White Hot Page 8

  My stomach grumbled as I climbed into a cab outside Melinda’s place, but I didn’t have time to stop and eat. We kept snacks on the plane—a protein bar and an energy drink would have to do.

  “Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked.

  “Simmons Army Airfield, Fort Bragg.”

  He pulled away from the kerb, and I fished out my amber phone. I usually carried three phones, designated red, amber, and green. The red phone never got turned off, but that one was for emergencies only. I silenced the amber phone when I was busy. The green phone, the one every asshole and journalist had the number for, was turned off on my desk back at Blackwood today.

  And now I groaned as I looked at the amber phone. Twenty-one missed calls? One from Trick, which I ignored, and sixteen from Lyle. What the hell had happened now?

  CHAPTER 9

  LYLE ANSWERED ON the first ring, breathless. “Dan?”

  “Either that, or someone’s stolen my phone. What’s the problem?”

  “I just met with Skinner.”

  And he was alive to tell the tale? That was a good start. “I can’t imagine that would have been much fun.”

  “He’s going for the death penalty.”

  I narrowly managed to stop my fist before it slammed into the back of the seat in front of me. That son of a bitch!

  “How is this even a death penalty case?”

  “Because of the forensics. He told me it was rape as well.”

  “Unless there’s a whole bunch of evidence I haven’t seen, he can’t prove that.”

  “He says the signs of a struggle indicate it.”

  “That’s tenuous.”

  But Jay would run with it anyway, the bastard.

  “It’s what he’s saying.”

  I was so angry I risked exploding if I tried to speak, and besides, it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have in front of a cab driver.

  “I’m flying back. Can you meet me later?”

  “When and where?” Lyle’s relief that he’d be getting help with this mess came through in his voice, which had lost a little of its shakiness.

  I gave him directions to Riverley and hung up. Never in my life had I wanted to kill somebody as much as I did right then. Jay wasn’t doing this for Christina, the good people of Virginia, or womankind, no matter how he might try to dress it up for the TV cameras. He was doing it for himself.

  The election for the commonwealth’s attorney for Richmond County was due to take place next year, and I’d heard a rumour Jay had his eye on the top job, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. He’d always been ambitious to the point of ruthlessness. But he had strong competition, and what he needed was a big case to put himself on the map, something to make Jay Skinner a household name among the voters.

  The Christina Walker murder certainly had the power to do that. But if White pleaded guilty, the drama would fade away after a few days on the front pages, and Ethan would be left to fester in Redding’s Gap until he went mad or died. No, Jay wanted to showboat in front of a jury, and the only guarantee he had of doing that was to seek the death penalty.

  The fucking bastard.

  An hour passed before I got back to Riverley. To add insult to injury, the weather gods were hurling down sheets of rain, and I got soaked just running from my car to the front door.

  Emmy took one look at me when I walked in and stepped backwards. “Bad day?”

  “I want to punch somebody.”

  “Would you like to borrow Alex?”

  “I’ve got an anger management problem, not a death wish. Anyway, when I said ‘somebody,’ I meant Jay Skinner.”

  “Ah, the whole death penalty thing?”

  Why didn’t it surprise me that she knew? I swear she had a battalion of tiny drones whose sole job was to round up juicy titbits of information and report back to her. “How did you find out?”

  “It was on CNN.”

  Okay, that too.

  “Lyle called. He’s freaking out, and I told him to meet me here.” I hadn’t seen his car outside, which meant he hadn’t arrived yet. “Do you have any Valium? I suspect he’s gonna need it.”

  “He’s a trial lawyer. Shouldn’t he be injecting testosterone instead?”

  “He’s tried four cases. The only one he won was for cheque fraud, and he only managed that because the main witness for the prosecution didn’t turn up.”

  As usual, Emmy and her warped sense of humour found that funny, but I wasn’t laughing.

  “So, the only chance he’ll stand is if we chop Skinner’s tongue off.”

  “That’s not the only thing of Skinner’s I’d like to chop off.”

  “How long did you date him for?”

  “Too long. It was the most stupid thing I ever did.”

  “Even stupider than the time you drank six margaritas and decided to slide down the bannister?” She waved at the polished walnut slope behind her.

  That had hardly been my finest hour. Not only had I spilled my drink, I’d ended up with first degree burns on my ass before I fell off the end.

  “Even worse than that.”

  She grinned. “A grudge match. I like it.”

  “Hell, this whole thing is a disaster waiting to happen.”

  Emmy took my elbow and led me into the nearest lounge, a gloomy room panelled in dark wood with oil paintings of her husband’s ancestors glowering from the walls. She dropped onto an overstuffed leather sofa, and I followed suit, trying to get comfortable. It proved to be an impossible task. Whoever designed the furniture didn’t understand the concept of relaxation.

  “Break it down,” she said. “What’s your goal?”

  “I’m not even sure anymore.” Damn Emmy and her logic. Sometimes, I thought her perfect exterior hid a robot. But I sighed and did as she said, taking a mental step back and thinking things through. “At first, I was only going through the motions. And by the way, I’m still pissed you gave me this case.”

  “Learn to drive, Dan.”

  I stuck my middle finger up at her. “But now Skinner’s involved, it’s become personal. More than anything, I want to see him lose on his big day in court, but I can hardly side with a criminal, can I?”

  “It’s a difficult one.”

  “You’re telling me. All I’ve got so far is half a dozen people telling me what a great guy White was, Tia and Eli included.”

  “And Ishmael.”

  “Ishmael? You spoke to him about this?”

  “Bradley did, him and his big bloody mouth.” Ishmael was a world-renowned fashion designer as well as Tia’s ex-boss and an old college buddy of Bradley’s. “Ishmael’s fucking nuts, but like Bradley, he’s a good judge of character. His only complaint about Ethan was his dress sense.”

  “What about his dress sense?” I’d only seen him in an orange jumpsuit so I couldn’t really comment.

  “Ishmael reckons if a man can bounce quarters off his ass cheeks, it’s only right for him to wear tighter trousers and show them off. Apparently, the Ghost prefers a looser fit.”

  I snorted, and Emmy gave me a strange look.

  “That’s the worst he could come up with?”

  “Yeah, and they did a few shows together. What do you think of White now that you’ve met him?”

  The first word to come into my head was sexy, but that was clearly a malfunction of my synapses. Brought on by the stress of this case, no doubt. “Quiet. Shy. Sad. And he’d only talk about music.”

  “And how did you feel inside?”

  I knew what she was asking. We’d both met enough assholes in our time—murderers, rapists, thugs, gang members, thieves—and there was usually something “off” about them. Maybe an arrogance they couldn’t help or a glibness that hid their true intentions. And with practice, you could feel when something was wrong, a sixth sense, if you like. Alarm bells had rung with Jay, and I’d ignored them. I shouldn’t have.

  But with Ethan, I’d got nothing.

  “He didn’t ping my radar.”<
br />
  Emmy sat in silence for a full minute, mulling things over. Once, she’d been crazily impulsive, but she’d developed new habits over the years, encouraged by Black. He’d always been a thinker.

  “What would Skinner get if he won? If Ethan got the death penalty?”

  “Glory.”

  “A little birdie told me that Mayor Poulter, who happens to be a golfing buddy of Skinner’s, is pushing him too. Poulter reckons there’ve been too many high-profile acquittals, and he wants to prove the Eastern District hasn’t gone soft.”

  See? Emmy knew everything. “So he gets political favour as well. That’s not going to hurt when it comes to the election for the commonwealth’s attorney.”

  “And what would Ethan get if Skinner lost?”

  “A lot of years inside. I still think he’ll plead guilty.”

  “So for White, you’ve got death versus a living death, and for Skinner, he either basks in the Office of the Commonwealth Attorney or he crashes and burns in court. You need to pick a side and go all out. Who’s it to be?”

  When she put it that way, the decision was easy. “White.”

  “What did Skinner do to you, anyway? It’s not like you to get so riled up.”

  I groaned and buried my face in the arm of the sofa. “He played me. The asshole played me.”

  “Played you how?”

  I’d always kept it to myself, but with Jay’s involvement in this case, I needed to come clean, even if it left me embarrassed as hell.

  “He made me think he cared. Not totally hearts and flowers, but enough that I let my guard down. Then one night, I woke up thirsty, and when I went to get a glass of water, I found him at my dining table going through one of my case files. He tried to make out I’d left the folder right there, but I know damn well I’d locked it in the filing cabinet. The fucker took the key out of my bag.”

  “I take it he had a vested interest in that particular case?”

  “I found out afterwards it had been assigned to him after his squash buddy broke his arm.”

  She grinned. Not a normal reaction, but nothing about Emmy was normal. “Well, when Skinner interfered with your case, he interfered with my company, and by extension, me. So I’m looking forward to fucking him over.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Lyle arrived a few minutes later, and he looked as if Death was hot on his heels, scythe in hand. Bradley answered the door and ushered him into the hallway, rolling his eyes at Lyle’s overly short pants.

  “The press was waiting for me when I came out of my office,” Lyle said. “They wanted a statement. What should I say? What on earth should I tell them?”

  Bradley closed the front door and Lyle began pacing, his heels clicking on the tiled floor. I couldn’t think with the noise, so I steered him into the lounge where he could walk up and down on the Persian carpet instead.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “I ran back into the building and got a taxi to pick me up at the rear.”

  Nothing like confronting a problem head-on, was there?

  Mind you, I didn’t intend to do that either, not when I could sneak in sideways and catch Jay by surprise. But Emmy was right—I couldn’t afford to procrastinate over my next move because the outcome would be a solid victory for my prick of an ex. If I had to look at his ugly mug on the news for a four-year term, I’d be tempted to pick the death penalty myself.

  No, I’d fight, and I’d fight hard. It was only my professional reputation on the line as well as Skinner’s. No biggie.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Lyle paced the lounge at Riverley again. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. At this rate, Emmy would need a new carpet. I glanced out the window to the helipad where the sleek black Eurocopter was being refuelled. Hurry up.

  Or not.

  Because we’d soon be on our way to Redding’s gap to visit White. At least, Lyle would be speaking to him—we weren’t both allowed in.

  “How do I tell a man he’s going to die?” Lyle asked.

  From the way he spoke, anyone would think he’d be the one facing the firing squad.

  “Well, you don’t put it quite like that.” Lyle sniffled, and I felt guilty for snapping. “Come on, why don’t you sit down until we’re ready to go?”

  I steered him over to the sofa, and he sat where I pointed. Fuck. Today promised to be hell.

  “You need to break it to Ethan gently. At the moment, the death penalty is far from certain, just something the prosecution has indicated is a possibility. Before it gets that far, he’d have to be found guilty, and then a jury would need to unanimously agree that capital punishment was the best option. And even if that does happen, there’s the appeals process.”

  Lyle began shaking, and I wondered if I should get him removed from the case. It would be easy enough, even without the Ghost’s cooperation. A short bout of sickness, a little accident… But keeping him also had advantages—Lyle was easy to manipulate, and whoever took his place might be worse.

  “I-I-I never thought I’d have to do something like this. I’m much better at dealing with misdemeanours.”

  I gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “And when this is over, you can go back to your misdemeanours. But first, you’ve got to man up and give your all to helping Ethan. He’s depending on you.”

  Lyle bolted from the sofa, and a few seconds later, I heard the bathroom door slam along the hallway. Fantastic.

  “He doesn’t handle stress well, huh?” Emmy said from her perch on the window seat.

  “Ten out of ten for observation. I got Mack to research him, and he’s never had to deal with this kind of pressure before. The closest he’s come to death was getting held up by some punk on campus at Samford.”

  “Stanford? He went to Stanford?”

  “No, SAM-ford. It’s in Alabama. And when the cops caught the mugger, it turned out he had a banana and not a gun. The police report said Lyle needed to change his pants.”

  “Good grief.”

  Several times on the flight to Redding’s Gap, I nearly told Lyle I’d talk to the Ghost instead of him, but I held back. My visits were limited to two single hours a week, but as White’s attorney, Lyle could visit more often. I needed to save my time in case of an emergency.

  I was almost as nervous as Lyle when we got to the prison. What were the chances of him not fucking this up?

  Not good, it turned out.

  He was inside for half an hour while I alternated pacing in the parking lot and perching on the hood of Otis’s car, willing myself to relax. I hadn’t smoked since I was a teenager, but for the first time in years, I craved a cigarette to calm my nerves. Yes, I’d spent ages going over what to say with Lyle, coached him on how to develop a rapport with Ethan and dig a little deeper into his psyche, but I didn’t have a whole lot of confidence that he’d follow through.

  And as soon as I saw Lyle leave the building, shoulders hunched, I knew it hadn’t gone well.

  “Lyle?” He kept his gaze fixed on the ground. “How did it go?”

  “Well, White didn’t shout at me.”

  Understandable, since that would have got him thrown straight back in his cell.

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing. Just stared at the table.”

  “That was it? He didn’t speak?”

  “I suggested he might want to hire a more qualified attorney, and he shook his head.”

  Bloody idiot, as Emmy would say. I’d picked up a few of her expressions over the years. If my life was on the line, and I had the kind of money White did, I’d buy my own fucking law firm.

  “Did you explain we’re going to do everything we can for him?”

  “I told him what you said, but I might as well have been speaking to the wall.”

  And I felt like punching one. Why wouldn’t White fight for himself? Whoever murdered Christina Walker had the fires of hell burning in him, but now Ethan was more like a wet blanket. Any
flames had long since fizzled out.

  CHAPTER 11

  LYLE BARELY SPOKE on the way back from Redding’s Gap. I didn’t care, just as long as he refrained from throwing up in the helicopter. His greenish tinge was kind of concerning, and the thing was a bitch to valet. Halfway to Riverley, angry clouds gathered above us and it began drizzling, turning a black day even darker.

  I spent the trip thinking, and by the time we landed, one thing was clear—whatever White wanted, I wasn’t leaving Lyle to handle the legal aspects of this mess. He needed help, and he needed it badly.

  I left the hapless lawyer slumped over the breakfast bar, staring into a cup of coffee as if it held the answers to life, and went to look for Emmy. I found her in the gym, running on a treadmill where, according to the display, she’d been for the last two hours. Seemed she’d settled in for the day, what with the iPad propped on the front and the Bluetooth headset stuck in her ear. Yes, Emmy was the queen of multitasking as well as the Queen Bitch.

  “I’ll ask her and text you later, okay?” she said. “Just make sure you keep out of trouble.”

  A roll of the eyes.

  “Go see the blonde lady in Blackwood reception, and I’ll get her to give you twenty bucks. Just make sure Vine eats something healthy. Got it? … Good.” She hung up and raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. “Let me guess, we need Oliver?”

  “We need Oliver.”

  Theoretically, Emmy’s lawyer, Oliver Rhodes, headed up the firm of Rhodes, Holden and Maxwell, but his corner office in downtown Richmond may as well have been another branch of Blackwood. Emmy had Oliver on permanent retainer.

  “Can you grab me a bottle of that green shit Toby put in the fridge?” she asked, tapping away at her iPad screen.

  “Who was on the phone?”

  “Trick. He said he left you a voicemail, but you never returned his call.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “They’re not bad kids, even if Vine does live on chips and Twinkies. You should talk to them.”

  “You know why I don’t.”

  And what was wrong with Twinkies? They’d been one of my staples as a kid, seeing as they were easy to shoplift and the electricity at home got cut off every other week so I couldn’t actually cook anything.