-se scru-tiny.

"If Big Jim hadn't put the pres-su-re on Wa-de, we wo-uldn't ha-ve ma-de an ar-rest so qu-ickly,"

Jacob told her. "Se-ems Miss Re-ba wants her po-und of flesh. Ac-tu-al-ly,; to be mo-re ac-cu-ra-te, she wants a po-und of yo-ur flesh."

Whatever Big Ma-ma wants, Big Ma-ma gets
, Jamie had sa-id nu-me-ro-us ti-mes.

Miss Re-ba. God, how that wo-man had fuc-ked up her li-fe. Jamie's gran-d-mot-her had des-pi-sed her from day one. If it hadn't be-en for Miss Re-ba, Jamie wo-uld ha-ve mar-ri-ed her when they we-re te-ena-gers and he'd knoc-ked her up. But Jaz-zy hadn't be-en go-od eno-ugh for the Up-ton he-ir.

Miss Re-ba had wan-ted him mar-ri-ed and ma-ted to a blue blo-od, to so-me-body who-se folks had the kind of mo-ney and bre-eding the Up-tons did.

At this pre-ci-se mo-ment, Jaz-zy felt not-hing. No pa-in or an-ger or fe-ar. It was as if so-met-hing had shut down in-si-de her and her abi-lity to fe-el had go-ne in-to hi-ber-na-ti-on. An odd sort of num-b-ness had set-tled over her on-ce the bo-oking pro-cess be-gan. Of co-ur-se, Ma-xie had ear-ned his re-ta-iner when Jacob had qu-es-ti-oned her. Wa-de Tru-man had be-en on hand for that, and, to gi-ve the de-vil his due, he'd ap-pe-ared to be rat-her un-com-for-tab-le with the who-le
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si-tu-ati-on. Of co-ur-se, the fact that whe-ne-ver he was al-lo-wed an-y-w-he-re ne-ar her, Ca-leb had con-ti-nu-o-usly gi-ven the DA the evil eye might ha-ve had so-met-hing to do with Wa-de's dis-com-fort.

Jazzy wal-ked up the out-si-de sta-irs that led to her apar-t-ment abo-ve Jaz-zy's Jo-int, Ca-leb's strong arm aro-und her wa-ist. He hadn't left her all this ti-me, du-ring the se-emingly en-d-less ho-urs it to-ok for her to be fin-ger-p-rin-ted and pho-tog-rap-hed and her per-so-nal in-for-ma-ti-on to be re-cor-ded.

Jacob and two de-pu-ti-es re-ma-ined on the stre-et be-low, fen-ding off the re-por-ters who had be-en lying in wa-it for Jaz-zy's re-turn. As Ca-leb to-ok her key from her and un-loc-ked the front do-or, she co-uld he-ar the new-s-ho-unds sho-uting qu-es-ti-ons at her. She didn't ca-re what they as-ked. Didn't ca-re what they sa-id abo-ut her in print The-re We-re a lot of things over which she had no con-t-rol, and the press was one of tho-se things, as was be-ing ac-cu-sed of Jamie's mur-der.

Once in-si-de, Ca-leb ga-ve her a gen-t-le push to-ward the so-fa. "Go sit down." He clo-sed and loc-ked the do-or. "It's nearly eig-ht-thirty and you ha-ven't had any lunch or sup-per. I'm go-ing to fix you so-met-hing to eat."

Jazzy sho-ok her he-ad. "I'm not hungry."

Caleb ca-me up be-hind her, gras-ped her sho-ul-ders! and wal-ked her to the so-fa. "Sit."

She sat.

He knelt down and re-mo-ved her sho-es. Af-ter easing her legs up on the so-fa, he pul-led a knit-ted af-g-han off the back and pla-ced it over the lo-wer half of her body., "You're eating so-met-hing, even if it's just half a san-d-wich." He stuf-fed a co-up-le of throw pil-lows be-hind her and ur-ged her to le-an back and re-lax. "If I don't ta-ke very go-od ca-re of you, I'll ha-ve to an-s-wer to Genny and yo-ur aunt Sally."

"Believe me, an-s-we-ring to tho-se two wo-uld be a fa-te wor-se than de-ath," Jaz-zy told him and re-ali-zed des-pi-te ever-y-t-hing she hadn't lost her sen-se of hu-mor.

"Don't I know it." Ca-leb gras-ped her chin and ran the pad of his thumb over it in a lin-ge-ring ca-ress. "Try to put all of it out of yo-ur mind. At le-ast for now."

Jazzy nod-ded, kno-wing it was the res-pon-se he wan-ted even if it was a lie. She wat-c-hed him un-til he di-sap-pe-ared in-to her small ef-fi-ci-ency kit-c-hen, then she clo-sed her eyes and hug-ged her-self. Al-t-ho-ugh she hadn't cri-ed a drop sin-ce be-ing ar-res-ted, she felt dra-ined. The num-b-ness was we-aring off and ex-ha-us-ti-on was ta-king its-pla-ce. She bur-ro-wed her he-ad in-to the pil-lows and cud-dled her body aga-inst the back of the co-uch.

Even with the do-ors and win-dows clo-sed, she co-uld still he-ar the rum-b-le of re-por-ters out-si-de be-ing kept at bay by the de-pu-ti-es. In the days and we-eks ahe-ad, they wo-uld ho-und her.

Bri-an Mac-Kin-non wo-uld see to that. Every as-pect of her li-fe wo-uld be put un-der a mag-nif-ying glass and writ-ten abo-ut in de-ta-il for the who-le co-unty, to see. If-God for-bid-the grand jury de-ci-ded to bring down a ru-ling in fa-vor of in-dic-ting her for Jamie's mur-der, she co-uld lo-se her fre-edom. But she had al-re-ady lost so-met-hing as pre-ci-o-us as fre-edom, ac-tu-al-ly a part of true fre-edom. She had lost her pri-vacy. Ever-yo-ne had sec-rets, things they wo-uld pre-fer the world ne-ver know. She sup-po-sed she had mo-re ske-le-tons in her clo-set than most. Ye-ah, su-re, a lot of
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folks knew a lit-tle abo-ut her past his-tory, but a gre-at de-al of what they tho-ught they knew was not-hing mo-re than sup-po-si-ti-on. If you to-ok a poll of the lo-cals, sixty per-cent wo-uld tell you that Jaz-zy Tal-bot was the il-le-gi-ti-ma-te da-ug-h-ter of Sally Tal-bot's baby sis-ter. The ot-her forty per-cent wo-uld swe-ar Jaz-zy was Sally's child. Jaz-zy had a birth cer-ti-fi-ca-te that pro-ved she was Sally's ni-ece, born to Cor-ri-ne Tal-bot on July twen-ty-first.

A lo-cal poll on what hap-pe-ned to Jaz-zy and Jamie's baby wo-uld end up pretty much a ni-nety-fi-ve per-cent ag-re-ement that Jaz-zy had got-ten an abor-ti-on when she was six-te-en. But a han-d-ful of folks knew the truth-she had this car-ri-ed in the first tri-mes-ter. And ever-yo-ne who knew her, ex-cept the ones clo-sest to her, wo-uld swe-ar that Jaz-zy Tal-bot was a go-od-ti-me girl who had spre-ad her legs for half the men in town. That was most de-fi-ni-tely fal-se. But no one wo-uld ever be-li-eve that she co-uld co-unt all her lo-vers on her fin-gers. Less than ten. Not lily-whi-te by any me-ans, but not exactly the har-lot of the cen-tury, eit-her.

Yeah, she li-ked to flirt. And when a wo-man lo-oked li-ke she did, men just na-tu-ral-ly dro-oled over her. Was that her fa-ult? May-be. She had ne-ver do-ne an-y-t-hing to dis-pel her bad re-pu-ta-ti-on. Ac-tu-al-ly, she had do-ne the exact op-po-si-te and fos-te-red her town who-re ima-ge.

Just li-ke Aunt Sally had of-ten sa-id, Jaz-zy so-me-ti-mes cut off her no-se to spi-te her fa-ce. It was that damn, mi-le-wi-de stub-born stre-ak in her.

Sig-hing, she rub-bed the back of her neck. Damn, she was ti-red. She clo-sed her eyes.

We-ari-ness over-ca-me her. Not just a physi-cal and men-tal we-ari-ness. No, it wad mo-re than that.

Jaz-zy was he-art we-ary. So-ul we-ary.

Dallas Slo-an hung up the pho-ne and tur-ned to Jacob. "You are not go-ing to be-li-eve this."

"Was that Te-ri?" Jacob as-ked. "Did she co-me up with so-met-hing on McCord?"

"Indeed she did." Dal-las mul-led over the in-for-ma-ti-on his fri-end and old lo-ver, who still wor-ked for the FBI, had com-p-li-ed on Ca-leb McCord. The man was a re-al sur-p-ri-se on mo-re than one co-unt.

"Well, are you go-ing to tell me or ma-ke me gu-ess?" Jacob le-aned back in his swi-vel cha-ir and prop-ped his big fe-et up on his desk. "It's be-en a long day and I'm! re-al-ly not in the mo-od for twenty qu-es-ti-ons."

"Sorry." Dal-las shrug-ged. He co-uldn't help stret-c-hing out the sus-pen-se just a lit-tle, des-pi-te kno-wing what a short fu-se Jacob had. In the few months they'd known each ot-her, they had be-co-me fri-ends. Go-od fri-ends. And when Dal-las mar-ri-ed Genny, Jacob wo-uld prac-ti-cal-ly be' his brot-her-in-law. 'We knew McCord was from Mem-p-his and that he was a de-tec-ti-ve on the Mem-p-his po-li-ce for-ce. But we didn't know he was one of the yo-un-gest men to ever ma-ke de-tec-ti-ve or that he was a well-res-pec-ted, well-li-ked, mul-ti-de-co-ra-ted cop." 'What do you know." Jacob grin-ned as he lif-ted his cof-fee mug to his lips and dow-ned the last sip.

"I know that wasn't a qu-es-ti-on, but I do just hap-pen to ha-ve a lot mo-re in-for-ma-ti-on." Dal-las won-de-red if' Jacob's ta-ke on this star-t-ling new in-fo wo-uld be the sa-me as his. He'd bet his last nic-kel that it wo-uld be.

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"You're enj-oying this too damn much. Wha-te-ver it is, it must be go-od. "Jacob eased his fe-et off his desk, sho-ved back his cha-ir and sto-od. "Don't tell me. McCord tur-ned out to be a dirty cop."