him?'
'Dad tried a big murder case in his court when I was in junior high. Didn't he get in trouble with the Bar?'
'Big trouble. Hammond was arrested for DUII and assault on Dennis Pixler, the arresting officer. He was facing possible disbarment. Hammond told the papers that Pixler was crooked and had set him up. About a month later Pixler killed himself. He left a suicide note exonerating Hammond. It said that drug dealers who wanted revenge for a sentence that the judge had handed down had paid him to frame Hammond. The police questioned the dealers but they denied hiring Pixler, which you would expect.
'Anyway, Pixler had life insurance but the insurance company wouldn't pay off when the medical examiner ruled the death a suicide. Pixler's widow refused to accept the finding and sued the insurance company. The autopsy report was entered in evidence during the trial. Pixler had six hundred milliliters of temazepam in his blood. That's the same drug that was found in Michael Israel's blood, and the same quantity.'
'That's interesting, Kate, but Robard would never let us introduce this stuff at trial.'
'I agree, but it does make you think. And there's something else. Do you remember what happened to Albert Hammond?'
'Didn't he disappear?'
'Without a trace, about a year and a half later,' Kate said. 'But not before he got in more trouble with the law. Another drunk-driving arrest, but this time they also found cocaine in the glove compartment and a young woman in the car who wasn't his wife. Hammond swore that the woman put the drugs in his glove compartment when the cops pulled him over. He said she was a hitchhiker he'd picked up because he was worried about a young woman hitchhiking alone. But the woman had a record for prostitution. She said that Hammond was full of shit about the cocaine and that he'd begged her to say it was hers as soon as they were pulled over.'
'So, what happened?' Amanda asked, feeling that she had to say something to keep up her side of the conversation.
'Hammond posted bail and he was never seen again. The week that he disappeared, his wife was killed by a hit-and-run driver and his son and daughter-in-law were murdered in a home-invasion robbery.'
'You're kidding.'
'The week after Michael Israel died, his wife and child died when their house burned down. Interesting coincidence, huh?'
'I'd like to believe that we've found evidence of some big conspiracy here,' Amanda said finally, 'but this could just be wishful thinking. These incidents are years apart.'
'If we could find a way to hook them up--find a connection between Israel, Hammond, and Travis . . . .'
Amanda had become so intellectually involved in Kate's report that she'd forgotten for the moment what would happen to her if her kidnappers learned that she was actively investigating Dupre's case. When she did remember, fear gripped her again.
'Thanks for calling,' Amanda said, 'but I'm really feeling lousy. I want to get some sleep.'
'Sure,' Kate said, her tone showing that she was upset by her boss's lack of enthusiasm for what she thought was some pretty classy detection. 'Sorry I bothered you at home but I thought you'd want to know.'
'I do. We'll talk more when I get back to the office.'
Amanda hung up and looked at her sandwich. She couldn't eat it. She shuffled to the couch. The remote was on the coffee table. Amanda channel-surfed but nothing interested her. She was so tired. She wished she could sleep. Ben Dodson could give her something to make her sleep but she would have to leave her apartment to get it. What were the chances that someone was waiting for her? It was the middle of the day. There were people all around. But even while she told herself she was safe, her body shook and tears welled up in her eyes.
Amanda dressed in a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. She pulled up the hood and donned dark glasses to hide her bruises. No one was waiting outside her door and there was no one in the elevator. She was afraid to go into the garage, so she rode the trolley across town, comforted by the people who surrounded her but constantly scanning the crowd for danger.
Ben Dodson was shocked when his receptionist showed Amanda into his office. She looked like a homeless person, and she hadn't been able to conceal all of the purple-and-yellow bruises.
'What happened to you?' he asked, staring at her battered face.
Amanda looked down. 'I'm okay,' she mumbled.
'Are you sure?'
'Please, Ben, I don't want to discuss it.'
Dodson opened his mouth then shut it. Amanda was his patient and he wouldn't press her.
'Why are you here?' he asked. 'This isn't a scheduled appointment.'
'You said you could give me something to help me sleep. I . . . I really need it.'
Amanda choked back a sob and Dodson guided her into a chair.
'Has something happened to make your situation worse?' Dodson probed.
'Please, Ben. Just give me something to help me sleep. Can you do that without asking questions?'
'Yes. I can prescribe some alprazolam.'
The name of the drug startled Amanda. 'What is that?'
'It's an antianxiety drug. You've probably heard the trade name, Xanax. Why?'
'When they did the autopsy on Senator Travis, alprazolam showed up in his tox screen. I didn't know what it was and I was going to ask someone, but I forgot. Do you think there's anything odd about his taking the
