Proof of Innocence Read online

  “Why would you go to my trials?”

  “To be a decent defense lawyer, I need to know how the best prosecutors operate to counter their moves. You’re a damned good prosecutor.”

  She’d done the mirror image — watching top-notch defense attorneys, no matter how hard it had been.

  It was reasonable. Yet his answer didn’t satisfy her.

  “You were fascinating to watch,” he added. “Determined to make everyone see it your way.”

  “As I said, I don’t prosecute unless I know they’re guilty.”

  “Know.” He hooked one elbow over the back of his chair. “Such certainty.” She braced for a probe. Instead, he said, “Whatever Dallas says to the contrary, that on-a-mission concentration suits you.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Her monotone had more impact than sarcasm.

  She shifted to see Dallas still talking to Janice. The bartender moved from a solitary customer to the trio. Carson continued to watch her.

  “This is a waste of time.” She pushed her chair back.

  “Dallas is coming.”

  “Here you are,” Dallas said, as if he’d been searching for them. He took the chair facing the bar. “Any moment now, any moment.”

  Before she could ask what that meant, the gray-haired bartender showed up. “Can I get you folks something?”

  “Have a seat, Barry,” offered Dallas.

  The bartender gripped the back of the empty chair. “That’s okay, I’ve got work.”

  “Janice is covering for you, and she said to take all the time you need.”

  Barry’s hands tightened enough to show white at the knuckles, then he pulled the chair back and sat.

  “You might not remember me, I’m Dallas Herbert Monroe. I knew your momma, Barry. Fine woman she was. This is Ms. Maggie Frye, and I think you know J.D.”

  Barry dipped his head toward her and mumbled, “Carson.” He looked at Dallas. “What’s this about?”

  “We’d like to talk to you about Laurel Tagner.”

  “You and everybody in the county.” He sounded more pleased than disapproving.

  “This is an official enquiry.”

  That was pushing it, but Maggie didn’t object.

  “Official?” His voice flattened. “I already talked to the sheriff. Told him when she was last in, who she was with, all that.”

  “Good, then you’ve cleared the surface and we can get below it. I understand Laurel’s been coming here regular for quite a while.”

  “Not real regular, not recent.”

  “What’s recent? Last week?”

  “More’n that.”

  “How much more?”

  Barry darted a look over his shoulder. Janice, now behind the bar, looked back. Barry’s shoulders jerked and he faced them with a new attitude. “Not as much since she moved back to Rambler Farm.”

  “But before?”

  “Sure. Ever since she was, uh, legal age.”

  “What about her sister?” Maggie asked.

  “Charlotte? In here? No way.”

  “When Laurel came in after she moved back to Rambler Farm,” Maggie pursued, “who did she come in with?”

  “Nobody. Always walked in alone.”

  “Who’d she leave with?”

  “Always walked out alone.”

  She’d kept Carson’s face in view as she’d asked and Barry answered those questions. Still, it surprised her when Carson interposed, “In between walking in and walking out?”

  Barry smirked, then tried to cover it. “Little bit of everything with three legs. She was a pretty girl, who didn’t hide it. Most everyone appreciated that. She had ’em all wrapped ’round her little finger.”

  “Ever cross your mind one of them might have killed her?” Dallas asked.

  “Nah. They were the same guys sniffing around her since she was a kid. If they were going to kill her for being a tease, they’d have done it years ago. Besides…”

  “Besides?” Dallas insisted smoothly.

  Barry’s eyes darted to her, then Carson. He sighed. “She said some stuff that made me think there might be somebody else. Not one of the regular clowns.”

  “What did she say?” Maggie asked.

  “Small stuff, you know? One time she said something like people you thought would never be worth knowing could come in real useful. That sort of thing.”

  “She never mentioned a name?” Carson asked.

  He could be asking to be sure Laurel hadn’t mentioned him, though that was a gamble.

  “Nah. Said she’d promised. Said it wasn’t like any other relationship she’d ever had. I thought she enjoyed making it a mystery.”

  “Was it like her to keep a secret like that?” Dallas asked.

  “Nah. She liked talking, especially about whichever guy was wrapped tightest around her finger at the moment.”

  “You believe this mystery person was a man?” Maggie slipped in.

  It could have been Carson. He might have intrigued Laurel, someone dangerous, someone outside her social group. He could have sworn her to secrecy to avoid gossip or because it would end his cordial relationship with the judge.

  “Laurel didn’t give much thought to women,” the bartender said.

  “Maybe that’s what was different this time,” Dallas said.

  Barry shrugged.

  “Who were some of these guys she had wrapped around her finger?” Carson asked.

  “Christ, I could be here all night. Easier to say who wasn’t.”

  “Even after she married Eugene?”

  “Sure.”

  “Married men?” Was Dallas directing this away from Carson?

  “Yup. She liked married men — and those about to be.”

  Maggie asked, “Did she mention Carson?”

  The grooves across Barry’s forehead shot up. “You kidding, lady?”

  “No.”

  Barry switched to Carson, whose expression hadn’t changed from concentrated interest, then back to her. “Not that I ever heard.”

  “What about Teddie Barrett?”

  “Teddie?” His voice rose with surprise, possibly something more. “What about him?”

  “Did you see Teddie in here?”

  “A few times,” he said cautiously.

  “Drinking?”

  “That’s what folks do here.”

  “With anyone in particular?”

  Muscles shifted in his face. Was that supposed to be amusement? Or was it slyness pretending to be amusement? “You’re not thinking he was one of Laurel’s entourage, are you?”

  “You’re saying Teddie Barrett didn’t drink with Laurel?” Maggie pursued.

  “Yeah, I’m saying.”

  “Who did he drink with?”

  “Anybody who’d buy him a drink.”

  “Did that include Carson?”

  Barry’s brows rose. He turned to Carson. “She’s really not part of your fan club is she?”

  Neither was Barry, apparently.

  Carson’s expression never changed. “What’s the answer, Barry?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  * * * *

  While Dallas wandered toward the trees to call Scott at the office, Carson returned her stare over the top of the car. Nothing about his look invited questions. That never stopped her.

  “Do you maintain you never gave Teddie alcohol?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have no idea how he happened to be drunk that night you happened to take him home, the night before he happened to die — or be killed?”

  “That’s correct. I have no idea.” He added, “It’s not your fault.”

  “There’s an entire universe of things that aren’t my fault.”

  He gave her a steady look. “These murders.”

  These murders. But another—?

  With a vinegar sharp twist of her lips, she said, “You’re telling me not to blame myself for not convicting you?”

  “I’m telling you not to blame yoursel
f for prosecuting me.”

  “And of course, the secondary meaning you’re trying to convey is that I let the real murderer go?” That didn’t carry the bite it needed. Because one or the other statement was true.

  “Not you alone. Us. All of us. Dallas and me and most of Bedhurst County, all of us who knew I hadn’t murdered Pan, but didn’t find out who did.”

  He was good. He was very, very good.

  “This is a waste of—”

  “I’ve noticed something that’s changed since you prosecuted me.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You get involved in investigating your cases now.”

  “A good prosecutor needs to know—”

  “You didn’t do it before.”

  “I was learning. And—”

  “You’re obsessive about it. Won’t go to trial without delving into the investigation yourself.”

  “I am not—”

  “Obsessive. That’s your rep. But what I’ve got to wonder is why someone as obsessive as you are never came back and checked this case again.”

  “I never doubted your guilt.”

  Slowly he pivoted as he opened the car door, then came back in as close as possible with the car between them and looked over its top at her. “Most lawyers are better liars.”

  “I have never doubted your guilt,” she repeated.

  In the background, Dallas ended his call.

  Carson’s eyelids dropped lower. “Yes, you did. And we both know when.”

  She snorted, dropped into the car seat, jammed the key in, and adjusted her seatbelt.

  He got in, faced her. She had to still to hear his low voice. “If you stop cross-examining me, I might tell you more.”

  “Cross-examining is what I do.”

  “Doesn’t always work, though, does it?”

  Before it deteriorated into a staring contest, Dallas opened the back door and got in.

  “Let’s make another stop while we’re out here on the highway,” he said.

  “Where? Did you learn something from the call?”

  “One thing at a time, Maggie, dear. We’re not far from the place of business of Eugene Tagner’s second wife.”

  “Why would we want to talk to Eugene Tagner’s second wife?”

  “Because Eugene’s been seein’ Renee,” Dallas said.

  Maggie faced Carson’s profile. “You said that when we talked to Tagner—he’d been seeing Renee. How’d you know?”

  “Heard some things.”

  “As have I. But what’s most interesting is what I haven’t heard.” Monroe’s eyelids drooped sleepily. “Neither Louelle nor Janice shared with me exactly what Eugene and Renee have been doing when they’re together.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Now, beyond that stand of rhododendron, you make two quick rights, and be prepared to climb,” Dallas concluded the directions that had brought them east of town.

  They stopped in a parking area softened by lush plantings that directed Maggie’s eyes to a log building set farther uphill, flanked by trees swelling with buds amid a scattering of evergreens.

  It was a skillful blend of old and new. The log construction, a massive stone chimney, wide front porch overhung by a shake roof gave the impression of a cabin that had been there for centuries. Skylights in the roof, the pristine condition, and a discreet sign promising “Luxury Mountain Homes” assured modern amenities would be attended to.

  One step inside the double doors, and Maggie caught her breath.

  The back of the building was mostly glass and two stories high, with a view of a gorge, opening to a meadow with roll upon roll of rounded mountain tops beyond. A loft lined the room, with offices on either side of a central sitting area.

  “May I help you?” a fresh-faced girl asked from a reception desk.

  “We’re here to see Renee,” Dallas said, leaving it open to interpretation whether they had an appointment.

  “She’s in a meeting. If I could let her know you’re here…?”

  “That would be fine. Tell her Dallas Herbert Monroe is here for a little word, along with two colleagues.”

  The girl led them to the seating area in front of the stone fireplace. Carson snagged the chair with the best view of the room. Maggie settled for second-best, the chair at the other end of the coffee table. Dallas sank into the deep couch, leafing through a magazine.

  Maggie’s phone picked up a signal to her surprise. Each time she looked up from checking email and messages, Carson was surveying the surroundings.

  He stood as a woman somewhere between thirty and sixty approached. She gave an impression of softness — rounded figure, loose hair to her shoulders, easy slacks and tunic — except her eyes. They were shrewd and intelligent.

  She smiled at Carson, gave Maggie a cordial nod, then rested a hand on Dallas’ shoulder.

  “It’s been forever since you came to visit me. I don’t believe you’ve ever been here to our new office.”

  “It’s my loss, Renee. Missing seeing this magnificent facility and even more missing seeing you.”

  “My, you are a flatterer. Is that why you’ve come today? To end the missing of me?” It carried a hint of an edge.

  “Of course,” he said promptly. “And, perhaps, to call on your expertise in a matter or two.”

  “Now if I thought you were ready to make use of my expertise, to sell Monroe House, and move to one of our modern, convenient homes, I’d be beside myself. But if I can help you in any way, you know I am most willing. I tell you what, let’s sit on the porch a bit. It’s sunny for now, and I can indulge my vice.”

  Renee Tagner led the way without waiting for a response.

  At the end of the porch, she gestured them to a pair of settees at right angles, extracting a cigarette and lighter from a pocket.

  With a vague phrase about the investigation, Dallas introduced Maggie, then gave her a nod, inviting her to start the questions.

  She waited until Renee Tagner exhaled smoke and looked at her.

  “Tell me about Eugene.”

  “Hah. How long’ve you got? I’ve known him since he was twenty-seven and I was twenty. Started off as his secretary and receptionist when he was breaking into insurance. Man can’t organize a paper bag. I ran the office. Got my real estate license when we got offered a deal on some land. Developed and sold that parcel off, and that was the start of this.”

  Her gesture took in the building and grounds.

  “Impressive. Business must be good?”

  “Could always be better.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not here to talk about my business. You want to know if Eugene would have killed Laurel. I’ll tell you — no. And it’s not because I’ve got the notion somebody I’ve known so long and so well isn’t capable of murder. Bull. Most everybody’s capable of it, if pushed.”

  Renee tapped cigarette ash over the railing.

  “And for some a touch’d be as good as a push. Sure would be interesting to know how Barry up at Shenny’s comes to have a fancy new truck from Wade Motors each of the past four years. Doranna, bless her heart, proves a woman can be as big a fool as a man, but she doesn’t have that sort of money to give him.”

  Interesting. On many levels, including Doranna and Barry. As well as Renee mentioning Barry. Could she know they’d just talked to him?

  In this county? Hell, yes.

  “But that’s not what you came to talk to me about, either, now is it? Let me tell you about Eugene. He married his first wife because he was young and stupid and thought that was the only way to get sex from her. He married me because he wasn’t quite so young or so stupid, and he knew I was good for him. Plus—” Lines of humor fanned at the corners of her eyes. “—it sure as hell was the only way he’d get sex from me.”

  The lines at the corners of her eyes shifted, joined by lines around her mouth. Faint remnants of pain, long mastered. “He divorced me and married Cissy because he was still stupid enough to think it was the only way to get s
ex from her. Why the fool didn’t set the tart up as a mistress is beyond me. I would’ve had to work like a demon to make it reasonable that I didn’t know, but it wouldn’t have lasted long, and the long-term payoff would’ve made the short-term inconvenience worth it. Sorry if I’ve shocked you, Ms. Frye.”

  “Not at all.”

  The lines of humor returned. “I figure love and all’s like business — you gotta look at your ROI — return on investment. Once you put it in those terms you avoid mistakes from silly things like hurt feelings, pride, and such.”

  Eminently sensible, Maggie almost said aloud.

  “But Eugene was a fool, and once he asked for the divorce, my hands were tied.”

  “You did get control of the business,” Dallas murmured.

  “Of course. He would’ve run it into the ground in a year, eighteen months. And I would’ve had to start all over. My God, he was talking about tearing this place down and building a personal architectural statement. No concept at all of what city folks come to the mountains for. So, I set it up that he and the tart had enough money to live in his architectural statement, where it wouldn’t hurt my bottom line while offending the fewest eyes possible.”

  She grimaced. “Got to admit I never thought they’d get that far. Eugene’d been nursing pretensions about modern architecture as long as I knew him. But he and the tart never would’ve gotten around to building that boil if she hadn’t found a picture in a magazine.”

  “How did you get the business, Renee?” Carson asked. “I’ve wondered.”

  She grinned at him, and Maggie realized the older woman had a deep reservoir of charm she hadn’t bothered to tap in this interview. Yet.

  “I got myself a nice, young lawyer — a lot like you, J.D., not as handsome, but otherwise a whole lot like you — and I molded him. Give the boy credit, not only was he smart enough to let me, but he learned real fast. He’s got himself a real nice practice now.” She chuckled. “In fact, he’s done real well out of Eugene. Laurel, naturally, went another direction. Henry Zales isn’t a bad choice. But he’s a sight too conventional for my taste. Not to say he wouldn’t have gotten Laurel more’n she deserved. Course I set it up to keep their hands off the business. Her and Cissy and even Eugene. But they did have their hands deep in his pockets.”