See No Evil (6 page)

SEVEN

J
ULIA DROVE BACK
to the hospital from Connor’s. Never had a man, friend or foe, infuriated her as much as Connor Kincaid did. Arrogant and with a chip on his shoulder a mile wide.

A tickle of guilt reminded her that she was partly responsible for the size of the chip. But five years ago she hadn’t asked him to break the law, she’d only demanded that he do the right thing.

She walked into the room directly outside Emily’s and into a tense situation.

“I have Emily under seventy-two-hour medical surveillance,” Dillon was saying to a red-faced Detective Will Hooper.

“She may have crucial information about a murder investigation. You can’t stop me from interviewing her.”

Dillon raised an eyebrow. “My number one concern is the health of my patient. I will be running tests and speaking with her today, and if I think she’s strong enough to go through a police interrogation, I will let you in.”

“I’m not going to interrogate her, Dillon.”

Dillon just stared at him.

“Dammit.” Will ran a hand through his hair and saw Julia standing in the doorway. “You work fast, Counselor. We’re on the same side, you know.”

“Not if you think Emily is guilty.”

“I don’t have an opinion yet.”

“You can’t bullshit me, Will. I’m a prosecutor. You have an idea and you’re running with it until it pans out or proves to be wrong. I know what the situation looks like. And Emily is delicate right now.”

“You certainly didn’t think Yancy Inez was too delicate when you and I interrogated him after emergency surgery,” Will remarked, glaring at her.

Julia fumed. “Don’t you dare compare Emily to a man who raped and mutilated women!”

Dillon put a hand on Julia’s arm but looked at Will. “Will, you know me, and you know I’m not going to play games with the investigation. I need time with Emily. You know as well as I do if you push this and her, and she gives something up under duress—against the advice of her doctor—it’s not going to hold up in court. You do your job, I’ll do mine.”

Will wanted to say something, his mouth working, but no sound came out. Finally, he left.

Dillon rubbed Julia’s arm before dropping his hand. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Thank you for taking Emily’s case.”

“I read her charts. Do you know her current psychiatrist, Garrett Bowen?”

“I’ve met him in court a couple of times, and when Emily was put on probation last year.”

“That was for vandalism, correct?”

“She sprayed graffiti on the courthouse.”

“Where Victor worked.”

“Yes, but she said that had nothing to do with it. She’d been drinking—” She stopped. “Everyone thought it was Emily’s way of getting attention, acting out because her mother remarried.”

“The graffiti was definitely a cry for help, but probably not for the obvious reasons.” Dillon looked pointedly at Julia. “I’m going to ask some hard questions. You can observe through the window—you’ll be able to hear everything through the one-way speaker at the nurses’ station—but you have to promise me that no matter what, you won’t come in until I tell you it’s okay. No matter what she says, what she does, you must stay out.”

Julia reluctantly agreed.

Dillon walked through the door. Emily didn’t move and Dillon sat in the chair next to the bed and watched her. Sleeping, perhaps. Exhausted from a traumatic night, the drugs, the drinking. Julia ached to be in the room with Emily, holding her hand, telling her everything was going to be all right, but she had to trust that Dillon Kincaid knew what he was doing. She glanced behind her at the door, wondering if Connor would show. Both praying and fearing he would. He was the best at getting to the bottom of anything, but he played loose with the rules. Isn’t that why he’d lost his job in the first place? How could she have turned her back on his flagrantly breaking the law, taking matters into his own hands?

But isn’t that what she was asking him to do now? To get to the bottom of Victor’s murder, and Emily’s possible involvement, no matter what he had to do? Did that make her any better than him?

She rubbed her eyes, resigned that her history with Connor Kincaid was too much for either of them, and she would have to find some other way to help Emily.

Emily rolled over and opened her eyes, looked at Dillon. Dark circles framed Emily’s pale green eyes that were so much like Matt’s it was like looking into Julia’s brother’s soul. Tears clouded Julia’s vision as she remembered how she and Matt had depended on each other for everything. Their parents had one social obligation after another. Chandlers needed to maintain the act. They hid grandpa’s drinking and much, much worse. Image was more important than substance. Both her parents had affairs, but they were discreet. As long as the press didn’t know, as long as the image was clean, they could do anything they wanted.

Matt had been the one who took care of the Chandler Foundation. He went into the business because
someone
in the family had to and he had a knack for numbers. Matt protected her when she shunned her heritage and decided to use her law degree for public service instead of protecting the family name. Her mother never forgave her, would have disowned her if the trust had allowed it.

Matt understood and made sacrifices for the family so Julia wouldn’t have to. Julia needed to get away from the house, the money, the image and find herself and her own dreams. Julia accepted the good and the bad that came with forging her own path. She wasn’t always happy, but she was free to make her own choices. She’d given up a lot to do so, maybe too much. Because if being free meant losing Emily, none of it was worth it.

Dillon gave Emily a half smile. “Hi, Emily. I’m Dr. Dillon Kincaid. We need to talk.”

Julia unconsciously leaned forward, her left hand on the window, aching to touch her niece. She could hear everything, although the voices sounded slightly tinny through the small speaker.

Emily’s eyes showed fear and skepticism. How could a person so young have so much negative emotion?

“Do you know where you are?” Dillon asked.

“Hospital.” Her voice was rough and Dillon offered her some water through a straw. He adjusted her bed so she could sit up.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Her voice cracked. She was trying to put on a front, but Julia saw the pain in her eyes.

“You drank a lot last night.”

“I guess.” She drank some more water. “You’re a doctor?” She was looking at Dillon suspiciously.

He nodded. “A psychiatrist.”

“Great.” She closed her eyes and whispered, “Just what I need, another shrink.”

“I need to ask you some questions. It’s important.”

The door opened behind Julia and relief washed through her when Connor Kincaid walked into the ward.

Connor’s collar-length black hair was damp from a recent shower, and along with the chip on his shoulder and bad attitude, he brought into the room a rich, clean fragrance of soap, raw masculinity, and a quick glance that saw everything. He caught Julia’s eye and her pulse quickened.

She turned to focus on Emily. “Thank you,” Julia said quietly.

“I’m here for her, not you,” said Connor.

“I know.” She told herself she didn’t care.

Connor stood next to her, his presence almost overpowering. He was the biggest of the Kincaid brothers—broader, taller, darker. Dillon Kincaid had the Irish good looks of his father—brown hair, blue eyes, and fair skin—while Connor had the dark good looks of his Cuban mother—and the hot-blooded temper of his combined Irish and Latin genes.

It was all Julia could do to stand still. So she focused on Emily and reminded herself that Connor Kincaid hated her and was only here because Emily needed help.

Dillon was speaking in the adjoining room. “Emily, I’m here to help.”

She shook her head. “No one can help me.” How could she sound so full of anguish and defeat? Julia stepped closer to the window. Had Emily really tried to kill herself?

“I can help. Your aunt Julia hired an attorney to protect your rights and interests. I’m part of that. So anything you say to me is between you and me. And”—he motioned toward the window—“your aunt. If you want me to, I’ll ask her to leave.”

“Aunt Jules is here?”

Dillon nodded. “She’s worried about you.”

Tears rolled over her bottom lashes. “Can she come in?”

“Not right now. I think you and I need to talk first. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger. I want you to know that you’re safe here. No one can hurt you.”

Emily’s voice cracked. “Is…is he really dead? It wasn’t a dream, was it?” She sounded hopeful.

“It wasn’t a dream. Victor Montgomery is dead.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “It was so awful.”

“What was awful?”

“I…I saw Victor. He was…dead.”

“You walked in after he was killed?”

Emily took a deep breath. “Oh God, it’s true. It’s all my fault.”

“Why do you say that?”

Julia tensed, touching the window with both hands. “No, Em. No.” But she remembered that Dillon was on the side of the defense this time. He wouldn’t be testifying against Emily. Still, she ran through all possible scenarios. Maybe having Emily committed, at least temporarily, would help. Protect her. Legal precedents churned in her head and she almost missed Emily’s next words.

“I planned it. Exactly like that. I thought of it, I pictured it in my mind. But it was so much worse, so much blood.”

“Oh God,” Julia said, blinking back tears. She turned to Connor. “Don’t let her confess.”

“She’s not,” he said, not taking his eyes from Emily’s face.

“How—”

“Shh.”

Dillon looked Emily in the eye. “Did you kill Victor?”

She shook her head violently. “No, God no. No. But I wanted to! I wanted to so bad. You don’t know what it was like living with him. And I thought about it, about killing him. About him being dead. About how it would feel to take away his power over me.”

Dillon took Emily’s hand and squeezed. “Emily, this is important. Did you ask someone to kill Victor for you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Were you threatened in any way? Did someone threaten to hurt you or someone else if you didn’t let them into the house?”

Her expression was confused. “You mean did I let someone in to kill Victor?” She shook her head vigorously. “No.”

“If you were threatened, I promise around-the-clock police protection. No one can hurt you in here. We have a guard outside, this room is secure.”

She kept shaking her head. In a small voice she said, “I didn’t let anyone in yesterday. No one threatened me.”

Julia’s heart dropped. It would have been a good defense. No jury would convict a teenager who was scared and let in a killer. And as she thought it, she knew it couldn’t have happened. Santos’s men would never have left a witness alive.

“Did you try to kill yourself last night?” Dillon asked.

Emily’s jaw dropped and she looked at Dillon directly for the first time. “Kill myself? Absolutely not. Never. I didn’t—Why would you think that?”

“You took several Xanax on top of a substantial amount of alcohol.”

She shook her head. “No. I didn’t—I hate that crap. I took Tylenol.” But she averted her eyes. Why was she lying?

“Before or after you drank a pint of rum?”

“After.”

“And?”

She closed her eyes, bit her lip. “I was drunk. I didn’t try to kill myself. Believe me, I didn’t…I didn’t want to. I was—I don’t know. I just couldn’t believe what I saw. I was scared but numb. Like I wasn’t in my body, that everything was in my head, but I knew it wasn’t. I’m not explaining this very well.”

“What did you see?”

“I—” She stopped.

“Tell me from the beginning, if it’s easier.”

“Yesterday afternoon is so fuzzy.”

“Tell me how you remember it.”

“I got home from school, but I didn’t go into the house. I just sat in the garage. For over an hour. Just sat there.”

“Why didn’t you want to go in?”

“Victor was home.”

“But you have to be home because of your probation, correct?”

She nodded. “I have to be inside by six p.m. And on Wednesdays my mother is out late and Victor is home early…”

Her voice trailed off and Julia knew what she was going to say. Her stomach dropped and her fists clenched. “That bastard!” She almost hit the window, but Connor’s hand shot out and grabbed her fist. Held it. His hand was hot and dry.

Emily’s lip quivered and Dillon asked quietly but firmly, “When Victor and you were alone at the house, what happened?”

“He—” She stopped, cleared her throat, her eyes rimmed with tears. “He made me give him oral sex.” Her voice was flat.

“Did you tell anyone?”

She shook her head, averting her eyes. “I was scared.”

“That’s why you ran away three years ago?” Dillon asked.

“Y-yes.”

“It’s been going on for over three years?”

She nodded.

Dillon’s voice was soothing. “What did your stepfather do to you?”

She didn’t look at Dillon, but Julia knew she was telling the truth. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment, humiliation. Her hands twisted in the bed-sheets. “Six months after he and Mother got married I saw him watching me swim. It freaked me out, but he went away. Then it happened again. And again. And I couldn’t go in the pool anymore unless I knew for sure he wasn’t at home.

“One day a couple months later, I was in the pool house showering. I thought I was alone, completely alone because it was a Wednesday and the servants had the day off. I opened the shower door to grab a towel and he was there. Naked. I screamed and he slapped me. He raped me. Right there on the bathroom floor.”

Next to Julia, Connor squeezed her hand, his own anger radiating from his tight body. “I’d have killed him,” he said, his voice a low, vicious rasp. “He deserved what he got.”

Julia couldn’t disagree, though she was the last person who believed that anyone should take justice into their own hands. She wondered what she would have done had she known Victor raped her niece.

Julia would have turned him in. Had Victor Montgomery prosecuted and thrown in prison, where maybe he would see what it was like to be raped. Three years ago, Emily had been under fourteen, which meant special circumstance sexual assault. Montgomery would have been locked up in maximum for ten-to-twenty and required to register as a sex offender.