Sandra Brown - Smoke Screen

“You intercepted the telephone conversation with my lawyer?”

“We’d tapped his phone, yes. When I heard you tell him that Jay’s death and the police station fire were connected, I had to act swiftly. Mr. Smith here was responsible for your dip into the Combahee.”

“Which, if I were ever found, would look like a suicide.”

“That was the plan, but I see now that too much was left to chance. I assumed we had succeeded and didn’t know you were still alive until you and Raley paid a visit to Pat Junior’s house.”

“He reported that to you?”

“Immediately after you’d left. He’s scared of me, you see. Because even when he was still in the hospital with his jaw wired shut, I warned him that if he ever told anyone I was in that interrogation room with Cleveland Jones, I would expose his homosexuality, which his father had looked upon as a disgrace, and had killed a man in order to keep it secret.

“And periodically, I would remind Pat Junior of that warning, just in case he was under the misconception that I’d forgotten it and he was safe from me. On his wedding day, I told him that, if he ever betrayed me, I would ruin his phony marriage. When his babies were born, I took teddy bears to the hospital and threatened to hurt the children if anyone ever found out that I’d been there when Jones died and the fire was set.”

“You made yourself believed,” Britt said. “He didn’t tell.”

“Bully for him.”

The longer Britt could keep the judge talking, the better her chances were of escape. But how? Smith felt as unmovable as a wall behind her. Even if she could break his hold on her, she couldn’t possibly make it to the door.

Could she go forward? The room had only one window, and it was directly behind Candy. It was a fixed, single-glass pane, without any metal or wood framework. But they were on the top floor of a six-story building. If she could, by some miracle, escape Smith long enough to ram past Candy and throw herself through the window, could she survive a fall from that height? Probably not. But she wasn’t going to survive anyway, so perhaps it was worth taking the chance.

Not yet, though. Not until she had the complete story. Getting the story. That was her job, wasn’t it?

Raley had said she didn’t give herself enough credit, that she could be a star anywhere. She would do this last interview for him.

“The day of the fire, how did you escape the building?” she asked.

The judge guffawed. “Jay set the fire, and we left Jones in the room alone. I didn’t need to stick around, so I took my departure then. By the time I was half a block away, I could smell smoke and the fire alarm had begun to sound. I joined the crowd of spectators who were rushing toward the building to watch the blaze. Nobody realized I’d just left it.”

“And your companions weren’t going to tell.”

“Not without incriminating themselves.”

“You helped engineer the Suzi Monroe incident.”

“I hated doing that to Raley. I truly did.” A vertical line appeared between her heavy eyebrows, making her contrition almost believable. “When we were kids, he was always nice to me. I wasn’t pretty, wasn’t one of the popular girls. He and Jay teased me a lot, but Raley’s teasing wasn’t cruel like Jay’s could be. Raley always treated me kindly.”

“And that’s how you repaid his kindness? By ruining his reputation and destroying his life?”

The line on her forehead disappeared and she shrugged. “As I said, Britt, I never won any popularity contests. And I had to advance my career. No, I had to make my career.”

“Even if it meant killing people,” Britt said. “Cleveland Jones. Suzi Monroe. Pat Wickham, Senior. At least I assume you staged that fatal shooting in the alley.”

“He was breaking down, falling apart. I was afraid that he would confess.” She shrugged, glanced behind Britt toward Smith, said, “I did what was necessary.”

“What did Jay and McGowan think of that timely fatal shooting?”

“I don’t know. I never asked. They might have thought it was an awfully lucky break for them. They might have suspected me of having something to do with it, but in any case, we all pretended that it was a tragedy and never discussed it among ourselves.”

Trying to buy more time, Britt said, “So the secret remained intact another few years. Then Jay got sick. Did you consult George on what should be done about Jay?”

Candy shook her head. “George drinks too much. I couldn’t trust him not to get shitfaced and tell Miranda. So, I acted alone again. Well, alone except for Mr. Smith and his partner, Mr. Johnson.”

“The man who came to Fordyce’s house.”

“That’s the one. Although I doubt his name is really Johnson.”

“Did you find them in the yellow pages? On Craigslist?”

Candy chuckled. “Call it underground classifieds. They’re very handy when you need them. They flew in from St. Louis on the day you met Jay at The Wheelhouse.”

“And this morning Johnson responded immediately to Fordyce’s summons.”

“We’d tapped the AG’s phone and heard him call his assistant, asking that she send a capitol guard to escort you and Raley to a hotel. Lucky for me, he didn’t specify to her why he wanted to keep you under lock and key. Even luckier, Johnson was waiting at the capitol building for you and Raley to arrive for your eleven o’clock appointment. He rushed to Fordyce’s house and impersonated the requested guard.”

Britt remembered Raley saying they would’ve been ambushed before they entered the capitol building, and she recalled Johnson explaining why he wasn’t in uniform. But she was confused. “Are you telling me that Cobb Fordyce believed Johnson to be a capitol guard?”

“Jesus Christ, Britt,” the judge said with asperity. “Aren’t you getting it yet? Cobb Fordyce had nothing to do with either Cleveland Jones or Suzi Monroe. Everything he told you and Raley is the truth.” She smiled as she dropped the small video cartridge into her pocket. “Too bad no one will ever see this video of yours. It probably captured one of our AG’s crowning moments. Which is kind of poignant, when you think about it. He’ll die-”

“Wait!” Britt exclaimed. “What do you mean he’ll die?”

“Oh, jeez. In all the excitement, I forgot to tell you that Johnson shot Fordyce in the head after you ran. You and Raley are being sought for his attempted murder.”

Britt listened with mounting incredulity as the judge described Cobb Fordyce’s precarious medical condition. He had told her and Raley the truth. He had wanted to protect them until he could get to the bottom of the whole ugly story.

Then he had opened the door to his would-be assassin, sent by Cassandra Mellors.

Candy continued. “The real capitol guard arrived at the house to find Mrs. Fordyce in the foyer, cradling the AG’s bloody head in her lap and screaming hysterically. It made for a dramatic news story. It’s a shame you weren’t available to cover it. But you still have celebrity status, Britt. You and Raley are the new Bonnie and Clyde.

“Even if Fordyce survives, there’ll doubtless be significant brain damage. No one will ever know that Johnson shot him. By now he’s probably dealt as effectively with George and Raley.”

Britt gave an involuntary whimper.

“Does this spoil a budding romance?” Candy asked, her lips pursing with regret. “That’s too bad.”

Just then the judge’s cell phone rang again. She took it from her jacket pocket. As soon as she flipped it open, Smith clamped his hand over Britt’s mouth again.

“Yes?” Candy said into the phone. She listened, her face breaking into a wide grin. “That’s wonderful news! When is he due to call? Fine. I’ll be right there.” She closed her phone. “The Senate just voted. I’m the new federal district court judge.”