Torrid - Book Three Read online

  “I can tell you that around that time I kept journals too, Jack. As well as all of my day planners. We were of the same mind. In the business we were in, your dad and I still liked to physically write down our calendars and to-do lists. We both liked the satisfaction of crossing off every task we’d accomplished in a day.”

  Bev leaned across the table and picked up a chunky black day planner that I hadn’t noticed before. She flipped it to a bookmarked page.

  “That summer, 2002, he had me open some accounts for him in a new bank. First Provincial. The same bank where these mysterious deposits showed up for your Declan McLain. He told me the bank had contracted with him to help develop some security software. Except I never saw those contracts. Never saw payment for any work the company might have done for them. And it wasn’t the kind of thing we usually did. I did, however, see him working on the bank’s main frame. He seemed agitated when I walked in and I remember it because it was one of the only times he ever snapped at me. He actually threw me out of his office. He apologized later but it stuck with me.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears. I knew what she was going to say, had asked her to come here for the express purpose of saying it ... and yet I still held out hope that she wouldn’t.

  “During that time,” Bev went on, “I’d written down a series of closed-door meetings that took place between Seth, Miranda and your dad. It was odd. I remember that. Seth and Miranda never came to the office. Certainly not together. And whatever went on in that office, it upset your father greatly. There was yelling and door slamming. I’ll bet I wasn’t the only one who remembers. I remember scolding a couple of the young receptionists for gossiping about it. And Larry Cutler, one of the other programmers, had an office next door to your father’s. He might even remember the shouting.”

  “You never heard what they were arguing about?” Reed asked.

  Bev shook her head. “Just words here and there. There was just one time when I heard Jackson yell something about Miranda or Seth having no soul. I asked him about it, mind you. One night after a particularly bad meeting, I found your dad actually weeping at his desk. To be honest, I thought they were headed for a divorce.”

  “Did you ask him?” I said. My gut twisted in knots. I should have been there. Why didn’t he call me? Except I knew why. He knew how I felt about Miranda and never wanted to set me off. He wanted peace and quiet and he never got it. Not from me, never from Miranda.

  “I asked him,” Bev said. Her hand tightened on my knee. “I’ll never forget this, Jackie. He looked at me with the saddest expression. He told me he’d done something that he knew would ruin a man’s life. He asked me to pray for him when I went to church that Sunday. And that’s the last he ever spoke about that time.”

  “You think he did this,” I said. My voice sounded bitter in my ears. “You think he actually did falsify those bank records at Miranda’s request. He framed this man?”

  Bev nodded. “Yes, Jackie. I think he did. He was capable of it. He had the opportunity. And because of one last thing.”

  She leaned back to the table and picked up a thick manila folder. “In early 2003 he gave me a box with some files in it. He said he wanted me to store some things for him. Remember, he was starting to decline by then. It was a little bit of an odd request as we were in the process of digitizing all of our old files. I did what he asked but never really went through any of it. I kind of forgot about it until now. Anyway, last night, after I talked to Reed, I finally looked through this box and, Jackie, he’s got records in here relating to First Provincial Bank.”

  She emptied the envelope. It contained pages of handwritten computer code, printouts and bank statements. My heart dropped.

  “That can’t be what I think it is.” Margie gave voice to what I was thinking. “Why on earth would he have you hang on to that?”

  “You’ll have to get a forensics expert in to take a look at all of this,” Bev said. “But I think I’ve got your smoking gun here.”

  It was as if her words reached out and gut punched me. I doubled over and felt Bev’s hand at my back, rubbing along my spine.

  “I just don’t know why,” she said. “This wasn’t the man your father was. It wasn’t like him. Something must have happened. I don’t know if Miranda tricked him or threatened him. With both your dad and Miranda gone now, we’ll probably never know what made him do it. But everything else fits. It explains why he was so torn, why there wasn’t any record of the security contract with First Provincial on the books. When Reed called me and told me this theory, it was like a puzzle coming together. I’m sorry this hurts you, but it’s what happened.”

  I dug my fist into the side of my leg. It was either that or I was liable to upend Reed’s coffee table and send all those damn ledgers flying across the room. No one spoke. No one moved. Reed hung his head and Bev kept right on rubbing my back. It was Margie who finally got up from her perch on the arm of Reed’s chair. She set her pitcher of iced tea in the middle of the coffee table and smoothed her apron down.

  “I have two questions,” she said. She held up her index finger. “One. Is it enough? Do you have enough evidence here to reopen this Mr. McLain’s case?”

  Reed shrugged. “It might be. It’s certainly not enough to tie anything to George Pagano, though.”

  Margie flapped her hand. “One battlefield at a time.” She held up her middle finger next to her already extended index finger. “Two. Jackie, look at me.”

  I did. Margie Burnett was a force to be reckoned with. This woman, with her fierce stare and straight back had founded the Lake Bliss High School Booster Club, she’d served as school board president and she suffered no fools. “Can you get over yourself long enough to help this girl?”

  I blinked. “I didn’t ...”

  “The way I see it,” Margie went on, “this poor girl has had her life blown up in about seven different ways all because she tangled with the Manning family. Do you think she killed Miranda?”

  “No.” The word came out almost before Margie finished the question.

  “Good. Neither do I. What support does she have besides you? Her father obviously isn’t in a position to.”

  I set my jaw and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “She has an uncle. Charlie.”

  Margie nodded. “Good. Let’s get him here. Reed? We’re going with Jackie to the courthouse tomorrow and we’ll see if there’s anything to be done to help that girl in the short term.”

  “You got it, Mama,” Reed said as he rose to his feet. The old bastard had a twinkle in his eye as he looked at her. “And we need to make a call to Frank Furlong, my friend that used to be with the U.S. Attorney’s office. The one you met.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I still felt a little numb, but a fire started burning bright deep within me. I didn’t know if I believed in ghosts or spirits or something in between, but sitting in that room with my father’s closest friends, with his words staring up at me from those journals, it felt like he was here.

  “Yes.” My voice was stronger as I rose to my feet. “If that defense lawyer doesn’t think I’m in much trouble. Would he maybe be of better use to Tora? Right now, she’s just got the public defender.”

  Reed shook his head. “That’s Tora’s decision, not yours. And you don’t want to be seen paying for her lawyer. If we get her through tomorrow, you’re maybe going to have to stay away from her until this is all over. Henderson doesn’t think there’s much of a case against you as an accessory now but let’s not give the police any reason to look at you any harder. Besides, you’re going to have your hands full dealing with the prosecutor on Declan McLain’s case. Bev, you willing to give a formal statement about everything you said and hand over your notes?”

  “Yes!” Beverly heaved herself to a standing position and I put my arms around her. “I know it sounds strange to say, but I really feel Jackson here in this room tonight. He left a trail of breadcrumbs for us with those journals and the files he gave me
. We may never know the reason why he couldn’t put this right when he was alive, but I think he wants us to do the right thing for him now while we still can.”

  God. She was right. It cut through my heart to think it, but she was. Could I do it? Could I at least try? Fighting for Tora and her father meant I would have to in some ways lose my own father again. Whether Miranda had a hand in it or not, these were my dad’s sins and I would have to be brave enough to let the world see them. The Manning name would mean something entirely different when all was said and done.

  Chapter Seven

  Tora

  I came to the courthouse in shackles. I was taken to a holding room to wait with about a dozen other prisoners being arraigned that morning. Addie met me there and I got my first taste of the kind of advocate she’d make as she verbally tussled with the sheriffs assigned to guard us out in the hallway. She brought a simple navy blue suit for me to change into and the guards had no intention of letting me wear it.

  “Not happening, Addie,” a female deputy said to her. Addie had the garment bag across her arm and fire coming out of her eyes.

  “Awe, come on, Bailey. There’s press outside. They see her in shackles and prison tan, opinions will start getting formed right off the bat. You and I both know that’s the picture that will end up in the paper.”

  My heart sank. I hadn’t thought about the press but of course this would be a juicy story. Miranda Manning was well known and now so was Seth. Addie looked up and spotted me over the deputy’s shoulder. She gave me a smile and a wave and led the deputy a few steps away and out of earshot.

  A few minutes later, Addie came back shaking her head. “No luck on a wardrobe change for you right now but I got a pretty good compromise. The prosecutor agreed and the reporters will be kept outside the building. If the judge grants your bail, we can get you changed before you have to go out there. If he doesn’t grant bail, they’ll get you out to your transport away from the cameras.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “How bad is it out there?”

  Addie shrugged. “You’re a big story. I’m not going to lie to you. Now, let me tell you what to expect. When they call your case, you’ll be led into the courtroom. I’ll be at the podium with the prosecutor. You’re going to hear a list of the charges against you. It’s short but devastating. First-degree murder and felony identity theft. You’ll hear the judge explain your Sixth Amendment rights to counsel and to a speedy trial. You’re going to exercise your right to counsel and waive your right to a speedy trial. They’re going to ask you if you understand those charges and how you plead. You’re going to say not guilty. And that is the only thing you’re going to say. Got it?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. That’s the easy part. The hard part will be when I ask to set bail. The prosecutor is going to object and you’ll hear some awful stuff about how you’ve been deceptive, how strong the evidence is against you, yada yada. You need to stay quiet. I mean that. You’ve been a good actress for the past few months, I need you to draw on those skills again. Keep your face neutral. Look scared if you feel it. You probably will. Let me do my job and hopefully we’ll get you out of here before the day’s over.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I had to clear my throat to get the words out. Addie was wrong though. No part of the next hour would require any acting. I was scared out of my mind. My hands shook, making the chains around my wrists rattle.

  “I wish I could do something about that right now.” Addie smiled, putting a hand on my arm to still it. “I knew that wasn’t going to fly but had to ask. You’re strong, Tora. You can get through this. We’ll have a lot more to talk about after this hearing is over but let’s just put one foot in front of the other now, okay?”

  I nodded. The heavy metal door swung open and another deputy sheriff came in the room. “They’re calling your client’s case, Addie.”

  Addie pursed her lips and gave me a wink. “Sit tight. Let me do my thing. I’ll see you in there. Remember what you get to say?”

  “Not guilty.”

  Addie gave me a thumbs up as she pushed her glasses up her nose and headed out into the hallway. My heart fluttered behind my rib cage as I waited. Five minutes later, the same deputy came back into the room. She unhooked me and put a hand under my arm to help me to my feet. I resisted the urge to shake her off. She led me out of the room. We were headed to Judge Martin’s courtroom, I knew that much. It was at the end of a short hallway behind two massive six-paneled wooden doors. I took a deep, steadying breath and concentrated on my feet. The weight of the ankle irons made it difficult to walk and I found myself suddenly grateful for the deputy’s arm hooked under mine. She kept me from tripping on the chains.

  “Button!”

  It was as though my insides turned to jelly when I heard the gravelly voice coming from the side corridor before we got to the courtroom doors. My eyes had already welled with tears when I turned to look.

  Uncle Charlie came at me with a lopsided gait. He had his left hip replaced last winter and was due for the right one later this year. He moved so fast his long, curly gray hair fanned out behind him like a banner. Seeing him shredded me. He wore a black suit that strained at the waist and a crumpled blue tie. It was the same one he’d worn to my college graduation just last year.

  “Hold it right there, sir!” The deputy at my side held up her hand, halting Charlie’s progress. Every cell in my body cried out to go to him. I wanted to let him envelope me in his bear hug and pull me against his soft chest. His eyes glistened with tears and I struggled not to let my own come. I had to keep it together, at least for the next twenty minutes or so until the judge decided what to do with me.

  “Uncle Charlie,” I said, thankful my voice sounded strong to my own ears.

  “You okay? What happened?” His eyes were wild and I watched him wince as he took in what I looked like. God. He had to be experiencing awful déjà vu seeing me like this. I looked just like my father did in shackles and prison garb.

  The courtroom door swung open and a tall, imposing female bailiff motioned to the deputy to bring me in.

  “We’ll talk in a few minutes,” I said, hoping I’d get the chance.

  Addie’s smile as I walked into that room was like a lifeline. I focused on her as they led me to the table beside her.

  “That your uncle?” she whispered to me as Charlie waddled in behind me and took a seat in the gallery. My eyes followed his for a brief second then I turned to look straight ahead. Watching him witness this was almost worse than going through it myself. “Listen, some new developments have come up that I don’t have time to warn you about this second. I just need you to keep calm no matter what you hear in the next few minutes. Got it?”

  I swallowed hard. “Okay,” I answered, dubious about whether I even had a choice.

  “All rise!” the bailiff shouted and there was a collective shuffle as those in the courtroom rose to their feet. The judge took the bench. Judge Martin was probably sixty with a thick head of gray hair and kind blue eyes. He peered at me over the top of half-moon reading glasses as he adjusted his robe and took his seat.

  The prosecutors sat on the opposite table. One looked to be about my age. She wore her auburn hair in a tight bun. She was pretty but her mouth turned down in a permanent scowl. When the lead prosecutor stood, my heart lurched. He was pro-basketball-player huge. He had to be six foot five at least. He ran a large, dark hand down to smooth his tie as he read from the charging document.

  Everything that came next happened just like Addie said it would. Except the words the judge spoke seemed to come at me from under water as if I were drowning. I knew what this was. Over and over I’d been told they would charge me with murder. Except when it happened, I found I wasn’t prepared at all. The prosecutor laid out the bare bones of the case. I’d heard all this before too, but now it came from someone who believed I was guilty and meant to keep me in these chains, maybe forever.

  “Ms. McLain?” Addie nudged her sho
ulder into mine. “How do you plead?”

  I took a breath and straightened my back. “Not guilty, your honor.”

  The judge nodded. As Addie warned me, the prosecutor launched into a searing argument that I should be denied bail.

  “Your honor,” he said in a deep, vibrating baritone. “I don’t think there could ever be a defendant more prone to flight than this one. She came to this town under false pretenses, with a false ID for the express purpose of murdering Judge Manning. She has no ties to the community. She has no job. She may or may not be legally married to Seth Manning but even he isn’t here to vouch for her.”

  The mention of Seth’s name brought me out of my head a little. In everything that had happened, he no longer occupied my thoughts the way he had. The moment he admitted to framing my father, I didn’t need him anymore. I had a passing curiosity as to where he might be. No matter what else happened, he wouldn’t survive this scandal and his hopes of being anointed to the senate had to be long dead by now. I took small comfort in that.

  “Your honor,” the prosecutor continued, “Ms. McLain doesn’t even have a place to stay if she’s released. That alone should provide compelling grounds for this court to deny her request for bail. The state strenuously requests Ms. McLain be kept in custody during the length of these proceedings. Thank you, your honor.”

  When Addie started, I could barely process anything she said. My heart sank. Except the part about my motives and role in Miranda’s death, everything else the prosecutor had said was true. I had planned to hightail it out of Illinois the minute I got my father situated. And it was that Addie latched on to.

  “Your honor,” she said, “we contend that my client’s only familial tie is right here in Illinois. Her father is incarcerated in Marion Penitentiary on a 2002 RICO conviction. While that case is technically unrelated to this one, we understand that some strong evidence has come to light that could likely exonerate him. Mr. McLain’s defense lawyer is working with the U.S. Attorney’s office as we speak. I can assure you, Ms. McLain has a vested interest in staying in town while that plays out.”