The Lies I Told(84)

I heard Alan’s door across the hallway open and close. He’d said to come over anytime. And now, at least he’d keep me from rushing down to David’s. I grabbed my keys, locked my door behind me, and crossed to his door. I knocked.

Determined footsteps moved to the door before it opened to Alan. He was wearing his dark suit pants, jacket, and tie. “Marisa.”

“You said to stop by.”

He regarded me with unveiled curiosity.

I shifted. “You been to church?”

“Deposed a cop. How did your visit with Richards go?”

“He told me you two know each other.”

“We crossed paths in a case a few years ago. For the record, I was representing the man he was trying to put away.”

“You going to invite me in and tell me about the case?”

“I was representing a rapist and murderer.”

Best policy or not, honesty wasn’t easy. “You’ll have to tell me more than that to chase me away.”

He stepped aside, but his frown suggested he expected I might not stick around too long. He closed the door but remained near it as he faced me. “Do you remember the Lee case?”

“Vaguely.” A woman had been raped and beaten to death, I thought. I didn’t remember the details. Stood to reason barely anyone remembered Clare.

“My client was high on meth when he arrived home, found his girlfriend asleep on the couch, and after he raped her, he beat her to death. My client’s father had money, he hired my firm, and I was assigned the case. I got his sentence reduced to five years.”

“So he’s back to his old life now.” I couldn’t hide the bitterness.

“He still has one year, sixty-five days to serve.”

“Why’d you represent him?”

“Everyone deserves a defense in this country.”

“And you made a few dollars.”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you join the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office?”

“Maybe righting some karma.”

“Richards investigated my sister’s death. She was strangled to death thirteen years ago.” I was amazed how I recited the facts as if they didn’t belong to me.

He drew in a breath, but to his credit he didn’t say he was sorry. Maybe he’d figured out that the families of victims hated that word. “Clare Stockton.”

That was a surprise. “You know the case?”

“I was in law school when she died. My professor spent a week discussing the case.”

“Why?”

“It was a criminal-defense class. Our job was to come up with a viable defense for the killer if found.”

“Did you have any suspects?”

“Do you really want to do this?”

“I do.”

He undid his tie and pulled it free of his shirt. Carefully, as he rolled the tie up, he said, “We all believed the killer was male given the extensive bruising on her neck. Clare Stockton had a history of sexual activity, which put her in contact with at least five males we were able to identify. All had alibis and none of their DNA matched her fetus.”

Annoyance flared. “How’d you know about the DNA? My sister Brit and I didn’t know. I thought that wasn’t public.”

“I was curious about the case. Called a buddy who had access to the autopsy files.”

“Were you always that diligent in school?”

“I could be. Still can be.”

“You have a good memory for details.”

He reached for the door handle. “When I first saw you in J.J.’s Pub, I was a little taken aback. Then I saw the two shot glasses and remembered Clare had an identical twin.”

“You knew my history all along.”

“Yes. Ready to leave yet?”

“Maybe in a minute.”

“Okay.” He passed by and moved to the kitchen, silently setting a pot to brew. “Why was Richards here today?”

“I’ve been put on this planet to irritate the man until my sister’s case is solved or until he retires.”

“He’s not warm and fuzzy, but a good cop.”

“I’ve come to appreciate each of those traits.”

He filled a mug and pushed it toward me. “No cream, but sugar.”

“I’ll take it.”

He pulled a box of sugar from the cabinet and handed it and a spoon to me. I poured in a liberal amount. When I caught him staring, I simply said, “Lunch of champions.”

“So why did you knock on my door?”

“I don’t know.” The spoon clinked against the mug as I stirred. “Trying to stay out of trouble.”

A slight grin tugged at his lips. “I’ve never been described as someone’s safe space.”

“Talking to you is keeping me from seeing someone I shouldn’t.”

His interest sharpened. “Why shouldn’t you be talking to this person?”

I shrugged like an unruly teenager. “I think he might have known my sister but so far has flown under everyone’s radar.”

He didn’t rush to fill the silence. “Who?”

“I probably shouldn’t say until I have proof.”

He raised his cup, stared at me over the rim, again letting the silence fill the air.