Baltimore, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 10.15 P.M.
Gwyn dragged the milk crates Frederick had been sitting on to the side of the room and claimed them as her own. Tweety, sensing her mood as he always seemed to, lumbered over and sat by her side, resting his head on her thigh with a sigh. She scratched behind his ears as she studied Thorne, who was lowering himself to the sofa and looking anywhere but at her.
To be fair, there was a lot around the room for him to look at. The team had stuck large chart pads to the walls, with tape that Clay had assured her wouldn’t damage the paint. They were covered in scrawled notes and bulleted next steps. Each of the pads was ‘owned’ by either an individual or a team because they’d divvied up the leads, each developing a plan. Frederick had supervised and Gwyn had been incredibly impressed with the clinical way his mind worked.
If she ever got in trouble again, she’d totally want him on her side. She was so glad he was on Thorne’s. Just looking at all the notes, the completeness of the plans . . . it made the knots in her gut loosen. A little.
Mostly because the knots weren’t there because of Thorne’s current situation. That was clearly a frame-up. She had no doubt that he’d be cleared, and quickly. Her primary goal was to minimize the fallout to his personal life as they proved his innocence. Even if prison was something Thorne was worried about, it was nowhere near the top of her concerns.
No, the majority of the tension she was feeling was because of Thorne himself. Seven years. He’d wanted her for himself for seven fucking years?
And he never told me. Never gave me a single goddamn clue.
Except that he had, now that she thought about it. The notes. The little gifts. The teasing flirtation. The long looks when he thought she wasn’t watching. She hadn’t taken any of it seriously, though.
Or maybe she’d just been too scared to. She was scared right now. Scared of this thing that simmered between them. She was scared of taking a next step with him. Because what if it didn’t work out? He’d said their friendship was the most important thing, and with that she agreed.
But as scared as she was about taking the next step, she was equally scared about not taking the next step. What if it did work out? What if she had someone . . . forever? Like Lucy had JD? What if Thorne and I could have something like that?
What if they fucked it all up? Argh. She wanted to yank her hair out.
Lucy came over to sit on the floor beside her, resting her head against Gwyn’s other thigh. ‘I’m worn out,’ she murmured. ‘And I have to pump again. When this is all done, can I use your room?’
Gwyn stroked Tweety’s head with one hand and her friend’s hair with the other. ‘Of course you can.’
Lucy sighed happily, as much a glutton for having her head stroked as Tweety was. But her next words were serious. ‘Are you okay?’
Gwyn might lie to anyone else, but she couldn’t lie to Lucy. ‘No.’
‘He told you how he felt?’ she murmured, so quietly that Gwyn had to lean in to hear her.
‘Yes,’ Gwyn whispered back.
‘And?’
Gwyn glanced around the room to be sure no one was listening to them, relieved to see that the others were having their own conversations about the plans on the walls. She bent her head to Lucy’s. ‘And . . . I’m considering the angles.’
Lucy rubbed her cheek against Gwyn’s thigh comfortingly. ‘Don’t consider too long, okay? And before you do anything, run it by me, if you don’t mind. I have to be forewarned if there’ll be pieces to pick up. For both of you.’
That Lucy actually thought she might tell Thorne ‘no’ was . . . unsettling. And a little liberating, if she was being honest. But mostly it was sobering, because a ‘no’ would have consequences that impacted them all.
‘All right,’ Gwyn promised, then turned her focus to the group surrounding Thorne, whose handsome face was intense as he took everything in.
Frederick took point for leading them through the plans. ‘We divvied up the work. I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version, okay?’
‘I think that’s about all I can cope with,’ Thorne murmured, which wasn’t true. His eyes were narrowed and sharp, his concentration absolute. He did that. Dropped into a situation and gave it one hundred percent of his focus.
At the very beginning of their friendship, Gwyn had wondered if he applied that same complete focus to his lovers. But she hadn’t had to wonder about it long. The long line of Thorne’s women had been happy to brag about his expertise in the bedroom. It had made her grind her teeth. It still did, she realized, and she forced her jaw to relax.
At least everyone but Lucy would believe she was just worried about the situation. Which Frederick seemed to have well in hand.
‘So, the leads so far,’ he said, ‘are Bernice Brown, who called you through the switchboard; the connection to the murder of Richard Linden; your arrival at and abduction from the bar; and the setup of the crime scene in your bedroom.’ He pointed to the various chart pads. ‘Also of interest is the victim herself, Patricia Linden Segal, her relationship to her husband, the judge, and her movements – and interactions – in the days before her abduction . . . because we assume she didn’t willingly show up at your house, strip herself naked, and offer herself up like a sacrifice in your bed.’
‘I think that’s a fair assumption,’ Thorne said grimly. ‘I haven’t really been able to wrap my mind around Patricia’s being there. And the fact that she’s dead. I have only a vague recollection of her from high school. She was two years younger than us, so we didn’t hang with each other. I didn’t know her. And now she’s dead. It hasn’t sunk in enough for me to even feel bad for her and her family.’
But that would come, Gwyn knew. It was a sadness, a regret that Thorne battled with every case he took, with every client, whether they admitted to guilt or maintained their innocence. He represented each one with equal rigor, because they were entitled to a fair trial or the best plea he could negotiate.
But regardless of guilt or innocence, every one of his clients left victims. Some were victims of the crime of which they were accused, but others were their own family members, who often struggled without them while they did their time.
That someone had drawn Patricia Linden Segal into their plot against Thorne was beyond cruel – to her family and to Thorne himself. He would have to live with knowing the Segals mourned her loss because someone had wanted to hurt him.
‘We’ll dig until we get to the bottom of why she’s dead,’ Clay promised. ‘Stevie, Paige and I are going to investigate Mrs Segal and her husband. I mean, her husband is a judge. What if this isn’t about you at all? What if it’s about him? What if someone’s trying to get revenge on him or threaten him in some way? You could be the collateral damage rather than the target.’
It was clear from Thorne’s expression that he hadn’t even considered that. ‘Oh,’ he murmured. ‘Good point.’
Clay’s smile was equal parts feral and gentle. ‘We thought so. We’re going to look into her husband, any vendettas against him, any unpopular cases. We’re also going to track Mrs Segal’s movements over the past two weeks, talk to her friends, that kind of thing.’
‘I’ve got the bar,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll find out when you got there and who you left with. I know the owner from my days on the force. He’s not a bad guy. Hopefully he’ll cooperate.’
‘I’m going to interview Bernice Brown,’ Frederick said. ‘I’ll find out what happened last night. I’ve already contacted her. Told her that you were hospitalized unexpectedly and that I’ll be taking on her case until you’ve recuperated. She sends her best.’
Thorne’s brows shot up. ‘She didn’t mention the call?’
Frederick shook his head. ‘Nope. I’ve also requested the transcripts and call records from the switchboard.’
‘You think someone else called me pretending to be Bernice?’ Thorne asked.
Frederick shrugged. ‘Maybe. I’ll find out.’
‘Ruby and I are going to work the setting-up of the crime scene,’ Lucy said. ‘We have contacts in CSU who owe us favors. I’m keeping JD away from our activities.’ She made a face. ‘He’d want to help, but I don’t want him to get trouble from Hyatt. He’s technically not supposed to be working your case because we’re friends. He’ll help us anyway, but we figure if the information is coming from a couple different places, it’ll be less likely to point to him.’
‘Together again,’ Ruby said with a quirk of her lips. She’d reported to Lucy for several years when both women worked at the morgue. ‘And this time you can get the coffee.’
Lucy laughed. ‘I brought you coffee when I was the boss.’
‘Oh, right.’ Grinning, Ruby waved her hand, her long red nails sparkling as they caught the light. ‘Then nothing’s changed. Same old, same old.’
‘Except that it’s decaf now,’ Sam cautioned.
Ruby blew out a breath. ‘I know, I know. Don’t rub it in.’
Jamie smiled at Ruby indulgently. He really was a kind man. Gwyn had always thought so. Now, knowing what he and Phil had been to Thorne when he was a scared kid, accused of murder? She better understood Thorne’s devotion to the two. ‘It’s not for much longer,’ he told Ruby.
‘The hell it’s not,’ Lucy called. ‘If she decides to breastfeed, she can cut out all the good stuff for a good while longer. Speaking of which, hurry this along, because I have to pump.’
Jamie rolled his eyes. ‘Go pump. This isn’t your part.’
‘The hell it’s not,’ Lucy repeated. ‘It’s about Thorne, so it’s all my part.’
Jamie gave her a sober nod. ‘Fair enough. Phil and I are going to go back to Chevy Chase and find out who’s been digging into Thorne’s past. It’s possible that someone simply obtained the court transcripts, but we can find that out too.’
‘I’m going with you,’ Thorne stated, his tone brooking no argument.
‘We figured you’d want to,’ Phil said. ‘I’ve kept tabs on a lot of the old academy staff, so I can ask questions without getting too much undue attention. You, son, are going to draw plenty of undue attention. So we need to use your presence sparingly.’
‘That means you’ll stay in the car a lot,’ Jamie said, shaking his head when Thorne opened his mouth to protest. ‘We are protecting you, Thorne. As best we can. We need to make sure someone is with you at all times. Your alibi from here on out needs to be unimpeachable.’ He looked over at Gwyn. ‘Ready to stay in the car with him?’
‘Yes,’ Gwyn said without hesitation. ‘Try to stop me.’
‘All right.’ Frederick clapped his hands. ‘We have our marching orders. Let’s go.’
‘Wait.’ Thorne pushed to his feet and looked around the room. ‘Thank you. I . . . I never expected any of this. I don’t know how to repay you.’
‘We’re repaying you,’ Stevie said. ‘You’ve helped all of us at one time or another, Thorne. Not that anyone’s keeping track. You’re . . . family.’
Thorne swallowed hard. ‘Thank you. Be careful. And don’t take any unnecessary risks. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, not physically, and not your careers or reputations. Not because of me. It’s not too late to back out.’
There was a moment of silence, then everyone began to move, taking down the chart pads, clearing up remnants of pizza and beer, and returning Gwyn’s living room to how it had been.
Lucy excused herself to Gwyn’s room to pump, and for a moment Gwyn stayed where she was, studying Thorne. He looked a little lost as he watched everyone busy around him. Mystified. Like he was still unsure of why all these people had mobilized themselves on his behalf.
He’d never been good at accepting the goodwill of others. Not even herself or Lucy, although he did allow them to fuss over him from time to time. She understood his reluctance – she’d never been able to accept kindness either, but Gwyn knew where her own insecurities came from. It troubled her that she hadn’t known the source of Thorne’s until today.
It troubled her that she’d never thought to ask.
I’m kind of an asshole. Dammit.
Her chest grew tight and she didn’t lie to herself about why. Tenderness wasn’t something she often felt. But when she did, it was usually directed towards the man sitting on her sofa, and usually at moments like this when he was clearly blind to his own worth.
Carefully, she moved to perch on the arm of the sofa once again. Just as carefully, he kept his gaze everywhere except her face. I hurt him. I didn’t mean to. But she’d hurt him more if she accepted his declaration before she was ready and had to change her mind later. Instead, she offered what comfort she could.
‘No one is going to back out,’ she murmured.
‘I know. I don’t actually understand it, but I’m thankful for it.’
They fell silent, and for the very first time in all the years she’d known him, it was awkward. Finally he cleared his throat. ‘I’m going home with Jamie and Phil. I’ll stay in their spare room while we sort this mess out.’
A stab of disappointment speared her and she frantically searched her mind for words that would make him stay. Because she was afraid that if he left, it would be over. What ‘it’ was, she didn’t yet know. But her gut told her to keep him close.
If only so that she could take care of him. As his best friend, that was her right. Right? But as his best friend, she’d die before she hurt him any more than she already had. ‘If that’s what you want to do.’
His laugh was quietly brittle. ‘What I want and what I’m likely to get are often two different things.’
‘You don’t know that. I don’t know that. What I do know is that I’d like you to stay. I have a spare room too. This condo has better security than Jamie and Phil’s house. I know, because Clay installed it for me.’
Because after Evan, she hadn’t been able to sleep, worried that someone would invade her space. Even though she’d let Evan in. Voluntarily. And . . .
Stop. You’re not thinking about him right now. Evan was gone. I am still here. And Thorne was not Evan. The very notion that the two shared anything in common was beyond ludicrous. Thorne would never hurt her.
‘And,’ she added when inspiration – and reality – struck, bringing with it a brand-new fear, ‘I’ll be safer wherever you are. You’ll have police protection, even if Hyatt is calling it surveillance.’
Because she might be targeted. Again. Because of who her friends were. Evan had targeted her because she’d been his gateway to Lucy, but Gwyn wouldn’t have abandoned Lucy even if she’d known Evan’s intent. She wasn’t abandoning Thorne now. Still . . . the sudden realization scared the piss out of her.
He looked up at her sharply. ‘You’re not involved in this.’
She shrugged, trying to be calmly logical. ‘If someone has researched your past enough to stage a murder just like the one you were accused of nineteen years ago, they know that your girlfriend was also murdered because she was a witness.’
His mouth twisted, then firmed. ‘But you’re not my girlfriend.’
That stung. ‘No, but we’re publicly very good friends. And what better way to hurt you than to hurt those you care about? Everyone in your sphere needs to be on their guard.’
Thorne shuddered out a horrified breath. ‘Oh my God. I didn’t think of that. Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘You’ve been a little busy,’ she said, fighting the urge to pat his shoulder the way she might have before he dropped that whole seven years bomb. Because now it was awkward between them when it never had been before. She wanted to snarl at him about that.
But . . . what if he was right? What if they could have more than mere friendship? What if they could have a life together?
Goddammit. Focus. Everyone in Thorne’s sphere could be in danger. Everyone, including the men who were basically his parents. ‘You should go to Jamie and Phil’s, and I should go with you. Jamie can’t stay here because my place isn’t wheelchair-adapted. If I go there, we can all be monitored by Hyatt’s surveillance. Plus, the four of us can get an early start down memory lane in your old hometown. Okay?’
Thorne’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth. ‘Jamie and Phil only have one extra bedroom.’
‘Not a problem. I’ll sleep on the sofa. I’m small. I fit nearly anywhere.’
Jamie rolled his chair up next to them. ‘We overheard, and we all agree.’
Gwyn lifted her brows. ‘That I’m small?’
Jamie’s grin was quick. ‘That too. But mostly that you should both come with us, for all the reasons you said, Gwyn. Everyone else here either lives with a cop or was a cop, so they can protect themselves. But we should band together. And we do have a state-of-the-art security system, by the way. Maybe not as good as one Clay might install, but still top-notch. You’ll both be safe with us.’
‘We’ll all be safer if I stay alone,’ Thorne growled. ‘I’m not putting anyone else in danger. I’m not going anywhere with any of you.’
Jamie frowned at him. ‘Thomas,’ he said quietly. Disapprovingly, even.
Thorne instantly went quiet. That was a really good trick, Gwyn thought. ‘I don’t want anyone to get hurt,’ he murmured. ‘Not because of me.’
‘Well,’ Jamie said pragmatically, ‘now that you know to watch your own back and you’re bouncing back from the GHB, don’t you think we’re safer with you? I mean . . .’ he indicated Thorne’s size with a wave of his hand, ‘if I didn’t know you, you’d scare the shit out of me.’
Thorne stared at his hands. ‘Gee, thanks.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Jamie said, a little curtly. ‘Do we have to have this conversation again?’
Gwyn looked from one man to the other. ‘What conversation?’
Thorne’s shoulders sagged wearily. ‘The one where he reminds me that I’m not a thug, but that if people are stupid enough to be afraid of me, then I should make the most of it.’
‘The conversation that you and I have had a hundred times?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t realize anyone else was telling you the same thing.’ She lightened her voice to hide the anger that speared at the slump of his shoulders. ‘You’ve been double-dipping in the wisdom well, Thorne.’
He didn’t smile. ‘It’s not just my size.’
‘I know,’ she said softly.
She’d heard the racial slurs over the years, both as his paralegal in the early days and as the club manager more recently. Thorne was a burnished bronze all over. All. Over.
Not a tan line on the man. Anywhere. Which she only knew because she’d once accidentally walked in on him in the shower at the club. She’d nearly swallowed her tongue. The memory still made her want to fan herself.
All that gorgeous, flawless skin made him even more beautiful, but people were often assholes, and the fact that Thorne loomed over nearly everyone he met didn’t seem to deter the most stupid of them. Racists usually spewed their toxic bullshit when they were thrown out of Sheidalin or if Thorne refused to take their case, whatever his reason. If he lost their case, the slurs sometimes morphed into death threats.
Which could be the case here. This whole orchestration could be an angry client or family member looking for revenge. It made her so furious, because Thorne was the best man she’d ever known.
‘What’s really bothering you?’ she asked softly.
He didn’t say anything for a few beats, then shrugged. ‘All this talk of those days brought back a lot of bad memories, I guess. The prosecutor made me out to be some juvenile delinquent, even suggested I ran with one of the gangs, despite the fact that there was no actual evidence of that at all. Gang activity had begun taking hold in the city then. White neighborhoods were afraid of anyone who . . . didn’t look like them. And I didn’t. Jamie shut the prosecutor down fast, objecting that there was no basis for the intimation, but it still hurt, hearing someone accuse me of being a thug. I’d tried so hard to stay out of trouble.’
That didn’t come as a surprise either. Thorne had a kind of fluid ethnicity. He could pass as a member of several minority groups and had occasionally used that fact to go undercover, doing his own investigation into prospective clients. He was choosy about the cases he took on. He wanted the facts before agreeing to representation.
He enjoyed all the undercover intrigue. Gwyn had enjoyed going with him, but she hadn’t participated in any of his UC adventures in . . . She wanted to sigh. Four and a half years. Dammit. He’d been doing it all on his own since Evan. How many things had she just let go because of that fucker? Too many.
‘Good thing you didn’t have the tats then,’ she said, tongue in cheek. She knew he hadn’t, because she’d gone with him the day he’d had his first session. They’d just met, but there had been a connection from the beginning, fast and fierce. So fierce that he’d trusted her to accompany him to the tattoo artist. His first visit had been on the anniversary of his father’s death, taking on the tattoo that had adorned his father’s skin. The entire design had taken four visits. She’d held his hand through all of them.
They had history, she and Thorne.
Her comment finally elicited a small grin. ‘God help me if I had,’ he agreed. ‘I figured I’d never get a fair trial as it was.’
‘But you did,’ Jamie said firmly, bringing both of them back to the present. ‘I, for one, am happy you’re as big as a freaking house. I’ll feel safer tonight.’ He gave Gwyn an approving nod. ‘Go pack a bag. Bring a sweater. Phil keeps the A/C on sub-arctic.’
‘What about my dog?’
‘Bring him,’ Jamie said. ‘We’ve got a fenced-in yard with a lot of shade. Does he like to swim?’
‘Like a fish.’
‘Then we’ll put him outside tomorrow and he can play in the pool if he gets hot.’
Gwyn slid off the arm of the sofa. ‘I’ll be quick.’
College Park, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 11.30 P.M.
Frederick accepted the cup of coffee with a smile. ‘Thank you for seeing me so late, Mrs Brown.’
Bernice Brown frowned as she took the chair at her cousin’s kitchen table, sitting opposite Frederick. ‘I saw the news about Mr Thorne. I don’t understand any of this.’
‘None of us do. Yet. But we know he’s not guilty. And it seems you’ve been involved in the situation.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Me? How? I never . . .’ She trailed off, her words suddenly failing her.
‘Bernie?’ Her cousin came into the room, his expression concerned. ‘What’s going on?’
Bernice threw him a panicked glance. ‘Wayne, they think I’m involved in that woman’s murder! The one on the news!’
‘Whoa,’ Frederick said soothingly, trying to calm her. ‘I don’t think that’s the case. I said you’d been involved – we believe by someone else.’ He gestured to her cousin. ‘Would you mind joining us?’
Wayne complied, sitting close to Bernice and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Wayne Bullock was in his mid fifties, Bernice a decade younger. From what Frederick had gleaned from Thorne’s files, Wayne had been a father figure in Bernice’s life. Now retired, he lived in a trailer, which had provided a convenient hiding place for his cousin. When her husband had begun stalking her, Wayne had moved his trailer to a park two counties away. Having a portable home had its advantages.
‘Start talking, Mr Dawson,’ Wayne ordered.
‘I will. I’m Mr Thorne’s associate. I’ve been with him for about a year. I’ll be taking over your case, Mrs Brown, while he is under investigation. As I said, we have the utmost confidence he’ll be cleared.’
‘How is Bernie involved?’ Wayne asked.
‘Mr Thorne was attacked and abducted from a bar called Barney’s last night.’
Bernice frowned. ‘I’ve never heard of that place. What does it have to do with me?’
‘He was going – he believed – to meet you, Mrs Brown.’
She gasped. ‘Me? No!’
Frederick nodded calmly. ‘I believe you.’ Mainly because he’d traced the call and it had come from an untraceable cell phone. ‘The call came through our answering service. The caller identified herself as you, Mrs Brown. She told Thorne that a car had tried to run her off the road and that she was afraid.’
‘So he came,’ she whispered. ‘He would, wouldn’t he?’
‘He would,’ Frederick agreed. ‘He did. That’s the last thing he remembers. He was beaten and drugged.’
Bernice was shaking her head. ‘I didn’t call him.’
‘I didn’t think so. I traced the call to a disposable cell phone.’
‘I have one of those,’ Bernice said slowly, as if considering each word, ‘but I didn’t use it.’ She looked troubled. ‘Mr Thorne gave it to me. Told me it was for my safety.’
‘You can continue to use it,’ Frederick said. ‘Or I’ll get you another one. Either way, can I ask where you were last night around midnight?’
‘Here,’ she said. ‘We were watching a movie on Netflix. But I can’t prove it.’
Wayne’s arm tightened around her. ‘Will the police be looking for Bernie? She’s in enough trouble already because of that piece-of-shit husband of hers.’
‘Thorne didn’t mention her to the police.’
Bernice’s eyes widened. ‘But it’s part of his alibi. I could tell them that I didn’t call him, that he was lured.’
‘He won’t give your name, ma’am,’ Frederick reiterated. ‘He won’t disclose his clients. He just won’t.’
Bernice seemed to relax at that, even though she bit at her lip. ‘What can I do?’
Frederick smiled at her. ‘For now? Stay under the radar and stay safe. He was worried about you. It was one of the first things he said when he woke up. He asked us to check on you, to be sure you were safe. So that’s how you can best help him.’
Wayne was frowning. ‘But if someone pretended to be Bernie on the phone, that means they knew she’d hired him.’
‘True,’ Frederick allowed. ‘But that’s a matter of record. Thorne is registered as her counsel.’
‘But they knew details,’ Wayne pressed. ‘They knew that it was even possible that she’d be run off the road.’
Frederick nodded. He’d thought of this already. ‘True again. But Mr Brown’s stalking is also known because it was covered in the newspaper. Having said that, it doesn’t mean we don’t have a leak in our own firm.’ It was Frederick’s fear, one he hadn’t expressed to Thorne in Gwyn’s living room. Thorne only kept a handful of employees in the firm, and as far as he knew, all were loyal. But it was a possibility, and Frederick would not allow it to go unexamined. ‘I’m investigating that.’
Wayne’s nod was shaky. ‘All right. Should we move again?’
Frederick sighed. ‘It might not be a bad idea. Just in case.’ He gave them his card. ‘If you do, contact me. And keep that disposable cell phone charged and on your person at all times. If you are afraid someone is coming after you, call 911, then call me. All right?’
Bernice took the card in trembling fingers. ‘All right. Thank you, Mr Dawson.’
Frederick got to his feet. ‘It’s my job, ma’am. We’ll proceed with your defense.’
Wayne also rose. ‘At the same rate? Mr Thorne was giving her a discount.’
‘I work pro bono,’ Frederick explained. ‘I’ll bill Mr Thorne for any expenses I incur, but my hours are free.’
Bernice’s shoulders sagged. ‘Thank you.’
He smiled down at her. ‘You’re welcome.’
He was opening the front door when she called his name. He turned, brows lifted. ‘I . . . Please thank Mr Thorne. For being willing to come and help me, even though I didn’t really need him.’
‘I’ll tell him.’ There was something in the woman’s eyes, something she was holding back. ‘If you think of anything else that can help him, please call me.’
‘I will.’ She drew a breath, and he waited. ‘I have this friend. Sally Brewster. She called me on Friday. Said she’d gotten a weird call from someone claiming to be a cop. They said they were trying to locate me to ask me questions about my husband. She told them that she didn’t know where I was, which is technically true. But she also told them that they should be ashamed of themselves, that I was too afraid to leave hiding because my husband wouldn’t leave me alone. They called her on her cell phone.’ She frowned. ‘She’s listed on my paperwork with your firm. As my emergency contact, after Wayne. You might call her.’
Frederick smiled at her. ‘Thank you. I will. And I’ll make sure she knows to be careful too.’
Baltimore, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 11.40 P.M.
‘Sit, Thorne,’ Phil said, reaching up to push at his shoulder.
Thorne turned away from the large kitchen window that looked out into the blackness of Phil and Jamie’s backyard. In the daytime it was a tranquil place, their inground pool surrounded by weeping willows. A babbling brook ran through the trees along with a paved path for Jamie’s chair. At night, though, it was inky darkness, the surrounding trees blocking out not only the lights from the city, but the starlight too.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, but it had been long enough to put a worried look on Phil’s face, and he hated that, so he sank obediently into the chair at the kitchen table.
‘I made hot chocolate,’ Jamie added, ‘just the way you like it.’
With the milk frother, Thorne noted, thankful for that as well, because the whir of the machine had drowned out the sound of the shower. Which Gwyn had been in at the time. Naked.
She hadn’t said no, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. That she hadn’t said no outright was . . . He sighed. A piss-poor hope to hold onto.
His old friend slid the cup of chocolate across the table, making Thorne wonder if Jamie had timed his use of the frother that way on purpose. When Thorne caught the sympathy in Jamie’s eyes, he had his answer.
Well, that’s just perfect, he thought crossly, dropping his gaze to the frothy chocolate that really had been made exactly how he liked it. He pushed Gwyn to the edge of his mind and made himself remember the first time he’d sat here, at this very table. ‘You made me hot chocolate that day too.’
Jamie reached across the table to squeeze his forearm. ‘A genius move on my part,’ he acknowledged.
‘Which day?’ Gwyn asked from the kitchen doorway where she waited hesitantly. Her face was flushed from the hot water and devoid of makeup, the way Thorne liked her best. Her damp hair was pulled back into a ponytail that made her look so damn young. Her loose sweats and oversized sweatshirt hurt Thorne’s heart because that was exactly what she’d worn in the weeks and months after Evan tried to kill her and Lucy. It was like she’d been trying to hide in the baggy clothing. Like somehow she’d . . . enticed the bastard. Like she’d caused him to notice her, which of course hadn’t been true at all.
Now she stood there watching him. That she wasn’t sure of her welcome – that she was hiding from him too – made Thorne’s heart hurt even more. Damn me to ever-fucking hell. I should never have said anything. I have ruined everything.
‘Come in,’ Phil said warmly, gesturing to the chair opposite Thorne’s. ‘We’re just having a snack before bed.’
Thorne schooled his voice to something he hoped sounded polite as he answered her question. ‘Jamie made this for me the day he and Phil bailed me out. It’s good hot chocolate. You’ll like it.’
Phil put a cup in front of her and took the chair at the head of the small table while Jamie parked himself at the other end. ‘It’s my recipe,’ Phil asserted. ‘Jamie just likes to run the frother.’
‘At my age, my entertainment options are limited,’ Jamie said, and Thorne snorted, because Jamie still participated in wheelchair races and still won them.
‘I’ve seen the photos of your limited entertainment,’ Gwyn said dryly. ‘Thorne’s papered his office walls with them. The skydiving one is my favorite. I only hope I’m half as spry when I’m as aged as you.’ She pronounced ‘aged’ with two syllables and a roll of her eyes, because Jamie wasn’t quite sixty. She pointed to the folders neatly stacked on the table. ‘What’s this?’
‘I’m compiling a file, just like I would for any client,’ Jamie answered.
‘This stack is what we’ve uncovered on the major players in the trial nineteen years ago,’ Phil added. ‘We’ve started pre-planning tomorrow’s visits. We figure someone could have gotten all the information about Thorne’s trial from the newspaper, but . . .’ He let the thought trail off and glanced at Jamie.
‘Somebody dug up all this shit for a reason,’ Jamie said. ‘It will call Thorne’s innocence into question – today and nineteen years ago.’
Gwyn bit at her lip, her habit when she was trying to stay calm. Thorne wasn’t sure if she even knew she did it. ‘This is so wrong,’ she said. ‘All of it.’
Jamie hesitated. ‘Stevie’s point is still ringing in my head. Richard Linden’s killer was never caught. He’s still out there. And he’s the only one who truly knows what happened the day Richard was murdered. Assuming it was a he.’
Thorne jerked his attention back to Jamie. ‘You’re proposing we find the true killer?’ he asked, unable to keep the acid from his voice.
Jamie met his gaze, unfazed. ‘Yes. Why not?’
Thorne took a deep breath, forcing himself to be polite once again, because he really wasn’t sure why the thought made him so furious. Because he wished he’d done it already? Which he knew was illogical. He’d been a kid, not a detective. But I should have at least tried. Richard’s killer was running free, but so was Sherri’s. I’m sorry, Sherri. ‘Because the police couldn’t do it nineteen years ago?’
‘We’ll take a fresh look,’ Jamie said, sipping his hot chocolate calmly.
Gwyn opened the top folder and began sifting through its contents, pausing to look at a grainy photograph copied from an old newspaper article. ‘Is this Richard with his family?’
Thorne’s stomach roiled just looking at them. ‘Yeah. How did you know?’
‘Because they look rich,’ she murmured. ‘Like the tourists that used to hire my father to take them crabbing in the summer.’
Thorne was surprised. Gwyn rarely mentioned her family, and never her father. There was bad history there and she’d never told him what had happened. Whatever it was, she’d run away from home at sixteen.
‘Your father was a crabber?’ Phil asked curiously.
She nodded once. ‘Folks like the Lindens would come from the city to play for the day, dressed in clothes that cost more than my family made in a year, snapping their fingers like we were their servants.’ One side of her mouth lifted as she tapped Richard’s face. ‘He looks like Draco Malfoy.’
Thorne found himself chuckling, because Richard did resemble the bully from the Harry Potter stories. ‘We just called him Richie Rich.’
Both sides of Gwyn’s mouth had tipped up when he’d chuckled. ‘And Richard’s father? Was he as bad as Draco’s papa in the book?’
‘Worse.’ Phil was unsmiling, his whole body gone tight. ‘He testified against Thorne. Painted his little darling Richard to be such a martyr. Painted Thorne to be a . . .’ he swallowed hard, ‘a hardened criminal who would kill without remorse. He fabricated threats that he claimed Thorne made to his son in his presence. Linden Senior sat on the stand and lied without blinking an eye, except to dash away a crocodile tear.’
Gwyn bit her lip again. ‘He perjured himself? Why? I mean, I get that he wanted justice for his son, but was the prosecution’s case so thin that he thought he had to lie to make sure the jury found Thorne guilty? Or was he unbalanced?’
‘More the first one,’ Jamie said. ‘The case should never have gone to trial to begin with. The state’s case was weak, but the police commissioner and the prosecutor pushed it through. Nobody wanted to make enemies of the Lindens.’
Gwyn looked up from the photo. ‘But they had enemies? Other than Thorne?’
‘I’m sure they did,’ Jamie said. ‘You’re wondering who else had a motive to kill Richard? I pressed that back then, but hit a brick wall every time I turned around. Linden wanted Thorne found guilty and he did not want anyone else even considered. Yes, I thought it suspicious back then, but no, I couldn’t find anyone who’d talk to me.’
‘But,’ Phil added, ‘maybe someone will be willing to talk now.’
‘Who’s on your list?’ Thorne asked, more out of curiosity than any real hope. The chances of getting to the bottom of a nineteen-year-old murder were slim to none.
The look Phil gave him was mildly reproving, like he knew exactly what Thorne was thinking. ‘The detective who worked the case, for starters. Prew is his name.’
Gwyn blinked at them, surprised. ‘You suspected the cops were complicit?’
‘Not Prew,’ Phil said. ‘But he’s a good place to start because he might be able to shed light on Linden Senior’s enemies. Jamie hit a brick wall, but Prew may have found something.’
‘Makes sense,’ she said, leaning toward Phil to see his list. ‘Who else?’
Phil glanced at Thorne and pointed to the next name. ‘The young woman you tried to defend the day everything started. Angie Ospina. Also Richard’s three friends who beat you up because you forced him to stop groping her.’
Thorne’s gut churned. None of these were people he ever wanted to see again. ‘I have no idea where they are. Any of them.’
‘I do,’ Phil said. ‘Some of them, anyway. Detective Prew has just retired from Montgomery County PD. He’s expecting us tomorrow. He’s invited us for coffee.’
‘You called him already?’ Thorne asked, surprised.
‘I called him as soon as I heard Patricia was the victim,’ Phil said. ‘I had time in the waiting room and not much else to do except worry. Plus, I’ve known Prew for years. He’s not a bad guy. I taught one of his sons. Not at Ridgewell Academy, but later, when I went to the next school. Another of his sons is a history teacher today, so we’ve kept up too. He has two sons of his own now. Twins, just about a year old. Expect the detective to take a few moments to show us photos of his grandchildren.’
‘All right,’ Thorne said. ‘What about Angie?’
‘I don’t know where she is,’ Phil said. ‘I’m hoping Prew will know.’
‘And the assholes who beat Thorne up?’ Gwyn asked sharply. Thorne had to smile at her fierce loyalty, despite the hollowness in his chest.
Phil pulled another piece of paper from the stack on the table. ‘We found two of them. Darian Hinman is the VP of his father’s shipping business.’
‘Of course,’ Thorne said bitterly, clearly remembering the boy Hinman had been.
Phil shrugged. ‘Old money, Thomas. You know it exists and the privilege it allows.’
‘Hey,’ Jamie said with mock outrage. ‘I’m old money.’
Thorne’s mouth bent up. ‘Most of which you give away.’
Jamie waved that statement aside. ‘Let’s withhold judgment on young Hinman until we meet him. Maybe he’s grown up.’ Because Jamie himself had. He’d been an impetuous youth. Some of that was natural rebellion, but a lot had been a need to press his physical limits past the chair he’d used since he’d been old enough to sit up.
Phil looked unconvinced at his optimism. ‘We’ll see. Friend number two, Chandler Nystrom, is now a cop.’
Thorne’s mouth fell open. ‘No fucking way. He was a thug, the worst of them.’ He gritted his teeth, knowing full well that some cops sought the job for specifically that reason. They wanted to be legal thugs.
‘Hopefully he grew up too,’ Phil said philosophically, ‘otherwise he’s a thug with a badge and a gun.’
‘And the third?’ Gwyn asked.
‘Colton Brandenberg,’ Thorne said quietly. ‘I never knew what to make of him. I remember being surprised that he’d thrown any punches at all. He seemed so gentle when he wasn’t with Richard. You don’t have a location for him?’
Phil shook his head. ‘No, not yet. Again, I’m hoping Detective Prew has some ideas.’
Thorne pulled the other folder closer. ‘This is your file, Jamie?’
‘So far. Mostly I just have the photos that Gwyn took. I don’t expect to see anything from Lieutenant Hyatt regarding the official crime scene photos unless you’re formally charged. So, again, good job, Gwyn. If you hadn’t been so quick-thinking, we wouldn’t have shit right now.’
Thorne opened the folder and spread the enlarged photos across the table, wincing a little at the sight of his own bare ass. ‘They just had to strip me,’ he complained.
‘Well, you were supposed to have had a woman in your bed,’ Gwyn said.
Thorne glanced up and saw no accusation in her dark eyes. No anger. She believed him and he was grateful for that. ‘Yeah, well,’ he muttered, ‘they could have left me a little modesty, for God’s sake.’
She pulled one of the photos closer, grimacing. ‘Whoever did this didn’t just stab her. They cut her open.’
‘You don’t need to look at those.’ Jamie started to take the photo from her, but she rolled her eyes at him.
‘I took the photos, Jamie. I saw her live.’ She winced. ‘Or dead. Plus, I was Thorne’s paralegal, don’t forget. I’ve seen worse than this. Unfortunately.’ But then she frowned. ‘Thorne, what’s this?’ Rising from her chair, she pushed the photo toward him, leaning across the table as she followed it. ‘It’s . . . I don’t know what it is. I didn’t notice it this morning.’
Thorne looked where she pointed. And his blood ran cold. ‘Phil.’ He had to clear his throat. ‘Do . . . do you still have that magnifying glass you use for coupons?’
Phil got up to rummage in a drawer, retrieving the magnifier and handing it to Thorne without a word.
Hand trembling, Thorne placed the glass over the photo and shuddered out a breath. ‘Motherfucking sonofabitch,’ he said quietly, then looked at Jamie. ‘It’s a medal. And a key.’
Jamie’s eyes went wide. ‘What the fuck?’ He lurched from his chair to grab the photo and magnifier before sliding back to sit. ‘Holy shit,’ he murmured.
Gwyn was looking at the two of them like they’d lost their minds. ‘What kind of metal?’
‘Not metal,’ Thorne said. ‘Medal. Like a trophy.’ He scrubbed at his face with his palms, suddenly numb. ‘There was one stuck in Richard Linden’s body, in about the same place. A medal with a key attached.’
‘So this is a copycat murder,’ Gwyn said.
Thorne shook his head. ‘The medal wasn’t made public. I mean, I saw it when I was trying to stop his bleeding, but when his body got to the morgue, it was gone.’