Twist of Fate (20 page)

"Right. He wants to do a run-through, literally, to see how long everything took, with me there as a consultant and you to hold the stopwatch or some such."

Val's brows drew together. "Late Saturday afternoon is the soonest I can do that, if the time is all right for you two."

"It works for me. As for Rob--I suspect his time, among other things, belongs to you. Just don't wear the boy out before he finishes his investigating."

Val's redhead complexion showed blushes beautifully. "I haven't got time to wear him out just now, but maybe later, when things settle down. For the moment, we haven't gotten much beyond a Saturday night date."

A date which lasted until Sunday brunch, Kendra suspected. "Are you serious about Rob, or just out to break his heart?"

Val looked up from her file in surprise. "I'm always serious about relationships, Kendra. What makes you think I'm in the heartbreaking business? Rob is very special, and maybe...maybe even a keeper."

Kendra hesitated, trying to define why she had asked the question. "You may be serious about relationships, but Rob, I think, is
really
serious. Vulnerable. Be careful with him, Val."

Other bosses might fire an assistant for a remark like that. Val merely looked thoughtful. "That's perceptive of you. Trust me, I have every intention of being careful. One of the nicest things about Rob is that he listens, and will talk about something besides how the Orioles are blowing another season. I'm hoping that once we get past the giddy stage and hit a few potholes, we'll be able to talk them through." She made a face. "Time to hit the computer. This ninety-second chat is my break for the afternoon. Maybe for the whole day."

After Val vanished into her office, Kendra tried to visualize her boss and Rob together. Over the years, Kendra had developed a reputation as a fortune-teller among her friends because of her ability to predict which romances would last and which wouldn't.

Kendra wasn't sure herself how she did it, though her mother and grandmother had had the same ability. Sometimes when she visualized two wildly unlikely people together, they seemed to mesh just fine despite superficial appearances. Other times, she just couldn't see two people as a couple even though they seemed well-suited.

How about Val and Rob? On the surface, very different, but their traits complemented each other. He was a serious guy, and if he decided he was in love with Val, he'd be there for her come hell, high water, or the IRS. Val, sparkly as a hummingbird, would contribute the warmth and laughter and charm Rob needed. They could be a great, forever kind of couple.

Yet when Kendra visualized them together, there was something a little out of kilter. She frowned. Based on her experience as a part-time wise woman, there would have to be some major changes if Rob and Val were going to make it.

∗ ∗ ∗

Rob's second visit to the SuperMax prison was a little easier than the first, though he would have preferred to be almost anywhere else. Daniel Monroe looked even larger and more ominous than Rob remembered when he was escorted in by the guards. Seeing the man's puzzled look, Rob picked up the communicating phone. "I'm Rob Smith, the investigator working with Val Covington. If I seem unfamiliar, it's because I had a beard the first time I was here."

"Sure makes a difference." Monroe studied his visitor's face, then gave a low whistle. "Damn. Your last name isn't really Smith, is it? No wonder you're interested in whether or not I get fried."

Rob sighed. "You're the first one to recognize me."

"Better grow the beard back if you don't want to be spotted. Of course, most folks don't follow news of executions as closely as someone on death row."

Rob couldn't help responding to the other man's wry humor. "To most people, I was a bit player in a story that's old news. I prefer it that way."

"Were you there when your brother was executed?"

Throat tight, Rob nodded.

Monroe looked away, his deep voice a whisper. "When they do me--don't let Kendra be there. Please."

"The whole point of this investigation is to keep that from happening."

Monroe's mouth twisted. "I told you before, I think you're gonna fail. I'm willin' to be surprised if you get my sentence commuted, but I don't expect it. Will you promise to keep Kendra away?"

Rob wondered if he would be as philosophical about approaching death if he were in Monroe's place. How had Jeff felt? Had he been resigned, like Monroe? Angry? Eager to get out of prison in the only way available? God only knew. "I'll do my best to keep Kendra away if you're executed, but I can't make any promises. She's a determined woman. Maybe you can get the warden to bar her from attending."

"Good idea. I'll see if that can be done. Now what are you here for?"

"Mostly I want to ask questions that are answered in the case files plenty of times already, but I'd like to hear your point of view on what happened."

"Ask away. I have nothin' better to do."

"I talked to Xenon Barkley, the detective who investigated the Malloy murder."

Monroe snorted. "He did damn all investigatin' once he had me in custody. He never even considered that someone else might've done it."

"Do you think he did anything illegal to set you up?"

Rob was curious to see if Monroe would take the opportunity to blame someone for persecuting him, but the other man shook his head. "No, his sin was not looking hard enough for other suspects. He may or may not have set other guys up, but I don't think he messed with the case against me. He didn't have to, with the witnesses all pointin' their fingers at me."

"Was your lawyer any good?"

"Cal Murphy was kinda rushed, but he was smart and did his best. The public defenders have guys who specialize in capital cases, and they try real hard." Monroe's eyes narrowed. "Why are you askin' about all this legal stuff? I'd've thought that was more Miss Val's job."

"I'm just trying to get a feel for what happened, and how you felt about it." What the hell, might as well ask him straight out. "A lawyer probably wouldn't ask you this for fear of what you might say, but I want to know. Did you do it? I'll work just as hard if you did, but I want to know."

Instead of exploding, Monroe said dryly, "If my word wasn't good before, it won't be now. I could be the sort of twisted sister who has spent so long lyin' to myself that now I believe I'm innocent even if I'm guilty as sin. Or I could just be lyin' to everyone else while knowin' I'm a stone killer. I still say I didn't shoot that cop, but whether or not you believe me is an act of faith. You choose."

Rob felt his doubts ease. Maybe it was irrational, but he had trouble believing that a man with Monroe's detached insight was lying. "I choose to believe you're innocent, and that a real stone killer got away with murder."

"Happens regularly. With somethin' like the Malloy murder, people want to see someone pay, but they aren't real picky about who. If Kendra and I had lived in another neighborhood, I wouldn't be here today."

Now there was a depressing thought. "Since it figures in the identifications, I want to ask you about that tattoo on your wrist. Does it have a story?"

Monroe held up his right forearm, back of his hand turned to his visitor. The lines of the tattoo weren't much darker than his skin, but the image of a striking snake twining around his wrist was clear. "Yeah, but it's less interestin' than you might think. You know I went to prison for car theft? When I was inside the first time, it was kind of a fashion among the younger prisoners to get a tattoo to show you were a real man. There are plenty of ex-cons who have 'em."

That was useful information. "Was the snake a popular image?"

"That or a skull or flames were the top choices." Monroe inspected the tattoo. "I was lucky. The guy who did this was pretty good, and I didn't get AIDS from his needle. I hear he's a legit tattoo artist down in Fells Point now."

Rob surprised himself by asking, "I've wondered. Do you work at looking scary?"

Monroe smiled with an alarming flash of white teeth. "Hell, yes. The best way to get left alone in prison is to look like someone that only a fool would mess with. I'm tall to start with. Years of prison exercise, a few scars, shave my head, and I look like someone I wouldn't want to meet in an alley myself."

"The two men who identified you. Did you know them?"

"Sort of. They were street corner homeboys. Not friends of mine, just to recognize. They had no reason to frame me, if that's what you're wonderin'."

As he had told Val, alliances can shift and change, especially in the drug culture. "Maybe they weren't after you in particular, but what if they were trying to protect a friend who looked something like you. Is that possible?"

Monroe looked startled, then intrigued. "Could be, but hard to prove since one of 'em, Darrell Long, is dead. He served some prison time after fingering me. Maybe if you could find a cellmate of his, you might learn something more. Prison is so damn borin' that it's easy to spill your guts to anyone around who'll listen. Of course, it's easy to make up stories, too, which is why the word of a jailhouse snitch ain't worth much."

"Definitely worth checking. I'm still looking for the other witness, Joseph Cady. I can't find any evidence that he's dead or alive."

"His street name was Jumbo, if that helps. A skinny little guy."

Rob made a note. "It might."

As he continued asking questions and following them where they led, he wondered if any of these fragments might be the key that would unlock Daniel's prison.

Chapter 15

All the Big Sister/Little Sister paperwork was complete, Val had attended the training classes, and she had passed the background checks. Finally it was time for the official match meeting. She and Lyssie were unusual in that they had met each other at the Big-for-a-Day picnic. Usually matches were based on careful analysis by the case managers, and today would be the first meeting.

But even though they had already met and connected, this was still a big event. Val spent as much time choosing her outfit as she had for the previous week's date with Rob.

Refusing to allow herself to be distracted by the fact that she would be seeing him in a few hours, she studied her closet. No power suits today. She wanted to look ladylike and responsible for Lyssie's grandmother, while casual enough not to intimidate Lyssie. She settled on a long, flowing print skirt in cool blue cotton with a navy tank top and a loose chambray shirt with sleeves rolled halfway to the elbows--jacket-like but much less formal. Add navy sandals, and she was ready to go from the match meeting to the crime scene reenactment.

Match meetings were set in neutral places, in this case a spiffy McDonald's restaurant with a playground attached. Val felt a shiver of nerves as she pulled the car into the restaurant lot. Representing the interests of legal clients was a big responsibility, but making a commitment to a child was much greater. Who was she to mentor a kid who had endured what Lyssie had?

Too late to back out now. This was just nerves, like waiting to make her opening statement in court. She entered the restaurant and saw that the other three had arrived and were sitting under the hanging plants in a sun porch-like room. Lyssie's grandmother was a heavy woman of indefinable ethnicity. Though very dark- skinned, her salt-and-pepper hair was straight and her features hinted at Asian or Native American blood.

With a smile, Val joined the others. "Lyssie, Anita, it's wonderful to see you." Turning to the older woman, she offered her hand. "Mrs. Armstrong?"

The older woman gave Val a swift, comprehensive examination that seemed to look through blood and bone to the soul. Apparently approving, she took Val's hand. "So I am." She had a lovely smile, full of wry wisdom. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Covington. I knew you were a good match for Lyssie as soon as she said the two of you could talk Harry Potter together."

Val laughed. "We have that and ultra-curly hair in common." She glanced at the table. "Shall we get a bite to eat, or at least something to drink? My treat."

Over sundaes and drinks according to taste, Anita outlined the responsibilities of all parties to the match, adding that she would always be available to discuss any problems that might arise. The case manager ended by saying, "Val and Lyssie, why don't you go outside and chat while Mrs. Armstrong and I have another coffee?"

"Good idea." Val got to her feet and glanced at Lyssie, who hadn't spoken except to answer questions.

Head down, Lyssie got to her feet and accompanied Val out to the colorful playground, which was empty of other children at midafternoon. Wearing blue shorts and a T-shirt, Lyssie was all glasses and bony limbs and bushy dark hair.

As her new little sister fidgeted around the playground, Val plopped down on a large plastic hamburger. "Are you as nervous about this as I am?"

Lyssie glanced at her. "How can you be nervous? You're a rich lawyer."

"Being a lawyer mostly means that I'm good at acting because that's really handy in a courtroom, so today I'm acting as if I'm not nervous," Val explained. "Money is a really interesting, complicated topic since people are often judged on how much money they have. It's stupid, but that's how things are. I earn enough to feel sort of valuable, but I wasn't rich growing up, and I can't say that I feel rich now."