Honor nodded. “I feel more confident of winning than I did several months ago.”
Damon rose and extended his hand. “Then you’re hired.”
She shook it. “You realize that I can’t guarantee an acquittal.”
“Let me just say that if my wife loses her freedom, I shall hold you personally responsible.” The coldness in his eyes caused a chill to slither up Honor’s spine. “I don’t care if you are Nevada’s friend. If my wife goes to prison, you will pay and pay dearly.”
Nevada stepped closer to Honor, his body tense. “You’ll have to get past me first, Delancy,” he growled.
Damon regarded his friend with regret. “Just so we understand each other.”
If Honor lost this case, not only would Catherine lose her freedom, but Nevada would also lose an old and valued friend.
Later that night, curled up against Nevada in her bed, Honor couldn’t sleep. She wouldn’t be saving Catherine from the gallows, but hers was still an important case with far-reaching consequences for women, and the thought that she was going to argue it made her blood sing with excitement.
If she lost, the consequences would be just as far-reaching for the man she loved. After they had left the Delancys’ and she had thanked Nevada for siding with her, he had looked offended and said, “I always defend what’s mine.” Though Nevada acted as if a rift with Damon wouldn’t matter, Honor knew that the breakup of their long-standing friendship would exact a heavy price, not only financially but emotionally.
Then you just can’t lose, she thought, gathering all the courage she could muster. Too much is at stake.
That Sunday, Philip Lyons’s doctors at St. Bridgit’s allowed him to have visitors, so Catherine arranged for Honor to see him.
Seeing her mentor as he lay there in an overcrowded hospital ward that smelled of sickness and carbolic, his right arm slack, Honor had to fight back tears when she thought of the vital man he used to be. Now she saw fear and hopelessness in the eyes that had once held such a youthful sparkle. Though he squeezed her hand with his good left one, he was too proud to try to speak.
Sitting by his beside, Honor told him that she would be taking over Catherine’s case. Lyons smiled in approval and nodded, even as an indescribable sadness filled his eyes.
Leaving the hospital, she knew she was on her own.
The following day, a hot, steamy Monday, Honor went to court and informed the three justices that Lyons had suffered a stroke and that she would be taking over as Catherine Delancy’s counsel, causing an uproar in the courtroom.
They reluctantly granted her a continuance until Thursday, so Honor had three days to prepare for the most important case of her life.
The following morning Honor awoke with a sour stomach that she attributed to nerves. She was especially annoyed to find none other than Liam Flynn of the
Sun
waiting downstairs in the lobby of her apartment building as she left for her office.
“Ah, Mrs. Davis,” he began with his most beguiling Irish smile. “Just the person I’ve been waiting to see.”
Honor raised her brows. “This is a new low for you, isn’t it, Mr. Flynn, accosting me in my home?”
He didn’t have the grace to look embarrassed. “You know what they say, dear lady: the early bird gets the worm. I’m merely getting a leg up on the competition.” He looked around the lobby. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“But I haven’t agreed to talk with you.”
“It will be to your advantage if you do.”
Honor remembered what Philip Lyons had said about using the press, so she capitulated. “We can use the public parlor.”
Once they were seated in a quiet, deserted corner, Flynn whipped out his dog-eared notebook and leaned forward. “I want to do a story on you, Mrs. Davis. It’s not every day that a beautiful lady lawyer—”
“Just stop right there, Mr. Flynn,” Honor said coolly. “If this is to be anything like the story you did about me when I argued Mrs. Gordon Graham’s divorce case, I’ll have none of it.”
He looked perplexed. “What was wrong with that story, pray tell?”
“You dwelt more on my…physical attributes than on my legal expertise. I was quite offended.”
He grinned. “New Yorkers want to read about beautiful, unconventional women, Mrs. Davis.”
“Be that as it may, you must agree to concentrate on the legal aspects of the case, not the color of my hair and eyes. Agreed?”
“May I at least mention how lovely you are? It may garner your case some extra sympathy.”
Honor sighed. “You may describe me as you see fit,
but kindly don’t dwell on it.”
Liam Flynn then spent a good half hour talking with Honor about the case. He was so skillful an interviewer that she almost didn’t notice when his questions suddenly took a personal turn.
“You’re obviously married, Mrs. Davis.”
“Obviously.”
“Why do we never see Mr. Davis in court?”
Honor paused and considered her response carefully. “He deserted me about a year ago.”
Her reply jolted Flynn’s composure, and he turned bright red beneath his rust-colored beard. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Honor heaved a theatrical sigh that would have done Aunt Theo proud. “He callously left me alone in the world to fend for myself.”
Flynn’s eyes narrowed. “For a woman who misses her husband, you seem to spend quite a lot of time in Nevada LaRouche’s company. Whenever you appear in court, he’s never far behind.”
Honor felt as though she were dancing on ice, and she scrambled furiously to regain her footing. “Mr. LaRouche and I have been friends ever since my husband worked for his company.”
Flynn scratched his beard and stared off into space. “He’s always stayed in Delancy’s shadow, except during that business with August Talmadge.”
Honor frowned. “Talmadge was the banker who murdered Mr. LaRouche’s fiancée and was later killed when he tried to murder Dr. Delancy.”
“The very same.” The reporter watched her as carefully as a cat studying a mouse. “As a matter of fact, it was LaRouche who killed him.”
“It was an accident,” Honor pointed out. “When he tried to stop Talmadge from escaping, the man fell and broke his neck.”
“That’s what everyone said.”
Suddenly feeling uneasy, she tugged at her locket. “Am I to assume that you feel differently, Mr. Flynn?”
He closed his notebook. “That whole situation seemed a little too neat and tidy to me.”
Her curiosity got the better of her. “Neat? In what way?”
Flynn slipped the notebook into his breast pocket. “Oh, that Talmadge just happened to break his neck while escaping, and that the Delancys just happened to witness the accident and provide LaRouche with a perfect, unbreakable alibi.”
Honor stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. When she spoke, she chose her words very carefully. “Are you saying that Mr. LaRouche deliberately killed Mr. Talmadge and that the Delancys conspired to help him conceal it? I hope you can prove it, Mr. Flynn, because if you can’t…” Her voice trailed off in warning, her implied threat of dire legal consequences hanging in the air between them.
The reporter rose and raised his hands. “Hold on there, Mrs. Davis. Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I was merely speculating, as we reporters are wont to do. But I know what I would have done if I had been in LaRouche’s shoes.”
Then he wished Honor a good morning and left.
And I know what I would have done, Honor thought.
“Did you deliberately kill August Talmadge?”
Honor faced Nevada as he stood behind his desk at Delancy and LaRouche, her fingers clasped tightly around her locket as if it were a truth talisman. Ever since Flynn had blithely strode away, leaving his horrible innuendo behind to fester and grow, Honor hadn’t known a moment’s peace despite her best efforts to put the Talmadge incident out of her mind and concentrate on Catherine’s case.
Finally her burning need to know the truth had sent her flying out of her office to confront her lover.
Nevada’s eyes were as solemn and as sad as Honor’s father’s had been the night before he was hanged, and with a sinking heart, she knew.
She felt light-headed. Black spots danced before her eyes. Her corset squeezed the last ounce of breath out of her. Then Nevada was at her side, one strong arm around her waist, easing her into a chair. She breathed slowly until the light-headedness passed and she could think clearly.
“You all right?” he said, his soft drawl edged with a concern that brought tears to her eyes.
“I felt a little faint from the heat.” She looked up at him, her bright, accusatory stare demanding an answer.
He sighed, a dismal sound in the quiet room. “To answer your question, yes.”
“No!” Honor shook her head in emphatic denial. “You couldn’t have. I know you. You’re too proud a man. You—” She stopped, unable to go on.
“It’s high time I told someone the truth about what happened that night.”
Oh, dear God, it’s true, Honor thought wildly.
She knew he had killed men, but only in self-defense. He could not have committed cold-blooded murder.
Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. “I want to know how it happened.”
Nevada sat on the edge of his desk and gripped it so hard his knuckles turned white. “I take it you learned about that night when you investigated me?”
Honor nodded, fighting to make the nausea subside.
“Then you know Talmadge murdered Sybilla and was trying to kill the doc when Delancy and I arrived just in time.” When she nodded again, he said, “I told Delancy and the doc to leave me alone with Talmadge, and they did. We fought in the doc’s office. Fear gave him strength, and he gave as good as he got.”
Nevada frowned and rubbed his forehead as if coaxing out some long-forgotten memory. “Actually, I don’t remember how it happened. It’s like there’s a piece missing to a puzzle. The next thing I knew, I was looking down at Talmadge lying on the floor. His neck was broken, but as God is my judge, Honor, I don’t remember doing it. Yet no one else could have. When I told the Delancys what I had done, they both said I should claim it was an accident and they would swear to it.”
She swallowed hard. “Did you intend to kill him?”
“No! I only wanted to beat him senseless. I must have killed him in the heat of the moment, and believe me, I’ve regretted it ever since.”
“If you didn’t intend to kill him, you would have been charged with manslaughter, not murder.”
“What’s the difference? Honor, I killed him.”
“It’s a legal position of intent. If you had killed him with malice aforethought, you’d be charged with murder. Like my father.” She looked at him. “Why didn’t you tell the police just what you told me?”
“I offered to turn myself in, but the Delancys talked me out of it.” His eyes darkened and he looked troubled. “It seemed justified at the time. That bastard strangled Sybilla. She died scared and alone in an alley. And then he tried to kill the doc. Why should I go to prison for killing him?”
“As horrible as Talmadge was,” Honor said, “his punishment should have been decided in a court of law, not by you, Nevada LaRouche. This isn’t the wild West. You shouldn’t have taken the law into your own hands. Damon and Catherine shouldn’t have helped you.”
He looked at her. “I’m not a saint, Honor. I warned you at Coppermine that I had broken laws. I’ve even killed men, but always to keep them from killing me first. I’ve never deliberately set out to take another man’s life.”
She rose, her eyes burning with the effort to keep from crying. A lump formed in her throat, making speech difficult. “Were you ever planning to tell me the truth about Talmadge?”
“Yes, when I was sure that you loved me so much it wouldn’t matter.” He stared at the toes of his boots. “But I guess it does matter.”
She almost flung herself into his arms, but she knew that if she did so, she would be turning her back on her long-cherished principles. Honesty. Decency. A respect for the law. Nevada and the Delancys obviously thought they could twist and subvert the law to their own advantage. As always, the three of them were as thick as thieves.
Honor stepped away from him and crossed her arms. “I know myself well enough know that it does matter, but I can’t think about anything except Catherine’s case right now. Perhaps it would be best if we didn’t see each other until I can decide what to do.”
Before she could blink, he was off the desk, his long fingers grasping her arms above the elbow. His eyes blazed with raw desperation. “I won’t let you leave like this. We have to talk.”
But she knew the time for talking was long past. Honor just stood there, wordless, not fighting, but not helping, either. Finally, Nevada released her and let his hands fall to his sides.
Honor turned and left his office.
“Honor, it’s Catherine. Please open the door. I have to talk to you.”