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“Corpus Christi, at the Sheraton Hotel. I tried not to hang around too much when Eldon had Justin, so they could do their father-son thing without the evil stepmother getting in the way.”
“The police verified your alibi?”
Trina nodded. “Oh, yes. A bunch of us from the salon where I used to work went to the conference together.”
“Okay. So Eldon maintains that he was home, alone, with Justin on that Friday night. But for some reason he went out for pizza at midnight.” Ford consulted his notes. “A large half pepperoni, half black olive pizza.”
“Black olive?” Trina snorted. “Who told you that? Eldon hates black olives. I’m the one who likes olives.”
“I got it straight from the police report,” Ford said. That was when he realized Robyn was giving him urgent, covert hand signals to shut up—and he recalled that Trina knew nothing of the mystery woman Eldon had supposedly entertained that night.
Well, here was the evidence, pretty obvious even to someone who didn’t know Eldon hated black olives. Most people don’t order a half-and-half pizza for one person.
“That just goes to show you how incompetent the Green Prairie Police are,” Trina said, all but spitting. “I mean, if they can’t get a little thing like that right—” She stopped, thinking it through. Her eyes widened, and she set her beer bottle down with a clunk.
Ford looked at Robyn, not quite sure what she wanted him to say. Personally, he thought they should put all their cards on the table and work as a team. But he didn’t want to be the one to spill it to Trina that her husband had cheated on her.
“He…might not have been alone,” Robyn said gently.
“That’s ridiculous!” Trina had turned pale under her tan. She scraped her chair back and stood abruptly, bumping the table and nearly upsetting their drinks. Several other patrons looked over to see what the commotion was about. “Eldon was not unfaithful! My husband loves me. He’s always loved me. How could you say things like that about him when he’s not here to defend himself? Hasn’t he been bad-mouthed enough?”
“Trina…” Robyn tried, but Trina had turned and was already marching out the door, head held high, heels clacking noisily on the wood floor.
“Well, that went smoothly,” Ford said, letting out a gusty breath.
“I told you Trina didn’t know about the mystery woman,” Robyn said.
“She would have found out sooner or later,” Ford said.
“I didn’t want to tell her unless we actually found the woman. Trina’s been through so much—I didn’t want her to suffer more.”
“You’ve been through worse.”
Robyn looked down, her lashes casting long shadows on her cheeks. “I won’t argue that. But I’ve dealt with my grief. Trina’s husband is on death row, and I can’t imagine what horrible images haunt her at night when she’s trying to sleep. I know she’s kind of melodramatic, but she must be pretty torn up.”
“Tell me more about her. Did she bear any animosity toward Justin?”
“Trina? No, I don’t think so. I didn’t have a lot of contact with her until Eldon was arrested, but Eldon never mentioned any problem.”
“Her alibi was solid? Corpus Christi isn’t that far away.”
“She had witnesses who say she was drinking in the bar until late, then she and her roommate went up to bed. She didn’t leave the room until morning.”
“That sounds pretty solid,” Ford concluded. “What about your alibi?” He tossed the question out casually. He knew from reading the reports—and from chatting up Bryan Pizak, a Green Prairie cop he’d grown up with—that Robin had been considered a suspect.
Robyn shrugged. “I don’t have one. I was at home, alone, sleeping like a baby while some animal preyed upon my child.” She swallowed, and her eyes glinted cold and hard.
Ford steeled himself not to react to her emotionally. If there was one thing he’d learned in law enforcement, it was that emotions played no part. Emotions led you to form opinions, and opinions led to bias and tunnel vision. His goal was always to remain open-minded, unbiased, uninvolved. If that made him come off as cold and unfeeling, too bad.
She took a gulp of her tea. “The cops questioned me at length, of course.”
“When something happens to a child, the parents are always the first suspects.”
“Yes, they explained that. I guess I must have convinced them I had nothing to do with it, because after a few days they stopped badgering me.”
“You think they focused in on Eldon pretty quickly?”
“Yes. Too quickly. They just didn’t like his story, didn’t like the way he was acting.”
Ford couldn’t help it. He flashed back to another time, early in his career, when he’d been called out to his first gang-related homicide. He’d been so eager to perform well, and he’d gone the extra mile, searching behind garages and around back porches in that seedy neighborhood, and he’d found a kid cowering in the bushes. Seventeen, wearing his colors, terrified.
Ford had made up his mind right there. He’d found the murderer. It was amazingly easy to do.
“People act all different ways when they become victims of crime,” Ford said. “Some fall apart, some seem perfectly composed but they don’t make sense, and some detach themselves from the crime completely and they come off as cold and uncaring.”
“That was Eldon. He was not one to show his messy emotions in public. They said he was cold.”
“It’s enough to bias the investigating cops against him.” Ford made a note to find those first cops on the scene and give them a good grilling. “Now then, what about this witness you mentioned?”
“He was an employee at the pizza place. Recently I talked with Mindy Hodges, who was night manager at the time. I’ve been tracking down witnesses one by one and speaking personally to them. She went over everything she could remember, and she mentioned an employee I never heard of—Roy. She doesn’t remember his last name. She says he was there. He spoke to the cops, yet I never heard his name before now.”
Ford made a note. Finding that witness would be first on his priority list.
They talked a long time. Hours. Ford persuaded Robyn to share his dinner, since there was plenty. By the time they were done, Ford had extracted every small memory Robyn had of the crime and the aftermath. He’d spent more time, focused exclusively on her, than he would have on a date. She’d been cautious at first, wary of saying something wrong. But gradually, as the hours passed, he wore down her caution and resistance until she quit censoring herself.
The challenging edge in her blue eyes softened.
Something else happened, though it was hardly unexpected. Ford found himself wanting her with the same intensity he’d felt in high school.
“Do you still smoke?” he asked abruptly, half hoping she would say yes. Nothing turned him off more than the smell of cigarettes on a woman.
“What?” She laughed. “Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know. I just remembered that you smoked in high school. Down by the Art Building.”
“How would you know what went on at the Art Building? You and your jock friends probably never set foot in there. Too afraid someone would think you were gay.”
True enough. He wouldn’t have been caught dead taking an art class. He’d taken music appreciation to satisfy his arts credits, and that was bad enough.
Ford shrugged. “I spied on you.”
“You mean, you were like a student narc?” she said, her distaste evident.
He shook his head. “No, that wasn’t it at all. I just liked to watch you.” He couldn’t believe he was telling her this. But the woman had just told him about her and Eldon’s sexual habits, and he’d shared nothing with her. Not that working this case had anything to do with mutual sharing. But he appreciated her frankness, and wanted to keep the honest line of communication open. A little confession on his part was good for his soul.
“You were a Peeping Tom.”
“I didn’t say I spied on you in the girls’ locker room.” So much for confession. Maybe it was better if he abandoned this line of conversation. He could interrogate the hardest of criminals, but when it came to sharing his own feelings, he was a washout. Kathy, his ex-wife, had pointed that out to him with annoying frequency. When she wasn’t badgering him to seek another promotion.
“I quit smoking when I got engaged to Eldon. He tried to make me over into someone worthy to be a Jas person.”
“How’d that work for him?”
“Not well enough, in his mother’s opinion. She thought a degree in art was useless, a career as a teacher was common. And working with disadvantaged kids? Repulsive. ‘God knows what sort of parasites and germs you bring home from work.’”
“I was blessed with a nice mother-in-law,” Ford said. That had been one of the worst things about the divorce—losing Stella along with Kathy.
“Was? You’re divorced?”
“I was something of a disappointment to my wife.”
Robyn studied him, as if trying to figure out exactly what his ex-wife had found lacking in him. He didn’t want to go there. It was a grocery list.
“It’s late,” he said, “and we have a long day tomorrow. Raleigh will get us the court order that will allow us access to all the evidence. When that happens, we’ll get media attention, so be prepared.”
“I hate reporters.”
“Reporters are our friends. They’re going to put the word out that we’re looking for information and that we’re willing to pay for it. Be nice to them.”
“If I have to. What should I do?”
“You figure out how to get Eldon to admit he was with someone that night. We’re going to visit him as soon as possible.”
“What about Trina? She was pretty upset. Should I try to talk to her?”
“Frankly, I consider Trina a loose cannon. I sure as hell don’t want her talking to Eldon about his indiscretions before we can get to him.”
Ford paid their check, refusing the money Robyn offered for her part. “I have an expense account.”
As they exited into another warm, muggy night, Robyn stopped suddenly. “Hell, I don’t have a way to get home. Trina was my ride.”
“I’ll take you.”
ROBYN HAD TRIED TO DISSUADE Ford from taking her home. She could have called a cab. But Ford had insisted, though it was far out of his way to drive all the way to Green Prairie.
She was glad he drove a large car. Even so, it felt crowded. The big, muscular kid she remembered had grown into a wide-shouldered, slim-hipped man without any extra pounds anywhere.
Built for speed.
That thought gave her a pleasurable shiver. Not that she’d want him to hurry… Oh, God, why was she thinking along those lines?
Learning that he’d watched her in high school had unnerved her. She’d watched him, too, stripped down to gym shorts and a cropped T-shirt on the football practice field, all sweaty. She’d loved to watch him move. He had an easy grace that most kids his age had lacked, a comfort with his own body. He hadn’t shown off and swaggered for the girls like some of his teammates, focusing on the drills with single-minded determination.
That was what she remembered most about Ford Hyatt—that concentration. If he took on a project, it got done. In the few classes they’d shared, he paid constant attention, took notes, asked questions. She remembered thinking how awesome it would be to have that attention focused on her.
Tonight she’d found out how it would feel. She should have been uncomfortable, pouring out the most intimate details of her life to him. Yet, after getting over her initial case of nerves, she’d felt okay talking to Ford. Good, even. It had been a relief to let down her guard and be perfectly honest—sort of the way she felt when she was throwing a pot or painting a picture.
She’d also felt more than one inappropriate shiver of desire. No man had ever really listened to her. Not the cops who’d interrogated her—they’d been more interested in putting words in her mouth and trying to catch her up. Certainly not Eldon, who wanted her to be the audience, soaking up his superior knowledge, following his instructions to better herself.
Being the sole focus of Ford’s attention had made her feel like she’d never felt before. She’d had a hard time remembering that this was the guy who’d once judged her so unfairly.
Robyn still burned every time she thought of that high school incident. She’d been trying so hard—so hard—to be good for once in her life. A two-month stay in a juvenile detention center had been an eye-opening experience, enough to convince her she did not want to hang around those people anymore, ever. She’d made big plans to change, to make something of herself.
And no one had noticed. Not her mother, who was way too wrapped up in her own problems. Not her teachers, who’d already made up their minds about her. Not her old friends, who had barely noticed that she wasn’t around anymore to smoke dope and spray-paint bridges.
But she kept on. And then came the unfair accusations, the humiliation of being accused of theft, the student government tribunal, which was run kind of like The People’s Court. And Ford, head of the tribunal, student body president, so smug as he’d handed down the tribunal’s decision.
She was kicked off the senior mural project. Looking back, it sounded silly that something so minor should still bother her. But her mural design had been chosen over a dozen others. It was the first time she’d excelled at anything, been chosen for anything, and she’d been as excited about it as a kid with her first finger paints. She’d been looking forward to having something positive to put on her college applications.
Ford had derailed all that.
She unearthed that old anger and held on tight to it as he drove her home. People like Ford could serve a purpose. That steel-spined sense of right and wrong, black and white and that dogged determination, were what she needed to free Eldon. But certainly no sane woman wanted a man like that in her personal life. No matter how good-looking he was. No matter how he made her stomach swoop.
Even if he was the first man to do so in years.
CHAPTER THREE
TWO DAYS LATER, ROBYN WAS getting antsy. After that first wave of urgency, Ford had become ominously silent. But when she got out of the shower that morning, the answering machine by her bed was flashing.
She pushed the button. “I have an appointment in Huntsville at two o’clock this afternoon,” came Ford’s no-nonsense voice. “I’ll pick you up at eleven. Wear something conservative.”
That was it. He didn’t identify himself, didn’t begin or end the message with pleasantries. Well, hell, it wasn’t as if they were going on a date, was it? They were visiting her ex-husband in prison. Hardly a romantic outing.
Just the same, she dressed with care. She didn’t have a lot of nice clothes. As an artist and art teacher, she tended to destroy clothes as fast as she could buy them, so jeans and T-shirts were the norm. But she did have a couple of outfits she’d worn to court. She chose her long, slim black skirt and a plain blue silk T-shirt, about as conservative as she could get.
In deference to the heat, she twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head, holding it in place with a tortoiseshell comb. She refused to do stockings, but she wore high-heeled sandals.
She even wore makeup, something she didn’t bother with most days. Halfway through her mascara, she wondered whom she was trying to impress. But Ford had told her to be prepared for the media, and that was what she told herself—that she wanted to look good on camera.
She was absolutely, positively not primping for Ford. That would be ludicrous and kind of sick, as well. She was trying to save a man’s life.
Ford arrived promptly at eleven. Unfortunately, so did a TV van from Houston’s Channel 6. It pulled right behind Ford’s car, blocking him in.
Robyn hated reporters. She knew they weren’t all scumbags, but the ones who lurked around corners and tailed unsuspecting crime victims rated no better than hyenas in her book. At the time of Eldon’s trial, all they’d wanted from her was a sensational sound bite to crank up ratings.
Ford exited his car and faced the eager reporter and cameraman who’d leaped out of the van almost before it had stopped. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her purse and went to join him. He’d said they needed publicity to shake information out of the bushes. But she knew from experience how damaging the wrong sort of publicity could be. If public sentiment got whipped up against Eldon, the governor was far less likely to stay the execution.
The reporters—more than one—spotted her the moment she emerged from her upstairs apartment and were on her before she reached the bottom of the steps.
“Mrs. Jasperson, do you have any new leads as to the whereabouts of your son?”
“Has a body been found?”
“Why would you try to free your son’s murderer?”
“Are you still in love with your ex-husband?”
She thought she’d been prepared, but the barrage of rapid-fire questions overloaded her brain. “I believe my ex-husband is innocent,” she said. “As I have from the beginning.”
