One Deadly Sister

“Not anything? But I already told Kagan it would all be printed. That fired him up and he threatened Moran on Friday. What about the editorial in today’s paper questioning the investigation?”

“That’s as far as they’re willing to go. I know you were counting on me, Sandy.”

“Then Moran holds a winning hand. He has no pressure to explain anything and Raymond stays in jail.”

“Maybe not, Moran doesn’t know the paper backed down. He phoned me a little while ago and sounded worried. I told him the sky was falling, and everything was going to be printed.”

“You told him what?”

“Yeah I did it, and I implied he was in deep shit.”

“You lied to a state attorney investigating a homicide? Are you out of your mind! When he finds out, he’ll charge you with obstruction of justice to begin with. He’ll have you jailed or at least fired, and you’ll never work as a reporter in Florida again.”

“Well, there goes my Pulitzer. Guess I’ll move to Tampa and fix cars.”

“Why on earth…?”

“Listen Sandy, you’re in the driver’s seat for a few hours. Moran really believed me. Go make some kind of deal with him before he finds out that he doesn’t have a lot of new information from the paper to deal with. Unless he checks with the editor right away, you guys have some time.”

“But Linda, in a few days he’ll realize nothing new is coming out in the paper and he’d simply lock Raymond back up.”

“Wouldn’t he be embarrassed trying to explain why he let him out?”

“That’s true, and this gives Kagan another shot to go before the judge and maintain there was insufficient evidence to deny bail considering the new disclosures. It’s at least a chance to get Raymond out and it might work. I won’t tell Kagan what we’re doing, so he’ll innocently continue acting as though we do have an advantage. If Moran falls for the bluff, he might negotiate. Linda, you just fell on your sword for me. Do you understand Moran is going to crucify you for lying regardless of how this turns out? Why did you do that?”

“Sugar, you know why.”

Chapter 30

By the time Sandy reached the courthouse, the town was full of heavy rain. Park Beach is usually calm and quiet after the church traffic clears. That Sunday it was wet and miserable. The thunder and lightning might come later at her first meeting with Moran. Sandy parked in the police parking lot as usual and hurried across the boulevard to the courthouse, dodging puddles and holding her notebook over her head.

The courthouse appeared closed but as she walked up the splendid steps, a sheriff’s deputy opened the huge door for her. She was expected.

“I’m soaked, any paper towels around?” He produced a roll. “Thanks, I didn’t come to Florida to catch cold.”

“Why didn’t you use the covered parking next to this building?”

“Now you tell me. It’s going to be one of those days.”

He scanned her with a handheld detector and directed her to the third floor offices of the state attorney. She crossed the spacious atrium to the elevators. The only break in the cold silence was the echo of the click of her shoes. The building air conditioning must have been set to cool a large weekday crowd. At that moment, she was not only damp but also surrounded by bone-chilling marble.

She found Moran’s office on the third floor next to the conference room and opened the door. She didn’t see him but heard him call out, “Just take a seat in the conference room, Miss Reid.”

She assumed he wanted this meeting to scare her off. That fit Chip’s description of him as a bully. Yet, if he’s at all rational, there should be some room to negotiate for bail. She needed to show him what he was up against. Show him that continuing with Raymond was not going to work. She would ask that he drop all charges and hope they could at least agree on release on bail. She must come away with a compromise, and do it before he learns the newspaper won’t be printing anything unfavorable.

She sat at the side of the long conference table, rubbing her arms for warmth, and wishing she had brought a sweater. She waited. After twenty minutes, she assumed he was either playing a power game making her wait or he had discovered the truth. Maybe he was on the phone being told Linda had lied to him and the sky wasn’t falling.

At two p.m., one hour after the scheduled time, Moran entered. Without an apology or even looking at her he settled in opposite. He placed a stack of official-looking papers on his left side, a recorder on the other, and a yellow legal pad in front. Taking his time and not yet acknowledging her, he casually flipped back and forth among the top papers that appeared covered with notes.

“You came all by yourself.” He still hadn’t looked up. “I thought Kagan would be with you.”

She stood and slowly pulled her chair away from the table. She walked over and exchanged her chair for one from the end of the table.

“What are you doing? Sit down. Leave the chairs alone.”

“I noticed your chair is much higher than mine.”

He clicked a button on his recorder. “All right, let’s begin. Good afternoon, Miss Reid.”

She put her handbag on the table beside her, took out her phone, and another small device. She moved them around a bit, played with some buttons, and then announced, “Okay, I’m ready.”

He was grim. “Now what are you doing?”

“I’m recording our conversation.”

“This is the official recorder.”

“That’s fine. Yours is the official one. Mine is nothing special.”

“Turn off that recorder. It’s not permitted. You don’t record anything. Do you know to whom you’re speaking? Do you realize I have the full legal and prosecutorial power of the entire state of Florida behind me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s better. Now, do you know why I ordered you here?”

“I’m not certain, Mr. Moran. My hope was we could discuss some compromise regarding bail for my brother.”

He clinched both fists. “Wrong!”

She took his defensive attitude to mean he was still afraid of what the newspaper would print. That was good. If he was just going to play the harassment game, then she saw no point in trying to reason with him. One thing she had learned was you must stand up to a bully. “Then I guess I’m here because your case is falling apart.”

He came up out of his chair, pointed his finger at her, and commanded, “Turn off that recorder!” She didn’t move. Her expression was emotionless. He reached down and punched off his recorder. In a sudden movement, he reached across the table, grabbed her small device, and threw it hard against the wall. It shattered and fell to the floor. “That’s what you can do with your nothing-special fucking recorder!” He sat back down. “Let me see your cell. Does it record?”

She pushed her phone across the table to him. “Take a look, just a plain-Jane phone, no photos, no tunes, no Internet.”

He inspected the phone carefully and slid it back across the table to her. “Now let me see your purse.”

“My purse is private property. You’ve no right to search it—fourth amendment.”

“Give me your goddamn purse!”

She handed it across. He crudely turned it upside down and shook it, spilling everything hard out on the table. He shuffled through it. He pushed the mess back across the table, took a deep breath, and nodded okay. He clicked