Convictions (19 page)

Sheriff Jordan crossed his arms and stared down at him. "Five weeks ago you began working at Judge Kincaid's ranch. Two days ago a strangled woman is found on Kincaid property. A woman goes to visit you in Fort Collins and she disappears, only to be found eight years later, strangled. Both women were buried in shallow graves." He paused and narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe in coincidences, Elliott."

Hank struggled to remain calm. "I never saw Sandra after I went back to college, and I didn't even know the other woman. I didn't kill them."

Jordan remained still and silent, like a hawk eyeing a field mouse. Hank refused to cower and kept his gaze locked on the lawman's.

Sheriff Jordan broke the staring contest. "We don't have enough to arrest you, but the lab is going over everything with a fine-tooth comb. If they find
anything
that leads me to you, I'll have your ass back in prison so fast you won't know what hit you. In fact, I'm going to recommend to Judge Kincaid that you be placed back in the penitentiary until this mess is sorted out."

Panic reddened Hank's vision, and it took every ounce of self-control to resist taking a swing at the sheriff. If he went back to prison with these murders hanging over his head, he might as well eat a bullet. He clamped his lips together, afraid to say anything.

"We're done." Jordan paused deliberately. "For now."

Hank remained frozen in place and had to consciously unlock his jaw. "Can I leave?"

The lawman nodded.

Hank pushed himself upright, his knees weak and wobbly. He reached for the doorknob.

"One other thing, Elliott," Jordan said.

Hank stopped but didn't turn around.

"Anything happens to Ms. Kincaid, and you will regret the day you were born. Understand?"

He turned his head slowly toward Jordan, whose uncompromising expression made his threat a promise. "I understand." Hank's voice trembled with pent-up rage.

Hank jerked the door open and strode back to the front office where Olivia waited for him. She glanced up at him, and the smile forming on her lips vanished. Concern creased her brow.

"Hank?" she asked tentatively.

Hating to see her worry, he forced a smile. "I'm done."

Sheriff Jordan entered the front office. "Remember what I said, Elliott."

Hank's lower lip curled. "I'm not likely to forget, Sheriff." He spoke the last word with derision.

Olivia looked from Hank to the sheriff and back. "What happened?"

Jordan's coldness was replaced by a reassuring smile. "Thanks again for coming in, Ms. Kincaid. Say hello to your father for me. Could you let him know I'll be stopping by tomorrow?"

She nodded, her uncertain gaze darting between the two men. "Good-bye, Sheriff."

Hank opened the office door for Olivia and followed her out. Feeling like a teakettle about to blow off steam, he concentrated on getting his emotions back under control. He was aware of Olivia darting troubled looks his way, but he was afraid to speak. Afraid he'd take out his bitter frustration on her.

By the time they arrived at the car, Hank's anger had receded to be replaced by desperation. Lightning wasn't supposed to strike twice in the same place, but Hank was proof that it did. First to be imprisoned for a crime he was innocent of, and now to be accused of two murders he didn't commit.

"Would you like to eat lunch before heading back?" Olivia asked once they were seated in the SUV.

Hank's stomach protested at the thought of food, but he suspected Olivia might be hungry. They hadn't had any breakfast, and it would be close to an hour before they got back to the ranch.

"Sure," he said.

She seemed relieved that he'd finally spoken. "There's the River Rock Inn on Main. The food's pretty good."

Hank remembered seeing the restaurant when they'd entered the town and drove there without Olivia prompting directions. There were cars parked up and down the main thoroughfare, and he turned off on a side street to park.

He got out and removed the judge's sport coat and tie and laid them over the seat. He didn't want to risk spilling something on them in the restaurant. By the time he got around to Olivia's side, she was already standing on the sidewalk.

At the restaurant, the uncomfortable silence continued as they were led to a booth. Curious stares followed them, but Hank ignored them. He slid onto the vinyl cushion on one side, and Olivia sat on the other.

Once the waitress left, Olivia peered into Hank's face. "So what happened?"

Hank shook his head. "Nothing for you to worry about."

She leaned forward and spoke in a low but intense voice. "Don't patronize me, Hank. Did Sheriff Jordan give you the third degree?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle." Hank was accustomed to keeping his problems to himself. Besides, there was nothing Olivia could do if he told her what had happened.

The waitress returned with two glasses of water with ice and a lemon wedge in each. "Do you know what you want?"

The menus lay untouched on the table.

"Could you give us a few more minutes?" Olivia asked.

"Sure. No problem." She bounced away.

Hank picked up the well-used menu and scanned it, barely comprehending the selections. When the waitress returned, he ordered a house burger and fries—it seemed the easiest thing to decide upon. Olivia had a salad and half a club sandwich combo.

Olivia took a sip of water. "So, what is it that you can handle so well that you look like you're ready to go one-on-one with Sheriff Jordan?"

Despite his frustration, Hank's lips curled upward at the corners as he imagined himself and Jordan in a grudge match.

She continued to look at him, waiting patiently.

Hank drummed his fingers on the table. What would she say if he told her everything? And who would listen— Olivia the friend or Olivia the assistant district attorney? Of course, she'd find out sooner or later. It might be better if she heard it from him first.

He took a sip of the water to dispel his mouth's dryness. Glancing around at the other customers, he kept his voice low. "Sheriff Jordan asked me where I was Monday night when your friend was killed. I told him I was sleeping, but of course I can't prove it."

Olivia nodded, her expression somber. "But that will hold true for the other convicts as well. None of you can alibi the other unless someone was awake; then the inevitable question would be why that person was awake in the middle of the night." Her lips quirked upward. "Beyond the obvious, of course."

Hank's smile was less forced, but he sobered quickly. "Remember the woman's remains that were found last week?"

She nodded, puzzled.

"They identified the woman. I knew her. Sandra Hubbard. We grew up in the same town and dated one summer when I was home from college. She disappeared eight years ago, supposedly on her way to see me at Fort Collins."

Olivia's face paled, and her eyes widened. "No."

Hank smiled without amusement. "Yes. There's more. Both women were strangled."

"Same MO, and you knew both women, plus you had opportunity." Olivia closed her eyes. "Shit."

"My thoughts exactly."

She opened her eyes, and misery shone from them. "This is so not good."

"Sheriff Jordan said he's going to suggest to your father that I be returned to prison." Steely determination strengthened Hank's resolve. "I won't go back, Olivia. I was innocent the first time, and I'm innocent now."

"Dad won't do it," she said without hesitation. "You haven't been arrested, so there's no reason for you to be placed behind bars. He'll back you."

Some of the coiled tension eased in Hank's chest.

"Did the sheriff say what kind of evidence they had?" Olivia asked.

He shook his head. "It didn't sound like they'd determined anything except cause of death. What could they find? Anything on Melinda's body would've been washed away, and Sandra—" He swallowed hard, picturing her how he remembered her, not as a pile of bones in an unmarked grave. "Sandra has been dead for eight years."

"If Melinda fought her attacker, there might be traces of his skin or blood under her fingernails, maybe even something clenched in her hand if she grabbed the killer's clothing." She rattled off in a clinical tone. Obviously, this woman was Olivia the assistant district attorney.

"But how could they tell Sandra was strangled, too?"

Olivia frowned. "There's no way forensics could have determined that with only skeletal remains. They must have something they're keeping under wraps."

"Like what?"

She thought for a moment. "Maybe the murder weapon?"

Hank's mind backtracked. "Sandra was strangled with a leather strap, too."

"Good assumption." Her gaze became unfocused. "I need to find out what they have."

"Why would they tell you?"

"They might not tell
me,
but I bet they would tell a retired judge." Her eyes glittered with excitement.

"I'm glad someone's enjoying this," he muttered.

She blinked and focused on him. "I didn't mean it that way. It's just—it's just that it's been a long time since I've wanted to get involved." She wrapped her smaller hand around his fist, which lay on the table. "And I want to help you, Hank. I want to prove you didn't do it."

"And how do we do that?"

"By finding the real killer."

Chapter Fourteen

The waitress arrived bearing their lunch, and Olivia hastily removed her hand from Hank's. The young woman placed their plates in front of them.

"Can I get you anything else?" the girl asked.

"We're fine," Hank said curtly.

Olivia munched on her salad, barely tasting it. Although Hank was eating, it seemed more out of necessity than enjoyment.

She studied him, trying not to notice how his forearms flexed below the rolled-up shirtsleeves or how the dark hairs peeked out of the vee where the top two shirt buttons were undone. The last thing he needed was her thinking with something other than her brain. She needed to concentrate on how to help him legally, not how to get him into bed.

Disconcerted by her erotic meanderings, she focused on the problem at hand.

"How well do you know your fellow prisoners?" she asked.

He paused, a French fry halfway to his mouth. "Not very." He popped the fry into his mouth.

Olivia pushed aside her empty salad plate and the remainder of her sandwich. "Tell me what you know."

"Why?"

"Because there's still a murderer out their, and it could very well be one of those men."

He bristled. "You're the same as Sheriff Jordan. You got some cons in the vicinity, so pin at least one of the murders on them. Bonus points if you get both pinned on one."

"Who do
you
think killed Melinda?"

"How the hell should I know?" Heads turned in their direction, and Hank lowered his voice. "Did she have any enemies? Was she seeing someone? Had she pissed off anyone lately?"

Okay, so Olivia had been a little overzealous. Even though it was a small county, there were still more than enough suspects, not counting the convicts or the hired hands on the ranch. However...

"It might not have been someone at the ranch, but my gut is telling me otherwise. The place where she was buried was on a road that isn't used much. Nobody would know about it unless they were familiar with the area," she said.

"What if it was someone who used to work for your father?" He paused and added with a sour note, "Maybe a former convict who went through the program?"

Olivia considered his theories, and although they were possibilities, she didn't think them very probable. "Maybe, but I think we should concentrate on those who are working on the ranch now."

"And what? Solve the crime?" he demanded with incredulous sarcasm.

Her impatience flared. "I don't know. Maybe. It's better than not doing anything at all."

"Excuse me."

Olivia glanced over at a woman wearing dark slacks and a black-and-white blouse who approached their booth. She looked familiar, but Olivia couldn't place her. "Yes?"

"Olivia Kincaid?" the woman asked.

She nodded warily. "That's right."

"I thought that was you. I'm Brenda Whitelaw."

The name didn't ring any bells, and Olivia shook her head.

Brenda laughed nervously. "You probably remember me as Brenda Rogerson. I was two years behind you in school."

The faint memory of a pigtailed girl came to mind, and Olivia smiled. "That's right. How are you doing, Brenda?"

"Just fine." She motioned to a table where a slightly overweight man was trying to get two hyperactive boys to mind him. "That's my husband and two children. I do some part-time bookkeeping here in town." Her expression brightened. "But look at you, a big-time lawyer in Chicago. At least, you were."

Embarrassed, Olivia glanced at Hank, who gave her an encouraging nod. Bolstered by his support, she said, "I'll be going back once my leg is healed."

"Yes, I read about that. How dreadful for you." The woman leaned closer. "The word around town is that Melinda Holcomb was murdered on your father's ranch."

Olivia suddenly remembered something else about Brenda—she always stuck her nose in where it didn't belong.

"Her body was found there, but it hasn't been proven she was killed there," Olivia clarified, knowing the facts would be out soon enough.

"People were talking about it after church service this morning. Nothing like this has ever happened around here."

"And it probably won't again," Olivia assured her, although she wasn't certain of that herself. She wondered how much had leaked out about the skeletal remains found last week, and if anyone knew the two deaths could be related. In Chicago, the connection would've been kept from the press, but out here, word of mouth was far more efficient than any big-city newspaper.

"We don't know that." Brenda glanced around and lowered her voice. "Women are scared. I respect your father and all, Olivia, but it's just not right the way he lets prisoners roam around his ranch like they were as respectable as the rest of us. If you ask me, one of them killed Melinda."