Lisa Scottoline - Daddy's Girl

Nat looked from Duffy to Mundy and felt a terrifying chill. She was crossing a line, from person to person of interest. It wasn't much farther to suspect. She thought of what she'd learned and written about the history of justice. That it was more often the history of injustice. Men had justified human slavery, mass internment, and even capital punishment of the innocent, all in the name of the law. No one knew better than a legal scholar that justice was man-made, and because it was human, it erred. Cops made mistakes, as did judges, juries, and even the Supreme Court. Duffy was making a mistake, and taking Mundy with him.

And ultimately, Nat.

Nat felt almost numb as she was administered a gunshot residue test by a forensic technician, then changed into a red-and-black sweatsuit that Brooke got for her, which read, Germantown Academy. She handed over her clothes and watched as they were carefully placed in plastic evidence bags and labeled, then she was escorted out to the barracks' waiting room. Brooke rose from a plastic chair across from the vending machines and crossed to her with a smile.

"Much better!" he said. "Clean clothes, and they fit perfectly."

"Thanks, Dad."

"That's my girl." Brooke leaned closer, so the troopers watching on the other side of the bulletproof glass couldn't hear. "There's lots of press outside, waiting in the parking lot. We have no comment, understand? Are we on the same page this time?"

"Yes."

"Good. Here, wear this." Brooke slid his topcoat off of his arm and placed it over her shoulders. "Thanks," Nat said, touched.

He chucked her under the chin. "Keep this up. Head high. You have to look like a law professor, not a common criminal. The pictures they take will be seen by your jury pool."

"Jury pool?" Nat practically wailed, then caught herself. She had to get her act together. She pushed her wet hair back, twisted it into a knot, and tucked it in the collar of the coat.

"Here. Wipe your face, too." Brooke slid a monogrammed handkerchief from his tux pocket, and Nat gave her cheeks a quick swipe, then handed it back.

"Thanks. Ready for my close-up," she said. Brooke smiled grimly as he slipped an arm around her and they walked to the door and opened it together into the cold rain. A barrage of camera flashes exploded from a throng of reporters that surged toward them, shouting questions.

"Professor Greco! Look over here!”

“Professor Greco, is it true you were at the Saunders's house tonight?”

“Professor Greco! Did you know Trooper Shorney prior to the stop tonight?”

“Can you confirm that the murder weapon was found in your car? We saw it being impounded!”

“Come on, give us a statement, Ms. Greco! Are you a suspect?"

"We have no comment!" Brooke raised a warning hand as he powered Nat through the parking lot, and Nat lowered her head, but it wasn't against the rain. She felt unaccountably ashamed as they hurried along. She wanted to answer their questions but she couldn't. She wanted to explain everything but she wouldn't. She had to let their charges go without contradiction, and she knew her silence would be held against her. She had never understood the presumption of innocence until now.

When the world was about to decide her guilt.

Nat sat in the passenger seat of Brooke's Mercedes coupe, his coat wrapped around her like a cashmere cocoon. They drove silently through the dark suburbs, and she tried to process what had happened. It felt unreal. Trooper Shorney, shot dead. She wondered if he had a family. She thought about Barb's condition, too, but it wasn't appropriate to call local hospitals about her, or her sister or mother tomorrow. Could they really believe she had had something to do with Barb's shooting? The thought sickened her.

Brooke asked, "Do you mind if I put on the news?"

Yes. "No."

Brooke switched on the radio, and KYW came on. The lead story was the Sixers game, the thunderstorm, then breaking news. The announcer said, "Natalie Greco, a professor at the University of Pennsylvania Law School, is being questioned by the Pennsylvania State Police in connection with the shooting death of Trooper Matthew Shorney, during a routine traffic stop. Police officials are saying that Greco is a person of interest in connection with the slaying, and in addition, with the attempted murder of Barbara Saunders of Pocopson. whom Greco had visited before the traffic stop."

Nat's mouth went dry. She'd never heard her own name on the radio, much less in a police report, in the same sentence as "shooting death" or "attempted murder." She tuned out the next report, looking out of the car window at the lights of the split-levels, refracted crazily in the droplets. She shuddered at the shame shed brought on the law school. She thought of Vice Dean McConnell, then of her students. Would they believe she had had something to do with the shooting, too? Would she still have a job after this? What about tenure? Her life was spinning apart, unraveling like a rope under tension.

The Mercedes took a smooth, cushy turn, and Brooke said, "I work with a very good PR firm to do damage control for my SEC clients. How about I give them a call tomorrow?"

"Let's wait on that. I'm not ready for the day when a defendant needs a publicist."

"Be realistic, Nat." Brooke looked over, his distinguished features appearing concerned in the dark car. "You should get ahead of this curve. You saw those reporters. They smell fresh meat."

"I know." Nat voiced her greatest worry, and it wasn't the press. "Do you think they'll charge me?"

"Not on what they have."

Nat agreed, as a legal matter. "It's too circumstantial. There's no motive."

"The money could be a motive, but it doesn't seem sufficiently compelling, and they have to run down your story about the man in the ski mask."

"You believe me, don't you?"

"Of course," Brooke answered, but Nat wondered if it was the retainer talking.

"That Trooper Duffy's ready to hang me."

"But Mundy's not, and they'll have to get their ducks in a row before they charge you. They don't want to file a case they can prove."

"Gotcha." Nat breathed a little easier. "May I borrow your cell phone? I want to call my boyfriend."

"Sure." Brooke slid a black Razor from inside his tux and handed it to her.

"Thanks. Excuse me. I'll be just a minute." She tried Hank's cell number but he didn't answer. She hung up as voicemail started, then pressed in the hospital number, which she'd memorized by now.

"Natalie, are you okay?" Angus asked, as soon as the call connected. "How'd you do?"

"Fine. My dad's lawyer got there before yours did, but we did fine." Nat slid a sidelong glance at Brooke, whom she'd begun liking since he sacrificed his handkerchief.

"I know. Bennie just called me."

"Please tell him I'm sorry."

"She's a woman. Bennie Rosato. Ever hear of her?"

"Yes, sure." Only the best lawyer in town, if a little bitchy. "Well, tell her I'm sorry. I managed not to answer all of their questions."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Of course." Not. "I'm on my way to my parents." She didn't really want to go there, but Brooke had insisted, acting on orders.

"They didn't charge you, did they?"

"Not yet."

"Tell me what happened. Everything!"

"I can't now. When are you getting out of the hospital?"

"Tomorrow, they promised. I heard the report on the TV. The story of the cop's murder is the headline, with Barb Saunders being secondary. I think they're connected."

"They have to be." Nat ran out of time to connect the dots. The Mercedes was turning onto her parents' street, which was quiet and still this late at night. "Gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Don't worry. We'll work it out. I'll call you at school and we'll figure out what happens next."