Guilt By Degrees

61

“If he took the photo, then whoever attacked you-,” Bailey began.

“-is involved somehow in Simon’s murder,” I finished. “Whether it was the stabber himself or a cohort, it’s clear now: somebody’s tracking us. Has been tracking us.”

Which explained that creepy “being watched” feeling I’d been having. Though it was a relief to know that I hadn’t been hallucinating, the knowledge that someone, likely a murderer, was following me was less than wonderful. A lot less.

“He could’ve killed you-but he didn’t.”

“Killing me makes it a bigger deal. I’d bet his first choice was to break into my room, but those doors are built like a vault’s.”

“Still, the attack on you shows he’ll go as far as he has to-regardless of what his first choice is,” Bailey said, looking worried. She pulled up in front of the courthouse. “Call me when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll come pick you up,” she said. “Got it?”

I sighed. “Fine,” I said. “But I’m leaving early.” I looked at her challengingly.

“See you in a couple of hours,” she said.

I got out and swam upstream against the wave of lunch-bound hordes. When I got back to my office, I saw that I had a message to contact Eric. Melia was at her desk, but her eyes were glued to the tabloid rag in her lap. It was a pleasure to interrupt her.

“I’m here to see Eric,” I said.

Her head popped up, mouth open. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah.” She buzzed him and told him I was there. “He says you can go on in,” she said, then immediately dropped her attention back to her lap.

Eric stood up when I walked into his office.

“I just heard about what happened,” he said.

“Who told you?” I asked.

“Hotel security,” he replied. “They wanted to coordinate your protection. Naturally, I said we’d be glad to work with them.” Eric gave me a pointed look.

Uh-oh.

“But first, are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, lowering myself slowly into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Yeah, you look great,” Eric said dryly, watching my descent. “Any idea who did it?”

I shook my head. “Someone connected to Simon Bayer’s murder. Could’ve been the murderer himself.”

I told him about the missing photograph.

He looked down at his desk, pensive. “This worries me a great deal-”

I cut him off. “Don’t even think about reassigning the case.” I tried to collect myself and speak in a rational tone. “It won’t be any less dangerous for any other deputy. And I’ve been in on it from the start-”

Eric held up a hand and looked at me for a long moment. He slowly nodded. “You’re right.” He sighed and frowned. “But I’m assigning you security. We’re putting DA investigators on your tail and in your hotel. Starting now.” He gave me a stern look. “And you’ll be fully cooperative with them.”

“Got it,” I said, knowing it was no use to protest even if I’d minded. Which, at the moment, I had to admit, I didn’t.

“And now, I have to give you a heads-up,” Eric said. “I hate to give you anything else to worry about, but Phil Hemet’s been in the chief deputy’s ear, claiming you’ve been out playing around when you say you’re in the field. He came to tell me personally that someone saw you and Bailey partying it up at Guido’s-”

I protested hotly. “This is complete bullshit, Eric!” I’d known Hemet was up to something, but this was just an out-and-out lie. I told him about Melia’s encounter with the reporter.

Eric nodded. “It figures. Hemet’s got someone in the newsroom who’s all fired up to do an article on how special unit-and especially Special Trials-deputies screw around on company time. Apparently he’s got quite a few buddies in the news business.” Eric’s voice was low, but the underlying anger was palpable. “And I know what he said is horseshit, Rachel. But Hemet’s out for blood, and I don’t think he cares what’s true anymore.”

I tried to control my voice despite the rage and frustration boiling in my gut. “So what’re we going to do about it? We can’t just let him spread these lies around,” I said.

“No, but there’s nothing we can do at the moment,” Eric replied. “Just give him as little fodder as possible. I understand you had to be out of the office to get this case rolling. But just be careful from here on out about what you do and when you do it when you’re in public.”

I tried to console myself with the knowledge that at least Hemet hadn’t tipped the press to the Simon Bayer case, but it didn’t help much. Now that Hemet had promised a mudslinging insider exclusive, the press would be watching. I’d known that someone was bound to figure out what I was working on sooner or later, but now, thanks to that asshat Hemet, it would be sooner. Much sooner. I’d have to move faster-if that was possible. I sifted through my in-box and got the most pressing business on my other cases out of the way. To avoid the fun and hilarity of lowering myself into my chair one inch at a time, I did it standing up. Then I pulled out my Lilah to-do list and did what could be accomplished at a desk, but by four thirty I’d hit a dead end. Again. I was ready to pack it in. But after my chat with Eric, I knew it wouldn’t look good to leave that early.

The fact that I had to worry about that infuriated me all over again. I put in so much overtime (unpaid, of course) that my hourly wage was about a dollar and a quarter. And I never had a chance to take my comp time. So now, not only was I being stalked by a murderer but I’d been targeted by a dickhead middle manager with a petty grudge. Adding insult to injury, the very same manager who was the number one supporter of that useless sack Brandon Averill-the prosecutor whose slipshod, lousy work got me into this mess to begin with. I eyed the bottom drawer of my desk where I kept the Glenlivet but didn’t want to waste good scotch on bad lawyers. I made myself work until five o’clock, then called Bailey.

“I’m pulling the plug,” I said.

“Thought you were leaving early.”

“I am,” I said testily. “Should I see if Toni’s around?”

“Sure, why should I get your great mood all to myself?”

I hung up and dialed Toni’s extension, too tired to walk down the hall. No answer. I tried her cell.

“I’m still in court, believe it or not,” Toni replied. “Hang on.” I heard her whisper to someone nearby, then she came back on the line. “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten.”

My security detail, which was comprised of district attorney investigators, was waiting in Eric’s anteroom. DA investigators are basically cops who work exclusively for the DA’s office, and plenty of them used to work for police agencies. They handle specialized investigations and all security details. District Attorney Vanderhorn has investigators assigned to him as security on a full-time basis. That’s no easy job, because the biggest threat to his safety probably comes from those of us who work for him.

A well-built man with a crew cut and kind eyes stepped forward from the group and put out his hand. “Gary Schrader, senior investigator,” he said. “I’m the team leader.” He gestured to the three other men with him. All were wearing the navy-blue nylon DA investigator Windbreaker. Gary gave me a sympathetic look. “I was sorry to hear about the incident, Ms. Knight. But we plan to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

His manner was old-school, courtly and respectful yet warm. Though I’d grudgingly admitted I didn’t mind having security around, the idea of being followed 24-7 hadn’t exactly thrilled me. But now I felt not only well-protected but honored.

“Thank you,” I said, shaking his hand. “And please call me Rachel.”

He nodded. “Gary,” he said.

He turned to gesture behind him. “This is Stephen.” A stout young man with slicked-back brown hair gave a little wave. “James.” An impressively tall, fair blond with light eyebrows and eyelashes nodded. “And Mario.” A slim but muscular Latino with thick black hair and a sexy smile saluted me.

I shook hands with each of them. “I rate four investigators?”

“They’ll usually rotate in teams of two,” Gary said.

I told them my plans, and we all trooped out to the elevator. My own private retinue of navy-blue nylon Windbreakers and running shoes.

I found Toni already outside at the curb, and one of the investigators went to get his car while the other three waited with us. Toni looked from the investigators to me and nodded.

“Good,” she said.

Thirty seconds later, Bailey drove up, and Toni and I piled into her car. The investigator who’d gone to get his vehicle pulled up behind her, and one of the guys got into the passenger seat. The other two saluted and promised to see us tomorrow.

As we headed down Spring Street, Bailey said, “The Biltmore? Or somewhere else?”

“Let’s hit my room,” I said.

“Your room?” Toni echoed, looking puzzled.

My room was often the place where we eventually crashed, but it wasn’t usually our destination for evening entertainment.

“I’ll explain when we get there,” I promised. “Besides, I already told my dates”-I jerked my thumb at the investigators behind us-“that’s where I was going, and I’m trying to be cooperative.”

Toni and Bailey snorted almost simultaneously.

The DA investigators tailed us into the hotel and went to their posts in the hallway when we entered my room.

“How’d you wind up with protection?” Bailey asked.

As we took off our coats and dropped them on a chair, I explained how Eric had found out about the attack. “So you’re off the hook now,” I told her.

“I’m here for the duration. I don’t care how many of those guys are hanging around.”

I was too tired and frazzled to argue. I held up a bottle of wine and a chilled bottle of Russian Standard Platinum vodka.

Bailey picked up a barrel glass. “Vodka.”

“I think I’m in the mood for wine,” Toni said.

I opened the bottle and filled glasses for her and myself, and let Bailey do the honors with the vodka. “Want to order room service?”

“Not yet,” Bailey said. “At least, not for me.”

Toni shook her head. “I’ll take some snacks, though.”

I put out the nuts and pretzels, then sat down on the couch and held out my glass for a toast.

“To a terrific week,” I said sarcastically.

“It’s almost over,” Toni said. “I’ll drink to that.”

We all took a long sip.

“Now, what are we doing in your room?” Bailey asked.

I told them about Phil Hemet and his latest quest to trash me and all of Special Trials. When I finished, Toni was fuming. She poured herself another glass of wine and hunched over it, tapping one finger on the glass.

“You know what we need?” she asked.

“An unregistered gun?” I said helpfully.

Toni stared at me. “No,” she said. “Dirt. On Hemet.”

“That’s good too,” I said. I ran my hand through my hair and winced as I accidentally touched one of the many sore spots on my head. “But how?”

“Leave that to me,” Toni replied.