Suspect - Jasmine Cresswell

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dinner in the wake of the jury’s acquittal and she’d dropped her bombshell, he’d arrogantly assumed he would always know at some gut level whether or not his clients were guilty. Sherri had proved how ridiculous that assumption was. His feelings for her had also proved that he was quite capable of falling in love with a woman of dubious morals who lied easily and often. Sherri, it turned out, had murdered her husband because she wanted his money, and as far as Liam could tell she felt no remorse that the man was dead. Her only regret was that she hadn’t been clever enough to avoid arrest. Worst of all, she had assumed Liam would be delighted that he’d persuaded the jury to return a verdict of Not Guilty, despite the fact that she was guilty as charged. She’d even offered to marry him as a reward for his superior professional skills. She’d been offended, not to mention furious, when he declined the honor.

      At least Sherri had provided a crash course in humility. Liam considered himself a wiser, as well as more cynical, man these days. His basic assumption post-Sherri was that all his clients lied, at least some of the time. Many of them lied all the time. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Chloe fitted right into the general pattern, at least as far as the events surrounding her husband’s murder were concerned. If he was to provide effective legal counsel, his task was to find out where there were holes in her story that the prosecutor’s office might take advantage of and then find ways to plug those holes without encouraging her to commit perjury. A task that wasn’t likely to be easy.

      “Let’s get right to the point, shall we?” He sat behind his desk and turned a deliberately distant gaze toward Chloe. He had to ask these questions, even though he placed no reliance on the accuracy of her answers. “Did you kill your husband?”

      She flinched, but answered steadily enough. “No.”

      “Did you pay somebody else to have him killed?”

      “No!”

      She sounded surprised by his question, rather than outraged, which made him marginally more inclined to believe her. Murderers falsely protesting their innocence tended to go heavily for moral indignation.

      “Do you still want me to represent you?” he asked.

      “Yes, I do.”

      “Let me explain just one of the reasons why that isn’t a smart decision on your part. Here are the facts of your situation as I understand them. Your husband is dead, stabbed through the heart. The stabbing occurred last night, while you were in the house. It also occurred after you and Jason had been arguing. You were found next to the body, holding a bloody knife. As if that’s not trouble enough, your daughter is not Jason’s biological child. I already advised you that it’s essential to notify the police of this fact. At which point, I can almost guarantee the first question the cops will ask is the identity of Sophie’s father. What are you going to tell them?”

      “Nothing?” Chloe said, but her voice rose in a question.

      He allowed himself a small smile. “I’m glad you were listening this morning. Nothing is a very good choice. However, the cops are going to press you for a name. The detectives working this case will be smart, and they’ll utilize every trick of the trade to persuade you to give them a name, because they’ll want it. Badly.”

      “Why? Why in the world would they care?”

      Liam’s smile turned bleak. “Because the police will suspect Sophie’s father—which would be me, of course—of being involved in the murder. They’ll want to question him. In other words, they’ll want to question me.”

      She stared at him, eyes wide with shock. He was almost a hundred percent sure that such a possibility had never crossed her mind. “But that’s crazy! You had no idea about Sophie. You had absolutely no motive to want Jason dead.”

      “True. But the police aren’t going to believe either one of us just because we happen to be telling the truth. Fortunately, I wasn’t alone last night so I have an alibi.” Depending on precisely when the mayor had been killed, Liam might still have been in the bar, in which case there were dozens of potential witnesses. If Jason Hamilton had been killed after 2:00 a.m., he had No-Name as proof that he’d been in an apartment on Alameda Avenue, and definitely not in the mayoral residence. Thank God he’d gone back to No-Name’s apartment last night and not to a motel. Otherwise, he’d have had no sure way to track her down, given that he had no clue what she was called. He grimaced in disgust at yet another reminder of the caricature that passed for intimacy in his life.

      Chloe linked her fingers, gripping tightly. “If you have an alibi, your personal connection to the case is irrelevant. The police will know you’re not involved and it’s okay for me to hire you as my lawyer.”

      He shook his head. “The fact that I’m not likely to be arrested doesn’t mean that I would be a good person to represent you in court. You came to me because you thought I’d be the lawyer who would work hardest to keep you out of prison, that I’d have a vested interest in keeping you safe because Sophie is my daughter. Unfortunately, you could hardly have chosen a worse person to approach than the man who fathered your child. If this case ever comes to trial, the D.A.’s office would use the connection to blow us away. You wouldn’t be the only person on trial in that situation. I would be, too. Almost before you could say cheating wife and sleazy lover, you’d be facing a jury who wouldn’t believe a word I was saying, and a judge who would question my professional ethics. And their doubts would be justified, given the circumstances.” The lingering stench from the Sherri Norquist trial wouldn’t help, either.

      “Then what am I supposed to do?” Chloe sounded as if she’d passed beyond the point of despair and had moved well into apathy.

      “I’ve already given you the answer to that. If you actually reach the point of being arrested, you need to hire either Robyn Johnson or Bill Schuller. I’ll call both of them on your behalf if you like. In the meantime, until Robyn clears her calendar or Bill gets back in town, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you and your daughter safe. I’ll try very hard to insure that the police don’t arrest you until one or other of them agrees to represent you.”

      Chloe’s head jerked up, and it was only when Liam saw the hope dawning in her eyes that he realized just how despairing she’d been previously. “Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate your help.”

      Now that he’d given her hope, he’d better live up to it. Liam quickly assessed and discarded options. It was important to avoid crossing paths with the police until he knew exactly what had happened last night. On the other hand, the widow of the murdered mayor of a major city didn’t have many options open to her if she wanted to disappear. She was highly recognizable, and the press corps was going to be hunting her as hard as the police.

      “What’s the name of your husband’s chief of staff?” he asked.

      “Frederick Mitchell. Frederick Ambrose Mitchell.”

      “Is he a good guy?”

      She nodded. “He’s a friend, as well as Jason’s chief of staff.”

      “Do you remember the number for his direct line?”

      She nodded again and he pushed a scratch pad toward her. “Write it down for me, please.”

      Chloe wrote the number and he depressed the intercom. “Jenny, here’s the number for the late mayor’s chief of staff. His name is Frederick Mitchell. Call him, please, and tell him that Mrs. Hamilton is grief stricken and exhausted. She plans to spend the night at a friend’s house, where she hopes to avoid any run-in with the media. She’ll be back at her home in Park Hill tomorrow morning around eleven. For the next few hours, Mrs. Hamilton would appreciate it if Frederick Mitchell would run interference for her with the cops and especially with the media.”

      “Can I give him a number where he can reach Mrs. Hamilton if there’s an emergency?”

      “Tell him that Mrs. Hamilton isn’t taking any phone calls tonight. Give him my cell number, and tell him I’ll pass on any urgent messages from him to Mrs. Hamilton and vice versa. Encourage him to tell the press

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