Naked Justice

Chapter 27

DEANNA PARKED HER CAR in the driveway and walked to the front door. She stopped to get the mail, sliding it into the bag they had given her at the drugstore. She’d read it later. She had more pressing business now.

She ran through all the possible approaches again in her mind. “I’m only doing this because I’m your mother and I love you.” Possible—but so trite it turned her stomach. “I’m sorry, Martha, but you’re my child and I have to protect you.” Nah. No teenager wants to be protected. “Martha, you’re an adult now, and being an adult entails not only privileges but responsibilities.” Well, it did have a certain flattering appeal, but Deanna suspected that it wouldn’t get her far in the long run, and the consequences of declaring that Martha had new privileges could be disastrous.

Damnation. What was the point? Whatever approach she chose, she knew they’d be off the script the first time Martha opened her mouth. Face the facts, she told herself. You’re stalling. And who could blame her? She didn’t know what would happen, but the one thing she was absolutely sure of was that it would be unpleasant.

She braced herself, took several deep breaths, and stepped inside the house. “Martha! I’m home!”

No response. And after all, what did she expect? “That’s lovely, Mom. Good to see you.” Not likely.

“Martha, I want to speak to you,” she shouted to a closed bedroom door. She’d give the girl a minute to respond peaceably before she commenced hostilities.

The minute passed. Determined not to lose her resolve, Deanna walked down the hallway. As she approached, she heard Martha talking into the Princess phone in her room.

“I can’t find it,” she was saying. Her words were perfectly understandable through the door. “I did. I looked everywhere. I don’t know what happened to it. It isn’t here anymore.”

It didn’t take three guesses to figure out to whom she was talking. Damn. Should’ve had that thing disconnected a long time ago.

“I will. I promise. What—” There was a pause, then a gasping sound. An instant later, Deanna heard the call hastily being disconnected.

“Martha?” There was a flurry and rustle. Deanna gave her a few moments, then opened Martha’s door. “I said I wanted to talk to you.”

Martha was sprawled across her bed reading an R. L. Stine book. “I heard.”

“It wasn’t optional.”

“I’m reading.”

“Not anymore.” Deanna lifted the book out of Martha’s hands and closed it. “We have to talk.”

Martha folded her arms defiantly across her chest. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”

“I think we do. I found the camera under your bed.”

Martha’s lips parted. She appeared astonished. Apparently, the possibility had never occurred to her. “But it was in my room.”

“Right. And I found it, and I took the film out, and I had it developed.” She withdrew the photo packet from her purse.

“But this is my room!”

“Right. In my house.”

Martha’s eyes enlarged, wide and angry. “That doesn’t give you the right to invade my privacy!”

“I think it does.”

“What is this, Nazi Germany? I’m an American. I have rights.”

“Not in my house.”

“You can’t treat me like you own me!” she screamed. “You can’t just come in and … and take things that aren’t yours!”

“When I’m in my house, I can do whatever I want.”

“Fine. Then I’ll move in with Buck.”

That rejoinder gave Deanna pause. Which, of course, was exactly what it was intended to do. “Look, a civil rights discussion isn’t what I had in mind.”

“You’ve been spying on me!”

“I haven’t been spying on you.” Deanna pressed her hand against her brow. How did this always happen? How did Martha always manage to do this to her? She came in with a perfectly reasonable plan to elicit information, and now she was on the receiving end of a teenage firing line. “I had to know if it was you.”

“If what was me?”

“The girl. The one in the papers. The one the neighbor saw.”

Martha’s eyes crinkled. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you read the papers? No, of course you don’t. Well, where can I start? Are you aware that the mayor’s family has been murdered?”

Martha snorted. “Yes, Mo-ther.”

“And are you aware that one of the mayor’s neighbors said he spotted some suspicious-looking strangers casing the neighborhood prior to the murder?”

“So?”

“Do you know where the mayor lives?”

“No. Why should I?”

“He lives on Terwilliger. Near Woodward Park. Just down the way from Philbrook.”

A tiny flash of light in the corner of Martha’s eyes told Deanna she was beginning to make the connection.

“See if this description rings any bells,” Deanna continued. “The man was tall, thin, grungy-looking. Scraggly goatee, green fatigues.”

Martha blinked, but didn’t say anything.

“The girl was described as being shorter with dark hair. On at least one occasion, she wore a red tank top. And she always wore a blue headband.”

Instinctively, Martha’s hand shot up toward her headband. Her trademark. “That could be anyone.”

“I’ll admit, it could be someone other than you and Buck, although it would be a hell of a coincidence. That’s why I searched your room. I found the red tank top I was almost certain you had. And I found the black gym bag. The neighbor mentioned that, too. Imagine my surprise when I found an expensive camera inside. Far too expensive to be yours.”

Martha didn’t answer, but Deanna did have the satisfaction of knowing that for once in her life, she had her daughter’s full and undivided attention.

“I had the film developed,” she continued. She pulled the photos out of the packet and spread them across the bed. “Could you please explain to me why you were taking pictures of Mayor Barrett’s home?”

Wordlessly Martha gazed at the color pictures spread across her bedspread.

“You’ll notice that the home was photographed from a wide variety of angles. The front, the back. Close-ups of the doors, the windows. Almost as if someone was casing the joint. Planning some kind of … criminal activity.”

Martha stared dumbfounded at the photos.

“Martha, I want you to answer my questions. No lying to me—this is important. Why was Buck taking pictures of the mayor’s home?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I mean, I don’t know who took these pictures. And I don’t know why.”

Deanna ignored the feeble denial. “Were you with him?”

“No. I mean—” She stopped, concentrating. “I never saw him take any pictures. I didn’t know why he had the camera. He likes expensive toys.”

“So you were with him. You did walk with him in the mayor’s neighborhood. You just never saw him take any pictures.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was so quiet it was almost not there at all. “Yeah.”

Deanna sat next to her daughter on the bed. She laid one hand on her knee. “Martha, I’m sorry, but I have to ask this question. I have to. Did you have anything to do with … with …”

Martha turned and stared at her mother, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What are you accusing me of?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I just have to know.”

“You think I did it!” Martha screamed. “You think I killed that lady and her two girls!”

“No, Martha, I don’t. I mean, I hope not. I mean—” She grabbed her daughter by the shoulders. “Martha, I don’t know what to think anymore. I want you to tell me. Did you have anything to do with this?”

Tears crept out the corners of Martha’s eyes. She turned her head away. “No, I didn’t.”

“Then Buck did it alone.”

“Buck!” Martha leapt off the bed. “So that’s what this is about. Accusing Buck. I knew you hated him, Mother, but I didn’t know you were desperate enough to accuse him of murder!”

“Honey, I’m just looking at the evidence.”

“Buck wouldn’t hurt anybody. He’s nice, Mother. He’s nice to me.” Her voice was breaking down. “Buck loves me.”

“Martha, please—”

It was too late. Martha bolted out of the room. A few seconds later, Deanna heard the front door slam shut.

Well, Deanna told herself, you certainly handled that well. You practically threw her into that cretin’s arms. And if she wasn’t totally alienated from you before, she certainly is now.

Deanna collected the photos on the bedspread. Still, if nothing else, she did get something. She got an absolute denial from her daughter that she had anything to do with the murder of the Barrett family. She had stated that unequivocally.

Yeah, Deanna thought. Unequivocally.

Deanna slid the photos back into the bag, then pulled out the day’s mail. Maybe there would be some relief from her ongoing misery here. Some sign of happiness in the world. A wedding invitation, perhaps. A graduation announcement.

One envelope caught her attention almost immediately. It was a thin paper preprinted envelope, the kind where you rip off the perforated strips on the edges to get the slip of paper inside. Deanna ripped off the strip and with some effort managed to work out the contents.

It was a formal document, a summons from the Twenty-fifth Judicial District of the State of Oklahoma. Tulsa County.

Deanna read the message, then gasped.

Jury duty.