Tess Gerritsen - Presumed Guilty

The questions, the demands, had left her exhausted. It was all she could manage, to sit propped up against Chase’s shoulder. Waiting — for what? For Noah to confess? For the police to tell her the nightmare was over?

She knew better than that.

“He’ll get out of it,” she said. “He’ll find a way.”

“This time he won’t,” said Chase.

“But I never saw his face. I can barely remember what happened. What can they charge him with? Trespassing?” Miranda shook her head. “This is Noah DeBolt we’re talking about. In this town, a DeBolt can get away with murder.”

“Not Richard’s murder.”

She stared at him. “You think he killed Richard? His own son-in-law?”

“It’s starting to fall together, Miranda. Remember what that lawyer FitzHugh told us? The real reason Richard gave Rose Hill to you? It was to keep the land out of Evelyn’s control.”

“I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“Who’s the one person in the world Evelyn listens to? Trusts? Her father. Noah could have talked her into selling the land.”

“You think this is all for control of Rose Hill? That’s not much of a motive for murder.”

“But the threat of bankruptcy is. If his investment collapsed, Noah would be left holding acres of land he could never develop. Worthless land.”

“The north shore? Then you think Noah was the money behind Stone Coast Trust.”

“Which makes Tony Graffam nothing but a front man. A patsy, really. My guess is, Richard found out. He had those financial records from Stone Coast, remember? The account numbers, the tax returns. I think he matched one of those accounts to Noah.”

“Richard could have ruined him right then and there,” she pointed out. “All he had to do was run the story in the Herald. But he canceled it.”

“It’s the way their relationship worked, Richard and Noah. They were always out to cut each other down. But not in public, never in public. It was a private rivalry, just between them. That’s why Richard didn’t print the article. It would’ve exposed his own father-in-law. And brought the family’s dirty linen out into the public eye.”

Miranda shook her head. “We’ll never prove it. Not after Noah’s lawyer gets through with the smoke and mirrors. You’ve been away from this island too long, Chase. You’ve forgotten how it is. The DeBolts, they’re the equivalent of gods in this town.”

“Not any longer.”

“Then there’s the matter of evidence. How do you prove he killed Richard?” She sighed, an admission of defeat. “No, I’m the convenient suspect. The one they’ll convict.” She sat back wearily. “The one they’ll put away.”

“That won’t happen, Miranda. I won’t let it happen.”

Their gazes met. For the first time she saw what she’d been longing to see in his eyes. Trust. “Then you think I’m telling the truth.”

“I know you’re telling the truth.” He touched her face. As his hand stroked down the curve of her cheek she closed her eyes and felt herself melting, flowing like warm liquid against him. “I think I’ve known it all along. But I was afraid to admit it. Afraid to consider the other possibilities….”

“It wasn’t me, Chase. It wasn’t.” She slid into his arms and there she found warmth and courage, all the courage she’d somehow lost in these past soul-battering days. Believe me, she thought. Never stop believing me.

They were still locked in that embrace when Evelyn Tremain walked in the station door.

Miranda felt Chase stiffen against her, heard his sharp intake of breath. Slowly she raised her head and turned to see Evelyn and the DeBolt family attorney, Les Hardee, standing a few feet away.

“So it’s come to this, has it?” Evelyn said quietly.

Chase said nothing.

“Where is my father?” said Evelyn.

“In the room down the hall,” said Chase. “He’s talking to Lorne.”

“Without me?” cut in the attorney. He headed swiftly down the hall, muttering, “A clear violation of rights….”

Evelyn hadn’t moved. She was still staring at them. “What sort of lies are you spreading about my father, Chase?”

Slowly Chase stood to face her. “Only the truth, Evelyn. It may be hard to take, but you’ll have to accept it.”

“The truth? ” Evelyn let out a disbelieving laugh. “An officer calls me, tells me my father’s been arrested for assault. Assault? Noah DeBolt? Who’s lying, Chase? My father? You?” She looked at Miranda. “Or someone else?”

“Lorne will explain the charges. You’d better talk to him.”

“Because you won’t? Is that it? Oh, Chase.” She shook her head. “You’ve turned your back on your own family. We love you. And look how you hurt us.” She turned, faced the corridor. Softly she said, “I just hope Lorne has the good sense to know the truth when he hears it.” Taking a deep breath, she started down the hall.

“Wait here,” Chase said to Miranda.

“What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer. He just kept walking away, in pursuit of Evelyn.

Stunned, Miranda watched him vanish around the corner. She heard a door open, then close behind him, shutting her out. She wondered what was going on in that room, what words were being exchanged, what deals forged. She had no doubt there would be deals, declarations of Noah’s innocence. His attorney would do his best to twist the story around, make it seem like some crazy misunderstanding. Somehow they’d manage to make Miranda look like the guilty party.

Please, Chase, she thought. Don’t let them sway you. Don’t start doubting me again.

She stared down the hall and waited.

And she feared the worst.

“The charges are preposterous,” said Evelyn. “My father’s never broken a law in his life. Why, if he gets too much change back from a clerk, he’ll go across town to return it. How can you accuse him of assault, much less attempted murder?”

“Mr. Tremain here has the bruises to prove it,” said Lorne.

“So does my client!” cut in Les Hardee. “All that proves is, they traded blows in the dark. A case of mistaken identity. Two men blindly duking it out. At the very worst, you can accuse my client of idiotic behavior.”

“Thanks a lot, Les,” grunted Noah.

“The point is,” said Hardee, “you can’t hold him. The damage—” he glanced at Chase’s bruised face, then at Noah’s face, even more bruised “—appears to be mutual. And as for that nonsense about trying to kill Miranda Wood, well, where’s your evidence? She was facing a jail term. Of course she was depressed. Of course she’d consider suicide.”

“What about the fire?” pointed out Chase. “The car that almost ran her down? I was there, I saw it. Someone ’s trying to kill her.”

“Not Mr. DeBolt.”

“Does he have alibis?”

“Do you have evidence?” Hardee shot back. He turned to Lorne. “Look, let’s call a halt to this farce. I’ll take the responsibility. Release Mr. DeBolt.”

Lorne sighed. “I can’t.”

Evelyn and Hardee stared at the diminutive chief of police.

“I’m afraid there is evidence,” said Lorne, almost apologetically. “Ellis found a bottle of chloroform behind the garage. That kind of argues against suicide, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing to do with me,” said Noah.

“Then here’s some more evidence,” cut in Chase. It was time to gamble, time to shoot the wad. He was going to make a guess here; he only hoped it was the right one. “You know that money from the Bank of Boston? That hundred thousand dollars used to bail out Miranda Wood? Well, I had a banker friend of mine slip into the computer. Match that money transfer to an account.”