Guilty as Sin (76 page)

Or maybe he would go back to Alabama and write his book and make a lot of money and play himself in the movie version because everyone knew he was better looking than Tom Cruise. People would name him the Sexiest Man Alive, and she would never see him again except on the dust jackets of the books she wouldn't buy.

The events that had taken place, the revelations that had been made, were just what he had come looking for. Sensational, twisted, complex. Erik Evans /Adam Slater's story alone was worthy of a book. What went wrong in a child's mind to turn him into a killer? She had to admit she was curious herself. She wanted to be able to comprehend what had happened, make some kind of sense of it.

Maybe she would end up picking up one of Brooks's works after all. Maybe there was some value in standing back from a crime and analyzing the why. Maybe there would be some comfort in isolating the madness of what had gone on. Then again, she'd been in the system too long to be naive. She knew too well there was no isolation of evil. It crept out and spread like a killing vine. Even to places like Deer Lake.

A knock at her door jolted her back to the moment. The excitement of the day had culminated with a press conference at six o'clock. Bill Glendenning had beat a path down from his lofty office in St. Paul to personally commend her in front of the multitude of television cameras--with Rudy right by his side. The air of excitement had lingered, keeping people in the courthouse longer than usual as they hung around to rehash the fantastic details of the day and of Wright's lifetime exploits.

Cameron stuck his head in the door, eyebrows raised. "You need a lift home?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine. I'm just winding down here before I have to fight my way through the media hordes. Did you find anything in Slater's phone records yet?"

He frowned. "Sorry. Costello's number isn't there. Not on phone, not on the cellular phone. If we don't make that connection, he's off the hook."

"And Tony Costello slips out of the grip of justice like the slimy eel he is."

"If it's any consolation, I think it'll take him a long time to crawl out of the hole he's in," he said, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. "As it turns out, he was representing one of the country's more career criminals."

"And he got him off," Ellen said soberly, knowing that was how Tony would look at it. Not as a shameful humiliation, but as a game won. only difference between him and his client had been that Costello's games were sanctioned.

"I'll keep digging," Cameron promised. "How about you? Anything on Priest yet?"

"There's no mention of him by name in the journals. He claims the reason he lied about growing up in Mishawaka is that he had some emotional problems at the time and ended up quitting school. He falsified records to get into college, claiming he graduated from a good school in Chicago. He adamantly denies all knowledge of Wright's activities, but it's hard to believe he never suspected anything. At best, he had to have held a suspicion that might have prevented a lot of suffering if he had acted on it.

"The FBI has had him all afternoon. They confiscated all the records on the joint learning-and-perception project Wright's and Priest's students were working on, in case there might be something in that. They'll get the truth out of him eventually. And when they do, there'll be a line or attorneys waiting to prosecute."

"You'll be filing perjury charges against Todd Childs?" he asked.

Ellen nodded. "I'm betting he's the one who broke into the Pack Rat, too, though I don't know that we'll ever prove it. Childs knew we were looking for him, and Costello had told him to drop out of sight. Trouble was, he had product stashed at the store and knew it wouldn't be there long if he didn't get it." She gave a shrug that pulled on muscles better left alone. "That's my theory, anyway. We can worry about proving it another day."

"In the meantime, you should go home and sleep for a day or two," Cameron suggested. "You'll need your rest. Rumor has it you'll be first in line for Rudy's job when he takes Franken's seat on the bench."

"That's news to me. As usual."

He laughed, though it didn't make him look quite as young as it had a week ago. "I'll call you tomorrow."

He started to back out the door, then leaned in again. "I thought I'd stop by Phoebe's house and see how she's doing. She's really upset about the Slater thing. She's blaming herself for what happened to you. I'm worried about her. Any wisdom you want me to pass along?"

"Yeah. Tell her it's not a crime to trust someone, even if they don't deserve it," Ellen said. She felt for sweet, gullible Phoebe. It would take her a long time to get over what had happened, even longer to shed the guilt. "I don't blame her for what happened. Slater would have found a way to get what he wanted. I'm just glad he didn't hurt her physically."

"Amen to that."

Another victim in the game, Ellen thought sadly. Phoebe's trust and loyalty. She made a mental note to stop by Phoebe's house herself if she didn't show up for work in the morning.

She was trying to work up the energy to get out of her chair and put her coat on when Megan came to the door.

"I thought you'd be out celebrating," Ellen said, motioning her to a chair.

"I'm waiting for Mitch. He's in with the Feebies and Priest," she said. "We'll celebrate later. What about you? All this wrapped up and the Minneapolis cops picked up your mad-bomber friend, too."

"All I want is a long, hot soak and a bed," Ellen confessed. "It's a relief to have it over. There's a lot of satisfaction in knowing we've put an end to a long line of horrible crimes. But there's something in turning over that big rock and seeing what was under it that puts a damper on my appetite for festivities. The world's full of rocks, you know. I just want to finish the job and move on to the next one."

Megan nodded, reflective. "Well, I just wanted to thank you personally for letting me in on this. I know you took a risk."

"It paid off. You're a good cop, Megan."

She smiled with a kind of shy pride that was touching. "Yeah, I am. And now I see that I can still be a good cop whether I can handle a gun or not. There can still be a place for me on the job. That means a lot to me. Thanks, Ellen. And thanks to your friend Brooks. If he hadn't offered to help, I'd still be on the phone calling directory assistance."

"He did what?" Ellen asked stupidly.

"He offered me a deal. He knew I was looking into Wright's background—"

"And he wanted to use it." Ellen's heart sank as her temper rose from the ashes of exhaustion.

"No," Megan said. "He wanted to help. He offered me the use of his computer, his fax, his phones. We worked together half of Tuesday night and all of yesterday. That was how we found that case in Pennsylvania. He didn't tell you this?"

"We got a little sidetracked with a homicidal maniac," Ellen said, her mind spinning. "Then, at the hospital, it was Mitch who told me about the Wiskow case."

Because Brooks had been busy getting himself stitched back together.

He had offered to help. For the sake of the case, or for the sake of his book?

Megan rose carefully, pulling her crutch up under her left arm. "You know, he's a pretty decent guy for someone who used to be a lawyer. No offense."

"None taken," Ellen murmured.

He had come to Deer Lake to watch, to observe from a distance, to soak it all in and sell it.

He had helped crack the case. He had saved her life ... and stolen her heart. She hadn't wanted to admit that, but it was true. She hadn't wanted to believe it. Her life had been a whole lot simpler before he'd come into it, with his voice like smoke and eyes that saw through all her barriers. He had reached past those barriers and touched her, awakened something within her she had denied—need, the need to feel, the need to care too much.

He had come here for the case, and the case was over. "Damn you, Brooks," she whispered to the empty room. "Now what?"

"I suggest a steak dinner and a long, slow night in bed," he drawled, stepping in from the dark hall. "Together. Sleeping."

He looked much the way he had the first night she'd seen him, that wicked pirate's grin cutting across a two-day beard. His coat hung open, giving a glimpse of the sling that held his right arm against him.

Ellen ignored the idea that she had conjured him up out of her imagination and scowled at him instead. "Is there a line out there?"

"No, ma'am. I'm the last."

"What are you doing here?" she asked with concern. "You should be in the hospital."

He shook his head. "Dr. Baskir sent me on my way."

"I have a hard time believing that."

"All right," he admitted with a sheepish look. "Maybe I sorta talked my way out."

"That I believe."

He grinned again as he came around the end of the desk, perched a hip on one corner, and grabbed up her paperweight as if it were a baseball. "My Uncle Hooter always said I could charm the skirt off a Sunday-school teacher."

"A useful talent. Who did you charm to get in here?"

"My old friend Deputy Qualey. Did you know he once thwarted a burglar by throwing a live snake on him?"

"What was he doing with a live snake in the first place?"

"Don't know. Don't want to know. Sure as hell don't want to write a book about it."

"No," Ellen said. "You've got enough to write about with this case. Twisted minds, sex, violence, corruption. Everybody's favorite stuff."

"There isn't going to be any book," Jay announced, watching her reaction. She met his gaze with wary surprise. "I kind of lost my objectivity."

And gained things he still wasn't sure he wanted—sympathy, nobility, conscience. They felt like medals that had been pinned to his chest intead of his shirt.

"Megan told me what you did to help, Jay," Ellen said. "Thank you."

"Yeah, well, don't let it get around. You'll ruin my reputation as a scheming opportunist."

"Some people might catch on when no blockbuster best-seller comes out of this."

"That's a chance I'll have to take. It's not that I think there's no value in telling the tales," he qualified. "It just won't be me telling them."

"So you came all the way to Minnesota, froze your butt off, and nearly got killed all for nothing?"

"I wouldn't say that," he said in a low voice, stepping close. "I wouldn't say that at all. What I'll take from here is more valuable than any story."

"You're leaving?" Ellen blurted, then scrambled to cover. "I mean— well—I guess if there's no book to write . . ."

He had come here for a book. That was all. He had his life in Alabama. She had hers here. Their paths had crossed and now they would move on.

It just seemed so soon.

"I've got a son I'd like to meet," Jay said quietly. "Just meet him, get to know him. I've missed eight years of his life. I'm damned lucky I don't have to miss any more. I'm damned lucky I have a choice."

Ellen found a smile for him. "I'm glad you're making that choice, Jay. I hope it all works out."

"Yeah," he said, fragile hope building in his heart. It had been so long since he had allowed anything in there but cynicism.

"After that," he said, setting the paperweight aside, "I was thinking I might try my hand at fiction."

"Really?"
     
'

"I'm thinking about a female protagonist," he said, watching her carefully. "The days and nights of a beautiful assistant county attorney."

He straightened from the desk and stepped closer, his gaze holding hers. Ellen smiled slowly.

"Want to help with the research?" he whispered in a voice like smoke over satin as he leaned down to kiss her. "I suggest we start with the nights. . . ."

                         
EPILOGUE

She sat alone in the small white room, the only light coming from the moon through the barred window high on the wall. Truly alone for the first time in her life. Like a balloon cut free. From other rooms like hers she could hear the eerie keening and crying of faceless people. Night sounds. Sounds that gave her an odd sense of comfort.

Softly humming a lullaby to herself, she rocked her pillow in one arm while she wrote on the wall with a blue crayon.