Double Jeopardy

31

4:45 P.M.

TRAVIS SLIPPED INTO THE phone booth and closed the glass door behind him. As he dialed he scanned in all directions, watching for suspiciously slow cars or anyone taking an unhealthy interest in his license plate number.

Gail picked up the phone. “Holyfield and Associates.”

“Put me through to Dan.”

“Omigosh! Travis! Is this you?”

“Shhh!” Travis hissed into the receiver. “Don’t say my name. Someone could be listening. Just act as if this is nothing out of the ordinary and put me through to Dan.”

“But, Travis, everyone is so worried—”

“Gail—”

“I don’t care what anyone says. I know you didn’t have anything to do with those murders.”

“Gail, transfer my call to Dan.”

“I just wanted you to know—”

“Gail, do it!”

“Right, right …” Travis heard a series of electronic beeps as his call was transferred.

“Hello?”

Travis recognized the voice at once. “Dan, are you alone?”

“Travis! Where are you?”

“Dan, please don’t say my name. We don’t know who might be listening.”

“What are you talking about? I’m alone.”

“Dan, just let me talk. I can’t stay on the line for long. They might trace the call.”

“They? Who on earth—”

“Dan, I’m not going to be able to finish the trial. Send Abigail or someone else over to make an appearance—”

“The trial has been suspended, Travis.”

He swore silently. “Because I didn’t appear in court.”

“Plus the fact that your client broke out of jail last night.”

Of course. How stupid of him. Normally, the voluntary disappearance of the defendant wouldn’t halt a trial (if it did, they’d all disappear), but when both the defendant and his attorney vanished, it could definitely gum up the works.

“Was Hagedorn angry?”

“What do you think? He held you in contempt and issued a bench warrant for your arrest. Which is convenient, because I understand the police are looking for you anyway. Charles didn’t have much choice under the circumstances. You haven’t been disbarred, Travis, but of course, the day isn’t over yet.”

“I had to stay away, Dan. Someone’s looking for me. Someone who wants to kill me.”

“What could be safer than a courthouse?”

“Dan, I got the hell beaten out of me in the courthouse a few days ago.”

“Come into the office, then. I’ll see that you get every possible protection.”

“Sorry, Dan. I’ve already driven by the office. Someone’s parked across the street from the front door, and there’s a thug pacing up and down the steps. I’m certain they’re watching for me.”

“I’ll personally escort you upstairs.”

“I’m not putting you in danger.”

“Travis. The police think you were involved in a shooting at the West End.”

“It isn’t true, Dan. I mean, I was involved, but only as a target. You’ve got to believe me. People are trying to kill me.”

“Travis …” Dan inhaled slowly, choosing his words with care. “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. We’ve all been trying to get you to slow down. You’ve been working much too hard.”

“I haven’t gone bonkers, Dan.”

“No, of course not. You’re just a little … stressed. Paranoia sets in. …”

“You wouldn’t think I was paranoid if you’d lived my last twenty-four hours. People are trying to kill me, Dan. And it appears to involve both the police and the FBI, so don’t suggest that I turn myself in to either one.”

“Where did you get the idea that—”

“I don’t have time to go into it Just relay a message to Judge Hagedorn. Tell him I apologize, that I regret the inconvenience to the court, and that I would’ve appeared if it had been at all possible.”

“I will, Travis, but I don’t see what good it’s going to do.”

“Thanks. Bye.” He disconnected the line.

There was one more call Travis wanted to make. He looked the number up in the directory dangling beneath the pay phone. Sure enough, it was not the number on Henderson’s business card. He dialed.

“Good afternoon. Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“Yes.” Travis tried to muffle his voice with his hand. “Could I speak to Special Agent William Henderson?”

“Extension, please.”

“Uh … I’m sorry, I don’t know it. Can you look it up?”

He heard an annoyed hmmph on the other end of the line. After a few moments the voice returned. “I show two Hendersons—a George and a Phoebe. No William.”

“Perhaps he’s located in an office outside Dallas.”

“Sir, I’m looking at the directory for the entire FBI. All offices.”

“Perhaps I have his title wrong.”

“I show no William Henderson with any title.”

“Are you certain?”

A long exasperated sigh. “Yes, sir, I’m certain. Will there be anything else?”

“How about an agent named Janicek?”

She checked. “I’m sorry. No Janicek.”

Travis felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “What about Holt? Check for Holt.”

“I show a Clara Holt in Seattle.”

“No, this was a man.”

“Strike three,” the woman said. “Does this mean you’re out?”

“Yeah,” Travis murmured. “As a matter of fact, it does.” He hung up the phone.

Travis stood in the booth, utterly clueless about his next move. If they weren’t FBI, who the hell were those people? How could he fight them when he didn’t even know who they were?

He jumped back into his car and floored it. He had no idea what to do. The only thing he knew with clarity was what he couldn’t do. He couldn’t go to the police, or the alleged FBI agents, or his friends—at least not without taking a serious risk of getting killed, and maybe getting others killed as well. What was left?