Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

I shook my head. “Most of my clients can’t afford me, let alone a detective.”

“He’s supposed to be good. A little unconventional, but they say he gets the job done.”

“I wonder if he could find my missing client.”

“How’s that?”

“The police are looking for this woman I represented in a domestic violence hearing. We were going to go back to court to enforce the order. Now, her ex is dead and the police can’t find her.”

“Oh.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, it’s innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

“That’s what they say.”

I filled Jamila in on what the cops told me, leaving Melanie’s name out of it.

“The FBI,” she said. “Shit.”

“The whole thing looks weird as hell, no question. Thing is, I have no duty to do anything. I don’t have to find her.”

“If she shows up, tell her to go to the cops,” Jamila said.

“Sure. But I keep wondering what the Mob has to do with this. And how is my client involved? If I don’t act, is she going to end up being another story on the eleven o’clock news?”

Jamila’s glance darted toward the door. “Judge Ridgway just came in. We should say hello.”

“Goody.”

She shot me a look. “You’ve got to learn to work these people, sweetie.”

I sighed. “I know. It’s such a friggin’ drag.”

“And another thing. You can’t take responsibility for everything that happens to a client and stay sane in this business.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I knew it all too well. Still, I was concerned about Melanie. For one thing, I simply couldn’t picture her as a killer.

f f f

I don’t like domestic violence cases, but for Melanie I made an exception. Maybe it helped that, like me, she was 36 and single. She was tall and slender with brown hair cut in a short bob. Her intelligence and forthrightness impressed me. She had an air of quiet resolve—no hysterics, no second-guessing about whether she was doing the right thing. She had everything you look for in a client—a rational and cooperative attitude plus the ability to pay. Not that the case brought in much money, but it never hurts when a client can pay.

Getting the order hadn’t been difficult. Tom had been drunk and abusive. When he’d hit Melanie, there’d been a minor scuffle. She’d called the police, and they’d arrested Tom.

Afterward, he’d moved in with a friend in Laurel. Things were fine for a while, then the phone calls started. He started coming by her apartment.

She refused to talk to him. She hoped he would give up, but he wouldn’t.

“I want him to leave me alone,” she said, staring out my office window at the brick storefronts of Laurel’s historic Main Street. She seemed anxious the last time I saw her. I tried to be reassuring. Unfortunately, getting the orders in these cases is one thing and getting the abusers to comply is something else.

f f f

Later that afternoon, I tried to reach Melanie at home, without success. I didn’t have a cell phone number, so I tried First Bank of Laurel, where she worked as an assistant manager. Melanie wasn’t there. I asked for Donna Thurman, her boss. I had done some work for Donna before, and she’d given Melanie my name.

Donna came on the line. “Yes?” she said, her vocal chords sounding as taut as piano wires.

“Donna, it’s Sam McRae. Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Well ...”