Star Witness (6 page)

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She smiled. “Please call me Dani.” She held out her hand and Field took it. He was nice, only a few years older than she.

She listened as Harte laid out the ground rules to Field about taking Dani to the courthouse to retrieve her papers—nowhere but her office, only as many papers as fit in one box or briefcase, straight back to the B & B.

“Take a different route each way and make sure you’re not followed,” he said. Then with a quick glance at her, he added, “And she’s not to leave the house again.”

She met Field’s gaze over Harte’s shoulder and rolled her eyes. Field’s expression didn’t change from quiet respect.

“Okay, then,” Harte said. “Dani, be a good girl and don’t give Officer Field a hard time, okay?”

She raised her eyebrows, wishing her superpower was shooting daggers from her eyes. “Watch it, Mr. Prosecutor. I could file harassment charges against you for calling me
girl.
”

“You could,” he said, amusement tingeing his voice. “Anybody can file suit, but it would be dismissed as frivolous.”

“I could make it stick,” she retorted.

Harte’s face grew solemn. “Seriously, don’t give him any trouble. This is for your own safety.”

Suddenly, the back of her throat quivered and she felt a twinge of fight-or-flight adrenaline course through her veins. “I understand,” she said evenly, silently willing him to go away and stop trying to scare her. Because it was working. The image of the mangled porch stairs rose in her mind’s eye. If the car had done that kind of damage to four-by-fours, what would it have done to her legs—or her body?

Chapter Four

“I’ll call you,” Harte said. “Check to see how you’re doing. And tomorrow, I’ll start prepping you for your testimony.”

Dani nodded.

Harte headed out the door, pulling a key ring with two keys on it from his pocket. “Officer? Walk me out, will you?” he said as he passed Field. “These are duplicate keys to the front and back doors. I’m giving you one and keeping one myself. You and the second-shift officer will exchange keys. One of you will be here with Ms. Canto at all times.”

“Yes, sir,” Field said, turning on his polished heel to follow him.

Imperious.
That was it. She’d been searching for just the right word to describe Harte Delancey. And
imperious
was perfect. He was arrogant too, and she didn’t like him at all. Forget how very nice he’d looked this morning in old worn jeans and a faded T-shirt with his hair tousled from sleeping in his car and his jaw shadowed by morning stubble. Forget how easy it was to imagine that he would look just like that after they spent the night...

You are so not going there,
she admonished herself, even as she pushed the curtains aside with two fingers and watched him fold his long, lean body into his car and drive away.

She wondered why an attorney in New Orleans drove a Jeep. But it did suit him, like the jeans and T-shirt and, she had to admit, the stubble.

“Ms. Canto?”

She jumped and let the curtains drop into place. “What? Oh yes, Officer Field.” She hadn’t heard him come back inside.

“Do you need anything?”

She gave him her sweetest smile. “Only a ride to the courthouse.”

“If you’re ready to go, my car is right out front.”

“The Camry?” That was the only other car she’d seen parked in front of the B & B.

“Yes. I’m driving my own car. It’s not a good idea to have a police car sitting out front all day and night.”

Dani grabbed her purse, its extra weight reminding her of the gun and the lock-pick kit inside it. She glanced quickly at Field. Would he be able to tell she was carrying just by how the heavy bag swung against her side? Thank goodness Harte hadn’t noticed. She slung the long crisscrossed strap over her head so the bag lay diagonally across her torso and rested against her left hip. Its weight reassured her. Babysitters or not, she wanted the feeling of security and control the gun gave her until the trial was over.

Looking at the back of Field’s head as he opened the front door, she still wasn’t sure he had what it took to protect her, if Harte was right about the danger.

Chewing on her lower lip, she wondered how easily manipulated he was. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Are you?”

Officer Ronald Field turned to look at her. “Ms. Canto—”

“Dani,” she said, still smiling.

“Dani. Mr. Delancey gave me my instructions. You can order something delivered later, because right now I’m driving you straight to the courthouse and straight back.”

Dani suppressed a smile as she assessed him. So, Officer Field was more strong-willed than he looked.

Chapter Five

Harte stopped outside the door of the district attorney’s office to finish speaking with his cousin Dawson, who owned a private-investigations firm. “Dawson, hang on a minute,” he said into his phone. “Don’t say anything else. I don’t want to know how you plan to get hold of Stamps’s financial records. I need to be able to use the information in court, so be careful, okay?”

“No problem. I’m working on an idea,” Dawson said.

“Get back to me as fast as you can. I have a feeling the judge is going to set the trial date as soon as he can—soon as in next week.” Harte’s phone buzzed. He looked at it. It was Felix Drury, Yeoman’s defense attorney. “I’ve got another call,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll call you back.”

Harte thanked him before switching to his second call. “Hello?” he said.

“Delancey, why is my client being harassed about an accident that has nothing to do with him?”

“Uh, who is this?” Harte asked innocently. Felix Drury was better known as Jury Drury, because in front of a jury he was as charming and self-deprecating as Jimmy Stewart’s Mr. Smith. In person, Drury was a self-aggrandizing, annoying grouch more reminiscent of Charles Laughton in
Mutiny on the Bounty.

“Damn it, Delancey, you know who this is. Why are the police hauling Mr. Yeoman in? He was having dinner with his entire family at Commander’s Palace when your client stepped in front of that car.”

“Okay, Drury. First of all, she didn’t step in front of the car, as you well know. I’m not going to put up with your usual blatant rewriting of the facts of the case. Got it?” Without waiting for an answer, Harte went on. “And why am I not surprised that your client just happened to be seen at one of the busiest and most prestigious restaurants in New Orleans at the time the vehicle nearly ran her over?”

“Mr. Yeoman and I are terribly sorry about her accident, as is everyone. We do hope she wasn’t injured. It would be a shame for such a lovely young woman to be hurt like that.”

Harte didn’t like the way Drury said that. If he were paranoid, he might construe it as a veiled threat.

Drury was speaking again. “Now, you tell your boss to lay off Yeoman. It’s bad enough he’s having to endure the spectacle of a frivolous trial, for a murder for which he
also
has an alibi. This treatment of a respected New Orleans businessman is approaching defamation of character.”

Harte glanced at his watch and sighed audibly, for Drury’s benefit. “Okay, Felix. I’ll give Mr. Akers your message.”

“You’re a punk, Delancey, just like your father. Both of you wish you were worthy of shining your grandfather’s shoes.”

Harte wanted to make a smart retort, but all he could think of was
Oh yeah?
So he just hung up. He opened the door to the D.A.’s office and spoke to the secretary as he passed her desk. He straightened his shoulders, then stepped into the Orleans Parish district attorney’s office. He had no doubt why Vincent Akers had called him. He was probably going to get his butt chewed for securing the order of protection without consulting him. Still, he knew he’d done the right thing.

Akers was a micromanager, too controlling to allow his prosecutors to handle things on their own. He wanted to be consulted on and approve everything they did. And that chafed Harte.

Before he even stepped into the room, the scents of breakfast tickled his nostrils. Coffee, bacon, eggs and some kind of sweet rolls. The D.A.’s breakfasts were legendary. People would come down or up from other floors to sniff and place bets on what was inside the Styrofoam container.

“Talked to Judge Tony Rossi a while ago,” Akers said without looking up from a form he was signing.

Harte resisted the almost overwhelming urge to check the shine on his shoes. He didn’t move a muscle. “Yes, sir?”

Akers leaned back in his leather manager’s chair and harrumphed. “Are you going to pretend that you don’t know what he called about?”

“No, sir.”

“Then stop standing there like an eight-year-old caught with a spitball and a straw and give me the details. Judge Rossi said you didn’t fill him in much. I asked him why he’d sign an order of protection without getting all the details. You know what he said?”

Harte’s throat was quivering with the urge to swallow. He couldn’t resist anymore. He watched Akers watch his Adam’s apple move. “No, sir,” he replied.

“He said, ‘That’s Con’s grandson, Vinnie. He told me his witness was in danger, and I trust his judgment.’” The D.A. folded his hands across his large stomach. “You know what I said back to him?”

Harte sighed. He was getting tired of this game. “No, sir.”

“I said, ‘If he’s Con’s grandson, then he’s a smart-ass and a rounder, but you’re right. His judgment is likely on-target.’”

“Thank you, sir,” Harte said.

Akers shook his head. “No,” he said. “That wasn’t a compliment. It was a concession. I respect Judge Rossi. What I don’t respect is you using your nepotistic connections to get an order of protection late at night without consulting me first. That is not the way I run my office.” He harrumphed again and patted his stomach. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve worked to nail Yeoman? He’s the slipperiest snake I’ve ever run into in my entire career. And I’ve seen some slippery ones.”

“I’m hoping we’ve got him this time, sir,” Harte said.

“You better hope we do. If he’s brought to trial for murder and gets away with it, nobody’ll ever be able to touch him again. Do you understand what kind of a predicament you’ve put me in?”

“I’m just trying to protect my witness.”

Akers sighed exaggeratedly. “And it’s not bad enough that we may lose our last chance to nail Yeoman, we’re wading into deep alligator-infested waters with Ms. Canto dragging Senator Stamps and Paul Guillame into the mix.” He peered up at Harte. “By the time this trial is over, my career’s liable to be too. And if mine is, so is yours. Tell me what you’ve found out about Stamps’s involvement. And while you’re at it, don’t forget to include Paul Guillame.”

Harte winced internally. He had an urge to tell Akers what Dani said about Stamps, but it was no more than a rumor right now. If he could get something concrete, then he’d bring it to the D.A. “Don’t have anything yet, sir,” he said. “I’ve got somebody checking out a couple of rumors for me.”

“Somebody?” Akers raised an eyebrow. “Would I be correct in assuming that this somebody is also related to you?”

Harte angled his head in affirmation. “I’m hoping that with the trial coming up, there’s buzz on the street that could link Yeoman with either Stamps or Paul.”

“And what if the buzz says that Yeoman’s buddy was Freeman Canto?”

Harte swallowed again. Of course that was the simplest explanation. Yeoman sent thugs to beat up Canto because Canto was reneging on some agreement or had failed to do something. Forget Stamps and Paul. Even if Dani really had heard her grandfather’s attackers shout their names as well as Yeoman’s, it could mean nothing. But he did believe Dani and he did not believe the threats the attackers had yelled while they were beating Freeman Canto to death were nothing. He lifted his chin a fraction of an inch and challenged Akers.

“You know I have no more evidence linking Yeoman with Canto than I do with either Stamps or Paul,” he said. “I’ve spent the past three months since you assigned me to the case trying to find a link while digging my way out of the avalanche of Felix Drury’s motions and disclosure requests. We’ve got the fingerprint of a small-time thug named Kirkle on the doorknob of Canto’s office, and I’m optimistic that he’ll cut a deal and give Yeoman up. But until I have that deal in hand, all I’ve got is Dani’s testimony. But there’s got to be something from last night—a speck of paint, a sliver of a broken headlight—which can lead us to the car that tried to run Dani down. I just need one tiny crumb of physical evidence that links Yeoman to these
accidents.
If I can get that, I can make the jury believe that he killed Canto.”

Akers popped open the lid of the foam container, increasing the mouthwatering smell of bacon and biscuits. “Are the police collecting that evidence?”

“Yes, sir. I haven’t heard what they’ve found yet, but they’re on it.”

The D.A. opened a drawer and pulled out a stainless-steel fork and knife. “Fine. Now get out of here before I decide to take you off this case and make you bring Mertz or Shallowford up to speed.”

“Yes, sir. There’s just one more thing, sir.”

Akers stared at him over his reading glasses. “What?” he demanded as he lowered the lid of the container.

“I just got a call from Jury Drury,” he said. “He harangued me about the police pulling Yeoman in for questioning about the incident with the car and Dani—Ms. Canto last night. But that wasn’t the main reason for his call.”

Akers’s expression didn’t change.

“He called to let me know that Yeoman has an airtight alibi for last night. He was with his family having dinner at Commander’s Palace.”

“Of course he was,” Akers said.

Harte smiled. “That’s what I said.”

“Get out of here.”

Harte turned and tried not to bolt out the door.

“And, Harte,” Akers said. “Try not to pull the entire Delancey clan into the fray.”

He nodded as he cleared the doorway. That wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. His butt was still intact and so was his case. He had his uncle Tony, Judge Rossi, to thank for that.