Friction, page 22
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t picked up the tail, but he hadn’t been expecting one, hadn’t been looking for one. Chalk up a point for Neal.
As he flipped through the eight-by-ten printouts a second time, he asked, “The photographer didn’t happen to catch the son of a bitch who tore my little girl’s room all to hell, did he?”
Crawford’s tongue-in-cheek inflection escaped Nugent, who answered seriously. “Neal already asked. No.”
Although Crawford was seeing things through a red mist of outrage, he knew that his reaction would be reported to Neal. Exercising control and care, he lined up the edges of the printouts, replaced them in the file, and returned it to Nugent. “Whoever the guy is, he does good work.”
Nugent said miserably, “Neal’s gonna have my head.”
“Don’t worry about it. If it comes to that, I’ll tell him I bullied you into showing me. He’ll believe that.”
“Thanks.” He hesitated, then said, “I don’t get why he had you tailed, anyway.”
“I don’t get it, either, Matt.”
They reentered the CAP unit. Neal was still talking on his phone, so he didn’t notice Nugent’s nervousness as he sat down at his desk and booted up his computer. Crawford was trying to process what the surveillance signified and how to confront Neal with it, when the office line on Neal’s desk rang. Automatically Crawford answered.
“Crawford Hunt.”
A perky feminine voice said, “Oh, hi. This is Carrie Lester.”
Crawford’s eyes cut to Neal. “I’m sorry, who?”
“I’m Neal’s wife. We haven’t met, but of course I know who you are.”
Crawford stared at the back of Neal’s head while his wife inadvertently trapped him in a lie. “I hate to bother you,” she said, “but I’ve been trying to reach Neal, and his cell phone is going straight to voice mail. I wonder, is he around?”
When Crawford walked in, Holly’s assistant looked up from behind her desk, registering surprise. “Mr. Hunt?”
“Is the judge here?”
“She came in about ten minutes ago.”
“Would you please tell her I’m here? There’s been a development in the case I need to discuss with her.”
She used a desk phone to communicate with Holly, and a few seconds later, she opened the door to her private office and looked at him expectantly. “Good morning.”
“Hi. I apologize for not calling ahead.”
“You need to see me?”
“Right away.”
She stood aside and motioned him into her office. “Mrs. Briggs, hold all my calls, please.” She closed the door and turned to him.
Today her business suit consisted of black pants and a black-and-cream striped jacket. The top underneath matched the light stripes and had a row of tiny pearl buttons down the center of it. As enticing as that view was, he kept his gaze above her neckline.
“I’m sorry for what I said last night, that I’d have Georgia if it wasn’t for you.”
“Sadly, it’s the truth, though.”
“Maybe. If you split hairs. But I was mad over something else and shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Anyhow…” He left it at that and so did she.
“Were you served?” she asked.
“Within minutes of getting home. I had an eventful night.”
And he knew he looked it. It had been well into the wee hours before the patrolmen wrapped up their investigation of the vandalized room and the perimeter of his house. After they left, he’d lain awake, mulling over the destruction, wondering who had done it and, much more worrisome, why.
Having gotten only a couple hours of sleep, there were dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to shave and had only towel-dried his hair. His shirt and jeans were clean, but he was wearing yesterday’s wrinkled sport jacket, which he’d lifted off the back of the dining chair as he passed through the kitchen on his way out.
“Did something else happen last night?” she asked.
“I’ll get to that. First, I gotta ruin your day.”
“A development in the case? That wasn’t just something you told Mrs. Briggs so you could apologize?”
“Unfortunately, no. I came to give you a heads-up.”
He propped his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor, wishing a script had been etched there for him to follow. But there wasn’t. He had to come up with the words to tell her, and he figured the blunter the better.
“Neal’s been having me followed.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he said, “Wait, hear me out. That’s not the worst of it. He’s got pictures. I don’t know how long the surveillance has been going on, or how thorough it’s been, but I wanted to warn you that you might be featured prominently in some of the shots.” He nodded toward the three tall windows behind her desk.
“I don’t know for sure because I only saw a sampling. I’ve used these guys myself and know how resourceful they can be. If the tail saw me come up here last night, if he got pictures through those windows, then we’re blown. You and me together.”
Together up against the edge of her desk, his hands all but cupping her ass as they leaned into each other and crotch-bumped. Even a camera lens would have steamed up.
“At least we didn’t kiss,” he said. “He didn’t catch us in a lip-lock, but I don’t think anyone could mistake…well…you know.”
Their gazes held, then hers dropped to his mouth, then lower to the center of his chest. “Why did Neal have you under surveillance?”
He’d been expecting an accusatory outburst. Momentarily taken off guard by her question, he made a dismissive waving motion with his hand. “He’s got this notion that I was behind the courtroom shooting.”
“What?”
“Crazy, I know. But with my ruination in mind, he’s running headlong down a dead end. Meanwhile.” He told her about Otterman’s reaction to seeing the corpse. “Neal didn’t want to admit it, but he noticed it, too.”
“I’m not defending Chuck Otterman,” she said. “I don’t know him well at all. But that’s my point. Other than his modest contribution to my campaign, there’s no connection. I would tell you if there were.”
“I believe you. But it might be something you’re not remembering, or something you don’t even know. Maybe linked to the firm in Dallas?”
“I called to apologize for all the inconvenience this had caused them. I was assured that my safety is their primary concern. But in any case, Chuck Otterman has never had any dealings with any attorney there, past or present, including me.”
“Maybe they’re holding back because of privilege.”
“That occurred to me. I asked.” She shook her head. “I believe they would tell me. This is a murder investigation, after all.”
“Okay. But keep thinking.” He waited a beat, then asked, “What are you going to do about the other?”
“You mean the photographs?”
“I don’t know there are any of you. But if there are, they’ll be damaging.”
“I’m no longer hearing your case.”
“No, but it’s still a murky area. That asshole Sanders could turn it into the scandal of the decade.” He turned away from her. “Dammit, I should have stayed away from you. If I wind up costing you the election, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Will you forgive yourself for saving my life?”
He came back around. “What?”
“Crawford, I was compromised the moment you leaped over that railing and shielded me from the gunman. No matter what’s happened since, I could never have made an objective decision regarding the man who risked his life in order to save mine.”
It sounded a little too pat, an honest but well-spun answer she’d prepared in anticipation of being asked a sensitive question about him. “Did you come up with that, or did what’s-her-name?”
“I fired what’s-her-name this morning.”
That was surprising news. “How come? Her haircut?”
She laughed. “Reason enough. But we had a difference of opinion over how my campaign should proceed.”
His cell phone dinged, signaling a text message. “Hold the thought.” He opened his text page and stared in puzzlement at the still-frame picture of Georgia that appeared. He tapped the arrow to play the video.
Her giggles sounded throughout the chamber. He recognized the park setting, the familiar playground, the swing set. Georgia’s blond curls caught the sunlight at the apex of each arc of the swing. Her small hands were clutching the thick ropes, her toes stretching out in front of her to reach as high as they possibly could. She was laughing happily.
The video ran for thirty-two seconds, and it was the longest half-minute of his life. The caption accompanying the video: “You’re making this too easy.”
He bolted for the door and nearly ripped it from the doorjamb as he pulled it open. Behind him, Holly cried out, “Crawford? What?”
“Call 911,” he yelled as he blasted past her startled assistant. “Get police there.”
“Where?”
“The park playground.”
On the seemingly endless staircase that wound down four floors, he shouted for people to move aside and pushed those who didn’t react soon enough out of his path. He leaped over half the treads. When he reached the lobby, he called to two deputies who were standing together chatting, “The city park. Now!”
He didn’t wait to see that they followed as he barreled through the courthouse entrance and sprinted to the parking lot, fumbling with his key fob to unlock his SUV. He clambered in, started it, and pressed down on his horn to signal any other drivers in the parking lot that he was claiming the right of way.
On the city streets, his tires screeched as he wove in and out of traffic. Driving with his right hand, he reached through his open window with his left and attached the mag-mount cherry to the roof. Glancing in his rearview mirror he saw that the sheriff’s unit was running hot behind him. He accessed his police radio and blurted out the basic info to a dispatcher.
He sped through the pair of stone columns at the entrance to the park and took the curving lane in a straight line, his accelerator mashed flat to the floorboard. When the parking lot adjacent to the playground came into view, he applied his full weight to his brake pedal, causing his SUV to skid the twenty feet. He rammed it into park and was out of it before it had shuddered to a complete stop.
He heard Georgia before he saw her. Her laughter was high and light, her giddy squeals piercing the heavy air. He rounded the trunk of one of the spreading live oaks and spotted her. She was standing on the merry-go-round, holding onto one of the T-bars, laughing as Grace spun her round and round.
Crawford fell back against the tree trunk and bent double, placing his hands on his knees, gasping for breath, tears of relief mingling with the stinging sweat that dripped into his eyes.
When he straightened up, he saw Joe Gilroy. He was leaning against his car where it was parked in the lane, his cell phone in his hand. He was watching Crawford. He smiled. “Thank you. I can now have you arrested.”
Crawford’s field of vision shrank to the size of a pinhead, and his father-in-law was at the center of it. He started forward in a measured but determined tread that must have signaled Joe to the rage that had turned his blood to lava. The older man straightened up and took a defensive stance.
Crawford charged across the remaining distance between them, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, spun him away from his car, and shoved him so hard he stumbled backward, landing hard in the gravel.
“You’ve done it now,” Joe growled. “You’re going to jail.”
“What kind of sick game are you playing, Joe?”
“Game? What are you talking about?”
“That video. Your cute little caption.”
“You’re crazy. I always said so. You’ve just proved it. I don’t know anything about a video.”
Crawford reached down for him, but one of the deputies who’d huffed up behind him, spoke his name in a cautionary tone. “Don’t do it, man, or we’ll be hauling you in.”
Crawford heeded him, but he never took his eyes off his father-in-law. “Give me your phone.”
“Go to hell.” Joe stood up and dusted off the seat of his pants. “I’m collecting Georgia and Grace and getting out of here and away from you.” Looking beyond Crawford, he said to the deputies. “What are you waiting for? I have a restraining order. Arrest him.”
“Sorry, Crawford,” one of them said. “Let’s go.”
Crawford didn’t move. Still fixed on Joe, he repeated, “Give. Me. Your. Phone.”
Joe glared at him with loathing and turned away. Crawford’s hand shot out and grabbed Joe’s arm. A struggle for possession of the cell phone ensued. The deputies scrambled to join in and, together, were able to pull Crawford away.
Neal’s car came to a halt only a few yards from where he and Joe were faced off while he continued to struggle against the deputies’ hold on him. Neal and Nugent got out on opposite sides. Another car pulled up behind Neal’s. Holly alighted from it. In his peripheral vision Crawford saw flashing lights, signaling the arrival of more squad cars, which he himself had summoned during his mad drive here.
“What the hell is going on?” Neal asked.
“He attacked me,” Joe said. “Arrest him.”
Crawford, breathing hard, said, “He texted me a video of Georgia because he knew it would get me here. See for yourself, and tell me what you would make of it.”
With a nod from Neal, the deputies let him go. He pitched his phone to Neal and gave him the security code.
Joe said, “I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about.”
Neal pulled up the video text on Crawford’s phone and played it. “Doesn’t say who sent it. May I see your phone, Mr. Gilroy?”
Joe puffed out his chest. “If my word isn’t good enough for you—”
“Mr. Gilroy?” Holly wedged her way between Neal and Nugent and came to stand in front of Joe. Her voice was soft, controlled, that of a mediator. “If this is only a misunderstanding, why not defuse the situation before your granddaughter notices the police cars and becomes frightened?”
“If she’s frightened, it’ll be his fault, not mine.”
“Then you can take the higher ground.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “You’ve got nothing to do with this anymore. I’m beginning to wonder why you recused yourself. Has he won you over to his side?”
“I’m on Georgia’s side.” She let that resonate, then said, “Please?”
Joe’s eyes glinted with hostility and pride, but when Neal extended him his palm, he slapped his phone into it. “Your security code, please, Mr. Gilroy?” Neal accessed the text file and then checked his photo library. “It’s not on here.”
Holly, who’d also been watching the phone screen, looked up at Crawford and shook her head.
By now other policemen were converging on the group. Neal said to Nugent, “Tell them it was a false alarm. Send them away.”
“This wasn’t a false alarm,” Crawford said. “You saw the video.” Looking at Joe, he added, “He was on his phone when I got here. He could have deleted it.”
Joe ignored him and addressed Neal. “I didn’t shoot any video.”
“Somebody did.” Beside himself, Crawford plowed the fingers of both hands through his hair and held it back. “It was sent as a warning. If it wasn’t you…” Recalling the angle from which the video had been shot, he scanned the surrounding woods. “He would have been over there.”
He struck off, but one of the deputies pulled him back. “We got it, Crawford. You deal with this.” He and his partner hurried away.
Neal asked Joe, “How long have you been here?”
“Close to an hour. We’ve had the playground to ourselves the entire time. Until he arrived.” He gave a brusque tilt of his head in Crawford’s direction. “He was driving and behaving like a maniac. He attacked me. Do your job, Sergeant Lester, and lock him up.”
“Daddy!”
Georgia’s glad cry stunned them all. They turned her see her running toward him, arms outstretched. Instinctually Crawford started toward her, but Neal stepped in front of him and planted his hand in the center of his chest. “Stop there.”
“Screw that.”
“If you go near her, I’ll have to arrest you.”
Crawford shoved Neal’s hand away. “No, you’ll have to shoot me.”
Chapter 21
Crawford pushed Neal aside and rushed to meet Georgia halfway. She tackled him around the knees. He lifted her up, his arms enclosing her tightly.
Her skin was hot and sticky from her recent exertions on the playground. He could feel her heart beating against his chest. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent.
“Daddy, you’re squashing me.”
“I’m sorry.” He allowed her to lean back but kissed her rosy face several times, and his kisses were enthusiastically returned. He stroked a few ringlets away from her damp hairline. “Have you been having fun?”
Grace gave him wide berth as she hurried past them, moving in the direction of the others. Crawford didn’t care what was playing out behind him. Georgia was alive, untouched, unafraid, and that was all that mattered to him.
He carried her back to the merry-go-round, sat down on the metal disk, and held her on his lap as he idly pushed them around by digging his boot heels into the hard-packed groove encircling it.
While she chattered, he conducted an inventory of her parts and features to assure himself that all were intact and unharmed. He silently thanked God, whose existence he questioned but whom he strove to appease in exchange for Georgia’s safety, health, and longevity.
“Are you listening, Daddy?”
“To every word.”
“Who’s that lady?”
He turned to see Holly walking toward them. “Her name is Judge Spencer.”
