CHAPTER 4

Wednesday dragged by slowly, long and grueling—and not just because Caitlin had spent so much time staring at her ceiling the night before. Listening to deputy district attorney Mace Keeley address the jury in their Salt Lake City courtroom, Caitlin wondered for the millionth time what she was even doing there. When she’d started law school, she’d never dreamed she’d end up defending a creep like Belstead.

“After a search revealed this knife in a trash can at an abandoned house two blocks north of the defendant’s apartment,” Mace said, “we took it into evidence and had our forensic team test it. The knife has traces of the victim’s blood.” He paused dramatically as he always did before going in for the kill, a flair Caitlin both hated and admired. That he was drop-dead gorgeous didn’t help matters—at least for her client. The jurors seemed to hang on his every word. “The knife also contains two of the defendant’s fingerprints.”

Caitlin didn’t meet her client’s gaze as the state prosecutor’s words hung heavily in the courthouse. Normally, she hated the moment in the trial when the prosecutor presented seemingly irrefutable evidence, but today she felt only triumph. After the first shock of silence, murmurs burst like a wave from the spectators. The jury stared accusingly at the defendant, and the faces of the victim’s family showed terrible triumph. Caitlin kept her own expression stoic, not feigning outrage or protesting in her client’s defense, as some might have done in her position. Doing so would only make it worse for him.

Mace nodded toward the judge. “The prosecution rests our case, Your Honor.”

Judge Harper inclined his gray head and glanced at his wristwatch. “Very well. As I mentioned when we got started this morning, I have an unforeseen conflict in my schedule later this afternoon, so I think this is a good place to conclude for the day. That will also give both parties time to consider options before we continue on . . .” He paused and consulted briefly with his clerk. “Since this trial has taken longer than expected and both the prosecutor and the defense are scheduled for separate trials tomorrow, apparently, we’ll reconvene these proceedings on Friday. But I want any new motions, if applicable, on my desk by close tomorrow. Defendant is remanded to custody. Court is now adjourned.”

Caitlin stood with the others as the judge rose and left the room. She could tell by the rigid lines of the judge’s weathered face that Belstead was as good as on his way to prison. Chalk one up for the good guys, she thought. Beneath her outward calm, Caitlin allowed herself to feel the slightest bit of satisfaction.

Yet as much as Belstead deserved to rot in prison for the full length of time the crime required, the blatant attitude change in the courtroom now demanded that she attempt to arrange a plea deal for him. Hopefully he’d be too stubborn to accept, as he had been during the prosecutors’ stab at summary judgment. The prosecutors might also be too sure of their evidence at this point to offer him anything worthwhile.

Caitlin’s thoughts fled as Belstead turned and pushed close to her, ignoring the guard who stood ready to escort him back to his cell. “I thought you said I’d get off!” he said in a harsh whisper, his hazel eyes level with hers. “You said they didn’t have enough proof!”

Caitlin studied him, taking in the desperate, wild look that no longer matched the closely cropped sandy hair and shaved face. He was pleasant-looking in an ordinary way, but there was nothing to set him apart from dozens of other ordinary, middle-aged men. Except perhaps his clothes. These had obviously been chosen with great care, as though he was trying to impress someone. Women, most likely. Young ones who would be enthralled by a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

She had told him in the beginning that the prosecution didn’t have enough proof, but that was long before they’d found the knife. “You knew they were going to bring up the knife,” Caitlin said coolly. “We talked about it in discovery. We’ll still have our chance to discount the evidence. Now keep your voice down. You don’t want to make a scene in front of the jury.”

Belstead’s nostrils widened and his face flushed a deep red. Nevertheless, he waited until the jury disappeared through a door in the back of the jury box before continuing. “And how did they get that so-called evidence?” he sneered. “We never talked about that, did we?” Abruptly his voice became a deadly whisper close to her cheek. “You told them! You must have. No one else knew.” Swearing viciously, he made a move toward her, but the guard grabbed his arms and pulled him back.

Caitlin made her voice icy hard. “You’re not helping your case. Word of this tantrum will get back to the judge. Now calm down. I’ll do everything I can to negate the effects of this evidence.” And she would, even if she didn’t want to.

Her words had the desired soothing effect. “See that you do,” he muttered, his narrow shoulders slumping. “Or else.”

“Or else what?” She lifted her chin as she met his gaze.

“Nothin’.” His eyes were full of hatred as the guard led him from the room.

The threat was probably just talk, but she was glad she would be able to sleep that night, knowing there was no chance he would be anywhere near her house. As a flight risk, he hadn’t been permitted bail. She suspected at this point he’d prefer another attorney, which would be a relief after the past years of contact, but unfortunately for her, he didn’t have the money to hire one on his own. Working full time at a local hamburger joint before his incarceration hadn’t exactly resulted in a savings account large enough to pay high-class attorney wages, and any savings that hadn’t been eaten by his recent bills had probably gone toward clothing. She could, of course, recuse herself from the case, but that wouldn’t be looked on favorably by her boss. It would also be giving in to her fear.

Caitlin swallowed with difficulty and closed her burning eyes.

“You know your client’s guilty,” said a mocking voice beside her.

Caitlin opened her eyes to see deputy district attorney Mace Keeley and his co-counsel, Wyman Russell. “I guess that’s for the jury to decide,” Caitlin muttered, her stomach tightening as it always did in Mace’s presence.

He laughed. “Public defending is the worst, isn’t it?” Though in his late thirties, he could be the posterchild for West Coast surfing ads—blond hair, blue eyes, and a build that made women drool. Most women, anyway, though Caitlin tried not to be one of his groupies. The aloof manner she strove for at work protected her most days, but every now and then when she least expected it, a little scene of the two of them alone on a beach somewhere stole into her daydreams.

“Well, there is a good side to your losing,” said his co-counsel. Wyman Russell was also a deputy district attorney, or DDA, and the attorney who had originally been assigned to prosecute the case. Sometime after the knife evidence had been discovered, Mace had taken over as lead counsel. Caitlin had never received any explanation as to why there had been a change.

“And what’s that?” Caitlin forced herself to respond politely to the shorter man. Though he was reasonably handsome and his voice pleasant, she didn’t like Wyman. Not because of his thinning brown hair and flabby body, or even because two years ago he’d been chosen for the job that should have been hers, but because of the calculating jabs he always took at her. The feeling had been bad enough before, but since they’d become opposing counsel on this case, he seemed to find altogether too many opportunities to unnerve Caitlin with his annoying comments. Either he had the hots for her, was trying to throw her off her game, or was just particularly weird. She was leaning toward the latter.

Wyman grinned. “Chet Belstead is going to jail for a long time. That’s worth a loss in my book.”

He won’t be going away for long enough, Caitlin thought as the two men chuckled.

“Don’t be jealous of our mad prosecuting skills,” Wyman added.

Mad prosecuting skills? Had he really just said that? The truth was that Wyman was a terrible prosecutor, and in the past she’d defended against him successfully in several cases he should have won—cases she’d hoped he’d win, given her clients’ obvious guilt. Perhaps that was why Mace had been called in to help with this case, to be sure Wyman didn’t mess up again. The family of the victim was working the media hard, and a loss by the DA’s office would not be taken lightly. Mace or no Mace, Caitlin would have won this case too—if she hadn’t helped things along.

“It’s not over yet,” she forced herself to say. Mechanically, she began picking up her papers and storing them in her brown leather briefcase, too aware of Mace and the fact that he was still watching her. Her nerves tingled.

Wyman stepped around Mace, coming uncomfortably close to Caitlin. “You still think you’re going to get him off? How? His fingerprints were found on the weapon, and the victim is ready to swear it was his voice she heard in the park that night. They dated for six months. She should know.”

The arrogance in his voice stung her into replying. “I’m sorry, but I refuse to discuss this further unless you have something official to convey. Otherwise, you’d better get back to examining the knife and the jacket and hope you have enough evidence to convince Belstead to cut a deal.”

Mace laughed. “She has a point. I for one am interested to see what she comes up with during her defense.” He smiled at Caitlin and she grinned, swaying toward him slightly before pulling herself back. It had been far too long since she’d been in a relationship with a man as attractive as Mace. Or any man, for that matter. “See you later, Caitlin,” he said with another stunning smile. She watched him walk away for several long seconds before she realized Wyman hadn’t followed him.

“Why did you say there was a jacket with the knife?” Wyman asked.

Caitlin froze. Hadn’t Mace mentioned it during the trial? She went over the scene in her mind. No, he hadn’t. And now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember seeing mention of the jacket in the lengthy discovery documents, either. Which meant she had made a serious error, one that could not be excused by her double caseload. No jacket meant the knife had not been wrapped up as Belstead had told her, or maybe someone had removed it from the loaded trash container before the police found the knife. Given the part of town where the knife had been found, that might have happened. It was also possible the police had withheld that tidbit for reasons unknown, though that shouldn’t be the case this far into a trial.

“I misspoke,” she said. “I must be mixing it up with another case. I got less than four hours of sleep last night. You know how it is.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilted his head to the side. “Funny thing is, the blood on the knife was consistent with being wrapped, but the police didn’t find anything else, or we would have included it in discovery and in our evidence list.” He paused for a moment before rushing on, a mad sort of glee coming into his eyes. “Wait. He told you, didn’t he? That idiot told you what he did.”

“I shouldn’t have to remind you that what my client tells me is privileged information.” Though she spoke calmly, a tremor of fear shuddered up Caitlin’s spine. What if they found the boy who had made the anonymous call and traced him back to her? That had been her fear from the moment she’d told Kenny to ask the witness to call the police. If anyone accused her of a breach of ethics and they found evidence, she could be disbarred.

Caitlin searched the room, searching for an easy excuse to extricate herself. But the courtroom was clear now except for the two of them and Jodi Rivers, a paralegal from the Legal Defenders Association, who was standing near the door waiting for Caitlin.

Wyman reached out and briefly touched Caitlin’s arm. “We have more in common than you think, Caitlin.” The arrogance was gone from his voice.

“What are you saying?”

“We both want the bad guys to go to prison.”

She studied his oblong face, noting the deep line in his forehead between his eyes. She’d heard he and his wife had separated, and she wondered if that was what had marked him or if the line had come from years of concentrating on his cases.

“Maybe so,” she said, feeling inexplicably sorry for him, “but we both know my real job is to get as many clients through the system as quickly as possible—period. Even if they get off. You’re the one who’s supposed to send them to prison.” She didn’t add that he wasn’t very good at it. She didn’t have to; his record spoke for itself.

“We could be on the same team,” he said lightly. “Think about it.”

“I tried to join the DA, but you took my spot. Remember?”

His face split into a surprisingly compelling smile. “You still holding a grudge? Did you ever think that it might be for the best? Sometimes you can accomplish more working outside the DA’s office.”

Two days ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated to slam his slightly veiled suggestion of cooperation back in his face as a blatant breach of ethics. But doing so now might make him more eager to open an investigation into the anonymous caller, and the caller would eventually lead to Kenny Pratt, her private detective.

Kenny would never volunteer the information that he’d been making inquiries on her behalf, but she employed him often enough for the DA’s office to make a connection. At least she hadn’t told Kenny her true reason for sending him to the street where the knife had been found. That was something.

Wyman left her then, but she knew it wasn’t over. She began gathering her papers and files, her mind racing.

“Are you okay?”

Caitlin looked around at Jodi, surprised to see the younger woman still waiting for her. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But she sank back into the black, high-backed chair behind the defendant’s table.

“Too bad about the knife.”

She sighed. Jodi Rivers was a good paralegal, so good that in some cases, Caitlin sent her to do the preliminary work with the clients so that Caitlin would only need to meet with them personally once before a hearing or trial. That left her free to spend her time on the most difficult or disturbing cases. Like Chet Belstead’s. In fact, if she had still been working misdemeanor cases as she had at the beginning of her career, she’d only see her clients at the trial itself, never actually talking to them alone, instead relying on Jodi and others like her to take care of the legwork.

Yet for all her experience, Jodi was still young and too idealistic to understand that because of Caitlin, many really bad guys walked free to harm others again. Jodi still believed in second chances while Caitlin had seen repeated offenders too often to subscribe to that vein of thought.

Jodi sat down next to Caitlin in Belstead’s vacated chair, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders nearly to her slender waist. Caitlin envied that waist, not to mention the hair and flawless complexion. Jodi tapped a French-manicured finger on the file she held in her hands. “I saw him staring at you. I think he likes you.”

Caitlin sat up straighter. “You do?”

“Yes, and he’s cute. I mean, he could be a little taller, but he’s taller than you, at least. I hear he and his wife are getting a divorce.”

Wife? Mace Keeley didn’t have a wife. He was rumored to be in a long-distance romance with an attorney in California, though if they didn’t love each other enough to be together, Caitlin didn’t think there was much hope for the relationship.

That could only mean Jodi wasn’t talking about Mace. She groaned. “Uh, if you’re talking about Wyman Russell, then eewww.” The dragged-out word said it all.

Jodi shrugged. “He’s not bad looking.”

“He’s a terrible prosecutor! You saw how he brought Mace Keeley in to help this case.” Since there was so much damning evidence, she was surprised Wyman hadn’t continued the case on his own. He’d naturally want the glory of the win for himself.

Jodi grinned. “I see your point. A woman can overlook a lot of things in a man but not stinking at his job. But speaking of Mace Keeley, that’s one guy I’d go out with in a heartbeat.”

“You and most of the other women around here.”

Jodi shrugged. “Lucky for him, I guess.” She clapped her hands on her knees, just visible beneath her tight skirt, and leaned forward. “Well, I’m heading back to the office. Can I help you with anything this afternoon?”

“I wish. But it’s stuff I have to deal with personally. I need to chat with another client so we’re ready for trial tomorrow morning.” A typical busy Wednesday for her. Even though the judge had ended their court time earlier than expected, the few extra hours only meant that she’d be slightly less behind.

“You mean the arsonist?”

“That’s the one.” As luck would have it, Wyman was the prosecutor on the case. The defendant had purposefully set a fire that had killed an old man, so Wyman had gone after him with a murder one charge, but there was enough doubt in Caitlin’s mind about the defendant’s intentions that she was giving the case her full attention. Since she was up against Wyman again, she would probably save her client from life imprisonment. Unfortunately.

Nodding, Jodi arose. “Well, give me a holler if you need some help with visual aids for the arson trial.”

“I thought you had a brief to write for Sampson.”

“I do, but it’s boring.” Jodi laughed and started down the aisle.

“In that case, I’ll take you up on the visual aids. There’s a file on my desk that has them outlined. Top one. Red folder, I think. And, Jodi, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Caitlin watched her leave. Thinking of Amy, who was probably waiting for her even now, playing with dolls or maybe coloring a picture, a fresh load a guilt assailed her. I shouldn’t have done it, she thought. She’s my responsibility. I should have let Belstead walk.