Julie Miller - One Good Man

“Casey! Casey?” a shrill voice called from the hallway.

The Maynards’ housekeeper huffed around the corner into the library. The older woman’s watery blue eyes glistened with fear.

“Just a minute, Jimmy,” said Casey into the phone. “Judith’s here. The boarded-up door must have spooked her. Give me a minute to explain what happened.”

She covered the mouthpiece of the receiver and set it down. She needed both hands to stand and try to look composed. Judith McDonald might be a hired servant by contract, but she’d been with the family long enough that Casey considered her a friend.

“Are you all right?” Judith paused long enough to ask the question, but moved before Casey could answer her.

The housekeeper crossed the room, holding out the Kansas City Star newspaper in one hand and clutching her ample bosom to steady her breathing in the other.

“He escaped from prison.”

The unadorned statement struck Casey like a gunshot. She needed no other explanation to piece together the evasive truth. Suddenly Mitch Taylor’s visit made sense. The blood in her head rushed down to her toes. She sank into her chair and cradled her head in her hands. Finally understanding the situation brought her none of the comfort she had hoped for.

Judith spread the paper across the desktop and pointed to a short article on the second page. Casey scanned the words, and like a well-mannered schoolgirl, she picked up the phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me Emmett Raines was out of prison?”

Jimmy’s deep sigh matched her own. “State troopers are out in force looking for him. He has no family here anymore. Statistics say he’ll try to get as far away from Missouri as he can. I didn’t want to alarm you unnecessarily.”

Statistics? Her devoted Dutch uncle had gambled her safety on statistics? And backed it up with nothing more than an overbearing, overwhelming gladiator sent to check the premises?

A touch of something fiery licked through her veins, thawing the fear that tried to take root inside her. “I testified against the man in court! The newspaper says he killed a laundry-truck driver and drove away from Jefferson City. How unalarmed do you want me to be?”

Judith reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. Casey squeezed back, tapping into her own strength by sharing it.

“Don’t do anything, Cassandra. Stay in the house and lock the doors and windows.” For the first time that morning, she appreciated the clipped authority in Jimmy’s voice. “I’ll have Iris rearrange my schedule and I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’ll take care of you, dear. I promise.”

She hung up the phone and relayed the message to Judith. While Judith left to do a visual check of the entrances to the house, Casey turned on her computer and accessed the security system to verify that it was up and running.

She was glad she rated high enough on Jimmy’s list of priorities for him to postpone a meeting. But she felt no relief. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

No one understood Emmett Raines the way she did. No one could unless they’d been his victim, too.

She’d given up trying to explain why she’d secluded herself in the home where she’d grown up. After Emmett’s trial, she let the press make up stories to explain her withdrawal from society. Fear of more criminal repercussions. Shame over losing her career. Sorrow over losing her parents.

She couldn’t tell them about her unique phobia.

And she couldn’t risk more uninvited guests busting their way into her sanctuary.

Casey logged on-line and found the site she was looking for.

No more strangers.

She’d see to that.

“HEY, OLD MAN!”

Mitch grunted his answer to the cheerful greeting and strode through the Fourth Precinct offices, shedding his coat and barking orders along the way.

“Ginny. Dig up a file for me. Cassandra Maynard. Society lady. Age twenty-eight. She may have been recently injured in an accident, so check the traffic reports.”

The petite blonde sat back in her chair. “Casey Maynard? Judge Jack’s daughter?”

Mitch stopped in his tracks. “You know her?”

“I know of her,” said Ginny. “A few years back, she was in all the papers. I was in the academy at the time. The story was required reading. Her father, Jack Maynard, sat the bench in criminal court for almost twenty years.”

“The ‘no-budge judge’?” Mitch mentally kicked himself for not connecting the names sooner.

“Yeah. ‘No-slack Jack,’ whatever nickname you want to use.” Leave it to Ginny to know her history. What his detective lacked in size and intimidation factor, she more than made up for in keen intelligence and impeccable memory. “She got hurt, and then the judge and his wife supposedly died in that horrible car accident. It wasn’t revealed until months later that their deaths had been staged so they could go into hiding. I’m pretty sure he never returned to the bench.”

Mitch propped his hip on her desk and asked, “What do you mean ‘hurt’?”

“It was several years back. But if I remember right, she was assaulted.”

“I’ve heard of her.” Mitch’s newest detective, Merle Banning, in only his third year of police work, walked up with a mug of coffee and joined the discussion. “I remember my mom goin’ on about what a tragedy it was. She was training for her second Olympics. A swimmer, I think.”

Mitch nodded, hiding a cringe of guilt as he remembered how rough he’d been with Casey, and how she’d fought against him with every weapon available to her, including her sarcastic tongue. Her defensive actions made sense if she had once been assaulted.

He put his self-recriminations on hold and searched the vaults of his own experience, looking for facts to answer his questions. He had never testified in Jack Maynard’s court, but he could recall a few old friends who had. “The judge had a reputation for no leniency, long before the three-strikes rule. I definitely want to see her file.”

He stood and clamped his hand over Merle’s shoulder, scenting the trail of a case that had yet to be opened, or maybe—if the tingle on his neck was any indication—had never been closed.

“I want to know everything we’ve got on Jack Maynard.”

“Everything?”

Mitch ignored Banning’s query. “I want to know names and dates of the cases he tried.”

“ All of them? That’s a huge project, Mitch.” Stunned would be a mild description of the bespectacled detective’s expression. It provided enough humor to sweeten the tension in Mitch’s stomach. He pressed his lips into a thin line to avoid smiling.

“Then you’d better get on it.”

“Yes, sir.” Merle set down his coffee and logged on to his computer.

Mitch had watched criminals enter their holding cells with more enthusiasm. The father figure in him relented, just a smidge. “Ginny can help you when she’s done.”

Merle and Ginny exchanged supportive glances over their paired-off desks. The rookie detective squared his shoulders and nodded. “I’ll get it on your desk ASAP.”

“Good enough.”

Mitch looped his coat through the crook of his arm and crossed to his lieutenant’s desk, confident the work he asked for would get done. “Joe. I put in a call to Commissioner Reed. Give it priority to my office when it comes through.”

“Will do.”

Joe Hendricks followed Mitch into his office and waited while he shed his jacket and loosened his tie. Mitch shuffled through the messages on his desk before sitting down. He stood up again, feeling too edgy to stay put for any length of time.

“Here’s your coffee.” Joe handed him a mug of the steaming dark brew.

A deep sigh drifted through Mitch’s barrel chest before he accepted the offer. “I’m that obvious?”