3:10 P.M.
Miranda called the defense attorney every officer in the department—including her—despised because he walked so many perps. He was that good.
She met him at his Baton Rouge office. “Mr. Stanley,” she greeted him, hand out.
“Dan,” he corrected, shaking her hand, then grinning. “Let’s go rap about why you’re here.”
She followed him into his office. Dan Stanley looked the antithesis of a shark in a suit. He was tall with thinning hair, Harry Potter spectacles, and penchant for Hawaiian shirts. In fact, she’d never seen him in anything else—even in court, forced to wear a sports coat and tie with it.
He motioned her toward one of the armchairs in front of his desk. When they were both seated, he said, “What can I do for you today, Detective?”
“I’m in a spot of trouble—” She bit the rest back with a self-deprecating laugh. “Of course I am, or I wouldn’t have called you.”
He didn’t comment and she went on. “Yesterday, I was questioned in connection to the murders of former Harmony Police Department officer Clint Wheeler, and of Professor Richard Stark. Have you heard of either of the cases?”
“Stark’s, obviously, because his father’s such a prominent figure in Louisiana. But since you’re here, I’ll assume you were charged with neither crime?”
“That’s correct. However, a source of mine within the department advised me that Chief Cadwell is considering charges and strongly recommended I contact an attorney.”
“Strongly? So this source is a friend?”
“Yes.”
“You cooperated with the HPD?”
“Absolutely.”
“They recorded your interview?”
Miranda nodded. “I answered all Chief Cadwell’s questions until his last couple. I requested representation, and he ended the interview.”
“Just like that?” She nodded and he steepled his fingers. “What did he ask that changed your mind about representation?”
“When I realized he really did think I had something to do with the murders.”
“Did you have something to do with them?”
She didn’t blink. “No, absolutely not.”
“My services don’t come cheap. You’re certain you want to move forward?”
Miranda nodded and leaned forward. “Before Chief Cadwell cut me loose, he told me he was sorry about what happened to me in the past, but he had a job to do. He wanted me to understand that.”
Stanley’s eyebrows shot up. “And that’s on tape, as well?”
“No. He turned the recorder off first.”
“Interesting.” He tapped his pen on the desktop. “The past he referred to, what’s that all about?”
Miranda told him, the story pouring out of her. About that night in June, then fast forwarding to Richard Stark’s murder, the clipping at the scene, learning her prints had been found at there, and how Jake had backed up her story.
“I don’t know how my prints ended up there. I’d never met Richard Stark, let alone been in his home.”
“You had gloves on at the scene.”
“Yes.”
“But you said you didn’t. Why, if not guilty?”
“Because I knew how it would look,” she answered, tone and gaze steady. “And I knew I’d be taken off the case.”
“Why would that have mattered to you?”
Her mouth went parchment dry. “Because I think I already knew.”
“What’s that?”
“That it was him.”
“Him?”
“The guy who abducted me that night.”
He looked unfazed by her revelation. “What happened next?”
Miranda shared the rest—her confrontation with Catherine and Ian Stark, her illegal search of the victim’s home, finding the bag of roofies, and how they went missing. She explained about the key, then the lockbox and its contents and then being suspended from the force.
“From there, I went for a run and ended up at Clint Wheeler’s place.”
Stanley looked up. “Victim number two?”
“Yes. I found the body and called it in.”
“This was the same Officer Wheeler as—”
“That night fourteen years ago, yes.”
“Why’d you call it in?”
“Because it was the right thing to do.”
“Not because you knew somebody like me could use it to argue your innocence?”
“No.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, if my client was guilty, why would she call the police? Certainly, as a police officer, she knows that the person who finds the body is always a suspect.”
Her cheeks heated. “What are you implying? That I killed him?”
“Not at all,” he said, tone easy. “Is that it, the whole story?”
She nodded.
He nudged his glasses up his nose. “That was one hell of a lollapalooza.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I believe it is.”
“Because that’s what I pay you for?” She didn’t attempt to curtail the sarcasm.
“Yes.” He smiled slightly. “But also because you’re a cop.”
“So? No love lost, right?”
He laughed. “If you were going to make up a story, Detective Rader, you’d keep it simple. You’re smart enough to know there’s too much in that story for a prosecutor to hang you on.”
He was right. And there was nothing she could do about it because it was the truth.
Stanley had taken notes throughout and he took a moment to review them. “Best assessment right now, everything they have so far is circumstantial. Chief Cadwell may decide to charge you anyway, but I don’t think it’ll stick unless they have an ace up their sleeve—” He looked up. “Any aces I should be aware of?”
She shook her head. “Not that I can even imagine. But then, this whole thing has blown my mind.”
“But as you probably already know, they have enough to make your life miserable. And every right to do it.”
“You’re right. I’m a cop so I’m quite familiar making a suspect’s life miserable.”
“I’ll call Cadwell, have a little chat with him. See if I can take his temperature. Ask for the interview video.”
“He’s not going to be happy I hired you.”
He smiled. “No, he is not.”
She smiled back and stood. “You’ll keep me posted?”
“I will. No more solo chats with the police, Miranda.”
“Got it.”
He followed her to her feet, walked her to the door. “May I make a suggestion?”
“You’re my lawyer, it’s sort of expected.”
He laughed again, then sobered. “Unless you’re lying to me, I think you need to figure out why this is happening to you.”