Murder in the Courthouse (20 page)

“This. Look at this.” Hailey pointed at a large white Styrofoam cup on the other side of the computer screen.

“So? It's an old coffee cup. Maybe he recycles.”

“Right. Maybe Deputy . . . uh . . .” Billings bent around Hailey's shoulder to read the county-issue, faux wood nameplate attached on the plastic portion of the wall. “Deputy Zilenski . . . maybe Deputy Zilenski is a recycler. Although I will agree, by the looks of his space, he's a bit of a . . . a . . . uh . . . let me see. How would I phrase it? A neatnik! Yes, that's it. He's a neatnik and Hailey's right. Under that theory, an old used coffee cup is definitely out of place. So there, you're both right. But is that why you brought us back in here, Hailey?”

“It's got pink lipstick on the rim.” Hailey wasn't really talking to either of them . . . more to herself. She bent over the cup, and then walked around to look at it from a different angle.

“And it's marked
Morning Blend, black, half-decaf
.”

“Morning Blend, black, half-decaf, I understand that. Maybe not the pink lipstick, but . . .” Billings's voice trailed off.

“Finch. Look at the photo.”

There was a sprinkling of photos on the desk top. All three had one thing in common . . . a young sheriff, heavily muscled, blonde hair buzzed close to his skull. Neck, face, and arms tanned. One was the sheriff, clearly as a cadet at graduation from the police academy. Another was of him and a man who had to be his father holding a big fish, smiling at the camera. The third shot was identical to one on Alton Turner's desk. It was the softball picture with Eleanor laughing, clutching a trophy in the center of the group.

“So?” Finch shook his head.

“This is the guy, the young sheriff we passed yesterday. He was crying in the hall outside the cafeteria when Elle died.”

Finch bent over and squinted at the photos but before he could speak, Hailey went on.

“And this.” She pointed at the cup. “This is the cup Eleanor Odom was drinking from
just before she died
.”

The two men stood in complete silence, looking from the photos to the Styrofoam cup. Billings spoke first.

“Why do you say that, Hailey? I don't understand why he'd keep a cup from a dead woman.”

“She's not just a
‘dead woman'
to him. You should have seen him crying in the hall to the café. He was actually pounding his head on the wall. I saw him. It's definitely the guy in these pictures.”

“She's right. That is the guy, Billings. I saw him too. He was pretty torn up,” Finch backed her up. “But I don't know anything about this cup.”

“He kept the cup because it's the very last thing to touch her lips before she died. That's why.
And
I saw the cup on the floor beside the table where Elle was going to eat. Emphasis on ‘going to eat.' This is important. Her knife, spoon, and fork were still lying on the napkin at her place. The food tray and the food was all thrown onto the floor.” Hailey was talking with her eyes closed shut, her fingertips over her eyelids as if she were trying to block out the present and remember exactly what she had seen in the cafeteria the day before. “So if her cutlery was still untouched on top of a folded
napkin, that means she had just sat down or was about to sit down when she had her attack. Or whatever you call anaphylactic shock.”

“How do you get that?” Billings asked gently, not wanting to interrupt her thought process. He'd seen Hailey do this before and so had Finch.

“Because, if she had taken a bite of anything, her fork, spoon, or knife wouldn't have still been lying arranged on the napkin like that. Plus one of them would have had pink lipstick on it.”

For a moment she was quiet, then burst into reasoning again to herself. “But the napkin . . .”

“What about the napkin?” Fincher was staring at her, not moving an inch lest he throw her off.

“The napkin was folded. If she had sat down, she'd likely have unfolded it and put it in her lap. She also had something messy . . . uh . . . a veggie plate and a fruit salad. Not a sandwich, so she'd need a fork or a spoon. Get it? So the napkin . . . the napkin . . . she hadn't had a bite of her food because she hadn't even picked up her fork or unfolded her napkin!”

Hailey suddenly opened her eyes and looked at them, clearly thrilled.

“And what does that mean? That she hadn't unfolded her napkin and the fruit salad made a mess on the floor?”

“It means, she didn't touch her food! Call the ME's office. Tell them to check for a nut enzyme. We could compare to the new evidence.”

She didn't have time to explain further. “Hurry! Call the ME. What if the enzyme dissipates over time? I mean, I don't know . . . drugs can disappear in just a few hours . . . they metabolize . . . maybe this does too!”

“Call the ME and tell him
what
?” Billings asked.

“Tell him this means we finally have a piece of evidence!”

“What evidence?” Now Billings was visibly upset that he couldn't seem to grasp her logic.

“This.” Hailey pointed at the cup. “
This
is what the folded napkin means. She didn't eat the poison . . .
she drank it! It means whatever poisoned her was in this cup
!”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

R
iding on the open road, the wind felt good in her hair. Speeding through the marsh with the window down beside her seemed to drive the image of Eleanor Odom's tongue, swollen and purple, her hands clutching at her throat, far from her mind.

The night was cooling down a little and the sky was gently slipping into Hailey's favorite color, the deep, deep indigo blue just before it turned black. The sky seemed to have a lit projector glowing behind the blue. The stars hadn't yet shown themselves and the green marsh seemed to merge into the sky.

“So, we'll have dinner, but I just radioed for an APB on Zilenski. He's in the street, but I can round him up in the morning and feel him out. Okay?”

“That sounds good,” Finch piped in from the back seat. “I don't have the strength to keep on. I need those fried shrimp and those cheese grits.”

“So, Hailey. Every time I try to take you to eat, something goes sideways.” Billings kept his eyes on the road ahead of him as he talked.

“I don't mind. I actually like talking about cases at dinner.” The car slowed and gravel kicked up from underneath the cruiser's wheels.

Billings didn't answer but instead parked the car and got out, shutting his car door firmly. The three crossed the parking lot and headed in, the gravel crunching under their heels with every step. The early evening air was sweet, filled with the scents of magnolia blossoms and marsh water.

But the heavy perfume of magnolia trees was quickly replaced by the mouthwatering smell of sizzling fried shrimp and coastal seafood. And who should greet them just as they stepped through the front door but the very same waitress who had taken their ill-fated lunch order.

“Hey, Lieutenant. How are you tonight? Not gonna run out on me again, are you?” She gave him a big smile.

“Nope. Not tonight. Got anything outside? She likes the sky.” He pointed with his thumb at Hailey.

“Sure! We have a patio spot for four left.” The blonde waitress led them through a maze of tables, her side ponytail bobbing along as she walked ahead of them.

“Forget the sky. I've seen the sky. All I want is the shrimp.” Finch, needless to say, did not need a menu.

They quickly ordered and all three practically cheered when, about twenty minutes later, they spotted their waitress making her way toward them with a single, huge tray balanced high over her head. Hailey was in disbelief such a tiny lady could balance and carry such a huge meal! Hustling behind their waitress was another waiter with more drinks and baskets of homemade sweet, golden cornbread, white buttered yeast rolls, and Southern-style hush puppies full of fresh corn kernels.

As promised, the food was delicious and the conversation lively. Each of them recounting courtroom war stories, yarns about bumbling defense attorneys, pompous judges, and topping each other with tales of one investigation after the next. It seemed like in no time at all, the sun had long set, dinner was done, and stars were beginning to sparkle in the deep, dark blue sky.

They paid their bill, left a nice tip, especially for being public servants, complimented the chef, and made their way across the graveled parking lot to Billings's squad car. Windows rolled down, Billings zigzagged the causeway across the marsh, dropping Finch off first.

“See you in the morning, Hailey. I'll meet you in the lobby of the courthouse, OK?”

“Sure. See you tomorrow, Finch.”

He slammed the door and Billings pulled off, heading down Savannah streets to Hailey's hotel. The night air was like velvet and the old buildings were beautiful in the moonlight as the two drove along without talking.

The car slowed down and Billings parallel parked on the side of a cobbled street. Hailey was pretty sure she could see the tip-top of her hotel a few blocks away.

“Is this the Hyatt?”

“Close to it.” Billings walked around the back of the cruiser and opened her door for her, holding out his hand to help her out. “I thought you might like to walk a few blocks along the river. It's beautiful at night. So different than during the day. Like a magic spell comes over it at sundown.”

Glancing out across the water just on the other side of the worn, cobblestone street, she saw he was right. It was beautiful. The water was black and silver in the night and the moon shone down on it.

“Hailey, I read about you on the internet,” said Billings.

“You shouldn't have . . .”

“Ha. I only read the good stuff . . . not what all the defense attorneys and defendants wrote. Who needs the haters?”

“I've got plenty of them. You know the deal. You can't try felony cases for ten years without making a lot of powerful enemies. It's just part of the job.”

Billings looked out over the water. “Yep. Just part of the job.”

They contemplated the water in silence until Billings spoke again. “I had no idea one of your favorite songs is ‘Moon River.' ”

“How'd you dig that up?” Hailey turned to look at him standing just beside her, clutching the old iron guardrail that stood between them and the water below.

“An old
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
article about you. Looked like they were trying to unmask the ‘real Hailey Dean,' the woman behind the victories. I guess that was their point.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember that. That was a long time ago.” Her tone changed. Only if you really knew her would you know it was tinged with remembrance.

“Yeah. So ‘Moon River,' huh? It's a beautiful song. I played it last night. The lyrics are pretty deep, though. Think about it . . . ‘two drifters.' Is he talking about himself and the river? Drifting down
the river . . . see how he used that word ‘drifter?' Or two drifters? Like us? Two people caught between two different worlds?”

Hailey turned to him, amazed he had thought about it this much or that he'd think so deeply about anything but crime. And how did he read her so right—she was trapped between two times . . . then, with Will, and the present.

A little taken aback, she didn't know quite what to say, so she said what she thought. “I think he means two actual people, I guess, like us.” She kept her eyes on the water.

“I think it's a love song, not just to each other, but to wanderlust. Neither here nor there, but wandering.”

“I love that part. And I love the part ‘my huckleberry friend' . . .” Hailey smiled. Did he have any idea she and Will had toyed with walking down the aisle to “Moon River”?

He couldn't. No one knew that but Hailey herself. No one living, anyway.

“A Mark Twain reference, I guess.” After he said it, Billings threw a stone across the river. It skipped a few times and then was lost beneath the silver water.

“You know the real Moon River's not far from here at all. Want to go see it sometime?”

“Where is it exactly?” The stars were shining so brightly overhead and looking up, they seemed just beyond her reach.

“Not far at all. It's where Johnny Mercer grew up. His home overlooked it. He fell asleep every night with it just outside his window. And even though he moved far away, up to New York City, his heart was still right there, looking out his window at Moon River. Is that how you felt when you moved to New York? Like your heart was still here, in the South?”

Hailey took a long pause. She normally refused to speak of why she left Atlanta. But tonight felt different. Maybe it was the velvet dark sky or the stars or the whisper of the river at their feet.

“I don't know, Billings. It's all such a blur now. Will's death, law school, one case after the next after the next. I guess when he died, I
left my heart right there and I haven't thought much about it since then.”

She turned to look at him and he turned as well. Hailey could see the stars shining all around his face and hair, his blue eyes looking intently into hers.

“Maybe you haven't let yourself think much about it.” He held her gaze.

“Maybe,” she answered, barely audible above the sound of the water.

Chase Billings took her into his arms, kissing her gently on her lips. He pulled her to him and held her in a firm embrace.

She didn't stop him but after a moment, pulled back.

“Billings, I can't. It's not you. Believe me. It's not you . . .” Her voice cracked. He looked deeply disappointed.

“Hailey, I'm not hurt. I know what you've been through. It's legend now. It's why you are who you are. But don't blame me if I don't give up.”

His eyes were smiling again and a grin lingered at the edges of his lips. Hailey returned the smile. The two walked silently the few blocks to her hotel. His arm rested gently across her shoulders.