“Haven’t you learned by now not to bet against me?”
“Should have. We doing the usual, where I come get you in an hour?”
I nodded. When clients felt there were time constraints, they were more likely to talk.
He unlocked the metal door, a square window near the top.
“Thanks.”
“See you on the other side.”
A beast of a man sat behind the table, arms braced on the smooth wooden surface, shaved head bowed. He didn’t move when the door clicked shut. I placed my briefcase on the table and took the seat next to him.
“Would you like the cuffs removed?”
Nothing. Not a glance or a word.
I pulled out a legal pad and pen. “I’m Patrick Whitley. If you’ll let me, I’m here to help you.”
More silence.
“I wish my father was more like yours.”
Ice blue eyes met mine. “You know nothing of my father.”
“He’s persistent. Believes in you. Won’t stop until you’re free.”
He dropped his chin back to his chest.
“I’m here for an hour. You can tell me what happened or we can sit here in silence. Totally up to you.”
“It’s not up to me. I can’t go anywhere. You’ll walk out of here in your expensive suit, get in your Range Rover, and go home to your model wife.”
“I’ll give you that the suit is expensive. I don’t own a car, and I’ve never once considered getting married.” Until recently.
“You can’t help me.”
“Not if you won’t let me.”
Tattoos crept out from his collar up his neck and out of his sleeves to his hands. Love was in a script font just above the crook of his neck. I immediately thought of Blake.
I understood why they’d pegged a crime like this on him. At first glance, he was frightening. Right or wrong, the mind automatically went to gang member or at the very least trouble.
“Sidney told me you bought the house. There’s no feeling like inking a signature on those papers.” I’d try for common ground. If this didn’t work, it was on him.
“I worked three jobs to buy it.” Bitterness etched his words. “There was no point.”
“What do you do?”
“Sit in a cell all day.”
“Before,” I obliged, impressed with my own patience at the smart remark.
“Electrician. Plumber. Mechanic.”
“You any good?”
He glared. “I was this close”—he held up his thumb and forefinger—“to having my own company.”
That I could understand. One of my greatest sources of joy and pride had been having my own business. He’d never gotten the chance.
“Another huge deal.”
“Doesn’t matter now. I’ll die in this place.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“You can’t get me out of this.”
“I’ve never lost a case. I have no intention of starting now. But my record depends on you.”
“According to everyone, I’m guilty.”
“Good thing I’m not everyone.”
“I saw her that day.” I set my pen down and waited. “She went into the woods behind our houses. It was near dark, and I was worried something would happen to her.”
He paused. This was the moment when my client would decide whether or not he’d trust me. Whether or not he had any hope left in his heart and soul. Being patient and waiting for that moment was crucial. So, I was.
“Dara had a head start. I called after her, but if she heard, she ignored me.” He lifted his head, those chilling eyes staring right into me. “She seemed like she knew where she was going. I don’t know that. Just how she walked, like the way was familiar. She wasn’t scared.”
He scrubbed his head with his hands, the handcuffs rattling with the movement.
“She just vanished. I looked down for one second so I wouldn’t trip over a limb. She was gone.”
He yanked on his binds.
“I searched for an hour. All I found was a daisy pin she never took off. I didn’t know that giving it to the police would shoot me up to the primary suspect.”
In a case like this one, everyone was a suspect . . . even if the authorities didn’t advertise that fact.
“Tell me about before. How well did you know her? Her family?”
“The day I moved in I dropped a shirt on the driveway when I was unloading. She ran up to me with a huge smile and the shirt in hand. Alex, her dad, came over after her. Offered help. Invited me over for a beer. We had a barbecue that night at their house.”
Sounded like a picture-perfect scene.
“Instant friendship?”
“Yeah. He invited me to join his flag football team. Shel, his wife, baked stuff for me at least once a week.”
I’d never lived in a community like that where people were friendly and helped out their neighbors. The couple who lived next door to me never even acknowledged my presence the few times I’d seen them outside over the years. If they’d brought me baked goods, I’d have probably trashed them. They were strangers. They could be crazies. Or their cat could’ve helped them cook.
Hell, if it weren’t for Dixon, I wouldn’t have any friends.
“Was there ever any strain?”
“Never.”
“Just the three of them? Or are there other children?”
“Shel’s sister’s kid lives with them. He’s fourteen. The sister is constantly in trouble. Drugs, I think.”
“Why do you think that?”
He hesitated. “I overheard Shel tell her she wouldn’t give her any more money.”
“But that’s it? You don’t know what the money was for?”
“No.”
“The other child, tell me about him.”
“Quiet. Skinny.”
“How did he interact with the family?”
“Speaks when spoken to.”
“Did you ever notice any animosity toward Dara?”
“No.”
“His name?”
“Christopher.”
“Did you ever meet Shel’s sister?”
“No.”
Fuck me with these one word answers. What happened to the complete sentences?
“Did she ever come to see her son that you’re aware of?”
“Once.”
“But you didn’t witness it?”
He looked annoyed, but how did he expect me to help him if I didn’t find out every minute detail I could? He’d seemed the type who would appreciate directness. Apparently not.
“I saw her storm out of the house. He chased her. She slammed the car door in his face and sped off.”
“What
