“Well, I’m sure you’ll win him over eventually. You have a marvelous appearance and a dynamite personality. I hope I thanked you at the party for inviting me.”
“Well, you didn’t exactly go on and on about it.” Her mood seemed to change. She shook her head slightly and stood to leave. “Must run, I’m supposed to be out making calls this morning. But I wanted to see you.”
“You’re my only visitor so far. Thanks for coming.”
“Ray, I know you’re innocent, and it’s horrible you’re in this mess. I want you to know there are people who truly like you and are pulling for you. I want to be your friend.”
“Well, I appreciate that.”
“No, you don’t, but you will someday.” She turned and left.
He started to get up when the officer put a hand on his shoulder. “Sit right there, you have another visitor.”
He looked over to see his sister charge through the door. Was that really her? She signed in at the sergeant’s desk and then strode across the room with a briefcase tucked under her arm like a shotgun.
She gave her brother a half-hearted wave and declared, “Okay, I’m here. Geez, orange really isn’t your color. And still wearing those dumb glasses.”
They had known each other as adults and used to see each other a few times a year on holidays and such, invariably at their parent’s house before both died in an auto accident six years ago. Although they both lived in Philadelphia, their last physical contact had been at the funeral. At first, Sandy would occasionally phone him, and twice she invited him to dinner parties, but there was always some conflict and he was never able to make it.
Now in her late twenties, she had changed. This wasn’t the sister he remembered. She seemed sharper, poised, and confident. She wore her brown hair very short and swished around in sassy disorder. A slight ribbon of midriff peeked between her sleeveless white blouse and knee-length denim skirt. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“God knows why I’m here, I certainly don’t.”
“I’m really pleased. Sis, you’re really….”
She threw him a bored look and interrupted, “Don’t call me, Sis. Don’t ever call me, Sis. Who was the nice-looking woman who just left?”
“Someone from the office, Meg—I can’t remember her last name. She’s trying to help me, but it looks like I’ll be fired.”
“She is not just someone—that’s obvious. Are you friends with her at the office? What does she do?”
“Stockbroker. She comes by my office every day.”
“Didn’t you notice her clothes? I recognize those slacks, Italian Prato linen, very in. I have no idea where to buy something like that, Palm Beach, I suppose.”
She motioned with her hand and the policeman positioned by the wall first hesitated and then came over. “Officer, would you please let me see your logbook? I need the name, address and phone number of that young woman who just left here. Thank you.”
The young officer was bewildered, “Ah, I don’t think—we don’t—we’re not supposed to do that.”
Ray raised his hand and started to speak. His sister shushed him and kept going, “Just now, to get in here, I was required to write down that same information about myself. Your prisoner has a right to know who you’re permitting in here to see him. That log is a public record, and it didn’t suddenly become confidential. The sergeant over there, what’s his name?”
The officer appeared panicky, as though wondering if he should disclose the sergeant’s name. “That’s Sergeant Lewis.”
“Tell him I’d like to speak with him, please.”
Ray sat astonished. The puzzled officer called for the sergeant, who walked over. With his white hair and slight bend, he appeared to be past retirement age, but was still in good shape, no doughnut paunch on this cop. She politely repeated her request.
The sergeant replied, “Miss, I see you’re from Philadelphia. We do things different in Florida.”
She gave him a courteous smile and repeated, “We do things different in Florida? Is that what you said? What’s a good-looking cop like you doing with such an old cliché? Please put me in touch with the DA immediately. You people are interfering with the defense in a capital case.”
The sergeant chuckled, “Okay, show the young lady the log book. And Miss, if you’re going to storm through Florida like a Cat 5, you should know that we don’t have District Attorneys down here. That’s what I meant by doing things differently. Florida is divided into judicial districts, each with a state attorney who does the prosecuting. Just say SA, and everyone will know you’re cool.”
She gave him a smile so warm and beautiful he no doubt would tell his grandkids about it. “Thank you Sergeant Lewis and I apologize for my attitude. I’ll appreciate any additional help you can give me.”
She leaned toward Ray and whispered, “You can close your mouth now.”
“What have they done with my little sister?”
The officer brought the logbook over and she started copying. “Wake up, Raymond. Can’t you read people? That woman is a perfectly polished piece of work. She comes in here offering her help, and you don’t even find out her name?” She glanced down at her writing. “Megan Emerson.” She stared at him. “Emerson, Emerson, got it? She’s darling. Where is your head? The question remains, whose side is she on, and why is she helping someone like you?”
“She was just here on business from the office. Do you realize everyone is this room thinks you’re a lawyer?”
“Not my problem. Okay, here we go. I read about the murder in your local paper. Tell me your story. Give me the short version now, we can do nuance later. Make it fast. I need to crash someplace, I drove straight through.”
Each time he told his story, it sounded more implausible to him. He barely got started when she interrupted him. “Who did you say invited you to that Saturday night party?”
“Her, that Meg Emerson.”
She put down her pad and pencil and gave him a frustrated smirk. “Let me get this straight. The young woman who just came in here to visit you—even though you’re in jail accused of murder—the one that just happens, by some amazing coincidence, to buzz around your desk every day, gave a party and invited you?”
“Yes…?”
“Geez Louise!”
“I know what you’re thinking, Sandy, but Meg Emerson isn’t interested in me. She’s a big deal broker, really in the fast lane. She took over a bank trust department straight out of college, made them a ton of money. They were thrilled, gave her a marvelous title, a splendid office, and paid her peanuts.”
“She probably quit the bank and went into securities sales where she could be paid on commission,” Sandy guessed.
“Exactly, and she’s breaking all sales records at E.J. Bradford. I know, I run the back office and my crew processes all the paperwork. The hottest stockbroker they’ve ever had and one of the top producers in the southeast.”
“Next she’ll take over her boss’s job.”
“She doesn’t want his job, she makes double his pay already, and next year it’ll be triple. Her dream is to start her own brokerage business and to buy her clothes in Milan.”
“That explains the upscale outfit she wore.”
“You should see the list of high-powered names she does business with—people you see interviewed on news shows. She flies around the country meeting securities analysts and giving speeches. Her condo apartment is incredible. I’m just not in her league.”