Best Kept Secrets(150)

eyelids. She aimed a shaking index finger at his chest.

"Don't, Reede. I didn't know that--"

"That when you backed Joe Wallace into a corner he'd

blow his brains out. Well, that's what happened, baby.

They're dripping over the edge of his desk."

"Shut up."

' 'We found clumps of hair and tissue on the opposite wall."

She covered her mouth, swallowing a scream behind her

hands. Turning her back on him, she shuddered uncontrollably.

When he touched her, she flinched, but his hands were

firm on her shoulders as he turned her around and pulled her

against his chest.

"Hush now, it's done." His chest expanded against her

cheek as he drew in a deep breath. "Forget it."

She shoved herself away. "Forget it? A man is dead. It's

my fault."

"Did you pull the trigger?"

"No."

"Then, it's not your fault."

There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" Reede asked

crossly. When the deputy identified himself, Reede told him

to come in. He signaled Alex into a chair while the deputy

rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter. She looked at

Reede in bewilderment.

"We have to take your statement," he said.

"Now?"

"Best to get it over with. Ready?" he asked the deputy

and got a nod. "Okay, Alex, what happened?"

She dabbed her face with a tissue before she began. As

briefly as possible, she told what had transpired in the judge's

chambers, being careful not to mention any names or issues

that had been discussed.

"I left his office and got as far as the elevator." She stared

down at the soggy Kleenex that she'd been mutilating between

her hands. "Then, I heard the shot."



"You ran back in?"

"Yes. He was slumped over. His head was lying on his

desk. I saw blood and . . . and knew what he'd done."

"Did you see the pistol?" She shook her head. Reede said

to the deputy, "Make a note that she answered no and that

she couldn't have seen it because it had fallen from the victim's

right hand to the floor. That's all for now." The deputy

discreetly withdrew. Reede waited several moments. His foot

swung to and fro from the corner of the desk where he was

seated. "What did you and the judge talk about?"

"Celina's murder. I accused him of tampering with evidence

and accepting a bribe."

"Serious allegations. How did he respond?"

"He admitted it."

He took something out of his shirt pocket and tossed it

onto his desk. The sterling-silver scalpel landed with a dull,

metallic sound. It had oxidized, but was otherwise clean.

Alex recoiled from the sight of it.' 'Where'd you get that?''

"From the judge's left hand."

They exchanged a long stare. Finally, Reede said, "It was

his instrument of self-abuse, kept in his desk drawer, a constant

reminder that he was corruptible. Knowing how proud

he was of his years on the bench, it's no wonder he cashed

in. He'd rather blow off the side of his head than watch his

career be ruined."

"Is that all you can say?"

"What do you expect me to say?"

"I expect you to ask me who bribed him? With what?

Why?" Her tearful eyes dried instantly. "You already know,

don't you?"

He eased himself off the desk and stood up. "I wasn't

born yesterday, Alex."

"So, you know that Angus got Judge Wallace to lock

Gooney Bud away, presumably as Celina's murderer, in exchange

for Junior marrying Stacey."

"Where does that leave you?" Planting his hands on his

hips, he loomed above her. "It's speculation. You can't prove



it. Neither of them would have been stupid enough to record

a conversation to that effect, if one did take place. Nobody

wrote anything down. There's enough reasonable doubt there

for downtown Dallas to fit into. A man's dead, his reputation

as a fine judge has been shot to hell, and you've still got

nothing to base a murder rap on."

He tapped his chest, his fingertips making angry stabs at

his shirt. "I had to drive to the judge's house and notify

Stacey that her old man had emptied his head onto his desk

because of your loosely based charges that would probably

have been no-billed by the grand jury."

He stopped and regained control of his temper. "Before I

get really pissed off at you, I suggest we get out of here and

go someplace where it's safe."

"Safe? For whom?"

"For you, dammit. Haven't the repercussions of this sunk

in yet? Pat Chastain's near cardiac arrest. Greg Harper has