Vengeance of the Demon (Kara Gillian 7)

He spun to face me. “You talked to her yesterday. What did she say?”

“She told me she was filing for divorce,” I said. “She said that she hated McDunn for what he put her and you through, and that she couldn’t forgive him. Said that he’d called her wanting money, then again asking her to trust him.” Nothing the cops didn’t already know. “She told him she hated him and to not call her anymore.”

The nervous twitch in his fingers stilled. “You don’t believe it.”

“Sure I do,” I said. “I heard her say she hated him on the recording.”

“She cooperated with the police. I know my dad . . . stepdad,” he corrected with an unmistakable note of grief, “would never hurt her.” He rubbed his hands over his face as if trying to wipe away his unhappiness then sat heavily. “Where is she?”

“Everything isn’t always as it seems,” I said. Surely Boudreaux deserved a shred of comfort. It sucked to take a hit in a game he didn’t know he was playing. “She might have faked everything and gone willingly.”

Ice flooded my veins the instant the words left my mouth. Where had that come from? It hit too close to a truth I hadn’t intended to voice under surveillance or to Boudreaux, and with that one injudicious remark, I’d blundered into a minefield. The last thing I wanted was Boudreaux sniffing around the Katashi connection. My pulse galloped as I fought to keep my reaction hidden from the camera. Maybe Boudreaux wouldn’t use his mom as an interrogation tactic to solve Farouche’s murder, but he would do anything and everything in his power to find her. He wasn’t an ally, and I didn’t owe him any information or comfort. How had I forgotten that? “Your two minutes are up,” I said, throat dry.

The calm gaze he leveled on me felt as if it penetrated to my essence. “It’s my mom, Kara.” His voice slid through me, soft and persuasive. “What do you know?”

“I think she’s—” Shocked to my core, I clamped down hard on the rest of the sentence. Son of a bitch. I yanked my eyes up to the camera. “I refuse to say another word without my lawyer present.” Too little, too late. Though I hadn’t said much, it was way more than I’d intended.

Boudreaux placed his hands flat on the table. “Kara, please,” he said, voice a whisper of desperation. “Help me.”

I bit my tongue and shook my head, mentally recited the state capitols and avoided eye contact.

His shoulders slumped, and he blinked as if only now seeing me as a prisoner shackled to the table. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

The heavy clunk of the door’s lock saved us both from the minefield. The guard stepped in.

“Hey, Boudreaux,” he said, grimacing. “Her lawyer’s here and pissed that you’re talking to her. I told him she agreed, but you know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do.” He stood and came around the table. I braced myself for a parting shot, but he simply dropped his eyes to my shackled wrist, exhaled and left the room without a word.

Before the door fully closed behind Boudreaux it opened again. A forty-something black man wearing a green t-shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals strode in, plopped a binder on the table and dropped into the chair.

“Always so much fun when I visit a client and they’re talking to a detective,” he said, pairing the remark with a sour look.

“I was careful,” I said and tried not to squirm. Not careful enough.

“I’m sure you were,” he said in a tone that put the lie to his words. He began to pull papers out of his binder. “And I’ll be requesting a copy of the recording so I know what to brace for.” He glanced up and gave me a tight little smile. “Just in case, you understand.”

Great. A typical defense lawyer. In other words, a jerk. But a jerk I needed. “Yeah, I understand. Pellini called you?”

“That’s right.” He stuck a hand out. “Anatoly Gresh. Call me Tolya. You got any objection to me being your lawyer, say it now so I can get out of here in time to see if your arrest made the ten o’clock news.”

Suppressing a sigh, I gave his hand a perfunctory shake. “Call me Kara. And I’m cool with you as my lawyer.”

“Good, because I’ve been busting my ass, and I hate doing pointless work.” He pulled out a yellow legal pad already covered in scrawled handwriting. “I contacted the judge and filed a motion for an expedited hearing for preliminary examination along with a motion to reduce bond.” He tapped his pen against the pad. “And, I asked to have a subpoena issued for Detective O’Connor to appear at your bond hearing. The DA objected, but the judge overruled him.” Tolya smiled tightly at that.

“Why do you want O’Connor there?” I asked, perplexed. I’d never been to a bond hearing for one of my arrestees.

“It’s a chance to poke at his probable cause,” Tolya said. “It’s shaky, and that might help get you a lower bond.” His smile turned vulpine. “More importantly, it’s to our advantage to get him on the stand when he isn’t fully prepared—because anything he says is locked in as testimony.”

Comprehension dawned. “Which you can later use to highlight inconsistencies in his case.”

“Precisely,” he said. “I also explained to the judge that you’re a former law enforcement officer with a sterling record. I threw in that you’re the investigator who stopped the most infamous serial killer to ever terrorize this parish.” His eyes skimmed over the writing on the pad. “Not to mention you have family roots in this fine community that go back over a century. Lowers the chance that you’d be a flight risk.”

I kept my expression immobile. My exile was ready and waiting, and even though it was a last resort, fleeing to another world to live out the rest of my days would still be better than prison. If that other world didn’t succumb to yet another cataclysm.

“In addition, I pointed out the incredible danger to your person should you be put in the general population of this jail—with so many of the same upstanding citizens that you put here.” Tolya’s mouth twitched. “I heard about your little altercation with that woman in the holding cell. I confess, a part of me wishes you’d taken a punch,” he said. “That would have been a lovely bit of evidence to show the judge, but I completely understand your reluctance to get slugged. Then again, the fact that you actively avoided physical confrontation may work in our favor as well.” He leaned back and gave me an appraising look. “I must say, I do wish all my clients were as upstanding as you appear to be.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” I said. “But thanks. And I have to admit, I’m impressed with everything you’ve done.” He hadn’t exaggerated the busting ass part one bit.