See No Evil

She smiled. “Because of you.” She squeezed her brother’s hand. “Hey, let’s put all this depressing stuff behind us and go meet Emily for that movie. When did it start?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“Let’s go.”

Not only did they miss the movie, but Matt died before the movie was over and Emily heard about it from the media as she waited in the lobby of the theater for her father to pick her up, wondering why he was late.

And it had been Julia’s fault. After all, she’d been driving.

A knock on the door startled Julia out of her reverie. She glanced at her watch. Six-thirty? Where had the time gone? “Come in.”

Her boss, Andrew Stanton, entered and closed the door. He sat down across from her desk. Most prosecutors in her position didn’t have their own office, but Julia’s conviction on a high-profile rape-murder last year had earned her the door.

“Why did you hire Connor Kincaid?”

She knew it was bound to come up. “I need to protect Emily’s interests,” she said cautiously.

“You did. You retained Iris Jones.”

Since Stanton didn’t ask a question, Julia didn’t answer.

“Julia,” he said, his voice soft, “I know this is hard on you, especially in your position, but you need to know I’m also looking out for Emily. You don’t need to-”

She put up her hand. “Don’t. I appreciate your help, but you can’t possibly be on Emily’s side. If the roles were reversed I would have the interests of this office to protect. Just like you.”

Stanton remained silent for several moments, then said, “You’re on the fast track, Julia. You know it as well as I do. You can have a judgeship inside of five years, or anything else you want. Don’t blow it by playing cop. Don’t blow it by trusting Connor. You know better than anyone what a loose cannon he is.”

“Andrew, if you think that I care about my career more than my niece, then you’ll never understand any decision I make.”

“I only meant-”

“Connor may be a loose cannon, but he’s also committed to the truth. I can keep him reined in.” She didn’t wholly believe it, but she would damn well try.

Stanton raised an eyebrow, his face stern. She felt like she was a hostile witness. “Oh? You think you can control Connor Kincaid? Then why was he interviewing a witness? Spending time at the police station?”

“He’s looking out for Emily.”

“He’s interfering with a police investigation.”

“No, he’s not.” Julia stood her ground. “Emily needs an advocate, and not just a defense attorney telling her to keep her mouth shut. She needs someone working overtime to prove her innocence.”

“The police-”

“Are damn good. Will Hooper and Jim Gage are the best. But the evidence is what it is. I know in my heart that Emily didn’t murder Judge Montgomery. But my heart means nothing when faced with the damning circumstances.”

Stanton stood. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

“Then you’ll take this the way that it’s intended. You’re hereby on administrative leave.”

“What? I have a trial in eleven days, I have six depositions next week and a discovery hearing in a first degree-”

“You follow your heart, Julia, and you’ll pay the price. Hand everything off to Hannah Peterson-”

“No, let me-”

“Or you can resign.”

For the first time Julia had an inkling of what Connor Kincaid had felt five years ago when she had given him almost the same ultimatum. Except hers had not really been an ultimatum. It was testify or go to prison. What choice was that?

“Let me pass everything to Frisco Lorenz. He’s better with rape victims.”

Stanton agreed. “All right. I’m sorry, Julia.”

She didn’t believe it for a minute.

Revenge, justice, payback all led to one thing: control.

It was the lack of control-Emily’s inability to stay away from her lecherous stepfather, Billy Thompson’s inability to prove he hadn’t stolen the tests-that created the need for justice.

A woman is raped, she has no control. All the power is in her rapist. She gains control when she fights back. But the system doesn’t always work. Sometimes bad guys go free. Sometimes they’re never found.

Sometimes no one knows a crime has even been committed.

Vengeance was such a powerful motive because no one questioned it. Righting wrongs was human nature. What human being feels sympathy for a child molester who is raped in prison? Who hasn’t had the fantasy of killing a serial killer or assassinating an evil despot in a foreign land? Thousands of years ago, human beings lived and died by their instincts and a crude sense of right and wrong. There were no courts, no men to stand in the way and talk about feelings or rights or abuse. Because life had been lived on the ancient principle of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

He would never be discovered, but even if he were, he would be the hero in the eyes of everyone who had lost control of their lives. For the abused, the defeated, the downtrodden-he would be their knight in shining armor, a martyr, a vigilante. Thousands would march in the streets demanding his release. Anarchy would ensue, and it would be his lone voice that controlled the masses. The powers would beg him to speak, to bring order to the disorder.

He sank into his chair, eyes closed, sipped his evening Chivas and relished the future.

But he abandoned his fantasy. He wouldn’t be caught, the police would never learn of his role in this game of vengeance. Playing out other people’s vendettas, like in Patricia Highsmith’s classic novel Strangers on a Train, gave him the distance necessary to watch, assess, and move forward.

Like chess, he had to think several steps ahead. If his opponent moved one way, discerning his purpose wasn’t always obvious. A wise man looked at every possible move and chose the one that would give him the greatest future gain, even if it meant sacrificing a piece. It was his vision that made him a genius. He saw the game board as one unit, all possible solutions clearly laid out. If his opponent did X, he already had his response at the ready. If his opponent did Y, he had another plan prepared.

In life, chess was three-dimensional. You had more than one opponent, and what one opponent did affected what every other opponent did. Seeing all the players’ moves was crucial, and like God, he was the only one in this game who knew every player. He knew why they made their choices, what motivated them, how to defeat them.

He was the chess master.

He reached for his cell phone and dialed Cami. Time to give her a bone and make her perform.

Time for the next move.

ELEVEN

Connor grabbed two beer bottles from Dillon’s refrigerator, slammed them down on his kitchen table, and turned the chair around so he could sit in it backward.

“Some things never change,” Dillon mumbled as he twisted the top off his beer and swallowed.

Connor was trying to bribe Dillon with pizza and beer, though he knew his brother really couldn’t be bought for any amount of food or money. Dillon was as straight as they came, and Connor admired him greatly for his ethics, even when they ran counter to his own interests. This time, however, they were on the same side.

Based on the evidence they had, Dillon was working up a profile of the killers. He was determined to prove Emily wasn’t involved, perhaps using the information Connor had gleaned from Billy Thompson.

“I wish I had access to the crime lab on this one,” Dillon said. “I’d like a copy of Victor Montgomery’s autopsy