Blood Stains (16 page)

He printed out the info and added it to the file, then headed for the shower. Tomorrow was another day.

Franklin Sheets strode into Jamil’s Steakhouse on 51st Street with a swagger and a smile. He thrived on the status he’d achieved as a criminal lawyer and used every public appearance as an opportunity to campaign. Even though he had yet to declare for the district attorney race, his intent was becoming common knowledge.

The woman on his arm was Amelia Paige, a fellow lawyer. She was as ambitious as Franklin, and it showed, from her perfectly tailored butter-yellow suit to the slicked-back chignon that was her trademark. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, making her expressions difficult to read. As a trial lawyer, she used all the tricks in the book to win her cases, and if her personal appearance helped hide what she was thinking, then so much the better. Words were power. She used them well.

There was nothing romantic between her and Franklin, but they often used each other as a convenient dinner companion. Tonight was no exception. The event Franklin had been invited to was the mayor’s birthday party. All the city’s movers and shakers would be there, and he considered it no small feat that he’d wangled an invitation.

As soon as the restaurant hostess arrived, Franklin cupped Amelia’s elbow.

“We’re here for the mayor’s party.”

The hostess nodded. “This way, please.”

They followed her through a central dining area, past two smaller rooms packed from wall to wall with more hungry diners, to the room that had been reserved for the party.

Inside, the lights were up and the air was alive with energy. A waiter was circling with a tray of drinks. Franklin snagged one for himself and another for Amelia as they began to mingle, wending their way through the gathering toward their host and hostess.

“Happy birthday, Joe,” Franklin said, as they reached the mayor. “Nice party.”

Joseph LaBlanc slid an arm around his pretty wife’s slender shoulders. Not only was she his third wife, but she was also seventeen years his junior. His peers were secretly jealous, but their women generally felt threatened by Julie’s presence, as if their time on their husbands’ arms was as limited as Julie’s predecessor’s had been.

“Thanks to my darling Julie,” the mayor said, and gave his wife a hug.

“You’re just in time,” Julie said. “We’re about to be seated.”

“Happy birthday, Joe,” Amelia added. “I’ve been looking forward to Jamil’s famous appetizers all day.”

“I know,” Julie said. “I don’t know which I like best…the tabbouleh or the cabbage rolls.”

The restaurant’s Lebanese focus was reflected not only in the food, but also the décor. Even though Jamil’s was a five-star restaurant and named for its steaks, the array of ethnic appetizers that came included with every meal was what had given the place its reputation.

The guests took their seats. Franklin found himself seated across the table from Burch Westbrook, the chief of police, and next to Harry Korn, the editor of the
Tulsa Herald
. The dynamics of the seating arrangement were interesting. Korn was always looking for a scoop, and Westbrook was always angling for good PR. It remained to be seen how the evening would play out.

As predicted, the appetizers began coming, which slowed down the conversation drastically. The laughter started up at their end of the table when Amelia began bartering with Franklin for his food.

“I’ll trade you my tabbouleh for your cabbage roll,” she offered.

Franklin grinned. “You’ll owe me big-time. I love their cabbage rolls.”

But he traded anyway, and laughed when the chief’s wife, Elinor, tried to pull off a similar trade, but without success.

“Married too many years to take the threats seriously,” Burch said, and then softened his claim by giving his wife the last bite of his cabbage roll anyway.

The meal progressed to entrées as the waiters began carrying in plates. Franklin tackled his prime rib with gusto, while the scent of Amelia’s bacon-wrapped filet teased his senses. He was in deep discussion with Harry Korn about the impact that epublishing was having on print news when a woman walked past the door leading into their dining area. Even though he only caught a glimpse, his heart skipped a beat. Was that Maria Slade? He could hardly concentrate on Harry’s tirade for watching the doorway. When she walked back a few minutes later, he breathed easier. The only resemblance was height and dark hair.

Then he wondered to himself why it mattered. Maria Slade didn’t know him from Adam, and he had no intention of changing that fact.

It wasn’t until the tables had been cleared and the waiters were readying for the birthday cake to be brought in that Franklin realized Korn had come to the party with an agenda.

“Say, Burch, I heard your office is looking into another one of Frank McCall’s old cases. I thought all those had been dealt with.”

Franklin frowned. He knew that name but couldn’t place the inference.

Burch Westbrook arched an eyebrow, then glanced around as if to say this was hardly the place. But Korn was a news hound, and he had the chief cornered.

“Is this going to impact the legal outcome of the case?” Korn asked.

Burch smirked. “No, not at all.”

Korn frowned. “How can you say that with such conviction? I mean…it’s a proven fact that McCall was dirty. He’s serving time for it.”

“Normally that might be the case,” Burch said. “But this is actually a cold case that was just reopened, so there’s no judgment in question.”

Franklin hid a smile as Korn visibly wilted. The front-page story Korn was probably envisioning had been mentally moved to somewhere on page ten.

Still, Korn wasn’t ready to give it up. “So this case was never solved…. Care to talk about it?”

“Now, Harry…I’m not going to discuss an ongoing investigation, and you know it.”

“Okay, fine. But surely you can at least comment on which case has been reopened. It’ll become common knowledge soon enough—unless you have something to hide?”

Franklin grinned. He had to admit, Korn was a master at getting what he wanted. Westbrook was notorious for his open and aboveboard approach to law enforcement, and was diligent in looking into anything dirty associated with the Tulsa P.D.

“It’s not a secret,” Westbrook said. “It’s an old murder case. Dead hooker. No witnesses. No conviction. McCall just happened to be the lead officer on the case.”

Westbrook frowned. “And you know I’m not going to discuss this any further.”

Korn shrugged, but backed off.

Franklin started to sweat. This was why Sally Blake’s daughter had come back. Obviously she was pressuring the P.D. to reopen her mother’s murder case. But why? And why now?

Everyone started to clap. It took him a few moments to realize that they were carrying in the birthday cake.

Amelia elbowed him. He turned toward the front of the room and made himself smile as he joined in, but his joy in the evening had been dampened.

A token candle was lit. Joe blew it out. His wife stood up, then lifted her wineglass.

“Happy birthday, my darling husband,” she said brightly. “And here’s to many more of the same.”

“Hear! Hear!” the guests shouted, and the evening continued, with cake and coffee being served.

Franklin went through the motions, but he’d already lost focus. All he could think about was calling Ed Underwood and finding out what he’d learned.

Maria was still reeling from her breakdown. She’d talked to Bud, who’d assured her that Savannah and Holly were fine, and then he’d pushed her for details she didn’t have. His main question had been when would she be coming home. Having to tell him that she didn’t know had been difficult, when all she really wanted to do was pack up and leave. But the more she learned about Sally Blake, the more of a connection she began to feel. The knowledge that her mother’s last words had been on her behalf sat heavily on her heart. And her inability to remember their bond left her with, among other things, a huge dose of guilt.

She’d changed into sweats and a clean tee, then crawled into bed and leafed through her journal until she found the notations Andrew had left during the year she’d turned twelve.

Christmas: Five feet of snow outside. Holly fell coming up the steps this morning and made her nose bleed. When we heard her crying, we all ran out…you, Savannah, your mother and I. We were all concerned with Holly and didn’t realize what was happening to you. We didn’t know you hadn’t come back in with everyone else until your mother missed you. I went back outside and found you standing in the blood with a blank expression on your face. I called your name several times, but you never responded. It frightened me, thinking you were going to regress to the child you’d been when you first came to live with us, but by the time we got your shoes cleaned, you had snapped out of it.

I watched you for days afterward, trying to see if there were any signs that you were beginning to remember, but, sadly, it was as if it had never happened.

Maria shut the journal and laid it aside, then leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes.

“Help me, Lord,” she whispered. “Help me. The answers are in me. Help me find them again.”

She slid down beneath the covers and rolled over on her side. Today had been exhausting and, in an odd kind of way, so very sad. Sam Vincent was as lost in his own way as she was. It seemed as if he’d never been able to move on. It was obvious that his sister, Becky, had cared for her. But she felt no emotional connection to either of them, which made her feel guilty all over again.

The only good part about this entire day had been Bodie Scott. In any other circumstance, he would be the kind of man she would be interested in knowing. But she was just a case to him, and the sooner she got over the fantasy that anything else could be possible, the better off she would be. Defeated in ways she’d never known, Maria pulled the covers up beneath her chin and fell asleep.

It was almost 10:30 p.m. and Bodie was just finishing up a report at the precinct when Lieutenant Carver came out of his office and stopped at Bodie’s desk.

“Is that the report on the pawnshop owner?”

Bodie nodded. The man had been gunned down only minutes after he’d dropped Maria off at the hotel. He’d spent the rest of the evening taking witness statements and then notifying the next of kin, which he hated.

“I’m nearly through. As soon as I print it out I’ll leave a copy on your desk.”

Phil Carver nodded, but he still lingered.

Bodie hit Print, then looked up.

“Anything else, sir?”

“What happened with your cold case today? Anything lead you to believe Frank McCall sullied the case?”

“Yes, sir. Missing info. Her pimp, Tank Vincent, was interrogated and cleared, but there was no mention of him in the file. I took Maria Slade with me, hoping that something would click when she saw some of the people from her past, but it didn’t happen.”

Carver sat down on the corner of Bodie’s desk. “Dammit. I was afraid of something like this. Where did you go?”

“Lake Eufaula to talk to Vincent. He runs a bait and beer shop, and has for the past twenty years.”

“Was he the only interrogation today?”

“No. Turns out the woman mentioned who called the cops is the pimp’s sister. She’s a 911 dispatcher for the city of Tulsa now.”

“Really?” Carver said. “And Miss Slade didn’t recognize or remember either of them?”

“No, sir, but I have a plan to which she’s agreed. I’m going to try and set up an appointment for her with Dr. Rachel Stewart, that hypnotherapist the D.A. used a couple of years ago as an expert witness.”

Carver nodded. “Might work.”

“And it might not, but we don’t have anything to lose.”

“You’ll let me know the results, of course,” Carver said, then added, “Someone leaked it to the press that we found another case with Frank McCall’s fingerprints on it. The chief is furious. Called me a little while ago and said Harry Korn cornered him about it at the mayor’s birthday party tonight. He read me the riot act. Told me to clear this case and clear it fast.”

Bodie frowned. “That’s odd. Didn’t take long for it to become common knowledge. Somebody probably put two and two together when I requested Sally Blake’s file.”

“Don’t I know it,” Carver muttered. “At any rate, the sooner we can put this to bed, the better.”

“I’ll give Dr. Stewart a call first thing tomorrow morning and set up an appointment.”

“Keep me informed,” Carver said, and left the room.

A few minutes later Bodie dropped a copy of his report on the lieutenant’s desk, then headed for the elevator. He was tired and hungry, and wanted nothing more than dinner and a good night’s sleep.

On the way down, Maria Slade popped into his brain, and as soon as he got into his car, instead of going home, he found himself back on the streets and heading for the hotel where she was staying.

The phone was ringing. Maria rolled over and reached for the house phone, then realized it was her cell. Still groggy, she dug it out from beneath the journal and the covers, and answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Bodie said. “Were you asleep?”

“Yes.”

He grimaced. “Damn, I’m sorry. I’ll—”

“Don’t hang up now that you woke me,” Maria snapped. “What’s up?”

“Obviously now
you
are,” Bodie said.

“Ha, ha,” she muttered, then yawned and combed her fingers through her hair.

“Did you eat dinner?” he asked.

“No.”

“I have pizza.”

Maria’s stomach growled as she glanced at the clock. “That sounds good, but I don’t feel like getting dressed all over again.”

“So open your door and let me in, and you won’t have to.”

Maria’s gaze went straight to the door.

“You’re outside my room? Right now?”

“Look and see,” he said.

She threw back the covers and crossed the floor on the run, then put her eye up to the peephole. Sure enough, there he was, holding a pizza box. She opened the door.

“What kind?”

“Sausage and mushroom.”

“You may enter,” she drawled.