A Score to Settle. Kara Lennox
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someone other than Christopher Gables killing Frank Sissom, Jamie could not, in good conscience, dismiss the woman’s statement.
She would have to investigate. She would have to find out if it really was the same woman who discovered the body, then fled, and then determine if the woman was credible.
None of which would change the fact that Christopher Gables’s fingerprints, and only his prints, were found on the murder weapon. But if she didn’t perform due diligence, Daniel Logan would never leave her alone.
She knew how Project Justice operated, because quite a few cases prosecuted by her office had been overturned due to the persistence of the foundation’s people. Daniel—who believed in this case so strongly that he had taken it on personally—would not give up until he was convinced beyond any reasonable doubt that his client really was guilty.
God, what a nightmare. Winston Chubb, the district attorney, wasn’t going to be happy with this turn of events. And he would find a way to blame Jamie for it, she was sure. Winston always managed to grab the credit for anything good that happened, and passed the buck regarding anything bad.
On top of everything else, she could smell the tiramisu, faint threads of chocolate, vanilla and coffee. She ought to just throw the little white box—tied with a satin ribbon, for God’s sake—into the first trash can she saw. The dessert was a symbol of everything that had gone wrong with that meeting, including her completely inappropriate physical reaction to the billionaire.
Imagine her, Jamie McNair, attracted to a convicted killer! But she was.
It was hard to visualize Daniel Logan killing anyone. Even knowing the facts, she hadn’t felt the least bit uncomfortable alone in his presence, other than having to hammer down her libido.
But then, people had said that about Ted Bundy.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Jamie was back into her office and the little white box was empty, damn it.
Her day was shot. A pile of cases sat on her desk—mostly routine plea-bargain requests from defense attorneys. She went through as many as she could, signing off on the reasonable ones, rejecting the more outrageous requests for repeat felons and violent offenders.
She spent an hour returning phone calls, talked to three different detectives regarding a felony assault case, then checked her schedule for the following day.
Jury selection for a drunk hit-and-run case in the morning; three appointments in the afternoon.
With fifteen minutes left of her official workday, Jamie did what she’d known she would do all along. She opened the Gables/Sissom murder file and dug through a mountain of reports until she found the one from the crime lab regarding the evidence they’d processed—bloodstains, fingerprints, the knife and, finally, the victim’s clothing.
Most of the details regarding the clothing had to do with bloodstains—including one tiny biological stain on the apron that hadn’t belonged to the victim and had remained unidentified. But there was also a list of substances other than blood found on the victim’s shirt, which included olive oil, tomato juice, salt—all the things once might expect to find on someone who spent time in a restaurant kitchen.
One finding, though, made Jamie stop: “a black, powdery substance assumed to be from a laser printer or copy machine.”
Assumed to be? Since when did crime-scene analysts assume anything? Probably the restaurant had a printer or copy machine, and since Frank Sissom was one of the owners, she had every reason to believe he’d been in the office and changed a printer cartridge.
But a black, powdery substance could also be metal shavings. Damn it.
She called the guy who’d signed the report, Eddie Goddard. He’d been working at the crime lab since Jamie was in high school, and though he was normally thorough and dependable, he still was not her favorite person. A card-carrying member of the Good Ol’ Boys Club, he didn’t like women telling him what to do.
“Eddie. I see you’re working late like me.” It was now well after five.
“I was just heading out, actually. What can I do for you?” He did not sound enthusiastic about adding any tasks to his To Do list.
“I won’t stop you from getting home in time for dinner,” she promised, hoping to earn brownie points. “But tomorrow morning, I’m going to bring you a piece of clothing from the Frank Sissom case. I need some additional analysis on a certain stain.”
“You’re joking, right? That case is ancient.”
“Wish I was. But I need to shut somebody up before he goes to the press and makes our lives more miserable than they already are. A quick look-see under a microscope will probably do the trick.” She hoped.
“Okay, sure,” he agreed in monotone.
Tomorrow morning, she would retrieve the actual physical evidence from the police, hand the victim’s shirt over to Eddie and pray that Theresa Chavez didn’t call.
CHAPTER THREE
“DANIEL, SORRY TO disturb you, but Jamie McNair is on line two.”
The four men and two women seated in Daniel’s conference room looked surprised by the interruption, and it was no wonder; his staff knew not to disturb him during a Logan Oil & Gas board meeting. The company was largely responsible for maintaining Daniel’s personal wealth, and Daniel remained involved in the overall direction and philosophy of the company his grandfather had started.
The meeting was important, but Jamie took priority.
“I have to take this call,” Daniel said to the board as he rose. “Shouldn’t last more than five minutes.”
When Jamie had left his home two days ago, Daniel hadn’t been sure how, or even if, she would follow up. So he was a bit surprised and pleased that she’d called him.
He stepped down the hall and into his private office, then picked up the phone.
“Jamie. Good to hear from you.”
“Mr. Logan.”
Damn, she didn’t sound nearly as warm as he’d hoped. “Did Theresa get in touch with you?” He already knew she had; he’d personally seen to it. He’d even hired a car and driver to take her to the district attorney’s office for an interview.
“She did. And I’ll be honest with you, she piqued my interest.”
“Then you’ll reopen the case,” he said confidently.
“Don’t get your hopes up. She seemed genuine, but I still haven’t verified she was at the scene of the crime. For all I know, she’s an actress you hired.”
Daniel bit his tongue to stifle a snide retort. After spending six years hitting brick wall after brick wall trying to overturn his own conviction, he shouldn’t be a bit surprised by Jamie’s attitude.
“I can provide the documentation you need—”
“I’ll provide my own, thanks very much. And if I find out she’s lying, I’ll personally see to it she’s prosecuted. And if I find you paid her to lie, I’ll prosecute you.”
Daniel was livid. He was so tired of this attitude. Of course, the Harris County D.A.’s office would be doubly motivated to prevent another overturned conviction; Project Justice had recently gained freedom for a mobster’s son convicted of killing his girlfriend, and the case had caused some major embarrassment for the D.A.
“It sounds as if you simply don’t like me very much. Are you going to let personal feelings stand in the way of justice?”
“Please stop being so simplistic. I’m convinced I did a good job convicting Christopher Gables. Naturally, it’s going to take a solid argument to persuade me I made a mistake.”
“We’re talking about a man’s life here.”
“Yes,