Redress of Grievances (48 page)

"Well,"
Nick said as he slid his glasses onto the top of his head, "it could mean
anything. Maybe they're looking for a way to justify the lesser charge."

"I
was surprised the charge gave them that out. I wasn't expecting it, and I don't
think Lassiter was either." Taking a diet tea from the refrigerator,
Harriett sighed slightly. "Where do you think Lassiter got Lou Harmon's
name?"

"Maybe
from a family member."

Frowning
to herself, she said softly, "I think Wayne leaked it."

"Why
would he do that? He works for you."

Joining
her partner at the table, Harriett shrugged. "He's always thought Sharon
was faking. Lassiter's people found everything about her that we did. Except
that one piece that drew it all together."

"Have
you asked him about it?"

"No,
and I don't plan to," she said as she nibbled at a cracker.

"Ms.
Markham?" Phyllis said from the kitchen doorway. "You have a call on
line two. Mr. Lassiter."

Harriett
and Nick looked at one another for a moment before responding. "Thank you,
Phyllis," Harriett said as she got to her feet. Nick followed her to her
office and waited while she took the call.

"What
did he want?" he asked as she replaced the receiver on its cradle.

"A
meeting. In an hour."

"Maybe
he's worried about it taking the jury so long to reach a decision."

"Guess
we'll find out in an hour."

NICK
SAT AT the conference table in a room on the second floor of the Travis County
Courthouse while Harriett paced in front of a window overlooking the street
below, periodically glancing at the clock on the far wall. She was startled
when Lassiter walked into the room.

"Ms.
Markham. Mr. Lazslo," Lassiter nodded as he pulled out a chair and set his
briefcase on the table.

"Ms.
Markham," Lassiter said, clearing his throat, "I can honestly say
that the things I have heard during the course of this trial have both
disgusted and angered me. However, even though I have enormous empathy for what
your client has endured, I cannot, in good conscience, hold her blameless for
the deaths of those four people, but..."

"But
you're concerned that the jury might find her insane," Harriett finished
for him.

"It's
a possibility that I would rather not face. While I don't believe Mrs. Taggart
suffers from the disorder she is claiming, I have no doubt that she is mentally
disturbed." Taking a deep breath, Lassiter said, "Therefore, after
conferring with the Dallas County District Attorney, we are willing to offer a
plea and make a sentencing recommendation that would allow Mrs. Taggart to
receive psychiatric help."

"What
are you offering?" Nick asked.

"Second
degree murder, twenty-five to life with the possibility of parole after she
serves the minimum," Lassiter stated. "Non-negotiable."

"I
see," Harriett said. "I'll have to confer with my client, of
course."

"Of
course," Lassiter nodded.

HARRIETT
WAS WAITING in a small interview room when Sharon was brought in. She looked
tired. When they were alone, Harriett said, "The DA has offered to make a
deal, Sharon."

"Why?"
Sharon asked.

"They're
afraid the jury will rule in your favor, but I'm just as afraid that they
won't. Or it could still go either way. I think this is the best deal you're
going to get."

Sharon
frowned, "What are they offering?"

"Second
degree murder with a sentencing recommendation that will allow for parole
eventually if you agree to receive psychiatric help while in prison."

"I
see. And you think I should accept this generosity?" Sharon asked as she
folded her arms across her chest.

"Yes,
I do."

"When
do I have to decide?"

"As
soon as possible. The jury could come back with a verdict at any time. The
judge will have to be notified that we have agreed or declined to take the
offer."

Sharon
walked to the window and stared out. "How long before I would be eligible
for parole?"

"They're
recommending twenty-five to life," Harriett said. "Fifteen years
minimum served, possibly less with good behavior."

Sharon
turned and smiled at Harriett. "And this is a good deal?"

"You're
guilty, Sharon. You know it and I know it. There was never a Jan, but you did a
damn fine job of fooling everyone."

Sharon
laughed, "Fooled you, didn't I? And those idiot shrinks who examined
me."

"You
need help, Sharon. Maybe you didn't think those people would die, but they did
and for what? So you could drag your family and husband through court?"

"I
might win."

"You
might, but if you do and get out, what will you do the next time someone hurts
you?" Moving closer to Sharon, Harriett said, "Who will you hurt the
next time, Sharon?"

"Has
anyone ever hurt you, Harriett? Hurt you so badly you didn't think could get
over it?"

"Yes."

"Have
you gotten over it yet?"

"I'm
working on it," Harriett admitted.

"So
I don't suppose I'll be seeing you after this," Sharon smiled.

"No,
you won't."

"You
did the best you could," Sharon grinned, the look in her eyes unnerving.
"Maybe this way I'll get a chance to see whoever told them about Lou
Harmon through my rifle sight someday."

Chapter
Forty-Eight

SHE
HAD BEEN driving through an unexpected gray rain that seemed to be following
her for nearly a hundred miles before the truck finally popped out into bright
sunlight that glared up from the road. Rolling the driver's side window down,
she rested her elbow on the window frame, allowing the spring air to blow her
hair wildly. The rain dripping from the roof occasionally found its way against
her face. She ignored it. For the first time in months, she felt strangely
free. The air smelled fresh as she took in deep breaths. She wasn't in a
particular hurry, but hoped to make it into the silence and safety of the cabin
before the rain could pursue her any further. She had loved the rain as a
child. Thoughts of soaking rains cooling the dusty soil around her parents'
house had soothed her and carried her off into a dreamless, peaceful sleep. She
hadn't experienced that feeling in a long time, and she needed it now more than
she ever had before.

Without
any real need to, she flipped the turn signal and turned the steering wheel,
guiding the truck onto an unpaved road toward the lake. By morning, the narrow
road would be too muddy to navigate, but that was fine, she thought. She
wouldn't be going anywhere for a while anyway. She couldn't wait for the
solitude ahead of her and realizing how much she wanted it, needed it, she
accelerated toward it, covering the final two miles quickly. Bringing the truck
to a stop next to the cabin, she lifted her duffel bag from behind the truck
seat and slung it over her shoulder. Wayne had promised that no one would know
where she was, she thought as she walked slowly up the front steps, glancing
over her shoulder at the small whitecaps that were beginning to form in the
cove. The rain would be there soon.

Unlocking
the cabin door, she stepped into her past and was momentarily flooded with
memories. The air smelled slightly stale as she looked around. She smiled at
her mind's sight of her father attempting to flip pancakes in an old skillet,
making yet another snack on the floor for his dog instead of breakfast for his
hungry, laughing daughter. Moving across the front room, she paused in front of
the cold fireplace, seeing herself in Alex's arms, warm and contented at the
time. Blinking the memory away, she shook her head slightly and walked into the
master bedroom and tossed her bag on the bed.

As
she carried three bags of groceries into the kitchen, she set them on the
counter and opened the refrigerator door. She was surprised to see a familiar
looking bottle of wine lying on the bottom shelf and picked it up. "It
can't be," she said aloud. It was Alex's favorite wine. "Surely Wayne
has cleaned out this damned refrigerator at least once in the last twelve
years."

Searching
through the kitchen drawers, she found a corkscrew and peeled the silver,
metallic wrapper from the cork. Slowly extracting the cork she sniffed the
contents and shrugged as she opened another cabinet and took down a wine glass.
"What the hell?" she shrugged, pouring the glass half full. After a
cautious sip, she smiled. It had aged better than she had. When everything was
put away, she carried the glass into the front room and reclined on the couch,
propping her feet on the coffee table. Staring out the front window, she
watched the gathering storm move across the lake toward her, took a deep
breath, and closed her eyes.

A
flash of lightning and the sound of low rolling thunder woke her. It was almost
dark, but she couldn't tell if the darkness was from night falling or the storm
that had claimed the area. Forcing her body up, she placed an armful of logs in
the fireplace grate and built a small tent of tinder. As the fire began to take
hold and creep up the sides of the larger pieces of wood, she refilled her
glass and dragged a pillow onto the floor, watching the sparks from the fire as
they drifted slowly upward until they were sucked into the updraft of the
chimney. It had grown completely dark outside, but she preferred to sit in the
dark, the room illuminated only by the flickering fire and an occasional streak
of lightning. She had no idea what time it was and didn't really care. She had
left her watch in the truck, as usual.

Gradually
the storm passed, leaving in its wake a soft, soaking rain and the wonderful
smell of freshness. She was suddenly incredibly tired and banked the fire
before wandered into the bedroom. Lifting the duffel bag off the bed, she
slipped her shoes off and stretched out on the bed, feeling her body sink into
it. The pillow smelled freshly laundered, and its scent conjured up memories of
the sheets her mother always sun-dried. To soak up the sunshine and bring it
into their bedrooms, Irene had told her children. A smile tugged at Harriett's lips
as sleep pulled her further down into the bed.

A
SHAFT OF sunlight across her face woke her the next morning. Holding her hand
over her eyes to block the light, Harriett rolled away from it, but didn't fall
back to sleep. Reaching out, she let her hand run over the empty coolness of
the other side of the bed. It shouldn't be this way, she thought. She shouldn't
be alone. Like so many things lately though, that hadn't been her decision. She
felt her eyes mist over, but blinked it away. Sitting up and leaning back on
her elbows, she waited a few minutes before swinging her legs over the side of
the bed. She pushed hair over her head with both hands as she made her way into
the kitchen.

She
was surprised at the lingering coolness the rain had left behind when she
carried a steaming cup of coffee onto the porch, sipping it cautiously. Sitting
on the top step, she squinted at the light sparkling off the water in the cove
and wondered if Wayne had left any fishing gear in the cabin. After a good
rain, she was sure she would be able to coax a few earthworms from their hiding
places. Swallowing the last of her coffee, she set the cup on the porch and
made her way toward the fishing pier. She didn't have a plan. She wanted to be
alone to think, to decide what she wanted to do. She had never thought about it
before. She had always known what she wanted, had always gone after it, and had
always caught it. Did she now, at forty-five, still want what she had wanted
when she was twenty-five, or had she outgrown it?

If she
never worked again, she was sure she had invested well and saved enough to stop
working. Looking mentally through her personal dossier, however, she discovered
that it was empty. She had a few good friends but otherwise was alone. Lacey
would be leaving in a couple of months for college to pursue her own dreams and
hopefully catch them. She could spend her time doing charity work, maybe join
the Junior League and spend her time at book readings and fund-raisers for
worthwhile organizations. Harriett threw her head back and laughed out loud. No
matter how hard she tried she couldn't imagine herself doing any of those
things. She didn't have any hobbies to occupy her time and, although she
donated generously to charitable causes, it wasn't something she'd want to do
full-time. She was an attorney. It was all she'd ever wanted, all she'd ever
been happy doing. She loved the competition of it, the jousting back and forth
in court, fighting the good fight or at least letting the other guy know he had
been in a fight. Maybe Nick was right. She could become a visiting lecturer for
young attorneys. She could write that book on the disparity of legal
representation between the rich and the poor she had been thinking about. She
could accept nothing but pro bono cases. Hell, she could join the public
defender's office. But she liked seeing her name on the front door of her
practice every morning when she walked through those gracious beveled glass
doors that announced the entrance to Markham and Lazslo. But no matter what
decision she ultimately made, she would still be alone.