Twist of Fate

  Would publicity help save Daniel? Maybe not, but at least she was doing something. Jaw set, she left the house and swung into her car, remembering a Latin line from Julius Caesar she'd learned in high school. Jacta alea est.

  The die is cast.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  "You want to know about Omar's guns?" Virginia Benson-Hall, Omar Benson's white-haired mother, straightened from tending the flower boxes on her front porch to give Rob a suspicious glance. Though she had agreed to talk, she was still wary.

  "Your son was implicated in a murder for which another man was convicted," Rob explained. "The murder weapon was never found. I've heard that Omar liked guns, but as far as I know, he didn't own a European handgun of the right caliber. I figured there was a chance you might know since you were his heir."

  "He left a pile of guns for sure. I sold 'em for enough to pay three years' tuition at the parochial school for my two girls. But a European handgun? I didn't sell one of those." She pinched off a dead geranium blossom. "He owned all those fancy weapons but he was killed with a shank, one of them homemade prisoner's knives. That's what they call an irony."

  "A big one," Rob agreed. "Did Omar ever tell you that he'd murdered a policeman and gotten away with it?"

  That caught her attention. "Lordy, no. Even if he had, no way would he tell his disapproving mama. Did...did he really do that?"

  The grief in her eyes made Rob soften that as much as possible. "He might have. If he did, it was an impulse shooting when he was shocked and scared. Not premeditated, and quite possibly while he was high."

  "As if that makes it less of a murder." She sighed. "In the last ten years or so of his life, I didn't see him more than maybe three times a year. Christmas, then on the birthdays of his half sisters. He really loved those little girls, brought them fancy presents and paid their school fees until he went to prison. I never dared ask where the money came from."

  She shook her head sorrowfully. "He was a real nice boy before he took to the streets. Wanted to join the army and carry a gun and see the world. Ruined by bad company."

  Lucy Morrison had said the same of her brother Joe, though Rob had been more inclined to believe it in that case. From all he'd learned, Omar was the original bad company.

  But his mother had loved him, and Omar had loved his little sisters. What might he have become if he hadn't succumbed to the lure of drugs and danger?

  "Do you have any idea who his friends were? Maybe one of them might know if Omar owned a gun of the right caliber."

  She snorted. "Can't help you there. His friends weren't welcome in my house."

  Another dead end. Rob wasn't surprised. "Thank you for your time." He handed her a business card. "If you think of anything that might be of use, don't hesitate to call."

  She set the card on the porch railing. "You say someone else was convicted of this killing Omar may have done?" When Rob nodded, she said, "Then I'll pray that the truth will set that poor man free."

  "Thank you, ma'am." He nodded politely and left, thinking that his Southern boy manners were beginning to reassert themselves after too many years in California.

  When he drove away from the West Baltimore neighborhood, he wondered what to do next. He'd been staying as busy as possible to keep thoughts of Val at bay, but he didn't have any more interviews until this evening. Maybe he should see if Sha'wan needed some help.

  Unless...

  He pulled over to the curb and considered an idea that kept flickering across his mind. When he and Val talked, he had mentioned in passing a house near hers that looked like it might do for the two of them. Though he loved Val's house, it was very much hers. If they were planning to marry, it would be better to find a home that would belong to both of them.

  Though he hadn't much hope that they would be together, there was no reason why he couldn't house hunt for himself. Maybe it wasn't smart to look at properties so close to Val, but the one that had caught his eye sure was farther from her house than his present apartment was from her office.

  And dammit, he wanted a place of his own. When he was a kid, they had always lived in rent. The condo he'd bought in California had been convenient, and it had a great view of San Francisco Bay, but it was merely a slick apartment that he'd happened to own. He wanted a real house with a lawn to cut and leaves to rake and space between him and the neighbors.

  Most of all, he wanted a home. Buying a house wouldn't automatically provide warmth and connection, but it was a start. And now that he had Malcolm--well, he had the beginnings of a family.

  He leaned across the truck and dug a steno pad from the glove compartment. The first time he drove by the Springlake Way house and noticed the For Sale sign, he'd pulled over to the curb to admire the handsome Tudor-style facade, then copied down the name and number of the listing agent in case Val was interested in seeing it. No harm in calling the agent now.

  Five minutes later, he was on his way to the real estate office to meet the agent. Presumably she wanted to look him over to make sure that he wasn't dangerous. He approved of such caution. As to the house--maybe he wouldn't like it that much once he got inside. But at least looking would prevent him from thinking.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  It had been a full phone morning, for which Val was grateful. Having to talk helped keep her mind off Rob, which was fortunate because thinking of him had a bad effect on her emotions and composure.

  Kendra had come to work late after meeting with a reporter from the Sun. The wheels had been put in motion. Since her material was so well-organized, it wouldn't take A1 Coleman long to check his facts and write a story about Daniel's wrongful conviction and looming execution. With sidebars.

  Though publicity might help, Val concentrated on polishing her petition to the Court of Appeals. She was deep into the document when Kendra put a call through from Rainey Marlowe. Thinking how much had changed since her friend had called to announce the profit points her movie had earned, Val picked up. "Hi, Rainey. How are you and the baby and the Sexiest Man in the World?"

  Her friend laughed. "Very well. One of the nice things about the entertainment business is the long quiet stretches between projects. Which is why I have time to think that we really ought to throw a baby shower for Kate. If so, could you and Rachel organize it? I'll help where I can, but there's a limit to what can be done long distance."

  "I should have thought of that myself, but I've been too darned busy. So much for opening my own office and taking time to smell the flowers." Val leaned back in her chair, thinking how wonderfully normal a baby shower sounded. "We can hold the shower at my place, since it's the most central. It will be insane finding a date when we can all get together, but if we start now, we should manage to set up something before the baby actually arrives. Have Emmy fax me your schedule. I'll talk to Rachel. Do you have the time to call Laurel and Kate?"

  "I'd love to. In fact, how about if I check the schedules for the old gang and Kate's mom? The date is the worst aspect of party planning, and I can make phone calls from New Mexico as easily as from Maryland."

  "Phone away, and many thanks for volunteering." They chatted for a few more minutes before hanging up, leaving Val cheered. When drowning in a swamp of daily details and crises, it was good to remember that friends had babies and life went on.

  If she wanted babies of her own--and Lyssie was making her feel that motherhood was something she could handle--why the heck wasn't she proposing to Rob, who would be happy to participate in the project?

  Before she could start brooding again, Kendra said over the intercom, "Al Coleman is on line two. He wants to interview you about Daniel. Ready to do your bit?"

  "He doesn't waste time, does he? I'll take it now." Val pushed the button for line two. Like Scarlett O'Hara, she would think about Rob and marriage tomorrow.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  "Now that I've had the official tour," Rob said, "may I wander around some more on my own?"

  The agent smiled cheerfully. "Feel free.
Since the owners moved out six months ago, there isn't anything I need to guard. Take your time. I'll catch up on my calls."

  He crossed the front hall, awash in light from the leaded glass windows, and climbed the sweeping staircase. Though he liked the agent, she would probably think he was seriously weird if she saw him caressing the magnificent hand-carved woodwork.

  He sat on the window seat at the top of the stairs, his absent gaze on the neglected back garden. Though he'd liked the way the house looked from the curb, he hadn't expected to fall in love with it. The better part of a century old, the structure had the exquisite details new homes couldn't touch. The spaces flowed well, creating a sense of relaxation from the moment he'd entered.

  While not enormously larger than Val's home, this property stood on a spacious lot that included a surprising amount of space in the back. A relatively new three-car garage faced onto the alley and a cozy one-bedroom guest house was tucked among so many trees and shrubs that it was like being in the country.

  The bathrooms and kitchen needed remodeling and the heating and air-conditioning systems were on their last legs, which was probably why the place had been on the market so long. He didn't mind. Projects would keep him busy, and he was going to need to stay busy for a long time to come.

  He rose and ambled back to the master bedroom, in the left rear corner of the structure. It was a sizable room, but it would benefit by cutting into the adjacent room and turning that space into walk-in closets and a really decadent bathroom. He had a brief mental image of Val, laughing amidst masses of bath bubbles....

  Pivoting, he left the room.

  It was too damned easy to imagine her in this house. Before their relationship crashed and burned, he'd entertained fantasies of them shopping for furnishings together. He had never done that and thought it would be fun. Val would be in charge of design, and he'd handle execution. Pick out paints and fabrics, test a few mattresses....

  Again he forced himself to stop thinking like that. The first lesson in family life he'd ever learned was that people didn't change simply because those who loved them wanted it. Val had serious problems with marriage, or him, or both. Despite what she'd said, he suspected that he was the problem. God knew he was no prize.

  But even without Val he could be happy in this house, he thought. Or at least content. He had fled to Baltimore for refuge and gradually become attached to the place. He found that he liked knowing a broad range of people, and he found satisfaction in the work he was doing here. It was time he stopped living like a gypsy.

  He headed downstairs to tell the agent he wanted to make an offer, wondering if the current owners would accept a contract clause allowing him to live in the guest house until settlement. It was a pleasant little place complete with kitchenette and bath, and he wouldn't risk running into Val every time he arrived or left.

  As he descended the broad stairs, one hand on the silky walnut of the railing, his cell phone rang. Not Val's number. He sighed at the evidence of wishful thinking. "Hello, Rob here."

  "Hi, this is A1 Coleman of the Sun. I'd like to talk to you about the Daniel Monroe case."

  He whistled soundlessly and sat down in the middle of the staircase. So Kendra's plan was off to a good start, and his privacy was about to be blown. He hoped to God that ripping open old wounds would help save Daniel's life.

  From this angle, he could see that the agent was still busy on her own phone. Drawing up an offer could wait for a few minutes. "No problem, Mr. Coleman. What do you want to know?"

  Chapter 27

  Yawning, Kendra went outside for the newspaper while her breakfast coffee brewed. Back in her kitchen, she almost splashed coffee all over the counter when she spotted the blaring headline, guilt disputed as execution date approaches.

  Good God, after only three days? Heart hammering, she sat down and began skimming the story. Or rather, stories. A1 and his interns had done a great job of pulling together the history of the case and the new evidence. All the major players who were still alive were quoted. The coverage benefited by the fact that it wasn't competing with any major national news stories. Heaven be thanked for the late summer doldrums.

  The main story jumped inside to a double-page spread filled with related stories. The question of guilt or innocence provided tons of human interest, and A1 Coleman was wringing out every morsel.

  Cal Murphy and Val were quoted, as was the retired lawyer who had prosecuted the case. The latter unfortunately still thought that Daniel was guilty and should have been executed long since. The state's attorney agreed, upholding her predecessor despite the new evidence that had surfaced. Kendra grimaced. Pit bull attack skills were an asset to a prosecutor, and the current state's attorney was a classic example.

  Officer Malloy's widow also rated some ink. She said that having seen the videotape of Joe Cady, she believed that Daniel Monroe might well be innocent, and she didn't want to see him executed if there was reasonable doubt. Bless you, Anne Malloy Peterson.

  Jason and Kendra got two columns of their own. She'd lent Al Coleman two photographs. One showed Daniel playing with Jason, an archetypal doting young father. The other was of Jason in uniform, looking grave and handsome, a young man dedicated to serving his country.

  Coleman had called Jason in Colorado and got some good sound bites, including her son saying, "This has changed the way I think about capital punishment. I used to think that murderers deserved what they got. B ut what if they aren't really murderers?"

  There was a sidebar on Rob, too. Kendra sucked in her breath when she read his real name and history. He must have told Coleman about his past for it to be in the paper in this first barrage of news. Coleman summarized the Avenging Angel story to explain why Baltimore's Graffiti Guy had been drawn to investigate an old murder case. A file photo of a bearded Rob painting out graffiti was included, along with a quote from him that said, "There was no question of my brother's guilt. There is an enormous question about Daniel Monroe's."

  She sent Rob a blessing for being willing to let his past be revealed. He had even been present at his brother's execution. How had he been able to bear it?

  She was trying not to imagine what it would be like to watch Daniel die when her doorbell rang. Grateful for an interruption, she opened the front door.

  On her doorstep stood a perky young woman with a television transmission truck from a local station parked on the street. "Ms. Brooks? I'm Sandy Hairston, and we'd like to interview you about the Daniel Monroe case."

  Kendra tried to remember if she had ever been that young and perky. Probably not, but underneath her perkiness the girl was a competent reporter. "I know who you are, Ms. Hairston, and I'd be happy to talk to you. Can I have five minutes to get myself looking respectable?"

  "Can you make it three?" the girl said without losing her smile. "Charm City News wants to be the first to get you on the air."

  "Understood. One swipe of lipstick, and I'll be right out." Kendra dashed to the bathroom to check her appearance. Not bad. The cornrows were a bit funky, but she otherwise looked earnest and intelligent, not the kind of loony woman who specialized in falling in love with prisoners. She put on the lipstick, then headed outside again.

  Time to find out how much power the press really had.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  When Val opened the newspaper in her kitchen, she whooped so loudly that both cats temporarily bolted from their food dishes. The Sun had done the story proud. Daniel's guilt or innocence would be the talk of the Maryland legal establishment today. This morning she would deliver her petition for review by the Court of Appeals. She hoped the judges who would rule on her petition would feel enlightened rather than coerced by the publicity.

  Feeling more optimistic than she had since the night when Rob had split, she decided to drive over to Springlake Way when she left her house. It wasn't her usual route, but she was curious which house had interested him.

  Several blocks of the street had a grassy median with trees and a
chain of pretty little ponds, but only one of the handsome residences in that section was for sale. She pulled over in front of the house to study it, not surprised to find that Rob had good taste. She had admired this house herself in the past.

  For a brief, painful moment she imagined living there with Rob. It was a good size for raising children....

  Before she could become maudlin, she saw that an Under Contract banner had been slapped across the sign. So much for fantasies of her and Rob in this particular house. Real estate was the least of their problems at this point.

  She tested the idea of marriage, like pushing her tongue against a sore tooth. Was it maybe a little less alarming than it had been the other night?

  A little. Maybe. Much as she missed him, the thought of marriage still made her feel suffocated. With a sigh, she pulled away from the curb and turned on her radio, just in time to catch a news story about Daniel's possible innocence.

  At least something was going right.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  When Val returned from filing her appeal papers, she remarked to Kendra, "One advantage of working downtown was how much closer the courthouse was."

  Kendra glanced up from her computer. "Want me to list all the disadvantages to being downtown?"

  "No need. I remember them all vividly." Val gestured at the newspaper on Kendra's desk. "Great coverage. A1 Coleman must have worked nonstop."

  "No time to waste on this story." Kendra rolled her chair back from the desk, suppressing a yawn. "He really lit a brushfire. I've been interviewed by two different TV stations and calls have been coming in all morning. Not all from local journalists, either. Some of the calls were for me and some for you. There's a pile of messages on your desk. Two of them are from downtown lawyers who would like to do some pro bono work with you. You're going to end up with an empire, girl."

  Glad she had finished her petitions so she had time to talk to reporters today, Val headed back to her office. As