Nothing But the Truth (10 page)

“Where was all this family solidarity when Jason died, Julia? I tried my best to draw close to you. I thought Jason’s death might at least bring us all together. But you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Now, Raleigh,” John said in a placating tone, “I’m sure it must have seemed that way to you. But you were oversensitive at that time in your life, and you tended to take everything we said or did the wrong way.”

“There is no way I could misinterpret the words
murderer
and
gold digger,
which is what you called me.”

“Now, Raleigh, don’t get worked up,” Julia said in a patronizing tone.

“You could pull that crap when I was young and terrified, but not now. You always thought I was toxic to your son. But the night he died convinced you once and for all. You said I killed him.”

“Now, honey,” John said. “We might have overreacted some, too. Losing our only child was a terrible blow.”

“Yes, but you didn’t seem to realize it was a blow to me, too,” Raleigh said quietly. “You did your level best to sever every connection Jason and I had. You turned our friends against me, you took every material possession we owned together, and you evicted me from the apartment we shared.”

“That was a financial decision by the trustee—”

Raleigh held up her hand. “Save it. I’m not going to argue with you, John, not while you’re lying in ICU. You want me to tell the press we’re chummy, and I’m not going to do it—because I don’t lie. Anything else?”

Julia folded her arms. “Humph. You’ve changed, Raleigh. Who’s putting these mean-spirited thoughts in your head? Is it a new boyfriend? One of those you’re with, perhaps?”

“They’re just friends. And it might surprise you that I am capable of independent thought.”

“I should have known it was a waste of time being civil to you,” Julia muttered. “You always were a common little thing, and you haven’t changed a bit.”

The name-calling didn’t bother Raleigh. She was actually enjoying this verbal matching of wits with her mother-in-law. For once, she was holding her own. It was easy, once she started thinking of the Shinns as hostile witnesses.

She decided to go on the offensive. “So was the twenty thousand a test? Did you want to see if I’d run out and spend it on a vacation in the Riviera?”

Julia and John exchanged wary glances. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julia said.

“Sure you do. Swiss bank accounts aren’t completely anonymous. Not for those who know the right people.”

She’d hit her mark. Julia looked downright scared. “I think it’s time you left.”

“Gladly. John, for what it’s worth, I do hope the surgery goes well for you and you make a complete recovery. Because I want you in perfect health when I see you prosecuted for defamation and issuing threats.”

“Now, see here—”

Raleigh turned and left just as a nurse was coming in. “What are you doing in here? You’ve upset Mr. Shinn. His blood pressure—”

“I’m leaving.”

Griffin was waiting for her near the nurses’ station. “How’d it go?” he asked cheerfully.

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “God forgive me, I just baited a gravely ill man.”

“What?”

She didn’t say anything else until they were all on the elevator. “They’re facing embezzlement charges, and they were trying to play the family-solidarity card.”

“Paul Stratton told me everything. Your father-in-law is in big trouble. Dipping into the till at his own law firm. Hiding assets. Probably tax evasion and fraud, as well. In short, the rest of his natural life in the state pen.”

“Good heavens. I knew he was ruthless, but…no matter what he’s done, I shouldn’t have argued with him. I made his blood pressure go up. I could have killed him.”

“You ask me, he had it coming. They invited you, remember? They baited you first. They’re the ones who wanted you to pretend to be something you’re not. You simply responded in kind.”

“I enjoyed it a little too much.”

“C’mon, Raleigh, stop beating yourself up. They’re horrible people.”

“Hard to believe someone as wonderful as Jason could have come from such parents.” Raleigh waited until they were in the parking lot before she told Griffin and Randall about how they reacted to the mention of a Swiss bank account. “Of course they played ignorant, but they looked scared.”

“So you think they’re behind it all?”

She sighed. “I just don’t know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. If they’re trying to cozy up to me, they wouldn’t want me accused of ethics violations or anything else.”

“Unless we’re just not seeing the big picture. Did they mention the life insurance?”

“Not a word.”

So Griffin had guessed wrong. What was he missing here?

They said little on the drive back toward downtown. Randall drove them straight to Raleigh’s apartment and into the garage, using the key card she’d provided.

“Are you in for the evening?” Randall asked. “Do you need me to pick up some dinner, or groceries?”

“I’m good,” she said, sounding cross and not meaning to.

“Is something wrong?” Griffin asked.

“I’m sorry. It’s just the stress. I’m not used to depending on anyone. Since Jason died, I’ve worked very hard to become independent. So it feels odd having a chauffeur-slash-bodyguard escort me everywhere.” She nodded toward Griffin. “And my very own paparazzo.”

“It’s only for a short while,” Randall said as he opened his door. “I’m sure Project Justice will solve this case.”

Unless Griffin did, first.

“But what if we never do?” Raleigh said during those few moments they were alone in the car, as Randall walked around to open her door. “That’s what scares me most—the idea that I might have to look over my shoulder indefinitely.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Griffin said fiercely. “This person, whoever he is, will make a mistake. He’ll go down.”

Raleigh didn’t know whether Griffin felt so strongly because he wanted the story, or for some other reason. But his protectiveness warmed her from the inside out. No one had cared about her welfare in a very long time.

“Thank you, Griffin.” She reached over to lay her hand over his where it rested on his knee. She meant the touch only as a friendly gesture, but the voltage surged between them, forging an instant connection that felt far more than merely friendly.

Griffin’s brown eyes darkened to almost black, and Raleigh inhaled sharply as memories of their kiss leaped into her mind. She wanted so badly to forget that kiss, yet the more she tried to push the memory aside, the more insistent it became.

If he had tried to kiss her again, if he had leaned forward and closed the distance between them, she would have let him. Randall, soul of discretion that he was, wouldn’t bat an eye.

She could almost feel Griffin’s lips on hers again, soft and warm, but demanding. Her body responded as if the kiss were actually happening, right here, right now.

But though she could see the hunger in his gaze, he didn’t kiss her. She pulled her hand away, severing the physical link, but the distance wasn’t enough. She needed to get away—now.

“See you tomorrow.” She grabbed her briefcase as Randall opened her door, and she practically stumbled out of the car in her haste to make her escape. Her heart didn’t stop pounding until she was safely inside her apartment with the door locked.

Copper did his usual dance around her legs, so ecstatic to see her every single day. She scooped him up and cuddled him, and even let him lick her face.

Her relationship to Copper was so sweet and simple. A dog was the only animal that showed such unconditional love. Why did human relationships have to be so much more complicated?

But it couldn’t hurt for extra eyes to watch over Raleigh, right?

He didn’t waste the time; he used his laptop and cell phone to research leads and ideas from the previous day. Last night, he’d gotten up to speed on the John Shinn case, reading every article that had been published and chatting up one of the
Telegram
’s business writers.

He’d also written down every license plate number of every car that entered or left the garage or pulled up to the front of the building, and he’d eyeballed every person who entered or exited the front door.

He’d even questioned the night doorman regarding strangers, new residents or suspicious characters hanging around. But nothing unusual had popped up.

After Randall appeared at seven o’clock sharp the next morning to ferry Raleigh to work, Griffin went home, showered, and allowed himself a short nap. Lord knew she was safe at work, because no one would get past Celeste.

When he arrived at her office at around ten, Raleigh was waiting for him, dressed down—for her—in casual pants and a pale green, light cotton sweater that accentuated her deep green eyes. She’d pulled her hair back with a fancy, yellow-flowered ponytail doodad, leaving only a few strands to curl around her face—not quite as severe as her usual style.

She’d even changed her glasses from the more scholarly horn-rims to a fun pair of blue frames.

The effect was mouthwatering. Okay, so it wasn’t just the prickly librarian look that drew him to her.

Last night he’d wanted to kiss her again more than anything in the world. He’d wanted to smooth those worry lines from her face and make love to her until she forgot everything but the two of them and the boundless electricity that arced between them at the most casual touch or even an exchanged glance. But given the load of guilt she’d dumped on herself after their last kiss, he’d dug deep to find some self-control.

He might be ready and willing, but she wasn’t. Even if he persuaded her to throw out her caution and have sex with him, it wouldn’t end well. When Raleigh was ready to be with someone again—if ever—it would be with someone completely different from him. Someone who would love her forever.

Hell, he couldn’t make promises beyond next week. His life was too unpredictable to include a regular girlfriend. If he got the job with CNI, he’d move his home base to New York. That might not be an insurmountable obstacle; long-distance romances could work. But he wouldn’t stay in New York. Some hot spot or war zone or natural disaster would call his name and he’d be on a plane, failing to show up for dinner, forgetting a birthday.

He’d had girlfriends before. It never worked for long. Why that idiot local magazine thought he was an eligible bachelor was beyond him.

Raleigh’s colorful glasses didn’t totally hide the shadows beneath her eyes. This situation was taking its toll on her.

“You didn’t sleep well last night,” he said as he dropped onto her office sofa.

She gave him a disapproving once-over. “You didn’t go home last night.”

“How’d you know?”

“Duh. I looked out the window and spotted your car. Seriously, Griffin, what’s up with that? Daniel has someone watching my place 24/7, even when I’m not there.”

“If something happens, I want to be there.”

“You’re that worried someone will scoop you?”

It wasn’t that. But he couldn’t begin to explain the depth of his obsession with this story. “If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”

“It bothers me,” she said curtly. “Wouldn’t you rather be, you know, going out, doing…guy things?”

“Yeah, boy, I’ve really missed my usual routine, hitting the bars and strip clubs.”

She peered at him over the top of her glasses. “I just assumed you have a life.”

“My job pretty much
is
my life.”

“Copper started barking in the middle of the night. He probably caught your scent. He’s crazy about you, you know.”

“Does your dog do that very often?”

“Bark in the middle of the night? No.” Raleigh frowned. “He’s been restless lately, though. Maybe he’s just picking up on my tension, poor thing. I did see a light on across the street. Those lofts are being renovated, so they should be empty at night. But it was probably just someone working late.”

Or someone casing Raleigh’s building. Maybe Griffin was being paranoid, but any sort of anomaly—like a strange light or an odd person or a dog barking when he should be sleeping—bothered him.

He wished he could whisk Raleigh off to a safe house until this ugly business was over. Maybe in Siberia. Or, even better, a tropical island. Raleigh in a bikini, her skin glistening with oil…

Ha. The chances of that were nil.

“So, how would you like to come with me to rattle a few cages at the Houston P.D.?” Raleigh had let her surly attitude slip. Her voice fairly sang with anticipation.

“I’m game. What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

A few minutes later they were once again in the Bentley’s backseat.

“I got some news this morning,” Raleigh began as the car pulled away from the curb. “The lab was able to fire the gun. Well, they made a casting of the barrel, then constructed a new barrel from that. Kind of the way they make a crown for a tooth. They were able to fire a test bullet. Now, the police can compare the test bullet to the bullet that killed Michelle Brewster, and we’ll know if we have the murder weapon.”

“Okay, I’m following so far. But what if it
is
the murder weapon? Doesn’t that bolster the state’s case, that Simonetti disposed of the gun quickly as he fled the scene?”

“It could. But here’s the best part. The lab also was able to recover a partial registration number from the gun. Chances are very good the police can trace it to the owner. Which might lead us to the actual murderer.”

“You sound pretty confident.”

“I have a feeling.” She glanced over, then looked down and grinned impishly. “I know, I know, that’s flaky woo-woo stuff. But one of my strengths as a lawyer is that I can tell when people are lying. I have a radar for it. Most people give themselves away with subtle, physical cues. Claudia, the psychologist Project Justice consults with, has studied the science behind body language. But me, I think I’ve always done it on a subconscious level.”

“So you’ve talked to Anthony Simonetti, and you believe he’s telling the truth?”

“I do. I’m not one-hundred-percent accurate. I’ve been fooled before. Psychopaths are very good liars. But Anthony isn’t a psychopath. Everyone who really knows him says he is a caring person. He had a strong relationship with Michelle. He’s never been prone to violence.”

“But he did work for one of his father’s companies. Which means he was involved at least on the fringes of some criminal enterprise.”

Raleigh sighed. “An unfortunate fact the prosecution mentioned as often as possible. Anthony did work for his father’s grocery business, driving a truck. But a few months before the murder, he quit that job and broke all ties with his father. When Leo Simonetti tried to pull him into the illegal stuff, he wanted nothing to do with it. That’s the reason they’re no longer speaking to one another.”

Griffin had to admit, Raleigh was pretty persuasive. “What do you think the cops will say?”

She sighed. “I have an appointment with Abe Comstock, the original investigator. He didn’t want to see me. Doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. He only grudgingly agreed to the meeting.”

“If he really believes Anthony is the murderer, I’d think he’d be excited to find the murder weapon.”

“He’s afraid I’m right—that the gun will point to someone else.”

“What will you do if he tells you to take a hike?”

She sighed again. “I can’t make them reopen the case.”

Maybe she couldn’t. But he could. Nothing like a little bad press to nudge public officials into doing the right thing.

Randall found a place to park less than a block from the police headquarters front entrance. He fed some quarters to the meter, then he, Griffin and Raleigh headed up the front steps.

Before they’d left her office, Raleigh had added a jacket, a scarf and taller heels to her outfit. She had also slicked back her hair and replaced the fun blue glasses with her horn-rims.

“You changed your clothes,” he couldn’t help saying.

She flashed him a look that said she was uncomfortable. “I have to look the part.”

“Ball-busting attorney?”

“Right.”

Randall parked himself on a low wall outside police headquarters and lit a cigarette. Griffin and Raleigh continued inside, where Raleigh allowed her briefcase to be searched, and they both walked through a metal detector. They had to state their business at an imposing front desk manned by a stern-looking, older man in uniform. After a few minutes had passed, a young woman in civilian clothes escorted them back through a maze of corridors to the office of Lieutenant Abe Comstock.

The door was open, and the man behind the desk looked up. “Come in, Ms. Shinn.” He was a good-looking guy with dark brown skin pulled tightly across sharp cheekbones, and just the beginnings of gray at his temples. He wore a suit, and Griffin was willing to bet it was tailored to fit the detective’s wide shoulders and muscular arms and legs.

His demeanor was affable enough. He appeared relaxed, smiling slightly as he extended his hand.

“Thank you for seeing me so quickly,” Raleigh said, shaking the man’s hand. “This is Griffin Benedict, an associate who’s helping me.”

Comstock froze halfway into a handshake. “Griffin Benedict, the
reporter?
”

“That would be me.” Griffin kept his tone friendly.

Comstock was no longer relaxed or cordial. “What do you mean, bringing a reporter to this meeting? If you think you can pressure me—”

“No, Lieutenant, it’s nothing like that,” Raleigh broke in hastily.

“Then what’s he doing here?”

“I’m writing an overall story about Project Justice,” Griffin explained, “focusing on the personalities. I’m shadowing Raleigh so I can understand what her day-to-day activities are.” That sounded bland enough.

Comstock wasn’t buying it. He ignored Griffin, addressing Raleigh. “If you want to have a good-faith meeting with me, we talk in confidence.”

Griffin tried to smooth things over. “Look, Lieutenant—”

Raleigh held up her hand, cutting him off. “Griffin, I’ll handle this. Would you step out, please?”

He hated to see anyone bully Raleigh. He wanted so badly to object. His presence could help her achieve the results she wanted. But the implacable look in her eye convinced him he’d better listen to her or there would be hell to pay. She and Project Justice could withdraw their cooperation with him at any time.

“Fine. Call if you need me.” He exited the office, closing the door with a bit more force than necessary.

What if Raleigh’s enemy was someone within the police department? The police had a vested interest in keeping Anthony Simonetti behind bars. They didn’t want to be proved wrong, their methods and competence questioned.

What if the threat to Raleigh came directly from Abe Comstock himself? He stood the most to lose. He, and the district attorney who’d prosecuted Simonetti.

Unlike John Shinn’s cubicle, Comstock’s office didn’t have glass walls. Griffin couldn’t see a thing, and he could hear only the muffled din of voices from the other side of the door.

Of course, Comstock wouldn’t try anything in his own office. But Griffin listened keenly anyway, ready to barge in if he heard raised voices. No one was going to harm Raleigh on his watch, even if he had to go up against a seasoned cop who could throw him in jail on a whim.