Nothing But the Truth (28 page)

*

Brett picked up the demitasse Tony placed on her desk and drained it. “More?”

 “If you drink any more of that black tar, you’ll never get to sleep tonight.” Tony cocked his head and squinted at her. “I think working on cases that don’t pay well is sucking the life out of you.”

“I recall asking for coffee, not advice,” Brett snapped.

“Get your own coffee. I stopped being your lackey long ago. If you want a servant, look elsewhere.” Tony turned and started toward Brett’s office door.

Brett knew she’d crossed the line. They often had good-natured spats, but she’d been a bitch all afternoon. She wasn’t surprised Tony was tired of putting up with her.

“Wait! Please.”

He stopped.

“I’m sorry.”

“And?”

“And?”

“I’m waiting for some explanation for why you’re acting like such an ass. I’d just as soon you hadn’t come back to the office at all today if whatever happened at the courthouse has you so out of sorts.”

“I have a problem. Actually, I have a series of related problems, and I don’t have a clue what to do.”

“Personal or professional?”

“Both.”

“Ah. Seems complicated. Do you want to talk?”

“Yes. And no.” Brett laid her head on her desk. She wanted to talk, but she needed time to process before she would even know where to start. “I think I need to get a better handle on the situation before I can even articulate the issue. Does that make sense?”

“Sure it does.” Tony walked back to her desk and picked up the demitasse. “Maybe some espresso will help. If it doesn’t, know I’m always here for you.”

“I know, T. Thanks.” Brett watched him leave the room. She wanted to leave. Get in her car and drive far away from all the work sitting on her desk. Far away from this case. Far away from Ryan Foster.

She didn’t know what to do. The ethical issue she and Ryan had discussed the day before seemed inconsequential compared to the dilemma she faced over what to do about Ann Rawlings’s case. She knew she needed to take some action, but she was paralyzed. The truth was she just couldn’t wrap her mind around the image of Ryan as a patron at a sex party. Ryan, of all people. Straitlaced Ryan Foster. Who was she kidding? Straitlaced Ryan Foster who growled like a tigress when kissed while her body responded with raging fervor and passion.

Maybe she could imagine that Ryan Foster. Maybe the duality was part of the attraction that made Ryan Foster the woman Brett couldn’t stop thinking about, who made her heart race, who she would have to learn to forget.

*

Ryan waited till nine o’clock to enter the building. She had been itching to get into the courthouse since the moment Brett left her house, but she needed privacy. Monday night during a nonjury week would provide her with the freedom to find what she needed.

She spread Ann Rawlings’s file on her desk. She didn’t see any of Cindy’s notes and wondered if Cindy had even reviewed the file since Ryan had flagged it.

Ryan took her time reading the police report. The address was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She typed the street address into Google and within seconds, a map appeared. She could recite the likely geographic areas for a prostitution arrest in Dallas, but this wasn’t one of them. No, this location was more likely to serve as a site for a well-heeled campaign fundraiser.

I don’t get it.
Ryan scanned the narrative on the police report. Rawlings was arrested following a 911 call reporting a “wild sex party.” Ryan reread the words and her gut started to churn. She looked at the address. She never wrote down any of the addresses. Ever. She memorized them as they were read to her. She took deep, calming breaths. She had an excellent memory. She did not remember this address. There was no connection.

Her eyes kept roving back to the phrase “wild sex party.” She wouldn’t characterize the events she attended with those words. Not exactly. The parties she attended were not wild. They were calm, distinguished affairs. No drugs were allowed and alcohol intake was moderate, a strictly enforced rule. Sex took place behind closed doors, not in a sprawling mass of bodies draped all over the living room furniture, and all activities were between consenting adults.

 “Next time you’re having sex with someone, think about whether they chose to be with you or whether they just don’t feel like they have any other choice.”

Ryan flashed back to Brett’s words. Ann Rawlings was charged with compelling prostitution. She had a minor working for her. Ryan shook her head. She sensed Brett’s words were a clue as to why she was angry, but she just didn’t get it.

She reviewed the file again. The location of the arrest bothered her especially since many of the private parties she attended took place in that very area. She didn’t know the logistics, but she knew the parties were insulated from police action. She’d seen enough local officials present to conclude arrangements had been made to deter enforcement on the off chance someone reported unusual traffic at a particular residence.

Ryan checked her memory. There had been a party that night, also in North Dallas. Ryan decided police dispatch must know the exact location of the parties in order to prevent sending cars to one of the gatherings. Apparently, “wild sex party” wasn’t enough of a clue to dissuade them from further investigation. Either the address of the Rawlings arrest wasn’t on the not respond list, or an exception to the no-enforcement rule had been made that evening.

Ryan realized how little she knew about the exact arrangements for the parties. Every month for the past year, she made a credit card payment to a professional cleaning service ostensibly for work they performed at her house. Ryan cleaned her own house, but her payments bought her full access to all the parties she wished to attend. Access was simple. She called a prearranged phone number, stated her customer number, and received the code word and location for the evening’s events. She wasn’t naïve enough to think she was completely insulated from detection, but she knew the secrecy of the parties was successful because of the mutual discretion of all involved. Any attendees who exposed fellow partygoers risked exposure themselves. Based on what Ryan had seen, none of the individuals she’d seen at the parties could afford such a risk.

Yet, she hadn’t considered the discretion of the men and women who were present at the parties to please the guests. She assumed they were paid well for their services, based on the high cost of her cleaning bill, but she hadn’t given any thought at all about how they came to be employed and who employed them. Ryan looked at the jail photo of Ann Rawlings. Despite the grainy texture and circumstances under which the picture was taken, Rawlings’s ravishing beauty was apparent. Ryan felt a prick of recognition. She was certain she had never had sex with her, but she was fairly certain she had seen her before, and she was fairly certain she knew where.

*

Whoever was ringing the doorbell wasn’t going to give up. Brett had finally left the office since she wasn’t accomplishing anything of substance. Peace and quiet was what she needed to process the day’s events. Dinner was a cardboard flavored Lean Cuisine and a glass of wine. She was about ready to turn in when her late night, insistent visitor arrived. Brett was tempted to yell, “Don’t want any,” but she reasoned the sound of her voice would signal her presence just as surely as if she opened the door.
So much for peace and quiet.

Ryan Foster was the last person she expected to see.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you.”

“Actually, you said something along the lines of stay the hell away from me until I’m ready to talk about Ann Rawlings.” Ryan shuffled in place as if unsure what else to say. “I’m ready.”

Brett couldn’t quite read the expression on Ryan’s face. Resignation? Fear? Her instincts screamed at her to tell Ryan to leave. She ignored them. Brett held the door open and Ryan walked through. They stood facing each other in the foyer. Brett flashed back to the last time they had stood there and the desire she felt in those moments. Things had changed drastically in a few days, but her craving wouldn’t abate. Her hunger wasn’t limited to wanting to feel Ryan’s body against hers. She wanted to recapture the bits of tenderness they had shared. She didn’t hold out any hope, but she could at least hear what Ryan had to say. She led the way to the living room, sank into the couch, and waved to the seat across from her. “Have a seat.”

Ryan sat stiffly on the edge of her seat. She wasn’t sure where to start, in part because she had as many questions as answers.

“You said you were here to talk about Ann Rawlings,” Brett said.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“I’m not in the mood to cut you any slack.”

“I understand.” Ryan lied. She suspected the source of Brett’s anger, but until Brett actually spoke the words, she wouldn’t be sure. All Ryan knew for certain was that she didn’t want to have to be the one to say it out loud.

“Do you?” Brett pressed the point. “I’m not so sure about that and I’m not sure I care. You said you were here to talk about Ann Rawlings, so talk.”

“I have some questions.”

“I doubt I can answer.” In response to Ryan’s questioning look, Brett said, “Attorney-client privilege.”

Ryan tossed out an overture. “She’s not a common prostitute. I don’t think she was a pimp either.”

“I know.”

“Who is her employer?”

“Seems like you should be the one to answer that.” Brett waited for Ryan’s reaction. She wasn’t convinced she really wanted to know exactly what Ryan knew.

Ryan ignored the jab. “Do you know or not?”

“Don’t push me, Ryan. I’m not going to share anything my client has told me with you or anyone else.”

“Can you at least tell me if she knows the name of her employer?”

Brett considered the request. The ownership of the townhome was information Jake had provided, not Ann. Surely she could tell Ryan that much.

“I don’t know. Not exactly.”

“You have an idea, though. Right?”

Brett decided to dispense with subtleties. “Ann Rawlings was arrested in a townhouse in North Dallas. Leonard Duncan is one of the owners of the property.” Brett cursed inwardly. She should have known once she started she wouldn’t be able to stop. She studied Ryan’s face for a sign she knew what was coming next. “He was there the night she was arrested.”

“No.” Ryan shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know.” Brett watched Ryan carefully. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. She was genuinely shocked by the news of Leonard’s involvement. Or she was a consummate actress.

“I don’t believe it.” Ryan spoke the words, but they were more about survival than truth. A nagging doubt crept into her conscious.
Leonard? Really?

“Save it. I know you knew. Why else would you walk the case through grand jury yourself?” As the words left her lips, Brett wondered why Ryan hadn’t pulled the file off the docket rather than just flag it. She should have known someone else could have accessed the information Brett was able to obtain. Doubt crept along the surface of her awareness.
Maybe it wasn’t an act. Maybe Ryan didn’t know.

“Brett, you have to believe me. I had no idea Leonard was involved. It’s not in the report. I flagged that file because you challenged me, and I didn’t want to back down. You were so insistent that day that I was out of touch. I wanted to show you I knew a thing or two about handling run-of-the-mill cases. I never even gave this case a second thought until earlier today. Frankly, I forgot about it.”

Everything about Ryan’s demeanor told Brett she was telling the truth. She looked Brett directly in the eyes; she leaned forward. Her arms were open. Brett believed her, but it didn’t change anything. One major issue still stood between them.

“What about the sex parties?”

Like a flower when the sun goes down, Ryan shrank and withered, telling Brett everything she needed to know.

“I think you should go.”

“Please, Brett, let me explain.”

“Don’t.”

“Please,” Ryan begged her. She didn’t have a choice. Disgust was clearly etched on Brett’s face. She couldn’t walk out with Brett thinking she was a slut or, worse, a common criminal.

As if she could read her mind, Brett said, “Seriously, Ryan. You shouldn’t tell me anything else. In fact, you shouldn’t talk to anyone else about this unless it’s your lawyer.”

“I don’t need a lawyer.”

 “Dear, that’s what they all say right before they give a confession sure to land them in the slammer. If you haven’t learned anything from our short time together, I would’ve hoped you learned the benefit of waiting until your attorney is present before baring your soul.” Brett delivered her lecture with a smile she didn’t feel. She stood and waved at the door. “It’s late, Ryan. Go home.”

Ryan remained seated. She took a deep breath and prepared to come clean. “About a year ago, Braden Marcus brought me a file. It was a municipal case, petty code violation. A nosy neighbor had called the city to report unusual activity at a house in East Dallas. The over-zealous code inspector decided the landlord must have been running an illegal multi-family rental based on the number of non-related adults living on the premises. Braden told me to get rid of the case. To handle it personally.”