The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)
Debra Webb
A lie told often enough becomes the truth.
—Vladimir Lenin
1
One Month Ago
2:00 p.m.
Riverbend Maximum Security Prison
Cockrill Bend Boulevard
Nashville
“It’s time the world knew the truth.”
Charlie was no fool. He knew the lawyer seated across the table thought he was a liar or crazy or probably both. The fancy bastard had a look about him that said he thought he was way better than Charlie. Well, that might be. For sure the thousand-dollar suit beat the hell out of Charlie’s baggy prison uniform. But there were things Charlie knew that this big shot educated man did not, and that gave him leverage. There was nothing better than a little leverage.
“What truth is that, Mr. Holmes?” Theodore Siniard asked. He glanced at his watch while he waited for an answer. He was busy, with little time for games.
It didn’t take a shrink to recognize Siniard was out of his comfort zone. Big man like him putting in an appearance at a place like this.
Siniard had that clever jingle that ran in all his commercials and blazed across all his billboards. Need a hand? I’m your man! He was the most famous lawyer in the Southeast—in Tennessee for sure. Charlie had been a little surprised when he showed up in person instead of sending one of his minions. Then again, the name Legard carried some serious weight in Music City. Legard Records was still the top label in the industry even five years after the founder’s murder. Old Theo here would love nothing better than to reopen that can of worms and turn it upside down. Where there was money and fame, there was public interest and publicity to be gained.
Charlie smiled. He knew the Legard family’s biggest secrets. He held the key to a mystery even they didn’t fully understand. Secrets that would put Music City in a media frenzy. Might even make a hell of a movie. He decided to give the impatient man something to chew on. “The truth about who killed him, what else?”
Siniard’s gaze narrowed. “You were charged and ultimately confessed to his murder. You’ve served five years of a life sentence. Don’t waste my time, Mr. Holmes. If this is some attempt to rekindle a measure of publicity, you’re wasting your time, and more importantly, you’re wasting mine.”
This time Charlie let the chuckle escape his throat. “And yet, here you are. Breathing the same air as me.”
Siniard pushed back his chair and stood. “Don’t call my office again.”
Charlie waited until the arrogant man walked the few steps to the door, where he would call for the guard. Only Siniard could have managed a face-to-face with Charles Holmes on short notice and in one of the nicer interview rooms. Charlie was a bit of a celebrity in Riverbend. He wasn’t exactly Charles Manson, but he wasn’t a plain old generic convict either. He and the deceased Manson shared a little something besides first names. For one thing, a streak of evil that went bone deep. For another, a dedicated fan following. Charlie received dozens of letters every month from the people who loved him. He figured there were more, but the guards didn’t want him getting a big head. All that was irrelevant, really. It was Legard’s murder that had put Charlie on the map and opened the door to his claim to fame. Life was ironic like that sometimes.
“It was someone else who did it. Someone close to him,” Charlie announced to the haughty man’s back. “All I did was clean up her mess and try to protect her.”
The words rattled the silence and stopped Siniard dead in his tracks.
Siniard turned around, surprise written all over his Botoxed face. “If that were true, why not speak up before now? Why wait all this time? Why confess?”
The attorney figured this revelation was a lie—an attempt to get Charlie a little publicity. A smile split Charlie’s face again. This was going to be fun. “I would have done anything for her.” It was true. He really would have. Nothing had ever made him feel so strongly for another person. There wasn’t a drug in existence that could top the feeling she gave him.
Everything he’d done, he’d done for her.
But that drug had suddenly worn off, and the pain it left behind was unbearable. It was time to teach her a lesson. To show her what he could do if she tried to ignore him any longer. There were things this fancy lawyer didn’t know—didn’t need to know. He only needed the match that would light the fire.
Oh, and Charlie had the match.
This fire was going to burn deep, because it wasn’t just her—they all had something to hide. They were all guilty to some degree.
Siniard stared at him, analyzing, searching for some visible tell that would contradict the statement. He didn’t believe Charlie, but he couldn’t walk away without being absolutely certain. Charlie knew the possibility was just too damned enticing for him.
“Again, I have to ask: Why not mention this during the investigation? You allowed the trial to play out for weeks before confessing. You enjoy games, Mr. Holmes. I do not.” Siniard made a face that suggested no small amount of loathing. “If you’re hoping for an appeal, I’m afraid you’re far too late.”
“I’ve done my research,” Charlie said. “If new evidence can prove my innocence, I’m entitled to a new trial.”