See No Evil

SIXTEEN

Where the hell was she?

Connor Kincaid paced outside Julia’s renovated Victorian house perched on cliffs along the coast outside of La Jolla. A small neighborhood was nestled below, then the highway, shops, and finally the beach and ocean, less than a mile as the crow flies.

He finally stopped pacing and leaned against a tree on the edge of her property, staring at the distant ocean.

He tracked down Emily’s other friends but they had next to nothing to contribute. He attempted to talk to her teachers, but they refused to talk to him since he wasn’t a cop. He called Emily’s piano teacher, who had been advised by his lawyer not to speak to anyone, and the art studio downtown had no one on the premises who personally knew Emily. “The classes are run by the community college,” the gallery owner told Connor. “You’ll have to talk to the head of the art department, Anton Foster.”

Connor took down the contact information and tried Foster, but only got voice mail. He left a curt message and slammed down the phone, reminding himself that this was the part of being a cop he never liked-following up on leads that went nowhere. But it had to be done.

Where the hell was Julia?

His cell phone rang: Dillon.

“What’s up, bro?” said Connor.

“I thought we were meeting at my house.”

“Julia isn’t home yet.”

“Why don’t I meet you at her house? I have to make another stop. I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“You have news?”

“Some. I’ll talk to you when I get there.”

Connor hung up and sat down against the tree. At least the view was nice. Calming.

An orange-and-white tabby cat cautiously approached. Connor sat there, pretending not to notice. The cat came closer. Closer. Sniffed his hand, almost like a dog. Connor smiled. They’d had a cat when he was little, a black cat with a white chest who looked like he was wearing a tuxedo, hence his name, Tuxedo, given to him by Carina who was then seven. He’d been a stray, but the Kincaid family adopted him. They were in Texas at the time. When they moved a year later for Virginia, they brought Tuxedo with them. He disappeared soon after the move, and they never found him. Nor did they get another pet that wasn’t caged.

He wondered if the tabby belonged to Julia. He’d never pictured her as an animal person. A workaholic. A fierce prosecutor. A rigid attorney. Except around Emily, where she softened, became human, female. A woman he could picture with a cat on her lap and a fire in a darkened room. A woman like the one he’d kissed five long years ago.

He should never have kissed her, but she’d looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, so damn kissable. He couldn’t resist. He’d been attracted to her from day one, but kept his feelings well tamped down. Back then when he’d kissed her, she’d responded with a fierce passion he’d never suspected was inside. He’d hoped that maybe, when things died down, he’d ask her out. Take her to bed.

It didn’t happen. The day after their kiss, the cold attorney Julia Chandler was back with a lose-lose ultimatum.

He’d wanted to resign so badly and screw her, screw the case. But the truth was he couldn’t see what would happen if he was tried for manslaughter. Even if he spent a day in jail, a cop behind bars was in jeopardy. He wasn’t willing to give his life to protect criminal bastards who contributed to the abuse of underage girls.

He couldn’t have been more shocked when Julia gave him the ultimatum. In the end, he did what they wanted and went back to work.

He’d tried to explain what would happen, but Julia refused to listen. She was so caught up in the rights and wrongs, she’d really had no idea what she was asking him to do.

The next six months were hell. The department was polarized. Ultimately, he resigned, refusing to be a lightning rod for controversy and anger anymore.

He shook the past from his mind. Five years was a long time, but remembering how he felt then brought back the old anger and resentment. Connor needed to put that aside so he could help clear Emily.

He heard the car’s approach before he saw it. The cat beside him scampered off toward the house. Instead of bounding up the stairs to the porch, the cat went through a small hole beneath the stairs.

Julia’s Volvo came into view. She parked outside of the detached garage and got out, looking at Connor’s truck, then looking around for him. She wasn’t in her attorney uniform. Instead, she was wearing a skirt similar to last night’s, a flowing number in spring colors, and a tight little lacy white pullover shirt. Her hair was down and the light breeze played with it. He stood and approached her.

“Where have you been?” he said, focusing on the fact that she wasn’t home when she was supposed to be, instead of how delicious she looked.

She frowned, her brows pulled in. “I didn’t realize you were my keeper.”

“You said you were coming straight here after the courthouse.”

“I made a detour.”

“And?”

“Let’s go inside.”

She led the way inside. She had three locks and a security system. “Scared of something?”

She shrugged. “Andrew Stanton suggested I get a security system after the Fione trial.”

“I don’t know that case.”

“It was over two years ago. Fione raped and killed three women in the bay area. We had DNA, two eyewitnesses, and he kept souvenirs-the victim’s underwear. We tried to plead it to life without parole thinking he’d go for it to save his life, but he refused to plead guilty, so we prosecuted special circumstances murder one and he got the death penalty. Of course, that costs us a hell of a lot more than the plea.” She sighed. “I think that’s why the bad guys go to trial, to cost us time and money. We had Fione easy.”

“So he’s away for life. Why the security?”

“He threatened me in court. I wasn’t scared of him, he was going to prison for the rest of his life, but Andrew thought since I was handling high-profile cases it would be prudent to have security.”

“Why are you shaking?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” He touched her arm. She looked down, surprised that indeed she was trembling. “So what kind of threat did Fione make?”

“The usual. That he’d get out and cut my throat.” She tried for a light laugh, but it came out a squeak. “That’s water under the bridge, really. He’s never getting out. Might not see the end of a needle in my lifetime, but he’s secure in San Quentin.”

“But he scared you.”

“What he did to those women scared me and made me angry. He mutilated their bodies so badly they needed closed caskets. The second victim was discovered by her eight-year-old daughter. She didn’t even recognize her mother. It was awful.”

“Any more threats?”

“Here and there. I have a gun.”

“Great,” he muttered.

She glared at him. “I know how to use it. I went to safety training. I’m not stupid, Kincaid.”

“I never thought you were. But you don’t carry.”

“It’s for home protection. I’m safe at the courthouse. The security is tight.”

“There’s the parking garage, walking to lunch, driving home-”

She waved off his concerns and he couldn’t help but grin. This was the Julia Chandler he remembered. The know-it-all professional prosecutor.

“What did you find in the archives?” he asked, following Julia through the wide foyer, down a narrow hall to the bright, country-style kitchen in the rear of the house. A partially enclosed sunroom with skylights on the roof had been built off the kitchen. The view was incredible.

“Nice place.”

“Thanks.”

She put her briefcase down on the kitchen table. “Can I get you something?”

“Whatever.”

She opened her refrigerator and stared. He looked over her shoulder. “It’s empty,” he said. “Have you been robbed?”

A laugh escaped before she could pull it back in. Connor was pleased that he’d made her chuckle. “I don’t eat here much.”

“Obviously.”

“But I have filtered water. And ice.” She pulled two glasses from a cabinet and pressed buttons on the door of the refrigerator for ice and water.

Connor picked up his cell phone. “Dillon’s on his way. I’m having him pick up some food or we’ll all starve.”

Julia didn’t know why she was nervous having Connor Kincaid in her house. Maybe because she’d been thinking about that kiss five years ago. Or maybe because she had unresolved guilt for what happened in the Suarez/Crutcher case and how it had affected him. But having Connor sitting at her kitchen table felt odd, so she started talking immediately about what she’d learned, just the facts, to see if he came to the same conclusion she had.

“You talked to Grace Simpson?” he asked, surprised.

“Off the record.”

“She’s a reporter. You can’t trust reporters.”

“I trust her on this.”

“She’s going to stab you in the back.”

“No, she’s not. Because I promised her an interview.”

Julia didn’t want to get into it. Grace had been hounding her for an interview since she’d become a reporter six years ago, why was a trust fund baby a civil servant, or some such nonsense.

“You know, I don’t have to work because of my inheritance, why do I want to put in twelve-hour days working with scum, yada yada.

“Now can we get back to the business at hand?” Julia never felt comfortable talking about her family money.

“Jason Ridge.”

“Yes. He was a patient of Bowen and he ended up dead. So we have Paul Judson-who wronged Billy Thompson, a member of Wishlist-dead. We have Jason Ridge-a patient of Bowen-dead. And Victor Montgomery-who wronged Emily, a member of Wishlist-dead, too.”

“What if the girl Jason raped was a member of Wishlist?” Connor speculated.

“Don’t you think that’s a huge conflict of interest?” Julia asked. “That Bowen would be counseling both the rapist and his victim?”

“It seems a coincidence, but what else would make sense?”

“Could Jason have been a member himself?” Julia wondered.

“Describing his own murder?”

Julia shook her head. “You’re right. Sounds ridiculous. But there has to be some connection we’re not seeing.”

She suddenly jumped up.

“Oh! I called a friend and he’s pulling the coroner’s report on Ridge.” She ran down the hall to her den, then returned. “It hasn’t come in yet.” She placed a fax on the table.

“What’s this?” Connor picked up the paper. “It looks like an invitation. You going to a party tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” Julia told him about the art fund-raiser. “Grace Simpson told me Jason Ridge’s parents are big art supporters, and it might give me a chance to talk to them. But it’s a long shot.”

Connor put the fax down and tapped it with his finger. “Did you know this shindig is at Garrett Bowen’s house?”

Julia’s eyes widened as she read the invite. “What a coincidence.”

“Somehow I don’t think so.”

In twenty-four hours, the game would be over. The players were in place, the plan formed, contingencies made. Just one more problem to solve.

He handed a shot of Chivas to his guest. “Don’t go to the fund-raiser tomorrow.”

“Of course I’m going.”

“I’ve seen the guest list. You won’t be able to control yourself, you’ll blow it.”

She stood. “I’m going. You can’t keep me away.”

“I can’t protect you if you don’t listen to me.”

“Protect me?” She laughed. “I’ve never asked you to protect me. I wanted to kill him two years ago. You’re the one who got in my way.”

“I saved your life.”

“I have no life.” She let out a deep breath. “I’m not going to mess with the plan. It’s perfect justice. The irony-” She swallowed, her jaw quivering, and for a brief moment he panicked. He couldn’t have her fall apart on him now. He needed her strong, for just a little while longer.

Two years ago she had been fragile, on the verge of suicide. She’d had a gun, determined to kill the man who had stolen so much from her. He’d simply been in the right place at the right time and seized on the opportunity, not quite knowing how it would play out. Had he let the distraught and emotionally crippled woman kill the man she’d sought, he’d have been cheated out of his vengeance. A gun? Too fast, too easy.

His goal was not to simply kill the man who had wronged them, but to humiliate him before death. To destroy his lofty, hypocritical pedestal and watch him fall.

He hadn’t known her before that day on the street when he stopped her from committing cold-blooded murder. A chance meeting? He didn’t believe in luck. It was fate, giving him the spark to create such a brilliant operation. The aesthetics in each step of his masterful plan were glorious, harmonious with the overall goal of destroying injustice and restoring balance.

They were too close to victory to have her fall apart now.

He took a step toward her, touched her cheek. She leaned into his hand, closed her eyes. “You’ve been my rock. I would have been lost without you.” She kissed his palm.

They’d never slept together, but now was the time. He saw her desperate need to cling to something, to give her strength to triumph over her adversary.

Only he could give that to her. He picked her up. She was surprisingly light. He took her to his bedroom, laid her on the bed. Her eyes were closed. Who was she thinking about? Her ex-husband? Him? Someone else?

It didn’t matter. He would make her forget her weakness, give her the strength to get through the next twenty-four hours.

After that he didn’t care. He’d walk away, untainted. He had a passport and a plan.

A plan for every contingency.

After Dillon arrived, they reviewed the files and the coroner’s reports.

Dillon thought it as suspicious as Connor and Julia had that Jason Ridge had been Bowen’s patient, too. “Bowen’s name keeps popping up,” Dillon said.

Connor looked up from the stack of paper Julia’s legal clerk had printed that summarized every case Victor Montgomery had handled in the last two years. So far, the task was giving him a headache. “What happened with your meeting?”

“Bowen is a narcissist. Completely convinced that his opinion is not only right, but the only solution. He started Wishlist for cutters-teenagers who self-mutilate-and it grew from there. He sees himself as an almost godlike figure, certain he and only he knows how to cure these kids.” Dillon rubbed his eyes. “He believes Emily broke down and acted out on her fantasy.”

“Damn him,” Julia muttered.

Connor squeezed her hand. “What a jerk.”

“I couldn’t get more out of him,” said Dillon.

“Maybe he has something on his home computer we can use,” Connor said.

“Breaking and entering is illegal,” Dillon reminded him.

“Not if you’re invited into his house.”

“I don’t think we’ll be welcome.”

Julia handed Dillon the invitation. “The Chandler Foundation is sponsoring a fund-raiser at Bowen’s house tomorrow night. I’m on the Foundation board, though I don’t usually go to events. Not since Matt died. But I had Sarah, my assistant, RSVP for us.”

“All of us?”

“I’d like you to come.”

“I’d love to nail the bastard with conspiracy to murder,” Connor said.

“It would actually be incitement,” Julia corrected without thinking.

Connor growled. “Spoken like a damn attorney.”

“I am a damn attorney.”

Dillon ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. He held up a thin file. “Did you look at Montgomery’s autopsy report?”

Julia nodded. “What do you think?”

“I was surprised, Montgomery didn’t actually die from blood loss.”

“Yeah, he choked to death,” Julia said.

“On his…?” Connor shook his head.

“Emily couldn’t have done something like this.”

“The prosecution has a compelling case,” Dillon argued. “Her e-mail, her alcohol use, drugs in her system. With or without the sexual abuse, they can make a case. There have been cases of abused spouses who have pled to reduced charges because their story was compelling-they “broke” from the abuse, killed because they felt they had no other choice. But Emily planned the crime, the prosecution has her Wishlist e-mail.”

“But with the Judson case-”

“Andrew didn’t mention it, and I didn’t want to bring it up with him even though he has to know by now. Will Hooper interviewed Billy Thompson yesterday.”

“You talked to Stanton?” Connor asked.

“This afternoon. And I got something out of him.”

Julia was almost afraid to ask. “What?”

“They have blood evidence, and the weapon. Pruning shears found on the property.”

Julia paled. Connor took her hand.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“It all matches what Emily told us Thursday morning,” said Connor. “Her fingerprints on his desk.”

“They’re building a case against her,” Julia said.

“I think we need to turn what we have over to Will,” Dillon said.

“No,” Julia said emphatically. “As soon as we turn it over, we can’t follow up.”

“We’re already compromising the investigation,” Dillon said.

“Good. The judge can throw out evidence right and left and Iris Jones can get the case dismissed.”

“You’ll be disbarred.”

“Do you think I care?” Julia pushed her chair back, her hands on the table. “This is my niece! Someone is setting her up. I think it’s Bowen.”

“Why? He has no vendetta against her.”

“Maybe it’s not intentional. Maybe he’s leading this little group of his, turning disturbed kids into a bunch of vigilantes.”

“All the more reason for us to turn over the information to Will and let him get a warrant. And they want to formally interview Emily. They’re going to, sooner or later.”

“Not until after tomorrow night. Please, Dillon.” Julia turned to Connor, pleaded with him as well. “Let’s see what we can learn tomorrow at the fund-raiser. And I’m going to track down this Michelle O’Dell who was Ridge’s ex-girlfriend, see if she knows something more. Twenty-hour hours.”

“One more day,” Connor said. “If we can show doubt it’ll be much harder for Stanton to build a case. It’ll give us more time.”

Dillon relented. “I have no problem keeping Emily under medical observation. I can stand by my diagnosis. But you both need to know you can lose everything. Connor, you could lose your investigator’s license. Julia, the bar is unforgiving.”

“I know.” She turned to Connor. “You don’t have to help, Connor. I don’t want you to jeopardize your career.”

Connor stared at her, and she didn’t know what he was thinking. Finally, he said, “Dil, think Dad’s tux will fit me?”

“Might be a little tight.”

“Thank you,” Julia said, and sat down.

“I want to arrange for Will to interview Emily on Sunday. That’ll buy us time because they’ll see we’re cooperating. I can call Iris and have her set it up. That way it’s on our terms. And we’ll do it at the hospital.” Dillon looked at Julia. “Okay?”

She nodded. “These stacks are still huge.” She motioned to the files she’d copied. “We’ll be up half the night.”

“Do you have coffee?”

She shook her head. “I don’t cook. Sorry.”

“Coffee isn’t cooking.”

“I’m not home much.”

Dillon jumped up. “I saw a Starbucks down the hill. They’re probably still open. I’ll be right back.” With his departure, Julia and Connor were suddenly ill at ease.

Connor pulled Julia up from the table. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Walk?”

“Stretch your legs. You’re tense.” He rubbed her shoulders as he ushered her out onto the porch.

“I’m worried, Connor. Emily’s so young and vulnerable.”

“Do you know her friend Wendy?”

“Sure. I’ve taken them to the movies, out for dinner. She’s a good kid.”

“Emily told Wendy about Victor.”

Julia shuddered, and Connor continued to rub her shoulders. Julia rested her forearms on the porch railing and looked out at the ocean. The sun had long set, only a glimmer of fading light remained on the horizon.

“My own niece didn’t trust me,” Julia said.

“I don’t think it had anything to do with trust. Not in the way you think about it.”

“Then in what way?”

Connor thought about that. He’d worked with troubled kids for so long-not sexually abused kids, like Emily, but kids from broken homes, from the inner city. Kids with little hope, who chose gang life and crime because that was the only hope they had to get out of poverty. Problem was, they usually ended up dead or in prison.

Kids like Billy Thompson, with the world seemingly against them, who worked hard to accomplish something only to have their dreams dashed because of one misguided, wrong adult. Connor had given Billy no reason to distrust him, but it had taken Connor more than a year to earn the teen’s respect and trust. Some kids never learned to trust anyone.

Julia hung her head. “I can’t help it, Connor. I should have dug deeper. I should have seen something!”

A tear slid down Julia’s cheek and Connor wiped it away with his finger. He tilted her chin up, forced her to look at him. Her sudden vulnerability hit him. Her bottomless green eyes filled with raw emotion and Connor’s heart flipped. He’d never seen Julia Chandler stripped so bare, so needy. He touched her full lips with his thumb, wiped away a lone tear at the corner of her mouth. She became a magnet and he moved closer, his chest touching hers, his lips only an inch from hers.

Connor kissed Julia.

Lightly. A feather of a kiss. A sign of support, of friendship.

Friendship? He didn’t kiss women out of friendship. He kissed them because he wanted to take them to bed.

He wanted to take Julia to bed.

He stepped back. His body wanted Julia Chandler. His mind said hold on.

Shut up, he told his brain.

Julia stared at him, confused, her face flushed. The vulnerability disappeared, but she wasn’t moving away. Wanting her was wrong. How could either of them forget everything that happened five years ago?

Something brushed between their legs and together, they looked down to see the orange-and-white tabby rubbing up against Julia. She smiled, bent down, and picked him up.

“Hi, Scruffy. Fits him, don’t you think? He must like you. He doesn’t usually come out from under the porch when people come over.”

Connor scratched between the cat’s ears. “We met earlier.”

“He was a stray, but…” Her voice trailed off. “A little boy, not more than six, had nearly kicked him to death. I saw and stopped it, brought him home, then tracked down the boy’s parents. You know serial killers often start by abusing animals?”

“So I’ve heard.” Connor gave her an odd half-smile, humorous but not ridiculing her.

She cleared her throat, stepped away from him. “Well, anyway, they didn’t seem to think it was as serious as I did. So I kept Scruffy.”

Headlights rounded the corner and Dillon pulled up next to the house. He got out of the car with a tray of coffee and a bag. “Dessert,” he said.

“Time to get back to work,” Connor said.

Dillon walked up the stairs. “I’ve been thinking about this. We’re going beyond the gray area. We need to be cautious. If Bowen is somehow involved, we can’t jeopardize his conviction with improprieties. We keep an eye on Bowen and play it by ear. Nothing bold.”

“I’m not going to jeopardize this case. We’re going to nail him,” Julia said.

“No Fourth Amendment for you, eh?” Connor joked.

“If I thought every defendant sitting across the courtroom from me was innocent, I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

“Bowen isn’t in a courtroom yet.”

It was three in the morning when they found a connection.

Having read Jason Ridge’s thin file three times, Julia almost missed it.