A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(23)

“What do you want, Brody?”

The reporter was silent for a moment. “I never know when I’ll need to rely on good people. You’re staring daggers at me right now, but you’ve kept your cool. No name-calling, no blaming others, no slime. I might be able to help you one day. And vice versa.”

Is he trying to convince me to make a deal with the devil?

“My soul isn’t for sale,” Truman drawled.

Brody’s smile filled his face. “I expected no less.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now. Someone needs to follow up on the anonymous visitor to Judge Lake’s office. This person came in one of the days before his death. I know there’s video—”

“Wait. Why are you telling me this? And how the fuck do you know that?”

“You’ll soon learn that asking for my source is a question I never answer. And I’m telling you because I try to spread myself around. I can’t push every leak through the same person.”

Leak?

“Look,” started Truman. “This case has nothing to do with me and—”

“I know. Go tell it to someone who matters. But I think coming from you instead of me, it might get a little more notice. Interview the judge’s executive assistant. She’s turned over the visitor logs, but they’re not complete. Video should back up her story.” Brody frowned. “If it hasn’t been tampered with.”

“Why doesn’t the assistant just tell the investigators?”

“Because she believes she’s following the judge’s wishes. Total dedication and all that bullshit.”

“Doesn’t she understand this is a murder investigation?”

“She does. But I think she’s afraid of making the judge look bad.”

“An affair?”

Brody shrugged. “He was single. I don’t see the problem.”

Maybe she’s protecting someone else.

“I’ll mention it to Mercy. She’ll figure out who to tell. Why are you covering your ass?”

“I always cover my ass,” said Brody, lifted one shoulder. “I think of it as being smart.”

“All I have to do is say I got the lead from you.”

“Very true. But every law enforcement agency I’ve ever worked with hates to admit they got information from a reporter. They don’t like attributing leads to us. Makes them look lazy. And possibly gullible if it goes nowhere.”

True.

“If you’re done manipulating me, you can get out of my office now.”

“Can you recommend a place to get a good cup of coffee? Not the watered-down diner brew.”

“Coffee Café,” Truman said reluctantly. “Two blocks up on the left.”

The tall man touched two fingers to his brow in a casual salute and silently left.

Truman stared after Brody, feeling as if he’d been professionally dissected and glued back together.

What the fuck just happened?



Mercy knocked on the door of the small Craftsman home and waited.

The three snowmen in the front yard had lifted her spirits as she parked at the curb. The silent trio testified that good people lived here. People who believed in getting their kids outside to experience the elements. She hoped Morrigan had helped build them.

Mercy had been driving to work when she’d abruptly pulled over and made calls until she received permission to visit Morrigan’s temporary foster home. She’d awoken with the child’s face front and center in her brain, and knew she’d never focus at work if she didn’t see that the girl was in good hands.

A sense of responsibility for Morrigan poked at her consciousness. For her own sanity, Mercy knew that she’d keep tabs on the child until her mother returned. Maybe even after Salome returned.

What if Salome isn’t fit to care for her? Or is arrested?

She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

The woman who opened the door had a toddler on her hip. “Good morning,” said Mercy. “You must be Hannah?”

Hannah was around Mercy’s age, very slim, and wore her blonde hair pulled back in a messy but stylish bun that Mercy immediately wanted to duplicate. Her smile was kind, but the lines around her eyes indicated she’d been up half the night. Somehow Mercy suspected the woman didn’t mind. She’d immediately picked up a sense that Hannah was happy to dedicate her time to caring for children.

“Yes, and you’re the agent that Morrigan has been talking about nonstop.”

Mercy couldn’t hold back her smile. “How’s she doing?”

“I’ll show you.” Hannah flashed a deep dimple and gestured for Mercy to follow. The toddler’s round blue eyes stared over Hannah’s shoulder as Mercy trailed behind through the home. She must be Hannah’s child. They have the same hair and eyes.

The home was neat and clean and smelled like pancakes. Peals of girlish laughter reached Mercy’s ears. All good signs.

They entered a family room where Morrigan sat cross-legged on the floor next to another girl of the same age. Both gripped video game controllers and were focused on the television, where they’d dressed an animated model in denim shorts, green hair, and spike heels. Giggles ensued as one of them changed the hair to bright pink.

“She’d never held a game controller before,” Hannah whispered to Mercy. “I almost hated to let her do it. I loved the idea that she’d never been plugged into electronics, but Jenny insisted they both play. Morrigan mastered it within minutes.”