At Close Range Read online

  Felicia Summers was going to live.

  Brian’s grin faded when he recognized the unmarked car that pulled into his parking lot half an hour later. He’d just come in to grab a bite of his forgotten sandwich between appointments and caught the dark sedan in his peripheral vision as he headed to his desk.

  “What now?” he said aloud, punching the interoffice phone line.

  “Yes?” As always Barbara picked up immediately.

  “Show the man coming in to exam room four,” he said, winging it. “And tell him it’ll be at least a half-hour wait.”

  “Should I have him fill out a new patient form?” Barbara asked. “Will he be bringing a child with him?”

  “Nope. Just show him to room four before he has a chance to speak in front of anyone in the waiting room. And I’ll need copies of the complete files of every patient we’ve had die of SIDS in the past year. Put them in the bottom of my credenza.”

  “Yes, sir.” Barbara had to have questions. But she didn’t ask them.

  Calling on contacts he kept hidden, Bobby had a tap put on the pay phone in Apache Junction. And had members of the Apache Junction police force, the Phoenix police force and the Ivory Nation looking out for the young woman who’d stolen his heart.

  And his son.

  They’d get word to him. No matter where he was.

  And he’d get her.

  More importantly, Bobby thought, smoothing the clean sheets on Luke’s mattress, he’d have his son back where he belonged.

  Where God wanted him.

  Once the camouflage comforter and the furry matching pillows were in place—the ensemble his homecoming gift to his son—Bobby unwrapped the pajamas, underwear, jeans and shirts, size-four T and replaced all of the smaller outfits in the drawers and closets. He made a call to ensure that if Luke was recovered before Bobby returned, his son would be well guarded, well taught, well loved. And then, though it was only midmorning, he set up his camera, opened the live chat program, scrolled down to see which of his lovelies was online, typed in a two-word invitation and within ten seconds, was unzipping his jeans at her command.

  “I hope you have hours,” he typed as her full breasts came into view, covered only by a minuscule bra.

  One that he’d have her remove in due time. He wanted her to fondle her nipples through the fabric first. Just as he’d have done had he been making love to her.

  “You have my life,” she typed back.

  The words satisfied him as much as the hand holding his straining cock.

  They could come for him anytime now. Bobby Donahue—the living sacrifice offered for Kenny Hill’s release. He’d be arrested. Charged. Probably jailed. It might be awhile before he had a chance for physical release. He owed it to God—to everyone who was counting on him—to make sure he was relaxed. Prepared for the physical drought.

  Brian wanted to make the detective wait, but didn’t have the guts to piss him off. Or the where-withal to concentrate as he dealt with the Anderson kids—all four of them—who were in for routine checkups, and were apprehensive about the possibility of shots.

  Which three of the four were getting.

  His job was to joke with them, make them laugh, so they couldn’t think about what he was doing to them—so fun, not fear, was what they associated with trips to the doctor.

  He’d just finished up with the younger two, one of whom, three-month-old Abigail, was too young to know that she was supposed to be afraid of the needle, when Barbara motioned that she’d done as he’d asked. Copies of the files were hidden in his office.

  Without another thought, Brian asked Mollie Anderson if she’d mind rescheduling her two older children.

  “I’d be glad to,” the young mother said over the noise of her brood, smiling through the mass of arms and legs entangling her. “I think we’ve reached our limit on confinement here this morning!” Then, with the baby in a carrier on her chest and the tiny fingers of her two next youngest grasped firmly in her hands, she said, “How about a trip to the park before we head home?”

  The discordant chorus of “yeahs” could have won a cheerleading competition.

  “Judge, can I have a minute?”

  Looking up from the files in front of her on a break from the courtroom Tuesday morning, Hannah nodded and waved Julie Gilbert in.

  “Of course.” She hadn’t seen the prosecuting attorney since the reading of the verdict the previous Wednesday.

  “What’s up?” She shut the door between her office and the rest of her chambers. Julie’s face was pale.

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  She’d figured as much. With cat scratches up and down her arms and legs, and, a living room that was mostly bare and awaiting new carpet, Hannah had already had her fill for the week. Mercury must be in retrograde.

  But she’d heard that morning that the police had caught the kid who’d trashed her house. A thirteen-year-old who’d been drinking with a buddy and had acted on a dare, not on orders from a dangerous brotherhood. Her house had been his first criminal offense.

  And hopefully would be his last.

  He’d end up in counseling and sentenced to community service of some kind, and his parents’ insurance was footing the bill for her new living room.

  “What kind of problem?” she asked after joining the prosecutor in the conversation pit on the far side of her office.

  “Kenny Hill isn’t guilty.”

  It was the last thing Hannah expected to hear. At least from Julie Gilbert. Staring at the prosecutor, Hannah waited for her to continue. The rumors of Ivory Nation infiltrations in politics, law enforcement and the justice system had been circulating for years. But Hannah would never have guessed Julie to be one of them.

  She’d certainly done her job to convince the jury, and Hannah, that Kenny Hill was guilty. But then, the Ivory Nation had risen to such power because of their brainwashing tactics. Bobby Donahue and his cause had supporters that didn’t even know that the Ivory Nation existed.

  They were masters at making what was happening appear as though it was the opposite. Or not appear at all.

  “I have an appointment with Robert Keith within the hour and I’m sure he’s going to make a motion to have Kenny released,” the prosecutor continued after a long, awkward pause.

  “Based on what evidence?” She’d call a hearing. But only if she believed one was truly warranted.

  “I was contacted this weekend by a Tucson police detective,” Julie said, her voice as shaky as the rest of her. “He knows who killed Camargo Cortes. And he has irrefutable proof.”

  11

  “I don’t have much time, Detective,” Brian said, closing the door of the exam room behind him. “I have patients waiting.”

  “This won’t take long, Doctor,” Angelo said, holding an official-looking piece of paper. “That’s a subpoena for the records of Mikel Sanchez, Jovan Cruz, Emmanuel Rodriguez and Carlos Montgomery.”

  The four infants who’d died of SIDS while under his care. One of whom was Hannah Montgomery’s son.

  Heart pumping overtime, Brian stared at the outstretched form. And then took it. He had nothing to hide.

  “Let me see what this says.” He pretended to read, stalling.

  This whole thing was bizarre. He’d done nothing illegal. Ever. He paid ahead on his taxes and didn’t take all the deductions coming to him.

  He believed in God and in free speech and voted in every election.

  Who was doing this to him? Who could possibly be after him? And why?

  The parents of the children who died? Emmanuel Rodriguez was an only child of an unmarried indigent. Was it the Sanchezes? Or the Cruzes? Neither made sense, as both families were still clients, trusting him with their other children.

  And where did whoever this was get the power to involve the Sun News and have the police take up their fight?

  As he stood there, staring blankly at a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo, Brian was comforted by the thought of the fi
les in the closet in his office. If the papers he turned over were tampered with, he’d have his own clean copies as evidence.

  Copies that he would be perusing as soon as he was finished with today’s appointments. If anything was amiss, he wasn’t going to wait around for someone else to find it.

  “This appears to be in order,” Brian said eventually, pocketing the subpoena. “What exactly are you looking for, Detective?”

  “We won’t know until we find it, Doctor.” Angelo wasn’t budging. And wasn’t particularly polite, either. “Now if you could show me to the files?”

  “Wait here and I’ll have them brought in to you.”

  Sick to his stomach, Brian went in search of Barbara.

  Robert Keith was pure professionalism as he handed Hannah the motion to revoke all charges against Kenny Hill and order his immediate release. Julie Gilbert stood with him, in front of Hannah’s bench in the empty courtroom. Her afternoon calendar finished, Hannah was beat.

  “Tell me what you know,” she said quietly, looking first to Julie. The press was going to have a field day. She was hoping to get the defendant into court for a hearing and then read her decision into the record as quickly as possible.

  “Detective Robert Miller of the Tucson police department contacted me at home over the weekend,” Julie said, giving indication of the far-reaching sensitivity of this issue. “Last year he and his partner, Daniel Boyd, were lead detectives on that biracial rape case in Tucson.”

  Cold to the bone, Hannah remembered the case, which was saying a lot. The unthinkable crime had taken place the week after Carlos died.

  Somehow she’d linked the two incidents in her mind. She and the Kendalls had both seen something precious die in bed at night.

  “Miller, a veteran cop with a perfect record, had known Ivory Nation ties. He claims he received a call the night of the rape, telling him that two Ivory Nation brothers were responsible. He made certain that he and his partner got that case. His assignment from Bobby Donahue was to make Harry Kendall look crazy, and to have the rape remain unsolved.”

  A veteran cop. A man in a position of authority. Hannah swallowed. “You said this detective had Ivory Nation ties?”

  Nodding, Julie stood before her, the shoulders of her navy suit jacket straight. “He knows those ties will be permanently severed when his testimony is made public. Last year he managed to work a miracle—sort of. He was a good cop. And a good IN servant as well. If not for him, Laura Kendall would have suffered another rape and probably death. He saved Laura, but he exposed a traitor to the Ivory Nation, too. Two of them. They were both killed. One by Miller.”

  Hannah stared intently between the attorneys, glad that she’d dismissed her staff. She was already determining that she would call for a closed courtroom for the official hearing.

  “Turns out, Miller was a hero to Bobby Donahue,” Julie said. “The rape had taken place without Donahue’s direct orders or even knowledge.” She grimaced. “The two dead brothers had put the Ivory Nation at considerable risk.”

  Remembering the horrific photos of the torture Cortes had suffered, Hannah figured Miller had done this traitor a favor by shooting him outright. A quick and relatively painless death.

  “In the end, Miller managed to keep his job and remain a member of the organization,” Gilbert continued, “which is how he came to be at the scene when Cortes was murdered.”

  “He was there?” Hannah needed to be sure.

  “He says he was.”

  “How reliable is his testimony?”

  “He says that while Kenny was present early in the evening, as many of the brotherhood were, making a game of torturing the kid, he left before life-threatening damage was done. You know the imprints the coroner’s report referred to?”

  “The ones that were all over the victim’s head and face, evidence of the strength of the blows that killed him,” Keith interjected.

  Hannah would have liked to reprimand the man for his unnecessary dose of drama in a situation that was already too grotesque to bear, but figured the resulting tension from a bruised ego wouldn’t be worth the satisfaction.

  “I remember,” she said, hoping her tone communicated the message well enough.

  “Miller said the imprint is from a ring,” Julie continued. “A ring he has in his possession.”

  “It’s his?” A cop witnessed—and allowed—the horrible torture they’d all been sickened by these past weeks? Would this crazy, messed-up world ever right itself?

  Would anyone ever be safe again?

  Julie shook her head, but the relief was short-lived. “It belongs to Bobby Donahue,” she said.

  “Donahue killed Cortes?” Hannah didn’t know why she was surprised. Except that…

  “He never gets his hands dirty.”

  “Apparently he does,” Julie told her. “But the brotherhood line up for the honor of taking the rap for him.”

  “And Miller is turning his back on his career with the police force, putting himself at the scene of a horrendous crime, and betraying Bobby Donahue, why? I’m supposed to believe the man suddenly developed a conscience?”

  “He’s Kenny Hill’s half brother.” The surprises didn’t stop. Hannah now understood why Julie Gilbert had been looking so sick all day. “Seems the elder Mr. Hill got a girl pregnant when he was in high school. Robert Miller was the result of that pregnancy. Kenny came along more than twenty years later. Miller was raised by his mother and eventually a stepfather but his father kept in touch and helped support him. The Hills eventually introduced Miller to Donahue’s church.”

  “Donahue assured the Hills that if Kenny took the rap for this one, Donahue would pull strings and see that he got off,” Keith jumped in. “Instead, they just heard their eighteen-year-old son be convicted of a crime that could get him the death penalty.”

  “And Miller is prepared to testify to all of this, here, in my court, on the record?” Hannah asked.

  “Yeah,” Keith confirmed. “The brotherhood rely on Donahue’s ability to protect them. Hill’s conviction has shaken a lot of faith. Miller has a wife and children. He’s worried about them. Imagining the horrible things that could happen if Bobby’s protective mechanisms fail again. We made a deal with him. His testimony for his freedom and their protection.”

  “And he’ll bring the ring with him?”

  “Yes,” Julie answered while Keith rocked back and forth on his heels. “I called in some favors and forensics has already tentatively verified that the branding on Cortes’s face matches the imprint of the ring.”

  “I assume you’ve got Miller someplace safe?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve read the defense’s motion, Ms. Gilbert?” Hannah kept her stare intense.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And you agree to withdraw all charges?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “I don’t have to remind you that double jeopardy will apply,” Hannah said, looking between the two attorneys. “If we set that young man free, he can’t be tried again.”

  Keith nodded.

  “I know.” Julie’s voice was hoarse, as though she hadn’t slept.

  “The hearing is set for eight-thirty tomorrow morning.” The knot in Hannah’s stomach was never going to go away.

  Brian didn’t know whether to call Hannah or not. This whole thing with Angelo was going to die a quiet death. It had to. There was no basis for any of the detective’s insinuations. After a few more hours of work and a chance to think calmly, he knew that a year from now he’d be looking back on this with a shake of his head—and nothing more.

  He’d done nothing wrong. He had nothing to fear.

  There was no reason to upset Hannah’s already unstable emotional equilibrium with reminders of Carlos’s death; with his own inconveniences. She had enough on her plate at the moment.

  In the end, he called anyway. Ostensibly to check up on her. And the kitten. He couldn’t just foist the thing off on
her without making certain that the tiny feline beast wasn’t too much for her.

  And if it meant he got to hear her voice, so be it.

  “It’s only four-thirty, I can’t believe you’ve left the office already,” he said after finally reaching her on her cell phone. “I can’t remember you ever leaving before five.”

  “I generally don’t, but I had a rough day. I’ve finished my files for the morning, I’m not on search warrant duty this week and I was kind of worried about leaving Taybee alone so much her first few days at home. I don’t want her to become antisocial.”

  She was mothering the cat already. Just what the doctor had hoped for. Now if only the rest of her life could settle down, bring her the kindness and love she deserved, Brian wouldn’t spend so much time thinking about her.

  “Any more news on the break-in?”

  “They’ve taken the extra patrol off my house. They caught the kid who broke in—it wasn’t gang related at all.”

  “They’re sure about that?”

  “Yeah, he’s only thirteen. He and his friend were experimenting with alcohol and a dare got out of hand.”

  “Or maybe that’s what the Ivory Nation wants you to think.”

  He could hear her turn signal and wondered how far she was from home. And had to fight the urge to turn the Jag in that direction.

  “What would be the point?” Hannah asked. “The only reason they’d have vandalized my house would be to scare me. They wouldn’t make up a lie that would make me feel safer.”

  “Unless they’re lulling you.” Brian had no idea what he was talking about, but he couldn’t give it up. He was worried about her.

  “Again, why? Their MO is to intimidate. A thirteen-year-old kid making a stupid mistake isn’t intimidating.”

  With no answer to that, Brian frowned.

  He should have gotten her a dog. A big one. With incisors that could take off a leg if need be.

  “Besides,” Hannah continued, “even if it was a warning, there’ll be no need for it after tomorrow.” Her voice had dropped, sounding small and defenseless.