The young prosecutor remembered his case that had been shifted to Carasco’s court on the morning Hayes lured him to her apartment. Hennessey had thought the switch to Carasco’s court had been odd, but he also thought it was fortuitous because he got along so well with Carasco. But what if he’d been set up?
Stacey was a professional, and professionals were adept at using sex to manipulate men. Stacey had made Hennessey think she liked him, then she’d cut him off for a week so he would be aching to see her. Stacey had lured Hennessey to her apartment in late morning with the promise of sex. Then she had threatened to destroy him if he didn’t make her warrants disappear. Did Carasco lure him to his courtroom later that day because he knew Hennessey would seek his advice? Why would he do that?
There was an answer to that question that made Hennessey’s mouth go dry. The judge had made certain that Hennessey was with him when his wife was murdered. Was that part of a plan? Had Carasco hired someone to kill his wife and used Hennessey to provide a cast-iron alibi?
Ian closed his eyes and took deep breaths. Carasco had introduced him to Hayes and set up their first date knowing that Hennessey would be easy prey for a woman like Stacey. It had been a classic honey trap. Hennessey felt dizzy and disoriented. If he was right, Carasco had masterminded his wife’s death, Stacey Hayes was his accomplice, and he was the dupe they were using to get away with murder.
PART THREEA MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On Saturday morning, Robin opened her eyes slowly and stared at the bedroom ceiling for a moment before forming her lips into a sleepy grin. She didn’t go to the gym on the weekend, but an hour earlier, she had engaged in another, very satisfying type of exercise before falling back to sleep. Robin turned her head toward the other side of the bed. It was empty. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and the sound of plates rattling on the island in the kitchen provided clues to Jeff Hodges’s whereabouts. It took a supreme act of will to get out of bed, but she managed to do it. She showered and threw on jeans and a Trailblazers T-shirt. By the time Robin wandered into the dining area of their apartment, Jeff was putting the finishing touches on an omelet.
Jeff was six foot two with shaggy, reddish-blond hair, broad shoulders, green eyes, and pale, freckled skin. He had been a police officer in Washington County until he’d suffered serious injuries during an explosion in a meth lab he was raiding. When they’d first met, Robin had been fascinated by the faint tracery of scars on his face, but they barely registered now.
“I was just going to check on you,” Jeff said. “I was worried that you were dead.”
Robin smiled. “There are worse ways to go.”
“Too true,” Jeff answered as he flipped the finished product onto a dish that was sitting next to another plated omelet.
Robin sat at her place and sipped the glass of orange juice Jeff had thoughtfully placed there. A steaming cup of coffee stood beside the juice glass.
Jeff tucked the newspaper under his arm and carried the omelets to the table. He put one on Robin’s place mat before handing her the sports section.
“Did you know about this?” he asked as he held up the front page.
The headline read JUDGE’S WIFE SLAIN IN HOME INVASION. Robin read the first sentence. Then her head jerked up, and she stared at Jeff.
“Anthony Carasco!”
“Mark told me you had a run-in with him recently,” Jeff said.
“Yeah. The guy’s a jerk, but he didn’t deserve this.”
“Judges have a human side,” Jeff said. “Even the ones who are jerks.”
Robin finished the article before handing the first section of the paper back to Jeff. He turned his attention to the editorial page, and Robin read an article about the Seahawks. They both missed the story on the bottom of page 7 about the two ten-year-old boys who had found a man’s body in a weed-covered lot not far from the tent city where Joseph and Maria Lattimore had lived.
Carlos Ortega was a fifty-eight-year-old ex-marine. The VA had a file on him. He had PTSD and was addicted to heroin. He was also no stranger to the justice system and had been in and out of jail on minor assault and possession charges. An address for Ortega’s wife was in the VA file, and she was notified two days after her husband’s body was found.
Not mentioned in the article were the results of a blood test, which found a tranquilizer in Mr. Ortega’s system, or the similarity of the injuries to those of Elizabeth Carasco.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On Monday morning, Robin was editing a memo she was writing in support of a motion to suppress when her receptionist told her that Harold Wright was on line two. Judge Wright, a brilliant jurist with a great judicial temperament, was one of Robin’s favorites.
“Hi, Judge,” Robin said. “What’s up?”
“I’m acting as the presiding judge this week while Nancy is on vacation, and a man charged with aggravated murder appeared in my court an hour ago. A public defender appeared with him, but he says you’re his lawyer. He’s indigent, so you’d have to be paid on the court-appointment fee schedule if you take the case.”
Robin frowned. “What’s the defendant’s name?”
“Joseph Lattimore.”
As soon as she heard Joe’s name, Robin assumed that Lattimore’s case involved the illegal fight, but she had no idea why it would be charged as a death penalty case.
“Before you tell me whether you’ll accept the case,” Wright continued, “you need to
