Bound to the Past (Starville Series Book 1) (37 page)

“Please, call me Frank; weʼll have to deal with so much crap in the next few weeks that I wonʼt be able to tolerate all this formality between us.”

His reassuring smile made her feel a little more at ease. “I canʼt begin to tell you how much I appreciate your rushing here.”

Frankʼs expression darkened. “I came as soon as Ray called me. Jack is like a son to me, Sara. Ever since J.T. died, we―”

Her mouth fell open. “You knew J.T.?”

“Why, yes,” he said, amused by her surprise. “He was a good friend of my parents. Even after I moved to Chicago, I always visited him on my trips to Starville.”

“And you met Jack during one of those visits?” Sara guessed, fascinated and shocked at the same time.

“I met him shortly after he moved to the ranch. He was just a little kid at the time. A little bully, angry with the entire world.” Frankʼs lips curved up fondly at the memory. “To tell you the truth, I detested him at first. I thought J.T. was crazy for wanting to take on the responsibility of raising that little thug. But J.T. adored him. When I asked him why he wanted to take care of him, he simply answered that it was the right thing to do.” He shook his head. “Good olʼ J.T.; man of few words, but always the right ones. Just like Jack.”

A smile tugged at Saraʼs lips. “When did you and Jack get closer?”

“Not for a long time, Iʼm afraid.” His eyes darkened. “When the law firm where I worked in Chicago offered me a partnership, my trips to Starville became more and more infrequent. I lost touch with Jack after J.T. died. And honestly, I didnʼt care.”

Sara swallowed hard. “Did you believe he killed J.T.?”

“No.” Frank gave her a long, intense stare. “I saw Jack with J.T., Sara. I saw the special bond they had and how ridiculously alike they were, inside and out. I might not have liked Jack much back then, but there was no doubt that the years the two of them spent together were the best of their lives. Iʼd never seen J.T. so happy before…and Jack hasnʼt had a single happy day since he died, either,” he added sadly. “He didnʼt kill him, Sara. Jack would have killed himself before hurting his father.”

Saraʼs eyes filled with tears again, and she didnʼt even bother to conceal them as she hugged him tightly. “Thank you.”

Frank hugged her back, then cleared his throat. Sensing his embarrassment, she wiped her eyes and pulled away. “Were you aware that Jack intended to come back to Starville?”

He shook his head. “Weʼve all been so busy with work lately. I hardly even knew Carrie Ward—I mean, Iʼd seen her with Jack here and there, but I didnʼt know how close they were, nor that they were working on that file together. I had no idea Jack was still trying to investigate J.T.ʼs death after all this time,” he admitted. “I shouldʼve known, though. Starville has always been an open wound for Jack. He was obsessed with it, couldnʼt stop thinking about what had happened. He couldnʼt get rid of his past.”

A cold shiver passed through Sara at the realization that Frank had just used the exact same words as Carrie had the first time they met…sitting in the same spot on the couch. She swallowed hard. “Jack has lost his memory, Frank. His very past has abandoned him now.”

He nodded. “Ray told me. Sadly, Iʼm afraid that a lot of questions will remain unanswered as long as his memoryʼs gone.”

“Thatʼs what Jack says, too,” Sara said with a sigh. “We need your help.”

To her surprise, Frank took her hand and held it in his. “This is why Iʼm here. Now, take a deep breath and tell me everything you know about what happened.”

Chapter 26

“Brent, thereʼs a man in the lobby whoʼs asking to see the sheriff. What am I supposed to do?”

Jessicaʼs anxious voice made Brent raise his head from the papers he was reading to give her a disapproving look. “Just walk him to my office. Thank you.”

She nodded and left with a sigh of relief. Less than a minute later, a tall, dark-haired man appeared in the doorframe, and Brent motioned him to walk in and take a seat.

“Well, well, I havenʼt seen Max Lacrod in a few years, but you definitely look younger and prettier than him,” the man joked, taking a seat.

Brent couldnʼt help smiling at that. “The sheriff will be out of the office for a few weeks, and Iʼm covering for him. Iʼm Deputy Brent Hayden. How may I help you?” he asked, frowning at the surprised look that suddenly appeared on the manʼs face.

“Brent Hayden? You’re
Brent
? Holy smokes, son! How much did you kids grow up in this town?”

Something in his teasing tone rang a few bells in Brentʼs mind, and it was his turn to look at the man with incredulity. “Frank? Crap, you got old!”

“Thanks.” The attorney shook his head with amusement. “So, you made it, huh? You became a police officer like you always talked about.”

“Well, itʼs not like I had much competition in this hole of a town.” Brent extended his hand over the desk to shake the one the man was offering him. “Wow. Frank Devereaux. How long has it been? Eight years?”

“Seven, I believe.”

Brent shook his head. “When Sara told me she had been in touch with Jackʼs attorney in Chicago, some
Frank Something,
it didnʼt even cross my mind that it might be you.”

 “Some cop you are,” Frank chuckled but sobered almost instantly. “So, how are things looking for Jack?”

“Pretty grim, Iʼm afraid. Actually, itʼs a disaster,” Brent admitted with a sigh as he stood up and walked to the coffee machine at the corner of the office.

Frank shook his head. “All these years to get him under control, then he comes here for a few months and look what happens!”

“Yeah, Texas tends to do that to people.” Brent forced a smile, pointing at the coffee cup he had just poured himself. “Would you like one, too?” he offered, but the attorney made a disgusted face.

“No, thanks, I donʼt drink poison. Tell me, how bad are things on a scale from one to ten?”

“Hmm. Eleven?” Brent took a sip of coffee and sat back at his desk. “For one, Jack was the only one in Starville who knew the victim, Caroline Ward, besides me and my partner—Deputy Nicky Sinclair—and Sara. Apparently, Jack and Carrie had been working on a file together, gathering information regarding J.T.ʼs murder, and he had an appointment with her to discuss it the very night that she was killed. Jack states that he arrived at the hotel late and received no answer when he knocked on her room door, but there are no witnesses who can confirm any of that. Not to mention that his fingerprints are scattered all around the victimʼs room.”

Frank didnʼt comment. “Has the exact time of the murder been established?”

“According to the preliminary findings of the autopsy I received from the coronerʼs office, it was 11:48 p.m. The victimʼs watch also stopped exactly at that time―probably as a consequence of the fall,” Brent added flatly.

“And how are we sure that she was killed and that it wasnʼt just a simple accident?”

“According the medical examination, the victim was hit violently on the head before she was thrown out the window. The impact with the ground was the ultimate cause of death, but the blow she received was very hard, nonetheless.”

“Do we know what object she was hit with?”

Brent shrugged. “Most likely a gun butt.”

“Does Jack own a gun?”

“Yes, he does. Itʼs not registered, though―and, by his own admission, it was purchased illegally a few weeks ago.”

“Shit.” Frank leaned against the back of the chair. “Look, Brent, Iʼm aware that you donʼt really know Jack well, but believe me, heʼs anything but a murderer. Had I not been absolutely certain of that, I would never have agreed to defend him ten years ago.”

A weak smile twitched a corner of Brentʼs lips. “Actually, I’ve gotten to know Jack better since heʼs been back, and…the two of us got pretty close.”

Sheer astonishment replaced the grim expression on Frankʼs face. “Well, I never—” He shook his head with a chuckle. “J.T. would be proud of you guys. He always wanted the two of you to be friends.”

“Thatʼs what Dad says, too.”

“Howʼs that old fox doing, by the way?”

“Heʼs older. But foxier, too.”

Frank laughed. “Donʼt doubt it. But speaking of old foxes, what the heck happened to Lacrod?”

Brentʼs eyes turned to hard steel. “Thereʼs something I have to tell you.”

“Uh-oh.”

“As Iʼm sure you know, Max detests Jack. I mean, he utterly hates him. Maybe itʼs because of J.T.ʼs death, whatever; all I know is that he canʼt stand him. Iʼve always known, I guess…yet I didnʼt realize just how much until he beat him up the day of his arrest.”

“What the—” Frank jumped to his feet and started pacing. “Is Jack all right?”

“Yes and no. Max hit him on the head, which definitely didnʼt help his previous injury. He also has a pretty purplish cheekbone,” he listed with a rueful smile. “I pressed charges against the sheriff. He was only suspended for a few weeks, but at least heʼs off Jackʼs case.”

Frank gave him a long look. “Youʼre a good kid.”

“My mom would disagree.” Embarrassed, Brent looked away and took another sip from his cup. “Would you like to see Jack now?”

“Absolutely.”

Frank followed him out of the office and through the series of long corridors, until they reached a massive metal door. Brent knocked on it, then slid a key inside the lock. “Turner? Someoneʼs here to see you.”

Jack rose to his feet when the door opened and a tall man in a black suit walked into his cell. Damn, but for a brief, irrational moment, his heart had stopped at the thought that Sara might be there.
Sucker.
Swallowing hard, he tried to concentrate on the stranger; his dark eyes were scrutinizing him so intently that all his defenses immediately went up.

“Jack, this is Frank Devereaux. Your attorney.” Brentʼs words made him return the older manʼs attentive examination with a stare of his own. Then he stretched his hand out.

“Nice meeting you, Mr. Devereaux. I appreciate you taking time off from your job to help me. I know you came all the way from Chicago, and…” His words trailed off as he noticed the bewildered expression on the attorneyʼs face.

“Son, I know you donʼt remember me right now, but— Hell, we spent enough nights getting drunk together for you to at least call me Frank!”

Amusement flashed in Brentʼs eyes, and Jack glared at him before returning his attention to the attorney. “All right.”

Frank nodded. “So, how are you doing?”

“Iʼve been better. But the satisfaction of knowing that Lacrod is outta my face makes it all worth it.” Jack slanted a conspiratorial look at Brent, who grinned back at him.

“What did he hit you with?”

“His gun butt.”

Frowning, Frank turned to Brent. “Does Max have an alibi for the night Carrie Ward was killed?”

“He was at home with his daughter, Layla. They had pizza and watched a movie together until past midnight. At first, I thought Layla might be lying to protect her father,” Brent added, anticipating the attorneyʼs next question, “however, the guy who delivered the pizza confirmed that Max opened the door for him around eight thirty p.m., then again when he went back to deliver them some ice cream three hours later.”

“Never mind.” Frank sighed. “Jack, I need you to tell me exactly what happened that night.”

“Again?”

The attorney smiled at his grimace. “Oh, yes, again. And again and again. Brent, would you mind?” he said, motioning him to leave the room and give them some privacy.

He nodded. “Iʼll be right outside if you need me.”

As soon as the cell door closed behind him, Frank turned back to Jack. “Okay, son. Spill it all out.”

With a resigned sigh, he sat down on his bed and started telling him everything he knew. When he finished, half an hour later, his throat was so dry he had to take a big swallow from the cup of water Frank had poured him.

“Is that it?” the lawyer asked, a big notepad open on his lap.

“Yes. Well…almost.”

“Whatʼs that supposed to mean?”

Jack took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can trust you, right? I mean, since youʼre my lawyer and everything?”

The older man gave him a sad smile, watching him stand up and start pacing. “Yes, son, you can trust me. What is it?”

 Jack stopped and turned to him, a dead-serious expression on his face “Thereʼs a chance—a good chance—that I might be guilty. There are these pills…some painkillers that Doc gave me after my accident. I only took them twice since I got them.”

“And?”

“They make me feel weird, Frank. Really weird. They knock me out cold… Or so I thought. Apparently, though, they black out my mind, but not my body.”

Frankʼs eyes narrowed. “Iʼm afraid I donʼt understand.”

He dropped back onto the cot and rubbed his face with both hands. “The very first time I took those pills was the night Charlene Whiters died. Have you heard about her?”

“She was killed the night of the Fourth of July Fair.”

“Yes,” Jack confirmed. “When Sara and I came back home from the fair that night, I was exhausted. My leg was sore and my head was hurting like hell, so I tossed a couple of pills down just like Doc told me to do when the pain got unbearable. I didnʼt think much of it, until Sara woke me up, hours later.” He gave him a long look. “I was on the porch swing, Frank, and I donʼt even recall getting there. All I know is that I went for a walk, then everything went blank. Yet somehow I must have made it home. Sara said I looked completely disoriented when she woke me up. I donʼt remember any of that.” Jack stopped, waiting for Frank to say something. When he didnʼt, he took another deep breath, then proceeded to tell him about the second time heʼd taken the pills. The night Carrie was murdered.

Another thick, heavy silence followed his words. He scanned Frankʼs face for a reaction, but the manʼs expression was blank. “Jack, I need to see those painkillers.”

He frowned. “You donʼt think that Doc—”

“I donʼt know what to think right now. All I know is that we need to get those pills analyzed as soon as possible.”

Jack pushed a nervous hand through his hair. “Theyʼre on the table. There are more at home, in the bathroom cabinet. Ask Sara. Sheʼll give them to you.”