Nothing But the Truth (13 page)

“No trial today?”

Jeff shook his head. “Most of our docket shook out. We’re starting a TBC in the morning.” He referred to a trial before the judge, rather than a jury.

“Do you have a change of clothes?” Ryan knew he would. No one got to be in the kind of shape he was in without daily workouts, especially if they put foul stuff in their bodies like the lunch he was devouring. Since she knew he arrived at the office as early as she did, she surmised he was a workout on the way home kind of person, meaning he would have a gym bag either here in the office or in his car. Just like her.

He glanced at the bag in her hand and nodded.

“Well, grab it and let’s go.” Ryan decided they could change in the restrooms downstairs and sneak out Leonard’s private access to the building. This afternoon’s field trip was on a whim, meaning she hadn’t brought a suitable change of clothes. She didn’t want to be seen walking through the halls in the rough sweats she wore to the boxing gym downtown.

To his credit, Jeff didn’t ask any questions. He hefted a well-worn Adidas bag from under his desk and followed her out of the room.

After they changed, Ryan led the way to the parking garage next to the courthouse. She bypassed her reserved parking space and walked to the row of white sedans that represented the district attorney’s fleet. She would much rather drive her Lexus sedan. She would have if she were by herself, but she didn’t want to invite Jeff into her personal life in any way, even if it were something as simple as him riding along in her only true self indulgence.

Richardson was a quiet suburb just north of Dallas with a population of just over a hundred thousand. The city was home to a number of the world’s largest computer and networking companies. As a result, many of its residents were upper middle class. All the major growth was on the west side, and the east side of the city remained singularly unchanged except for an explosion of Asian-owned businesses. Rows of 1920s bungalow houses lined aging streets. Large pecans and oaks, whose limbs touched worn rooftops and left huge piles of leaves on lawns, stood in the yards of houses neglected for reasons of old age, disability, and fixed income.

Before the fire, Mary Dinelli’s house had been a pristine contrast to the rest of the neighborhood. Photos from a recent appraisal file showed a well-maintained dwelling with pale yellow siding, shiny black shutters, and a cherry red front door. Now only a detached garage and garden shed remained standing, and both buildings looked out of place next to the charred patch of ground in the middle of the lot. Before being trampled by teams of firefighters, dragging yards of thick hose, the landscaping had been thriving and colorful. Now the yard was dead and brown.

“I could have told you the house is gone. Whatever was left after the fire was torn down and removed by the city.”

Ryan ignored Jeff’s comment and got out of the car. She walked to the center of the lot. Jeff stood at the edge of the lot for a moment before he followed her. Ryan didn’t say anything as she paced the perimeter of the space where Mary Dinelli had met her end. Jeff stood off to one side, barely hiding his impatience at this exercise. She would get back to him when she was done. Right now, her singular focus was the scene of the crime, what it could tell her, and what she would tell the jury about the scene and the victim.

She tugged on the door to the garden shed. As she expected, the interior was neat and clean. All of the contents had long since been removed. She pulled several photographs from the envelope and held them up against the shelves. Squinting, she could imagine the rows of tools depicted in the pictures nestled into their individual nooks and cubbies in the shed. Disability notwithstanding, Mary Dinelli was a meticulous, tidy gardener.

Jeff was still standing where she left him.

“What’s the matter, Oates, don’t like the down and dirty?” Ryan purposely chided him.

His response was defensive. “I’ve seen plenty of dirt. Way messier than this. I can flash through autopsy photos without a flinch,” he bragged. “This patch of grass? It’s nothing.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. This patch of grass symbolizes what Ross Edwards did to Mary Dinelli in a way the jury can stomach. Autopsy photos will make them uncomfortable. A couple of shots of a dead body, and they’ll want you to put those pictures away, but you can leave a picture of this decimated lot up on the screen during the investigator’s entire testimony, and they won’t squirm. What they will do is see the scorched earth approach Ross took to his victims. He wiped her out. Her bank accounts, her property, her life. All that’s left is a burned patch of grass.”

Ryan didn’t wait for a response. She put the photos back in the envelope and got into the car. Jeff slid into his seat. His silence was tense, as if he were pissed off at having been schooled about relating to a jury. Ryan could imagine the fast flickering thoughts in his head.
What does she know about juries? She hasn’t tried a case in who knows when?

If those were indeed his thoughts, Ryan had to give him credit. At least part of the reason for this afternoon’s field trip was to allow her to answer those questions for herself. She hadn’t tried a high profile, emotional case in years. The last case she had been directly involved in was all about numbers, mortgage fraud, and her presence in the courtroom had been for the sole purpose of displaying to the jury that the district attorney was so dedicated to the heinous crime of financial fraud, he was sending his top lieutenant to find justice for the citizens of Dallas County. Ryan needed to know if she still had the touch, the magical weave-a-story, paint-a-picture touch that had gotten her noticed in the first place. She had spent so much time on the eleventh floor, far from the people part of the job, she wasn’t sure she could summon the fierce emotion of vengeance and retribution she would need to convince a jury to order Ross Edwards to his death.

Until now. Standing in Mary Dinelli’s burned patch of everything she owned, Ryan summoned all the emotion she needed to exact vengeance. This woman, who gave her service to her country, had been robbed of the only reward she sought: to live her days in quiet peace, a modest pension to keep her in potting soil and garden tools. Ryan wanted to plunge the needle into Edwards’s arm herself.

 “Jake’s here.”

Brett placed her hand over the phone. “Great. Thanks. Tell him to come on in.” She turned her attention back to her call. “Kenneth, I’m going to get hold of the police report, and then I’ll call you to make arrangements to meet again.” She had already explained to him that the judge had appointed her to represent him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about payment. Frankly, she was glad to finally be talking to him, rather than his pushy mother. Which reminded her to ask, “Do you have your own phone? Seems like I should call you directly rather than through your parents.”

He ignored the question. “Why do you need the police report? Don’t you believe what I told you?” His voice started to squeak. “I’m going to go to the police. I can’t stand the pressure anymore.”

Brett took a deep breath, but the act didn’t completely dissipate her impatience. “No, you’re not. Not if you want to live. The cops will have you for lunch. I need to know more objective information before I can give you solid advice. This is a high profile case, and the prosecutor wants to put a needle in someone’s arm for the death of Mary Dinelli. You want me to represent you? Then you trust my advice. Understood?”

Kenneth sobbed. “Yes.”

“Okay. I’m sorry to be harsh.” She wasn’t sorry, but she did recognize the need to soften her tone in response to his emotional reaction. She was surprised to hear his voice quiver since he had delivered the tale of the crime with so little affect. “Now, hole up somewhere. I’ll call you. Soon.” She hung up the phone before he could say another word.

“Difficult client?”

Brett was startled but recovered quickly. She stood up to hug her visitor. Jake Simmons didn’t dole out hugs to just anyone, but Brett knew she would receive a firm embrace. She hadn’t seen him in years, but he hadn’t changed one bit.

Jake was a retired Dallas cop and now worked full time for the law firm of Ramirez & Dearning. He wasn’t an employee of the firm though, and would occasionally take on other work if he didn’t have a conflict, and if he found it interesting. What Brett was going to ask him to do probably wasn’t going to be interesting, but she knew she could count on him to give it a shot.

Jake wasn’t prone to idle chitchat. He pulled out a pad, similar to the whip cover notebooks he would have used when he was a beat cop. Pen poised over paper, he waited for Brett to outline the assignment.

“I need to get hold of a police report.”

He visibly relaxed. “That should be easy. What agency?”

“Richardson PD, and it may not be as easy as you think. It’s on the Ross Edwards case. Ryan Foster is lead on the case, and she’s guarding her case file like a mother protecting her young.”

 Jake laughed. “Not a role I’d normally cast that woman in.”

At that opening, Brett decided to veer off course. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know her very well. Actually, I don’t know her at all.”

“Yeah, she’s been upstairs since you went into private practice.”

 “She a good litigator?” Brett urged Jake to share. She did want to know about Ryan’s trial skills, but that hadn’t been the primary purpose of her fishing expedition. What she was really after was insight into Ryan’s well-hidden personality. Jake had done a stint as an investigator with the DA’s office after his retirement from the Dallas Police Department. Maybe he had gotten a glimpse of the woman concealed behind the lawyer persona.

“She’s solid. Law-and-order, through and through. But sometimes seeing things as only black or white can be a handicap.”

Brett could tell by Jake’s tone he was referring to both the professional and personal sides of Ryan Foster. “Good to know.” She switched gears. “Here’s the deal. I’m representing someone who may be heavily involved in the case they’ve built against Ross Edwards. He wants to confess his involvement, but I don’t feel comfortable bringing him in until I know more about the State’s case. Ryan’s stonewalling me.”

“She won’t show hers unless you show yours.” Jake succinctly summarized her position.

“Exactly.”

“Give me a rundown, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

Jake left a few minutes later, armed with all the details Kenneth had provided. Brett was confident Jake would find out whatever he could. In the meantime, she planned to do some digging of her own.

*

Ryan learned to keep a glass in her hand for the duration of these interminably long functions. This evening the glass was filled with tonic and a wedge of lime. Empty-handed, she would have no control over the well-meaning hosts who hated to see the guest of honor lacking in any way. As it was, they concentrated on introducing her to all the well-heeled guests capable of funding her campaign. She had only been at this particular gathering for half an hour, but she couldn’t wait to leave.

Across the room, Leonard cleared his throat with a hearty rumble and clapped his hands for attention. “Ladies and gentleman, thanks to all of you for being here tonight. We appreciate the hospitality of the Fraziers.” He paused to allow the crowd to applaud the millionaire host couple who had opened their historic home for this occasion. Ryan cringed as the applause died down. She dreaded what was coming next.

“And now I’d like to introduce the woman we’re all here to support. She’s achieved success both in and out of the courtroom as a superior litigator and an accomplished leader among the prosecutors in my office. I’ve known her for years, and I’ve never seen anyone work harder. I know that as the next elected District Attorney of Dallas County, she will continue to work hard for all of you. Please join me in a big round of applause for your future DA, Ryan Foster.” He waved a hand in Ryan’s direction and the crowd opened up to allow her to make it to his side.

Ryan approached on autopilot, a script of appropriate well-memorized election year platitudes on the tip of her tongue. As she reached Leonard’s side, she nodded at the crowd, but just as she was about to speak, she spotted a face in the crowd that seemed strangely out of place.

*

Even though she knew Ryan was the guest of honor, Brett wasn’t prepared for the rush of electricity surging across the room when their eyes met. The pull was so strong, she couldn’t look away. Was it just her imagination, or did Ryan seem to stumble through her first words as she also seemed unable to break the line of sight between them? Brett grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter to redirect her focus. She sipped the bubbly and spent the next few minutes adding to her distraction with some of the scrumptious appetizers being passed through the room.

“A Republican? Well, what a surprise.”

Brett swallowed the canapé she’d just shoved in her mouth. Ryan was standing beside her and her magnetism was full strength. “That certainly would be a surprise. A pleasant one for my family, but one they will have to continue to hold their breath for.”

Ryan smiled. The smile was tentative. Endearing. “So you’re the black sheep of the family?”

“The blue sheep, actually.”

“I take it I won’t be getting your vote?”

Brett gestured at the crowded room and dodged the question. “Doesn’t look like you need it.”