“Yes, anyone could, but why would they? Smashing a photo—that goes beyond rational motivation or murder for hire. That’s just mean. Hateful. It doesn’t make any sense. Unless you believe that Barrett lost control—”
“Well, I don’t.”
“We’ve had a lot of reports. Apparently he was notorious for his temper.”
“Everyone has a temper. But no one kills their daughters. That’s just— unthinkable.”
“Wrong. Everyone’s thinking it. And every member of your jury will be thinking it. And you’re not going to sway them unless you have some damn convincing evidence.”
Ben scooted forward. “Mike, I don’t want to tread on your toes, but apparently the crime scene investigation was pretty seriously botched. If that’s true, and the evidence is tainted, I need to know.”
“That’s why God invented cross-examination.”
“Mike, you know Bullock believes it’s his civic duty to get a conviction, no matter what. I can’t stand by and let him railroad an innocent man.” Ben leaned across the desk. “Will you help me?”
Mike’s toothpick rolled to the other side of his mouth. “I’m sorry, Ben. I can t.
“But—”
“Ben, I’m a cop. I work with the DA.”
“But—”
“No.” He pressed his hands against the desk. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Ben said quietly. He grabbed his briefcase and headed toward the door.
“Of course, every competent defense attorney knows to scrutinize the blood evidence very carefully.”
Ben stopped.
“Particularly with all this new DNA stuff that no one understands. You can’t be too careful.”
Mike was staring out the window, not talking to anyone in particular.
“And only a fool would pass up a chance to talk to Caroline Barrett’s sister. Man, what a looker. Almost as pretty as her sister. The DA loves her.”
A smile crept across Ben’s face. “Thanks, Mike. You’re a good friend.”
Mike turned suddenly. “Are you still here? I thought you left hours ago.”
Ben nodded. “I did.”
Chapter 17
DEANNA WOULD HAVE BEEN lying to herself had she pretended she was anxious to get home that day. Not that work was any great delight, but home was bound to be worse.
Last night had been sheer hell. Martha had locked herself up in her room and didn’t emerge until morning. Even then, she made a great point of ignoring Deanna, walking in wide circles around her, saying nothing, keeping a lofty and sullen expression plastered on her face. Social boycott, from your sixteen-year-old daughter. Ain’t life grand?
Tonight would undoubtedly be worse. Mom and Martha alone together, all night long. What fun!
She dropped her briefcase in the front hallway. “Martha. I’m home.”
There was no response. Well, that wasn’t a tremendous surprise.
Martha wasn’t in the living room. Normally, absent Buck, she would be watching one of those tabloid TV shows this time of the evening. But the living room was silent.
I suppose she’s holed up in her room, Deanna thought, protecting herself from undesirable contact with me. Well, enough’s enough. I didn’t change her diapers for three years so she could treat me like an untouchable.
She banged on Martha’s bedroom door. There was no answer. No noise, no stereo, no radio.
The short hairs on the back of Deanna’s neck stood on end. That was very odd. She tried the door.
It wasn’t locked. And Martha wasn’t inside. Damn!
She ran back to the kitchen to check the refrigerator for messages.
Nothing there. Not a word.
Maybe the note fell off, she told herself, trying to stave off the incipient panic. Maybe Martha didn’t fasten it securely …
She bent down on her hands and knees and examined the floor. There was no note. But on the other side of the kitchen, under the table, she did notice something. A small flat colorful something.
She crawled under the table. There were two playing cards that evidently had fallen off the table and gotten lost. One was Sewers of Estaark. The other was the Vesuvian Doppelganger. Magic cards.
He’d been here.
And now Martha was gone.
Omigod, omigod, omigod. She pressed her hands against her chest, trying to calm herself. Don’t make too much of this, she thought. Don’t jump to any stupid conclusions. Wait for the facts.
What facts, you fool? Martha’s gone.
She threatened to run away, and she did.
What a stupid ignorant sorry excuse for a mother she was. How could she be so blind? She had practically pushed her daughter into that arrogant, abusive creep’s arms. She had been too protective, too smothering. And what did she have now? Nothing.
She laid her head down on the table. What a loser I am. My life is over. Just let me die now, before I do any more harm.
It was just about then that she heard the back screen door open.
Her head snapped up. She blew out of her chair, stumbling on a table leg, limping into the living room. “Martha!”
Martha was coming in from the backyard. Her face was flushed and glowing. She lifted her chin and made a wide arc around her mother.
“Oh no.” Deanna grabbed her arm. “What have you been doing?”
Martha slowly lowered her eyes and focused daggerlike on a point in the middle of Deanna’s face. “I was trying to get a tan. Is that all right with you? Or did I need your permission first?”
Deanna held out the two Magic cards. “I found these on the kitchen floor.”
Martha snatched them away. “Thanks.”
“Where did they come from?”
Martha looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “For your information, I was playing a solitaire game before I went outside.”
“Solitaire?”
“Right. As in, by myself. That should make you happy.” Martha jerked her arm free, then sulked away to her bedroom.
Deanna didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A good argument could be made for either. She returned to the kitchen table, laid her head down again, and let the tears flow. God, she had been so scared. So afraid. Why didn’t anyone ever tell you how hard it was to raise children?
Because it would be the end of the human race, she realized.
A laugh broke out, involuntarily. She began to regain her composure. She had been so scared.
She laughed again, not really knowing why, and unfolded the evening paper. Perhaps the agonies of the world would take her mind off the agonies of the home.
She scanned the front page. The whole office had been abuzz about the mayor’s being arrested. She couldn’t get through the first paragraph without wincing. Those poor little girls. They would have been utterly lost, confused, and terrified. What they must have thought. Especially if their killer really was their own father.
She scanned the article to see if the police were pursuing any other suspects. There were some quotes from a press conference given by a Lieutenant Morelli in which he made it rather clear the police thought the mayor did it. A reporter had spoken to a neighbor who had seen the mayor dash out of his house around the time of the murder.
But the neighbor had more than that to say to the reporter. Deanna read the passage twice, just to make sure she got it right. The neighbor complained that he had seen suspicious persons in the neighborhood for several days—one male, one female. She read the descriptions.
Tall, lanky. Goatee. Fatigues. High-top sneakers.
She couldn’t have described Buck better herself.
And the girl?
Short, dark. Tank top. Blue headband.
She folded up the paper and slid it into her briefcase, as if hoping to hide the evidence. Could it be a coincidence? The descriptions were very general.