Courting Disaster by Carol Stephenson Read Free Book Online Page A

up. You could almost hear his mind register that he had a sucker. Before he could empty his folder of jokes, I said, “Hey, Bill, could I have a word with you in private?”
    “Sure, Counselor.”
    Deliberately I led him toward the hall where the administrative offices were. Lowering my voice, I asked, “Bill, were you on duty at the front last year when I was shot?”
    Immediately, his expression sobered. “Yes. To this day I don’t know how the bastard who shot you got by us.”
    He obviously sided with the official verdict that an outsider got by security and pulled the trigger. While I couldn’t rule out a deputy was the shooter, I couldn’t tell Bill I was investigating my growing sense that it had been an inside job. I would start with the people who had to sign in at the front desk. Maybe I could cajole the firm’s PI, Gabe Chavez, to get me the list of officers in the building that night.
    I gave the deputy a bright smile. “Hey, I’m fine now. No permanent damage to this hard head of mine.”
    Keep the amnesia myth alive, I warned myself. If Borys’s murder had been a gang hit, I couldn’t imagine a witness would normally be left alive. That left three possibilities: the killer had been interrupted, the killer didn’t think I saw him or news of my memory loss had made him feel safe. I ruled out the first because, in the past year, the hit man had ample time and opportunity to finish the job.
    Bill’s love of the gab would carry this portion of our conversation near and far, perhaps to the ears of the shooter. Let him feel secure a while longer until I could learn his identity.
    I rapped my knuckles lightly against my temple. “I can’t remember a thing about the shooting. I found some of my client’s personal effects, but can’t recall the names of his family. I was wondering if I could look at the visitor log from that night. I know several friends visited Borys that day.”
    “You know I can’t do that, Ms. Dent.”
    Back to formalities. Not a good sign.
    “I feel so bad that I’ve had my client’s…” I allowed my voice to trail off as if I had to collect myself.
    Had what? It couldn’t be something taken off him during the arrest, but I needed an item close to the truth.
    Borys had collected anything related to his favorite show.
    “He gave me his cartoon memorabilia to safe keep for him. He meant for his family to have it. Please, Bill?”
    Speculation glinted in his eyes but the deputy scanned the corridor. I had him. “Wait in this office and I’ll see what I can do.”
    Minutes later he appeared with a slender volume. “I’ll be outside. Don’t take too long,” he warned before leaving the room.
    Alone, I wiped my sweaty palms against my skirt, took out my legal pad and flipped to the week before the attack. As I scanned the pages, I recognized names of fellow attorneys. One name appeared so frequently I had to wonder if he was the criminal version of an ambulance chaser. When I spotted Jared’s name, I ignored the spurt in my blood pressure.
    No visitors for Borys other than myself in the week before his death. I flipped to the day of the shooting and ran my finger by each name. Nothing leaped out until the end of the list. Andy Lopez had been visiting late, like a lot of the prosecutors often did. Then there was my name and Jared’s right underneath. We must have just missed each other that day.
    Wait a minute. I ran my finger back up the page. Drew Powell. Why was that name so familiar? An image of a tall, outdoorsy man who should have been a professional football player rather than an accountant appeared in my mind.
    Borys’s lover.
    I jotted down his name although I already knew where I could find him. With the hat tricks my head had been pulling, I wasn’t about to chance committing anything to memory. I also noted the names of all the guards and other visitors. I closed the book and went outside.
    “Thanks, Bill.” I handed the book to him. “I owe you