Express Malice

By Kathryn Hill

A riveting legal thriller that takes
the reader into the twisting labyrinth
of the criminal justice system, the
deep recesses of a womans heart and
a maelstrom of dark desire, violence
and danger.
Judge Kate Wood is a young,
bright and brave woman whose
judicial career takes second place to
her hunt for the person that savagely
murdered her sister and brother-inlaw.
In the aftermath, Kate is left with
her sisters teenage son, Jeremy. While
learning of her sisters sinister side of
life, she herself is being stalked by a
killer whose terrifying attacks leave
no clue as to identity or motive.
There appears to be no safe haven
for Kate as she struggles to save her
career, her nephew and her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483617886

Kathryn Hill

Kathryn Hill was born in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and raised in the Atlanta, Georgia, area. She attended Georgia State University and later received her LLB and LLM in Taxation from Atlanta Law School. She currently lives in Conyers, Georgia, with her husband, Charlie

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The courtroom was packed and noisy. Every seat was taken; several reporters were in the aisle on bent knees while others lined the walls. At least a dozen uniformed police officers were present; a dozen more appeared in street clothes.

One of the clerks whispered something to the bailiff. The judge was on the way. Two deputy sheriffs entered, escorting the defendant, a small, thin man in his early thirties dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit. He kept his head down, his cuffed wrists in front of him. He took small steps, the shackles around his waist and ankles clanking with every shuffle of his feet.

All rise and remain standing. Superior Court of Fulton County is now in session. The Honorable Kate Wood presiding, the bailiff said, stepping to the front of the courtroom after the defendant was seated.

Kate Wood entered the courtroom through the small door behind the bench and ascended in a swirl of black robing. People said there was something very unusual about Kate: her petiteness was deceiving; dark unblemished skin, dark hair, green eyes. She took her proud posture, the sculpted cheekbones and the penetrating eyes from her grandfather. Before she entered her domain of the courtroom, she would look for strength in the small, framed portrait of him that she kept on her office credenza. He had always been her strength.

Kate was young for the bench, only thirty-eight, so she had to work to appear authoritative. Recently in a newspaper editorial, she had been referred to as appearing to be a member of the church choir instead of the bench.

Kate would need that inner strength this afternoon. She was entering the second day of hearing a motion that could destroy the people’s case. Generally, motions were routine and usually somewhat uneventful, carried out in an almost empty courtroom. This motion should have been heard at the preliminary hearing, but the defendant had been represented by a public defender, a man who was somewhat intimidated by the prosecution and had far too many open cases on his desk.

This case involved the rape and murder of twenty-two year old Amy Lassiter. She had gone home for a weekend to visit her family and was returning to Atlanta. Her 2006 Mustang was later found abandoned along I-20 with a flat tire. An exhaustive six-week search had culminated in tragedy.

Yes, Kate would certainly need that inner strength.

The Assistant District Attorney Robert Milford charged through the side door of the courtroom. Late as usual, spouting excuses of being assigned to two courtrooms with conflicting schedules, he began straightening his tie and arranging his file. Suddenly Milford looked up at the bench.

Kate’s gaze was firm and her voice echoing annoyance as she reprimanded him. I’m pleased you were able to join us today, Mr. Milford, but we are already in session and you are late as usual. I’ll give you five minutes to collect yourself, and then we’ll begin.

Kate’s eyes found the victim’s parents while Milford frantically shuffled papers. They were seated in the first row, side by side, behind the defendant. They held each other’s hand; they stared straight ahead, both in their fifties. Waiting, waiting for justice.

Seated next to them was a dark haired young man in his early twenties, the victim’s boyfriend. Kate recalled his face from the newspaper articles. He was wearing a dark blue blazer with a white shirt and a striped tie, probably the one he had worn to the funeral. He had dated the victim for the past three and a half years. This was their first year at Georgia State University and they had been living together in a small apartment near the MARTA rail line. He had told reporters he had been saving his extra money from odd jobs to buy her an engagement ring.

Finally, the Assistant District Attorney looked up and motioned that he was ready.

People versus Henderson, Kate said, immediately calling the case, as the clerk handed the file to her. The courtroom fell silent and all eyes were directed to the bench. We will be hearing the defendant’s Motion to Suppress Evidence, specifically the defendant’s confession. Mr. England, I understand you have a witness.

Yes, Your Honor, England said, already standing. Matthew England’s hair was showing signs of gray but at forty-four, he was still handsome and his face was youthful.

Once the witness had been sworn in, he adjusted the microphone. He was in uniform. Yesterday they had all heard testimony from the arresting officers. Kate felt certain they had perjured themselves. Today she would hear more of the same bull—all concocted lies. After the officer stated his name for the record and his position as a deputy sheriff assigned to the Fulton County Jail, England stepped from behind the table and approached the witness box.

Deputy Peters, what time of day did you first see the defendant on the fifteenth of June?

I believe it was about three o’clock in the morning. I was getting ready to go home and sign out. My shift is over at three. He was in a holding cell, on the bench.

Was he alone? England asked.

Yes, Deputy Peters responded nervously.

And what was he doing when you saw him?

Sleeping.

Sleeping? England asked, slightly cocking his head. Turning to face the crowded courtroom, he walked to the table and picked up something.

I—I thought he was asleep.

Is it possible he was unconscious? England’s eyebrows rose with his voice. The witness’ eyes were locked on the items in the attorney’s hands as he began waiving them around.

Possibly, the deputy replied. Then he moved closer to the microphone. I thought he was drunk.

I see, England said, compassionately. So, you went into the holding cell and tried to rouse him?

Yes. When he didn’t respond, I got another deputy and we moved him from the holding cell.

Where did you move him to?

To a regular cell, where they all get moved after they’re booked,

How did you move him?

We carried him under his arms.

Did you look at his face during the time you were carrying him or did you drag him?

Of course I looked at his face. The man peered through the audience looking for his fellow officers, and those that had made the arrest, desperately trying to grab some moral support.

And you didn’t notice the bruises on his face, his right eye swollen shut?

I don’t remember.

The district attorney was squirming in his seat, tapping his pen annoyingly on the table.

England’s momentum was building and with the next question, Kate could almost hear him letting off the steam that was building inside. You didn’t possibly notice that his left arm was broken, did you?

No, the deputy said; sweat beginning to drip from his forehead.

Deputy Peters, did you think for even one single moment that the defendant was in need of medical treatment, that he was in fact unconscious, that his arm was severely broken, so severely broken that it was flopping back and forth as you drug him down the hall? Surely that’s something that you would have noticed, isn’t it, Deputy Peters?

No, I thought he might have been in a bar fight, drunk or something. It’s not my job to see that a perp gets medical treatment. I’m just a jailer.

England spun around. Deputy Peters, did you beat the defendant, causing him the injuries?

The deputy jumped out of his seat. No! I didn’t lay a hand on him. I put him in the cell bunk and left.

Well, that’s very interesting. The arresting officers testified just yesterday that he might have ‘incurred a few bruises’ when they were placing him under arrest, but nothing more. I guess that means you broke his arm, right? I mean if they didn’t break his arm, you must have been the one who broke it.

The deputy’s face turned bright red. He wasn’t about to take the fall for those guys. No way did I do that. His arm was broken when they brought him in and booked him. I sure didn’t do it.

Commotion rang throughout the courtroom. Several officers began to exit through the rear doors. The district attorney had suddenly lost all color. You mean the arresting officers? Right? Not during booking but prior to booking?

The witness became silent and looked to the district attorney for help. His eyes dropped to the floor and he finally said, I guess so.

And you, you left this man, this injured man, this unconscious man with a broken arm in a cell where he could have died. Why? Why would you do that? I’ll tell you why. Because you were about to go off duty and you didn’t want to be bothered with paperwork. You didn’t want to mess with a trip to the infirmary, all of that time-consuming stuff. You left this man to die while you went home to sleep and collect your paycheck. Isn’t that right, Deputy Peters?

The deputy’s head dropped. He couldn’t answer. He didn’t answer.

Objection, the district attorney shouted, regaining his color. He’s badgering the witness, Your Honor.

Sustained, Kate said.

No further questions, Your Honor, England said, taking his seat, his point clearly made.

Kate looked at the district attorney; the tension in her neck was increasing and she turned her head from side to side to relieve the stiffness that was growing. Your witness, Mr. Milford.

The deputy was gulping water placed in the witness stand, hoping he may drown and not have to endure anymore of this courtroom drama. The two arresting officers were seated in the back of the courtroom, their piercing eyes directed to the deputy sheriff, like daggers. Peters had much more to fear now than England, Kate thought. He had rolled over on his own; betrayed another officer. The future would not be easy now for Peters.

The district attorney stood, tugging at his jacket, readjusting his tie, leafing through papers on the prosecutor’s table, his voice low and barely audible.

Deputy Peters, are you absolutely certain that the defendant didn’t fall out of his bunk and break his arm? Your preliminary reports were that you didn’t notice any injuries. Are you now recanting that testimony?

This time the witness met the arresting officers’ eyes. He had to think quickly and decide if he was willing to have charges brought against him and serve time in jail, there was no way around it, he wasn’t going to take the rap for these guys. As a deputy sheriff assigned to the jail he didn’t testify in court that often—he wasn’t as polished as the street officers were and besides, these guys worked for the police department—not his department, not for the sheriff’s department, he didn’t have the loyalty to them to lie anymore and be charged with perjury—not for street cops.

Yes. I noticed his arm. His arm was broken when I went into the holding cell.

And you’re absolutely certain of this now? Your earlier statement was false? Milford wiped the sweat from his forehead on his shirt cuff and shook his head. He knew from the start it was bad; he didn’t know it was this bad.

Yes, the deputy answered, more perspiration appearing on his forehead and his upper lip. His shirt was now wet and he began to drink more water.

Isn’t it possible, Deputy Peters, that he could have fallen off the bench in the holding cell and injured himself before you arrived? queried the district attorney, still hopeful of salvaging the deputy’s testimony.

Peters thought for a moment. He apparently made a decision to come clean, make a feeble attempt to make amends in the eyes of the Court and possibly save his job, as well as his own conscience. I guess he could have, but he didn’t. Everyone knew he was roughed up before he was booked. He cleared his throat and continued. He killed a girl. He raped her. He tortured her. He deserved what they did to him, you know?

With this last statement, he looked as though he were really proud of himself. He had told the truth and everyone knew that Henderson had raped and killed the girl. He was confident that the press and the judge would understand what happened—he was absolutely sure of it. They all wanted to make this man suffer, to break his arms, his legs, see him bleed.

The district attorney wasn’t touching this one. He had actually gone too far and there was no way back now. England didn’t bother to object to the speculation by the deputy that the defendant was guilty. No further questions, Your Honor, the district attorney said. He returned to the counsel table, not to take his seat but to fall into it.

Milford turned to the victim’s parents and their eyes met. Kate felt the tension and the breath leaving her body. The parents did not move. They were still sitting there, straight as an arrow, their shoulders touching. They looked like statues of suffering. They had not yet realized the magnitude of what had just occurred.

The face of the young man next to them did, however.

Very well, Kate said, looking over at the witness. You may step down. Then she turned to the courtroom and recessed for fifteen minutes. I’ll see counsel in my chambers. She tapped the gavel and slipped from the bench. As soon as she was off the bench and in the hallway, she buried her face in her hands, wishing she could wipe the poison from them—hiding the stench of it all. It was all poison—clear and simple poison.

Quickly she returned to her chambers. The district attorney was right behind her. She began speaking without looking at him and she entered her outer office with only a nod at her secretary, and brief instructions that Mr. England be requested to take a seat and she’d be right with him. She needed a minute with the D.A. in private, not to discuss the case but to discuss his lack of ability and she didn’t need an audience to do that.

Are you going to file on those arresting officers? she asked furiously. Not only had they beaten the defendant within an inch of his life, they had perjured themselves the day before.

The district attorney answered, I assume we will. I haven’t given it much thought right now. He appeared more concerned about where his case was going than perjury charges against two cops.

They were in chambers now and Kate stepped behind her desk, taking her seat and tossing her glasses across the desk. These officers should be prosecuted, immediately relieved of their duties on the force, and frankly, taken out and shot! I have never seen such a fucked up case in my life! She was so angry that her hands were trembling as she shredded a slip of paper on her desk.

The district attorney’s chin jerked upward to her statement, but he didn’t speak. It was obvious that he should not say too much to the judge at this point. With disappointment, Milford finally said, Well, he is guilty, you know.

Kate didn’t bother to respond. Her hands were tied. Even if she were to blatantly deny the defendant’s Motion to Suppress the confession, any conviction would be overturned in appeal. A layman would have no trouble figuring this one out. You simply cannot beat a person and then garner a confession. She watched as the district attorney slid farther down in his seat.

If you rule to suppress this, we’re dead meat, Milford said. He knows it, he continued accusingly, referring to the defense attorney. Our primary witness died last week. Without the confession… well, we’re looking at a dismissal.

None of this was news to Kate. They’d been agonizing over this for three weeks. In a slurred voice on tape, the defendant had admitted the crime. The tape had suddenly ended. Kate was certain the defendant had collapsed from the injuries inflicted by the police officers. These officers had worked the case all along, speaking daily with the family. They both were veteran officers with daughters of their own.

They had simply lost it.

Without the eyewitness, and the absolutely vital confession, the prosecution had nothing; Kate had called Milford into chambers only to allow both of them a few minutes to accept the inevitable, to present a unified front. After all, no one wanted the prosecutor’s office to look bad, least of all the judges. The district attorney would withdraw the charges and regroup. If they took a case as weak as this to trial and it ended in acquittal, it was finished. They were better off withdrawing now and hoping for more evidence to construct a more concrete case—one based on actual physical evidence and reliable facts. The biggest problem was the public outrage that was sure to follow and the fact that a rapist and a killer would be walking the streets while the State tried for a better case. Instead of the public venting its anger on the real culprits in the case, the police officers, it would all fly in Kate’s face—she was the one that had turned this animal loose.

Are you going to withdraw today? If not, they both knew it would be worse—she would have to suppress the evidence and the defendant would walk out of jail a few hours later a free man.

As he leaned forward in his seat, his voice raised, I don’t know. England’s going to press for dismissal. Then he threw himself against the back of the chair with his hands in the air. We have no case. We have shit… nothing but dog shit!

Kate called Philip and asked him to have England join them. As England entered her chambers, he started to take a seat, she instructed him not to bother, as they would be resuming court immediately in order for her to grant the defendant’s motion. A few seconds later, both attorneys were following her down the hallway.

Once back in session, Kate addressed the courtroom. After careful consideration, she said, the weight of the words she was uttering causing her to compress in her seat so that only her head could be seen from below, the defendant’s Motion to Suppress is granted. She braced herself for the onslaught and continued, looking out over the courtroom, From the evidence presented here today, the defendant was severely battered, the confession was given under extreme duress and is, therefore, determined to be inadmissible.

England sprang to his feet. We move for a dismissal, Your Honor. Without this evidence the case against my client is non-existent.

The defendant looked up, a blank look in his eyes. Kate had read in the files that he was taking a psychotropic medication. The noise in the courtroom was getting louder with every passing second. The district attorney had turned around in his seat and was speaking with the victim’s family. The woman was crying, the father holding her head against his shoulder. He was whispering to her, stroking her hair, making a feeble attempt to comfort her. The victim’s boyfriend’s mouth fell open in shock and he jumped out of his seat. The district attorney yanked at his jacket and he sat back down.

Milford stood. The people withdraw the charges, Your Honor.

Now the courtroom was in an absolute uproar, and the defendant’s eyes were darting wildly around the room. Kate thought, who would he rape, God forbid, or murder while the district attorney’s office scrambled for more evidence? Was he thinking about it right now? Planning his evening out? Was his sick and tortured mind right this very minute thinking of his next kill? His eyes searching the courtroom for another victim? Kate tapped the gavel loudly again and again. The bailiffs started moving toward the victim’s family, eyeing them and then the defendant. Finally the noise died down and Kate took command over the circus.

Let the record show that the charges have been dismissed at the State’s motion, she said, sighing deeply, keeping her eyes on the file in front of her. The defendant is remanded into custody; however, the sheriff will be notified to release the defendant immediately. This court is adjourned. She didn’t bother with the gavel. No one would have heard it anyway.

Reporters quickly left the courtroom, crowding toward the elevators and grabbing for their cameramen waiting in the corridors. Kate was still on the bench; her eyes locked on the victim’s parents, her chest swelling with compassion. The district attorney was conferring with them, sitting next to them on the bench. The woman was holding a tissue to her eyes, and then blowing her nose. People were leaving the courtroom; the court reporter folding up her machine. All the police officers had long vanished. They weren’t completely stupid. They knew how this case was coming down. By tomorrow the district attorney would file charges against the two arresting officers. England was packing his briefcase, his job was over.

Suddenly the victim’s boyfriend stood, his face a twisted mask of rage. How could you do this? he screamed at Kate. He killed her. He raped her and killed her. He deserved to be beaten. I wish they had killed him there. He deserves to die. He was panting, his face flushed red, leaning over the back of the seat in front of him. His eyes were enormous and blazing with hatred. A bailiff was rushing toward him. The district attorney trying to pull him back in his seat. You’re letting him get away with this! Someone should kill you… rape you, strangle you. You fucking bitch…

The bailiff put his hands on the young man and two deputies assigned to the courtroom were moving in that direction. They were watching both his hands. Someone should kill your whole family… slaughter them just like he did Amy… then you’d know about justice and your stupid laws. What do I have to do, kill the motherfucker myself’? You’re not a judge. You’re no better than he is…

Kate just sat there, consumed with his sense of injustice. He had looked to the courts to avenge the death of the girl he loved and had met a brick wall—one called law. Those that should have upheld it had destroyed it. The bailiff and deputies looked at her, waiting for some direction. One nod and they would cuff him. They had him in tow and he was twisting, saliva dripping down one corner of his mouth, trying to wrench his arms away, ready to cross the floor and rip her apart with his bare hands. She shook her head at the officers and left the bench. He had every right to vent his hostility. She hit the door and once through it, she leaned against the wall in the hallway, her eyes fixed and glazed, her chest rising and falling with the hatred that had been directed toward her and yet understanding every bit of it. So intense she could feel it even now. She glanced up and down the hall, but all she could see was a curtain of red. Images of the body of Amy Lassiter decomposing.

Pushing herself off the wall, she straightened her robe and made her way down the hall to her office. Five homicides had occurred the past weekend in Atlanta. One weekend, she thought in despair. One lousy weekend and five deaths. The city was being buried in an avalanche of violence, and she had just set a murderer free in the community. Great, just great, she thought to herself. Just what you’ve wanted to do all of your life, Kate, set killers free, give them their walking papers. Heading toward the door to her chambers, she stopped in front of her secretary’s desk.

Did you say something? Philip asked, spinning around from his computer. He was a slender, well-groomed man in his late twenties with blond hair and dove gray eyes.

What are you doing tonight, Philip?

Tonight? I… I have plans. Why? he said self-consciously.

Kate studied his face. She didn’t think she could handle eating alone tonight, going home to an empty house. All she needed was a little companionship, some light conversation, something to purge the day from her mind. Before she could ask him to join her for dinner, he continued.

I’m seeing someone later, but if you need something typed or for me to stay late, I can.

His face flushed. Kate wondered if he had a new girlfriend or any girlfriend for that matter. She’s never heard him mention anyone. No, she said, changing her mind, thinking she would try someone else, feeling foolish for even thinking of asking Philip to have dinner with her, Forget it. Go on home. It’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Have a good evening.

What happened in there? How did you rule?

I suppressed the confession. Milford dismissed, so Henderson walked.

God, he said, arching his eyebrows and resting his chin on his hands. Because the officers beat him up, right? They really punished that guy, huh? I guess they got carried away. That poor girl—it was just awful what he did to her. You almost can’t blame them for what they did.

Well, I hope they enjoyed punishing him, Kate said flatly. It might be the only punishment David Henderson ever receives in this case.

With that, she entered her chambers and slammed the door behind her.

For over an hour Kate had sat behind her desk and stared into space. She’d given thought to calling the victim’s parents and telling them how sorry she was, explaining to them how she was left with no choice but to make the ruling she had. But she realized how inappropriate that was and that it was impossible.

Philip buzzed her on the intercom. "I have a reporter from the AJC on line one. They’d like a statement from you about the Henderson case."

Tell them I’ve gone for the day, she said, knowing she was only stalling for time. She’d have to give them a statement tomorrow. But that would be tomorrow.

Picking her robe up from the floor where she had flung it, she put it on the back of her door and grabbed her purse from the desk drawer. Kate told Philip good night and made her way down the back hallway to Judge Maude Davis’ chambers. Kate spotted her head bent over her desk. Still at it, I see, Kate said, stepping into the room.

Oh, Kate, Maude said, You startled me. Removing her glasses as she looked across her desk.

Maude was approaching fifty but few would ever know it. She was tall and thin. Except for a few lines that appeared around her mouth and across her forehead, time had been very kind to her. She wore her soft blonde hair in feminine curls that framed and flattered her narrow face. Her lips were always lined and coated with fresh, moist lipstick, a bright coral, but her eyes held the key to her strength. They were an azure blue. How did it go today, she asked. You know, the Henderson case?

You haven’t heard? Kate didn’t sit down. She leaned against the back wall. The D.A. dismissed. Raising her wrist, Kate glanced at her watch. It was after five o’clock. Henderson should be walking out the door of the jail any minute now. Free as a bird.

Maude didn’t respond. They had all anticipated that it would happen this way. She sat there studying Kate’s face. She had been on the bench far longer than Kate. As Maude had told her again and again, a judge’s role was to interpret and rule on the law. She couldn’t allow herself to become emotionally involved.

This was a tough one, Maude. The parents, the relatives. I can’t imagine how they feel right now. She was so young. Those frigging cops…

Maude cut her off. Have you heard about Webster?

Charles Webster was a municipal court judge, known to be impassioned and ambitious. No, tell me.

He filed today against the Sheriff for violating court orders in releasing prisoners prior to the completion of their terms.

But the sheriff’s under court order to release or close the jail down due to the overcrowding. What does Webster possibly hope to gain?

Attention, maybe. Press. Who knows? I’ve heard that he wants my position; he’s planning to run against me next year. He reviews every one of my decisions and probably stands up and cheers every time I’m reversed on appeal.

Kate took a seat, shaking her head. Don’t we have enough problems around here without going after each other? And the sheriff… that’s just about asinine. I swear, Maude, it seems like the system is falling down around us. It’s like walking in rubble. The violence, the corruption, the ambiguities in the law… Kate paused and then continued, It gets worse by the day, and we’re simply powerless to stop it. Sure, those officers were asses for what they did to Henderson, but the cops are walking time bombs around here. They’re just sick and tired of it all. I mean, are we even civilized anymore? I’m not sure if you can call this a civilization! And me, I’m worse than they are—I let him go. Why, I don’t know—why I didn’t just invite him home for dinner!

Maude looked at a spot over Kate’s head. Aren’t you the voice of doom today? then she dropped her eyes to Kate’s and smiled. Things are bad. But even at the end of the world, Kate dear, someone’s got to sit in judgment.

Right, Kate said, making a feeble attempt to return Maude’s smile. I’d prefer it just not be me sometimes. Well, speaking of dinner, you’re not a murderer but would you like to join me for a bite? That is, of course, if you don’t have plans with John, but…

Maude pushed the automatic dial button on her phone. While the tones rang out over the speaker, she said, Let me call him. If he isn’t home, sure, I’d love to join you. To tell you the truth, I’m starving. I skipped lunch today. A few seconds later, she was listening to her own voice on the answering machine. She left a message for her husband, a prominent physician, and then hung up. John’s working too many hours these days, Kate. I have no idea why either. Last year he hired two associates to carry part of the load but he seldom comes home before eight o’clock at night. He is… Suddenly she stopped herself. Maude Davis did not make a habit of talking about her personal life, not even to her closest friends.

Now the roles were reversed, and Kate was watching the concern on Maude’s face. John Davis was in his early sixties, and Maude worried about him all the time. There was a long history of cancer in his family. His father and grandfather had died of it, plus several of his uncles, and just last year his brother had fallen victim as well. Even though Maude was a rock of strength and conviction, it was like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, certain her husband would be next. A lot of people viewed her as a hard and overbearing woman. Generally her speech was laced with all kinds of terms of endearment: honey, darling, dear. Kate knew she had cultivated this habit to tone herself down.

Her husband was a docile man, sweet and gentle. Maude even towered over him in height, particularly with heels. There was never any doubt who wore the pants in that family, Kate had thought many times.

Maude closed the file in front of her and stood, collecting her things about her and turning out the lights. She walked with long, rapid strides down the hall, and Kate almost had to run to keep up with her.

"I was thinking we could eat at The Diner, Kate said. What do you think’? It’s only a block away and they have great specials."

Kate, darling, Maude said, cracking a smile and turning to face her, "you’re incredible. No, I will not eat at The Diner. If you insist on your disgusting diet of fast food and greasy fried food, you’ll have to eat alone. I don’t know how you live on that stuff, I really don’t."

All right, Kate agreed. Let’s try out that new seafood restaurant down the street.

Better, Maude said. I’ll follow you.

A few minutes later, they were both in their cars and heading up the ramp from the underground parking garage.

CHAPTER 2

It was late, but Kate was still awake. She’d been tossing in bed for hours trying to sleep, details of the Henderson case playing over and over in her mind. First, she heard her neighbors’ dog yelping. Then the other dogs on the block joined in, and Kate held her breath and listened, pulling the sheet up to her chin and staring at the ceiling. It was a quiet residential neighborhood near Decatur, but she was a woman who lived alone. She knew all the normal sounds of the night: the ambulances and police sirens, the jets passing overhead, the occasional couple coming home from a late night out and the familiar sound of their garage door. But when the dogs started howling, which they seldom did, it usually meant someone was out there prowling around.

Then she heard it—a soft tapping at the front door.

The tapping turned into a frantic pounding. Kate glanced at the clock and saw that it was after one. Thinking of calling the police, she reached over and put her hand on the phone. Then she heard a familiar voice calling her name through the bedroom window.

Kate, it’s me. It’s Ellen. Let me in.

Grabbing her robe, she ran barefoot to the door and listened to make certain she wasn’t imaging the whole thing.

Kate, open the door. Please, hurry, open the door. It’s Ellen.

She punched in the alarm code, and after releasing the double dead bolt locks, she found herself face to face with her younger sister.

Ellen, she said, taking her in her arms as she walked through the door, what’s happened now? She brushed a strand of dark curly hair off Ellen’s face and looked for bruises. Did Sam hit you?

Ellen kept glancing over her shoulder at the street, her chest rising and falling, gasping for breath as if she’d been running. No, no… it’s not Sam! Someone’s following me, Kate. Shut the door. Quick!

Kate slammed the door and slid the dead bolts back into place, quickly resetting the alarm, her own heart pounding now. Who’s following you? Where’s Sam?

Ellen was agitated, her dark eyes darting around the room. Listen, I can’t explain. I need to call Sam. I just need to use your phone.

Stop right there, okay? Kate said, placing her hands on her sister’s arms and holding her. Tell me exactly what’s going on. If someone is following you or trying to hurt you, we’ll call the police. Maybe he’s still out there and they can pick him up. What kind of car, Ellen, was he driving? Tell me what he looks like. Kate started across the room for the phone.

Forget it, Ellen said. I’m not calling the stupid cops. Flopping down on the sofa, she grabbed the phone from her sister’s hand.

Kate stared at Ellen, thinking how beautiful she was, even now when she was frightened and upset. She was a striking brunette, with shoulder-length curly hair that framed her almost perfect face. Whereas Kate’s eyes were green, Ellen’s were a brilliant blue. But it was her skin that was her finest feature. Her skin was absolutely flawless.

Sam, Ellen spoke rapidly into the phone, I’m at Kate’s. Please, come and get me. Something’s happened. Someone’s following me. She paused and then, her voice in another octave, I said I’m not leaving until you come and get me! No, I’m not driving home by myself. I don’t care what time it is! Then she slammed the phone back on the hook.

Kate turned on the lights in the living room and sat on the sofa across from her sister. Now, she said, her voice firm, tell me what the hell is going on. Is this about money?

Sam’s coming, Ellen said, avoiding her sister’s eyes. He’ll be here in about twenty minutes.

Kate felt her anger and frustration growing with each passing minute. She’s always been the one who protected Ellen, made certain no one hurt her. Ever since they were children, only a few years apart in age, Kate had been the one she always turned to when she had a problem. But since she’d married Sam Pearson everything had changed.

Ellen, you must tell me what’s going on with your life. Don’t you understand that I’m concerned about you? You can’t just bang on my door in the middle of the night and tell me someone’s following you and then refuse to tell me what’s going on.

Ellen stood and started pacing. I can’t, she said emphatically, tossing her long strands of hair, jerking her head around to look to her sister. Don’t worry, okay? she snapped. I won’t come over here and bother you anymore! I won’t even call you anymore. You can just forget you have a sister! Okay?

Kate put her head in her hands, and then peered up at Ellen through her fingers. I never said I didn’t want you to call me or come over. You’re not being fair, Ellen. I love you. It’s Sam, isn’t it? All of this has something to do with Sam.

Leave Sam out of this. All you ever do is bash him, tell me what a jerk he is. He’s my husband, Kate. She suddenly started moving her arms around wildly. "Look at you, your whole life. You want me to end up like you, alone, with no one, living for nothing but a job, your so-called career? Sam and I are going to make it, whether you like it or not, and we’re going to make it big time. Then we’re going to move away from here, away from you, and start all over! You got that?"

Kate tried to let her sister’s words roll off her back. Every time they were together, they ended up fighting like this. What Kate wanted was to repair the relationship, help her sister put her life back on track. What about your son, Ellen? What about Jeremy? You shouldn’t uproot him, make him move. He’s lived in that house all of his life. He lost his father. And what about the pawnshop? You said if I loaned you and Sam the money for the pawnshop you could make it. Not only that, but you haven’t made one single payment. You know, Ellen, I have financial obligations, too.

Jeremy is fine, just fine. What do you care, anyway? You haven’t seen him in years!

It had been a long day. Kate was exhausted and couldn’t handle a screaming match. But the issue of Jeremy was a sensitive one, and with each second her control was slipping. And why haven’t I seen Jeremy in years, Ellen? she shouted back, flopping back against the sofa and crossing her arms over her chest, locking them together and digging her nails into her skin.

Because you won’t let me, that’s why. You won’t let me see my own nephew. You’ve turned him against me for absolutely no reason. She inhaled and her chest swelled, her green eyes blazed. I thought the deal was that I loan you the money for the pawnshop and we put the past to bed. What happened to that promise?

You, Ellen spat, still pacing, still frantic. You tried to take my kid away from me. My own fucking sister tried to steal my kid. You know what Sam said? He said you were just bribing me with that money so you could get your hands on Jeremy and take him away because you don’t have any kids of your own. She went to the window and peeked through the shutters and then returned to the center of the room.

Kate slumped on the sofa. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get beyond this. "We’ve been over this a million times.