Joy that I wouldn’t put her through that a second time, which reminded me of something else I’d learned. A promise to protect can frighten more than comfort.
“So, you’re not dead,” Lucy said, opening the door.
I stretched, rubbed my face, and finger-combed my hair. “Once again, those reports are greatly exaggerated.”
She grimaced. “Okay, Mark Twain; in the other room. Believe it or not, we need you.”
Simon was sitting in a chair at one end of a coffee table. Lucy took the chair opposite him. Ethan Bonner leaned back in a desk chair. Kate sat on a two-seater sofa that in other circumstances I would have admitted was a love seat. She was holding a laptop, studying the screen and ignoring me. The coffee table was littered with room service remnants surrounding a covered dish.
“It’s a club sandwich on toasted wheat bread, no cheese, light mayo, just the way you like it,” Kate said without looking up. “And fresh fruit instead of fries.”
“Thanks. You’ve got a good memory,” I said, uncovering the dish, picking it up, and looking around the room for another place to sit even though I already knew the sofa was the only option. I joined her, the cushions collapsing toward the center, drawing us closer together. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing.” She finally looked at me, biting back a smile. “Ethan is paying for it.”
“Twelve bucks,” Ethan said. “Tax and tip included.”
“That’s what I get for referring a new client to you?”
“You’re lucky I’m not charging you a hundred and twelve bucks.”
“That bad?”
He nodded. “Tonight it is. I couldn’t get Roni out. They’re charging her with conspiracy to commit murder. She’s being arraigned in the morning. The judge will probably grant bail, but she doesn’t have any money so she may be a guest of the county for a while.”
“What do they have on her besides the gun?”
“You mean the murder weapon? If I had a nickel for every time Quincy Carter called it that, I could post Roni’s bail. He’s hanging his hat on the gun and the disturbance he says she created at the hospital, or as he puts it, the diversion she caused to set up the shooter.”
“That won’t stand up if she’s got an explanation for the gun.”
“If she has one, she isn’t saying, not even to me. She’s covering for someone, and Carter figures to pressure her into giving him up. We’ll see if a night in the tank does the job. In the meantime, it would help if you have any idea who she’s protecting.”
“Best bet would be Brett Staley. He’s in love with her, and she thinks she might be in love with him. Maybe she is. Odds are he knew about the gun. He showed up at the hospital right after Crenshaw was killed. Said he was looking for her. Carter questioned him, but let him go before he cut Roni loose.”
“Where do you fit into the mix?” Bonner asked me.
“Didn’t Roni tell you?”
“I’d rather hear it from you. See how it matches what she told me.”
I gave him the rundown, ending with Roni’s story about her fight with Brett and how Quincy Carter worked Roni and me, my face reddening as I told that part of the story.
“And that’s why I think she’s covering for Brett.”
“Why would he kill Frank Crenshaw? What’s the connection? Did he know Crenshaw? Did Crenshaw owe him money? He’d have to have a reason unless he’s a psychopath that roams hospitals looking for someone to shoot,” Bonner said.
“I don’t know if he’s got a connection or, if he does, what it is, but Roni should know.”
“She shot Crenshaw the first time. Maybe she meant to kill him and her boyfriend decided to finish the job for her.”
“I was there. That was self-defense. He was her client. Why would she want him dead?”
“I’m better at questions than answers,” Bonner said. “I keep asking them, hoping someone else will do the rest. Your version fits with Roni’s story, except she didn’t say anything about an ATF agent. What was he doing at the hospital?”
“There was a gun show in Topeka last month. Thieves followed one of the dealers before he got home and robbed him. They got a small armory of handguns and assault rifles. Frank Crenshaw shot his wife with one of the stolen handguns. If the ATF agent wasn’t interested in that, he needs to find another line of work.”
“We don’t know if Crenshaw’s murder was related to the theft of the guns or to something else,” Bonner said. “We need to know more about Brett Staley’s relationship with Crenshaw. Right now, the only reason he’s a suspect is that it looks like Roni is covering for him. Maybe if you go with me in the morning, she’ll open up, tell us about the gun. She seems to trust you.”
“Not enough,” I said. “She didn’t tell me about it.”
“She’d have had no reason to tell you if she didn’t know the gun was missing or that it was used to kill Crenshaw,” Bonner said.
“She’d have had less reason to tell me if she did know.”
“Her arraignment is at ten. They’ll have her at the courthouse by nine so I can talk to her. Can you meet me there?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how much that will help.”
“Why not?”
“Roni may not want to be rescued.”
Chapter Thirty-four
“Well, no one is going to rescue her before she’s arraigned,” Bonner said.
Lucy jumped from her chair. “And no one is going to rescue Peggy Martin’s kids if we spend all night sitting around here talking about goddamn Roni Chase!”
“Take it easy, Lucy,” I said. “We’ve got to be able to do more than one thing at a time.”
She crossed her arms, glaring down at me. “No, we don’t, Jack. I can’t and I won’t. You don’t have to help Roni. She can find someone else to do that, and Ethan doesn’t have to represent her. The court will appoint a lawyer for her if she can’t afford one. She may be in jail, but she’s got a roof over her head and isn’t scared to death that someone is going to rape and murder her at any second. So, no, I’m not going to do more than one thing at a time until I find those kids, and I need to know that you aren’t either.”
“I’m on this case to the end, but I’ve got to help Roni too.”
“Jack, you can’t save everybody. Sometimes you have to choose.”
“Babe, we’re doing the best we can,” Simon said.
Lucy flung her arm at him. “What is that? You’re telling me this is the best we can do? We haven’t done shit! Those kids are out there somewhere, and Jack’s taking a nap while we ordering fucking room service, for Christ’s sake!”
Simon stood, taking her hands in his, his voice low and soothing. “We’re doing what we know how to do. We could run out of here screaming into the street, but we’d still have to do the same things. Dig up leads and run them down, talk to witnesses, stir things up until we get a break. If there was a faster way, we’d do it.”
They were a mismatched pair, filling each other’s gaps. She was a head taller, street savvy and full of fire. He was a round-shouldered numbers guy, a grinder sifting through digits and data looking for a thread to tug on until he unraveled the truth. She took a deep breath, leaned down, resting her forehead on the top of his head.
“They’re just babies.”
He put his arms around her. “And we’ll find them.”
She turned away and went into the bathroom, coming back a moment later, eyes red but composed. She settled into her chair, rubbing her hands on her thighs.
“So,” she said, “what’s next?”
“The video,” Kate said. She was standing next to a flat-panel television parked on top of a dresser. “This TV has a USB port. I connected my laptop so we can all watch. Let’s have a look at Peggy Martin.”
