SEE HER DIE (28 page)

Uncertainty wound tight inside her. Knowing Claire, she had handled the problem as she had all her problems since the Judge died, she’d hidden away to wait it out.

Jill turned to Phillips who appeared genuinely interested in these new surroundings. He moved about the entry hall, studying artwork and pictures that told the story of the Ellingtons and their prominence in Paradise over the last one hundred years. He picked up a small silver-framed photograph of her and Kate at the rambunctious age of ten. A tiny smile tugged at Jill’s lips. She remembered that day vividly. Matching pink ruffled dresses and white patent leather shoes and enough ringlets to make Goldilocks envious.

“Jill, thank Heavens you’re home.”

Paul carefully replaced the framed photograph and looked up at the woman who’d spoken from the second story landing. Though the worst had passed, he was still a little shaky. He hadn’t had this much trouble maintaining control in a long time. It was this place, he was sure of it. There was something, but he couldn’t get a handle on it. Something ugly lurking beneath the Norman Rockwell facade.

“I thought you were resting,” the younger Ellington offered, an apology in her tone, as her mother slowly descended the staircase. “I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

Paul glanced at Jillian, surprised at the sudden about face. Her expression, even her posture had changed noticeably. Up to now she’d been cool and all business. Barely kept her derision of him in check. But this was Jillian, the daughter, not the attorney. His attention returned to the woman descending the stairs. She was an older version of the daughter, medium height, slender, same delicate facial features. Still attractive. Her hair was more silver now than blond, but the eyes were the same clear sky blue. Blue and watchful, overly cautious. Also like her daughter, she dressed impeccably.

“Mother, this is Dr. Paul Phillips,” Jill said, drawing Claire’s full attention to him. “He’s advising on Kate’s case. We’re going to have lunch, would you like to join us?”

Mrs. Ellington descended the final step. With her left hand still on the newel post, she offered her right. “Claire Ellington, Dr. Phillips.” Her voice was softer than Jill’s, the diction perfect, not even a hint of a southern vernacular. According to Jill, her mother and father had both grown up in Paradise.

He clasped the hand she offered, felt her tension and frustration. This lady was every bit as suspicious of him as her daughter. “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Ellington.”

“Are you a neurologist?” she asked, obviously wondering how this stranger might help her daughter. She was as easy to read as a cheery birthday card to a point, a very shallow point. Beyond that was a firm wall of resistance. Strange.

“No, ma’am. I’m a forensic psychologist. I’m here to review your daughter’s case and suggest a proper course of action for unraveling the events of the past forty-eight hours.”

Claire nodded uncertainly. “Isn’t that what the police are doing?” She looked from Paul to Jill. “I’m sure the chief is doing everything possible to find my grandson and to catch Karl’s killer. He calls me every few hours with an update. I don’t see how you could expect any more from the man, Jillian.”

“My presence,” Paul offered, “is no reflection on local law enforcement, Mrs. Ellington. I’m here to assist.” At least the lady was honest. He had to give her points for that.

“Mother,” Jillian scolded, “the chief thinks he’s already found the killer and he’s made no headway in finding Cody. I’d say he needs all the help he can get.”

That she made the statement despite her misgivings about him surprised Paul. The lady lawyer had a serious case of needing to prove herself to mother.

Claire looked indignant. “Don’t be silly, Jillian. The chief knows Katherine would never harm anyone. He’s simply doing his job.”

Paul watched, fascinated, as the daughter steeled herself for battle, summoned the attorney in her that had moments ago fled for parts unknown. Claire reacted in kind, but it was much more subtle. A tightening along the line of her cheek, the flattening of her lips. Something stood between these two... something hurtful, but he couldn’t see it. Both did a hell of a cover-up job. Or maybe he was still subconsciously blocking.

“Her prints are on the murder weapon,” Jillian said coolly. “
Only
her prints.”

Claire shook her head, a new flush flagging her cheeks. This one motivated by anger. “I will have no such talk in this house, young lady. You’d like nothing better than to see your sister suffer just to prove a point. I called you here to help her, not accuse her of murder.”

Paul waited for the offensive, but it never came.

“I’m certain Kate is innocent,” Jillian said softly, her tone, her expression bordered on pleading. The abrupt change surprised him all over again. “I’m doing everything I can to prove it. I won’t let you or Kate down, Mother.”

Claire managed a stiff nod. “I’m sorry, dear.” She dabbed at her watery eyes. “I’ve worried so that I’m not thinking rationally. Of course you’ll do what’s best.” Another startling about face. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Phillips. We appreciate any and all efforts to find the truth.”

Paul gave an acknowledging nod and Claire Ellington retraced her steps and disappeared upstairs with all the dignity of British royalty.

“Would you like a drink, Dr. Phillips?”

If he’d been confused by the lady before, he was genuinely startled now. Her every vibe since introducing herself had suggested she had no tolerance for the idea that alcohol could be a man’s best friend. He, on the other hand, preferred lunch in a glass any day.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having, Miss Ellington.”

Her posture rigid and her expression unyielding, she turned and strode through the double doors of the room to his left. Ever the glutton for punishment, he tagged along.

More pictures of dead relatives adorned the rich paneled walls of the room. He had almost no history and even fewer photographs of his family. His parents had died in a house fire when he was in high school. He’d been alone for so long, he rarely thought of them anymore.

Who was better off, he wondered, him or Jillian Ellington?

A leather tufted chair sat behind a massive mahogany desk. The paneled walls not weighted with photographs and paintings were lined with shelves filled with ancient looking leather-bound volumes. He picked up on the vague scents of cherry flavored tobacco and Old Spice.

“The Judge’s private chambers,” she proclaimed as she closed the double doors behind them. “Mother keeps it closed up so the essence of my father won’t fade completely.” She inhaled deeply. “It still smells just like him.” She turned slowly in the middle of the room and indicated the endless array of reading material. “His law books.” She sighed, the sound wistful. “Ancient tomes that personify wisdom and justice.”

A stern but affectionate voice echoed those same words in Paul’s head.
The Judge
. She’d heard her father say those words time and again. He surveyed the cherished room. Courage and strength resonated within these walls. Confusion pulled at him. Courage and strength and something else... another element much less pure. Less good but obscured by numerous concealing layers. All those sensations were underscored by a simmering desperation.

“Your father longed for you to follow in his footsteps.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

She faced him. “What?”

He swallowed tightly, searching for something amid the Judge’s worldly possessions that lent logic to such a knowing call. This was the precise reason he didn’t get personally involved with his cases. His control always slipped. It was a constant battle, one much easier won when he was alone with reports and photos. His gaze landed on the painting on the wall behind the ornate desk.

The Judge seated in a throne-like chair, the sister, Katherine, sat in her father’s lap, but Jillian stood at his side. He gestured to the painting. “You’re standing beside him... an equal. He knew you were the strongest.”

Jill didn’t bother looking at the portrait, only at him. He tensed... he’d made another misstep. Said too much. Those clear blue eyes searched his so closely he barely restrained the need to look away.

“How do you know it’s me standing beside him?” Her voice was eerily calm. “It could be Kate. We’re identical twins. No one has ever been able to tell us apart.”

Damn
. “It’s you.” No point in attempting to evade the inevitable bullet of her suspicion. “How old were you when you decided to go to law school?”

That piercing gaze shifted from him to the portrait. “I was nine.” She moved to the cabinet where liquor decanters waited and poured two drinks, both bourbon, both neat. “I ditched school and sneaked into the courtroom where the Judge was presiding that day.”

His mouth watered as she handed one glass to him. “Did you get caught?” Every molecule of strength he possessed was required to prevent downing the bourbon.

She leaned against the corner of her father’s desk. “Of course, but he didn’t tell. Father took me into his chambers and spent the afternoon telling me all about his work. I’ve been in love ever since.”

But that wasn’t how the story ended. Sadness enveloped her. He could feel the hurt. He looked away. Surrendered to the thirst and took a long swallow. Relief surged through his body. But this one polite drink would never be enough.

“The framed photos are Kate’s.” She gestured with her glass to the array of small framed photographs on one shelf. “She’s as avid about photography as I am about the law.” Jillian smiled. “She always had a camera swinging around her neck.”

That smile tugged at him, made him want to look more closely. He downed another swallow of Bourbon and hoped it would dull his senses. It was all he could do to keep the voices and images at bay.

“I have an appointment with an attorney in an hour.” She knocked back a hefty slug of her drink, grimaced at the burn. “Before I go, I want this settled.” She looked directly at him. “As much as I respect Richard, I have to tell you, Dr. Phillips, I don’t see the point in pretending. I don’t see how you can help.”

A rather polite way of saying she had concluded he was a charlatan and not worthy of her time. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t staying. “I’ll review the reports, give you my conclusions and then I’ll be out of your way.” He finished off his drink. He’d done as Lawton asked. There was nothing else required of him here.

She shook her head, set her glass aside. “How do you live with yourself and do this?”

As hard as he tried to hold back the anger, he failed. He had nothing to prove to this woman. To anyone. “I don’t go to them, they come to me.” If he could have successfully stopped the hordes who begged him to help he would have done that long ago. Just like this one. He didn’t want to be here.

Indignation flared in her eyes. “I guess you’re just lucky the forty percent of the time you get it right.”

Damn he needed another drink. “I’ll be done here today. Three or four hours tops.”

She made a breathy sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Just leave your report on my father’s desk. As far as I’m concerned you and I are done now.”

Chapter 4

Paradise Country Club

“You’re suggesting an insanity plea?” Jill could scarcely believe she’d heard him right. The meeting with the attorney had turned into a late lunch, but she’d lost her appetite well before they were served.

How could she eat when her nephew was still missing? She couldn’t help thinking he was out there, scared and hungry. The advice she’d just gotten regarding her sister’s case only added to her anxiety.

Cullen Marks leaned back in his chair. “I believe that’s the only avenue we have available at this time. I’m familiar with the neurologist and psychiatrist reviewing the case and both men are excellent.”

Jill felt stunned. The great attorney Richard had highly recommended wanted to take the easy way out. Beneath that thousand dollar suit and store bought tan, the man who’d first impressed her as a mover and a shaker with his brilliant smile and distinguished looks, was nothing but a slacker. A well-polished actor who played at being a high stakes attorney.

He knew the law well enough. He could quote the landmark cases that would absolve Kate of responsibility... but not of guilt. He wanted to plea bargain to prevent having to go to trial. He wanted to win without the race, which in Jill’s book amounted to not winning at all. Especially since her sister would be the ultimate loser.

And, the worst transgression of all, he wanted to assume the child was dead.

This was exactly why she hadn’t gone with anyone from her firm. Malcolm Teller was a damned good lawyer but he took the easy way out far too often.

Was that the new malady among her peers? Or worse, the new standard for the top legal eagles?

First Phillips, now Marks. Had Richard wanted her to fail? That just didn’t make sense... he was her friend. She’d known him for nearly a decade.

Jill took a moment to gather her composure. She plucked her linen napkin from her lap and squeezed it in her hands to blot her damp palms, then laid it carefully on the table next to her untouched meal. “Mr. Marks—”

“Cullen, please,” he insisted in that refined, oily tone which was even less sincere than his high voltage smile. “We’re a team. I’m aware of your association with Malcolm Teller. I’m sure your expertise will be a bonus to this team.”

Jill glanced at the assistant seated to her left. The man spared no attention from his bone china plate. His boss had everything under control. Though she hated to judge him solely on his performance at a lunch table, if he represented the kind of team players Cullen employed, then she was out before they even started.

“It’s my goal to prove my sister didn’t commit the crime,” she clarified just in case he hadn’t gotten it the first two times she’d stated her intent, and obviously he hadn’t. She knew the law too, but she wanted this case to go all the way to trial if necessary. Yes, she readily admitted that her goal had an emotional base, but putting that aside she
knew
her sister was not guilty of murder.