Double Whammy (A Davis Way Crime Caper) (31 page)

“Sorry I couldn’t get closer.”

“Oh, God, Bradley, please don’t apologize,” I rearranged the tears so they were all over my face instead of two boring rivers. There were more than twenty images, and in all of them Daddy looked so thin, and so scary pale, but he was alive, smiling in several shots, and seemingly not too much less of himself after the heart attack and surgery. I fell against the chair back, exhaling the breath I’d been holding for so long with the proof in my hands. I clutched the evidence against my chest, and Bradley looked a little nervous for his phone, or maybe jealous, because most days, today being one of them, I skipped the threadbare sports bras. They were itchy.

I could live the rest of my life with Fantasy as my only friend, Bradley as my only link to the outside world, these prison scrubs my entire wardrobe, the prison walls my only view, as long as my father was okay.

Finally, I passed the phone back to him, our hands meeting again, and mouthed two words I’d uttered a million times, but never before from the rock bottom of my heart. “Thank you.”

He waited patiently until I indicated that I was ready for more, and when he saw that I was, he landed an envelope on the table between us. Meredith’s handwriting jumped off the white paper.

“Oh, crap.” I stared at it.

Bradley Cole didn’t move a muscle.

Davis,

What the hell. You’ve pulled some stunts in your day, but this one takes the cake.

Daddy’s going to be fine.

I got a crazy phone call telling me you were in Asia, or Africa, I can’t even remember it was all so scary-horrible-chaos those first days, but I do remember this
—
I didn’t believe a word of it. Once we got Daddy home and I turned on a television, I knew exactly where you were. I left poor Mother alone with our very ill father, buckled Riley up, and drove to the prison only to sit there
—
with my  CHILD
—
for TEN HOURS, DAVIS, to be told over and over again that you weren’t there, and that I couldn’t see the Jane Doe they were holding on the casino shooting. What the hell, Davis?

No, Mother and Daddy don’t know, although Daddy’s on the right track, and he’ll know soon. You had a little grace period as your father was TOO SICK to even worry about you, but that’s over, and he’s snooping around. Yes, as always, I’m trying to cover for you, making up phantom phone calls and even sending Get Well cards.

Seriously, Davis.

Meredith

After reading it several times, I turned the letter over so Meredith would stop screaming at me. “When did you get this?” I assumed my sister had just slipped it underneath the door at the condo.

“I’d been in Pine Apple ten minutes when she walked right up to me and said we needed to talk.”

“No!” This felt no different than the time Meredith caught me smoking pot and I had to wash the dinner dishes on her nights for months on end. No telling what this would cost me.

Bradley nodded. “I thought I was being sneaky.”

“Yeah,” I looked away and sighed. “She was raised by a police chief.”

“Your hometown’s really small, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I agreed.

“I liked her store,” he said.

It didn’t seem to me that Bradley Cole would be wasting time making small talk about the Front Porch if there wasn’t something else about his meeting Meredith that he didn’t want to tell me.

“What else?”

“Nothing.”

I crossed my arms and waited.

“She said for me to tell you that she wasn’t an idiot,” he said, “and that your ex-husband is nowhere to be found.”

“And?” I asked.

He took his time. “She said the whole town thinks you’ve run off with him.”

We sat quietly for a beat.

“So?” Bradley took a tread-lightly breath. “You and your ex?”

I wondered if he was asking regarding my current state of affairs, or life in general. It didn’t matter; the answer was the same.

“Honestly, Bradley,” I said. “I’d rather be
here
than anywhere with my ex-husband.”

“Okay, Davis.” He shifted in his seat. “Time to tell me the whole story.”

I did the best I could.

“You realize,” he said at the end, “I’m not a criminal lawyer.”

“Bradley,” I replied, “I don’t care if you’re a Tootsie Roll lawyer.”

I didn’t leave anything out.

He listened intently, made notes but asked no questions, and made only one comment at the end: “It’s eerie how much you
do
look like her.”

TWENTY-TWO

On my fifty-sixth day in prison, Teeth washed up in the St. Bernard Bay, ninety miles west of the Bellissimo. His dentist identified the body over the phone. It didn’t take long to find the cause of death, as the bullet was wedged so tightly in the base of his skull that even the ocean residents hadn’t managed to free it. It came from the gun with my prints on it. For the moment, it was Metairie, Louisiana’s problem, but it was only a matter of paperwork before it would be mine.

The object of my dreams—and truly, I mean it, I’d been dreaming about him since the first time I’d climbed into his bed—had said he had good news and bad news.

“Which do you want first?”

Thinking there might be bad news about my father, I demanded it.

He told me about Teeth.

“Oh my God.” I was incredulous. “This isn’t
bad
news,” I cried. “This is the straw that will nail my broke-back camel’s coffin!”

“No,” Bradley Cole was calm, “it’s not.”

“I’m going to be charged with it! This is devastating!” I was pacing, crying, and panicked. “I didn’t really like Teeth all that much, and there’s no doubt he had something to do with all this, but I sure wouldn’t have wished the guy dead!”

“Please sit down, Davis.” He patted the chair beside him.

He reached for and found my hand underneath the table, which gave me all manner of new sensations to add to the electric-chair sensations I was already entertaining.

With his free hand, he pushed paper in front of me. It was the ballistics report from the Richard Sanders’ unpleasantness. I used my teeth to turn the pages to avoid letting go of Bradley’s hand.

(No, I didn’t.)

After looking at the report from every possible angle, I turned to him. “Am I reading this right?”

Bradley Cole nodded. “You are.”

According to the ballistics report, the bullet that hit Richard Sanders had whizzed above his ear back to front. Shreveport Cranial Trauma Center agreed: entry posterior, exit anterior. He and Bianca had been face-to-face, and Bellissimo surveillance backed it up with forty-four zillion stills. The shot that hit him had come from the bushes behind him, not the wife in front of him. Bianca had squeezed off a round, and they had recovered the casing, but the estimated trajectory indicated she had been aiming for someone in Hot Springs, Arkansas—not her husband. Taking a hard look at what had really happened, it was amazing the shot that did hit Richard Sanders didn’t go through him, then into Bianca.

So, who shot J.R.?

“How did you get this?”

“I’ve got people.” Bradley Cole’s eyes danced, and I reached up and ran a hand through my blonde hair, because his words made me think of Natalie getting me an appointment with the hair person Shreveport, Sacramento, whatever his name was. Bradley had people. Natalie had people. Why didn’t I have people?

I suppose I had a strange look on my face, because Bradley studied me intently, then asked, “Where in the world are you going with this, Davis?”

I looked at him. “I was thinking about my hair.”

Bradley nodded slowly. “Of course.”

Things got very quiet, and very personal.

“You are amazing, Davis,” he whispered, our heads close.

“So are you, Bradley,” I whispered back.

Honestly, I couldn’t feel my nose. Or my toes. Or much in between. It took forever to get back on track, because, as my Granny Dee used to say, love is a many splendored thing, and I was completely splendored by this man. Eventually, though, the prison clock ticking, the subject of Teeth’s big dead body landed between us, shoving all the would-be romance aside.

“They’ll still charge me with it,” I said, my heart rate having finally returned to normal range. “They have my prints.”

“Even if, Davis, it’s in another state, so there’s a small window of opportunity before Louisiana comes knocking.”

“Opportunity for
what
, Bradley?”

“Ah!” He had the most dazzling smile. “That’s the best news! I think I can get you released before a charge is made on the Louisiana murder.”

It made no sense. “How?”

“I file a motion to dismiss the attempted homicide charges in Mississippi based on the ballistics report.” He tapped the papers on the table.

We stared at the ballistics report that clearly exonerated Bianca, which is to say the ballistics report that clearly exonerated
me
.

“That will never happen,” I said. “It will take six weeks of court proceedings to dig through the report. By then, I’ll be knee-deep in the Teeth deal.”

“Well, we’re asking for the moon,” he said, “but we’re shooting for a star.”

“The bail star.”

“Right,” Bradley Cole said. “Then we’ll prove it was Bianca holding the gun, and let
her
worry about having the charges dismissed.”

I had stars in my eyes.

“What if we don’t find her before I’m knee-deep in the Teeth deal?” I asked.

“We’ll worry about that when it happens. Let’s concentrate on getting you out of here so you can go home.”

“Home?” I popped out of the chair. “Bradley! I don’t even
have
a home! Even if they release me, they’re not going to let me cross a state line!”

“Let’s take this one step at a time,” he said. “First step, bail.”

It would be nice to on the outside. I needed to get to San Antonio again, and fast, because my red hair was peeking out.

*    *    *

Six days later, Bradley squeezed my hand under the table. “Are you ready for this, Davis?” he whispered.

I said yes with my eyes, which were burning from all the sunshine pouring in through the windows of the courtroom.

“I need you to be really ready,” he whispered, “for anything.”

“What are you talking about?” I whispered back. Something about the way he said it set off a few dozen of my alarms, but they could barely be distinguished from the hundreds of other earsplitting alarms going off inside me.

Just then, the bailiff started his speech, the judge took his seat, and the packed room of gawkers, media, and who knows who else grew quiet.

I raised my right hand and agreed that I’d be truthful.

I sat down; Bradley stood up.

He asked that the court grant me bail. The whole time he was doing the legal mumbo jumbo I was tugging on his jacket; he kept smacking my hand away. This was supposed to be about dropping the attempted homicide charges,
then
bail.

“We need to know who your client is, Mr. Cole,” the judge said. “I’m not releasing someone whose name I don’t even know. Not even with this.” The judge waved what had to be the ballistics report through the air. “Not even for an hour. Not even in your custody.”

Bradley cleared his throat. “The defense calls Chief Samuel Way to the stand, your honor.”

My head spun around like a demon woman’s. “Daddy!” I screamed it a million times as my father made his way down the aisle.

The judge banged his gavel.

The cameras clicked unmercifully.

“Hello, Punkin’.” His smile was wide. He reached for me as he passed and our fingertips touched. Meredith was beside him. She hissed at me.

After much ado, I was released until the trial, which was to begin in only three weeks, but under house arrest at the address listed on my last paycheck: Bradley’s. And even better, in Bradley’s custody. At that moment, and, well, lots of other moments if I was being truthful, which I’d sworn on a Bible I’d do, there was no custody I’d’ve rather been in.

“You’d better not put a toe out the door, young lady.”

“Yes, sir.”

They had to keep me close, because they were waiting on Louisiana to finish crossing their Ts and dotting their Is, then charge me with real-live murder instead of this attempted bullshit.

The same long-faced judge had the same parting words for me. “You’re in a lot of trouble, young lady.”

*    *    *

We put the ankle monitor on Meredith, and she was none too happy about it. We did it at Bradley’s, over steaming bowls of gumbo from Mary Mahoney’s, crusty French bread, and, before it was over, three bottles of red wine.

“You can’t tamper with it.” Meredith initially laughed it off. “The alarm will go off the minute you touch it.”

My father reached behind Meredith’s ear and pulled out an ankle-monitor key.

I clapped my hand over my mouth and laughed at Daddy’s magic.

Meredith did not.

“If you can unlock it,” she argued, “just leave it on the table! Why do I have to wear it?”

“Because it tracks movement, for one thing,” Bradley said, “and it will expect a little more than lying perfectly still around the clock. Too, you have to answer the check-in calls every two hours.” He gave a nod to the newest intrusion to his home, the speaker unit near the front door. “You have to be Davis when they call.”

Meredith tossed a crust of bread in her empty bowl, then grabbed the wine bottle. “I have a child, you know.” She glared at me.

“Riley’s fine with Mother,” our father patted her hand. “You need to help your sister out on this one, Mer, or she’ll end up in the pokey for something she didn’t do.”