Nothing But the Truth Read online

  He’d also written down every license plate number of every car that entered or left the garage or pulled up to the front of the building, and he’d eyeballed every person who entered or exited the front door.

  He’d even questioned the night doorman regarding strangers, new residents or suspicious characters hanging around. But nothing unusual had popped up.

  After Randall appeared at seven o’clock sharp the next morning to ferry Raleigh to work, Griffin went home, showered, and allowed himself a short nap. Lord knew she was safe at work, because no one would get past Celeste.

  When he arrived at her office at around ten, Raleigh was waiting for him, dressed down—for her—in casual pants and a pale green, light cotton sweater that accentuated her deep green eyes. She’d pulled her hair back with a fancy, yellow-flowered ponytail doodad, leaving only a few strands to curl around her face—not quite as severe as her usual style.

  She’d even changed her glasses from the more scholarly horn-rims to a fun pair of blue frames.

  The effect was mouthwatering. Okay, so it wasn’t just the prickly librarian look that drew him to her.

  Last night he’d wanted to kiss her again more than anything in the world. He’d wanted to smooth those worry lines from her face and make love to her until she forgot everything but the two of them and the boundless electricity that arced between them at the most casual touch or even an exchanged glance. But given the load of guilt she’d dumped on herself after their last kiss, he’d dug deep to find some self-control.

  He might be ready and willing, but she wasn’t. Even if he persuaded her to throw out her caution and have sex with him, it wouldn’t end well. When Raleigh was ready to be with someone again—if ever—it would be with someone completely different from him. Someone who would love her forever.

  Hell, he couldn’t make promises beyond next week. His life was too unpredictable to include a regular girlfriend. If he got the job with CNI, he’d move his home base to New York. That might not be an insurmountable obstacle; long-distance romances could work. But he wouldn’t stay in New York. Some hot spot or war zone or natural disaster would call his name and he’d be on a plane, failing to show up for dinner, forgetting a birthday.

  He’d had girlfriends before. It never worked for long. Why that idiot local magazine thought he was an eligible bachelor was beyond him.

  Raleigh’s colorful glasses didn’t totally hide the shadows beneath her eyes. This situation was taking its toll on her.

  “You didn’t sleep well last night,” he said as he dropped onto her office sofa.

  She gave him a disapproving once-over. “You didn’t go home last night.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Duh. I looked out the window and spotted your car. Seriously, Griffin, what’s up with that? Daniel has someone watching my place 24/7, even when I’m not there.”

  “If something happens, I want to be there.”

  “You’re that worried someone will scoop you?”

  It wasn’t that. But he couldn’t begin to explain the depth of his obsession with this story. “If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”

  “It bothers me,” she said curtly. “Wouldn’t you rather be, you know, going out, doing…guy things?”

  “Yeah, boy, I’ve really missed my usual routine, hitting the bars and strip clubs.”

  She peered at him over the top of her glasses. “I just assumed you have a life.”

  “My job pretty much is my life.”

  “Copper started barking in the middle of the night. He probably caught your scent. He’s crazy about you, you know.”

  “Does your dog do that very often?”

  “Bark in the middle of the night? No.” Raleigh frowned. “He’s been restless lately, though. Maybe he’s just picking up on my tension, poor thing. I did see a light on across the street. Those lofts are being renovated, so they should be empty at night. But it was probably just someone working late.”

  Or someone casing Raleigh’s building. Maybe Griffin was being paranoid, but any sort of anomaly—like a strange light or an odd person or a dog barking when he should be sleeping—bothered him.

  He wished he could whisk Raleigh off to a safe house until this ugly business was over. Maybe in Siberia. Or, even better, a tropical island. Raleigh in a bikini, her skin glistening with oil…

  Ha. The chances of that were nil.

  “So, how would you like to come with me to rattle a few cages at the Houston P.D.?” Raleigh had let her surly attitude slip. Her voice fairly sang with anticipation.

  “I’m game. What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  A few minutes later they were once again in the Bentley’s backseat.

  “I got some news this morning,” Raleigh began as the car pulled away from the curb. “The lab was able to fire the gun. Well, they made a casting of the barrel, then constructed a new barrel from that. Kind of the way they make a crown for a tooth. They were able to fire a test bullet. Now, the police can compare the test bullet to the bullet that killed Michelle Brewster, and we’ll know if we have the murder weapon.”

  “Okay, I’m following so far. But what if it is the murder weapon? Doesn’t that bolster the state’s case, that Simonetti disposed of the gun quickly as he fled the scene?”

  “It could. But here’s the best part. The lab also was able to recover a partial registration number from the gun. Chances are very good the police can trace it to the owner. Which might lead us to the actual murderer.”

  “You sound pretty confident.”

  “I have a feeling.” She glanced over, then looked down and grinned impishly. “I know, I know, that’s flaky woo-woo stuff. But one of my strengths as a lawyer is that I can tell when people are lying. I have a radar for it. Most people give themselves away with subtle, physical cues. Claudia, the psychologist Project Justice consults with, has studied the science behind body language. But me, I think I’ve always done it on a subconscious level.”

  “So you’ve talked to Anthony Simonetti, and you believe he’s telling the truth?”

  “I do. I’m not one-hundred-percent accurate. I’ve been fooled before. Psychopaths are very good liars. But Anthony isn’t a psychopath. Everyone who really knows him says he is a caring person. He had a strong relationship with Michelle. He’s never been prone to violence.”

  “But he did work for one of his father’s companies. Which means he was involved at least on the fringes of some criminal enterprise.”

  Raleigh sighed. “An unfortunate fact the prosecution mentioned as often as possible. Anthony did work for his father’s grocery business, driving a truck. But a few months before the murder, he quit that job and broke all ties with his father. When Leo Simonetti tried to pull him into the illegal stuff, he wanted nothing to do with it. That’s the reason they’re no longer speaking to one another.”

  Griffin had to admit, Raleigh was pretty persuasive. “What do you think the cops will say?”

  She sighed. “I have an appointment with Abe Comstock, the original investigator. He didn’t want to see me. Doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. He only grudgingly agreed to the meeting.”

  “If he really believes Anthony is the murderer, I’d think he’d be excited to find the murder weapon.”

  “He’s afraid I’m right—that the gun will point to someone else.”

  “What will you do if he tells you to take a hike?”

  She sighed again. “I can’t make them reopen the case.”

  Maybe she couldn’t. But he could. Nothing like a little bad press to nudge public officials into doing the right thing.

  Randall found a place to park less than a block from the police headquarters front entrance. He fed some quarters to the meter, then he, Griffin and Raleigh headed up the front steps.

  Before they’d left her office, Raleigh had added a jacket, a scarf and taller heels to her outfit. She had also slicked back her hair and replaced the fun blue glasses with h
er horn-rims.

  “You changed your clothes,” he couldn’t help saying.

  She flashed him a look that said she was uncomfortable. “I have to look the part.”

  “Ball-busting attorney?”

  “Right.”

  Randall parked himself on a low wall outside police headquarters and lit a cigarette. Griffin and Raleigh continued inside, where Raleigh allowed her briefcase to be searched, and they both walked through a metal detector. They had to state their business at an imposing front desk manned by a stern-looking, older man in uniform. After a few minutes had passed, a young woman in civilian clothes escorted them back through a maze of corridors to the office of Lieutenant Abe Comstock.

  The door was open, and the man behind the desk looked up. “Come in, Ms. Shinn.” He was a good-looking guy with dark brown skin pulled tightly across sharp cheekbones, and just the beginnings of gray at his temples. He wore a suit, and Griffin was willing to bet it was tailored to fit the detective’s wide shoulders and muscular arms and legs.

  His demeanor was affable enough. He appeared relaxed, smiling slightly as he extended his hand.

  “Thank you for seeing me so quickly,” Raleigh said, shaking the man’s hand. “This is Griffin Benedict, an associate who’s helping me.”

  Comstock froze halfway into a handshake. “Griffin Benedict, the reporter?”

  “That would be me.” Griffin kept his tone friendly.

  Comstock was no longer relaxed or cordial. “What do you mean, bringing a reporter to this meeting? If you think you can pressure me—”

  “No, Lieutenant, it’s nothing like that,” Raleigh broke in hastily.

  “Then what’s he doing here?”

  “I’m writing an overall story about Project Justice,” Griffin explained, “focusing on the personalities. I’m shadowing Raleigh so I can understand what her day-to-day activities are.” That sounded bland enough.

  Comstock wasn’t buying it. He ignored Griffin, addressing Raleigh. “If you want to have a good-faith meeting with me, we talk in confidence.”

  Griffin tried to smooth things over. “Look, Lieutenant—”

  Raleigh held up her hand, cutting him off. “Griffin, I’ll handle this. Would you step out, please?”

  He hated to see anyone bully Raleigh. He wanted so badly to object. His presence could help her achieve the results she wanted. But the implacable look in her eye convinced him he’d better listen to her or there would be hell to pay. She and Project Justice could withdraw their cooperation with him at any time.

  “Fine. Call if you need me.” He exited the office, closing the door with a bit more force than necessary.

  What if Raleigh’s enemy was someone within the police department? The police had a vested interest in keeping Anthony Simonetti behind bars. They didn’t want to be proved wrong, their methods and competence questioned.

  What if the threat to Raleigh came directly from Abe Comstock himself? He stood the most to lose. He, and the district attorney who’d prosecuted Simonetti.

  Unlike John Shinn’s cubicle, Comstock’s office didn’t have glass walls. Griffin couldn’t see a thing, and he could hear only the muffled din of voices from the other side of the door.

  Of course, Comstock wouldn’t try anything in his own office. But Griffin listened keenly anyway, ready to barge in if he heard raised voices. No one was going to harm Raleigh on his watch, even if he had to go up against a seasoned cop who could throw him in jail on a whim.

  “SO WHAT’S THIS about?” Comstock asked.

  Raleigh deeply regretted allowing Griffin to come with her to the meeting. She should have realized how it would look—like she was putting pressure on the detective before they’d even spoken. There was a time and a place for pressure, of course. But not when she hadn’t even tried diplomacy, reason and common sense.

  Now Comstock was on the defensive, ready for a fight.

  “It’s about the gun found in the water heater.”

  Comstock rolled his eyes. “Please. That thing was so corroded it was about to crumble to dust. Don’t try to tell me someone could make it fire.”

  “Not exactly.” She patiently explained the process by which her lab had made the casting. “It’s not a brand-new technology,” she said quickly, anticipating that argument from Comstock. “It’s already been used as evidence in a murder trial, so there’s a legal precedent.”

  “You’re telling me you have a bullet, fired by this replica or model or whatever you want to call it?”

  “Praktech Laboratories does. I have of course maintained an immaculate chain of custody, and Praktech has an excellent reputation among law enforcement agencies including several state police—”

  “Okay, I get it.”

  “All I’m asking is that you do a comparison. I’m sure Janet Flanders or Monty Gilliam right here in your own lab could do it.”

  “And if they match? Doesn’t help Simonetti’s case any.”

  Same point Griffin had brought up.

  “Unless the gun can be traced to another suspect. Someone unconnected to Anthony. The lab has also brought up the serial number—all but two digits. They used seven different kinds of chemical baths including—”

  “Spare me the details. Fine. Have the lab send the damn bullet, and we’ll do a comparison. And we’ll run the registration number. If it’ll get you out of my hair.”

  Raleigh quickly gathered up the papers she’d been trying to show Comstock, which he hadn’t even glanced at. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Now that she’d achieved her objective, she wanted out of there before Comstock changed his mind.

  “Let me tell you one thing,” Comstock said, still confrontational. “If that reporter writes one word about this, he damn well better mention that the Houston Police Department is bending over backward to cooperate. We have better things to do with our time and resources than chase after ridiculous conspiracy theories and ghost suspects that don’t exist. And I’d think you do, too. The right man is paying the price for that murder.”

  Raleigh’s breath caught. The right man is paying the price for that murder. She’d heard those exact words, and recently, too. Where had she— Oh. The anonymous caller.

  The sentence wasn’t distinctive enough for her to be certain. Still, was it just a coincidence that Comstock would use the identical words?

  “Please,” she said, wanting to end the meeting before she gave herself away. “Let me know your findings as soon as possible. Anthony’s scheduled execution is only a couple of months away.”

  She slipped out of the office and didn’t realize how upset she was until she ran smack into Griffin.

  He backed up, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?” he asked in a low voice, since other cops and police employees could be right around the corner. “You’re gasping for air like you just ran a marathon.”

  Raleigh put a hand to her breast, feeling her chest rise and fall. She paused long enough to take some long, slow breaths. “I’m fine. Comstock just pissed me off, that’s all. Covering his butt like every other—oh, hello.”

  It was the woman who had shown them in. Looking as humorless as ever, she obviously had the job of seeing them out. Neither of them spoke until they were safely on the sidewalk, Randall following at a discreet distance.

  “So Comstock is taking the company line? ‘The right man is behind bars’?”

  “Exactly.” She relaxed slightly. Even Griffin had just used a similar phrase. She was worrying over nothing. “No one’s willing to admit they might have made a mistake,” she groused.

  “No one wants to be proved wrong or incompetent or inadequate,” Griffin added. “It’s human nature. Once, when I was first starting out, I was accused of misquoting someone. I hadn’t recorded the interview so I had no way of proving I hadn’t made a mistake. The paper printed a retraction and I was fighting mad. It’s an awful feeling.

  “You want to know the worst part?” he asked.

  “What?” />
  “To this day, I’m not sure I didn’t misquote the guy. I think when someone is on slippery ground, they get even more defensive.”

  “No one’s infallible, I guess.”

  “Not even you.” When they reached the Bentley, Randall was there to open doors. The guy was good.

  She turned to Griffin before climbing into the backseat. “What, you don’t think I’m perfect?” She was teasing him, which surprised her. But he seemed to take her question seriously.

  “If you have any flaws, it’s that you hold yourself to higher standards than you would anyone else in the world.”

  “Why do people keep telling me that? High standards are a good thing.” She wasn’t perfect; of course she knew that. But she hadn’t really expected Griffin to mention what he viewed as her shortcomings. “I hold everyone to high standards,” she said when she slid into the backseat. “When you expect the best of people, they often try to give it to you.”

  He smiled at her, a little sadly, she thought. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  He climbed into the backseat from the opposite side, and Raleigh picked up where they left off.

  “But you did bring it up. You can’t drop it now.”

  He frowned. “I just think you should cut yourself some slack now and then. How long since you’ve taken a vacation?”

  “Not that long. It was…let me see…” Vancouver. When Jason was still alive. Oh, surely she’d taken time off to do something fun since then. “I took a few days off last November.”

  “How much time?”

  “A long weekend.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “Why the interrogation?”

  “What did you do?” he asked again.

  She sighed. “I had a wisdom tooth pulled.”

  One corner of his mouth crooked up in a smile, but he said nothing more. He didn’t have to. She’d made his point for him.

  “You’re not perfect either, you know,” she grumbled.