Jeffery Deaver - Roadside Crosses

"Grandma," Maggie called. "This is cool!"

"It's very nice. Come on in."

Edie gave a smile to Dance, who tried to read it. But the expression was as informative as a blank page.

Stuart hugged the children.

Wes asked, "You okay, Grandma?"

"I'm absolutely fine. How're Martine and Steve?"

"Okay," the boy said.

"The twins and I built a mountain out of pillows," Maggie said. "With caves."

"You'll have to tell me all about it."

Dance saw they had a visitor. Distinguished defense attorney George Sheedy rose and stepped forward, shaking Dance's hand and saying hello in his basso profundo voice. A briefcase was open on the coffee table in the sitting area of the suite, and yellow pads and printouts sat in cluttered stacks. The lawyer said hello to the children. He was courteous, but from his posture and expression Dance could tell immediately that the conversation she'd interrupted was a hard one. Wes regarded Sheedy suspiciously.

After Edie dispensed treats to the children, they headed outside to a playground.

"Stay with your sister," Dance commanded.

"Okay. Come on," the boy said to Maggie and, juggling juice boxes and cookies, they left. Dance glanced out the window and noted that she could see the playground from here. The pool was behind a locked gate. With children, you could never be too vigilant.

Edie and Stuart returned to the couch. Three cups of coffee rested, largely untouched, on a low driftwood table. Her mother would have instinctively prepared them the moment Sheedy arrived.

The lawyer asked about the case and the hunt for Travis Brigham.

Dance gave sketchy answers-which, in fact, were the best she could offer.

"And that girl, Kelley Morgan?"

"Still unconscious, it seems."

Stuart shook his head.

The subject of the Roadside Cross attacks was tucked away and Sheedy glanced at Edie and Stuart, eyebrow raised. Dance's father said, "You can tell her. Go ahead. Everything."

Sheedy explained, "We're tipping to what Harper's game plan seems to be. He's very conservative, he's very religious and he's on record as opposing the Death with Dignity Act."

The proposal cropped up every so often in California; it was a statute, like Oregon 's, that would allow physicians to assist people who wished to end their lives. Like abortion, it was a controversial topic and the pros and cons were highly polarized. Presently in California if somebody helped a person commit suicide, that assistance was considered a felony.

"So he wants to make an example of Edie. The case isn't about assisted suicide-your mother tells me that Juan was too badly injured to administer the drugs to himself. But Harper wants to send a message that the state will seek tough penalties against anybody who helps with a suicide. His meaning: Don't support the law because DAs will be looking real closely at each case. One step out of line and doctors or anybody helping someone die will get prosecuted. Hard."

The distinguished voice continued grimly, speaking to Dance, "That means he's not interested in plea bargains. He wants to go to trial and run a big, splashy, public relations-driven contest. Now, in this instance, because somebody killed Juan, that makes it murder."

"First degree," Dance said. She knew the penal code the way some people knew the Joy of Cooking.

Sheedy nodded. "Because it's premeditated and Millar was a law enforcement officer."

"But not special circumstances," Dance said, looking at her mother's pale face. Special circumstances would allow for the death penalty. But for that punishment to apply, Millar would have had to've been on duty at the time he was killed.

But Sheedy said, scoffing, "Believe it or not, he's considering that."

"How? How can he possibly be?" Dance asked heatedly.

"Because Millar was never officially signed out of his tour."

"He's playing a technicality like that?" Dance snapped in disgust.

"Is Harper mad?" Stuart muttered.

"No, he's driven and he's self-righteous. Which is scarier than being mad. He'll get better publicity with a capital case. And that's what he wants. Don't worry, there is no way you'd be convicted of special circumstance murder," he said, turning toward Edie. "But I think he's going to start there."

Still, Murder One was harrowing enough. That could mean twenty-five years in prison for Edie.

The lawyer continued, "Now, for our defense, justification doesn't apply, or mistake or self-defense. Ending the man's pain and suffering would be relevant at sentencing. But if the jury believed you intended to end his life, however merciful your motive, they would have to find you guilty of first-degree murder."

"The defense, then," Dance said, "is on the facts."

"Exactly. First, we attack the autopsy and the cause of death. The coroner's conclusion was that Millar died because the morphine drip was open too far and that an antihistamine had been added to the solution. That led to respiratory, and then cardiac, failure. We'll get experts to say that this was wrong. He died of natural causes as a result of the fire. The drugs were irrelevant.

"Second, we assert that Edie didn't do it at all. Somebody else administered the drugs either intentionally to kill him, or by mistake. We want to try to find people who might've been around-somebody who might've seen the killer. Or somebody who might be the killer. What about it, Edie? Was anybody near ICU around the time Juan died?"

The woman replied, "There were some nurses down on that wing. But that was all. His family was gone. And there were no visitors."

"Well, I'll keep looking into it." Sheedy's face was growing grave. "Now, we come to the big problem. The medication that was added to the IV was diphenhydramine."

"The antihistamine," Edie said.

"In the police raid on your house, they recovered a bottle of a brand-name version of diphenhydramine. The bottle was empty."

"What?" Stuart gasped.

"It was found in the garage, hidden under some rags."

"Impossible."

"And a syringe with a small bit of dried morphine on it. The same brand of morphine that was in Juan Millar's IV drip."

Edie muttered, "I didn't put it there. Of course I didn't."

"We know that, Mom."

The lawyer added, "Apparently no fingerprints or significant trace."

Dance said, "The perp planted it."

"Which is what we'll try to prove. Either he or she intended to kill Millar, or did it by mistake. In either case, they hid the bottle and syringe in your garage to shift the blame."

Edie was frowning. She looked at her daughter. "Remember earlier in the month, just after Juan died, I told you I heard a noise outside. It was coming from the garage. I'll bet somebody was there."

"That's right," Dance agreed, though she couldn't actually recall it-the manhunt for Daniel Pell had occupied all her thoughts then.

"Of course…" Dance fell silent.

"What?"

"Well, one thing we'll have to work around. I'd stationed a deputy outside their house-for security. Harper will want to know why he didn't see anything."

"Or," Edie said, "we should find out if he did see the intruder."

"Right," Dance said quickly. She gave Sheedy the name of the deputy.

"I'll check that out too." He added, "The only other thing we have is a report that the patient told you, 'Kill me.' And you told several people that. There are witnesses."

"Right," Edie said, sounding defensive, her eyes slipping to Dance.

The agent suddenly had a terrible thought: Would she be called to testify against her mother? She felt physically ill at this idea. She said, "But she wouldn't tell anybody that if she were really intent on killing somebody."

"True. But remember, Harper is going for splash. Not for logic. A quote like that…well, let's hope Harper doesn't find out about it." He rose. "When I hear from the experts and get details of the autopsy report, I'll let you know. Are there any questions?"