When Shadows Fall

Sam’s first instinct was to comfort him, but Fletcher cleared his throat and imperceptibly shook his head at her, so she stood her ground.

Davidson was the one who laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Mac, shh, it’s okay, man. I know how hard this is for everyone. Where are Tony and Stacey?”

Picker got himself together, sniffling and wiping his eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. “They’re in Las Vegas. A deposition for a client. They’ll fly back as soon as they’re finished, should be in this evening.” He turned to Sam and Fletcher and cleared his throat, the tears still sparkling on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry to lose control like that. Saying it aloud made it so real. Rolph and I have been friends for forty years. I’m going to miss him dreadfully.”

Fletch bowed his head and said softly, “We understand, sir. Is there someplace we can sit and chat for a bit?”

“Of course. We have pastries and coffee waiting in the conference room. Follow me, please.”

Sam noticed the man’s stride was slightly off, as if he were wearing a knee brace, or had twisted his ankle. When they got into the conference room, which was gorgeous—dark wood and gleaming floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking an extravagant all-white flower garden—Sam asked him about it as they settled around the table.

“Korea, I’m afraid. Lost the leg. I was shipped over toward the end, when I was only seventeen, though Uncle Sam didn’t know that. I was green as a sapling, and stepped on a mine the first day I was there. Blew it right off. I was lucky, they saved my knee, and prosthetics have come so far since I first began wearing them. And I’m blessed with excellent insurance.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said. “You seem to manage beautifully.”

“Years of practice. And don’t be sorry. Government paid for everything, from my leg through to my schooling. I wouldn’t have gotten into law without the push. Everything happens for a reason, Dr. Owens. Even losing a leg in a stupid accident, or the untimely death of a friend. Now please, tell me what’s happening. Why was my best friend murdered?”

Chapter

16

FLETCHER LET JUNE Davidson do the talking, and watched the array of emotions parade across Mac Picker’s face as he heard the story.

“Let me get this straight. Savage hired Rolph to put together a will, and named Dr. Owens here executor? That’s very odd, very odd indeed. When you called and told me the details, I checked our database. We don’t have a record of Savage being a client. There’s nothing to indicate he and Rolph ever even met.”

“Did Benedict have a history of doing pro bono work?” Fletcher asked.

“Well, sure. We all do our part to help out indigents, and other cases where it would be to our benefit to be involved for a nominal fee. And there’s always the chance Rolph was helping out on his own time, not on behalf of the firm. But I’m sorry, there’s nothing here, nothing at all.”

“Did Mr. Benedict have a paralegal? Someone who may have helped him draft the will?” Davidson asked.

“We do have paralegals, but they’re absolutely one hundred percent bound by the law and our internal policies to put everything into the system as it comes in. It’s procedure. We may look like a small Southern operation, but we’ve got a state-of-the-art legal electronic filing system. We’ve been electronic for about five years now, and everything, everything, goes through our database directly into the judiciary. It’s mandatory.

“Now the only outsiders are some interns who come in a few times a week, students from around town who are taking prelaw and want to experience the real deal. But they don’t have access to the databases. The interns are more for show, if you’ll forgive the admission. It makes them feel like they’re learning, and the school gives them class credit for their time spent here. The firm gets the cachet of having the top students in the area fight to work for us. But we don’t let them actually do anything.”

Fletcher picked up an iced cinnamon roll, took a casual bite. He used the remains to point at Picker. “So you’re saying Benedict must have done his work for Savage off-book?”

Picker’s face reddened. “I suppose that’s exactly what I’m saying, though the way you put it, it sounds quite sordid.”

Davidson stepped in, hands up. “Mac, relax. We believe you. But we’re gonna need Rolph’s computer from his office, and his date book. I know you understand.”

Picker’s shoulders squared, and his chin rose. “And you certainly understand I’ll need to see your warrant. That computer contains highly confidential material, and we can’t just allow it to parade out of here. I’ve looked on it myself, and there’s no sign of any files under the name Savage.”

“Come on. You’re gonna make me go to Judge Hessian? You really want him breathing down your neck? My God, Mac, that can be construed as tampering with evidence, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry, I need that warrant first. And, June, don’t threaten me. It’s not polite. Your father wouldn’t appreciate it, and I don’t, either.”

Fletcher was enjoying this exchange. Despite his misgivings, he thought Davidson was probably all right, once you got past the big-town-cop, small-town-cop posturing, but he wasn’t above taking pleasure in seeing someone get a spanking. He glanced over at Sam to see if she was amused, too, and saw she wasn’t paying attention anymore, but was staring at her phone screen. While Davidson and Picker went at each other, he nudged her knee and raised an eyebrow. She handed him the phone.

The text was from Xander.

At Savage’s place. You and Fletch need to get out here. Now. No locals.

Sam took the phone back, and Fletcher stood.

“Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt this fascinating discourse, but while you hash this out, Dr. Owens and I should really get the samples from Savage’s autopsy to the lab. Detective Davidson, would you mind calling me when you’re done here? We can meet up after you’ve served the warrant.”

Both men gaped at him, but Davidson recovered quickly. “Sure. No problem. Might take an hour or so. We’ll have to pull Judge Hessian off the links. He has a standing tee time once court lets out for the day. You’ll be on your cell?”

“I will.”

“Lab’s down the street, toward the river. Just go back the way we came in. You can’t miss it. I’ll see you there once we get things settled. Mac here will do the right thing as soon as Old Hessian gets wind of this. Won’t you, Mac?”

Picker glared at the younger man and said nothing.

Fletcher shook hands with Picker, and he and Sam left the room. He heard Davidson saying, “Now, listen, you old fool, you know we have every right to see Rolph’s computer.” His voice drifted off, and Fletcher waited until they were outside to say, “Bunch of BS going on in there. Thanks for getting us out. They’re going to argue for hours, and I don’t feel like waiting around.”

“Picker’s hiding something,” Sam said.

“I know. Maybe he’ll be more open with Davidson once we’re out of here. You have an address for Savage?”

“Yeah. We need to head back north on Highway 29, then take the first exit east toward Farmville. His cabin is just outside the city limits.”

“You’re a regular cartographer.”

That made her laugh, and he was glad, because the worried dent left her forehead. “Maps are my secret love. No, Xander sent another text with the instructions. He says to watch for a large oak tree with a split trunk. That’s the entrance to the drive. I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s fine. He’d have sent an SOS if he was in danger. Sounds to me like he found something interesting and didn’t want to share it with Davidson until we had a chance to look it over.”

Sam nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. We have to get these samples to D.C. as soon as we can. They’ll be okay in the cooler for twelve hours or so—they’re packed well—but that’s it. I don’t trust anyone down here to handle them properly. I took a DNA swab from Savage’s neck and ear. I’m hoping we’ll have something belonging to the killer. He held him down, a knee in his stomach, and strangled him face-to-face. It takes a lot of hate to watch someone die like that. I’m hoping he was talking while he did it, and some saliva got onto Savage’s face.”

“You’re good at this.”

“Too much experience.”

He drove in silence for a few minutes, thinking to himself, That’s why Savage wanted you. He knew you’d be able to suss things out. Then Sam said, “There, that’s the road we need.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Turn.”

The road looked more like a donkey track, thin ruts in the dirt wending into a deep, dark forest, and Fletcher’s Caprice didn’t have the best clearance for off-roading, but he listened, going cautiously so he didn’t bottom out.

“Whitfield has his Jeep, I take it?”

“I’m sure he does. He doesn’t like to drive my BMW. Makes him feel icky, he says.” She laughed. “His parents really did a number on him when it comes to anything that could be construed as capitalistic.”