It Should Be a Crime (16 page)

Parker, intent on her internal tirade, missed Morgan’s next words. “What?”

“I said, I need you to help me with a project. Do you have a couple of hours right now?”

Put on the spot, Parker couldn’t come up with a decent excuse to get away. Fact was, she didn’t have anything else planned until her late afternoon Ethics class, and after the way she had acted the day before, she owed Morgan a favor. “Sure, but I have class at four.”

“Great. Leave your books here and come with me.” Morgan walked out the door, leaving a bewildered Parker to trail behind her.

“I thought we’d be working here.”

“No, this is a field trip. I promise to have you back in time for your class. You’re not scared to get in a car with me, are you?”

Parker felt the heat of a blush as she remembered her first car ride with Morgan. “Absolutely not, Professor.”

*

Morgan’s Lexus whizzed through the streets of Dallas, and Parker wondered what mission she had in store. As if reading her thoughts, Morgan nodded toward the backseat and said, “Will you reach back and get that notebook?”

Parker complied and opened the notebook. Confused, she glanced through page after page of real estate descriptions, all touting the various features of East Dallas homes. She shot a questioning look at Morgan who, intent on navigating to her destination, ignored her. She was forced to ask the question. “What am I supposed to be helping you with this fine afternoon?”

“I’m house-hunting.”

“You’re house-hunting?” Parker repeated, vaguely aware she sounded inane.

“Yep. My realtor prepared the notebook you’re holding. I’m supposed to drive by these houses and eliminate all the ones I can based on outward appearance.” Morgan looked at Parker and smiled. “I thought since you lived over here, you’d be a perfect choice to help me in this little venture.”

Parker was flattered and angry at the same time. Flattered Morgan wanted to spend personal time with her, and angry to be taken advantage of. Anger won out and she was about to unleash it, when Morgan spoke again.

“I know you may be angry. I did kind of take advantage of you by dragging you away under somewhat false pretenses. But, Parker, I think we need to start over if we’re going to work together and we needed to get away from school to find common ground. I think you are terrific and there’s no reason we can’t be friendly, even if we can’t be anything else. Truce?”

Morgan’s words doused Parker’s rising fury. Morgan was right. They needed to put to rest the brief past they had shared and start over. Fact was they would always be more than teacher and student, but if they could find a way to fashion their feelings into friendship, they would be able to move past it.

Parker smiled. “Truce.” Looking at the notebook on her lap, she said, “I can tell you right now, this first house is not for you.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. It’s on my street, and the neighbors on either side are dueling Animal House contestants. Drive over to Manchester. Nice, quiet street, beautiful front yards. You’ll love it.”

“Because it’s quiet?” Morgan asked in protest.

“Because it’s beautiful,” Parker replied, her words dripping with meaning.

*

Parker was late for her Ethics class, but for once she did not care. She slid into the seat Dex had saved and quietly opened her book to the place he indicated.

“Where have you been?” he whispered.

Feeling guilty for the white lie she was about to tell, Parker allowed her well-honed sense of self-protection to censor her account. “Running some errands. Did I miss anything?”

“No, but I’m sure Spencer noticed you were late, so expect to be called on. That’s what you get for never missing class.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of always being predictable.”

Dex reached over and punched her on the arm. “Hey, why do you think we get along so well? I know I can always count on you.”

Wondering what Dex would think if he knew where she had spent the last few hours, Parker smiled halfheartedly and buried her face in her book. Dex was right. She could always be counted on to be on time, to get the job done, to do the right thing. She had suspended her reliability this afternoon in pursuit of a feeling, a certain comfort she felt in Morgan’s presence. She’d enjoyed the afternoon of house-hunting more than she would have imagined. Maybe they could be friends after all.

The group of lawyers and lawyers-to-be settled in around the conference table in the faculty meeting room. Although she had received flack from both donors and other administrators about allowing her students to work on this case, Yolanda had been unwavering in her support. Ford and Morgan took up places on either side of two flip charts and Ford led the discussion.

“We have one obvious issue to resolve pretrial: Luis Chavez’s ‘confession.’”

Gerald Lopez interrupted. “Wait a minute. The guy confessed? Why are we going to trial, then?”

Dex and Parker rolled their eyes and Morgan looked away to hide her expression. Ford valiantly encouraged Gerald to come up with the answer on his own. “Well, Gerald. Why would a person go to trial if they had confessed to a crime? And what’s your definition of a confession?”

Gerald looked around the room and noticed everyone’s averted eyes. “Well, it’s pretty obvious what a confession is. When you admit to doing something wrong—your admission is a confession.”

Ford nodded. “Okay, fair enough. Now, let’s play the video we have of the ‘confession’ and judge for ourselves.” Ford used a remote to start the video monitor, and seconds later the screen jumped to life with the image of a weary Luis Chavez slumped in a hard-backed chair. He was in a smallish room and the black-and-white film served to accent his drab surroundings. The counter in the bottom right hand of the screen said it was moments after midnight and the counter clicked off the passing seconds.

Seconds turned into minutes and the action on the screen did not change. At one point, the audio recorded the creak of a door opening and Luis turned his head at the sound. A garbled voice asked a question and Luis merely nodded. The counter registered the passage of time.

After approximately fifteen minutes with no further activity on the tape, Luis began to fidget in his seat, an action reflected by the students watching the monitor. He glanced around and then settled back, eyes wary, as the door creaked open again. This time a person entered. The watching students could only see the individual’s back leaning forward to place something on the table in front of Luis. The person left and Luis leaned forward to inspect the contents of the table. Two cans of Coke and three doughnuts didn’t last long. It was obvious Luis was starving. He hastily devoured the food and the inaction of the tape resumed, marked only by the constant counter.

After another fifteen minutes, someone finally entered the room and took a seat across from Luis. Detective Skye Keaton introduced herself. Parker, the only one of the students who could have predicted the contents of the tape, screen by screen, stiffened at the appearance of her former partner as if she were actually in the room with them. The visceral reaction was not lost on Morgan, who watched from the back of the room. She wanted to move forward, place her hand on Parker’s shoulder as a show of support. She stood rooted in place, knowing a display of affection could be misunderstood, but silently vowed to learn why Parker’s former partner still had the power to evoke such strong emotion. As each moment ticked away on the screen, Parker’s discomfort became more visible, and finally Morgan reasoned a show of support was necessary. Slowly making her way to the front of the room, she lingered beside Parker and brushed her fingers against the soft cloth covering her back. The slight touch was electric and she gave silent praise to years of practiced self-control, which kept her from crying out.

At first, Parker did not react to the touch. She too had years of training on how to keep her reactions in check. An unidentified approach from behind could mean danger, and in order to defend herself, she needed to be in control of her reflexes. True to her training, she looked for subtle clues. She could smell the familiar perfume. A glance down revealed designer heels, and the fingers resting lightly against her were long and light. She acknowledged the situation was dangerous, but relaxed into Morgan’s caress anyway. The contact lasted mere seconds, but the effect lingered, producing a hazy veil of longing that clouded her awareness.

Morgan, on the other hand, noticed a sharp pair of eyes, brimming with questions, peering from across the room. She met Gerald’s look without expression, shook herself, and turned her attention back to the video. She noted it had reached the portion where Detective Keaton reviewed Luis’s rights. She watched Skye fish a worn card from her wallet and deliver the Miranda warning in a brisk monotone.

“Do you understand your rights as I have read them to you.” Skye’s words were fast and formal.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s talk about what you were doing in Ms. Burke’s bedroom.”

Luis fidgeted in his chair. “Can I have my phone call?”

“Who do you want to call?’

“My sister.”

Skye leaned back in her chair. Seconds ticked by on the counter while she stared at Luis. When she spoke, her calm tone belied the tension in the room. “Do you have a phone?”

Morgan suppressed a snort. She caught Parker looking her way and figured they were sharing the same thought. Luis was already under arrest. His phone, if he had one, and all his other belongings would have been taken from him before he was placed in the squad car and hauled off to jail.

“No.”

“Well, your rights don’t say anything about getting a phone call, but I tell you what. When we’re finished talking, I’ll take you to a phone and you can call her.” Skye sounded reasonable, almost friendly. “Now, I’d like you to tell me what you were doing in Camille Burke’s bedroom the night she was murdered.”

“I have a question about that paper you read to me.”

Skye’s didn’t attempt to conceal her impatience. “What?”

“You said I can have a lawyer. When you read from the paper.”

“I thought you said you understood your rights.”

Luis placed his head in his hands, obviously uncomfortable about asserting even the smallest challenge to Skye’s authority. “Maybe I didn’t understand so well.”

“Am I going to have to read them again?” Skye’s expression made it clear there would be dire consequences if she was forced to repeat herself.

“No. I mean, I just thought you said something about a lawyer.”

“Do you want a lawyer?”

“I think so, yes.” Luis started out hesitantly, but his “yes” was emphatic.

“So, you want a lawyer now? Before we even finish talking?” Skye could not have sounded more annoyed.

Luis looked like he would rather jump off a cliff than choose between asserting his rights and pissing off Skye. Skye stared at him while he looked everywhere in the room to avoid her penetrating glare. Finally, he mustered the strength to spit out his one-word answer: “Yes.”

“Fine.” Skye stood up. She slowly and deliberately gathered her paper and pen, pushed in her chair, and started toward the door. “I’ll see you in court.”

Luis was startled out of his newfound confidence. “What?”

“We’re done here. You’ll get a lawyer and you can plead your case to a jury. We’re done talking.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Luis sounded desperate. “You said I could have a lawyer present.”

“You can have all the lawyers you want. I don’t have to sit here and deal with them. Those are my rights.” Skye’s opened the door and started to walk out.

“Wait!”

Skye turned her head and waited.

“I didn’t do anything. I want to tell you.”

“What about the lawyer?”

“Never mind. Please, let me tell you what happened.”

Skye paused as if she were giving the matter a great deal of thought. She made her way back to the table and once again pulled out the worn card from her wallet. “Do I need to read these rights to you again and make sure you understand them?”

“No, no. I understand. Let me talk to you,” Luis begged, perhaps fearing any delay might result in Skye leaving before he could convince her of his innocence.

Skye beamed. “All right then. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

Morgan listened once again while Luis eagerly told Keaton all he knew in the anxious manner so common to those accused who hoped telling the truth would set them free. The upshot of his statement was exactly what he had already relayed to her. He admitted to having been in the house the night of Camille Burke’s murder, but despite a browbeating interrogation, he supplied no other details about her gruesome death. Toward the end, Detective Keaton was losing patience, evidenced by the increasing volume and frustrated tone of her voice.

Ford turned off the tape and addressed the class. “Okay, Gerald, let’s hear it. What was the essence of Luis’s confession?”

Gerald shifted in his chair, glancing around the room. “Well, he did say he was in the house. So he had opportunity.”

Dex broke in. “I wonder how many people work in the Burke house and have access to the residence. I would venture to say it’s at least ten. So, lots of people had opportunity. His admission to being in the house doesn’t equal a confession.”