Friction (14 page)

“What?”

“If we keep some distance.”

“Why?”

“Because Joe has been on a tear, and nothing good will come out of you two going at each other.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more. But I’m not sure Joe is of the same mind. Or else why did he call Neal Lester and raise questions about my ‘odd’ behavior?”

“Let him in, Grace.”

Joe’s harsh voice cut through the darkness behind her, and a second later he stepped into view. In contrast to Grace’s deshabille, he was as stiffly starched as ever. Crawford wondered if he slept that way.

Reluctantly, Grace moved aside, making room for Crawford in the entryway, then, after getting a pointed look from her husband, she excused herself and retreated in the direction of their bedroom at the back of the house.

He and Joe squared off. Crawford said, “You’re rattling sabers, Joe.”

“I warned you of a fight.”

“Between you and me. Why’d you take it to Neal?”

“Your refusal to talk about your exchange with Rodriguez—”

“I didn’t refuse. I postponed talking about it.”

“—left me asking some hard questions about how you handled that situation.”

“Why didn’t you come to me with those questions?”

“I considered them to be a matter for the police.”

“Like hell you did. It was a cheap shot to get to me. Unworthy of you, Joe.”

“I’ll use any means to keep Georgia.”

“That’s what worries me. You’ve lost your perspective, and Georgia will be the one to suffer for it.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Have you been talking trash about me in front of her?”

“I don’t have to answer to you.”

“Where Georgia is concerned, you do.”

“Not while I still have legal custody. Besides, I speak only the truth about you, and your daughter needs to hear it.”

“You think you’re going to win her affection by bad-mouthing me?”

“Tell you what, you can raise that issue the next time we’re in court.”

“Tell
you
what, Joe,” Crawford fired back, “not a fucking chance. I won’t do anything that necessitates Georgia being in on a hearing. I can’t believe you would drag a five-year-old into a pissing contest between you and me.”

“That’s what you think this is?” He snorted.

“Isn’t it? One of the main reasons you’re contesting my petition is simply to spite me.”

“Not so. I want what’s best for my granddaughter.”

“Save it for the judge. Save it for when you’re under oath. If you’re spoiling for a fight, I’ll give you one. But let’s conduct it in a court of law.”

Crawford took a step closer to him. Joe held his position, but since he was shorter, he had to tilt his head back in order to look into Crawford’s face. “
But
, if you keep saying in Georgia’s presence that I’m to blame for everything—”

“You are! Beth would be alive if not for you.”

“If you insist on making our fight personal, I’ll oblige you. For four long years I’ve taken your crap for Grace’s sake. For Georgia’s sake. But push me hard enough, and you’ll lose not only Georgia but something you value even more.”

“There is nothing I value more.”

“Oh, but there is.”

Crawford spoke softly but emphatically, and, for the first time since he’d known the man, Joe looked uncertain. But the chink in his armor closed up as fast as it had appeared. He thrust out his chin. “How dare you threaten me, you—”

“Daddy?”

Crawford jerked his gaze off his father-in-law. Georgia had come from her bedroom into the hallway and was regarding them warily. She had sensed the anger between them, causing her to hesitate rather than to run and greet him as she normally would have.

He sidestepped his father-in-law and pasted on a smile. “Well, if it isn’t Miss Sleepyhead.”

“Are you and Grandpa mad?”

“No. We were just talking.” In her nightie, with her fair curls tousled, she looked so sweet and vulnerable, it made his heart ache. He scooped her up and carried her into her bedroom, settling into the rocking chair with her on his lap, cupping his hand around her bare toes. “I heard you got a new DVD.”

She snuggled against him and nestled her head on his chest. “Grandma brought it for me when we went to Walmart.”

“Is it about a princess?”

“She lives in a castle. But it’s got holes in the roof and mean birds fly through them and scare her.”

“She lives there by herself?”

“Her mommy’s in heaven like mine.”

She rarely talked about not having a mother, but any time she did, it was like being speared in the gut, the soul. “What about her daddy?”

“He’s funny. He has whiskers.”

“Whiskers? Maybe I should grow some. How would you like that? Big, bushy whiskers.” He delighted in her giggle. Nuzzling her neck where she was ticklish, he said, “You’re my princess, and I love you.”

“I love you, too, Daddy. Are you really gonna grow whiskers?”

She offered her opinion of that by wrinkling her nose, looking so damn cute, he laughed out loud. For the next quarter hour, he held her close. Just yesterday, he’d gone to court, hoping that it would end with him moving her permanently into her new bedroom. It would remain vacant a while longer.

“I have a big surprise waiting for you the next time you spend the night with me,” he told her.

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell or it won’t be a surprise. But I’ll give you a hint.” He whispered in her ear. “It’s pink.”

She made a few guesses, then yawned hugely.

“Bedtime for you, young lady.” He carried her over to the bed and tucked her in.

She rolled onto her side and mumbled into the pillow, “I already said my prayers.”

“Okay,” he whispered and kissed her cheek. “Sleep tight.”

In the hallway outside her bedroom, Joe was waiting like a sentinel. The implication that Georgia needed to be protected from him made Crawford livid. But he didn’t give in to it, mostly because he figured Joe would enjoy seeing him upset.

“Joe, prepare yourself for a bombshell.” He told him about Rodriguez not being the shooter.

Joe maintained his military stance, but he blinked rapidly several times. “How did you discover that?”

“That’s a matter for the police,” Crawford said, taking pleasure in throwing Joe’s words back at him. “The only reason I’m telling you tonight is because the news will probably break in the morning. You and Grace may be called on for comment.”

Joe looked him up and down with scorn. “Jesus Christ. The calamity you’re capable of never ceases to amaze me.”

Crawford went around him and opened the front door, looking back in order to deliver his parting words. “Don’t push too hard, Joe, or I swear to God, you’ll be sorry.”

O
vernight, Neal Lester must have done as Crawford suggested and had the ME check Rodriguez’s knee cap for a bruise, because Houston and Tyler TV stations aired the story about the “egregious error” during their local break-ins of the national morning shows. A public information officer from the Prentiss PD owned up to the mistake.  

“It’s been determined that the man killed by SWAT officers on the roof was not the individual who opened fire in Judge Spencer’s courtroom minutes earlier.”

Just like that, Crawford’s hero status was corrupted.

He didn’t care.
Hero
wasn’t a label he was comfortable with anyway. But it chafed that he had made news again at all. After the shootout in Halcon, he’d hoped never to have notoriety again in his lifetime.

He knew that a long and tedious day lay in store, but at least Holly was safe. When he checked in with Harry, he was told, “Not so much as a mouse fart all night.”

“Later today, after some locals have been cleared, we’ll let them take over.”

“The major told Sessions and me to stay on it till you say otherwise.”

“Thanks.”

Preferring to work alone and from his own office rather than in police headquarters where everyone would be walking on eggshells, he drove to the DPS building. One lone news van from the Tyler station was in the parking lot. The resourceful reporter and his cameraman leaped from it when he alighted from his SUV. They jogged alongside him as he strode to the employees’ entrance. He didn’t say anything into the microphone poked at him, not even “No comment.”

Inside, state troopers and civilian personnel alike looked at him with either wariness or blatant curiosity. One of the clerks who worked in the driver’s license division timidly approached him at the communal coffee bar and told him that her prayer circle had put his name on their list. He thanked her, although he was afraid to ask what they were praying for—his absolution or damnation.

No sooner had he sat down in his cubicle than his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, saw that it was Conrad’s landline number, and cursed under his breath as he answered. “You had better be dying.”

“You’re not that lucky. In fact you’re about the most luckless bastard I’ve ever come across.”

“Started when I was sired by you.”

“Isn’t there a commandment about honoring your parents?”

“You’re not supposed to contact me unless it’s an emergency.”

“In my opinion this qualifies. Your roof guy was the wrong guy. That was the secret eating on you yesterday, right? You gave it up?”

“Yes and yes.”

“I admire your integrity.”

“What do you know about integrity, except possibly how to spell it?”

His father bypassed that. “As you predicted, the flub has caused an F-five shit storm, and you’re at the center of it.”

“Told you.”

“Neal Lester is catching his fair share. Is he blaming you?”

“Behind the scenes. But he can’t dispute that Rodriguez refused to disarm and opened fire on a deputy. He’s got it on security camera video.”

“So now what?”

“I ride it out and do everything I can to catch the would-be assassin.”

“Beats sitting in front of a computer all day.”

“I do important work at this computer, and it’s not life-threatening.”

“You could die of boredom.”

“There is that,” Crawford said under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I gotta go.”

“Need any help?”

“With what?”

“The shooting case.”

“Help from you?” Crawford chortled. “No.”

“I could do research.”

“Into what?”

“Possible suspects. How many enemies can the young judge have?”

“She says none she knows of.”

“Could be she’s lying.”

“Could be, but I don’t think so.”

“Anybody who was in the courthouse at the time—”

“We’re aware of that, Conrad.”

“That’s a total of—how many?”

“Over two hundred.”

Crawford had been disheartened by the head count when Neal emailed the list of names to him late last night. They were fortunate in that many who’d reported for jury duty that Monday morning had been dismissed before two o’clock. Otherwise the number would have been even higher.

“Two hundred.” Conrad whistled. “Any leads?”

“We’re pursuing a few.”

“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. You’ve got nothing.”

Actually he did have something, a small niggling inconsistency that he needed to bring to Neal’s attention. His current conversation was preventing that. “Bye, Conrad.”

“You know, this reminds me of a case I had.”

“Ancient history.”

“A woman got knifed to death on a Sunday morning in the basement of her church where she was making the flower arrangement for the altar. No apparent motive. Every suspect was a church member. Hand-waving, foot-washing holy rollers. Where do you start looking for a killer among that flock?”

“Conrad, I don’t have time for—”

“Guess who killed her?”

“I don’t give a damn. Good-bye.”

“I’m a good snoop.”

“You’re a good drunk. You’re a
really
good drunk.”

“I haven’t touched a drink in—”

“Sixty-two days and counting.”

“Which makes it sixty-three.”

“I’m busy.”

“That’s why you should let me do some legwork for you.”

“Don’t call me again.”

He hung up before Conrad could say anything else. He called Neal’s cell but got voice mail, then dialed the PD and asked to be put through to the Crimes Against Persons unit and eventually got Matt Nugent on the line.

Crawford went straight to the reason for the call. “How many names on your list of people who were evacuated from the courthouse?”

“Counting everybody?”

“Everybody.”

“Two oh seven.”

“Okay,” Crawford said, “now break out the police department and sheriff’s office personnel, plus all other courthouse officials and their staffs. How many names does that leave?”

“Hmm.” Nugent did the calculation as he’d done when Neal sent him the list. “Seventy-five.”

“Right. Should be seventy-six. We’re short one civilian name.”

Crawford could hear Nugent redoing the subtraction. “Borrow one,” he murmured. “Geez, you’re right.”

“If you see Neal before I can reach him, have him call me.” He clicked off and swiveled his chair around, about to go after a hot refill of coffee, only to discover his lawyer standing in the opening of his cubicle.

Crawford was startled to see him. “What brings you by?”

“Can we talk where the walls don’t have ears?” Then, looking up at the open space between the cubicle and ceiling, he said, “Where there are actually walls?”

Mystified by William Moore’s unexpected visit as well as by the attorney’s uncharacteristically subdued manner, Crawford forgot about the fresh cup of coffee and led Moore to a storage room, which was presently empty. He closed the door to give them privacy.

Crawford said, “I didn’t initiate this meeting, so don’t even think about adding it to my billable hours.”

“This one’s on the house.”

That was even more ominous. Ordinarily a two-minute phone call was prorated.

Moore gnawed the inside of his cheek as though trying to decide how best to jump in. Crawford waited and finally the lawyer asked, “How do you think it would have gone yesterday? If all hell hadn’t broken loose during the hearing, what do you believe the outcome would have been?”

“My petition would have been denied.”

The lawyer nodded as though that coincided with his prediction. “As your counsel, I advise you not to go on record with your opinion of the ruling, Judge Spencer, anything relating to the custody issue. From now on, if anyone asks about that, refer them to me.”

“Dispensing free advice? Unlike you, Bill. What’s going on?”

Lowering his voice, Moore said, “Neal Lester called me this morning. Plain and simple, he was on a fishing expedition.”

“About me?”

“Seems he isn’t quite satisfied with your explanation of why you charged after the gunman when he ran from the courtroom.”

“Shouldn’t that be obvious?”

“Should be. But it isn’t to him. He’s also unconvinced of how the roof confrontation played out, particularly now that you, and only you, he emphasized, claim that Rodriguez wasn’t the gunman.”

“The judge—”

Moore held up his hand. “He told me she corroborated the pierced ear thing, but with a degree of doubt that was ‘palpable.’ His word.”

Crawford thought back on their lengthy conversation in the diner. “What he sensed wasn’t palpable doubt. She was pissed off.”

The lawyer arched his eyebrow in silent query.

“At Neal for a lewd crack he made.”

Moore held his stare, eyebrow still raised.

“Okay, and at me.”

“For something that occurred while you and she, the presiding judge over your custody hearing, were alone together in a parked car for thirty-three minutes?”

Crawford swore under his breath. He hadn’t slugged Neal nearly hard enough. “Did Neal say ‘under cover of darkness’?”

“Close.”

“It was all my doing, Bill. Not hers.”

“Your gallantry makes me even more nervous. I won’t ask what you two were doing in that car, because I don’t want to hear it. Just like I wish I hadn’t heard the crack you made yesterday morning about taking out a contract on her if she didn’t rule in your favor.”

Crawford laughed. “Come on, Bill. That was a joke.”

“Sergeant Lester might not see the humor in it.”

Crawford’s smile gradually relaxed. “Wait. Are you saying…? Neal’s hinting that I had something to do with the attempt on Holly’s life?”

Again, the attorney’s brow shot up. “So it’s Holly now?”

“Answer the goddamn question.”

“Yes. He danced around that possibility.”

“And you’re taking it seriously?”

“As death and taxes. So should you.”

Crawford stared into his lawyer’s unblinking eyes, then placed his hands on his hips and walked a slow circle in the confined space. When he’d made a complete three-sixty, he said, “I don’t have time enough to list all the reasons why that’s freakin’ ridiculous. Not the least of which is that I’m working the case with him.”

“You know the adage about keeping your enemies closer. I’m sure Neal knows it, too.”

He went on to tell Crawford in more detail, and using direct quotes, everything that Neal had theorized. He was still talking when Crawford’s cell phone buzzed. Harry Longbow. He held up a finger to stop Moore mid-sentence. “I’ve got to take this.” Then into his phone, “Hey.”

“You have a TV on?”

“No.”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

Five minutes after getting the call, Crawford wheeled into a parking space in the courthouse lot. As he jogged toward the main entrance, he was somewhat mollified to see that a temporary barricade had been set up and that deputy sheriffs were screening everyone before allowing them in.

Based on what Bill Moore had told him, Crawford halfway expected to be stopped and frisked, but he was saluted by one of the deputies as he stepped over the barricade. Neal, the son of a bitch, must not have shared his stupid suspicions with everyone.

Crawford wended his way through the media people already gathered in the cavernous lobby. Six floors overhead, sunlight was streaming in through the dome windows. One beam was acting like a spotlight on the podium behind which a building custodian was fiddling with the microphone, causing it to pop and screech.

Harry and Sessions were in what appeared to be a heated discussion with Neal while Nugent stood nearby, gnawing on his fingernail. When Crawford reached them, Sessions, an average size, average looking man with an above average IQ and jaw-dropping sharpshooting skills, brought him into the argument.

“Harry and I followed Judge Spencer here and into the building. Now he’s saying that we can back off, that he’s got it covered.”

Crawford turned to Neal. “First of all, they stay. The more uniforms visible, the better. Second,” he said with additional consternation, “none of us should be needed. What the hell were you thinking? Why didn’t you veto this plan?”

“Judge Spencer didn’t consult me beforehand. I knew nothing about it until the media began showing up. I delayed the start until we could get men into place, but if I had called it off, the negative PR—”

“Don’t talk to me about PR, Neal, or I’ll reopen your swollen lip.” He was gratified to see that it was twice its normal size. “What men? Who’s in place?”

“Policemen that Nugent and I had already screened and cleared of any involvement with the shooting.”

Crawford was dubious of anyone cleared by Nugent, but the screening itself would have put a dissatisfied would-be assassin on notice. He’d have to be crazy to make another attempt on Holly’s life in the courthouse when it was crawling with law enforcement officers and people with cameras.

But then, he’d have had to be crazy to do what he’d done two days ago.

At the barricade, uniformed officers were checking press IDs and searching handbags, backpacks, and camera bags before letting anyone through. But the atrium was open to every floor. Employees and visitors were moving along the circular galleries, either going about their business or watching the activity on the ground floor with avid curiosity. Officers were posted along the railings on every level, but in Crawford’s estimation, they were too few in number.

He turned to the other two Texas Rangers and said under his breath, “I don’t like it.” The look he gave them was a silent signal. They moved away and went in different directions to reconnoiter.

Turning back to Neal, Crawford asked, “Where is she?”

“Directly behind you.”

Crawford turned. Holly was making her way across the lobby toward them. She was dressed in a cream-colored suit with a snug-fitting jacket, thigh-hugging skirt, and high heels. She looked great.

He wanted to strangle her.

With her was a woman who was shaped like a bale of cotton. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut close to her scalp, and she walked as though going into combat. In his present mood, she virtually was.