Anna J. - Reunited With The P.i.

“The charges levied against Mr. Denton certainly constitute strong ties to some in the community.” Simone shifted her focus to the judge. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of sympathy when it came to the Denton family. It wasn’t their fault who they’d been saddled with. Well, his sons at least. After a few run-ins with Marilyn Denton, Simone had little doubt his wife knew exactly the type of man she’d married. “I would remind the court the business Mr. Denton is so concerned with would be the same one we believe he established specifically to launder illicit funds.” Simone took a deep breath. She hated having to lay even one card on the table, let alone half her hand, but she needed time to find Mara. “Our ongoing investigation has uncovered multiple criminal connections that would make Mr. Denton’s fleeing the jurisdiction a definite possibility.”

“Then might I suggest you get on with presenting your case instead of trying new stalling tactics?” Poltanic sneered.

Simone didn’t react. She kept her eyes on the judge, with his wrinkled grandfatherly face and kind eyes. Judge Buford was, above all, a civil man. He appreciated patience and respect. Only the law itself ranked higher on the acceptable scale than professionalism.

“Will one week give you the time to complete your preparedness, Miss Armstrong?” Judge Buford leaned his arms on his desk. The skepticism she saw in his gaze told her he didn’t buy the “I’m not prepared” argument for a second.

“I certainly hope so, Your Honor.” Before she crushed the fountain pen and sent ink exploding all over the table and her white silk suit, she set it down. “You have my word.”

Poltanic’s derisive snort was the last bit of ammunition needed as Judge Buford slid a disapproving glance the defense attorney’s way.

“Well, let’s be certain, shall we.” The judge offered a tight smile. “I’ll give you until a week from Monday to get your case in order.”

Simone’s lips twitched. “Thank you very much, Your Honor.”

“Your Honor!” Poltanic puffed up to the point Simone worried the buttons on his strained vest would become lethal weapons.

Judge Buford held up his hand, gestured for his court clerk to approach. Simone curled her toes in her shoes, not an easy feat given the sharp points on the designer pumps.

“We will reconvene in ten days ready for opening statements. If,” Judge Buford said with a pointed look at Simone, “at that time the DA requests another delay, I’m going to give serious consideration to Mr. Poltanic’s request for bail. Get it together, Miss Armstrong. That’s all for today.” He banged his gavel and brought an end to Simone’s overly crappy morning. “Court dismissed.”

“Care to comment for the Sacramento Journal, Simone?” Benedict Russell, recently promoted feature crime reporter held out his cell phone like a recorder. His hawk-like brown eyes and sallow skin reminded her of a bird of prey swooping in on yet another one of its victims.

“On the record?” She waited until a flare of hope flashed in his gaze before she arched a brow and snapped her case shut. “I’m just an ineffectual, pedantic political pawn, Russell. Those were your words last year, weren’t they?” She hoisted her briefcase off the table and offered him her best “I could kill you with my pinky finger” smile. “I can’t imagine your readers are interested in anything I have to say.”

“They’ll be quite interested in what the valley’s own Avenging Angel has to say, actually.” He smirked at the moniker he’d tagged her with.

“Don’t call me that.” She might approach every case with her eye aimed on justice, but that didn’t mean she had anything resembling an angel’s wings. Far from it. She did whatever she could to balance the scale for victims. She wasn’t vengeful. Just...determined.

“Hey, it’s not my fault it’s caught on.” But didn’t he look proud of himself. “And you’re wrong. Our readers are more than interested in what someone who’s thinking about running for district attorney has to say.”

Had Simone not spent most of her life keeping a mask of impassiveness in place, she might have tripped over her stiletto heels. How had The Troll found out when she hadn’t even made up her mind?

“No comment.” She pushed through the gate, unable to avoid the tear-filled accusatory glare Marilyn Denton aimed at her as she headed from the courtroom. She couldn’t matter, Simone told herself. Denton was a criminal. His so-called businesses had helped other, more dangerous criminals. She was certain of it. He belonged behind bars. End of story.

Russell’s scurrying footsteps behind her called to mind a rat targeting a particularly nice pile of garbage. Before she reached the stairs, she spun around and held up her hand. Russell skidded to a stop and nearly plowed into her.

“Did I stutter? No comment, Russell.” She needed to remind her assistant Kyla to be extra vigilant in manning her phone. She wouldn’t put it past the reporter to get someone else to do his dirty work by trying to scam a statement.

“So this delay isn’t the DA’s means of stalling for a deal with Paul Denton?” Russell demanded.

Anger washed over her as the last trace of humor faded from her face. What was it with everyone thinking there was a deal to be made? First the DA, then his political advisor, now Russell? “There will be no deal.” Shoot. She’d just given a statement. She glanced around the slick, tiled hallway, through the crowd of overworked public defenders and disgruntled potential jurors. May as well make her morning a complete loss. She motioned to Russell’s phone and waited for him to click the recorder back on. “It is my intention to see Mr. Denton pay for his crimes by serving a significant prison sentence. The maximum sentence. If he chooses to try to mitigate that time by offering evidence against those he’s worked for and with, we will be more than happy to take that into consideration after his trial. But again, there will be no deal.”

“And if I called DA Lawson and asked him to comment?” Russell was practically salivating at the idea.

“He’ll tell you the same thing.” The chances of Benedict Russell making it past Ward Lawson’s gargoyle of a receptionist were slim to none. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.” Beginning with finding out how the hell her witness had managed to disappear despite two experienced deputies sitting outside her apartment.

She was downstairs and outside in record time, listening to a stream of messages through her earpiece. Days like this, when the DA himself left a terse “we need to talk” message on her voice mail, Simone would give anything for her office not to be less than a few feet away from the courthouse. They’d already discussed deal options for Denton, none of which sat well with Simone. While the DA hadn’t pushed—exactly—she knew Lawson would be happy to make this case go away as quickly as possible. She’d offered to step down, publicly of course. But the obvious discord in the DA’s office signified it was something the beleaguered Lawson couldn’t afford, with his stagnant approval ratings. The Denton case remained hers.

For now.

Despite Poltanic’s accusation making perfect sense, Simone wasn’t interested in stalling.

Unless of course said stalling included stopping for a triple-shot latte from her favorite coffee cart on the corner.

Simone might, as Dr. Allie Hollister—one of her best friends—often accused, live life as part rabbit with her penchant for salads, nuts and an inordinate amount of blended juices, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a weakness. Especially on a day like today.

Simone looked forlornly at the chocolate croissant peeking out at her from the pastry case. Okay, two weaknesses.