“I see you two are getting along,” Holly said. “Backseat, Daisy.” Daisy jumped into the backseat.
“We did fine,” Jackson replied. “She’s very nice when she’s not threatening to tear my throat out. I hope she doesn’t sleep with you.”
“She does,” Holly lied.
“Oh. How’s Chet?”
“Can you keep your mouth shut?”
“It’s one of the things lawyers do best. If we talked, the world would tremble.” He started the car and headed for the airport.
“He’s awake and talking.”
“That’s great! Who shot him?”
“He doesn’t remember that part—nothing, in fact, since our last meeting, when he hired me.”
“That’s bad news,” Jackson said. “Is his memory going to improve?”
“Nobody knows. I’ll come back to see him tomorrow and see how he’s doing.”
“Do you really think they might try again?”
“If they thought he could identify them, they’d have to.”
“Has it ever occurred to you,” Jackson said, “that they might find it convenient for you to be dead?”
“Yes,” she said. “Somebody had a go at me very recently.” She told him about the incident with the gas bottle and the parachute flare. “But I can take care of myself,” she said finally.
“I hope you won’t mind if I help,” he said.
“And how would you do that?”
“I’ll just keep an eye on you, mostly in the evenings.”
She was surprised at how much the offer pleased her. “I think I could get used to that,” she said.
“Who do you suspect in the department?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I don’t know who to suspect. When you told me about the gun in the van, I thought I had Hurd Wallace cold, but it turns out that his ex-wife’s place was burgled three months ago. She reported the gun stolen at that time. The most plausible scenario I have right now is that your client bought the gun from whoever stole it.”
“You know that’s not the case,” he said.
“How do I know that?”
“Because whoever shot Chet killed Hank Doherty. Sammy didn’t even know who Doherty was, let alone have a motive for killing him.”
“Why do you think the same people killed Hank?”
“I hear things. I heard he was killed with the chief’s shotgun.”
“You heard right.”
“Well, we know Chet didn’t kill him, don’t we?”
“That’s what I think.”
“So Sam Sweeney is out of it.”
“Yes, he is. Frankly, I was afraid somebody might kill him, once he was identified as a suspect. That’s why I ran him out of town; it would be easy to hang it on a dead guy.”
“Good move.”
“I wonder where Sam’s Colt thirty-two is?” she said.
“In a killer’s pocket, probably.” He drove up to the airport terminal and stopped. “I’ll follow you home,” he said.
“Don’t bother, I’ll be all right.”
“Are you armed?”
“No.”
“I’ll follow you.” He bent down and kissed her.
She kissed him back, and she liked it. “Whatever you say, counselor,” she whispered.
CHAPTER
She had just woken up when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Dr. Green. I’m sorry to call you so early, but I thought you’d want to know right away.”
“Know what?”
“The supervisor in intensive care called me a minute ago. Chester Marley is back in a coma.”
“But I thought he was doing so well.”
“So did I, but they were unable to wake him this morning. I can’t offer you any sort of prognosis; we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
“Thank you for letting me know, Doctor,” she said, then hung up. This was depressing news. Even if Chet had been unable to remember the shooting, he could have filled her in on his earlier suspicions. The phone rang again. “Hello?”
“It’s Jackson. Did you sleep well?”
“Like a stone.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
She laughed. “Bad news,” she said. “The doctor just called, and Chet is back in a coma.”
“I hear that happens sometimes.”
“It’s depressing.”
“I can see how it might be. Dinner tonight?”
“Can I call you later? I don’t know what the day holds.”
“Sure.” He gave her his office and home numbers.
“Talk to you later.” She hung up and started her day.
She was in the office by eight-thirty, and at nine Charlie Peterson, of the City Council, knocked on her door. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she said, remembering that she had been supposed to call him. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you, but it’s been extremely busy around here.”
“Yeah, I heard. We’ve got a council meeting at ten; I think you should come up and meet everybody.”
“Sure, I’ll be glad to.”
“It’s room 404.”
“See you at ten.” She walked next door to Jane Grey’s office. “Jane, will you make a copy of my contract, please? I think the city council might like to see it.”
“I expect they already have,” she said. “The council chairman, John Westover, asked for a copy yesterday. I couldn’t think of any reason not to give it to him.”
“You did the right thing,” Holly said. She sat down. “Tell me about this Westover.”
“He’s a power, locally—owns a car dealership, a printing company, a fast-food franchise and a funeral home, among other things.”
“What’s he like?”
“Professionally jovial,” Jane said. “He’s a car salesman at heart, I think. Wants everybody to like him. Takes the council seriously, though. He’s said to have a real good grasp of the city’s finances, and he manages them well.
