He leaned forward a fraction, and the soft scent of his aftershave drifted toward her. “Do you believe I’m guilty?”
A shiver tingled up her spine. “You told me several times that you were not guilty, and I have to take you at your word.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I never said that.”
“You don’t have to. Your actions speak volumes.”
He liked games. And the longer he kept her talking the longer she played whatever sick game he had planned. “Doctor …”
“Ask me.”
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me if I killed the prostitutes that vanished. They tried to use that poor delusional Lulu Sweet against me. They thought if I was convicted of her assault I’d somehow crack and confess to the other killings.”
Dixon hadn’t forgotten about Lulu.
Cold fear hardened in the pit of Angie’s stomach. She remembered the police photos of Lulu. Dark bruises and cuts covered her face and body. “We’ve already had this discussion, Doctor.”
“I haven’t killed anyone.”
Having him this near sent a chill down her spine. He may not have been guilty of murder, but the things he’d done to Lulu … just remembering them made her ill. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“I make you nervous.”
“Not at all.”
He grinned. “I do.”
Suddenly, her mindset about the cops changed. She’d call them to get this man out of her office, even if it meant dealing with their snickers and jokes for the rest of her life. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“We’re not finished.”
“Leave or I call the cops.”
A hint of bravado vanished. “You wouldn’t.”
She reached for her telephone. “If you learned anything about me during that trial, I never make a threat I won’t carry out.” She dialed a nine and a one. “Leave or I finish dialing.”
He raised his fingertips from the desk and straightened. “I don’t understand you.”
She didn’t ask for clarification. He was stringing the conversation along as he searched for something else to prolong this visit. She dialed the final one, listened as the phone rang, and held out the phone so they both could hear. “911, state your emergency.”
Angie’s gaze remained locked on Dixon. As much as he liked playing games with her, he didn’t want or need trouble with the cops. He backed out of the office, saluting her as he did.
She watched the door carefully in case he doubled back.
“911. State your emergency.”
“I’m sorry. I dialed the wrong number.”
“And whom am I speaking with?” the operator said.
“This is Angie Carlson. I just made a mistake.”
“Everything is all right?”
She heard the front door close. “Yes. It’s fine. I’m sorry.”
Angie hung up the phone and walked out into the lobby. From the front window she could see Dixon striding toward his dark sedan. Her hands shook as she smoothed a hand over her hair.
She moved back to her office and wrestled off her jacket. She’d just sat down and tried to refocus her thoughts when Charlotte appeared in her doorway with a printout in her hands. Angie pulled her spine a little straighter as she always did when Charlotte approached. Her boss was only a couple of years older, but Charlotte radiated a stern energy that aged her beyond her thirty-four years. Angie considered herself disciplined and hardworking, but when she compared herself to Charlotte she felt like a slacker.
“I have the billable hours breakdown for the month of September,” Charlotte said. She rarely wasted time with simple day-to-day pleasantries. In fact, they never spoke of private matters. Angie knew as much about Charlotte Wellington today as she did the first day they met.
Angie often wondered if a time clock, not a heart, fueled Charlotte’s body. “I had a strong month.”
“It was good. Not great.”
Angie set her pen down carefully and arched a brow. “I disagree. By my own calculations I was up ten percent last month alone.”
“I’d like to see that kind of growth again this month if not more.”
Angie shook her head. “There are only so many hours in a day, Charlotte. There’s not much more time I can squeeze.”
“Then perhaps you should consider cutting back on the pro bono work.You’ve been doing more and more of that lately.”
“That was the deal we struck when you hired me. You know that’s something that’s important to me.”
“It’s noble. And I appreciate your efforts, but pro bono doesn’t pay the light bill. I saw that young woman today. Lulu Sweet is her name? I don’t imagine she will be paying you.”
Anger had Angie’s jaw tightening. “No, she will not.”
Charlotte smiled. She was good at using the carrot-and-stick approach when managing people. “I know you work hard, and I remember and will honor our deal. But there are times when you’ve got to fully focus your attentions on the paying clients. It’s the only way we will grow, and let’s face it, in this economy no one can turn down paying clients.”
“I’ve not turned away one paying client.”
“Dixon just left here, and he looked angry.”
“He’s not the kind of client we want.”
Charlotte folded the billing statement and creased the edge sharply with her manicured fingers. “Why?”
Angie rose. “I’m not representing Dixon, Charlotte, and if you have an issue with my decision I will pack my briefcase now, and we can part ways.”
Her brows rose. “Angie, why are you so touchy about this?”
“I’m not touchy, Charlotte. But I know what I know. If Dixon needs an attorney he’ll have to shop elsewhere. Now if that is an issue for you, then you’d best say it now.”
Charlotte studied her for a long moment. Angie had never driven such a solid line in the sand before, and Charlotte understood if she crossed it, she’d lose a very talented attorney. “All right. I will respect your wishes on that. But I do need you to limit the Lulu Sweets of the world for the time being.”
“What’s going on, Charlotte? Are we in financial trouble?”
Charlotte kept her expression neutral. “You know as well as I do that cash is always up and down with small businesses. Accounts receivable is lagging this month, and the bank is not extending the bridge loans like it once did. The more we can bill for the short term the better off we will be.”
“Duly noted.”
“And on that note, I do have a paying client that could bring a great deal of money into this firm. We had lunch yesterday.” Charlotte had a talent for drumming up the business. She could move in any circle and find something to talk to anyone about.
“Great. Who is it?”
“Micah Cross.”
“Micah? You know my sister’s history with his family.”
“It’s been my understanding that Micah Cross had nothing to do with the misdeeds of his mother and late brother, Josiah.”
“Misdeeds are a nice way of putting it. As you may remem
ber his brother raped my sister.”
“But Micah did not rape your sister. And there was never a link discovered between him and the Sorority House Murders. From all that I’ve been able to learn he is a good man with an unfortunate pedigree. In fact, he wants to hire us because he’s interested in setting up a charitable foundation. I thought you’d be all over the charitable angle.” Charlotte enunciated the last few words to add challenge to the statement.
“I just can’t help worry about the potential for conflicts of interest.”
“What conflicts? The man is a pillar of the community. And we would be representing him on a civil matter, not a criminal matter. And if we do a good job, this work could lead to more. I’d like nothing better than to be the go-to firm for Cross Industries.” She sighed. “If we represented only the people we liked we’d go out of business in a month.”
Angie nodded. “You’re right.” Micah had done nothing wrong. “Seems odd he’d choose us knowing my sister’s connection to his family.”
“Maybe he wants to make amends. Maybe this is a peace offering.”
“Maybe.”
“We’ve scheduled a morning meeting here.”
“Will do.”
Only after Charlotte left did Angie release her breath. She rubbed the back of her neck. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
He sat in the straight-back wooden chair and clicked the power button on the television. It was just after six-thirty, and he did not want to miss the local evening news. Elation gripped him the more he thought about the cops carrying away his discarded trophy and the media swarming around the park, now designated a crime scene.
The newscaster opened with a house fire in Fairfax. Discussed a car accident involving a local businessman. A story on traffic improvements followed. And still no mention of his bones by the commercial break.
The Other rose and paced the room, realizing his annoyance was growing. His work deserved attention. “How often is a pile of bones found in a park for Christ’s sake?”
He moved to a display case and clicked on the interior light that illuminated the specimens inside. The bones of the women had been cleaned, bleached to perfection, and carved into dozens of chess pieces. He had all the pawns he needed to complete his set. Now it was time to turn his attention to creating the more powerful pieces: the bishops, the knights, and, of course, the queen.