Saving Grace (What Doesn’t Kill You, #1): A Katie Romantic Mystery

Chapter Thirty-seven

  Jacoby handed me the warrant.

  “Give me five minutes,” I said. I shut myself in the truck, leaving Oso to patrol on his own. I didn’t want to make this comfortable or easy for them.

  Not only was my knowledge of criminal procedure limited, but this was personal. I couldn’t evaluate Ava objectively. And I was tipsy, especially now that the adrenaline rush had passed and cottonmouth had set in. I scrolled through the contacts on my phone. Shannon. My former colleague at Hailey & Hart. I dialed.

  No answer.

  Shit. I could call Collin, but if I did, he would figure out I was in the middle of a cluster-you-know-what. And I didn’t know any other criminal defense attorneys. Blue and white collar didn’t mix much in the legal scene. I did know one other criminal law expert, though, albeit not well, but this was an emergency. I scrolled through my address book again. The one I wanted wasn’t there. I rifled my wallet. A business card. I shined the backlight from my phone on it. Jackpot. I dialed.

  “Hello?” It sounded more like “Ullo,” with a crack in his voice on the O part.

  “May I speak to Mack Duncan, please? This is Katie Connell calling.”

  “This is Mack. And it’s one in the morning.” He sounded much more alert now, like he’d sat up. He was probably as surprised to hear from me as he would be to hear from Barack Obama. He’d probably much prefer the president.

  It was two a.m. here in St. Marcos, but I didn’t think telling him that would help. “I’m sorry to bother you. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “If you’re in trouble, you should call your attorney. I don’t play for your team.”

  “No, it’s not like that. I’ve relocated to the U.S. Virgin Islands. A friend of mine here was arrested on charges of murder. The police are about to search her house, and I’m the only attorney around. I don’t know any criminal attorneys to call but you, and I just hoped you could give me the top two or three things to think about as I review this warrant and observe the search.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” He wasn’t laughing.

  “I wish I were. God, I wish I were.” The line was silent except for his breathing. He wasn’t going to help me. “Listen, I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll let you go.”

  “No, wait. That’s OK. This is straight up? You’re in the Virgin Islands? You’re not in Dallas, about to avenge your shame in court against me?”

  Means to an end, Katie. I clenched my jaw, then relaxed it and spoke. “I’m on St. Marcos in the Virgin Islands. A few weeks ago, I withdrew from my partnership with Hailey & Hart and sold my Dallas condo. I was living the dream here for all of three days until this happened.”

  “This runaway caper is about the McMillan trial, isn’t it? I can understand. If I’d been in your shoes, I’d’ve rabbited, too.”

  “No, it’s not that.” It was sort of that. “I had already made an offer on my house here.”

  “Yeah, right.” He grunted. “Wait. Isn’t that where your parents . . .”

  The sentence hung in the air. “Died,” I said. “Yes.”

  Silence again. Now Mack’s breathing was softer. I heard a click, like the sound of a lamp switching on.

  He finally spoke. “OK, but I’m only doing this for your dad. And as penance.”

  “Penance for what?” I asked.

  “For forwarding the link to the YouTube video to my contact list.”

  I would never, ever live Zane McMillan down. I cleared my throat. “I’m listening.”

  “Make sure they have probable cause. Make sure the warrant specifies what they are looking for. Make sure it outlines where they can search. You can stay and watch them but don’t interfere. You need to find out when she’s being arraigned. That’s all you need to worry about now. If they do anything illegal, you can try to get the evidence thrown out later.”

  “OK. I can do that.” It sounded simple when he said it. I’d already read the warrant, and it checked out against his criteria. “Mack, thank you.”

  “We done here?”

  “Yes.”

  He hung up the phone. Well, I got what I needed out of that. I could lick my wounds later. I lifted my chin and squared my jaw.

  Jacoby was standing outside my door. The other officers were lounging against the two remaining sedans. Oso had stationed himself by Ava’s front door.

  “Time’s up,” he said through the glass of my window.

  I opened my door and climbed out of the truck. “Fine,” I said, handing the paper back to him. “I’ll be observing.”

  “Mind you don’t get in our way.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

  I watched while they stampeded through Ava’s house, trampling everything in their path. My status as attorney to the accused combined with my “not bahn yah” status marked me as a double-dog outsider. They seemed to take special pleasure in trashing my neatly packed suitcases. Or maybe I was just paranoid. But they sure acted nicer when Rashidi showed up about halfway through their search, summoned by a call from Bart.

  The officers didn’t admit it, but I knew they found no damning evidence. They bagged up hair samples and dirty clothes, they removed every cutting implement they could find, they carted out Ava’s cell phone and laptop, but there were no war whoops or gloating smiles. No bloody knives. No souvenirs from Guy’s dead body. No diary confessions. In an hour, they were done and gone, Category Five hurricane damage in their wake.

  Next, Rashidi and I called Ava’s parents, waking them up at their home on the island. I hadn’t ever met them, but I knew their faces from Ava’s pictures. I hated doing this to them at three o’clock in the morning, but they deserved to know. This way, they could choose whether to take action and what that might be tonight.

  The call was hard for all of us, one insult after another on top of the injury. What parent wants to learn their child is in jail, arrested for murder, much less the murder of her married lover, a prominent man of their own generation in their small, closed community? As soon as we’d broken the worst of the news, Rashidi dropped off the call to start cleaning up after the search and destroy party. I steered Gill and Anita Butler through a discussion of their daughter’s bail and legal representation.

  “Ava can’t get out until she’s arraigned and the judge sets bail. At that point, you can go to any bail bondsman to post it.”

  Gill spoke. “How much do you think it will be?”

  “I wish I knew. I haven’t practiced in the V.I. But normally you have to put down ten percent of whatever number the judge sets for bail.”

  “My business went bankrupt last year. Anita and I were just started to dig ourselves out,” Gill said. His voice fell. “We don’t have much.”

  Anita wailed. “We lost everything.”

  This wasn’t good.

  “Well, that’s something for you guys to talk about tonight, then. Who do you know that might have the ability to help you?”

  “No one,” Anita wailed again. Then more softly. “No one.”

  The pain of this conversation was further confirmation that criminal law was not for me, as if I needed more convincing. I told them, “Another decision that needs to be made soon is about who you could call to represent Ava in court.”

  “I thought you were doing that,” Gill said.

  “I’m not licensed in the V.I., so I can’t represent her in court. I told the police I was her lawyer, but only for purposes of her arrest and the search of her house. She needs to have a top-notch criminal defense attorney, someone licensed here.” While my Texas license entitled me to practice law in any state or territory of the U.S. that offered “reciprocity” by recognizing the law licenses from those jurisdictions, the U.S. Virgins was not one of them.

  “What about Duke?” Anita asked.

  “We could call him,” Gill said.

  “Duke Ellis one of our dearest friends. And he an attorney on St. Marcos,” Anita explained, talking Local and sounding like Ava. Her voice sounde
d better, more hopeful.

  “If you have his number, I could patch him into this conversation,” I said.

  Five minutes later, we had rousted Attorney Duke Ellis from sleep. Gill told him about Ava and introduced me. I explained to Duke what the Butlers needed him to do for her.

  “I’ve known that girl since she was in nappies,” Duke said. His voice was nearly as sad as the Butlers’. “Of course I’ll represent her, but only on the condition you allow me to do it as a family friend. And I don’t take money from family.”

  His offer of representation meant that I was free. Freeeeeee! I strapped on a mental muzzle while the inner Katie sang, “I’m walking on sunshine.”

  “Thank you, Duke,” Gill said. “You’re a true friend to us and to Ava. What kind of bail do you think the judge will set?”

  I could identify a chuptz even through a three-way call. “This is the murder of a senator. They’re demigods in this community. It’s going to be high. A million or more, I’d say.”

  Anita started sobbing again. I heard Gill murmuring to her off the phone line. She sniffed and her sobs subsided.

  Duke spoke again. “Ms. Connell, I don’t supposed you’d agree to help me?”

  At first it didn’t register that Duke had invited me back to hell. No way on God’s green earth, I thought.

  “Certainly, Mr. Ellis,” I said, because, really, how could I say no with Ava’s distraught parents listening in? But the thought of another criminal trial so close on the heels of the McZillion disaster gave me chills and broke my promise to the universe, my parents, and myself. Oh, God was punishing me for sure.

  “Excellent, excellent. I’ll head to the station now to see about meeting with Ava. Maybe I can find out something about arraignment and bail, too.”

  We rang off, but he called me back within an hour to ask that I attend the arraignment and bail hearing at eleven the next morning.

  A return to purgatory.

  ~~~