See No Evil (5 page)

FIVE

E
MILY WAS SLEEPING
a deep, physically exhausted sleep.

Because Julia flashed her badge, recited her credentials, and acted like she had a right to ask questions, Emily’s doctor spoke to her.

“Borderline alcohol poisoning—her blood was at .28—and we pumped her stomach,” Dr. Browne said. “Fifteen hundred milligrams of Xanax was recovered, which is approximately three pills. More may have been absorbed into her bloodstream depending on when she took them, but if she’d taken more than six or seven with that amount of alcohol she’d likely be in a coma. We’ve sent a blood sample to the lab and the report will come back tomorrow.”

“Has she regained consciousness?”

“More or less. When her stomach was pumped she came to for a few minutes. She’s sleeping, but it’s largely a drug-induced sleep from the pills her body absorbed.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No.”

“I’d like to sit with her.”

“I can’t allow any police interviews tonight. She’s being monitored twenty-four/seven and the police have put a guard at her door.”

“I just want to sit with her.” Julia added softly, “She’s my niece.”

Dr. Browne nodded, her warm eyes suddenly sympathetic. “I don’t think she’ll wake up, but if she does I’ll need to examine her in private.”

“Of course.”

“Where’s her mother?”

Julia tensed. “Home.”

Mother
was just a word to Crystal Montgomery. The irony that Matt had married a woman so much like their own mother was not lost on Julia.

Julia left the doctor, nodded to the police guard outside Emily’s room, and walked in.

Emily was in the psychiatric wing of the hospital. She couldn’t wrap her mind around Emily trying to kill herself. She honestly didn’t think her niece would do it, no matter how depressed she’d become. Julia could see her accidentally overdosing. She’d talked to Emily about the drugs Dr. Bowen had prescribed and she thought she’d convinced her to stay off them, but Emily had so many problems with Crystal, then with Judge Montgomery after Crystal remarried three years ago, that Julia suspected the prescriptions were a comfortable fallback. A sanctioned escape.

Had Julia been wrong about the drugs? She wasn’t a doctor. Maybe Emily really needed some of the many pills Bowen had prescribed.

Julia rubbed her forehead with her palm. What had she been thinking? What had she been doing? Trying to be a part-time mother to a disturbed teenager? She wasn’t a mother, and at the rate her love life had been going she’d never be one unless she was artificially inseminated. Maybe childlessness was a good thing, because the one child in her life, the one kid she cared about, was suffering. And she might have had something to do with it.

Could a half-dozen prescriptions be good for a sixteen-year-old? Julia had never heard of most of them, though she’d researched a bit to understand. When she was depressed, take this one. When hyper, this. When she couldn’t sleep, something else. Different pills for different moods, to regulate her temperament. What had Dr. Bowen hoped to accomplish? What had he hoped to fix? The fact that she’d run away, or that she’d vandalized the courthouse? And how could pills fix problems when all Emily really needed was someone nonjudgmental, someone she trusted, to talk to?

That was the crux of it: Emily had never talked about
why.
In court, Emily had said she’d been drinking and didn’t know what she was doing. Julia hadn’t fully believed her then, but Emily never expounded on her admission and Julia hadn’t pressed.

She should have. She should have done a hell of a lot more than leave Emily in a house without love.

Julia had grown up in one of those. It was ego shattering.

She finally approached the hospital bed, her eyes wet with unshed tears, staring at the too skinny, fragile teen. Her blond hair was limp and tangled. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She had an IV and was hooked up to some sort of monitor—it tracked her vital signs. Julia couldn’t look at Emily any longer without breaking down, so she watched the electronic heart-beat as she held her slender hand, the faint
beep beep
soothing her.

If her brother, Matt, were alive, none of this would have happened. Matt had adored Emily, worshipped Crystal. At least he had until about six months before his death. Julia made it a point to never criticize her sister-in-law—the one huge fight between her and Matt had been shortly after their marriage, and it was clear then that Matt would always choose his pregnant wife over Julia.

Julia couldn’t, wouldn’t, force him to make that choice. So she swallowed her pride and tapped down on her worry and fear that Matt had made a terrible mistake.

Crystal was a brilliant actress, but she couldn’t keep the act going indefinitely. Cracks appeared in the marriage script. Eventually, Matt saw her for who she was: a money-worshipping narcissistic bitch who didn’t care one iota about Emily or even Matt, beyond his ability to keep her in luxury.

If it weren’t for that awful car accident, Matt would be divorced and Emily wouldn’t be living in that loveless house with Crystal and Victor.

Julia couldn’t fathom that Victor was dead. She’d sort of liked him. At least she thought he’d be a good influence on Crystal and provide stability for Emily. He was a respected jurist, a judge she’d always liked to draw for trial because he was tough on criminals while being compassionate to victims. In her experience, that was a rare combination.

But he also liked wealth and social position, and last summer he’d brought up in conversation the subject of Emily’s trust, which put Julia on full alert. She’d dismissed him without comment, then just last month he’d asked her to come to his chambers, she thought to discuss a pending trial; instead, he’d handed her an analysis of Emily’s trust fund that he’d hired a friend to produce.

“Ted is an established financial planner. He says Emily’s trust is too conservative, that she could be seeing far more interest if she manages the stock more aggressively.”

“As the executrix of Emily’s trust, I’m comfortable with the firm we currently have managing it.”

Victor attempted to sweet-talk her, but by the end of the conversation he was quietly angry. “You’re making a mistake, Julia.”

“No, I’m not.”

That conversation made her realize that there was only one person looking out for Emily’s interests, and that was Julia.

The door opened with a quiet
swoosh.
Julia startled and glanced over her shoulder, expecting a nurse or the doctor she’d spoken with earlier. Instead, it was Officer Diaz.

“You have a visitor,” he said.

She glanced at her watch. Two in the morning. Where had the last two hours gone? Had she dozed off?

She kissed Emily on the cheek and quietly left. Emily was in the psychiatric observation ward. The nurses’ station in the center of a larger room monitored all patients through windows looking into the individual rooms. It pained Julia that Emily was under suicide watch, but it was in her best interest.

Diaz nodded toward defense attorney Iris Jones, who stood beside him.

Iris didn’t look like she’d been woken from a deep sleep. In fact, she was impeccably dressed in a gray Anne Klein suit and matching blouse. Her black hair was pulled into her customary ponytail, and her makeup had been sparingly applied. She could have been any age between thirty and fifty, but Julia knew that Iris was five years older than she was, thirty-nine. Iris’s beauty and diminutive height were misleading—she was a force to be reckoned with, the only defense attorney Julia had lost a trial to.

“I have a room down the hall that’s secure,” Iris said, brushing by Diaz. Julia gave him an awkward smile as she followed, felt his disapproving glance. Consorting with the enemy, he probably thought. Julia couldn’t let other people’s opinions influence her. Emily needed her rights protected.

Iris closed the door behind them. “What do you know?”

Julia filled her in on everything she’d been told and observed at the Montgomery house. “Detective Hooper thinks the evidence is damning.”

Iris waved a hand. “See, you look at things from the eyes of a prosecutor. All I see is a bunch of circumstantial evidence that means absolutely nothing. Did they find the murder weapon?”

“I don’t know. But…the way Victor was killed. It would take more than one person.”

“Which proves another point: Emily didn’t have to be involved at all. Two or more people entered the house and killed Victor either before Emily got home from school, or while she was upstairs.”

“They think she tried to kill herself.”

“Conjecture. Do they have a doctor’s report on that?” Iris glanced at her notes. “I was late because I was doing a little research. Emily was on probation, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And seeing a shrink? Garrett Bowen?” Iris smiled. “Interesting guy. I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anyone, Iris.”

Instead of being insulted, Iris grinned. She tapped her notes. “We need our own shrink, and we want our person to talk to Emily first. I’m going to petition the court first thing in the morning. And I’m going to ask that you be appointed as Emily’s temporary guardian until the situation is resolved.”

“Crystal will never agree—”

“She doesn’t have to. She’s on record as believing her daughter is guilty of murder. That’s what you told me, correct?”

“Yes, but it was phrased in the form of a question, so—”

“Leave that up to me, Julia,” Iris said, dismissing her. She put her pen down and stared at Julia, making her feel distinctly uncomfortable. But Julia refused to squirm. She stared right back.

“Okay, let’s lay out the ground rules now. You don’t like me because you think I work for the bad guys.”

“You do.”

Iris raised her hand to silence her. “Do you think Emily is a bad guy?”

Julia felt tears spring to her eyes. She rubbed them. “No.”

“Do you think she’s guilty?”

Julia hesitated. “No.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“You don’t know, do you? But that’s okay. You don’t have to know. What you want is to protect her rights. She’s a minor child who has a troubled past and she has rights. But because she’s a minor, she needs a guardian and I’m confident I can prove Crystal Montgomery is unfit to make decisions on Emily’s behalf during this time.” Iris glared at Julia. “My question to you is, can
you
do it?”

“Of course I can,” Julia snapped. “She’s my niece. My brother is dead, I can’t—” She stopped. There was no way she was going into detailed family history with this woman. Iris’s job was to protect Emily’s rights. That’s it. “I love Emily. I will do what I have to do to protect her.”

Iris nodded. “I’d like to retain Dr. Dillon Kincaid for the defense.”

“Kincaid? He usually works for Stanton.”

“Unfortunately.” Iris fanned herself. “What a hottie. I’ve hired him for psychiatric evaluations and he’s good at his job. His credentials are impeccable. But I want him because he usually works for your people. If we hire him to evaluate Emily, they can’t use him for their side. We want him on our team. We’re building our case, Julia.”

“Okay.” Julia had worked with Dillon several times—for the prosecution. She respected him greatly, and if anyone had to probe Emily’s psyche, she’d rather have Dillon do it.

“Good, because I already called him. He’s meeting us here at nine this morning.” She glanced at her watch. “Six hours. Glad I don’t need a lot of sleep. Next step, we need to bring in a private investigator. We need to verify everything the police say and do, follow up on our own leads, interview friends, neighbors on our own. Our goal is to find holes in the prosecution.”

“If it gets that far!” Julia had been pacing. She finally sat down, defeated. “They may not even charge Emily. They might not have a case against her.”

“True, but when was the last time you heard of a detective telling someone to get an attorney? They know something we don’t.” Iris made a note. “I have Bruce Younger on retainer. He’s a top investigator, the best I have—”

“I’ve already called Connor Kincaid.”

Iris didn’t hide the surprise in her eyes. “Yet another Kincaid? Isn’t Connor the cop you screwed in the Crutcher case?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Iris,” Julia said, feeling weary. She explained the history. “Three years ago Emily ran away from home. I hired Connor to find her. He told me if Emily ever needed help again to call him.”

“Why did he agree to help in the first place?”

Julia squirmed under Iris’s scrutiny. “Emily was just a kid. Thirteen at the time. And—” She shrugged. She’d asked Connor because she trusted him and knew he was good. But she’d had to appeal to his sense of family and honor to get him to agree to work for her. She felt guilty she’d compared Emily to his own teenaged sister, but it worked and that’s what counted.

And then he’d found Emily and brought her home and she hadn’t spoken to him since.

Iris started with another question, then stopped. “Why didn’t Emily’s mother hire the investigator?” she asked.

Julia’s jaw tightened. “She thought it was a stunt for attention and that Emily would come home on her own when she was hungry.”

“Was it? A stunt?”

“No.”

“Then why did she run away?”

“I don’t know,” Julia admitted. Emily had refused to talk about it.

“Well, we just nailed Crystal Montgomery’s coffin shut. You’re as good as in as Emily’s guardian.” Iris glanced at her watch. “I’m going home for a couple hours, make some calls, then come back here before nine. If you can bring in Connor Kincaid, more power to you. He knows cops, and we can use some inside information. But I’ll admit, I’m surprised he’s given you the time of day.”

SIX

“L
ATE NIGHT?”

Connor Kincaid halted within arm’s reach of his front door, keys in hand. He knew that voice. A low rumble, quiet, too damn sexy. Slowly, he turned and faced her.

Julia Chandler.

She leaned against the porch’s support beam. As Connor stared Julia straightened, her casual manner all too brief, layering on the take-no-prisoners prosecutor image she had perfected. Top to bottom, she was a piece of work. Richly textured blond hair, put up tight on her head so no one knew how long it really was; aristocratic bones, long and elegant; a curvy figure hidden underneath sensible, expensive lawyer suits. And those legs. Those legs never ended.

She looked tired, and her makeup was less than perfect. Several strands of long, wavy hair had escaped, softening her pretty face. He put that aside. He didn’t care about her, her appearance, her life. She’d helped destroy his career, everything he believed in, everything he thought he was.

Yet Julia didn’t have the decency to stay away. No, she’d called on him to find her niece three years ago—begged him, manipulated him. Used him and his family.
“What if it was your sister? What if Lucy ran away? Emily’s even younger. I don’t trust anyone else with her safety.”

Trust. Julia Chandler didn’t know the meaning of the word. But she loved her niece and the comparison to Lucy worked. Family meant everything to him, and Julia knew it, used it. It wasn’t the first time.

She stood here on his porch to try to manipulate him again.
Try
was the operative word, because Connor wasn’t going to fall for her plea this time. He’d heard the hot news about Montgomery’s murder driving back from the gym. If she thought he gave a shit, she was even stupider than he thought.

He should have said no the first time. He’d definitely say no now.

Tossing his keys back and forth, palm to palm, he stared down the prosecutor. He didn’t care how many perps she put in prison, how many rapists she went after or murderers she convicted. Five years ago, as a hot new assistant district attorney, she’d had his balls in her brass palm. Julia forced Connor to do something he’d sworn he’d never do. Squeezed until he turned in his resignation.

“You’re the last person I expected to be waiting on my doorstep.”

“I need your help.”

“Oh? I thought you were here to take me to bed.” He let his eyes roam from her head to her full breasts, down to her narrow waist and long, long legs. He wished he didn’t find her so damn attractive; it would be much easier to hate her.

She reddened at his obvious perusal and he gave a half smile. “There’s at least five hundred certified dicks in San Diego, I’m sure one of them would be more than happy to take your money and do whatever
job
you have.”

“May I come in for a minute?”

“No.”

“Connor, please. This is important.”

“It’s always important with you.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation standing here.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

The change in her demeanor was almost imperceptible, but Connor watched carefully. Her left hand clutched her purse, her right flexed. “If it weren’t for Emily, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t use Emily as a way to get to me.” Why did he expect better from her?

“I’m not, it’s just—”

“I heard about Montgomery’s murder on the news. I have no desire to get involved in a police investigation. Missing person? Sure. Bring it on. Emily ran away? I’ll find her. Write out the check and leave it in my mailbox. No need to show up here again.”

He turned, put a hand on his doorknob, hating himself for wanting to know why Julia had come to him. He wanted to go inside, shower, eat breakfast, and head back to the gym to work with the high school dropouts who thought gangs were the answer to their problems. He didn’t have a regular job, thanks to Julia Chandler, but damn if he was going to hide for the rest of his life.

“Judge Montgomery was murdered in his home office.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He slid his key into the lock.

“Emily was found unconscious. The police think she tried to kill herself.”

He stopped, glanced at Julia. Little could have surprised him more. He’d kept in touch with Emily. Irregularly, because she
was
Julia’s niece. But suicide? Against his better judgment he asked, “Is she okay?”

“She’s in the hospital, but I don’t think she tried to commit suicide. I don’t have the doctor’s report yet.”

“Why do you need me?”

“The house was secure from the inside. She was apparently the only one home when Victor was murdered.”

“They can’t think Emily killed him.”

“They do, and they think she had help. Detective Hooper is in charge and he knows about the threats Herman Santos made on Montgomery’s life. Maybe someone threatened Emily, she had to let them in. I don’t know what happened. All I know is that Emily didn’t kill him. I know it. You know it. But I can’t be involved in the investigation. Stanton warned me off right away. But I
am
Emily’s aunt and no one can keep me away from her.”

The bastard Stanton didn’t know the meaning of the word
family.
Though Connor couldn’t disagree with his reasoning on this case. Julia had to stand back. Something Connor knew would be virtually impossible for her to do. “And you want me to do
what
exactly?”

“Stay apprised on the investigation. Prove Emily didn’t have anything to do with it.” She paused. “I hired Iris Jones.”

“That bitch? She takes pleasure in keeping the bad guys out of prison.”

“She’s good at her job. Someone needs to protect Emily’s rights. She’s already retained Dillon to evaluate Emily.”

Against his better judgment, he asked, “How did Montgomery die?”

“It wasn’t on the news?”

Connor shook his head.

“His penis was amputated.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Amputated?” he repeated.

“It was shoved down his throat.”

“Good God.”

“Gage hasn’t said it flat out, but I know what he’s thinking. I’ve worked with him and Hooper enough. They think Emily had help, that she let people into the house to kill Victor.”

“And you?”

“How can you even ask me that?”

“You’re her aunt. You don’t see her every day. She’s a troubled, closed-mouth teenager. You don’t really
know
her. Not anymore.” As he said it, he didn’t fully believe it. But Emily’s involvement was a possibility. It would be better for Julia if she accepted at least that possibility early on.

Why did he even care about what was good for Julia? Let her heart break.

Julia was angry but controlled it. She was the epitome of control, always keeping her emotions in check. Never rising to the bait. Always right, standing by her oh-so-perfect ethics. Everything was black-and-white in Julia Chandler’s world.

Her next comment surprised him. “You’re right. I saw Emily every week, but I don’t really know her. I should have fought harder for custody. But I’m just her aunt. I know the law. It was stacked against me. Crystal is a bitch, but that doesn’t mean a court will take her only child away from her. Being a bitch isn’t a crime.”

“I don’t know what you think I can do. I’m not a cop anymore, which I’m sure you haven’t forgotten.”

The softness and pain that had crossed Julia’s face when she spoke of Emily disappeared and the hard-nosed prosecutor was back.

“I don’t have to tell
you
that this is a sensitive, politicized investigation and I can’t have my fingers in the pie. But I’ll do anything to protect Emily. She’s my family. My
only
family. I want you to prove she couldn’t have killed Victor. I want not only doubt but innocence.”

“You hired Iris Jones. I’m sure she has investigators on retainer. Use them. Don’t manipulate me.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you.” She stared at Connor, her dark emerald eyes full of emotion, imploring him. He hadn’t noticed the resemblance to her niece until then, but he saw it now, could almost picture Julia as a young girl, getting what she wanted with that determined look, those piercing green eyes. She wasn’t one to back down. He admired that trait as much as he despised it.

“You have contacts I don’t have, you can go places I can’t go. Please, Connor. You have to help.”

“Shit, Julia,” he whispered under his breath. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

Her eyes darkened. “That’s what makes me so good at my job,” she snapped.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it at the hospital. Listen to Dillon interview Emily. Maybe that will convince you.”

“Dammit.” He raked a hand through his hair.

“Nine o’clock.”

“That’s twenty minutes from now.”

“I know.”

“Don’t count on it.”

She reddened. “I won’t.”

She turned on her heel and left.

Connor watched her walk down the stairs, head high, the queen in action. Damn, damn, damn. Working with Julia Chandler was the last thing he wanted or needed in his life. He’d finally been able to put aside the crap five years ago that had cost him his job, and she walks back into his life like a nineteen-forties femme fatale. Hot and sexy and too damn smart.

He wanted to say no. He wanted to throttle her. But in the end, could he live with himself if Emily Chandler Montgomery ended up in prison and there was a way he could have prevented it?

Besides, he was sick and tired of working for insurance companies chasing down fraud claims. Boring for one, but more than that, it was intensely disheartening that so many people in the world were out for the easy buck that lying had become second nature.

He went inside his small house and to the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would clear his mind.

He pictured Julia’s long legs and the body that came with them.

Make it a cold shower.