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Then she saw the scar. “You’re saying Kelly Ralston—my Kelly Ralston—did that to you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Someone chose that moment to walk into the small lounge, a woman about Bree’s age dressed in an off-the-shoulder sweater, hot-pink jeans and platform shoes. Her blond hair was in one of those chic bobs that moved with her, then fell right back into place.
The woman skidded to a stop, took in Eric’s state of undress and backed out of the room with her eyes closed. “Don’t mind me. I was never here.”
“Great,” Eric muttered as he quickly pulled his undershirt back on and shoved his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “Wonder how long it’ll take Jillian to spread this all over the office grapevine.”
“Well, don’t blame me,” Bree groused. “You’re the one who chose to perform a striptease.”
“Only because you refused to believe me without proof.”
“Who says I believe you? You could have gotten that scar some other way.”
“Why would I make up something like this?”
“I don’t know.” That was the problem. She didn’t know. If Project Justice didn’t want to take on Kelly’s case, they could have just rejected her application. They could pick and choose which cases they wanted to devote their energies to. Sadly, there was no shortage of innocent people behind bars.
Eric finished dressing, knotting his shimmery blue tie just so. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Okay, fine. For the sake of argument, let’s assume Kelly really did attack you in prison, unprovoked. That doesn’t mean he committed the crime he was convicted for.”
“He did, though.” Eric took a deep breath, almost as if trying to draw strength. “He confessed to his crime, to anyone who would listen, in excruciating detail. And he bragged of the murders he’d committed for which he was never arrested. Multiple women. Brutal attacks.”
That stopped Bree. She couldn’t immediately come up with a handy reason why Kelly would do such a thing. He had always adamantly professed his innocence. “You’re lying.”
Eric shrugged. “Believe what you will.”
Bree quickly returned to safer territory—the argument she had rehearsed. “If you would just review the facts—if you would just talk to Philomene—you would have no choice but to believe Kelly is innocent.”
“Lay it out for me,” he said with obvious reluctance.
“They picked up Kelly because he was walking in Philomene’s neighborhood with no obvious destination in mind right after she called 911. He never admitted guilt—”
“Not to you.”
“He never admitted to knowing Philomene. They put him in a lineup, and Philomene identified him. There was no physical evidence linking Kelly to the case. And, in fact, his DNA does not match the sample collected from one of the other murders thought to be part of the serial killer’s pattern. But when that result came in, the police decided to separate that one case out from the others and claimed it must be unrelated, even though the M.O. was exactly the same.
“They took Kelly to court, and Philomene again identified him as her attacker and even added a couple of details she claimed to have remembered, like his tattoo. It was an easy victory for the prosecution.”
“Sounds like it. A credible witness is very hard to overlook. She had no motive for lying about it, especially since she didn’t even know him.”
“So flash forward to a couple of months ago,” Bree continued. “I’m working in the emergency room at the county hospital when Philomene comes in—”
“Working at the E.R. in what capacity?”
“Physician.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize...”
“Yes, you’ve already demonstrated that you’re remarkably badly briefed on this case. Anyway, this woman comes in having an acute asthma attack. I treated her, and then I recognized her, though it was several years since I’d seen her. She remembered me, too. I was a character witness for Kelly during his sentencing. I couldn’t resist bringing it up, even though I know it’s cruel to remind a woman of the most traumatic time in her life. But she seemed to want to talk about it. She jumped at the chance. She said she needed to get something off her chest. And that was when she told me that she didn’t really recognize Kelly in the lineup. The prosecutor was with her in the room, she was nervous, he was putting all kinds of pressure on her to identify her attacker.
“She said they gave her hints about which man she was supposed to pick out, and she did it. And the more times she said it, the more sure she became in her head that he was the one. But later, after all the pressure was off, she knew she’d made a terrible mistake, that she’d sent an innocent man to prison. But she was afraid to change her statement. She was afraid she’d get into trouble—her record isn’t exactly sterling and she has reason to be afraid of the police.”
“What makes you think she’s telling the truth now?”
“She wasn’t lying. She had no reason to.”
“Maybe she’s starting to feel guilty about sending a man to prison for life, even if he is guilty. Maybe she’s downplayed the severity of his crime in her mind over the years. Maybe a friend or relative went to prison for sexual assault, and now she sees the crime from a different point of view. Hell, for all you know, Kelly has been writing letters to her from prison, and they’ve fallen in love. Weirder things have happened.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you met her. She was telling the truth. I know it.”
“Bree. Kelly Ralston is where he belongs.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew him the way I know him. He’s kind. And gentle.” She rushed ahead before he could bring up his scar again. “If he cut you, he had a reason. But he wasn’t really trying to kill you.”
Eric looked away, only for a moment, but long enough that she knew she’d hit home.
“It’s not even my decision to make,” Eric tried again. “Daniel has the last say.”
“He changed his mind because you convinced him to. And you can unconvince him. Just talk to Philomene. She promised she would speak with someone from Project Justice so long as her statement didn’t go on the record. She’s committed to finding the real culprit, who’s out there somewhere, and she’s willing to undergo hypnosis or answer any questions. She just doesn’t want to talk to the police. Please, talk to her. Ten minutes. If you aren’t convinced after that, I’ll drop it.”
“And if I don’t agree to meet with her?”
She smiled, letting him see her teeth. “I won’t give up. I’ll be your worst nightmare.”
Eric sighed. “All right, I’ll meet with her.”
Bree grabbed a pad and pen from her purse and scribbled down an address. “This is the local diner, called the Home Cookin’ Café. Best meat loaf in the world. Might as well have dinner while you’re there.” She ripped off the page and handed it to him.
“Tonight? You want to do this tonight?”
“Sooner the better.”
“You’ll be there, too, right?”
“Of course. Philomene is very fragile. I wouldn’t send her to meet a strange man alone.”
“Then I’ll see you...” He looked at the paper again. “Tuckerville?” He’d heard of it but had no idea where it was.
“Only a couple of hours away.”
“A couple of hours? I have a little girl at home. Evenings are the only time we have together.”
Bree found herself smiling. “Really? How old?”
“Six.”
“I love that age. I’ll keep her entertained while you and Philomene chat. Heck, bring your wife, too. Make it a family outing. Tuckerville is a charming little town.”
His features hardened. “I don’t have a wife. Look, I’ll be there. I said I would. But don’t get your hopes up.”
“Fair enough.” She stood and gathered her things. She’d sold jewelry to help pay her living expenses in college, and she knew that when she’d made the sale, it was time to leave—before she ruined it. She was frankly surprised that Eric had agreed to meet Philomene at all. “I’ll see myself out.”
“I’ll walk you to the door. If I don’t, Celeste will eat me for lunch.”
“Let me guess. The lady at the front desk?”
“That would be the one. The first thing they told me when I walked through the door yesterday morning was to do what she says, or else.”
They retraced their steps to the lobby. Now that she was less on edge, Bree was able to take in her surroundings more. The hallway was floored in a beautiful parquet pattern, and original oil paintings lined the walls. The light fixtures were real chandeliers.
They parted ways at the front desk. Bree shook Eric’s hand again. “See you tonight.”
Just as she hit the door, she heard Celeste say in a loud stage whisper, “You work fast.”
Then came Eric’s rapid denial. “It’s not a date.”
Of course it wasn’t a date, Bree thought as she tried to remember where she’d left her car. She didn’t spend much time in the city and wasn’t used to having to park blocks away from her destination. But her heart felt lighter knowing she’d once again pulled Kelly’s case out of the ashes of destruction and blown the embers to life. And maybe because tonight she’d be seeing a certain dashing single-dad lawyer again and would find out why he was making up lies about Kelly.
Then she was going to make sure he knew the meaning of the word justice.
* * *
“DADDY!” THE MOMENT Eric hit the front door of his brother’s house in Timbergrove, MacKenzie launched herself at him like a cat on a very large mouse. He scooped her up into his arms and reveled in the sweet little-girl smell of strawberry shampoo and crayons. She clung to him like a burr.
“Hello, angel-cakes. How’s my big girl?”
“I’m good now that you’re home.”
Judging from the chatter going on in the kitchen, and the smell of garlic and tomatoes, his brother, Travis, was already home from work and making dinner with his wife, Elena. Between the two of them, Travis was the better cook, but Elena could whip up a few Cuban dishes from her homeland.
He hoped they weren’t going to too much trouble, given that he was going to miss dinner.
“Uncle Trav is making spaghetti,” MacKenzie said as Eric slid her down to the floor. She didn’t seem to want to let go of him. Once upon a time, MacKenzie had been a bright, inquisitive, fearless child. But ever since a lowlife named John Stover taught her that there were things to fear in the world, MacKenzie had been a different person—shy, timid, withdrawn. During those few times she’d been allowed to visit Eric in prison, she’d barely said a word.
She was starting to come out of her shell now that she had her father back, but she had a long way to go. For one thing, she was excessively clingy and wanted to know where Eric was every minute. He’d warned her that he wouldn’t be home until after five o’clock, that he’d started a new job, but she’d still had a meltdown when she’d arrived home from school and found him gone. Elena, who was watching MacKenzie after school, had called Eric, and he’d been the only one who could calm her down and reassure her that he wasn’t back in prison and that he would be home soon.
It almost killed him that he had to leave again—and all because he’d been suckered by a pair of eyes as deep as the ocean. Philomene Switzer could say whatever she wanted, but Eric wasn’t going to change his mind.
He told himself he’d agreed to Bree’s proposition because it was the only way to get her out of his hair. She’d promised to back off if he did this one thing, and he was going to do it. He couldn’t afford for Daniel to devote any more time, attention and effort to the Ralston case. Because if he looked into it very deep, he’d find out Eric was lying. Daniel’s investigator could talk to other prisoners, cell mates, friends and relatives on the outside, and he’d discover that Kelly had never confessed his crimes to anyone. In fact, tough and mean as he was, he’d always vehemently proclaimed his innocence.
Eric still believed he’d done the right thing. And the proof was this little girl, clutching his hand with complete trust. Ralston had said he could get to her even from prison—that if Eric ratted him out, he could count on never seeing his daughter again, one way or another.
Eric hadn’t said a word to the warden. He hadn’t even sought medical treatment for the cut, not until the infection got so bad that a guard found him unconscious in his cell. Still, when questioned, he’d refused to name Kelly Ralston.
Somehow, though, the warden had found out, and Ralston had gone into solitary for a week, pretty much guaranteeing that his upcoming parole hearing wouldn’t go well.
So far Ralston hadn’t made good on his threat. But if he were free, taking his revenge against Eric and his family would be child’s play.
MacKenzie dragged Eric into the kitchen. “Daddy’s home,” she said proudly, as if she had personally caused him to appear. In a way, she had. If not for her, he probably would have just headed for Tuckerville right after work.
Travis grinned. “Hey, how was your first staff meeting? Did Daniel kick your— Um, did he give you any trouble?”
Travis and Daniel Logan had a rocky past, but they’d come to terms.
“I only saw him on a video screen. How much damage could he do?”
“Plenty,” Elena answered. She had been Daniel’s personal assistant until recently. “I’ve seen him reduce a grown man to tears over video conferencing. But he wouldn’t have any reason to be on your case.”
Oh, wouldn’t he? How about if he knew Eric had told a big fat lie?
“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” Travis said. “You want a beer?”
“Maybe later. Unfortunately, I have to leave again.”
“What?” MacKenzie shrieked.
“I have to go out. It’s important, or I wouldn’t.”
“But you just got home! I haven’t showed you the picture I colored or my homework papers I got an A on.” MacKenzie was in a near panic.
“You can show me later, okay?”
“When?”
“I should be home about nine-thirty.”
“I have to go to bed at eight-thirty. No, Daddy, don’t leave.” She was about to have a full-blown tantrum. Already little tears were squeezing out of her eyes, and she was holding on to him with the grip of a lumberjack on his ax.
“Where are you going?” Travis asked. “I mean, not that it’s my business—”
“It’s work-related,” Eric said.
“Daniel’s making you work late your second day?” Elena was incensed. Then she whispered, “He knows MacKenzie needs you.”
“You can go out later,” MacKenzie wheedled, “after I go to bed. Don’t leave, Daddy.”
When she looked up at him with those big blue eyes, it was impossible to deny her. But he’d given his word to Bree that he would meet Philomene. She’d said he could bring MacKenzie with him....
“MacKenzie, how would you like to go for a drive with me?”
“What?” Travis and Elena said at the same time.
But MacKenzie clapped her hands together gleefully. “Are we going to get ice cream?”
“You can have ice cream if you want when we get there.” He couldn’t imagine any diner that didn’t serve ice cream. “But it’s a long drive. About two hours. We’ll have to take a snack with us.”
“Where are you going?” Travis asked again.
“To talk to a reluctant witness.”
“You think it’s okay to bring a child to—”
“I have a babysitter lined up.”
Travis looked as if he wanted to say more, but he resisted.
“I’ll make her a peanut-butter sandwich,” Elena said.
“Great. I’ll go change clothes.”
Ten minutes later Eric was in the car with MacKenzie snug in her car seat with a sandwich and his iPhone, where she was watching cartoons. She was quiet for a long time, leaving Eric far too alone with his thoughts.
He couldn’t stomach even the thought of anyone hurting his little girl. Though Ralston’s threat had been issued years ago, when Eric was a green convict, Eric recalled every word as if it were an hour ago.
You better not rat me out, Riggs, or your life won’t be worth the ink on your fancy law degree. You may leave here. You may think you’re safe. But vengeance will come when you least expect it.
At that point everything about prison had scared Eric. He still didn’t know where he’d come up with the courage to try to stop a fight. But when Ralston and the other man had squared off, each of them brandishing a homemade weapon, Eric had been naive enough to try to calm them down.
Stepping between them just as the second man struck hadn’t been his sharpest move. Ralston’s vicious countermove had cut Eric stem to stern.
Reflexively, he rubbed his chest again. The scar still throbbed when he was nervous.
I don’t care what happens to me. That was what Eric had retorted, because at the time, he’d thought death might be preferable to the hell of prison.
No? What about that cute little girl of yours? What’s her name? MacKenzie? When I get done with her, there won’t be enough left to identify at the morgue.
Eric’s gut twisted as he recalled Ralston’s threat. He’d wanted to tell Ralston to back off, that if he touched one hair on his daughter’s head, Eric would kill him. Painfully.
But the words hadn’t come. It had been all he could do not to puke.
Ruthlessly, Eric shoved the memory aside and focused on the upcoming meeting. This shouldn’t be a big deal. He would listen to Philomene’s story, then politely tell Bree that he was sorry, but his decision stood. Then he’d buy MacKenzie an ice cream and come back home. MacKenzie would probably go to sleep during the drive home. She loved riding in the car.
“Daddy, when are we gonna get there?”
“We’re more than halfway there. Are you tired of your cartoons?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You can look out the window. We’re going to a new place you’ve never been before. Tuckerville.” What a name. He could only imagine what kind of backwater wasteland Tuckerville was. Why a woman of Bree’s obvious intelligence and sophistication chose to live there was a mystery. He couldn’t imagine wanting to live so far from any big city, so far from shopping and fine restaurants and...good haircuts. That was one thing he’d really missed in prison—getting a decent haircut. Sometimes it was the small things.
“It’s dark out there,” MacKenzie said. “I can’t see anything.”
“Look off to the right. There’s a radio tower. See those red lights?” They were driving through farm and ranch land. Not much to see at night. “When we listen to the radio, that’s where the sound comes from.”
“Oh.”
At least MacKenzie was talking again. When he’d first gotten out of prison, he could barely get two words out of her. But more than two months later, she was starting to open up a little. The foster home she’d lived in during his incarceration had been a pretty bad place, though no one knew how bad until Travis had realized the foster parents were selling MacKenzie’s clothes and toys on eBay.
“Now look up at the sky.”
He heard MacKenzie give a little gasp of surprise, and he smiled. It was a clear winter night, and they were far enough away from the city now that the sky was blanketed with stars. When Eric was a kid, he’d loved the stars, even though he hadn’t been able to see all that many in the city. He’d checked out book after book on astronomy and had even thought he might make that his life’s work. He remembered dragging Travis up onto the roof of their apartment building and pointing out the constellations—the Big Dipper, Orion’s Belt, Cassiopeia’s Chair.
“There’s so many stars,” MacKenzie said softly, almost to herself, a tinge of awe in her voice.
“Some weekend we’ll go camping, and we’ll get a telescope and look at the stars and the moon and the planets. Would you like that?”
“Uh-huh,” she said almost absently, her head leaning against the window as she took in the blanket of diamonds overhead. She remained quiet for the next thirty minutes, just looking at the night sky. It warmed his heart to think maybe she’d inherited his love for studying the heavens.
“Are we almost there?”
“Almost. Suzy says ten more minutes.” Suzy was the name they’d given the female voice on his car’s GPS.
MacKenzie sighed.
“What flavor ice cream do you want?”
“Pineapple,” she said decisively.
“They might not have pineapple ice cream. We’ll just have to see. Did you finish your sandwich?”
She held up what was left of the half sandwich Elena had made for her. She’d eaten a few bites, at least. At her foster home, MacKenzie had developed the unfortunate habit of hoarding food. She seldom ate very much, choosing instead to save her food for later. No matter how many times Eric reassured her that she could eat as much as she wanted, she obviously was still fearful about going hungry.
“I’m going to have dinner at the diner before my ice cream,” he said. “How about you?”
“Do they have grilled cheese?”
“I imagine so. Maybe soup, too.” She loved soup, and it wasn’t something she could hoard.
The momentous decision of what to choose for dinner occupied her until they crossed the city limits of the great metropolis of Tuckerville.
It was a little bigger than he’d expected, with a quaint main street boasting old-fashioned streetlights, a theater showing last year’s movies, an antiques mall and a quilt shop. Most everything except the theater was closed, the sidewalks deserted. Then he spotted the Home Cookin’ Café, right where Bree had said it would be, at the corner of Main and Maple.
The café was like something out of an old movie, all chrome and rounded corners and an Art Deco neon sign advertising Shakes, Malts and Sodas. He wondered if it was the real thing or someone’s retro fantasy.
He pulled into the small parking lot, which was nearly full. Clearly the place was doing a brisk business.
MacKenzie was more than ready to be released from the confines of her child seat.
“What is this place?” MacKenzie asked.
“It’s a diner. Or a café. Have you ever been to one?”
“Is it like McDonald’s?”
“Sort of. But they serve the food on real dishes and they bring it to your table.”
“Oh, like Little Italy?” Little Italy was a neighborhood restaurant that Travis and Elena had introduced them to. It hadn’t been open when Eric had lived in the neighborhood, before Tammy’s death. Funny, that was how he thought of his life now, in three distinct segments: Before Tammy’s Murder, Prison and After Prison.
“You’ll see what it’s like.”
She grabbed on to Eric’s hand. New situations and new people made her nervous. No, more than nervous. Really stressed.
“Will there be people there?”
“Yes. We’re going to meet a nice lady named Bree. You’ll like her.”
“No, I won’t,” she said decisively.
Eric didn’t challenge her. He couldn’t make her like people and she certainly knew that not all adults were worthy of her esteem. Eric himself wasn’t sure he liked Bree—although he was looking forward to seeing her again. She wasn’t exactly all sweetness and light, and clearly she had a sharp tongue when she had a mind to use it. But he admired her passion. Passion was attractive, even if it was for a cause he didn’t agree with.
Eric and MacKenzie entered the diner and stood next to a please-wait-to-be-seated sign. The place was busy, but there were still a few tables and booths available.
A hostess with a mile-high beehive greeted them, fitting right in with the retro theme. “Two for dinner?” she asked brightly.
“Actually, I’m meeting someone here. Her name is Bree. About so high, black hair, blue eyes you can’t miss—”
The hostess was nodding. “That’s Dr. Bree.”
“And a friend of hers, too. They’re not here yet, are they?” He scanned the whole seating area and didn’t see Bree, and she wasn’t the sort of woman easily overlooked.
“No, haven’t seen her, but I’ll keep an eye out. Come right this way.”
Eric started to follow the hostess, whose name tag identified her as Molly, but MacKenzie suddenly dug in her heels and wouldn’t move.
“No, Daddy, let’s go home.”
“What? We just got here.”